by Carl Bowen
Cross knew that two of his men had been born and raised in New York. So he paused briefly to observe their reactions at the mention of the terrorist group. Jaws were clenched and muscles were stiff, but there were no emotional outbursts. That was good. His men needed to remain calm, even when things hit close to home.
“We almost scooped up the leader, whom we only know as ‘Malik al-Bahar,’” Cross continued, “in a raid on the group’s base of operations in 2005. Somebody tipped them off, though, and the leaders vanished. From what little intel we have on this Malik fella, we know he’s built his operation back up. Lately, he’s been launching attacks in the Indian Ocean and Arabian Sea. He launders ransom money through intermediaries, so we’ve never been able to track him. Efforts to uncover his supply chain haven’t turned up anything, either.”
“So what we’ve got here, men,” Walker said, cutting in, “is a rare opportunity to raid this pirate gang’s new base of operations. And then tear it down once and for all.” He stood to face the men beside Cross as if he were suddenly the one running the briefing.
“Thank you, Chief,” Cross said tightly. “But our first priority is to rescue those hostages. We know where they’re going to be, and the pirates don’t know we know. All other objectives are secondary to that.”
Walker frowned. “If those are your orders —”
“They are,” Cross said. “Now take a seat. We have a lot to get through.”
* * *
Walker had interrupted several more times during the briefing. He seemed more tense and agitated with each interjection. He obviously resented Cross’s leadership.
But now, as they glided through the night sky, Cross saw that Walker was dialed in and focused on the landing point, which was a good thing. The landing point was an island whose sole inhabitants were vicious seaborne killers. They had no respect for international law. They viewed human lives as mere bargaining chips. They had earned the moniker “Sea Demons” in every way.
Cross saw that the landing point was drawing near. He sucked a deep, cleansing breath from his oxygen bottle to clear his mind. It was time to get to work.
Cross’s team left their vertical stack a few hundred yards out from the coast of the pirates’ hidden island. For the rest of the descent, they drifted downward as close together as they could safely manage.
Touching down, most squad members landed on the beach. But Lieutenant Kimiyo Yamashita — an Army Ranger, and the team’s sniper — caught a cross-wind. He came up short, splashing down in the dark water. Sergeant Brighton didn’t touch ground until he passed through the tree line ahead. Initiating noise discipline, Cross signaled the men to gather up their chutes and head into the jungle after Brighton. Cross waited for Yamashita to wriggle out of his jump rigging and swim to shore. Then the two of them followed the others.
Under cover of trees, the men began burying their jump gear. When Brighton finished burying, he lifted his special-issue panoramic night-vision goggles and looked over at Cross. With a grin on his face, Brighton pointed at himself with both thumbs and tilted his head, as if asking: How’d I do? Cross gave him a thumbs-up. Brighton grinned even wider.
Cross then moved toward Chief Walker and signaled that he wanted eyes on the perimeter. Walker nodded curtly and chose three men, a Ranger and two Green Berets, to scan for trouble while the rest of the team set up. The scouts tapped two-way earphones nestled in their right ears to test the signal, then headed into the jungle.
Meanwhile, Yamashita shrugged off his heavy backpack. Brighton helped set it on the ground and carefully wiped the excess moisture off the waterproof case. Then he pulled out a metal suitcase and a tablet computer from the pack. Inside the metal case was a two-stick remote control and a black reconnaissance unmanned aerial vehicle, or UAV. It was about the size of a Roomba robot vacuum cleaner. This UAV was one of a kind, designed and built by Brighton himself. He gently lifted it out of the case as if it were his newborn son.
With a nod from Cross, Brighton turned on the tablet computer and synced it up with the UAV and the controller. With a faint click, Brighton thumbed on the UAV’s engine. Its four internal whisper-quiet propellers came to life and lifted the UAV to eye level, where it hovered steadily. Like a kid with a new toy, Brighton sat cross-legged beneath the UAV with the tablet on his lap. He switched back and forth on the screen for the front and rear views, checking the feeds from the UAV’s cameras. The clarity was perfect.
Brighton raised and lowered the UAV a few feet. Then he made it spin in place one way, then the other. Lastly, he made the UAV glide around the other four soldiers. The device barely made a sound as it hovered a few feet above their heads.
The young combat controller was testing the equipment, but Cross figured Brighton was also showing off a little. So when Brighton looked up at Cross with a grin on his face, Cross held up his wrist and tapped his watch. Brighton got the message.
His grin gone, Brighton sent the UAV up through the trees and out of sight. Carefully, he scanned the area from above. The lookouts hadn’t called in any warnings yet, which led Cross to believe the pirates had no idea his men had arrived. Cross relaxed noise discipline, but radioed his lookouts to stay where they were for the moment.
“Any sign of a radar or sonar setup, Brighton?” Chief Walker asked over his shoulder.
“Not that I can tell, Chief,” Brighton said. His voice was hushed and respectful. “Nothing on this end of the island, anyway.”
Walker glanced up at Cross. “So we could have come in by boat or submersible,” he said. It wasn’t exactly a question. Walker had argued long and hard in the planning phase for a water insertion rather than a HAHO jump.
Brighton noticed the tension between Walker and Cross. “When we get closer, I can take a better look,” he said. “They might have something set up on the far side that I can’t make out from here.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Walker said. “We’re already here. I was just curious.”
Cross made no reply to that. He turned to Brighton. “Bring the UAV back, recharge it, and hide it,” he said. “Let’s go get our eyes on the compound.”
“Sir,” Brighton said with a nod.
“Call the lookouts back in,” Cross said to Walker.
The chief stepped away. With a hand to his ear, he sent the order out via earphone.
* * *
Half an hour later, Cross had moved his team east across the island and closer to the headquarters of the Shayatin al-Bahar. Between binoculars, Brighton’s UAV cameras, and Yamashita’s sniper scope, the team had a good idea of the hideout’s exterior layout. The compound lay within a cliff wall overlooking the northeastern edge of the island. At the top were two concrete structures. One was the pirates’ barracks and mess area. The second was an older single-story longhouse with a wooden watchtower. There was a big halogen spotlight at the top.
The light wasn’t on at the moment, but there was enough room on the tower platform to move and aim it. In the center of the compound lay a concrete slab with a heavy metal hatch in the center. The hatch led into the interior of the cliff, which connected somewhere with a path to the cave that opened out at the shore. A long footpath on a shallow grade led down to the water’s edge from the compound as well.
Brighton’s UAV found the pirates’ mother ship docked just inside the shelter of the cave. The World Food Program vessel had likely been unloaded and shipped off elsewhere for sale on the black market.
“Anybody have eyes on the hostages?” Walker asked, barely whispering. He, Yamashita, and Second Lieutenant Neil Larssen all lay prone. They were on the edge of a ridge that overlooked the compound about a half-mile away.
Yamashita silently scanned the area through the Leupold scope on his M110 sniper rifle. A moment later, he only shook his head. Larssen lowered his binoculars. He said, “I can see shadows moving inside the longhouse. It’s locked and guarded. That
has to be where the hostages are.”
“Probably,” Chief Walker agreed.
Yamashita simply shrugged. He kept scanning the area through his scope. The pirates had bright lights mounted on the longhouse, mess, and barracks. The sniper’s scope didn’t even need its night sights.
Walker slithered away from the ridge. He knelt next to Brighton, who was packing away the UAV. Next to Brighton, Cross swiped through some of the images the UAV had collected on the tablet. “No positive ID on the hostages,” Walker said. “But we think we know where they are.”
“Longhouse?” Cross asked without lifting his eyes from the tablet screen.
“More than likely,” Walker said.
Cross nodded and softly snapped his fingers to get his men’s attention. “Gather ’round,” he said quietly. He laid the tablet on the ground before him. All of the men except Yamashita formed up in a tight circle around the tablet computer. It showed a satellite photo of the island, which Cross pinched and zoomed in on to show the operational area that lay below their current location. He tapped the edge of the image, laying down a red dot. “Okay, we are here. The ridge line’s here.” He traced it. “We’ve counted thirteen hostiles so far. Seven of our ‘Sea Demons’ are here, in the mess hall.”
Cross tapped another section of the map image, which brought up a short video the UAV had taken of the mess and barracks buildings. The buildings had no guards, but the doors and windows were all open. “One sentry with a spotlight, an AK-47, and an RPG, is here,” he said, tapping the appropriate place on the map to mark it. They all watched the UAV’s fly-by footage of the sentry. He looked bored, but was wide awake and had his Russian-made automatic rifle slung at the ready near his shoulder. The rocket-propelled grenade launcher stood on end in the corner of the tower platform.
“Two guards with AKs are on the longhouse door,” Cross tapped another section of the map to show Brighton’s high-angle footage. When the map reappeared, he circled part of the cleared area between the team’s hiding spot and the pirate compound. When he tapped that area, footage appeared of a pair of men walking side by side around the compound. “Two mobile sentries on the perimeter. Armed with AKs. Probably radios. Guard on the tower has one, too.”
Cross brought up more footage. “No guards on the path down the long way around the cliff, but they’ve got at least one man on the boat,” Cross said. “No sign of how extensive the cave system is beyond their hidden harbor, but there could be at least one stairway up from below.” Cross stood up and tapped his earphone. “Is there any activity on that hatch, Yamashita?”
“Nobody’s gone in or out,” came Yamashita’s quiet reply through the team’s earpieces.
“Then here’s the plan,” Cross said. “Yamashita, stay where you are for overwatch. Paxton, you’ll spot for him.”
“Sir,” both men said.
“Williams, you’re coming with me,” Cross ordered. “We’ll get into the longhouse and check the status of the hostages.”
“Sir,” the team’s corpsman said.
“Walker, you’ll take Brighton, Shepherd, and Larssen with you,” Cross said. “I want you to flush the seven off-duty pirates into the mess and subdue them.”
“Should we try to take them prisoner?” Walker asked.
Cross’s face took on a grim look. “It’s not a priority,” he said. Part of him hoped the pirates would simply drop their weapons when they saw armed men storming their compound. But that wasn’t very likely. “Use your best judgment.”
“Got it,” Walker said, pleased with the response.
“What about the sentries?” Yamashita asked from his overwatch vantage point.
“You’ll take out the tower man on my signal,” Cross said. Then he looked at Walker. “The Chief and I will deal with the ground lookouts before we split up. Yamashita, I’ll signal you again when we’re ready to take out the lights. Then I’ll neutralize the guards on the longhouse to draw the others’ attention.”
Cross turned to face Walker. “When the pirates come running, that’s your fireteam’s cue,” he said to Walker. “We’ll regroup when you’ve got your side sewn up and Williams has confirmed that the hostages are safe.”
Walker nodded.
“Everybody clear?” Cross asked.
“Hoorah,” the squadron responded as one. They said it quietly, but with confidence.
Ever so slowly, Cross and Walker crawled on their bellies across the exposed ground toward the pirates’ compound. The wet tropical heat was nearly unbearable. Insects Cross had never even heard of treated them like a buffet table. Within minutes, the two men were covered with itching bug bites. But all the two men could do was ignore the discomfort. Any sudden or quick movements could result in a barrage of automatic rifle fire. The name of the game was patience.
After what seemed like an eternity, Walker and Cross crawled to within a dozen yards of the patrolling sentries without any alarm going off. The sentries looked at ease and relaxed. They had no idea what was coming.
With a twitch of his finger, Cross signaled Walker to halt. Behind them, Williams, Brighton, Shepherd, and Larssen all stopped as well. As the unaware sentries chatted with each other in Somali, Cross tightened his grip on his black tactical knife. Walker readied a well-used but razor-sharp KA-BAR blade that looked older than he was. When the sentries passed, Cross tapped his earphone twice, signaling Yamashita.
Then Cross popped up behind the sentries from his prone position. Walker sprang to his feet at the same time. Lightning quick, the two of them pounced on the sentries. Cross and Walker dragged their targets down, then silenced them with their blades. Quietly, carefully, they dragged their targets out of sight.
At the same moment, Lieutenant Yamashita squeezed off a single round from his M110 sniper rifle. The weapon’s suppressor hid the muzzle flare and reduced the sound of the shot to a whisper. On the watchtower, the sentry sat down hard in the corner, then slumped over on his side.
“Tower clear,” came Yamashita’s voice through Cross’s earpiece.
“Perimeter clear,” Cross said, barely loud enough for the earphone to register. “Confirm?”
“Confirmed,” Paxton, Yamashita’s spotter, replied. “No one from the compound appears to be aware of our presence.”
Cross and Walker nodded to each other as they cleaned their blades on the backs of the sentries’ jackets. They returned their knives to their sheaths and then produced their suppressor-equipped M4 carbine rifles.
With Williams in tow, Cross moved parallel to the length of the pirate compound until the guards on the longhouse were cut off from sight. Meanwhile, Walker led Brighton, Shepherd, and Larssen in the opposite direction. They took up strategic positions around the pirates’ mess and barracks. As the four of them got ready, Cross and Williams made their way around the darkened rear of the longhouse. They crept through the shadows toward the two men guarding the hostages. Cross moved inside first, keeping Williams hidden in the darkness.
Cross tapped his earphone, signaling Yamashita. “Ready, Commander,” Yamashita’s voice replied through the earpiece. “On your signal.”
Cross took a deep breath. He tried to swallow down the excitement as adrenaline coursed through his veins. He took a second breath. Then a third. Centering himself, Cross crept up to the corner of the longhouse and tapped his earphone twice more to give Yamashita the signal. A split-second later, a pinpoint-accurate shot from Yamashita’s rifle took out the outdoor light mounted on the face of the longhouse.
None of the pirates heard the shot itself, but the sound of the light fixture shattering into a million pieces definitely caught their attention. A second and third shot in quick succession took out the lights over the mess and barracks. The guards bolted up from their chairs waving their AK-47s back and forth wildly, trying to locate the threat. Other pirates nearby scrambled into frantic activity.
As pi
eces from the shattered lights rained down, Cross was already coming around the corner. One of the longhouse guards had his back to Cross.
A three-round burst from Cross’s silenced carbine struck the pirate between his shoulder blades. The man fell dead into the arms of his compatriot. Their weapons were trapped between them for a crucial, fatal instant.
The second guard had heard the first set of muffled shots, but hadn’t realized what was happening before his partner had collapsed. Cross opened fire with a second burst. The bullets caught the guard in the chest and dropped him lifeless to the ground. Neither man had so much as cocked his weapon.
Their deaths, however, hadn’t gone unnoticed. The eight guards who remained at sea level saw the lights blow out, followed by a fully armed man darting into their midst from the darkness. Although caught off guard by the suddenness of the attack, they were at least well trained enough to react like soldiers rather than frightened rats. None of them had their AK-47s in hand, but several of them carried pistols strapped to their hips. Several pirates drew and raised them to open fire.
Bullets whizzed through the air, digging into the ground and splintering the wall of the longhouse all around Cross. But Cross hadn’t stopped moving. He launched around a corner and dove for cover around the far side of the building. He rolled into a patch of shadow, but the startled pirates quickly closed in on his position.
Their quick and well-trained reactions, however, just put the pirates in more danger. They hadn’t realized they were dealing with more than one man. As they advanced on Cross’s position with weapons raised, Walker and his three-man team opened fire.
