Authors: Keith Douglass
“Close enough,” Murdock said. “Now, what the hell is behind the door?” It was a long corridor that could run from one end of the big building to the other.
The hallway had night lights glowing every fifty feet. The
NVGs came in handy in the low light. They could spot no one either way. One Kenyan lay crumpled around a machine gun to the left.
“Which way?” Jaybird asked.
“Which is the longest way?” Murdock asked him.
Jaybird shrugged. “We could split up. One squad each direction.”
“No, no splitting,” Murdock said. “We stay together unless we need a rear guard. How in hell are we going to find those sailors in this huge place?”
2215 hours
Pita’s apartment
Mombasa, Kenya
They had spent the past two hours eating, and drinking wine that Pita had brought home. Two days before, they had given her all of the shillings they had left, 2,512. She had been surprised, pleased, and delighted. She had said she would buy some special food for them.
Now the wine was making everyone friendlier. Pita hadn’t changed from her seduction clothes, and now and then her blouse slipped open a little. Vuylsteke tried not to look. Perez stared the other way. Tretter grinned at the flash of rounded breasts.
Just before 2300 the wine was gone. Vuylsteke yawned where he sat on the floor. Tretter sat beside Pita on the couch. She bent over and kissed him on the lips, and he growled softly. She stood, reached for his hand, and led him to the bedroom door.
Vuylsteke looked up and shook his head.
“By God, no, Tretter.”
“Man, you got no rank on me here.”
“Don’t go in there. Could mess up our whole cover.”
“Not a chance. Anyway, I figure this little lady has saved our asses for three days now. If she wants something in return, I ain’t gonna be the one to turn her down.”
“I’m warning you, Tretter.” Vuylsteke stood.
Perez came to his feet and moved in front of Vuylsteke. “Hey, easy. Take it easy. It’s Pita’s call. None of our damned
business. We’re guests in her house, right? Now just cool it. You take the couch tonight, I’ll sleep on the fucking pillows.”
Pita smiled at them all, then caught Tretter’s hand again, led him into her bedroom, and closed the door.
2114 hours
Indian Ocean Prison
Mombasa, Kenya
“We move left,” Murdock said looking down the long corridor. “As I remember, the bulk of the building was to the left.”
“We clear all these doors?” Jaybird asked.
“No, this isn’t a prisoner area. We look for some stairs or an open area or cell blocks. Where the hell do they keep the bad guys in this place?”
They trotted down the corridor on the concrete floor. Four lights down they came to a stairway to the left. At the top of the one flight of steps, a steel security gate barred the way. Quinley had stayed close behind Holt this time, and moved up to the barricade without orders. This one was different.
It had double locks on a hinged door. Less secure than the previous one. Quinley applied TNAZ blocks, molding them around both hinges on the four-foot-wide door. The SEALs moved back down the hall fifty feet, and a moment later Quinley came racing down the steps and around the corner, putting his hands over his ears.
The explosions were sharper this time, and just as effective. The steel gate sagged to the side, blown off both hinges but still fastened with the lock. They kicked the gate open further and hurried through. Murdock motioned his
men along both walls, and he pointed at Red Nicholson, his scout.
Red went up the corridor, and around a corner. He was back in half a minute. “Bingo, L-T. We’ve got cell blocks up here, but they’re all empty.”
“How many?”
“A bunch. Extend to hell and gone to the left and right.”
“No prisoners?”
“Nary a damned one, L-T, and two security gates like this one are wide open.”
“Let’s go have a look.”
It was as Red had said. They jogged down the aisle in the center. The cells were open, but showed signs that they had been used recently.
Loudspeakers boomed.
“All prisoners, this is general lockdown. A general lockdown. No prisoner will be outside his cell. Any so found will be shot on sight.”
Murdock scowled. Where the hell were the American prisoners? He put his men on double time, and they ran down the cell block. Twenty yards ahead, a stuttering machine gun sent a rain of bullets toward them. They flattened out, and four men in the front of the line of SEALs returned fire.
The lighting was faint in the cell blocks, but with their NVGs they spotted two Kenyan soldiers ahead working with a jammed gun. Red used his M-4A1 and cut down both men with two bursts. The SEALs ran forward.
The two Kenyans had guarded a cross corridor. This security gate was shut tight. Ahead they could see more cell blocks, but better lighted.
“Do it, Quinley,” Murdock said. It was routine now. Quinley hit the gate on the hinges again, and the SEALs were through in thirty seconds.
When the sound of the blast died down and their hearing came back to normal, they could hear men chattering somewhere. They listened. English.
Murdock motioned his men down the corridor. Almost at once it opened into a catwalk over a huge room with two
floors of cell blocks and guards patrolling below. Murdock hit his mike. The green-clad troopers were looking around after hearing the explosions. Some had cowered behind cover.
“Got them,” Murdock said into the mike. “Looks like our guys. Go to the floor. Fire over the ramp. Watch for any ricochets into the cells. Those are our boys down there. Don’t fire until we’re at the other end. Then use the silenced shooters.”
He left DeWitt’s crew there, and with his seven men moved slowly and silently along the catwalk-like structure to the far end. It was about fifty yards.
They used the silenced MP-5’s when Murdock turned them loose. DeWitt’s crew nailed three of the Kenyan ranger guards before they knew what happened. Murdock’s squad cut down four more on his end of the cell block.
A moment later every light in the cell-block area went out. Murdock grinned in the blackness. “Good, we use the NVGs. We can see them, they can’t see us.”
Murdock used the mike. “DeWitt, spread out your men to cover this area. I’ll take my guys down some stairs I see ahead. Must be a control area here somewhere. We need it to get those cell doors open.”
“Hey, you guys up there. Americans, right?” The voice came from below. A shot blazed in the darkness from below.
“Yes. Keep quiet so they don’t shoot you. Stay cool,” Murdock yelled. A round came his way, but missed. He moved his squad out to the door. He and Red went down the steps cautiously. They found two guards below bewildered by the blackout.
Red moved up on one and clubbed him with his rifle butt, and gunned down the other man. They dragged the dazed Kenyan back, but then realized he might speak no English. Murdock slapped him back to consciousness.
“Die in ten seconds or talk to us in English,” Murdock snarled.
The man groaned, felt his head, and looked to where he could make out the vague shadows.
“Yes, English. Who the hell are you?”
“We ask the questions. Where are the cell-block control panels?”
“End of corridor to left. Not far.”
“Good, you might live through this. How many soldiers and guards here?”
“Only fifty soldiers. Guards all run away.”
“Let’s go to the control panel. We can see in the dark. Lead the way. Remember, you yell a warning, you’re dead.”
The soldier nodded. They lifted him to his feet. Nicholson twisted one arm behind his back and held it, and let him walk ahead. They passed up sure shots on two guards down the corridor as they turned left into another smaller hallway. At the end, they came to a door. The man motioned toward it.
“Get them to open it,” Murdock whispered. “Say it in English.”
The Kenyan nodded. The black man pounded on the door. “Open up, open up! Orders from the commander!”
Nothing happened. He pounded the door again and yelled the same words.
Again, nothing happened. “Red, go bring up Quinley. This is another metal door, probably an electric lock. We’ll blow it.”
Murdock heard some of the 4-A1 rifles firing from where they had been. Good, only fifty defenders. Much better odds.
Quinley came puffing up with his extra load of explosives. He looked at the metal door through his NVGs.
“Lock looks too tough. I’ll hit it and the two hinges. Three shots of TNAZ. Get back around the corner when she blows.” He worked on the door as he spoke. He put timer detonators in each of the three chunks of explosive, all set for ten seconds. He got the SEALs back, then pushed in each timer, activating all three, and sprinted for the corner and around it. He had his hands over his ears. The other SEALs did the same, as did the captured Kenyan soldier, who was still with them.
The three sharp explosions were magnified by the narrow spaces. The sound, and a pair of shock waves, roared
through the tunnel-like passages. This time they sounded like three 155’s going off in your clothes closet.
Red Nicholson was first around the corner with his stubby rifle set for automatic. The door had been blown off both hinges and had pivoted inside still connected to the twisted locking mechanism. A stunned dark-green-clad soldier came out waving a rifle. Nicholson blew him backwards with a three-round burst and charged in after him. The dead Kenyan was the only man in the control center.
The lights were all still out. There had to be a master switch somewhere. Murdock looked at the control panels. All of the labels and directions were written in Swahili and in English.
“Jaybird, find the right buttons and open the cell doors,” Murdock said. Murdock left Ken Ching to back up Jaybird and deal with the captured Kenyan, and took the other five men with him toward the cell block. Just as they rounded the corner, a squad of six rangers opened fire. The SEALs jolted back.
Ronson let out a yelp and then gritted his teeth.
“Check him, Doc,” Murdock said.
Ronson had taken a round through his right forearm. Doc rolled back his sleeve, and put a compress over it.
“Hold that tight while I get some supplies,” he told Ronson.
“Oh, damn. What’s that, an AK-47 slug?” Ronson asked.
“Probably,” Doc said. He pulled his pack around and took out some larger squares of gauze, and a short stretch bandage like an Ace. He sprinkled the wound with some antiseptic and healing powder, put on two new squares of gauze, and then wrapped it tightly with the stretch bandage and fastened it with a double-hook clip.
Murdock had been checking the aisle between the cells. He saw shooters on both sides, hugging the cells so any firing at them would endanger the sailors behind them. He pulled Magic Brown up.
“Do it. We need delicate hits. No misses into the prisoners. Those are our boys.”
Magic tightened the sound suppressor on the short barrel of the new H&K PSG1 high-precision sniper rifle, and went belly-down at the corner. He angled the muzzle around, and checked through the 6 × 42-power scope.
“Bastards are firing at sounds,” Murdock said. “They can’t see a damned thing.”
Magic’s sniper rifle coughed through the suppressor, and they heard a wail of pain down the corridor.
Magic took his time finding the next victim. One Kenyan lifted up and ran away from them. Magic slammed one quick round at him. Then, with his eye on the scope, Magic nailed the man with the second shot, smashing him to the concrete floor, where he didn’t move.
A sudden clanging sounded, and two hundred cell doors rolled back all at once. Magic watched the men pour out of the cells. Half a dozen overwhelmed each of the Kenyan soldiers still alive in the alley between the cells. One AK-47 blasted, but then all was quiet.
“Hey, sailors,” Murdock bellowed. “Who’s in charge of this outfit?”
Murdock watched through his NVGs as a man worked through the sailors.
“That would be me, Lieutenant Commander Wilson Judd. My compliments on your quick action. Our Captain is KIA.”
The officer came forward. He wore no rank on his dungarees. He saluted the shadow in front of him, and Murdock took his extended hand.
“Lieutenant Murdock, with the SEALs. Glad we could be of some service. Afraid the dance has just begun. Have your men get any weapons they can find from the ex-guards and the Kenyan military. We’ll need them. You have any idea how to get out of this mousetrap?”
The commander laughed. “Not a fucking clue. Just glad to see another American. How is the ship?”
“Don’t know. First order of business is to get you and your crew back to the
Monroe.
”
“You’ve got a carrier offshore?”
“And a whole task force. You’re important people to the Navy, Commander Judd.”
Murdock touched his mike. “DeWitt. Any reason we can’t go back the way we came in?”
“Considerable. We’re still in the balcony seats. In the corridor behind us are at least twenty-five angry Kenyans who are howling and bellowing and firing down the corridor. How about a detour or an alternate route?”
“Working it. DeWitt, get your troops down here.” Murdock looked around. “Where’s Nicholson?”
Jaybird had joined the party. “He wandered off when the cell doors came open.”
“He’ll be back. You have any wounded, Commander Judd?”
“Three or four, all minor.”
“Get them up here and let Doc look them over. We may have a couple of minutes before my scout gets back.”
The commander passed the word, and soon Doc had three men to check out.
“You have any KIA, Commander?”
“One. One chief had been on the nervous side, and he mouthed off to one of the guards. The bastard shot the chief four times.”
“Not sure we can take him out with us. Depends on the route. There should be a stretcher around here somewhere. I’ll have my men with the goggles look for one. If we can’t take him out, we’ll damn well come back and get him.”