Red Flood (Winds of War Book 2)

by William C. Dietz

  “I will use the money to help the poor,” Wasem volunteered, and Kantar believed him. As for the others they planned to use the money on new homes, yachts, and other absurdities. But Kantar didn’t care what they did so long as they agreed.

  “So,” Urabi said. “You heard what the Wahda had to say … Let’s go around the table. Mr. Amari, are you in?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mr. Shamon … How about you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Imam Wasem … Can we count on your support?”

  “Yes.”

  “And I vote yes as well,” Urabi told them. “May Allah bless us and all that we do.”

  Kantar felt as if an enormous weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He had, against all odds, accomplished his mission. But the opportunity for celebration was brief.

  An office manager and his assistants appeared seemingly from nowhere. And it wasn’t long before the communications gear Kantar had noticed earlier was put to work sending and receiving encrypted messages. Each of the men with the exception of Kantar had a network of contacts, allies and, in Amar’s case, employees who had to be alerted and supplied with talking points.

  And, as messages went out, a TV crew appeared. A script was ready; all the men had to do was review the content, and change it into their own words.

  “Our announcement will be released to Al Jazeera first,” Urabi informed them. “And to major news outlets worldwide immediately thereafter. The video will appear on all the major social network sites too.”

  It was all very professional, and Kantar gave thanks for it, because he and his men would have been incapable of putting the whole thing together without the warlord’s help.

  Then came the second order tasks. So many of them that Kantar had trouble keeping track of it all. Finally, by 10:00 pm the basics were in place for an announcement at 6:00 am the following morning.

  Kantar returned to his tent so tired he fell on the bed, and went to sleep without getting undressed. But, after what felt like fifteen minutes, a bodyguard came to rouse him. “It’s Corporal Kattan, sir … Lieutenant Marwan’s on the radio. It’s an emergency.”

  Kantar groaned, rolled off the bed, and followed Kattan into the next tent. A bodyguard gave him the mike. “This is Kantar … What’s wrong?”

  “I was making the rounds,” Marwan said, as a loud boom was heard in the background. The kafirs are attacking our launch sites with missiles. ”

  “And we’re shooting them down,” Kantar replied. “Correct?”

  “We shot some of them down,” Marwan agreed cautiously. “But they’re sending flight-after-flight of cruise missiles. So many we won’t be able to counter them.”

  Kantar head another explosion and winced. “Okay, rally the men. The Allies will attack Aswan city first. Stop them there. I will come as quickly as I can.”

  “Where is the remote?” Marwan demanded. “I need it. We must blow the dam!”

  ‘No,” Kantar said. “Success is within our grasp … Fight, and fight hard. I will be there soon. Over.”

  Kantar turned to the corporal. “Find Mr. Nohas. Tell him I need General Urabi’s helicopter—and I need it now.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  South of Nagaa Al Jami, Egypt

  Man-made lightning flashed, and thunder rolled, as the submarine launched missiles fell. The Allies knew exactly where the Hezbollah-controlled SAM sites were. And, after intercepting six land-attack missiles, the Russian system was rendered toothless. The end came quickly.

  The capability had been there all along. But the Allies couldn’t attack the SAM system until Kantar had been killed, or failing that, well away from the bomb. Because at that point the terrorist would either: A. Have the remote with him, but be unable to trigger the bomb, being out of range, or B. Kantar would have left the device hidden inside the dam.

  In the second case Kantar could reveal the remote’s location to a subordinate, and order that individual to blow the dam, but the experts didn’t think he would.

  A fanatic like Sergeant Boustani would obey Kantar—but what about the rest of them? What would a nuclear device be worth on the black market? Five-million? Fifty-million? A payday like that would be very tempting to some of Kantar’s men.

  So the experts were willing to bet 10-million lives on the proposition that Kantar wouldn’t entrust the remote to anyone else. And based on information supplied by a high-flying reconnaissance drone, the command team knew Kantar was at a desert encampment hundreds of miles to the west, wouldn’t be able to return in anything less than two hours.

  Orders went out and missiles were launched. None of that surprised Kydd as the RCB carried him and a squad of Force Recon marines upriver to the so-called “low” dam.

  What did surprise him was the fact that he and his team were the only people who had been assigned to attack the dam head-on. But, according to the briefing Kydd had attended eight hours earlier, a river-based assault had been ruled out from the beginning.

  “Because boats and barges couldn’t get past the low dam,” Goolsby told the officers, “we knew it would be impossible to deliver our marines to the high dam fast enough to secure it in time. But by sending the convoy up river we kept the enemy focused on that.

  “Meanwhile contractor-driven trucks arrived in Esna a week ago, and stand ready to take our marines to the dam via the Luxor-Aswan highway, located just west of here.”

  That announcement produced chuckles and moans. Goolsby nodded. “I know … It took lots of effort to bring the battalion upriver. But the fake worked. The highway is virtually undefended.

  “Meanwhile, once Hezbollah’s SAM system goes down, a battalion of British Paras will drop into Aswan City and lock the area down.”

  The announcement drew lots of applause because all of them knew that the Paras were among the most elite special forces units in the world. Goolsby nodded. “Yes, I think it’s safe to say that Hezbollah forces in the city will wish they were somewhere else.

  “But that isn’t all. While it’s true that the main attacks will envelope the dam from the west and east, Commander Kydd is going to lead a team upriver. They will do everything in their power to convince Hezbollah that a large force of marines is attacking the dam head-on.”

  “Go navy,” someone said. “Squids rule,” another voice added. “Easy day,” a third marine said. But Kydd never thought the assignment would be “easy.” And now, as the RCB slowed, a difficult task was about to begin. “Standby,” Jones said. “Man the starboard side. Put the fenders over.”

  The helmsman applied a touch of reverse at precisely the right moment. The patrol boat came to a dead stop. Two men made the jump to a concrete breakwater and used lines to pull the RCB in.

  Thirteen-marines were standing in the cockpit. All were armed and carrying heavy packs. Three sailors stood ready as well. Each had a 2.5hp outboard in one hand and a backup fuel container in the other. The team members were equipped with night vision gear, tac vests, and personal radios. “What the hell are you waiting for?” Sergeant Meeks inquired. “A fucking invitation? Deass the boat.”

  The marines grinned. Meeks was a lifer, their squad leader, and a guy who thought he was playing the part of a noncom. Once the marines were ashore he sorted them into patrol order. The sailors fell in forward of the drag slot occupied by Kydd.

  And that made sense. The staff sergeant was more qualified to lead from the front. And, with Kydd in the tail-end-Charlie slot, both halves of the column would have leadership should it be cut in two.

  It was dark but a scattering of streetlights remained on. Meeks followed the top of the breakwater to a path that led past a cluster of trees, across a street, and over a pedestrian causeway. Stairs connected it to the ground.

  Meeks guided the team south to the elevated road that crossed the dam. After passing below it they continued on to the west bank where the lake-sized reservoir was backed up behind the low dam. That’s where the feluccas were. Some were moored close to
shore, while others were tied to buoys, and only accessible by rowboat. “Make a perimeter,” Meeks growled. “And keep the noise down.”

  Confident that Meeks had the defensive situation in hand, Kydd was free to eyeball the feluccas, and to choose ones that met his criteria. He preferred those that were large enough to accommodate six people, made of aluminum rather than wood, and equipped with easy-to-remove pintle-style rudders.

  Second class petty officer Tucker was in charge of the sailors. Kydd motioned him over. “I want that one,” Kydd said, as he pointed to a boat. “Plus that one and that one. Pull the rudders and mount the engines.”

  The sailors went to work and were finished 10-minutes later. The second task was to install homemade sound systems on each boat. “Good work,” Kydd told them. “Let’s have a final radio check. Then we’ll push off.”

  As soon as the radio checks were complete, and the sub-teams were aboard their boats, the engines were started. The outboards had been tuned prior to the mission. But Kydd held his breath until all of them were actually running.

  Each felucca boat was assigned a slightly different route. Kydd’s boat was slated to pass between the mainland and Agilkia Island before heading south past the town of Nagaa Jabal Shishah. Kydd took a quick look around prior to eyeing his watch. They were right on time. The diversion was to start at 2200 hours, followed by the all-out attack at 2300. He opened his mike. “This is One-Six. Execute. Over.”

  Shortly after the one-boat got underway a marine flipped a switch. The sounds of marine engines, overlaid by the rattle of automatic rifle fire, and a series of incomprehensible orders blared from the bow-mounted loudspeaker.

  Then the leatherneck and his buddies began to fire their flare guns. It looked like the 4th of July as the boats launched red, green, and white flares into the night sky. “Dial it down a bit,” Kydd ordered. “Space ’em out. And drop a floater every once in awhile.”

  The so-called “floaters” were empty water bottles attached to waterproof lights. By setting them adrift Kydd hoped to further confuse the Hezbollah fighters.

  And, as his felucca drew abreast of Agilkia Island, Kydd saw a flash of light to port. That was followed by a loud boom and a gout of water up ahead! A cannon? A mortar? It didn’t matter. What did matter was the fact that a Hezbollah weapon was preregistered on the center of the passageway. Kydd had just opened his mouth to give an order, when a second round struck the surface of the water, and exploded not 10-feet away.

  The force of the blast tipped the boat over—and dumped all of them into the water. Kydd started to sink.

  ***

  The Aswan Dam, Egypt

  The 50-foot long fishing boat was named the “Perch,” and it smelled like one. The Perch was anchored on the south side of an uninhabited island, not more than half-a-mile from the high dam. And that, unfortunately, was as close as a boatload of Chinese soldiers could get without being identified.

  The original plan was for Bo and his men to land, force their way into the dam, locate the bomb, disarm it and call for an extraction. But with only eleven-men, all Bo could do was wait for something to break his way. And now it had.

  Or so it seemed as a series of explosions to the west and east signaled what Bo assumed was a missile attack. Not on the dam itself—but the SAM system that protected it.

  Time had passed since then. And, as Bo scanned the top of the dam with a pair of binoculars, flares appeared in the distance. Allied forces were motoring up the Nile. No other explanation made sense.

  So what to do? There were two choices. The first was to wait for the Allied forces to arrive, take control of the dam, and disarm the bomb.

  But what if the Allied force was poorly led? Or what if their experts made a mistake? The bomb would go off—and 10-million people would lose their lives.

  The second possibility was to take his men, row ashore, and attempt an entry. Bo knew that course of action was likely to fail. And get the rest of his men killed.

  But maybe, just maybe, the impending attack would cause so much confusion that Bo and his men would be able to complete their mission.

  Which path would General Leong want him to pursue? The answer was obvious. Bo lowered the binoculars. “Sergeant Chen!”

  The noncom materialized out of the darkness. “Sir!”

  “The men are ready?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Load them into the boat. Leave nothing behind. We won’t be back.”

  A flare went off. It lit Chen’s face. Bo could see the look of understanding reflected in the noncom’s remaining eye. This was it. All or nothing. Chen nodded. “Yes, sir. I’ll tell them.” And with that the sergeant disappeared.

  ***

  North of the Aswan Dam, Egypt

  Kydd was drowning. He kicked, and kicked hard, as the tac vest, pistol, and boots tried to drag him down. A shell exploded nearby … The concussion threatened to force the remaining air out of his lungs. The Type V PFD had inflated by then.

  Kydd gasped for air as his head broke the surface. One arm was reflexively reaching, trying to grab something, before the water swallowed him.

  A hand found Kydd’s wrist. “Got him,” a voice said. “Get a grip on his vest.”

  Suddenly Kydd was being pulled up and over the side of a felucca to collapse at the bottom of it. He coughed and struggled to speak. “The others … Find them.”

  “We have Ford, and Smitty,” a sailor named Clemmons responded. “But Owens and Abbot are missing.”

  Kydd realized that he was in the two-boat. A shell exploded and that caused the boat to rock back and forth. Kydd had a choice … He could order Clemmons to search, and thereby risk the lives of seven men, or tell the sailor to break it off and continue the mission. It was one of the most difficult decisions he had ever been forced to make. “Head south,” Kydd ordered. “Toward the dam. We have a job to do.”

  ***

  West of the Aswan Dam, Egypt

  Kantar was seated in the back of Urabi’s ancient Russian-made Mil Mi-4 transport helicopter. His bodyguards were aboard, as were Urabi’s security men, all armed to the teeth. The warlord was seated upfront next to the pilot. Could Urabi fly the machine? Or did he like to look out through the window? The answer wasn’t clear.

  But one thing was clear … Kantar needed to reach the dam, and reach it quickly. According to the most recent report from Lieutenant Marwan, all of the SAM launchers had been destroyed. And contrary to expectations, the Allies had been able to move boats up onto the reservoir behind the low dam. Now they were motoring south.

  It’s over, Kantar thought. The agreement came too late. Urabi doesn’t realize that yet … So he and his men will fight the kafirs in Aswan City. But not for long. When I detonate the bomb he’ll be swept away! And paradise will be mine.

  The certainty of that made Kantar feel better. Much better. “We’re 10-minutes from the dam,” Urabi announced over the intercom. “We’ll put you right on top of it. Then we’ll proceed to Aswan City, where my men are waiting for me.”

  Kantar laughed. His bodyguards stared at him. Their leader was crazy, and be it for better or for worse, they were along for the ride.

  ***

  The Aswan Dam, Egypt

  After firing more flares Kydd and his men had been on the receiving end of small arms fire from Philae Island, but the identity of the shooters was unknown, and the boats escaped unscathed.

  Then came the open channel that led to the dam. That was when Kydd heard aircraft engines, and the rattle of distant gunfire, as British Paras hit the ground. Explosions followed. And Kydd hoped the bad guys were on the receiving end of whatever was going down.

  There was no further need to fire flares, and every reason not to, as the boats approached the high dam. How many men were waiting for the imaginary invasion force? Kydd knew that “Blue-Bird” was the call sign for a drone operator at Cavallero Air Base in Libya. “One-Six to Blue-Bird. Over.”

  “I read you Six. Over.”
>
  “What, if anything, is waiting for us? Over.”

  “Three-zero tangos are deployed on the peninsula that extends north from the dam. Over.”

  Kydd wasn’t surprised. After motoring straight at the dam, while shooting off fireworks, it would have been strange if no enemy troops had been laying in wait. “Roger that … What kind of support can you give me? Over.”

  “I have a Pred B, with two Hellfires, and two 500lb Paveways still on the racks. Over.”

  Kydd knew that a Pred B was capable of carrying more ordinance than that. A clear indication that his team was second or third on Blue-Bird’s list of things to do. “Let’s save the Hellfires for someone more deserving,” Kydd suggested. “Put both Paveways on the bastards. Over.”

  “I like the way you think,” Bird replied. “Standby. Over.”

  There was a 10-second pause followed by two almost simultaneous flashes of light. The sounds generated by the explosions overlapped. Five-seconds passed. “This is the Bird. At least twenty tangos are down. Over.”

  “Roger that,” Kydd replied. “We’ll tidy up. Thank you. Over.”

  “Okay,” Kydd said over the team freq. “We’re going to land under fire. Take cover and let Corporal Givens earn his pay.”

  “That’ll be the day,” a voice said.

  “Belay the bullshit,” Meeks responded. “Over.”

  A Hezbollah flare went off, lit the peninsula with a whitish glare, and floated gently down. After sustaining heavy casualties the Hez fighters were understandably trigger happy. They opened fire right away.

  That was a mistake. Each muzzle flash was a target for Givens. The sniper was belly- down in the two-boat. He fired as the coxswain ran the felucca up onto the beach. “Tango down,” a voice said, as the second boat arrived.

  Kydd’s assault rifle had been lost but he still had his pistol. Cold water overtopped his boots as he left the felucca and ran a few yards before flopping down beside a dead body. An AK-47 lay next to it. Kydd took the weapon and checked to ensure that it was loaded.