[SSI 02] Prometheus's Child

by Harold

  Terry Keegan nudged him. “Like Teddy Roosevelt said, Why spoil the beauty of the thing with legality?”

  * * * *

  44

  AOZOU STRIP

  The mine was a welter of noise and activity. As the mercenaries alit from their Land Rover, they were approached by the foreman.

  “Jean Djimesta,” Etienne reintroduced the African to Hurtubise.

  “Mr. Djimesta.” Hurtubise slung his FA-MAS rifle from his right shoulder, muzzle down. He had already chambered the first round of 5.56mm ammunition from the twenty-five-round magazine. Deladier did likewise; both had carried the compact bullpup design in the Legion.

  The Chadian raised a hand and gestured behind him. “We are proceeding as fast as possible,monsieur.” He anticipated the Frenchman’s concern, adding, “We should be able to load the first truck before sunrise. The second perhaps two hours later.”

  Hurtubise nodded; it was better than he expected. “We can expect uninvited guests before dawn. Keep the men working.”

  Before Djimesta could reply, Hurtubise turned away and strode toward the perimeter. His colleagues followed.

  “Paul, I want you to go with the first truck. Stay with it until it’s ready to leave. You know the procedure at the border?”

  “Yes,” Deladier said. “Moungar already gave us the details.”

  “All right.” He turned to Stevin. “Etienne, you will remain in command of perimeter defense. But I need you sober, you understand?”

  The Belgian ignored the implication, unflappable as usual. “What do you think they’ll hit us with, Boss?”

  Hurtubise rubbed his chin. He needed a shave but hardly registered that fact. “I’m not sure they’ll come in shooting. I think they’ll make a show of force to make us back down without a fight. I wish we had more heavy weapons, but there’s no time to bring them up here. Anyway, I’ll talk to the men in a little while, but be sure they all understand: no shooting unless we’re attacked. If we need to slow them down so the trucks can get away, I’ll give that word. After that it’s up to you again.” He gave Stevin an unaccustomed pat on the arm.

  Good of you to die for me, mon ami. That’s what you seem to want.

  Deladier asked, “What are they likely to bring?”

  “I don’t think they’ll have APCs or anything like that. Probably they’ll arrive in trucks. Maybe a few helicopters. But they won’t pursue us into Libya, that’s for sure.”

  Stevin chuckled aloud. “We can handle a chopper or two.”

  * * * *

  45

  BARDAI AIRPORT

  Steve Lee found himself functioning as a company commander again. It had been several years, but he relished the challenge.

  In a large tent erected well clear of the flight line, he described the plan to his unit: the first platoon plus the SSI team and some support personnel. He spoke slowly and clearly, allowing J. J. Johnson to translate for the Chadians.

  “First platoon is the assault element. Second platoon will provide the blocking force and perimeter security.” He described a semicircle around the entrance to the mine and a roadblock to the north. “We will use both helos: one to lift a squad to overtake any vehicle that gets past the roadblock, the other to insert a second squad as a reaction force, wherever it might be needed.”

  In the orange-yellow glow of the suspended lights, he indicated where he wanted the Alouettes positioned at the moment of the assault. He glanced at Terry Keegan and Eddie Marsh; both seemed attentive and composed.

  “Now this is important,” Lee stressed. He paused longer than necessary after Johnson said, “C’est important.”

  “No one will open fire, even if we are fired upon, unless we take casualties.” Lee awaited the expected murmur of protest from the Chadians. “I repeat: this is important. We want to secure the mine as quickly as possible. If we have to shoot our way in, that gives the smugglers time to get away, possibly with some yellow cake. That’s why we want a blocking force in position, but we cannot assume it will stop everybody trying to escape.”

  When Johnson finished elaborating, Lee continued. “We want to intimidate the guards into surrendering. Therefore, we will not return fire if they merely shoot in our direction. When we close with them, if they’re still shooting, either I or Mr. Johnson will give the order. Is that clear?”

  “Est-ce clairement?”

  Resentful nods and assents came from the audience.

  “Now,” Lee continued. “Once we’ve secured the facility, Mr. Langevin will be in charge. You will take orders from him, especially in regard to any uranium ore, yellow cake, or equipment. If everything goes well, we can pack up and return to the capital day after tomorrow.”

  Keegan and Marsh exchanged knowing glances. Never freakin’ happen.

  Marsh raised a hand. “Sir, how do we know the yellow cake won’t be taken out tonight?”

  Lee assumed a relaxed posture. “We don’t, Mr. Marsh. That’s why Sergeant Nissen and three troopies are watching the roads in and out of there. They left right after we landed. If they see suspicious activity, they’ll call us and both you gentlemen will hustle up there with five Chadians apiece.” He grinned ironically. “Sorry, but you may not get much sleep tonight.”

  Keegan appreciated the plan if not the specifics. “What will the rest of you do in that case, sir?”

  “We’ll man up the trucks and be there in about three-zero mikes.” He looked around. “Yes, Sergeant Bawoyeu.”

  The Chadian NCO asked, “Qu’est connu au sujet des gardes? Sontelles les combattants exp é rim é nts? “

  Johnson translated: “What do we know about the guards? Are they experienced fighters?”

  Lee responded, “That’s a fair question. We don’t know exactly how many are up there—maybe twelve to twenty. Since they presumably work for Groupe FGN, we can assume they know what they’re doing. Probably several of them are ex-Foreign Legion. But we outnumber them and we’ll have some degree of surprise.”

  Lee consulted his briefing notes, checking off each item. “Oh, yes: prisoner handling. Everybody there will be disarmed and searched. But it should be done professionally, with a minimum of force. Actually, they’re not prisoners, just detainees. If they don’t resist us, they’re not liable to prosecution. So we’ll keep them in a secure area until things settle down.

  “Lastly: casualty treatment. We have a Green Beret medic with us as well as two Chadian corpsmen. The Air Force has part of a combat control team and some PJs on one of the Hercs, and those folks will establish an aid station on board the airplane. If we have to, we can use one of the choppers for a med-evac.”

  He looked around again. “Anything else?”

  When no ore responded, Lee gave a brisk nod. “Very well, gentlemen. Unless something pops tonight, we arrive at the mine ten minutes past daybreak.”

  * * * *

  46

  BORKOU-ENNEDI-TIBESTI PREFECTURE

  “Trucks are coming from the south. Maybe three kilometers out, moving fast.” Etienne Stevin’s voice was urgent, slightly slurred.

  Marcel Hurtubise rolled off his cot and scooped up his FA-MAS. He glanced at his watch: about two hours’ sleep. “Paul?”

  Stevin shook his head. “What?”

  Hurtubise gritted his teeth in frustration. The realization struck him: Stevin had been drinking last night. Of all times! He modulated his voice. “I asked about Paul, you oaf! Where is he?”

  “Oh. I think he’s still with the first truck. You wanted him to stick with it, didn’t you?”

  “All right. You meet our guests. Don’t shoot if you don’t have to, but give us time to get going.” He held Stevin’s gaze to emphasize the importance. “You understand?”

  Stevin nodded, dropped the tent flap, and disappeared. Hurtubise was angry: with his deputy, with the workers, with the equipment, with himself. Just thirty more minutes and we would have been away from here!

  He stepped outside, seeing the gray hues of dawn stretc
hing across the barren landscape. He stopped for a moment, reviewing his dispositions. Full alert: sixteen men awake and fully armed. Five at the front gate with Etienne, four more a hundred meters back to provide fire support. Three positioned at the north gate to defend the exit, two each with the trucks. He would have liked another section at the exit gate, since the Americans were likely to attempt an end-around, but he needed most of his force to slow the attack along the main axis of advance.

  Hurtubise took the spare Range Rover, cranked the engine, and coaxed its 2.4 liters into life. With his rifle and kit bag beside him, he stepped on the gas and sped for the quarry.

  * * * *

  In the back of the lead truck, two SSI operators accompanied Bernard Langevin and eight Chadian troopers. As the Renault sped toward the mine, Langevin looked at his nearest companion, the man known as Breezy. He had his eyes shut as he seemed to inhale deeply, hold his breath, and expel it.

  On the opposite side, Bosco caught the scientist’s eye. He gave a knowing grin.

  “What’s he doing?” Langevin asked.

  “It’s called the count of four. You inhale on a four count, hold it for four, and exhale for four. Do that four times. It’s, like, a relaxation technique.”

  “Does it work?”

  Breezy opened his eyes. “It’s my pre-combat routine, Doc. Lowers the heart rate, gets more oxygen into the blood.” He regarded the nuclear specialist. “Give it a try.”

  “Well, I . . .”

  Lee opened the flap separating the bed from the cab. “Line of departure, gentlemen! Lock and load!”

  * * * *

  Terry Keegan knew something would go wrong; it always did. He did not expect it to be communications.

  Inbound at two hundred feet, he banked his Alouette to clear the uranium mine, lest the operators assume he was a threat. He intended to hover nearby while the truck convoy confronted the gate guards, leaving Eddie Marsh to handle contingencies. But moments before the first truck squealed to a stop, Keegan lost contact with Marsh.

  Beside him, Charles Haegelin played with the unfamiliar radio set. After twisting the knobs for volume and gain without avail, he shifted frequencies—still no success. “It is no good,” the French Canadian mechanic conceded. “I can do nothing in the air. Maybe if we landed . . .”

  Keegan shook his head. “We can’t do that, Charles. Not until I know how things are going down there. Otherwise our troopies might be out of position if we need ‘em.” He nodded over his shoulder, indicating the five Chadian soldiers behind him.

  “Can you still talk to Major Lee?”

  “Yeah. I ran a comm check on the way in. But I can’t talk directly to Eddie.” He thought for a moment. “If I have to, I could relay a message to him via the ground team.”

  Haegelin shrugged. “Well, he knows what to do.”

  * * * *

  Paul Deladier heard the warning shouts, saw Hurtubise’s Range Rover speeding toward him, and discerned helicopters in the distance. He did not need to await more information. He nudged his driver, a former caballero legionario of the Spanish Legion.“Allez, allez!” The mercenary, who had grown up in the Pyrenees, was fluent in French and Spanish. He put the Mercedes-Benz Axor in gear and, pulling a semi van, headed for the northern exit.

  * * * *

  Etienne Stevin’s experienced eyes were bleary but they took in the rapidly developing situation. Three trucks deployed within fifty meters of the entrance, disgorging two trucks worth of troops. He realized that whoever commanded the operation was an experienced soldier.

  Three men advanced toward the gate: a white and two Africans. Two carried rifles, muzzles down; the white man bore no visible weapons.

  “Bonjour,” the apparent leader greeted Stevin. The man introduced himself as Dr. Bernard Langevin, producing identification from the International Atomic Energy Agency. “We wish to inspect this facility,” the American said. He added something about authority of the United Nations and the Chadian government, indicating his nearest black colleague who in fact was Sergeant Major Bawoyeu. However, the introductions were drowned out by the passage of a second helicopter orbiting overhead.

  From the center truck Steve Lee looked up, growing impatient with the flier’s antics. He approved Keegan’s cautious approach, hovering menacingly in the distance, but Eddie Marsh seemed to be pushing his orders. Lee keyed his microphone. “Beanie Two from Grunt One.”

  “Beanie here. Go.” Marsh’s voice was light and chipper on the UHF frequency.

  “Back off, Beanie. You’re bothering the locals. Over.”

  Marsh responded with two mike clicks, lowered his nose, and moved off to the northeast.

  Langevin took advantage of the momentary interruption while Stevin watched the Alouette depart. Though not trained as an operator, the scientist recognized a well-planned position: two machine guns placed for mutual support with riflemen on the flanks. But he was certain that the defenders had not shown him everything.

  Addressing the senior guard again, Langevin repeated his demand. “We are here to inspect the facility. May we enter?”

  The Belgian mercenary remained calm. “I have no objection, monsieur, but I shall have to check with my commandant. Please wait.”

  Langevin watched the burly guard walk past the gate, taking his time en route wherever he was going. “He’s stalling,” the American said to Bawoyeu.

  As if in confirmation, Marsh was back on the radio. “Be advised, there’s a truck and trailer headed for the north gate!”

  Lee was monitoring the channel. “Beanie Two, are there any other vehicles?”

  After a short interval, Marsh replied, “Affirmative. Another truck and semi and a couple of SUVs. One is headed for the parked truck. Over.”

  Lee visualized the developing situation. Time mattered now more than ever. “Beanie Two, keep an eye on the mover. Break break. Grunt Four, copy?”

  Chris Nissen’s baritone snapped back. “Copy, One. We’re in position, over.”

  “Ah, roger, Four. Do what you have to but stop that truck.”

  “Affirm. Out.”

  Satisfied that Nissen’s squad would handle the northern roadblock, Lee set down the microphone on his command set. Then he checked his portable radio and leaned out of the door. He made a circular motion with one hand, signaling the deployed squads to advance on the perimeter. J. J. Johnson caught the sign and directed the maneuver element. With that, Lee nodded for his driver to head for the gate.

  Above and behind him, Breezy pushed the canvas tarp aside to deploy a bipoded HK-21, leaning into the 7.62 machine gun and trying to steady it on the roof of the cab.

  * * * *

  Marcel Hurtubise grasped the emerging confrontation. Ruefully he sped past the second Mercedes, not quite half full of yellow cake. Briefly he considered driving the truck himself to salvage more of his end user’s product, but he dismissed the option. Paul will need some support. He braked to a stop, urged two of his reaction squad to jump in, and resumed his northward dash.

  * * * *

  Etienne Stevin labored under many human frailties. Some would say most of them, but he was nothing if not loyal. That sense of camaraderie mixed with the cognac he had consumed now conspired to produce a mental binary. Deep in the recesses of his memory he heard the measured strains of “Le Boudin” and grasped the essential rightness of it all. Outnumbered, beset by desert enemies beyond the gate, surrounded by his fellows: this was how a Legionnaire died!

  Sensing the helicopter threat to Deladier’s truck, the Belgian tossed aside a tarp and picked up a Mistral missile launcher. It was one of three stashed within the compound.

  Stevin had not fired a man-portable SAM in several years, but he knew the drill.

  Hefting its nineteen kilograms, Steven settled the loaded launcher on his right shoulder. He tracked the Alouette in his sight, pressed the enabling switch to activate the homer, and held his breath. In seconds he was rewarded with the light confirming that the missile’s
seeker head was tracking a heat source within range.

  He pressed the firing button.

  Inside the launcher, the booster motor ejected the missile with an impulse lasting less than half a second. Fifty feet downrange, the sustainer motor burst into life, accelerating with eye-watering velocity. At more than twice the speed of sound, the Mistral ate up the distance to the target.

  Stevin knew that the Mistral was rated effective against helicopters at four kilometers. His target was barely half that far.