Maybe, just maybe, Cate will strike lucky with the Abraham Lincoln’s air assets.

  Before he reached her, a voice boomed out of a loudhailer.

  “American soldiers, you know you cannot fight your way out of here. You are surrounded by my soldiers, and now you have seen the tanks and armored fighting vehicles that we have here. There are RPGs and machine guns positioned ready to finish off anyone who escapes my armor. Your position is therefore hopeless.”

  Talley looked at the men. He could tell by the way they’d slumped down even more that Barre’s words were having the effect the Somali General wished for. His amplified voice boomed out again.

  “However, I am not a vengeful man. I understand you were ordered to come here by your commanders. Those men are criminals, but you are not responsible for their actions. If you surrender now, and put down your weapons, you will not be harmed. This is my promise. If you refuse to surrender, however, you will all be killed. Put down your weapons, and you will leave this place with your lives. I will give you five minutes to make up your minds. After that, I send in the tanks. I recommend you come to the right decision. If not, you will all die.”

  The loudhailer clicked off. A silence had descended on the compound. Talley looked at his men. They were staring at him.

  If you think that Somali psycho is going to just let us live after what he did to Delta Six, you must be crazy.

  But he didn’t voice the thought. He looked across to where Cate was on the radio, talking to someone on the Abraham Lincoln, presumably. Dubois walked over and joined him.

  “What do you plan to do?”

  “Do? We’re here to fight, to kill General Barre. What else can we do?”

  “My American friend, if you think you’re going to get close to Barre, you must be insane. Or had you forgotten those tanks?”

  “We’ve coped with worse, Michel. We’ll deal with the tanks.”

  “How?”

  He was aware the men were still staring at him.

  Are their expressions filled with hope or with terror? I’m not sure which.

  “We have the RPGs. The men can take out the armor. You know the RPGs can do that.”

  “Sure, in the hands of a skilled operator, if they get a lucky shot. And if the guns on the tank don’t kill them before they get a hit. Too many ifs, Lieutenant. We’d be better off surrendering.”

  “No. That’s not the way we do it in our army, Michel. We fight. There’s a little country called Belgium, not far from France. In 1944, the Germans made a similar demand that the 101st Airborne surrender to them, in the face of their overwhelming firepower and armor. The airborne General, Harry Kinnard, sent them a one word reply. ‘Nuts’. One of his officers took the message to the Germans and told them if they continued to attack, they would kill every German that tried to break into the city. That’s my message for General Barre. We’re going to kill him.”

  He’d raised his voice so that the men around him could hear. He felt that by invoking the spirit of the 101st Airborne, the Screaming Eagles, in some strange way the men had changed. Backs had stiffened, and gun barrels drooping toward the ground were raised ready to fight. Men that had aged ten years in as many minutes regained their youthful energy. He knew it was the moment; the time when he could lead them back to the fight and hope to win.

  “What do you say, men? What do we tell that fat Somali drug pimp?”

  Their reply came back to him as one word, shouted from a score of voices so that it rang around the compound.

  “Nuts!”

  He nodded. “Then that’s what I’ll say to him. Even better, Vince, Jerry, try to get a shot if he shows himself.”

  They both nodded even though they knew the General would be unlikely to show himself.

  “Okay then, hold your positions, and when they come, give ‘em hell!”

  He walked over to Cate. She’d just put down the microphone. She grinned at him.

  “That was some speech you gave them, Abe. I almost thought you believed it.”

  “Maybe I did. What about the Lincoln? Anything from Hakim or Alexander?”

  She sighed. “Hakim was an absolute, definite no-go. And he refused to let me speak to Admiral Alexander, but I managed to contact him on the bridge. He’s under orders from NATO not to disobey his orders, and that means no air support. He was pretty tough, not very helpful, at least, not up front. But I don’t know, he didn’t actually say no.”

  “Did he say yes?”

  “No, he didn’t say that either. He said he was sympathetic, and that he wasn’t permitted to launch an air operation that directly overflew Somali airspace. But he did say he’s allowed overflights in the case of a crew emergency, a rescue mission for naval personnel, something like that. I’m not quite sure what he meant. It wasn’t a yes.”

  “So not much hope there?”

  “No, not really.”

  “Okay. In that case, there’s only one possible course of action.”

  She screwed up her eyes in puzzlement. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean we attack. We’ll hit them, just when they think they’ve got us beat.”

  Her jaw dropped open in disbelief, but he ignored her and went to join Rovere and Welland.

  “We need to break out of here. I want you to get the men ready.”

  Domenico just shook his head in disbelief. “You’re making a joke, Lieutenant. Have you called in an armored squadron to help us out? A great man once said, ‘Dying is a very dull dreary affair. My advice to you is to have nothing to do with it’.”

  Talley grinned. “No armored squadron, we’re on our own. But we’re leaving.”

  Domenico saw the grim intent behind his words and nodded. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Both of you, get the men ready, and make sure the wounded are made comfortable on the trucks. We have a couple of minutes before Barre’s deadline expires, and then maybe another five or ten before he attacks. We’re leaving before that happens. Guy, I want one missile team on each of the four leading vehicles, in case one or more of them gets hit. The missile targets are the armor, nothing else. We’ll split the snipers, one at the front and one at the back. We’ll put one Technical in the front and the other in the center of the column. They’re capable of giving the enemy a nasty surprise. Everyone else can stand ready with their assault rifles to pour it on as soon as the enemy is in sight.”

  “We’ll terrify them,” Domenico smiled. He was leaning against his assault rifle for support, using it as a crutch. He was that far gone. Like all of them.

  Talley gave him a sharp look. “Whatever. Okay, we’ll be rolling inside of five minutes. Make sure you’re all ready.”

  Talley mounted the leading truck, the Technical with the twin barrel ZSU-23 mounted on the bed, the fearsome Russian built anti-aircraft artillery. Sergeant Roy Reynolds manned the gun, despite his wounded leg. Vince DiMosta sat next to him.

  “I’m doing double duty,” he called out cheerfully when he saw Talley staring at him. “Sniper and gun loader. It should keep me busy.”

  “Can’t we find someone else to load the gun?” Talley replied doubtfully. “We’re likely to see some heavy action up front.”

  “Like who?” Vince shook his head. “There’s no one else, Boss. Just me and the walking wounded here.”

  He grinned at Roy. “Just joking, my friend, we’ll do fine.”

  Talley nodded. “Okay then. Roy, try not to get that other leg shot out from under you.”

  “I’ll do my best,” the big black Sergeant replied with a brief smile.

  Talley cranked up the engine and looked across at Cate sitting in the passenger seat. She clutched a SCAR assault rifle, and the satcom was at her feet.

  “Anything from the Abraham Lincoln?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing.”

  “Okay, we’ll have to manage it ourselves.” He keyed his mic. “This is Echo One. We’re pulling out now. Watch that armor, missile crews, hit them and keep hitting them. The rest of you, go for the machine guns first. Let’s go!”

  He hit the gas pedal, and the Technical, a converted Toyota Land Cruiser, shot forward. He steered it around the corner of the mansion and was immediately confronted by the sight of Somalis running to their positions. They’d heard the engines starting when they were out of the hot interiors of the armored vehicles, and it gave Echo Six a much needed few seconds. One of the T55s was drawn up next to the gates, but there was enough room for them to scrape past. The two BTR-50s were in the center of the compound, and one of them, the crew quicker than the other, opened up with the 12.7mm machine gun. The heavy bullets chewed up the ground between Talley’s lead vehicle and the second in line, an old Renault open truck loaded with wounded. And then one of the RPGs scored their first hit. The rocket smashed into the APC, and by an incredible stroke of luck on their part, and stupidity on the part of the Somalis, it hit the area next to the fuel filler where the crew had left the cap off, not bothering to replace it after refueling. The BTR went into a huge ball of flame, exploding as flames reached the ammunition. Talley could hear the screams of the crew as they burned to death inside the steel hull, but he’d no time for sympathy. They were heading into a cauldron of hell.

  The Somalis had set up machine gun nests next to the gates, and the gunners were ready and waiting behind their guns. They began firing, and the area became a hell of gunfire that crisscrossed the compound. Echo Six returned fire, able-bodied men and wounded alike, but still they had to run the gauntlet of fire as they neared the gates. The turret on the T55 started to turn, and the second BTR began moving to block their path, the heavy machine gun turning to cover them. It was too close, Talley knew that, much too close. His missile shooters kept firing, but their missiles impacted uselessly on the heavy frontal armor of the tank and did little damage. Then at last they scored a hit on the second BTR, but it was only enough to disable the tracks. Even stalled, the Russian APC had a usable heavy machine gun. As if in slow motion, he saw it creep around toward them, and the second T55 appeared. Thirty tons of Soviet era armor, equipped with a 100mm main gun and a secondary coaxial SG-43 Goryunov machine gun. It had been outside the compound, but now it approached the gates, its turret already pointing directly at them. They couldn’t miss, and the RPGs were infective against the eight inch frontal and turret armor. With a sickening feeling, Talley started to brake. They were beaten. But the T55 blocking their exit exploded. It seemed to disintegrate in a huge pyre of smoke and flame. Cate looked at it, startled.

  “What the hell? How did that happen? It wasn’t one of our missiles, was it?”

  It wasn’t. In that instant, Talley knew they were no longer on their own. The cavalry had arrived. An FA-18 Super Hornet zoomed across the dawn sky. The US Navy had arrived. He keyed his mic.

  “Let’s go, pull out now before they recover! Missile crews, target that other T55, and watch out for the BTR turret, people, it’s still in operation. Everyone stay alert. We’re almost out of here, but they’ve still got plenty of ammo.”

  He looked up as another Super Hornet roared across the sky at treetop height; the M61 Vulcan nose-mounted Gatling gun hammering heavy rounds into the Somalis. The stalled armored car exploded, but ominously the first T55 had backed into the cover of a clump of trees, making it difficult for the fighters to target the tank. Talley’s trucks were still taking hits from the Somali infantry, who were blazing away with everything they had. The men of Echo Six, reinforced by the survivors of Delta Six, were returning fire, but they were too few. In addition, the vehicles jerking around as they bounced over the rutted jungle track made for a difficult firing position.

  “Missiles, keep hitting that T55. We have to try and stop it or it’ll finish us.”

  He’d seen a score of missiles strike the armored behemoth, but once again they’d all been ineffective against the heavy frontal armor. Then it struck him. There was another way. He looked up as the Super Hornets came back, screeching low out of the sky, their Gatling cannons looking for more targets of opportunity. A stream of heavy tracer rounds reached up toward them, but an AGM-65 missile streaked down, and the anti-aircraft gun exploded into a smoking ruin. Talley could see more missiles on the racks as the aircraft rushed past. The Maverick air-to-ground tactical missile was the most widely produced precision-guided missile in the Western world, and the reason for their popularity was obvious right here and now, in the hell of the Somali jungle. They were both highly accurate and totally devastating. The T55 fired, and a shell narrowly missed his truck. He swerved away, and he knew they had to finish the tank themselves before they could make good their escape. He ducked as a line of machine gun bullets danced across the roof of the cab, shouting into his mic.

  “I need someone with RPG missiles to lend me a hand. Any takers?”

  Rovere’s voice came back instantly. “We have two missiles left here. What do you want?”

  “I’ll draw off the fire from the T55. As soon as his turret starts to turn, go behind him and shoot those missiles right up his ass. It’s the only way we can get through that armor. It’s much thinner at the back of the hull.”

  “We’re on it.”

  The Super Hornets roared across the compound a third time, their cannons firing. In the rear view mirror, Talley caught sight of General Barre. He’d been running for the mansion, but when he heard the aircraft coming back, he dived into the same ditch that he and Guy had used earlier to ambush the two soldiers. Talley looked away. It was time to deal with the tank. He’d deal with Barre later.

  He jammed his foot back down on the throttle, trying to lead the barrel of the main gun as it tracked around toward him. He veered away in a semi-circle, designed to take the tank crew’s attention away from Rovere’s truck. He could just see Rovere driving around the other side of the huge steel hull. So far, the Somali crew didn’t seem to have noticed the danger. Then the huge gun fired, but the Somalis were lousy shots. The shell smashed into the ground just short of his charging Land Cruiser, but the shock wave of the shell caused his truck to pitch and roll, pushing it up onto two wheels and almost toppling it over. He managed to right the Toyota back onto four wheels and he kept going. He knew that if Rovere’s shooter missed, they were going to be in serious trouble. They were so near to the tank that the gunner wouldn’t miss when he took the next shot. But now Rovere was behind them, and his missile shooter launched. He didn’t miss. There was a frozen moment in time when Talley waited for the shell that would obliterate them, and then a jet of flame and smoke crept up the back of the T55 and started climbing into the air. It was finished. The RPG had struck the target, and they were in the clear. He looked around for his small convoy. The vehicles were scattered close to the entrance, moving slowly, unsure of how to proceed. He smiled grimly.

  Not anymore.

  “This is Echo One, follow me out the gates. We’re clear of the armor. Watch out for small arms fire, continue firing, and keep their heads down. We’re going home.”

  He hurtled through the gates, and in his mirror saw the rest of the vehicles swinging into line behind him.

  “This is Echo One. Rovere, you okay back there?”

  “We’re okay, but we’re not ready to leave yet. We’ve got General Barre cornered. He’s holed up in a ditch, protected by machine guns and RPGs. We’re going to finish him. We haven’t come this far to leave him alive.”

  General Mohammed Barre, the primary mission target. And a chance to finish him for all time.

  “Copy that, I’m coming back to help you. Guy, do you read me?”

  “Loud and clear, you want me to lend a hand?”

  “That’s a negative. Your orders are to lead the trucks out with our people. Some of them need urgent medical attention fast, so carry on to the beach and get them home.”

  “Copy that, Boss. Good luck with Barre. It’s time he departed this earth.”

  “We’ll do our best to give him a helping hand. Get those people out, Guy, and make it fast.”

  “I’m on the way.”

  He watched Guy’s truck move out and pass the other vehicles to take the lead. He could see the distinctive figure of Jerry Ostrowski leaning out from behind the side of the truck bed, taking careful, aimed shots with his rifle. All of the trucks were alive with gunfire, both incoming and outgoing. He could only hope the butcher’s bill for his own people would not be too heavy. In the meantime, he had a job to finish. He turned his Land Cruiser around and headed back into the compound.

  Rovere’s truck was halted close to the ditch. The Italian and his men were crouched behind the bodywork, pouring fire onto Barre’s position. Fifty meters away, Barre was directing his own men where to return fire. Talley had to hand it to the big Somali. He might be a cruel, vicious psychopath, but he was no coward. The General was not shooting, in fact didn’t even appear to hold a weapon. He went from man to man, ignoring the incoming fire and encouraging them to keep on fighting. Talley reached a position a hundred meters from Rovere, but now he could almost see into the gully.

  “This is Echo One. Domenico, we’re about to flush Barre’s men out of that ditch. Be ready, they’ll be coming out soon.”

  “Copy that. We’ll be ready.”

  He saw Rovere glance across at Talley’s Technical, and Roy Reynolds bringing the twin barrel ZSU-23 around. The Italian gave a wave and grinned, no doubt at the prospect of what was to come. The fight intensified as both sides threw everything they had into the battle. Then Barre looked across, noticing the threat from Talley’s Technical for the first time, and his eyes widened when he saw the twin-barreled cannon swinging around to bear on him. He opened his mouth to shout an order, and Reynolds opened fire. The two twenty-three millimeter cannons opened fire, and the Somali warlord’s position erupted in a furious storm of heavy caliber fire. The twin ZSUs had a practical fire rate of over eight hundred rounds a minute. Every second, fourteen massive twenty-three millimeter cannon round smashed into the Somalis. This time, they had no defense. Their position was totally exposed to Reynolds who was firing almost directly down the gully. They died in groups of two, three and four. Isolated pockets of men got up and tried to outrun the storm of gunfire, until finally the ZSU ran out of ammunition. Vince was rapidly reloading the weapon with boxes of ammunition he’d snatched out of the storage locker, but there were no targets left to shoot. Talley climbed out of the vehicle and walked over to Barre’s position. Rovere and his men got up warily and ran across to join him. The carnage was horrific. The defensive position had been held by more than thirty men. They were all dead, shredded by the heavy and relentless gunfire. For a moment, Talley thought they’d missed Barre yet again; his body wasn’t there. But they found him under a mass of bodies. He’d taken a cannon round low down in his side, and another had blown off one of his legs. He was bleeding badly, yet incredibly he was still alive, partly hidden beneath the corpses of three of his troops. They dragged his body out of the pile, and his eyes flicked open, finding Talley. He stared at him, summoning up a look of pure hatred.