“We need to move on. We’re running behind time. Let’s move out!”

  Brenner and Dubois fell back in the rear, and Guy Welland took point again alongside Caitlin Walker. They resumed their march through the jungle, but now the track was wider, obviously in regular use. They were on full alert as Caitlin warned them they were nearing compound. Talley increased his pace and caught up with her.

  “How far do we have to go?”

  She looked around her. They were about to cross a small, dried up stream bed. The trees and foliage had thinned out. Through his NVGs, he could see they were about to emerge into more open country.

  “We have to be very careful. I would think we’re no more than one klick away, maybe less. The compound is surrounded by open space. I guess they’ve cut down the foliage to guard against being taken by surprise.”

  “So this is as far as the jungle reaches?”

  “I’d say yes, more or less. In a few minutes, we’ll be in open country.”

  He nodded. “When you reach the edge of the treeline, stay down and wait for the rest of us to catch up. We need a current view of the target.” He looked at DiMosta. “Vince, you’re carrying the Raven. I want some up to date intel on the target. Get it ready.”

  “You got it.”

  The sniper unstrapped his pack and removed the fuselage of the tiny reconnaissance aircraft. No bigger than a model aircraft, the Raven RQ-11 was packed with sophisticated electronics and a tiny night vision CCTV camera. The aircraft had enough range to circle a predetermined area and beam back images to Talley’s tactical tablet for more than an hour. Vince snapped the wings and tailfin onto the fuselage and checked the flight controls.

  “She’s ready to go, Boss.”

  “Copy that. Standby, I’ll bring up the controls.”

  He touched several buttons on the screen, and the familiar Raven software appeared. He programmed the coordinates of the target area and nodded to Vince.

  “She’s ready to go. Launch.”

  A single throw and the Raven was airborne. The embedded electronics took over, and the tiny aircraft disappeared into the night sky. After little more than a minute, live images started to appear on Talley’s tablet. And then he saw the target.

  “Okay, we have about twenty huts. I’d guess this place was once a small village. There’s a guard hut inside the gate, and close to that a vehicle park with a half dozen SUVs. These guys sure know how to spend their money. They’ve got a couple of Hummers, three Toyota Land Cruisers, and a Jeep Wrangler. No guard towers, but I can see what looks like four sentries patrolling inside the wire, as well as two guys on the gate. I’d assume the larger huts are for the Somalis, and the smaller ones are the holding cells. Christ, they must be packed in there. I want the snipers…”

  “Someone coming, following us,” Brenner’s harsh voice interrupted him from the rearguard position. “It’s probably the party that passed us on the path. They must have followed our tracks.”

  They were trapped between a rock and a hard place. Talley knew that in an instant. They’d have to melt into the jungle, but trackers would find them almost immediately, and a firefight would follow. That would mean alerting the compound and result in a full scale pitched battle; a battle that many of the hostages may not survive.

  “How long do we have?”

  “They’ll be with you in about five minutes, no more. Twenty men, one of them is the tracker. He’s out in front.”

  “Copy that. Stay in position and let them pass. We have to take them, Brenner. We can’t allow them to reinforce the garrison.”

  “Acknowledged.”

  He rapped out orders over the commo.

  “Into the jungle, all of you, except the two snipers. Vince and Jerry, find a good stand. Guy, you’re supposed to be good with a knife, so stay with me, I’ll need you. Captain, find a good position closer to the compound. Take the tablet, monitor the target, and see how those guys respond. Sing out if it looks like any trouble’s heading our way.”

  “No problem, Lieutenant.”

  She took the tablet and ran silently along the path, and then she was gone, swallowed up by the night. They were all in position, except for him and Guy.

  “We’re going to take the tracker first. If we need to make a run for it, that guy could lead them after us. Knives only, and we’ll go one each side of the path. Whoever is nearer uses the knife before he drops out of sight. I want to make sure the other can shoot any of the hostiles close enough to see us.”

  “It may not be possible to use the knife, Boss. Not if there’s more than one, or he’s too far away.”

  “I know that. If it’s not possible, shoot him. Whoever is nearest will have to make the call. But a knife is more certain.” They looked back down the path as the sound of high-pitched, drug-induced and excited shouts reached them. He looked at Guy. “Let’s make ourselves scarce, now.”

  Talley burrowed further into the undergrowth. In front of him, a thin snake slithered away, its habitat destroyed by the unwelcome visitor. He looked along the leafy path and immediately saw the tracker as he came into view, an elderly man.

  Christ, they all look old in this shithole!

  He had long, straight hair that hung almost to his waist, and he was thin and emaciated, his back bent over in a bow. No more than five feet tall, he was walking slowly, bending down to inspect the ground. He was on Talley’s side of the path. Talley gripped his combat knife firmly; he had to hope that the SAS man would follow orders and leave him room to make the attack. He darted a glance at his wristwatch. 0330 hours, they had little time left before daylight. The tracker came closer, and closer still. Three more Somalis came into view, all armed with the ubiquitous AK-47s. They were following at a distance of twenty meters; obviously the three men were the point guard. They were arguing loudly amongst themselves, and he grinned to himself; it was loud enough to be heard in Mogadishu. He could take the tracker, but if Guy made a mistake or jumped off too early, he’d be dead, riddled by bursts of fire from the three AKs. He had to trust Guy; there was no alternative, so he prepared to leap. And then the man was abreast of him. He leapt up and was on him. The Somali was fast, faster than he’d imagined possible for such an old man. Even as he was moving through the air, the man had caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and was twisting away. He almost made it. The knife thrust whistled past him, but Talley caught hold of the corner of his ragged shirt and managed to drag him close. He stabbed with his knife, but again the man twisted like an eel, and avoided the blade. And then he snatched out his own knife, a rusty, curved African dagger. But the edge of the blade was not rusted. For a few moments, Talley realized that the entire mission for him was distilled into those brief seconds as he fought for his life, and the tracker did likewise. It was an atavistic combat, fought as it would have been thousands of years ago between their ancestors, warrior against warrior, blade against blade, in the unforgiving, unchanging jungle of the dark African continent. And Talley was losing. His camouflage uniform, helmet and armored vest were heavy, so the weight and bulk slowed him down. The Somali had no such problems, and he fought like a tiger; light, lithe, and agile. He aimed a thrust at Talley’s neck, and the Lieutenant twisted desperately as the blade struck his armor. The tracker tried again, and again the armor deflected the blow. But he was defending, not attacking, and using all of his strength and skill just to ward off the blows, to survive. The end would come soon enough, when one of the knife thrusts got through. He did the only thing he could. He bunched his left fist as the man came in close, fixated on his rival’s blade. Instead of using his knife, he waited to deflect the blow, and he hit back with a hard, slugging left hook. It landed on the point of the man’s bearded chin. The tracker’s eyes widened in surprise and astonishment at the unexpected blow, and then he dropped to the ground. Talley followed him down and slashed once across the windpipe. Blood began to ooze out onto the bare earth of the jungle floor, and the tracker went still. He remembered the other three Somalis who were out in front of the main party and looked around fast. But Guy was dragging them off the path into the cover of the foliage. He walked across to him and nodded.

  “Thanks, Guy.”

  “It wasn’t me, Boss. It was Captain Walker.”

  He looked along the path. Caitlin was standing in a marksman’s pose, her silenced pistol held at arm’s length, searching for the next target.

  “Thank you, Caitlin.”

  “You’re welcome. But we should get off the path. The main group is heading this way.”

  “Right.”

  He keyed his mic. “Brenner, how far away is the main party?”

  “Almost on you, and about one minute before you see them. We’re following right behind them.”

  “Copy that. There’s no sign those shots alerted the compound, so we’ll have to risk taking them all here. But if one of them gets off a shot, we’re in the crapper. Jerry, Vince, come in.”

  “Right here, Boss.”

  “Okay. Listen to me, all of you. Brenner and Dubois, take the back markers, and try not to alert the rest of them. Handguns only, the assault rifles make too much noise. Except for Jerry and Vince, their sniper rifles are pretty quiet. I’ll control the action from overhead with the view from the Raven, and remember, just one shot from those guys and we’re in the shit. Listen for the commo and follow orders. This’ll be a tight one, people, but we can do it.”

  “Where do you want me?”

  He turned. Caitlin was right behind him, and he grinned.

  “You do what you do best. You’re the wild card. Afterwards, you can tell me where you learned to shoot. Give me the tablet, I’ll need it.”

  She nodded. “No problems.”

  He took the electronic pad off her, and she retreated into the jungle. He keyed his mic. “One more thing, men, watch your crossfire. We’re packed in pretty tight here. If possible, shoot from low down and aim high.”

  Talley crouched in the undergrowth and watched the screen. The party of Somalis, sixteen of them now that they’d killed the tracker and his three guards. As he calculated their positions, he saw one of the men nearest the rear fallout and stand at the side of the track. The other men went past him.

  “Straggler at the rear, stopped for a piss I expect. He’s alone.”

  “I’m on it,” the icy, calm French accent of Dubois.

  He didn’t hear the sound of the shot above the din of the jungle noises, but on the screen he saw the man go down. Two men slowed and turned around looking for their comrade, and they were moving back.

  “Two more in the rear, heading your way, take ‘em.”

  “Copy that,” Brenner, his voice crisp and businesslike.

  This time he did hear the shots, two in quick succession. Both men went down, and he saw two bodies. Brenner and Dubois rush out and dragged them into the undergrowth. But they were too near their friends, and they’d be missed. Now the Somalis would be worried. They may not have connected the faint sound of the suppressed shots to an attack, but they’d be wary. The Somalis had stopped, except for two men in the lead who ran into Guy Welland. Two more silenced shots, and they were down and out of sight of their friends. There were eleven men left to kill, to terminate without any sound that might carry to the compound. He saw a man up front on his own, probably calling out to the point men. Without doubt their leader, now he was seriously rattled. He walked forward slowly, looking to left and right, poking in the foliage with his AK-47, and then he was right on top of Talley. The Lieutenant could even see the man’s finger on the trigger of the gun, ready to fire. He was twitching, a reaction to the khat. Shooting him could cause a nervous twitch of his trigger finger, with disastrous results. He did the only thing he could, put his rifle and the tablet on the ground, and gripped his combat knife. When the man looked away, he stood up behind him, rammed the finger of one hand through the trigger guard and swung the knife. The Somali was as quick as a cat, and he tried to jerk the weapon away, using his free hand to punch Talley in the head. The Lieutenant saw stars. It was a hard blow, but he had no choice but to hang on grimly while he fought to find an opening to use the knife. For several long seconds, they struggled. It seemed to go on forever, but he was heavier than the Somali. He pushed the man back further toward the tangled vines at the edge of the jungle, and then they both tripped and went sprawling. The man was still trying to free his trigger finger. He used both hands on the gun, and Talley could feel his own finger being ripped out of the guard. There was only one thing to do. He aimed as best he could and slashed down, down and across the trigger finger.

  The brown digit rolled to the ground, followed by a spurt of bright red blood that sprayed over the two struggling men. The Somali suddenly realized what had happened, as nerves transmitted the pain of his severed finger to his brain. Talley felt his body go rigid, saw his mouth open, and the beginning of a scream. It was the opening he needed, and he slashed once across the neck. The spray of blood increased, and the shout was cut off as the blade cut through the man’s vocal chords, all the way across his throat and through his jugular vein. Talley stared into his eyes and watched the horror of his fate deep inside the man’s soul. And then he went limp. The Lieutenant pushed him to one side and reached for his tablet. His men were silently finishing off the pirate gang in a massive surprise attack that overawed and overwhelmed them. It was a silent death that entered their lives; their comfortable acceptance that the West could do nothing about their activities. For these men, the real world had arrived, in all of its hard, biting reality. The reality was death. He checked his tablet and saw the last two men running back toward the compound, panicked, desperate, and despairing, with their comrades vanquished. Through the dense foliage, Caitlin Walker’s diminutive shape stepped into view, shadowy in the camo kit. She raised her pistol and fired once, and a man went down. But before she could hit the last man, he tripped over his fallen comrade, and her second shot passed harmlessly over his head. The surviving man rolled into the dense foliage at the side of the path; desperate to escape, he unleashed a hail of bullets in her direction. And the operation had changed suddenly, with that single burst of gunfire. A half dozen suppressed pistols fired as one, and the man jerked as he went down in a bloody mess, but the damage was done.

  “This is Talley. Is anyone hit?”

  A chorus of ‘negatives’ came back to him; Caitlin’s was one of them.

  Thank God.

  “We have to hit that compound fast. They’ve been alerted now, but if we move fast, there’s still a chance we could hit them before they’re ready for us. Let’s go.”

  He hit the button to bring the Raven back to its start point. There was just a chance they could use the remaining battery power, as long as its automated landing system worked in the confusion of the tangled jungle that surrounded its landing area. Men tumbled onto the path, and they ran a breath-searing run along the path, no longer caring for ambush, sentries, or booby traps. Either they reached the compound before the pirates readied themselves for the assault, or they were lost. The trees and foliage began to thin out, and through his night vision goggles, he saw the compound ahead; a collection of buildings surrounded by rolls of thick, barbed wire. Then he cursed as a gas generator coughed into life, and a row of floodlights switched on, all but blinding him. He ripped off the goggles, knowing that a difficult operation had now become next to impossible. They were waiting for them.

  Chapter Four

  He only had one option. He gave the only order that would save the hostages’ lives.

  “Pull back, all of you, into the jungle. Stay out of sight. We have to stop the assault. We need time to relook at the plan.”

  Dubois ran up to him, his face bright with anger. “You’re crazy. If we go in now, we can kill them all while they’re still half asleep!”

  “Look there, Michel, the compound.”

  The Frenchman followed his gaze. More than fifty armed Somalis were sprinting out of the gate and setting up a defensive position in prepared trenches that had been invisible to them until their eyes became used to the floodlit area.

  “If we go in now, they’ll slaughter the hostages, and we’ll take heavy casualties. We can’t win this one. We have to pull back and work it out.”

  Dubois nodded disconsolately. “Merde! I wanted to kill those fucking bastards for all the trouble they’ve caused.”

  “It’s not going to happen, Michel, not right now. We have to pull back! Maybe Colonel Hakim has some ideas. I’ll talk to him.”

  “They’d better be fucking good ideas,” Dubois snapped in an angry tone. “It’ll be dawn before long, and any attack on that place will be suicide. We’ve lost the element of surprise. You may as well admit it. This mission is a bust.”

  Talley nodded, but he was former Navy Seals. It wasn’t the way they did things in the Seals. They had a saying. ‘They called in Marines and even Army Rangers for difficult missions. They saved the impossible ones for the Seals.’

  He led them back along the path until they reached the abandoned mission station. Caitlin joined him as they marched on the path.

  “I have you to thank for covering my back during that attack.”

  She grinned. “I needed the target practice.”

  “Where did you learn to shoot like that?”

  “My Dad taught me to fire a gun almost before I could even ride a bike. At the Air Force Academy, I took the annual pistol shooting trophy two years running.”

  “I’m impressed. There’re not many…” he hesitated, “not many people could have made those shots.”

  She looked at him, her face deadpan. Both of them knew he’d meant not many men could have made those shots, so it was even more surprising that a woman had done it. But she said nothing. They reached the Catholic mission, and he deployed the men in defensive positions. He’d left Guy Welland to spy on the compound; the trooper was an expert in camouflage tactics and would be in a position invisible to the Somalis. Talley sought out Dubois and Brenner first.