“Where’s Bud Helliwell and the chief?”
“They’re in an enfilade position in case those above prove unfriendly,” Beau answered, pointing to a spot about twenty yards above them and to the right.
H. J.” Gibbons, and Monkey ran over and squatted near the two.
“Let’s move out,” Duncan ordered, looking at his watch. “We’ve got an hour and a half to find Alneuf and get back to Albany.”
“Going to be cutting it close,” Beau added, looking at his watch.
“Don’t we always.”
A minute later they came across Mcdonald at the base of the hill. The machine-gunner pointed upward.
“Come on,” Duncan said.
Monkey and Mcdonald cradled their MG-60 machine guns as the other four held their Carbine 15s in position to bring them into play at the first sign of trouble. Monkey and Mcdonald had the heavy weapons and, in most SEAL teams, those assigned the MG-60s found the weight of the weapon slowed their pace. But, when the firefight erupted, those MG 60s were worth their weight in gold.
Gibbons shifted the radio manpack on his back and tightened the straps.
Without the radio they’d have no backup communications, only their bricks. The bricks, MX-300 radios that every SEAL carried for local communications, were VHP and low-power. They lacked the broadcast range to replace the radio manpack. Duncan doubted that their signal would reach a mile, much less the range necessary to contact the Albany. That is, assuming the Albany was even monitoring the frequency of the MX-300s.
Cautiously, the six SEALs started up the hill, keeping their movement as quiet as possible. The wind continued to blow out to sea, and the slight sound of the rolling waves hitting the beach masked the few noises the rocky terrain produced as they threaded carefully uphill.
Bud Helliwell and Chief Judiah stepped out of the shadows and joined the others. Duncan nodded and pointed uphill.
Bud took a position near the point about twenty feet behind Mcdonald, whose finger had eased into the trigger guard of the cradled MG-60.
Duncan and Beau followed. Gibbons, carrying the radio manpack, trailed a few feet behind Duncan, and spread out further behind was the rear security team of H. J.” Chief Judiah, and Monkey. If they had to retreat, these three would provide the first covering fire.
Damn headache. Wish it would go away.
Above, voices escalated into numerous shouts followed by gunfire. The SEALs rolled apart, seeking the nearest cover. Duncan immediately thought they were firing at them. He looked for a target even as he moved.
Beau and Duncan rolled into each other, coming to rest back-to-back behind a natural fence of rocks about twelve inches high. Every gun pointed toward the sound of gunfire. Monkey scrambled further to the left, positioning the MG-60 to cover the left flank, while his counterpart, Mcdonald, did the same on the right.
The shouts, screams, and sporadic shooting continued. Duncan quickly realized they were not the targets of the gunfight. He weighed the options of their next move.
“What you think?” Beau asked softly.
“I’m thinking, I’m thinking! Whatever is going on, they aren’t firing at us,” Duncan whispered. “Take your fire team and move out to the right. We’ll take the left. Be careful. We came to rescue President Alneuf, not kill him, and whatever is going on up there may be his people fighting the Algerians. Beau, don’t get involved. Stay back and let the situation clear itself. I have no intention of getting any of us killed over this operation.”
“What’ll we do if our objective has been captured? Or killed?”
“If killed, we abort the mission. If captured … Let’s see how many there are before we decide. Be prepared to follow my lead.
You’ve got five minutes to get in position.”
“Duncan, how in the hell am I going to know what you decide if I’m over there and you’re over here? I can’t follow your lead if I can’t see you.”
“Beau, watch your brick. If the red receive light comes on, it means I’m moving in. But don’t transmit unless you have to. I’m going to get as close as I can, and I don’t want a radio voice spoiling our concealment. So, go. Take your squad and circle the house. Come in through the garden and assess the situation. Move from redneck to enlightened WASP for the next hour and we’ll get out of this. Put Mcdonald where he can provide cover with that machine gun of his. I’ll be coming through from the right side. Forty-five-degree overlapping fire for Mcdonald and Monkey. Okay?”
“Okay,” Beau acknowledged. “Duncan, be careful.”
“Naw, Beau. I’m going to get myself killed this close to mandatory retirement. Now, get your ass moving,” he replied. He slapped Beau on the shoulder. “Be careful, shipmate. You still owe me twenty dollars.”
“Rather owe it to you than cheat you out of it.”
Beau got to his knees. Motioning to Chief Judiah, the fair haired Georgian dodged to the left, tugging Helliwell’s cammie shirt as he passed. The men followed as Duncan watched the night swallow them.
Mcdonald was too far to the right for Duncan to see him join Beau. He wiped his sweaty palms on his pants. Damn. Bad enough coming in blind, but coming in blind to a combat situation!
“Come on,” Duncan said, pointing to the left. At a crouch the four moved sideways, up the hill, toward the crumbling wall of the garden that surrounded the abandoned villa.
The shooting trickled off, to be followed by a renewed round of shouting. The noise of running feet above them sent Duncan and his squad diving for cover until the sound faded. Behind the convoluted noises of the battle above, the fading clamor of a vehicle engine mixed with grinding gears and spinning tires filled the night.
Someone was fleeing the firefight. Several shots rang out as a second vehicle took off, sending a shower of gravel raining against an out-of-sight wall. This was not going to be a good night. Damn headache. He hoped his wife found the damn dog. Duncan groaned as he remembered he still had her as beneficiary of his Serviceman’s Government Life Insurance. Maybe she’d planned this. He moved forward. If so, her second old man was going to one rich mother.
At the waist-high wall the four SEALs lined up, keeping their heads below it. Duncan motioned Monkey to cover. The bulky petty officer waved a. hairy hand in acknowledgment. Duncan eased over the top.
The overgrown garden shielded him. Bushes, vines, and stunted roses gone to seed had through the years flourished, entangled themselves, died back, and repeated the cycle, creating a miniature jungle of undergrowth in the middle of the arid country. Duncan crawled through the low clearance at the base of the wild growth, careful to avoid disturbing the vegetation. They’d be nervous in the house, and probably shoot first and ask questions later if they suspected someone of being in the bushes. Twenty feet further, his hand touched the graveled driveway leading to the villa.
Behind him H.J. and Gibbons followed. Duncan turned to Gibbons. “Bring Monkey up.”
Gibbons nodded and disappeared the way he came. The two returned within a minute. Duncan motioned to the other side of the road and the two SEALs darted across.
Around the bend of the road, leading to the house, four people came running. The SEALs remained motionless as the four strangers, three of whom wearing military uniforms, ran by. The fourth appeared almost ghostlike as his Arab garb billowed behind him. The ancient rifle the Arab carried accented the spectral moment. Duncan recognized the weapon as a Kalashnikov rifle.
The SEALs creeped forward. Gibbons dodged ahead six yards, passing Monkey, his thick finger resting lightly on the trigger mechanism of the MG-60. If they encountered an ambush, those in front would hit the dirt as he blasted the area.