Task Force Desperate

by Peter Nealen

  “That makes it unanimous.” We turned to Baird. “We’ve got another team inbound,” Alek said. “I’ll leave it up to you if you and your boys continue on. I know this seems a little psycho.”

  Baird said nothing for a while, then chuckled. “We’ve been hanging out here, hoping for something that might stand a chance of doing this much damage to the jihadis for over a year, Alek,” he said. “Forget what I said before. We’re in. Every man I have working with me knows what we’ve gotten ourselves into.”

  Alek nodded, and held out his hand. “Welcome to the psych ward.”

  “I’ve been here longer than you have, my friend,” Baird replied as he shook Alek’s meaty paw with a grin that seemed to glow in the darkness.

  The Bell 407 swooped in to land in a swirl of dust, and we hurried to get Imad loaded up. As we passed him to Caleb’s and Dave’s willing hands, Caleb leaned out and yelled, “Mike’s team left early, about eight hours ago. They should be in position to link up with you guys in about another five or six hours.”

  “Good news,” Alek shouted back. “Saves us some time.” He pointed to Imad. “Get him to a hospital as fast as you can. He’s your priority now.”

  Caleb threw a mock salute, and waved to Sam. We jogged away as the rotors bit and flung sand and gravel at us hard enough to hurt, and the helo pulled for the sky.

  We had less than a day to plan, link up with Mike’s team, finish the plan, and get into position to infiltrate Kismayo with a reinforced platoon. Sleep and chow were going to be secondary considerations for a while.

  Time to get to work.

  Chapter 27

  It was just about midnight as we crept into the outskirts of Kismayo.

  The idea was to probe the outskirts for a dead zone, and start slipping through. We had to signal carefully, since, as Baird had pointed out, the bad guys weren’t anything like as unsophisticated as we had come into the country expecting. Any transmissions had to be short and clipped, or we ran the risk of alerting them we were coming.

  Of course, with total radio silence, we had another problem; namely, keeping the teams coordinated and getting everybody through the gap in a timely manner. This was why Jim, Bob, Tim, and I were creeping ahead, while the rest of our guys stayed hunkered down in the bush about seven hundred meters north. It meant that it would take longer to infiltrate, but staying clandestine was our only hope at the moment, so we did what we had to do. It had meant stepping off a little early, too, to make sure we had as much darkness as possible to work with.

  The goal for tonight was to get eyes on any hostages that the bad guys were keeping in Kismayo, and, if we couldn’t account for all of them, snatch somebody who knew where the rest were. Easy day.

  Right.

  Jim went to one knee at the corner of the first big compound we’d come to. In the dark, Kismayo looked like just about every other desert city we’d been in, whether in the Middle East, South Asia, North Africa, or East Africa. Mud or cinder block walls surrounded courtyards and squat, mud or cinder block houses. Dusty, deciduous trees and bushes grew where there was water to support them. Here the houses seemed to mostly have metal roofs, but other than that, most of these places weren’t all that different.

  The lights were on, but only in certain places. The neighborhood we were poking around the edges of was dark, which was a large part of the reason we were there. Whether they didn’t have electricity because they were too poor, had pissed off the local ruling council, or just due to the overall incompetence of the Islamist-run power plant, we had no way of knowing. Frankly, my money was on option three. Just as long as the power stayed off, we’d be in business.

  Tim moved from cover to join Jim at the base of the wall, facing off to the east, while Jim peered around the corner to the south. Apparently satisfied that the way forward to the next compound was clear, he turned and signaled to Bob and me to move up.

  I came to my feet while squeezing Bob’s shoulder. He reached up and returned the silent signal with his off hand, and rose smoothly to follow.

  We didn’t run, and we didn’t move in an exaggerated “stealthy” crouch. For one thing, that just wears you down physically. Don’t believe me? Try moving a hundred meters with gear and a rifle, in a half-crouch. You’ll be smoked and in pain by fifty. Running makes noise, plus the human eye is drawn to movement. Walking slowly presents a lot less eye-catching movement than dashing from cover to cover.

  This is not to say we strolled. It was a controlled, quiet glide to the next compound to the south, across the bare dirt track that passed for a street from Jim and Tim. Keeping to the shadows, out of the line of faint light coming from the lit portions of the city, I came to a stop, and after making sure there wasn’t a can or bottle there, lowered myself to a knee. Once Bob had settled, watching our six-to-three o’clock, I stayed there motionless for a handful of heartbeats, watching and listening.

  There was no movement. No sound, aside from the whisper of the wind, the buzz of insects, and some movement inside the compound we were huddled up against, that I identified as a donkey when it brayed loudly. Another moment of waiting to see if the owner was going to come out to investigate why his jackass was making noise in the middle of the night, and I relaxed fractionally, and signaled Jim and Tim forward.

  We moved like that for another fifteen minutes or so, using a combination of the shadows of compound walls and bushes in between to mask our movement. The entire time, we were cataloguing what we saw, trying to imagine how the rest of the teams would have to move through. It was going to be dicey, and most likely, they would have to choose multiple infiltration routes through the neighborhood, to reduce their footprint. I hadn’t seen any room for more than two or three shooters to hide at any one time.

  The structures started getting closer and closer together, and our maneuvering room started getting cramped. We still hadn’t seen a soul, which was good, but I didn’t think it could last. Urban infiltration is not my favorite sport, but it certainly was a challenge.

  Jim and Tim had just slipped across the northeast-to-southwest dirt road that was the major thoroughfare through the neighborhood. I was about to follow, when I got a sudden clenched fist signal from Tim. Freeze. I stayed on a knee, motionless.

  It took only seconds to see what Tim had seen. A faint glow on the side of the wall that Jim and Tim were hiding beside began to intensify, until it was the unmistakable white glare of headlights. I shrank back from my corner, trying to stay in the shadows as much as possible, and brought my suppressed rifle into a half-ready position, just in case.

  I didn’t want to have to use it. Contrary to a lot of movies and video games, when you kill somebody on an infiltration, you can’t just drag the body into the shadows and go on your merry way. A killing on an infiltration means the infiltration is over, and you just fucking failed. Sooner or later, somebody is going to wonder where that poor bastard you just slotted went. If he’s a sentry, somebody is likely to wonder that sooner rather than later. Then they come looking for him, likely with the suspicion that he met with foul play. Whether you get spotted immediately or not, you just got compromised, and, as it says on the door of Scout/Sniper School, “Compromise is Failure.” Out here, failure meant we’d be dead.

  And that is leaving aside the noise of the shot, which would give us away in the first place.

  The vehicle turned out to be an open-topped jeep knockoff, with four skinnies in it, all armed. The two in the back were standing up and looking around. Fortunately, they didn’t seem to have NVGs, or we’d have been screwed, sitting not ten feet from the road. They did have a radio, and I was close enough I could hear chatter in Somali crackling on it even over the noise of the engine and creak of the suspension. They cruised on past, not slowing down or showing any sign they’d spotted us.

  Well, shit. They were patrolling, and by the sound of that radio, they were patrolling aggressively. That was going to put a serious crimp in the night’s activities. I waited until the taill
ights disappeared around the bend, then made another careful scan, focusing as hard as I could on the thermal outlines, making sure that there wasn’t anybody else hanging out, or that the jeep hadn’t dropped somebody off to watch their rear.

  Nothing showed up. The thermal showed nothing aside from a couple of chickens pecking in the dust outside another wall, and a mangy dog rooting through the heaps of trash on the side of the road a few hundred yards away. It was ignoring us for the moment. I willed it to keep its attention on the garbage, and got up to cross the road.

  We moved deeper in, until we found ourselves in a little, brush-choked, dusty cul-de-sac. It was sheltered by another compound from the road, and there was plenty of concealment in the brush and the shadows. It wasn’t safe, by any means, but nothing in this city could be considered safe. It would do for a team minus to stage. I got on the radio, and sent Alek the description and directions before advising to send no more than six shooters, and keep them in pairs until they got in position.

  It took a few moments to send this, as I was sending in bursts of no more than a few seconds at a time. When I finished with, “Over,” I got back simply a double squelch-break. We were taking Baird’s warnings seriously.

  The four of us stayed put, spread around the open space where we could see out onto the streets, with Jim and Tim covering the general area to the north, while Bob and I kept our eyes south, toward the target area. Staying on a knee for a long time gets tiresome and painful, but we didn’t dare relax too much so we endured the discomfort while we waited for the rest.

  It took about thirty minutes for the lead pair to link up with Jim and Tim, and make their way into the little staging area. Glancing back, I could see by movement and profile that Alek and Larry had led the way in. Figures, put the two biggest guys on the team on point. I’d give Alek shit about it later. For now, as the next two came in, Jim, Tim, Bob, and I moved out, going deeper into the house of our enemies.

  A short distance from our little staging area, two compounds sat close enough together to form a narrow alleyway that we immediately made use of, slipping between the two walls in the shadows and out of sight. Then we hit a sticking point.

  There was a solid wall of interlinked compounds facing us. We’d have to either go around, which at least to the southwest led straight to another major road, or try to go through. I dropped to a knee while still in the alley, and took my time, looking it over, acutely conscious that time was ticking by, and we were losing darkness with every passing moment.

  Finally, since I couldn’t see any other way, and there was no sign of human or canine movement nearby, I decided to chance going through. I signaled to Jim to stay put, and led Bob out toward the walls.

  I crept to the base of the compound wall I’d picked as our tentative entry, and went to a knee, waving Bob in close. I grabbed him by the shoulder and, my lips less than an inch from his ear, barely whispered, “I’ll be the base. You peek over the top, see if the compound is clear. If it is, we’ll signal to Jim and Tim and go over. If not, we move.” He nodded, and I braced my back against the wall, carefully slinging my rifle across my chest to keep it from banging against the cinder-block, and interlaced my fingers as a stirrup.

  Bob slung his rifle tightly to his back, put his boot in my clasped hands and his gloved hands on my shoulders, then carefully lifted himself up to the top of the wall.

  My arms and shoulders started to ache almost immediately. Holding a man in full gear above you with main strength is a bitch. I had to keep my head down, too, to avoid having my NVGs catch on his kit. So I stared at my knees and Bob’s boots, trying not to shake with the effort of holding him up, all the while hoping that no Shabaab patrol happened by while we were doing this.

  It seemed like forever, but was really only a few seconds before Bob stepped back down. “Clear,” he whispered. “Not even any animals.”

  I nodded, and signaled “come ahead” to Jim and Tim, then bent down, reaching into my shoulder pocket. I pulled out a tiny triangle of glint tape, and stuck it to the base of the wall, then got back into position. It wouldn’t be visible unless you were looking for it, but it would reflect enough ambient light to show up like a beacon on NVGs if you were. The last man over would retrieve it, leaving no sign of our passage except for footprints and scuff marks on the walls. “You first,” I murmured. Bob nodded, and as quickly as he could while being as quiet as possible, stepped up and pulled himself up on top of the wall.

  He stayed there, pressed as flat to the top of the cinderblocks as he could. Fortunately, the Somalis didn’t line the tops of their compound walls with broken glass or nails like I’d seen done elsewhere. As soon as he was set, he reached a hand down to me. Once my own rifle was slung securely, I reached up and grasped his wrist, and he helped haul me up the wall. There was some noise, as my boots scuffled on the wall for purchase, then as I dragged my gear over the edge and lay out on the top, facing Bob. He nodded, and spider-dropped off, hanging down by one hand and one foot as far as he could before letting go, keeping the actual drop as short as possible. I followed, as Jim and Tim got to the base of the wall.

  Coming to my feet, I scanned the courtyard, keeping close watch on the house that squatted at the center of the back wall. It was silent and dark. Thermal showed nothing moving, either. Watching my footing carefully, I moved toward the back wall.

  Now that we were in the compound, I wasn’t entirely sure about the wisdom of going through this way, but we were pretty well committed. We’d have to go over the back wall closer to the house than I’d like. On the other hand, a careful, guarded look at my watch showed it was almost 0200. Time was a-wasting.

  Once Jim and Tim were in the courtyard, we repeated the same dance on the back wall. This time, we found ourselves in a compound that actually had an open gate in the general direction we wanted to go. Easing my way around the wall at the gate, I saw just brush-scattered ground between us and the target.

  That wasn’t all I saw, either. There were sentries on the roof of the University, and from their body language, they were alert. The place was also lit up like a Christmas tree. That might well explain the widespread blackouts in the city; all the juice was going to Shabaab’s headquarters, or whatever the fuck they had this place staked out for.

  I ducked back inside, as a Bongo truck practically overflowing with armed men bounced past, apparently circling the University. They weren’t taking any chances with security on the place, that was for sure. And if all the higher-ups were gone, that probably meant the hostages were in there.

  Probably wasn’t going to be enough, though. I eased back until only the eye with the NVGs over it was exposed, and watched the target, thinking. As I did, Jim and Tim joined us in the compound. Jim leaned forward and whispered, “Rest of the team is inbound. Next element is in the staging area.” I nodded, and went back to watching the target.

  There was a low wall running all the way around the campus, except for two large gaps, one of which was directly ahead of us. It looked like it opened on the soccer field, with one of the three large main buildings beyond it. Not many of the windows that I could see were lit, but the field lights were on, bathing the open ground in harsh white light. We weren’t getting across there without being spotted.

  As I looked at the main building, I began to wonder just how the hell we were going to find the hostages in that mess. Those buildings were huge, guarded, and well-lit. Finding anything in there was going to be dicey, not to mention getting back out. For all our determination out in the desert, this was looking more and more unlikely.

  But, as I watched, I started to think I saw an opening. Not the obvious wide open gap in the wall, but a shadowed area further down the southwest wall. There was a shack up against the wall, and not a lot of illumination. In fact, the more I looked at it, the more I saw a gap in their lighting, and a path up to the wall of the main building that would be generally out of sight, unless they had somebody in the windows with night vision. Which the
y might, but we’d scan it thoroughly with thermals before we even tried going over the wall.

  It was so thin a chance as to be damned near transparent, but it was the only chance we had to find these guys. I dropped back into the compound, as Danny and Rodrigo came over the wall behind us. Alek and Larry were already in, so I hunkered down with Jim and Alek to explain what I’d seen.

  “I think we might be better off taking a house and setting up surveillance, to be honest with you,” Jim said. “Sooner or later there’s got to be some outward evidence of the hostages. I don’t like this setup.”

  “I don’t like it, either,” I said. “We should just get eyes on over the wall first; see if we can locate anything from outside. Going in should be our absolute last resort.”

  “Agreed,” Alek said. “But if they’re deep inside, we won’t see shit.”

  “Only so much we can do with this situation,” I pointed out. “This is worse than we thought. I say we get close, see what we can see, see if we can grab anybody of medium importance who might know more, and get the fuck out.”

  Alek nodded. “Let’s do it.” He laid a hand on my shoulder. “You guys have been on point for the last couple hours. Let’s push the next element.” I nodded tiredly, until Danny and Rodrigo stepped up.

  “Danny?” I whispered. “Aren’t you supposed to kind of hang back and let us expendable contractors do the dirty work?”

  “Like hell,” he murmured, as he slipped out of the compound with Rodrigo, Nick and Hank standing by to follow them.

  The new point element moved carefully through the spaced-out buildings and bushes, working their way toward the corner of the main wall. Once there, they sent a quick glint to signal that they found a decent staging point. I led out, as their thermal signatures disappeared around the corner of the wall.

  The staging area turned out to be some thicker bushes surrounding what turned out to be an abandoned house. We went into the house, relying more on the brick to mask us than the brush. I found a window facing southeast, where I could watch the point element get into position.