Siege of Silence

by A. J. Quinnell

  “It’s over, Mr Ambassador. I’m taking you out and home. First I gotta see about the other hostages. I gotta leave you here, two or three minutes. There’ll be a man at the door guarding you. Two or three minutes an’ I’ll be back.” His eyes are glazed. “The other hostages, sir. I gotta go.”

  His eyelids flicker and his head moves slightly. I squeeze his shoulder and he winces and moans and I want to punch myself in the face.

  “Sorry, sir- I’ll be back.”

  I race through the outer room flicking the Ingram on to automatic. Brand is crouched at the door scanning the compound. I pull down my infra-red goggles.

  “Anything?”

  “There was movement by the apartments. I guess the Blue squad.”

  “Okay. I’m heading for the chancery. The Ambassador’s secure but in bad shape. Guard this door and don’t move, no matter what happens!” I point to the two sleeping figures by the gate. “Take them out as soon as it starts.”

  I tap him on the shoulder and, in a crouch, head across the compound thinking that everything is going pretty damn good.

  Of course just then everything starts to unravel. There’s a shout from near the chancery; the rapid coughing of an Ingram on automatic; and then a piercing scream. I flick on my transmission switch.

  “Vampire One to Base. Sanitize. Repeat, sanitize. Ambassador secure. Confirm torture. Going into chancery now. Over.”

  Simmons’s voice crackles straight back.

  “Base to Vampire One. Sanitizing.”

  It’s happening now. There’s a splintering of glass. Loud shouting in Spanish. Explosions from the chancery. The lights come on in the sky. Their beams wobble across the compound. Shit! In these wind conditions they’re never gonna be able to keep them steady. On the roof of the chancery I can just see the long barrel rearing upwards. The lights lead to the target. I scream into the mike, “Lewis, Spooner, switch off your lights!” One goes out immediately. The other is slow. The M.G. on the roof clatters and the light twists and then goes out. Three seconds later there’s a rending crash behind me. I turn and see the Ultralight: a crumpled heap with a dark nucleus.

  I’m twenty yards from the chancery. A series of “crumps” and then a blinding white light from the windows and door. I snap down the dark visor and can see again. There’s a short flight of steps to the door. I take it in one leap. Moncada is screaming, “Americans lie down! Americans lie down! Don’t move.” I swing right into the reception area and it’s all in front of me. About forty people. With the exception of Moncada and his man next to him they’ve all got their hands over their eyes. Some of them are sinking to the ground. A kid in jeans has pulled his tee-shirt up over his head. He’s holding a little box in one hand and with the other frantically twisting a dial. A surge of relief. The explosive jackets are fucking dummies! Moncada fires and the kid spins away screaming. Another guard, one hand over his eyes, the other groping behind him at his belt. I line up the Ingram, flicking on to single shot. Phut! The hand leaves his eyes and clutches at his chest as he goes over backwards. His pistol clatters to the floor. Moncada is shouting in Spanish,

  “Hands on your heads or you die. Hands on your heads!”

  My eyes sweep the room. All men. The hostages are all down. The flares are fading. I turn and race back through the door. Two guards on the stairs, both with pistols, both firing. The sound of an angry wasp passes my head. I flick to automatic, dive forward, roll out and squeeze the trigger. They’re punched back up the stairs and then roll slackly down.

  The door in front of me is open. I run through it discarding the empty mag. and clicking in a fresh one. The plan of the building is stamped on my brain. Through another door, down a corridor. I can see the light of the flare grenades and two seconds later I’m coming through the door. The third man of Moncada’s squad has his back to me. There’s a number Ten’ stitched to his battledress so I know that he’s Sam Shaw, Moncada’s number two. He’s got the situation under control. But totally. The seven women are lying on the floor, their hands covering their faces. Two of them are moaning in terror. Another sobbing. The seven female guards are also on the floor. They are not covering their eyes from the glare. They don’t have to; they are all dead.

  Shaw spins as I come up beside him. With his visor down he looks like something out of space. I guess I look the same. The glare is fading. We both push up our visors. His lean tanned face is troubled.

  “I was alone, sir. I couldn’t take any chances. I took ‘em all out.”

  “You did right, Shaw. The plan called for three men. You did right.”

  I can hear the clamour of heavy machine-guns from above. The roof-top emplacements are still in place. I can also hear the faster staccato rattle of unsilenced Ingrams. Silence no longer needed, the suppressors have been discarded. In the background are the deeper sounds of cannon fire and the constant rolling rumble of explosions. The A6s and helicopter gunships from “Nimitz” are making sure that not even a mosquito gets close to the compound. It’s reassuring but I’ve got a hell of a problem. The light in the room now is normal- only from the electric bulbs. I say, “Ladies, you can uncover your eyes now and get up.” Slowly, apprehensively, they lift their hands from their faces and start to scramble to their feet. They look with shock at the dead bodies. Urgently I say, “Ladies, I’m Colonel Slocum, US Army. We’ve come to take you home. Your menfolk are all okay, but it’s still very dangerous here. I want you to shuck off those jackets and follow me. Keep low.” They’re looking at me with dazed expressions. “Come on, ladies. Move! Quick!”

  A little bird-like woman with mussed-up grey hair starts taking off the dummy jacket and also taking charge. “Come on, girls. Irene, Julie, let’s go.”

  I tell Shaw, “Go ahead. Scout to the main entrance and then stay there keeping watch.”

  He moves off in a shuffling run, and I follow a few seconds later with the women crowding behind me. We pass him lying at the door. Infra-red goggles over his eyes staring out over his S.M.G. into the darkness. As we enter the reception area five of the women rush past me shouting out names. I guess the other two are secretaries. There’s an emotional moment as they greet their husbands and then Moncada’s shouting at them.

  “Get down! Get down, all of you. Stay on the floor!”

  They sink down clutching each other. There’s a babble of voices directed at me. I hold up a hand.

  “Listen. Everyone’s safe. The choppers will be coming to take you out soon, but there’s still fighting. You’ve got to stay here on the floor ‘til we clean it up. Captain Moncada here and his men will look after you and lead you to the choppers. Do exactly what he tells you.”

  A voice calls, “What about the Ambassador?”

  “He’s sick but safe.”

  A small cheer goes up. To my left Moncada’s other guy is snapping hand and leg cuffs on to the quiescent guards. He calls out, “Colonel, throw me your cuffs.”

  I unclip them from my webbing and toss them over. There’s still a hell of a row outside and it’s not just coming from the sanitizing. There’s at least two heavy M.G.s still firing inside the compound. I flick on my transmitter.

  “Vampire One to Base. Come in.”

  “Base to Vampire One. Go ahead.”

  “Hostages all safe and secure in chancery. Ambassador in poor condition but alive and secure in guardhouse. There are still active, enemy, heavy M.G. emplacements on roof-tops. Over.”

  Simmons’s voice comes back laden with excitement and relief.

  “Well done, Vampire One. You want an airstrike on those roof-tops?”

  “No fucking way, Al. No airstrikes!”

  “You’re sure, Silas?”

  “Damned sure. We’ll do it ourselves. Meanwhile keep the Evac. choppers in hold just off the coast.”

  “Okay. Good luck.”

  I’ve got to get a situation report. I decide to dispense with the goddam code words. First I want to find out who it was that crashed in the middle of the comp
ound.

  “Slocum to Lewis. Come in.”

  “Sir, this is Spooner. Lewis bought it.”

  “Okay. Report, Spooner.”

  “Sir, I got the M.G.s on top of the chancery and apartments but then I took fire from the residence and crash landed by the swimming pool.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Broke my right leg. But I’m by a corner of the residence. I’ve got a clear field of fire across the compound to the west of the chancery. Ain’t no one gonna cross there.”

  “Good man. We’ll get to you real soon. Castaneda, report in.”

  “Castaneda. Apartment building one cleaned out. Fifteen enemy dead, twelve captured and shackled. No friendly casualties. Cannot cross to the chancery, we’re pinned down by two M.G.s on the residence roof.”

  “Okay. Well done. Stay put. Sacasa, report in.”

  “Sacasa here. Apartment buildings two and three secured. Twenty-two enemy dead. Three captured. Legrand got hit by fragments from his own grenade. Chest and shoulders, but he’s walking. We’re also pinned down by those M.G.s.”

  “Okay. Stand by.”

  It’s a fucking problem. Maybe it’s logical to call in an air-strike. We’ve got no one in the residence, but I’m damned if I’ll do that. Spooner’s right on its corner and the chancery is only two hundred yards away. I’ll do the job myself. A voice is calling from the floor, “Colonel, Colonel.”

  It’s a tough-looking cat with a crew cut. “Gunny Sergeant Cowder, sir. Marine Corps. I have fifteen men here, sir. We’d like to help.”

  There’s not much they can do but his face carries a yearning expression. He’s had the sense not to get in the way up to now.

  “Okay, Sarge. We’ve no weapons to spare but collect what you can find from the guards. Put yourself under command of Captain Moncada.”

  I tell Moncada to use them to enhance security of this building and to keep a look-out.

  Now I’ve got to get up on that residence roof. As the Marines clamber to their feet I call out, “Where’s the Embassy admin, officer?”

  “Here, Colonel. . . George Walsh.”

  He’s a middle-aged, round-faced guy. I ask: “Is there any way up on to the residence roof apart from that access hatch?”

  As Walsh shakes his head, Moncada says, “That would be suicide, Colonel. They’d have it covered or even booby trapped.”

  Suddenly Walsh’s face lights up.

  “Wait. Sure there is. There’s a ten inch drainage pipe up the back wall to a gutter.”

  “That’s not on the plans.”

  He shakes his head. “No. The day after Ambassador Peabody arrived there was a tropical downpour. The normal drainage couldn’t handle it and there was an overflow. The Ambassador’s lounge got a little flooded. He ordered extra drainage immediately. It wouldn’t show on the plans.”

  “That’s my man.”

  From Moncada I take extra mag. for my Ingram and three more frag, grenades, making my total seven. I switch on the mike and say, “All units, I want blanket fire aimed at the residence roof-top in sixty seconds from now. Keep it up for thirty seconds and then quit.”

  I flick off the switch and tell Moncada, “If I buy it, you better call in an airstrike.”

  “Yessir. Good luck.”

  I move to the door and wait beside Shaw. Abruptly the barrage starts. I leap down the steps and start running. I don’t look left or right. Just watch the corner of the building looming up. Thirty years ago at school I ran the hundred yards in just under eleven seconds. I reckon I’m goin’ slightly faster now. There’s a wanging sound off to my right getting closer. The bastards up there are traversing towards me. I strain to move my legs faster and then dive and roll. I smash into something soft and it screams.

  “Who’s that?!”

  “Spooner, sir. Sorry . . . my leg.”

  “Hell, I’m sorry. Listen, there’s a drain pipe back there. I’m going up it. Can you cover my back?”

  “Sure thing, Colonel. Just drag me over there to the corner.”

  I move him the ten yards as gently as I can but he still murmurs through his teeth in pain. Man, is this kid ever gonna get a medal.

  The covering fire eases up and then stops. I move down the building and locate the drainage pipe. Perfect. It’s bracketed into the wall at about five-foot intervals giving excellent hand and foot holds. The sanitizing aircraft are dropping flares outside the walls. They light the place up too much for my liking. I flick on the transmitter.

  “Al. Come in.”

  “Yes, Silas.”

  “I’m goin’ up on the roof. There’s too much light. Can you ask those guys in the A6s and choppers to hold up the flares for a while?”

  “Sure thing. Watch your ass.”

  “Will do.”

  Within seconds it starts to darken, but I can still see very clearly through the goggles as I inch my way up. As I reach the top, I consider asking for more covering fire but decide against it. A stray bullet could just as easily knock me off as them. I get a grip on the gutter and it squeaks but there’s still a lot of noise all around the compound. I raise my eyes over the gutter and sweep the roof-top. They’re at each end. On the left I can see the shape of a head above the sandbags as one of them looks down into the compound. The head turns and I duck down again. I consider the position. The two emplacements are about a hundred feet apart. As I go for one I’ll be exposed to the other. Simple: I got to take ‘em out; one immediately after the other. Slocum, asshole; it would have been simpler to bring another guy with you. But no, you just gotta be the tough ol’ bull. Well, let’s get on with it.

  I wait for a series of explosions and heave myself up and over the gutter. It squeals. I roll over and scramble to my feet darting a look left and right and reaching for a grenade. It’s in my right hand and the pin out. I transfer it to my left hand and reach for another one. As I pull out the pin there’s a shout from my left. I lob the grenade, transfer the other one to my right hand and drop to the ground. The explosion compresses my ear drums. I don’t bother to look. I can see the barrel of the other emplacement swing towards me. Still lying, I lob the other grenade at it. Shit! It hits a sandbag on the side and bounces over the roof. I hear the explosion as I scramble to my feet grabbing for the Ingram. The M.G. barrel is coming into line. I run towards it holding the Ingram high; squeezing the trigger and spraying bullets like a hose. There’s a scream and then the heavy hammer of the M.G. He’s high. I can feel the bullets whipping over my head. Still fifteen feet away, he’s got time to correct! I’m gonna damned well die! Ten feet. I feel something like a branding iron across my side. Then I’m diving over the sandbags with an empty Ingram. There’s two of them. One slumped with blood on his face, the other lunging back from the M.G. and grabbing for a pistol at his belt. My shoulder smacks into him. We sprawl on the concrete. He’s getting the pistol closer. I smash the short barrel of the Ingram into his face. Then again. I’m in a rage. I pick him up and throw the bastard off the roof. There’s a shot and a bullet thuds into a sandbag next to me. I crouch and swing around. The other emplacement has been blown apart but there’s a guy lying behind a single spilling sandbag. He’s resting a pistol on it- pointed at me. I check the M.G. beside me. It’s pointing at the sky. There’s a gleaming belt of bullets feeding into it. I crouch behind it, get my hand on the grips and lift and the barrel swings down. Another bullet thwacks into the sandbags in front. He’s in the sights. My thumb clamps down on the firing button and stays there. The bastard’s sandbag disintegrates and so does he. I hose the pieces right off the goddam roof.

  It’s done. I wait a second while my breathing settles to something approaching normal; then flick the transmission switch.

  “Vampire One to Base. Compound totally secured. Send in the Evac. choppers.”

  Al’s exultant voice vibrates in my ears.

  “They’re on their way, Silas. Well done. See you soon.”

  I can hear cheering from the direction of the chancery
. I say into the mike, “All units: lay down the landing flares. Moncada, get our people ready. Bring them out when the choppers are on the ground. Women first. Then the men. Then the Marines. All other Vampires stay in position and provide cover. I’ll bring out the Ambassador myself. Keep on your goddam toes. We’re only home and dry when we’re on the ‘Nimitz’.”

  I flick off the switch and take a deep, deep breath. Yeah. Time to go an’ fetch mah man.

  PEABODY

  San Carlo

  Night 20

  The black face is over me again. So very black and shining wet. Is it another dream? Is it real? I’ve been slipping in and out of consciousness. It’s as though I’ve been sleeping through a thunderstorm. He’s talking.

  “Sorry, sir. It took a little longer than I thought. The other hostages are all fine, sir. I’m taking you out of here now.”

  He’s black. Why is he black? Everything is black. His helmet. Strange glasses pushed up on it. Black clothes. I hear another voice.

  “Choppers are down, sir. Women are movin’.”

  Women? Is it really happening?

  “Sir. I’m gonna carry you. It’s gonna hurt some. You’ll be in the sick bay on the ‘Nimitz’ within minutes.”

  Ah . . . the “Nimitz”. The good ship “Nimitz”. I feel his arms working under me. He lifts. Yes there’s pain. But it’s sweet pain. I know so much about pain. I’m in his arms. I’m a child. I move my head and rest it against his shoulder. I try to speak. I must have made some sound for he lowers his blade ear next to my face.

  “What. . . what’s your . . . name?”

  “Slocum, sir. Colonel Silas Slocum. United States Army.”

  We’re moving now. He’s so gentle. So very gentle. I have to say something else. My throat hurts but I have to say it.