Cobra tsf-4

by David E. Meadows

  Gibbons crawled to the balcony edge and peered downward. The balcony overlooked the end of a crowded warehouse floor. Barrels, boxes, and crates created a haphazard maze of stored goods. Small chest-wide spaces marked unaligned passages between the materials and the far end where an array of bright lights pointed inward to light up the area. Loot, thought Gibbons, stolen by the rebels and stored here.

  The faint light of dawn grew through windows that ran around the top of the huge warehouse, weaving a series of shadowy grays across the warehouse floor. Gibbons could see no light fixtures on the ceiling of the warehouse. Dangling from the rafters to about ten feet from the warehouse floor, evenly spaced, naked lightbulbs, most burned out, provided some light. Gibbons moved his eyes systematically, searching for rebel locations. Satisfied that he was unobserved, with no rebel presence apparent, he turned his attention to the group within the illuminated area at the far end of the warehouse. Western suits, ties, business dresses, women’s slacks: the hostages. A few stood, walking gingerly among several who were lying down, as if they were ministering to the sick. Most sat braced against boxes with their heads on their arms or lying down with their arms across their eyes as if sleeping.

  Mcdonald hissed from the doorway after a couple of minutes. Gibbons stuck his hand up, waved, and crawled backward until he was inside the corridor. Mcdonald shut the door.

  “They’re there, Captain, at the far end of the warehouse. Most of the place is dark. Didn’t see any rebels. No overhead lights. Dawn is trickling through a bunch of windows that line the top of the warehouse.

  Once the sun is up, it will light the warehouse.”

  “How many guards?”

  Gibbons shrugged. “I didn’t see any. If they are there, then either they are watching from somewhere up here or mixed in with the hostages down there. Lots of boxes and crates between us and them. Could make us easy targets or make it easy for us to approach the hostages. Depends on when they finally discover we are here.”

  “Good job, Gibbons.”

  “Then it’s an unfair fight,” Beau said.

  “Why’s that?” Bud Helliwell asked, his eyebrows bunching to a V.

  “Because in the world of the living, us SEALs are bigger assholes than they are,” Beau said, pausing slightly before continuing. “And that is why we go on among the living while those we oppose do not.”

  “Beau,” Duncan said. “You, Bud, and Mcdonald split to the right when we reach the bottom of the stairs. Me, HJ, Monkey, and Gibbons will go down the left side. Five minutes after we hit the main floor, we take the hostages back. Watch your brick for the red light to come on. Three blinks, it’s a go; one blink, it’s wait. Same back to me.” “Chief Wilcox,” Duncan said, looking up at the chief, who stood while the others squatted. “You stay here with Miss. King. You know the way out if something goes wrong. Get back into the sewers and find another manhole somewhere.”

  “Captain, beg your pardon, but how about someone else staying here?

  You’ll need me down there.”

  “You’re right, Chief. I do need you. You’re our reserve backup and our cover if we have to retreat. We can’t take the lady with us, and we can’t leave her here by herself. If something goes wrong, we may have to exit the way we came: through the sewers. You’re the backup.”

  Chief Wilcox nodded, raising one eyebrow in a questioning slant. For a fraction of a second, his and HJ’s eyes met before HJ turned her attention back toward Duncan.

  “I’ll be here, Captain.”

  “Let’s go. Gibbons, lead the way.”

  Two minutes later, the two SEAL teams were on the floor of the warehouse. The boxes, crates, and barrels looked bigger once they were among them. The twists and turns of the logistic maze caused them to lose sight of each other as they worked their way toward the far end.

  Duncan expected any moment to hear the sounds of gunfire. Nearly every stack rose above their heads, every turn was a potential confrontation, and every nook an ambush site.

  “No white rabbit to follow,” Beau whispered. He gestured emphatically to the right to Bud and Mcdonald. Then, leading the way, he moved quickly among the rows and rows of stacked goods.

  Six feet, and they were out of sight of Duncan, HJ, Gibbons, and Monkey.

  Duncan pointed to the path ahead, and the four started along it.

  Duncan looked at his watch. Three minutes. Two more to get into position. He darted forward as Gibbons disappeared around the edge of another stack. HJ followed, her eyes concentrating on the area behind them, keeping an eye on Duncan in front, while making sure that Monkey was able to keep sight of her in front of him. It would be easy to get separated from the others in this mess.

  The hostages’ lives would be in danger if the Marines attacked before Duncan and the SEALs secured them. Any moment Duncan expected to run smack into a rebel rounding the edge of a box. He didn’t know who would be more surprised. Just as the paucity of light in the warehouse benefited them, it also helped hide the rebels. They were here somewhere. You don’t go off and leave hostages unprotected, unless … Shit! Unless the area is rigged to explode! You tell the hostages the place is rigged to explode if they leave the area. They become their own jailers, keeping the more erratic members from trying to escape, fearing for their own lives. Duncan dashed ahead and motioned for Gibbons to wait. He hurried forward, leaned around the next corner, and checked both ways. HJ joined them and squatted on her haunches with them. Monkey came up. Duncan pulled his brick out and pressed the transmit button once. When the red light came on once and went off, he pulled the radio close to his lips.

  “Beau, watch for trip wires and explosive devices.”

  The red light blinked once in acknowledgment.

  Gibbons, squatting a couple of feet away, waved emphatically.

  Gibbons pointed to a space in front of him and ran his finger from left to right. He laid his carbine down, cupped his hands, and then spread them out fast while his lips mouthed the word Boom.

  “We have a trip wire in front of us. Seems they love trip wires, Beau.

  Keep alert for anything else,” Duncan whispered into the brick.

  The red light blinked once, silently acknowledging the warning.

  Five minutes later, Duncan and his team reached the edge of the warehouse floor. He motioned HJ and Mcdonald to the left and watched them disappear around a huge stack of crates. Gibbons he sent farther to the right. Duncan edged forward, coming to a stop when the sound of footsteps walking slowly across the concrete floor reached his ears.

  He drew back into the shadows and pressed his body against a nearby crate. The footsteps stopped at the end of the passage. A rebel wearing a huge black turban stood there, legs spread, looking down the small space that provided a walkway between the goods. The light from the hostage area caused the man standing about eight feet from Duncan to appear as a huge, dark outline, but the weapon held in his right hand told Duncan all he needed to know. The man unslung the weapon and slowly started up the narrow passage. Two more steps, and the man would walk right into Duncan.

  Duncan wanted to delay firing as long as possible. A perfect rescue would have been one where they took a defensive position around the hostages a few minutes before the Marines burst through, thereby reducing the duration of a firefight while better protecting the hostages. However, it looked as if that opportunity was going to be lost in a few seconds. He eased the barrel of the carbine to the left and up a few inches to line it up with the rebel moving cautiously toward him.

  His finger slipped into the trigger guard, while his thumb rested on the safety. The sound of the safety going off would alert the rebel, so Duncan prepared to flip the safety off a millisecond before he fired.

  A second shadow entered behind the rebel. Jesus, thought Duncan. They’re all over the place. The second person took two quick steps, reached up, and jerked the head of the rebel back. Duncan watched a knife slice through the man’s neck, only a slight sound escaping. The second
shadow shoved the dead rebel forward to where it fell at Duncan’s feet.

  “You all right. Captain?” Gibbons asked softly.

  ‘“Yeah,” Duncan said, standing and stepping over the twitching body.

  “Good work.”

  Gibbons leaned down and wiped his knife on the dying man’s back. “Two more guards to the right. Captain. Three on the far side. I have a trip wire on the left, and you have one to your right when you exit.”

  Duncan glanced to the right. It took a few seconds before he saw the end of the trip wire, stretching across the exit. Good job they had the young eyes of Gibbons. “Thanks, Gibbons.”

  Gibbons looked down at the Algerian rebel. “My pleasure, Captain.”

  Duncan hurried forward to the edge of the passage. A space of twenty yards separated them from the hostages. A series of small floor lights surrounding the Americans focused inward on them, blinding anyone inside to those patrolling the perimeter. It also kept Duncan from giving any kind of sign to the hostages to let them know they were there.

  Duncan looked to the left and got a thumbs-up from Gibbons, who had moved down a couple of gaps to take position between a stack of barrels and a row of pallets. To his right, HJ and Monkey had their backs pressed against huge piles of what looked like paper. HJ nodded. Monkey jumped across the way to the other side, opposite HJ and out of sight of Duncan. For a moment, the light caught Monkey as he changed position.

  Duncan pulled his brick and pressed three times on the Transmit button, waiting for the red light to blink in acknowledgement. Nothing came. He transmitted again and waited. He put his hand over his eyes to shield them from the bright lights in front to see if he could spot Beau and the other team from his position. The red light blinked once. He pressed three times again to be sure and received the waiting acknowledgement.

  Now, it was up to him. Once he opened fire, the others would follow suit. But open fire against what?

  They had seen only one guard, and Gibbons had quickly dispatched him.

  Other rebels were out there. Gibbons had seen them. If he went forward, he knew both sides were going to be surprised, and they were going to have to fight a lopsided battle against an enemy who had the advantage of knowing the terrain. If he didn’t attack and the Marines arrived before they were in a defensive position, the risk of the rebels killing the hostages or blowing them up increased.

  That further complicated his mission. It wasn’t just enough to take possession of the hostages and wait until the Marines arrived; he had to move them from the area because of the explosives. They had to get in there fast and move them before the rebels could hit the explosives.

  Move them into this maze and find another position to defend until the Marines could secure the warehouse. And they would have to do that without hitting a trip wire and killing a bunch of them. Duncan figured he had less than three minutes to move the hostages. But to where?

  Anywhere but here. They would have to hit fast. The hostages might not even realize they were being rescued in those three minutes. His only hope was that the explosives were unmanned. If the switch was unmanned, he would have his three minutes before the rebels realized what was happening.

  Duncan slid down to the floor and began to crawl forward. Maybe if he could alert the hostages, it would reduce the time factor. Gibbons was to his left, HJ and Monkey farther to the right, providing cover. As the moment of decision approached, the edge of confidence grew, and he found himself crawling faster. Duncan soon reached the edge of the lights. He rose to his haunches behind two of the three-foot-high security lights and glanced around him. Seeing no one, he hissed at one of the male hostages.

  The man squatted on a piece of cardboard, his back pressed against a nearby box. A tie hung out of his back pocket where the hostage had shoved it. The former white shirt, now a dingy yellow, hung tattered and dirty from the man’s emaciated body. The dark stain on the shoulder looked like blood. A scraggly beard had grown in the weeks of captivity, and even from nearly ten feet away, the smell of unwashed bodies mixed with the sewer scents Duncan brought with him.

  The man’s head rose, his nose twitching as he sniffed the air. Duncan hissed again. The male hostage shielded his eyes, trying to see past the lights toward the hissing noise. He knew better than to approach the edge of the area any closer.

  “You,” Duncan said.

  The man blinked with surprise. “Me?” he said aloud, pointing to himself.

  “Shhhh,” Duncan warned.

  Three other hostages nearby looked up at the man. “Be quiet,” one of them said. “You want to draw attention to yourself?”

  “But someone just hissed at me,” he said, his voice breaking.

  “Hiss will be the least of your worries if our captors hear you talking,” another man whispered. “Keep quiet, or we’re going to move away.”

  Duncan hissed again, drawing the attention of all four. “You, where are the other guards?”

  The man began to cry, slapping his hands against the boxes as he rose to his feet. “They’re here!” he shouted. “Listen, everyone, they’re here!”

  Two of the three male hostages near him jumped up and grabbed the shouting man. “Be quiet, you fool!” Too late, thought Duncan. He jumped up and ran into the hostage area.

  From the other side, Beau, Mcdonald and Bud burst through the lights, like apparitions appearing out of the ether. At first, their appearance was greeted with silence, but as the hostages began to gather around them, the noise of their cries rose in tempo until the crowd surged forward, trying— needing to touch their rescuers. Duncan attempted to push them away.

  Gibbons, HJ, and Monkey ran into the area from the other side.

  “Gibbons, Bud!” shouted Duncan. “Kill those lights.”

  Monkey opened up with his M-60 on the lights. Damn, not that way, Duncan thought, still pushing hands away from him. Unplug them, he meant, but it was too late.

  Sparks flew from a nearby generator, and the lights went out suddenly, causing everyone to lose their vision temporarily as eyes adjusted to the low light of breaking morning.

  The hostages drew back at the sound of gunfire. Their walls grew into a cacophony of fragments with

  “Thank God,” “You’re here.” and “We never thought you would come” filling the air.

  Duncan grabbed a box and stood on top of it. “Listen to me. people. We only have a few seconds. Follow that man.” he said, pointing to Beau.

  “Beau, lead them out your way. This place is rigged with explosives.

  Follow the short man, and do exactly what they tell you. And be quiet.”

  Beau ran over to Duncan. “What’s going on? I thought we were going to take defensive position here and wait for the Marines. You know the story — Fort Apache and they get to play calvary?”

  “Beau, the place is rigged to explode. I don’t know where the other guards are, but move fast, and get these hostages out of here before they return.” Somewhere out there were six guards who had disappeared somewhere into the maze of the warehouse.

  The sound of someone shouting Arabic came from above their position.

  “Just thought I’d ask,” Beau said, turning and running to the other side.

  “Everyone, stay close and follow me. No talking — and do what we say when we say it! No questions allowed!” “Who are you?” asked a young lady near Beau. Her hair was matted to the side of her face, and her lips were swollen from where someone had hit her.

  “Ma’am, we’re the United States Navy.”

  “Where are the others?”

  “Ma’am, we are the others. No questions, please. Follow me,” Beau said, stepping across the electrical cords that ran between the darkened lights.

  Duncan gestured to HJ, Monkey, and Gibbons to follow.

  “No, Captain, you go ahead,” HJ said. “I’ll bring up the rear.”

  “Wait a minute, ma’am,” Gibbons said, raising his left hand. “That’s my job.”

  “Wait
a minute! That’s my job. You’ve been point man the whole trip, and now you want to bring up the rear, just when it’s getting dangerous?”

  Monkey asked. He turned his back to them and leveled his M-60. “Me and of reliable here will make sure they don’t follow. You go with the Captain, Gibbons. You be de man with him. The lieutenant and I will bring up the rear. Now, expedite it out of here.” “I be de woman with him, Petty Officer,” HJ said, running toward Duncan.

  Four of the hostages who Gibbons had seen being treated from the balcony were draped across the shoulders of four of the other hostages. They passed Duncan in the middle of the crowd, treading their way to wherever Beau was leading them. Duncan had no idea where Beau was taking them, but knew the officer would find the right place to hole up and defend.

  From a walkway above, the sound of irate Arabic being shouted traveled over the noise of running boots as Algerian rebels scurried into the warehouse. Unable to clearly see the floor of the warehouse, the Algerian rebels began to fire massive volleys into the area where the hostages had been. Pings reverberated and ricochets bounced as bullets hit all around Duncan. He did a quick survey to make sure all the hostages were out of the confined area before he jumped over the electric cords. He wished he had stepped over. A sharp pain shot through his right knee when he landed, causing him to trip and land on his knee.

  Gibbons grabbed Duncan under the arm and helped him up. Light was beginning to travel down the high walls of the warehouse as the sun began its day’s travel across the hot Saharan sky. They still had about an hour before the shadows were chased from the warehouse.

  “What the hell! Gibbons, let me go. If I want a Boy Scout, I’ll ask for one.”

  “But … Sure thing, Captain,” the second class said, releasing Duncan, shaking his head slightly, and grinning. A bullet hit the petty officer in the shoulder, spinning the SEAL around twice before he hit the floor.