The SEAL team leader, Chief Petty Officer Al Dunn, scanned the dark city with his night-vision binoculars. He saw men moving from house to house, carrying weapons. No women. No kids. Just armed men. He counted … and quit when he reached a dozen.
Dunn keyed the mike on his headset. “Blue Leader from Red Leader. Let’s be ready with suppressing fire on those people in town when I give the word.”
“Roger, Red Leader.”
Aboard the Sultan, Bullet Bob Quinn settled in behind his .50-caliber sniper rifle. He could see people through his night-vision scope. His spotter, just beside him, would call his targets. Under the Rules of Engagement, he could only shoot people who had weapons. He relied upon his spotter to confirm the weapons.
Settling in a good shooting position with the rifle on a solid rest, loaded, Bullet Bob stared through his scope and watched the crosshairs move as the ship he was on rose on the ocean swells. The crosshairs moved regularly in a predictable, slow, sinuous dance.
The last of the pickups headed west on the river road, each crammed with armed men, some with RPG-7 launchers and bags of warheads, some with AKs, leaving only the four around Ragnar’s building.
Through his night sniper scope, Quinn studied the four machine-gun emplacements on Ragnar’s roof. He could see people moving around, standing up, looking here and there, carrying ammo belts.
Each gun was surrounded by a little wall of sandbags, making a nice little fortification for protection from small-arms fire. Nothing else. Still, since they were six stories above ground level, the machine-gun crews had positions that commanded the square and town.
Quinn took stock of his breathing and heart rate. Normal, he decided. He took several deep breaths, then willed himself into a shooter’s calm.
Aboard Chosin Reservoir Rear Admiral Toad Tarkington checked to see where his drones were, then the fighters from the carrier. They were airborne and in about five minutes would be at the Initial Point, where they would hold until needed. If they were needed. Their ability to hold was finite. Fuel was always a consideration. Tankers were in the air, but they could merely top off tanks, not keep a strike force airborne indefinitely.
The MEU was not ready to storm Eyl. Tomorrow it would be, but not tonight. Tomorrow marines would come ashore in armored personnel carriers to the north and south of town. They would land on the beaches and get ready to roll into Eyl. They could kill every pirate and holy warrior in the place, rescue the hostages and be out of there in a couple of hours. Tomorrow.
Grafton’s objective tonight was the radio controls for the bomb in the trenches around the fortress. The SEALs would neutralize the explosive potential of the cargo of the freighter grounded near it. If the trench bomb or shipload of fertilizer exploded, there would be no Sultan passengers or crew alive to rescue.
Jake Grafton wanted, if possible, to let the pirates and Shabab kill each other while he disabled the trench bomb. Every pirate and holy warrior who got launched for Paradise tonight was one less the marines and SEALs would have to face.
In the flag spaces aboard Chosin Reservoir, Rear Admiral Toad Tarkington tried not to think about the possibility of the bombs detonating. He already had SEALs on the beach and ships in the harbor. If those bombs exploded, he was going to lose American fighting men … and everyone in that fortress, including Jake Grafton, Toad’s friend and mentor for many years. Toad tried to take his mind off Jake Grafton. Stop worrying about the marines. About the SEALs. About the eight hundred and fifty civilians imprisoned in that fortress. Stop worrying about how their families would feel losing these people. Think about how to win.
Toad knew what Grafton would say, because he knew Jake Grafton. Put all those people out of your mind, Toad. Concentrate on the job in front of you. And with a free and easy mind, go forth and give battle.
The battle west of town, up the river, was heating up. A cacophony of automatic weapons could be heard, almost a continuous background noise. The pirates and Shabab were shooting it out.
Jake Grafton took Captain Arch Penney’s arm and pulled him to one side. I sidled closer so I could overhear what he said. Eavesdropping is one of my failings.
“The pirates have buried explosives in a trench around this building, Captain. Tons of them. They say they will blow the fort up and kill everyone if the ransom isn’t paid. We need to find the radio receivers and batteries that power the detonators. To do that, we’re going to have to eliminate the guards.”
“Eliminate?”
“We are going to kill them,” Grafton said flatly. “After we do, I want you to get some of your men and carry the bodies down to the beach. There is a sand overhang at the high tide level. Put them alongside it and cave it in, covering them up.”
I could see Penney mulling it.
“What if some of them are only wounded?”
“Finish them off. Think you can do it?”
“They threw some of my wounded men into the ocean to drown. Yes.”
Jake nodded, then turned to me. “Tommy, give me that Ruger.” I had the silenced assassin’s pistol in my hand.
That was Jake Grafton. Make no mistake, he could pull a trigger. One time in Hong Kong I saw him—
Now he glanced at the guards, who were intent on the drama in the plaza in Eyl, about a mile away but plainly visible. Muzzle flashes strobing the darkness, the burning pickup …
I pulled the Kimber from my waistband.
“No,” Grafton said. “No noise yet. Give me the Ruger.”
“No,” I said. My voice came out a croak. “You’re the brains. I’m just a shooter.”
I knew this was coming, so I didn’t freak out on the spot. I didn’t think Mrs. Carmellini’s boy Tommy was going to get much older, but what the heck! I had the silenced Ruger .22 in my hand. The magazine held nine rounds, and I had a spare loaded magazine in my pocket.
I looked at the faces around me, Arch Penney, his wife, the chief steward, and behind them passengers, their faces barely visible in the dim light.
Grafton slapped me on the back, then used his headset to tell E.D. and Travis I was coming out. Heard them Roger the heads-up. In a way, that was comforting. With night scopes on their rifles, those two snipers were almost as deadly after dark as they were during the day.
I stepped outside, walked toward the two gate guards, who were nervously watching the battle in the town. They glanced at me, didn’t pay me much attention.
I put the pistol right behind one man’s ear, pulled the trigger, then shot the other one before the first one hit the ground.
A forty-grain .22 bullet isn’t much of a weapon unless it’s fired into the skull at point-blank range and penetrates the bone into the brain mass. A solid point is best for this kind of work; a hollow point may explode against the skull and not penetrate the brain case. Still, only one bullet may not kill, may merely put the victim in the hospital with a horrible brain injury, making him a vegetable. Eyl didn’t have a hospital, but still. I shot each man again in the head while he lay on the ground.
Then I picked up their assault rifles and the bags that held their extra magazines and hustled back to Grafton, who was standing in the portal to the fortress.
I gave him one rifle and an ammo bag, and he set off up the stairs toward the roof. I followed.
“We have to take out the men in the foxholes,” he said over his shoulder. “The bomb dudes gotta disconnect the radio receivers from the batteries.” On the roof he waved me toward the north side of the big roof, and he ran toward the south side.