The Voice objected that he was going off the established trail.
“Affirmative,” he told it. “Guide me toward McGowan.”
“Subject cannot be definitively located.”
“He hasn’t moved.”
“Data insufficient to confirm.”
“Warn me if I’m too close to a mine,” Danny told it. He shifted right, crawled two feet to the right, then stopped at the Voice’s direction. He had to zig to the right then back before drawing parallel to his trooper.
“Get on my back,” Danny said.
“Huh?” said McGowan.
“The computer will tell me where to go. Rather than taking a risk and following me, I’ll just carry you out. It’ll be easier.”
“Hey, Colonel, I can do this.”
“Get on my back, soldier. That’s an order.”
“Yes, sir.”
WHILE DANNY WAS GUIDING HIS MEN THROUGH THE MINEFIELD, Nuri and Boston were on the opposite side of the camp, preparing an assault. Or what would look like an assault to the men inside.
Nuri was on the north side of the road, Boston the south. They’d split the mercenaries between them. They didn’t have nearly enough men to take the camp, but they had more than enough to make it look as if they wanted to.
The rain continued to fall, blocking not only the Owl’s view, but making it hard to see with the night glasses as well. Nuri could barely tell where the machine-gun position was.
There were three minutes to go before the guards were due to change watch.
“Danny, you want us to delay the Catbirds?” Nuri asked. “You only have three minutes.”
“Stay on schedule. We want to hit while the guards are changing.”
“You sound like you’re straining.”
“I’ll explain later.”
HERA CLIPPED THROUGH THE LAST OF THE WIRE AND PUSHED it back. Then she stepped through, holding it for Flash so he could get in.
“This way,” she said, pointing toward the prisoners’ pen.
Aside from some smaller lights on the buildings, the only illumination in the complex came from a pair of floodlights mounted on a telephone pole at almost the exact center of the camp. Their light formed an arc that took in about two-thirds of the prisoners’ area. The area between the two fences where Hera and Flash were was cast in a deep shadow.
Before the rain started, two guards had been watching the prisoners, walking back and forth in the area that was lit. The heavy rain had sent them into the trucks, though Hera and Flash couldn’t see them from where they were.
“What happened to the guards?” asked Flash.
“I’m looking,” said Hera.
“Maybe they’re up around on the other side.”
Hera saw the two trucks at the edge of the very small parade and assembly area off to her left.
“Maybe they’re in the trucks,” she suggested. “They can see the pen from there.”
“Could be.”
“You watch the truck,” she told Flash. “I’ll go cut the fence to the prisoners’ pen.”
“Go,” said Flash, trotting forward through the mud.
The rain kept coming harder. Flash felt it soaking into the pores of his skin, covering his whole body with a slimy film of water and sweat.
As annoying as it was, the rain was making their job considerably easier. Visibility was cut down for the defenders, and the foul weather lessened the chance of being spotted by a random patrol or a casual cigarette smoker.
Flash slipped a grenade round into his rifle’s attached launcher, ready to take out the truck quickly if necessary.
Danny had told him only to fire if the guards presented a clear danger—if they came to investigate or started shooting. This wasn’t only because he wanted to keep the casualties down. They were outnumbered, and the only way to even the odds was to use trickery. When Boston and Nuri attacked, so the plan went, the defenders’ attention would be drawn toward the front of the camp. Escaping out the back with the prisoners would be easy.
While Flash was watching the truck and the rest of the compound, Hera had slipped around the corner of the prisoners’ area. The rain had encouraged the prisoners to clump together at the southeast side of the pen, seeking shelter under a small tarp augmented by a collection of small blankets and other rags. They were all soaked, the water leaking in a constant drip on the prisoners below.
Hera began cutting the fence. She knew Farsi, but Danny thought it might make Tarid more suspicious and told her not to use it. He wanted to make it appear that they had come to free all of the prisoners. So she used Arabic after she got into the pen and started waking the prisoners.
“Time to go,” she said, first in a whisper, then more loudly. “Be quiet. The way is this way.”
The first man was so battered by his wounds that he simply stared at her. The one next to him was dead.
“Come on,” said Hera, shaking the third. She raised her voice. “Let’s go.”
The man turned his head toward her.
“What sort of devil are you?”
“Mr. Kirk sent us. Go through the fence. Stay low to the ground so they don’t see you. Go!”
The man raised his head, barely able to make her out even though it was raining. As Hera grabbed him to pull him upward, the ground heaved with an explosion, the night turning white. Two of the Catbirds had just struck the minefield in front of the machine-gun posts.
DANNY AND MCGOWAN REACHED THE SAFE AREA BEHIND the minefield just as the Catbirds exploded.
“Take out the minefield,” Danny told McGowan, pushing him off his back. “I’ll hold the prisoners back.”
McGowan pulled off his rucksack and pulled out what looked like a misshapen football. He slid his thumb against a latch at the side, undoing the safety.
“Fire in the hole,” he yelled, rearing back and throwing the football toward the end of the minefield.
As it sailed through the air, the rear of the ball burst apart and a thin Teflon net expanded from the rear. The net was studded with microexplosives. These were more like powerful firecrackers than bombs, but had the same effect on the minefield, exploding in a coordinated pattern designed to create and accentuate a pulsing shock wave. The explosives set off six mines simultaneously, in turn igniting another two dozen nearby. Dirt, water, explosives, and metal roiled into the air. McGowan pushed his head down, protecting himself as the shrapnel settled.
An illumination flare shot up from the center of the compound. Its white phosphorus gave him a good view of the minefield. The explosion had cut only about a third of the way through. He took out a second football and tossed it closer. This time he was too close for comfort; pebbles pelted him as the mines finished exploding.
Inside the fence, Danny had grabbed the first escapee, corralling him while McGowan worked on the mines. He repeated the words for “stop” and “mines” in Arabic, but the man seemed simply bewildered, still half asleep and confused by the explosions. Danny pushed him down to the ground, then signaled to the man running behind him that he should hit the deck as well.
McGowan had one more football, and roughly half of the minefield to take out. The shower from the last blast convinced him that he had to throw it from shelter, so he ducked into the trench leading to the machine-gun post. This time more than a dozen mines ignited immediately, starting a chain reaction that zigged out through the rest of the remaining field.
He started to get up out of the trench to make sure the path was clear, and to mark it for the prisoners. But as McGowan started to his feet, he heard a shout and turned to see a Sudanese soldier pointing his rifle at him.
McGowan raised his hands in surrender.
AS SOON AS THE CATBIRDS EXPLODED, NURI AND BOSTON’S teams began firing at the machine-gun posts in front of them. The guards were taken completely by surprise. The man at the northeast post, in front of Nuri, began firing wildly into the minefield, his bullets setting off several mines. The other man fired a single burst before his gun jammed. Too shaken to clear it, he hunkered down behind the sandbags and waited for the gunfire to stop.