The compound, which operated under the covering of the CIA Annex in Yemen’s capital city of Sana’a, lay situated on the southern outskirts of Aden and served to profile and locate high-level threats returning to Yemen from Iraq, Afghanistan, and Syria. Just a year prior, the port city had overflowed with culture and vibrancy, despite the civil war raging in the north, but the war had finally reached it and left it scarred and broken.
Natalie funneled through a potential list of fighters returning to the country. On a large white board behind her, a list of names, most with identifying photographs, highlighted the highest priorities. Under orders from Donald Mills, the Chief of Station in Sana’a who oversaw all CIA operations in Yemen, Natalie and her team established their small operation. In collaboration with the Department of Defense and Naval Special Warfare Command, which was the naval component of SOCOM, the CIA requested SEAL Team 3 and Special Boat Team 20 be deployed to the 5th Fleet in anticipation of Natalie’s findings. Of all the names, one held her obsession.
Isaam al-Amiri.
That name had sparked the entire intelligence mission in the city, and Natalie, as an operations officer, had proven herself fully capable of managing the compound and leading the search for the terrorist. After word came from agency sources in Afghanistan that al-Amiri had returned to the city of his birth, the CIA had jumped at the opportunity to nail him. As one of bin Laden’s right-hand men, al-Amiri was currently the highest priority issued from the Chief of Station in Sana’a. Other orders persisted and those targets would not be neglected, but the opportunity to bag one of the men responsible for 9/11 and countless other acts of terror was to be prioritized.
Perhaps Natalie’s Uncle Vic, her mother’s brother, would rest easier in his grave if al-Amiri left the land of the living. Having perished during the second tower’s collapse, a place he wasn’t even supposed to be, Natalie had felt his loss more than her own father’s. Uncle Vic was a partner at a contract law firm in San Francisco, and when one of his employees had requested vacation, he had stepped in to fulfill her duties in New York, despite it being below his corporate standing. Natalie smiled at the thought. It was like him to step in for others. She held no doubt he had died trying to save as many people as possible.
Natalie remembered watching the 9/11 attacks in her health class as a sophomore in high school. She still felt the eyes of her classmates as she broke down sobbing. When she watched that second tower fall, she knew her uncle had died. Still, she had hoped he made it. For weeks, she held out for a phone call, but now his name lay engraved on the 9/11 Memorial in New York City.
Raised by her mother after her father, a Naval Aviator, had died in a training accident off the coast of Hawaii, Natalie had always considered her uncle as more of a father than the man that gave her life. Her mother never remarried, and so Uncle Vic had stepped in to fill the role, even after having six children himself. His death was the reason she had joined the Navy and now served as an operations officer in the CIA.
Commotion in the yard stole her attention. She sighed. Why were they so disruptive? She looked through the window, Quinn and Becker sprinted toward their housing unit shouting and pointing. Other security quickly followed.
“What is going on?” she asked herself as she moved closer to the window for a better look. A few moments passed, and Natalie waited. Quinn, Becker, and the other security contractors poured out onto the yard dressed in full battle gear and toting their weapons.
Natalie dropped the report on her desk and pushed through the French doors leading from her office into the main living room, which had been converted into an intelligence floor.
“Someone tell me what’s going on!” she shouted as she moved toward the building’s exit. A young man fell in line next to her.
“A Marine Corps helicopter was just shot down over the western part of the city,” Bryon Tyler explained. Her heart pounded through her chest at the news, but Natalie squared her jaw and nodded. She burst through the door leading to the yard, Bryon in tow. “What else you got, Bryon?” she asked.
“Nothing more, it’s going to take time to obtain more intel,” he replied.
“How long?”
“I don’t know. Ten minutes?” came his reply. Natalie sighed. Ten minutes was too long, and Byron knew it too.
“Hale!” a man shouted as he sprinted across the yard. She was already facing him. His men piled into the three Land Rovers as he headed her way. “I need eyes in the sky,” he stated urgently. He threw a thumb over his shoulder toward his men. “We can get to them,” Scott Lincoln added. He was a former Ranger, 2nd Battalion.
“You know as well as I that we don’t have any operational authority in this,” Hale answered.
“To hell with that!” he retorted.
“If you go, you leave this compound undefended, and if you get stuck out there, no one can come for you,” she added. “I’ve got people getting in touch with SOCOM. I can update you when I know more.” He cooled almost immediately.
“I’d appreciate that,” Lincoln replied. “Depending on where they are, I can get to them in thirty minutes to an hour.” Natalie nodded her understanding, realizing that they could reach the Marines far more quickly than SEAL Team 3 or anyone else. However, their actions could compromise the secrecy of the compound.
“We’ll get what we can for you,” Natalie said. She turned and headed back inside her building. Lincoln watched her go and didn’t protest. He knew going blind into a combat situation was a surefire way to wind up dead.
The door behind Natalie slammed shut, and she cast her gaze over the various desks that littered the main floor. This would make or break her future. She wasn’t Chief of Station, so she possessed no authority to send assistance, but it didn’t matter. Lincoln was determined to go. She had seen that much in his eyes. Still, the wrong decision could end her career. Marines were in danger, if she could, she would give Lincoln the go, but as a former Naval Intelligence Officer, she was not going to send men into the field without some form of support.
• • •
“What happened?” Bateman shouted to the mass of Marines working tirelessly at their stations. Shaw kept his arms folded against his chest as he watched the ordeal. The pit that formed in his stomach prompted him to action, but first he needed information. Unfortunately, information took time. He watched Bateman as he navigated the labyrinth of workstations.
“We lost Saber Two,” a Marine responded. Shaw stiffened. Wyatt, Reyes, and York were all on Saber Two. Thousands of miles away, Shaw fought against the wave of helplessness that crashed against him. He looked into his future and shuddered. How could he stand by while the fight continued?
“Where did that come from?” Bateman asked the Marine.
“It appears to be surface-to-air weaponry,” she replied. Bateman rose from his hunched position behind her chair.
“In Yemen?” Dumfounded he turned to Shaw. The grave expression he received appeared almost threatening. He turned back around. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s get our boys out of there.”
“Aye, sir,” came the multiple replies of his subordinates.
“Lieutenant,” a Marine called. Bateman turned his attention her way.
“What is it, Cobb?”
“I’ve got a line to CIA personnel on the ground in Aden,” Sergeant Haley Cobb replied.
“A line from where?” he asked in disbelief.
“SOCOM,” she replied.
“Put me through,” Bateman ordered. He donned a headset and waited for the connection. As Shaw watched, his muscles coiled and his entire body urged him to spring into action, but again he wrestled back control. “This is Lieutenant Bateman. Who am I speaking to?”
“This is Operations Officer Abby Washington. Lieutenant, we’ve got a team ready to get to your Marines.” Bateman’s eyebrows hit the ceiling. What are the odds? “We’re requesting any assistance you can render.”
“Understood, Washington. Hang tight.” Bateman covered the mi
c with his hand and issued an order to patch the drone feeds and pilot access through their connection. The Marines under his command did just that. “Washington, I’m sending you access to our drone feeds and putting you in touch with the pilot, callsign Cheerleader.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant. We’ll keep this line open,” Abby stated. Bateman kept the headset on and again turned back to look at his guest. The countenance painted across the Raider’s face sent shudders coursing through his body.
• • •
“I want everyone working on the downed Marine craft. What have we got so far?” Natalie shouted over the rushed buzz of working field officers.
“A MQ-9 Reaper is in the air from Camp Lemonnier,” Abby answered. “ETA thirty minutes. We’ve been put through to a Lieutenant Bateman. He’s connected us with the drone feeds and granted us access to the drone pilot.”
“Good,” Natalie answered. That moved more quickly than she could have ever hoped. “Someone get me linked up with Lincoln’s team.” Another team member, Rachel Lewis, hastily approached and handed Natalie a radio and earpiece. Natalie quickly donned the equipment. Playing the middleman between a team on the ground and support personnel stateside was not ideal, but it was as good as they could manage with such a short window of opportunity.
“Lincoln, this is Hale, over.”
“I read you, Hale. Go ahead,” came Lincoln’s reply.
“We’ve got a Reaper in the air. ETA thirty mikes.”
“Good copy,” came his reply.
“Standby for actionable intel.”
“Got the engines running,” he replied. Natalie turned to Bryon.
“Get me a line to those Marines,” she instructed.
5
Wyatt’s eyes opened, and he blinked rapidly to clear his bleary vision. His hands hung toward the ground. He coughed and glanced around. Everything seemed so strange. His head throbbed and ached as his awareness grew.
He was upside down.
The Raider’s hands found and unfastened his harness, and he fell the short way to the ceiling. He rolled onto his back before sitting up. He adjusted his helmet, and, as the excess blood left his head, his vision finally cleared. Next to him Kathryn’s arms dangled to the ceiling, and across from him York hung as he had. He rushed first to Kathryn’s side, and his hands worked to unfasten her harness. She fell into his arms, and he brushed the loose hair from her face and checked for a pulse. It was strong. He checked her over for blood, but she was clean. He set her down and moved toward York. He came to right as Wyatt arrived.
“Hey man, you alright?” Wyatt asked. York glanced around wide-eyed before locking in on Wyatt. His face was covered in dust and dirt, and blood dripped from a small cut high on his cheek. “You with me?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” York replied.
“Good, I’m going to check on the rest of us.” York nodded and went to work on his harness.
Wyatt crouched and continued through the fuselage. His eyes snapped to one of the NGO reps, the woman Kathryn had conversed with when Wyatt had first laid eyes on her. The middle-aged woman hung limp in her seat, her head dangling in a way it shouldn’t. Her eyes stared blankly past him. Wyatt didn’t need to check for a pulse. The impact had broken her neck.
The Marine looked away and checked on Reyes. He was okay, and Wyatt helped him out of his harness. Of the seven Marine Raiders in the helicopter, only three had survived. Master Sergeant Beasley’s countenance appeared peaceful, as if he slept, but Wyatt knew otherwise. He pushed the assaulting emotions aside and checked on the pilots. A quick glance at one pilot told Wyatt all he needed to know, but the other cried out in pain. A metal shard protruded from her side, but she had managed to free herself from her seat. Tears streamed down her face, and she gripped Wyatt’s arm firmly as he neared.
“Hey, you’re alright, Lieutenant,” he said warmly. She tried to offer him a smile, but another wave of pain rolled over her. Her mouth was clear of blood, which was a good sign. “Think you can walk?” he asked. She didn’t answer, but instead attempted to steady her feet beneath her. Wyatt helped her up and guided her out of the craft.
It was the first time he had exited the helicopter since the crash. The pilots had done well given the circumstances. They stood within a courtyard off a wide road, and Wyatt noted where the initial collision had occurred. They had rolled a long way. The helicopter had come to a stop just before crashing into what was perhaps an apartment building. The entrance to the building lay accessible only through the fuselage. Surrounded by blocky buildings with flat roofs, Wyatt sought a defensible position.
“Saber One, do you read me?” Wyatt said, accessing his radio by squeezing the push-to-talk device fixed on his plate carrier.
“Affirmative, Saber Two. What’s your status?” came Neeman’s reply.
“Numerous casualties including two of the three civilians,” Wyatt answered.
“Good copy, we’re still overhead. Coming around for a visual.” Wyatt set the pilot down and leaned her against the craft. He glanced back at York who looked after Kathryn. She had awakened, and she seemed surprisingly calm given their situation. Wyatt was relieved he didn’t have a hysterical civilian on his hands. Reyes knelt next to him, carbine at the ready. He glanced up as the other helicopter soared overhead.
“We’ve got eyes on you,” Neeman began. “Hang tight and we’ll … ” The line died as the helicopter exploded. Fiery debris flung outward in all directions, the smoke trail from the missile visible against the blue sky. As the burning fuselage plummeted toward them, Wyatt threw himself on the wounded pilot. The helicopter crashed not fifty meters away.
“Reyes, stay here. York, on me!” Wyatt shouted. The two Marines sprinted toward the wreckage. The chances were slim, but there just might be survivors in need of medical attention. As they neared, the fuel tank ruptured, and another explosion shot upward. The concussive force launched Wyatt and York off their feet. Black smoke billowed from the wreckage.
Wyatt groaned as he sat up. He stared at the wreckage in disbelief before shifting his gaze to meet York’s dazed countenance. As anger and pain welled within him, Wyatt did his best to suppress the volatile emotions. He needed a clear head.
He was now in charge.
• • •
“Just confirmed, a second helicopter just went down,” Bryon told Natalie as he moved to her side. Her expression hardened.
“Where’s that UAV?” she asked.
“Five minutes out,” came his reply. She nodded and hailed Lincoln on the radio.
“We’ve got another helo down. UAV is five mikes out,” she said.
“Good copy, we can see the smoke to the west of us. We’re Oscar Mike,” came Lincoln’s reply. Natalie glanced out the window to see the three Range Rovers pull away. She knew each vehicle currently carried two people, and she hoped there would be enough room for the survivors.
“Alright, Bryon, let’s get that UAV feed up on the big screen,” Natalie instructed. Bryon nodded. “And let’s inform Chief Mills.”
“You sure?” Bryon asked. Sometimes it was better to ask for forgiveness rather than permission, but he saw in her eyes that she intended to do neither. She nodded and watched as he returned to his workstation. Natalie pinched the bridge of her nose and exhaled; the next five minutes would span an eternity.
• • •
Shaw’s eyes rimmed with tears as Bateman slowly removed his headset. Shaw had heard the radio communication between Wyatt and Neeman, and Bateman’s reaction confirmed Shaw’s suspicions. He attempted to suppress the anger welling up within him but failed. He flipped the table next to him, sending the coffee maker, its contents, and stacks of paper flying. The commotion drew all eyes.
“Captain!” Bateman shouted, mustering courage to confront the dangerous man. Shaw, face flushed, met his gaze. His chest heaved, and he ignored the pain of his healing wounds. He hissed through a forceful exhale and watched as Bateman donned the headset and turned back aroun
d.
Wyatt had survived the crash, he and two others. Radio communication would confirm who had made it and who had not. Every fiber within Shaw compelled him to Yemen, but the conflicting force of helplessness warred against it.
“Is the Navy sending in the SEALs?” Shaw asked Bateman. The man didn’t respond. Shaw repeated himself louder, “Are they sending in the SEALs?” Bateman turned, and the look of defeat splattered across his face confirmed Shaw’s fears.
“No, Command says they can’t risk losing the entire team,” Bateman replied. “The 13th MEU is being mustered, but they won’t move until that drone is overhead.” Anger burned within Shaw.
“We have to save them!” Shaw shouted. Bateman didn’t back down.
“I invited you here out of respect, but now I think it is best if you leave,” Bateman firmly stated. Unlike the general population within the Marine Corps, MARSOC Marines, although they yielded to rank, submitted also to expertise. Deep down, Shaw knew there was nothing he could do standing in that room. He swallowed his pride.
“Do what you can,” Shaw pleaded.
“I will,” Bateman promised. Shaw believed the conviction behind his eyes and offered him a brief nod before leaving the room. The Raider held his stomach as he marched down the hall and back outside. He didn’t know if it was his wound or his emotions that stirred the pain within him. Shaw burst through the door leading outside and gasped for breath. Sweat clung to his face and neck, and he bent over to fight off the pain. He rose to his full height and inhaled the coastal air. His anger simmered, and his mind raced.
Saber Down Page 4
