We don’t want to kill anyone unless we have to. I also want sufficient rations for two days in the bush if we have problems.”
“Ain’t no bush to survive in,” commented Ensign Helli well. “And ain’t no private heads either,” he added petulantly.
“I doubt seriously that you have anything I haven’t already seen, except maybe in a smaller package,” H.J. replied.
Just what I need, thought Duncan. He reached up and squeezed his nose a couple of times. A professional team had to have confidence and trust each other. Their lives depended on it. It was bad enough he, — Beau, and H.J. were newcomers to the SEAL detachment aboard the Nassau, but it was going to be worse if he had to referee a running feud between Helliwell and Mcdaniels during this mission. And he had no intention of leaving Mcdaniels behind. Not only because she was part of the team, but because maybe that was what Admiral Bill Hodges wanted. Helliwell he needed because the man had combat experience.
Mandatory retirement in August was beginning to look brighter, but further away.
“Okay, that’s it. If I hear another word out of you two, I’ll put you across my lap and spank you both. Straighten up and act like the SEALs you are and not arrogant teenagers. You two shake and get on with your assignments.”
“Yes, sir,” H.J. and Bud replied in unison.
The two reluctantly grinned at each other like two kids forced to make up. H.J. stuck out her hand toward Bud, who nodded and gripped it in return.
“That’s better. Mike, you’re in charge of organizing the mission.
Report to Beau when ready. Commander Pettigrew, I want you to inspect the team in two hours. Two hours is when I expect everyone to be ready to embark. Two hours is the time we have to outfit the team, Mike, and to throw the right weapon kits together. Report back to me when you’re ready. I’ll be in Intell trying to find out a little more on events in Algeria and what we may face when we hit the beach. I expect to see everyone in the conference room in the Intell spaces in”—he looked at his watch—“forty-five minutes.”
Mike Sunney, Heather J. Mcdaniels, and Bud Helliwell left the compartment.
“Well, Duncan, belay my last,” said Beau. “I don’t think you have to worry about me and H. J.”
“Why’s that?” he asked as he folded the chart from the table.
“Because I’ve just had a vision of her in a rocking chair, telling her grandchildren about how she came to have a pair of large balls in a quart jar sitting on her mantelpiece.”
“I wish you hadn’t said mantel,” Duncan replied. “I’m going to Intell if you need me,” he said as he walked out the door. Less than six weeks until August. Retirement was going to be great. He kept repeating the refrain as he walked down the passageway, hoping that if he kept repeating and repeating it, he’d convince himself it was true.
Retirement was going to be great. Yeah, great. Just keep telling myself that, he thought.
CHAPTER 4
As Duncan, Beau, and H.J. boarded the USS Albany with five other SEALs, events were occurring in Libya that would impact their rescue of President Alneuf.
“Hand me those photographs,” Colonel Alqahiray said, pointing to a stack of large colored prints on the briefing table.
Colonel Walid scooped the stack up and handed them to his impatient boss.
Colonel Alqahiray laid his cigarette in a nearby ashtray as he flipped through the photos. “You know, Walid? The best photos are the ones that show the stern of the American warship sticking out of the ocean surrounded by the petty war criminals, weeping in their puny life rafts. It is moments like this that makes one proud to be a Libyan.”
“Aiwa, Colonel. I also like the ones recovered from the bomber that was destroyed on Tripoli Airfield. It is sad that it cost the lives of some of our finest pilots.”
Colonel Alqahiray gave Walid a hard look. “Walid, a commander unprepared to accept deaths never achieves victory. Look at Napoleon.
He never went into battle without knowing how many casualties were acceptable for victory, and when that number was reached and victory was questionable, he would magnificently retreat to wait for another opportunity. We will have more deaths before Jihad Wahid — our Holy War One — reaches its goal, but those will rock the world on behalf of the faith of Islam, more than any other thing could hope to accomplish. Victory is never achieved without death, and ultimately, it belongs to the leader who is willing to sacrifice his troops.”
“Yes, Colonel,” Walid replied, looking down to break eye contact with the skull-like apparition that Alqahiray presented.
Colonel Alqahiray shuffled through the large photographs, humming as he put most of them into a large brown envelope, silently thanking the Americans for killing most of the senior Libyan military leaders with their Tomahawk strike. “That should do it, Walid.” He picked up his cigarette, which had rolled out of the ashtray and burned a small spot on the polished table, flicked the long ash off, and took a deep drag, letting the smoke filter slowly out through his nostrils.
Walid pinched his nose.
The two walked out of the operations briefing room into the blue-lighted operations spaces. Walid flipped off the lights as he pulled the door shut behind them. He returned to the supervisor’s console while Alqahiray hoisted himself onto his chair above the operators.
The three Libyan Intelligence Officers waited stoically for the colonel to acknowledge their presence. He finished his cigarette and ripped open another pack of Greek Old Navy, knocked out a new fag, and lit it.
He placed the cold cup of tea to one side, deliberately keeping them waiting. Colonel Alqahiray motioned for the steward to bring him another cup.
Then he turned to the three officers. “Go ahead, Major Samir.”
The major pulled several file cards from his pockets, glanced at them, and directed the colonel’s attention to the intelligence screen in front of them. On the screen a colored map of the North African coast, stretching from Egypt to Morocco, appeared. Egypt, Libya, and Algeria were highlighted in green, the color of the Libyan flag and the color associated with the Islamic religion. The outlines of Tunisia and Morocco were filled with diagonal lines of alternating red and green, while the Sudan, along with Chad and Somalia, were shaded a light brown.
“Colonel, the Algerian operation is near completion,” said Samir.
“Sporadic fighting continues in several isolated pockets centered around Oran, Mers El Kebir, and other portions of western Algeria. We expect those pockets to collapse or surrender by tomorrow evening.
Search operations east of Algiers continue for the war criminal Hawaii Alneuf.”
The colonel leaned forward. “When do they expect to capture him? I hope they understand that they need him to consolidate their hold over the country.”
“Yes, sir,” Major Samir replied. “They realize that the capture, or death, of Alneuf brings solidarity to the government. It removes a figurehead for loyalists to rally around. They continue to broadcast that Alneuf has surrendered, but they have yet to capture him — at least that is the last thing we heard. As the colonel is aware, we lost communications early this morning for six hours with our comrades in Algeria. Those links have been restored, and we have maintained continuous communication since discovering the break was deliberately done at the Tunis microwave relay center. We rerouted communications via landline to southern Algeria and then across our border.”