Ernest Dempsey
The Cairo Vendetta
Prologue
In the blink of an eye, the peaceful surroundings of the forest turned into hell on earth.
Darkness had come early for the five men in SEAL Team Four. They’d been lurking in the shadows for almost three hours, waiting for the opportune moment to strike. Just a hundred meters from their hiding place, their target — a compound run by a ruthless warlord — began settling down for the night.
Most of the men running patrols had since disappeared behind the feeble-looking gate. Only a few guards remained. They appeared to be young, fifteen at most. Every member of the strike team had been apprised of the situation. Their target — a warlord by the name of Baku Toli — had been abducting children to serve in his rebel army.
That wasn’t even the worst of it. Intelligence reported Toli had also obtained biological weapons. There was no word as to where he planned on using the weapons or what his motives might be, but one thing was obvious: his intentions weren’t good.
“Two guards at main gate, sir. Two in the tower to the north. Same with the tower to the south.” Petty Officer Alberto Garza was quick to assess the situation. Not terrible odds. Six on five was better than what they usually faced. But as soon as the first shot was fired, the rest of the warlord’s small army would hit back — hard. The SEALs would have to move fast.
Lt. j.g. Fletcher Collins was the commander of the mission. Affectionately known as Fletch to the others, he made quick decisions and was a natural leader. He’d glanced over at the others to give the signal to move up when the first shot was fired from behind their position.
And that’s when everything came unraveled.
First the dirt exploded around them again and again as bullets flew at their position. Other rounds thudded into the trees and clipped branches nearby. Next, Petty Officer Max Wilson took a bullet to the leg. He grimaced and dropped to his knees before another round zipped through the base of his neck. He fell over prostrate, grasping at his throat for five seconds before slowing to intermittent twitches. Then he stopped moving altogether.
The remaining four SEALs returned fire immediately. In the dark it was difficult to see the enemy, but the muzzle flashes illuminated the gunmen in bright bursts and effectively gave away their positions. The ambush was coming from a wide arch, surrounding the Americans in such a way that would make escape nearly impossible.
Fletch dove for cover behind a huge tree stump and continued firing on the right flank. The other three took up positions behind the biggest tree trunks they could find.
Petty Officer Tevin Simmons, a young man of twenty-seven, squeezed the trigger on his assault rifle. A second later a yelp merged into the rat-a-tat-tat of the gunfire. “One down,” he said. The voice had sounded like a child’s. The men all knew they would be facing some of the child soldiers Toli had abducted and brainwashed. Now it was eerily real.
Senior Chief Mark Mueller was in the center with Garza. Their weapons swiveled to the left and right with every muzzle flash. Even though they were firing into darkness, the reckless shooting by the enemy exposed them every time they pulled the trigger. For a unit as elite as Team Four, that was all the light they needed. One after the other, the SEALs dropped the shooters until only a few were left. Whoever the enemy was, they were wildly inaccurate — better at hitting stumps and rocks than their targets.
Fletch gave the signal for the other three to fan out and press the attack. He started to leave the protection of the stump when suddenly he felt the cold metal of a rifle muzzle against the back of his neck. A chill shot through his body, and he froze stiff.
“Don’t move, American.”
The voice was young. The kid couldn’t have been more than twelve. Fletch didn’t turn around to look. For a second, the idea of dropping to the ground and sweeping the kid’s legs rushed through his brain. That notion was lost to fantasy the second he saw three other child soldiers with guns appear to his right. Their barrels were leveled at their hips, pointing straight at him.
Fletch dropped his weapon and raised his hands. Garza looked back from his advanced position and noticed his commander in trouble. Before he could react, though, a line of young soldiers appeared. They charged out of the gate toward the battle, covering the span in fifteen seconds in spite of the heavy weapons they bore. Garza and the others spun around, ready to fire at the new threat.
“Stand down, boys,” Fletch ordered. He knew a no-win situation when he saw one. There was zero chance he and the others would get out alive if they tried to fight their way out. “There’s too many of them.”
Fletch glanced over at the lifeless body of Wilson lying face down in the dirt. The sight caused Fletch to clench his jaw. Based on the poor aim of the so-called soldiers, Wilson had been unlucky. He was only twenty-five years old — a good kid. Now he was gone. Just like that. Fletch had lost a member of his team once before, and he never stopped blaming himself for it. The old demons started to flame up before his eyes as he imagined how heartbroken Wilson’s family would be. He was engaged to be married in a few months. Now his parents and his fiancée would have a hole in their lives until the end of time.
All because of Baku Toli.
The American commander’s thoughts were interrupted by a man’s voice from amid the cluster of soldiers swarming the area.
“What have we here?” the man asked. “Americans?”
Fletch kept facing away from the sound of the voice. He wasn’t about to make a sudden move, not without being told. As it turned out, he didn’t have to move at all. The dark face of the man they’d come to kill appeared as Toli stepped around in front of him.
He wore a red beret, dark camouflage fatigues, and had two bandoliers of bullets stretching from his shoulders across his chest.
Fletch had seen the face a dozen times while he studied the mission. He’d learned all he could about Toli, but information was scarce. It was as if he’d appeared from nowhere, a creation of Fletch’s imagination. Fletch wished he was a figment. Toli was real enough, though, and now he was standing face to face with the American.
“What are you doing here?” Toli asked in his thick East African accent. “It was not wise for you to come to my fortress. Now I will have to kill you.”
Fletch looked out of the corner of his eye. He saw the remainder of his team reluctantly surrendering their weapons.
“Well we all do dumb things every now and then.” He flashed his eyes at one of the children hovering close by. “What kind of sick coward abducts kids and uses them to fight for him? You always stand behind someone else’s gun? Too afraid to use one yourself?”
Toli pulled a pistol from the holster on his hip and smacked it across Fletch’s face. When the American recovered, he found himself staring down the wrong end of the barrel.
“These boys must learn what it means to become men,” Toli said. He waved a finger around. “And they must learn what it means to serve the Almighty.”
Perfect. Another religious fanatic who thinks he’s the savior. “There have been men like you before, Baku. In fact, there was one not too far north of here in Uganda. Things didn’t work out too well for him, if you catch my drift.”
Toli was unimpressed. His reply was a derisive snort followed by a wave of the hand. “Take them to the basement in the main building,” he ordered one of the few men he had serving. “Make sure they are watched at all times.” Toli stared hard into Fletch’s eyes. “I have plans for these Americans. Soon the world will know who we are.”