Battleground (26 page)

A dozen more rounds hit the car.

Colonel Kariuki fired out the open car door again, then too late realized it was a two-front war. A round jolted through the passenger’s side window, shattering it. The second round dug into his back just below his lungs, and
missed his spine by inches. He bellowed in pain, and tried to swing the Uzi around.

A huge man dove into the car and wrestled the weapon away from him, then dragged him out to the dirt beside the ditch.

Four men leaped into the car and shrilled in delight. They had found the food. Two more bottles of whiskey, and already one was open and being sampled.

Colonel Kariuki turned over to watch the carnage of his carefully laid plans. Maybe all was not lost.

“Who is your leader?” he asked loudly. His body gushed with pain, but he could not let them know he was hurting.

“Who is your leader?” he bellowed this time.

A small man with a full beard and nearly white hair came out of the car carrying his pistol and nodded.

“I am Kinadi, the leader of this squad of patriot soldiers. Who are you?”

“I am Colonel Jomo Kariuki, the second in command of the New Republican Army of Kenya. I sit at the right hand of our leader, General Umar Maleceia.”

The man in front of him wore no uniform. He had the white shirt and dark pants of the peasant farmer of the hills. The man laughed, fired the pistol three times in the air, and laughed again.

“Maleceia is a syphilitic idiot. I knew him before he went into the Army. He’s a stupid lout with more guts than brains. I was his sergeant his first time in the Army. If you run with him, I should shoot you now.”

“I left him. His regime is falling apart. I was on my way to Tanzania.”

“Doubt if you’ll get much farther.”

“Can we speak in private?” the colonel asked. He lowered his voice so only the leader could hear. “It could be well worth your time.”

Kinadi motioned three of his men away. He kept the pistol aimed at the Army man. “So, talk.”

“At this point I can do you a lot of good. I can make you a quite wealthy man. None of your group needs to know. Let them have the food and the weapons, and you stay here with
me. We will change the two tires. I have two spares. Then we will drive to the nearest village, where I will present you with more than a hundred thousand shillings.”

“You have money hidden in the car,” the robber said. “Why don’t I just kill you and take all of the money you have?”

“Because then you’ll have to split it evenly with six or eight men, and you’ll wind up with a pittance. This way you’ll have more cash than you have ever seen in your lifetime.”

“True. But if you will give me a hundred thousand, you must have three times that much. Why don’t I want to take it all?”

“You’ll have to share it with your band. No one will get much. There may be some fights, some killings, jealousies. It happens in the best groups of mere men.”

“You have a good point. Colonel. By the way, this is a fine little pistol, a twenty-two caliber I believe.” He turned and shot the colonel in the right leg.

“Bastard!” Colonel Kariuki brayed in pain and fury. He beat down the waves of agony. “Why did you shoot me? We were negotiating. I can make you rich.”

The bandit leader nodded. “True, Colonel. All true.” Then he shot the colonel in the left knee.

Colonel Kariuki screamed until he passed out.

“Tear the car apart,” Kinadi ordered. “But don’t damage it. Take everything out that will move, the goods, the seats, everything. There may be a surprise in there somewhere.”

There was.

The men had taken out the front seats, and then lifted the rear seat to pull it out. A pair of furious Hinds montane vipers struck out repeatedly, shooting venom into two of the men, who wailed and reeled back, sucking at the fang marks to pull the poison from their systems.

Two other men clubbed the vipers to death and carried them deep into the brush.

Colonel Kariuki came to consciousness with the shock of the water that hit him in the face.

“What? Oh, God. Why… why are you shooting me? I offered half of the money to you.”

“Where is the money hidden, my colonel?” the leader asked.

“What money?”

The leader shot him in the left shoulder with the snarling little .22-caliber. Colonel Kariuki jolted backward, but didn’t fall over this time. The pain billowed around him. He felt as if he were in a giant metal barrel and someone kept banging it with a steel hammer.

“Where is the money, old man?”

“Money. If I tell you, will you let me go with my car?”

“Sure, sure we will. Why not? What good are you to us without your money?”

“Good. It’s a deal, a bargain. See, good men can come to reasonable arrangements. The money’s in a compartment under the rear seat. It looks like the gas tank, but it comes right out and is hinged. Take it out carefully so you don’t rupture the real gas tank directly below it.”

The leader motioned, and three men cautiously looked in where the rear seat had been. One more snake darted out, but was clubbed before it could strike.

One of the men yelped, and tugged, and the metal box came loose and moved forward. They lugged it out carefully.

“Damn heavy,” one of the men said.

The metal box was eight inches deep, two feet wide, and nearly three feet long. They brought it out and put it on the ground beside the leader. He called the men over, and then counted them.

“Is everyone here? I want no mistakes if this is valuable and we split it. Seven of us, right? Including the two snakebit ones who are still alive.” He laughed. “Don’t worry, the little viper is vicious, but not all that deadly.”

He reached down, undid a hasp at each end, and lifted up the hinged top.

The men gasped. In the moonlight they could see that the box was filled with money. One section had banded stacks of hundred-dollar U.S. bills. Another had banded stacks of
thousand-shilling notes. Half of the chest was filled with South African gold pieces.

The leader of the band hit Kariuki in a shot-up knee, setting off a series of wailing screams.

“Can the bills be traced? Are the numbers recorded anywhere as stolen? They’re all new and in order.”

Colonel Kariuki knew then that he would not live out the night. He screamed at them that of course they were stolen.

“Yes, the numbers are with every police in the world. All stolen, and you’ll never spend a dollar or a shilling.”

The leader laughed at him. “Old man, you wouldn’t have kept them if they had been recorded. What did you do before you were a colonel with the killers down in Nairobi?”

The colonel didn’t answer.

The leader hit him again in a wounded knee, and Kariuki bleated in surging waves of pain that made him nauseous. When he could talk again, he realized he was still alive. Maybe he could still get through this and get away.

“Before I went with the Army, I was the Minister of Finance and Administrator of Foreign Aid. I… I helped myself to some of the foreign aid. It was never missed.”

“About what I figured.” The leader turned away from the Army man. He pointed to three of his men. “You three start dividing it up into seven equal piles. We’ll all be rich tonight. But don’t damage the mother vehicle. It’s mine. The rest of the goods we split equally. Any arguments?”

There were none.

Colonel Kariuki had some hope. He called to the leader.

“Now, Mr. Kinadi, I gave you what you wanted. Will you help me into the village where I can get some medical aid? It’s the right thing to do.”

The leader looked down at the colonel and asked him to repeat what he had said. When he heard it, Kinadi shrugged and turned away. Then in one swift movement he spun back and shot the colonel three times in the chest. After Kariuki fell to the ground, Kinadi shot him twice in the head to make sure.

0045 hours

USS
Monroe,
CVN 81

Off Mombasa, Kenya

The SEALs had eaten a big breakfast and loaded up on carbohydrates. In the ready room, they were suiting up and making final checks on their weapons and the quantities of ammunition each man wanted to take over the minimum.

Murdock and DeWitt double-checked each of their men. DeWitt was one SEAL short with Yates still in sick bay. He would make do.

By 0130 they had assembled on the flight deck near where a Seahawk chopper was getting a final preflight check. Five minutes later they boarded the craft, fitting in around the rig’s normal supply of weapons minus the heavy Mk 46 torpedoes. They settled in for the rest of the preflight check.

Don Stroh came on board and talked with Murdock.

“Just had late word from the President. He says good luck on this mission. He congratulated your platoon on the great work you’ve done so far down here, and hopes all goes well today.”

Murdock nodded. “We don’t expect a lot of trouble. If we run into any, we may call on you for some assistance. I know, the President of Kenya said no more air strikes, but that wouldn’t include an evacuation. We’re going to have to
be lifted out of there at some point. No way we walk three hundred miles to the coast. As we planned it, we’ll need to exfiltrate with a Seahawk. Two hours for the big birds to get there when we need them. We’ll remember that. Better remind the XO to have one of these Seahawks standing by for the next few hours, or maybe days, until we call.”

The two shook hands, and Stroh left the chopper seconds before one of the crewmen closed the hatch.

Ten minutes into the flight from the carrier, Murdock looked around at his fourteen men. Half of them were sleeping. He grinned. Not at all uptight. Most of them had been this route before. Just another day at the office. This one could be a damn dangerous office. He checked his watch.

This mission seemed to be a simple one. Go in, determine for sure that the big general had been killed in the bombing, get out, and call for a pickup. It would be a two-hour delay between the call and the bird arriving on site, but they should be able to sustain that with no problem.

It all depended on a lot of things.

How many troops were still in the headquarters?

Were they still in a fighting mood?

How close to collapse was the new regime?

He pushed the questions out of his mind, and tried to relax. No telling which way this one would go. The bombs might get the general and his top staff, and they might not. The powers that be had decided that sunup was too early to expect the big man to be in his office. So they’d slated the bombing at 0800. He should be there by that time.

Which meant the SEALs had to remain hidden for two hours more before the raid.

So they would do it. They were SEALs.

Murdock felt the hand on his shoulder, and came awake. He must have dozed. The chopper crewman shook his shoulder again.

“Lieutenant, we’re five minutes from our LZ. Figured you’d want to know.” The crewman grinned.

Murdock lifted up in his seat. “Okay, SEALs, up and at
’em. Time to rock and roll. LZ coming up in about five minutes. Time to lock and load. Everybody conscious?”

He heard a chorus of grunts and groans.

“The ones who ain’t conscious ain’t talking,” Jaybird cracked.

Murdock checked out the small window. They were still high over the land, but they were dropping quickly. A crewman came in, unlatched the big hatch door, and pushed it open.

“Stay clear,” he said. Murdock was first man next to the hatch. He could see the ground rushing up at them now. They leveled out about fifty feet and slanted over the terrain. Ahead in the darkness he saw a clump of what might be trees. The Seahawk pivoted around them, came in behind them, and settled slowly to the ground. The second they hit ground, the crewman slapped Murdock on the shoulder, and he jumped to the ground and zigzagged toward the dark mass of trees thirty yards away.

Fourteen SEALs followed him in rapid order. The noisy chopper behind them took off at once. The men hit the fringe of the trees in a line staying five meters apart. Murdock waved at Red Nicholson, who sprinted into the trees silently. He was gone two minutes by Murdock’s watch. Then he came back nodding, and the SEALs moved into the trees.

Murdock’s watch showed it to be 0407. On time, with time to spare. The men remained quiet. Nicholson vanished again toward the front of the trees.

That was when they heard firing from somewhere in front of them. It was the solid rattle of the Seahawk’s 7.62 machine guns hammering away at what Murdock figured must be the front gate.

“Should pull any suspicion from the chopper’s sound here,” Murdock whispered to Holt, who was two meters away. They heard small-arms fire, but not much of it, evidently coming from defenders at the front gate. Then the machine gun made another series of strafings before the night turned quiet.

Without a sound, Red Nicholson slid in beside Murdock.

“L-T, we’ve got about a hundred fifty yards of open space beyond the trees to the fence. I didn’t see any guard towers or guard posts. One guard did a lackadaisical walk of a post inside the fence, but he didn’t show up again. Either a damn big post or he’s goofing off somewhere.

“Fence looks easy enough for our wire cutters. Inside the fence maybe twenty yards is a big pile of trashed lumber. Looks like a bulldozer smashed a building and they dumped the remains there. It’s ten, twelve feet high and thirty yards long. Should be enough for us to hide behind until we make our move.”

“Maybe an hour or so to dawn,” Murdock said. “Take Lincoln with you, and two wire cutters, and make us a door. Send Lincoln back when you’re ready for us.”

Red and Lincoln moved out through the trees and brush without a sound.

Four minutes later, Lincoln came back through the trees and waved at Murdock.

All had on their Motorolas. Murdock whispered into the mike. “Let’s move it.”

They went in squad formation with the men spaced out ten meters apart. The wire had been cut and tied upward, leaving a four-foot-high opening. Lincoln stayed with the wire to fasten it back in place when everyone had entered.