Relentless Savage Page 14

  Dressed in digital desert camouflage in muted shades of tan, the soldiers moved with a well-trained combat readiness while their eyes scanned for threats in all directions. They carried an assortment of rifles and machine guns at the ready. The team rapidly closed the final distance to Peter and his friends.

  Jim walked up to Peter as casually as if they were meeting in a city park. He extended his hand. “Good to see you Peter!”

  Jim shouldered his H&K 416 rifle and removed his Stetson hat, cradling it under his left arm. His thick black hair was plastered to his head. There were droplets of sweat all over his face, and his fatigues were wet from perspiration.

  The desert camouflage fatigues seemed to accent Jim’s Greek heritage. The dark olive skin tone, thick black mustache, and dark eyes typified his Mediterranean ancestry.

  Peter had yet to shake his mild state of shock. He had just survived three intense battles, and it wasn’t even 5:00 p.m. yet. Now, contrary to all logic and reason, not only had the cavalry arrived, but it was led by his good friend. It doesn’t get any stranger than this.

  “Man, are we glad to see you!” exclaimed Peter, and before Jim could utter a word, Peter continued. “How in hell did you know where to find us? And what brought you here in the first place? You said this wasn’t something you could get involved in.”

  Jim nodded agreement. “All true at the time. But events escalated quickly once word got out of the Janjaweed attack on the refugee camp. Since this type of localized emergency is exactly what we do best, it didn’t take long to get the Joint Chiefs and then the President to authorize SGIT to strike back. Our objective was to rescue the American hostages. Normally, the kidnapping of a few Americans wouldn’t attract so much high-level attention. But this case is different.”

  “Wendy, the Congresswoman’s daughter?” Peter asked.

  “That’s right. How did you know?”

  “Met her earlier today,” Peter explained.

  “Her mother has a number of connections in the Defense Department, and she didn’t hesitate to call in a whole lot of favors.” Even as Jim was explaining these events, his head was swiveling from side to side, scanning everyone in sight.

  Not seeing any women or other Caucasians, Jim asked “Where are the other Americans? I have specific orders to find and return Wendy Bennett.”

  “We rescued her, along with my son and three other volunteers, early this morning. With the exception of Ethan, they all drove north in Hamaad’s three Toyotas. There’s six wounded SLM rebels with them.”

  “We’ll pick them up. Are any of the Americans hurt?”

  “Nothing serious as far as I can tell,” Peter replied. “Wendy and Brad were roughed up a bit, mostly bruises.”

  “Sulu, T-Bone, Rambo,” Jim summoned three of his men.

  “Conduct a quick search of those trucks we blew up. Bring back any papers, cell phones, anything that may have intelligence value. Same thing for any satchels or backpacks you come across.”

  “Yes, sir.” The three soldiers moved out at a brisk pace.

  “So how did you know where to find us?” Peter repeated his question.

  “I’ll explain in a minute. Let me finish the immediate business first.”

  Jim turned to his left, surveying the acacia grove. He couldn’t miss the wounded SLM rebels sitting in the shade. They were being treated by one of Jim’s medics.

  “Homer, Ghost,” Jim said.

  Two men came running. “Set up a defensive perimeter. I want to know if anyone approaches within a thousand yards of our position. We’re going to be here for a while, so do it right. And get the mule over here. I want everyone fully provisioned.”

  “Coyote!” Jim called.

  Pointing toward a beat-up ancient flatbed truck with several rusted barrels clustered on the bed, he continued his order. “See that truck over there? See if it’s operational. We need some wheels to catch up with the students. Shouldn’t be too hard to track them in this dry soil. And we can use the drones to help.”

  “Will do, sir,” replied Coyote.

  With his men busy, Jim turned to Peter. “We have a mutual friend—Abdul Wahid el-Nur. Quite a network that man has.”

  “Let me see if I have this right,” Peter said. “You sent me to el-Nur knowing that he would pass me along to some local faction of the SLM. Then you tracked me through his contacts.”

  “Not exactly, but close enough. In my position I could never provide you with information to contact el-Nur… still, I’m glad someone did. It was lucky for us—and you—that he was willing to meet with you and could offer assistance.”

  Peter smiled at Jim’s cagey reply… he knew the truth and understood fully that Jim had stepped beyond his official authority in providing that help. But he still didn’t understand how Jim could have found their current location so quickly.

  “But I still don’t get it… we didn’t know that Ethan and the other hostages were being held here when we met with el-Nur in Paris. In fact, it was Hamaad and his spies who discovered the location only three days before we arrived at the SLM base camp southwest of here.”

  “That’s right. Based on intel from el-Nur we flew directly to the SLM camp. From that point we employed three drones to scout the surrounding desert until, late this morning, we confirmed your location. Those drones can home in on the sound of gunshots and explosions. Ours are also armed with air-to-surface rockets; they took out those truck-mounted AA guns.”

  Peter nodded briefly, but otherwise was silent, thinking through the events leading to this miraculous rescue.

  Jim faced the young man standing next to Peter. “This must be your son, I assume?”

  “Uh, yes… Ethan.”

  Jim extended his hand in greeting. “Pleased to meet you. Even more pleased to know you are alive and well. Your father was really pissed at me when I couldn’t help right away.”

  Jim turned his attention from Ethan back to Peter. “I knew you’d go flying off and do something impetuous like this.”

  “You’d do the same if it was your son.” Peter offered no apologies.

  “Yeah. I suppose you’re right.”

  Todd stepped forward and offered his hand to Commander Nicolaou. “Jim… I’m Todd Steed. We met at EJ Enterprises about a year ago. Remember?”

  “Of course I remember. Your handshake is just as strong now as it was then. Peter is fortunate to have a friend like you.”

  “I’m not dead yet!” Gary mumbled.

  “Oh, sorry,“ Peter grinned. “This is Gary Porter. He’s another close friend.”

  Once introduced, Jim immediately noticed the bloody bandage around Gary’s shoulder. “Medic!”

  Somewhat embarrassed for ignoring Gary’s wound, Peter admitted, “I put a field dressing on it, but I’m sure your corpsman can do a better job.”

  The squad corpsman, call-sign Bull, quickly ran over to Gary, his medical kit flopping at his waist. Bull eased the dressing back and thoroughly examined the gash. He applied more antiseptic powder and a fresh bandage. Then he gave Gary a shot of a potent antibiotic combined with a pain killer—a morphine derivative without the addictive characteristics—followed by more water with added sucrose and electrolytes.

  “Once we’re secure, Boss Man, I need to put a couple dozen stitches in that tear to keep it together. Looks like he took a grazing hit from a large caliber round. Lucky it wasn’t any lower.”

  Boss Man was the call sign for Jim Nicolaou. All his team used noms de guerre when on a mission to keep their true identities private. It was rumored that each man carried a foreign bounty on his head of 100,000 dollars.

  The Strategic Global Intervention Team, a highly classified intelligence and strike force unit, operated under authority from the Defense Intelligence Agency, or DIA. As the name suggested, SGIT was tasked with intervening covertly in matters of strategic importance to the United States. Their unique combination of brain and brawn was often the best tool for solving thorny international issues i
n an increasingly hostile and complicated world.

  They brought the analytical expertise of the DIA and melded it with the surgical strike capabilities of a Navy SEAL team. The unit was made up of former Special Forces soldiers and intelligence officers and led by Commander James Nicolaou, a former Navy SEAL himself.

  “Jim, I also want to introduce you to Hamaad,” Peter said as the rebel leader approached.

  The two men shook hands. “One of my medics is treating your wounded, Hamaad. They will get the best care possible.”

  “Thank you,” Hamaad replied, bowing deeply as he said the words.

  Jim shifted his attention to Ethan. “I realize this has been a very difficult day. But I need to ask a few questions of you, okay?”

  Ethan shrugged. “Sure.”

  “Do you know why the Janjaweed kidnapped you and your friends?”

  “I guess so. At first they said they wanted ransom from the government. But later they were talking about selling Wendy and Sam into slavery.”

  Jim shook his head. “It doesn’t really add up. They’d be taking a big risk just to sell two women on the black market. The Janjaweed have never taken Western hostages before and demanded ransom. Why would they start now?” Jim didn’t expect an answer.

  “Is there anything else, maybe something that you saw or overheard?”

  Ethan thought for a moment before replying. “Well, it isn’t much, but Sam—uh, Samantha Ward—understands some Arabic, and she overheard the guards talking. She said they mentioned that Brad, Joe, and I were going to be turned over to someone named Colonel Ming.”

  Instantly Jim’s expression changed from one of contemplation to deep concern. “Are you sure that was the name—Colonel Ming?”

  Ethan nodded.

  Jim looked at Hamaad and asked, “Do you know of a Colonel Ming operating in this area?”

  Hamaad shook his head. “No, that isn’t a name I have heard before.”

  Jim looked worried. He was rubbing his chin and staring at the ground.

  “Is that name significant?” asked Peter.

  “It could be…” Jim responded.

  Chapter 20

  Darfur

  June 12

  Jim remained deep in thought, running through unspoken scenarios—in each case weighing the odds of success and possible casualties.

  “What’s this about?” Peter inquired, trying to understand it all.

  “There are rumors… I don’t have a lot of details. But it doesn’t matter. You and Ethan and your friends are going home.”

  Peter smiled and looked at his son, grateful that he was alive and well.

  Jim spoke into his throat mic. “Coyote, what’s the verdict on that flatbed?”

  The answer came back immediately as he heard the engine cough a few times, and then rumble to life. The extensive coating of rust and the scouring of wind-driven sand had long ago erased the paint from the truck.

  “She’s running.” Coyote’s voice sounded clearly in Jim’s ear bud. “Can’t guarantee how long though. It’s a Dodge. My guess is it dates back to the early forties, probably surplus U.S. Army. There are still a few patches of olive drab inside the cab and under the hood.”

  “Hamaad, we’ll take your wounded along with Peter, his son, and friends, to Chad. I’ll make sure your men get proper medical help.”

  “How will we get home?” Ethan asked.

  “Two of my men, New York and Chico, will go with you. We have a military transport on standby. It’s not first class, but it’s faster and easier than flying commercial. You’ll be debriefed during the flight.”

  Gary and Todd shared a high-five. Ethan simply closed his eyes and smiled ever so slightly, overjoyed at the prospect of being safe at home again.

  “But isn’t your entire team going?” Peter asked. “Once we catch up to Wendy and the others, your mission is over, isn’t it?”

  Before Jim could answer, a loud explosion split the air. Rock and debris rained down on the area where the Janjaweed trucks had been stopped. A cloud of dust obscured any sign of the vehicles.

  Immediately Jim was speaking into his mic. “T-Bone… Rambo… Sulu…” He was answered by persistent static.

  “Homer! Ghost!” Jim practically yelled, even though he knew his mic was perfectly capable of picking up the softest whisper. “Do you have contact with any hostiles?”

  “Negative, sir.”

  “What happened?” Hamaad asked.

  “They must have booby-trapped the trucks. Bull, Magnum. Check it out, and be careful!”

  “What can we do to help?” Peter asked.

  “Right now, nothing. Just sit tight. My men may be torn up pretty bad. Until we have the situation under control, I won’t risk any more lives.”

  They all watched as Bull and Magnum ran toward the settling dust, fearful of what they would find.

  When they reached the site of the explosion Bull and Magnum were gulping down air, trying to slow their breathing. Dust was still hanging in the air. They quickly took in the scene, before reporting to their commander.

  “We’ve got Rambo and Sulu, sir… and what’s left of T-Bone.”

  Jim closed his eyes as he felt the full weight of the news.

  “Rambo and Sulu are alive, but hurt. Blast must have stripped their com gear.”

  “How bad is it?” Jim asked. The seconds dragged by while Bull completed his preliminary examination.

  Thirty seconds later, Bull reported. “Rambo can walk, but he can hardly hear, maybe ruptured eardrums and probable broken wrist. Sulu took shrapnel… arms and legs. Their body armor saved them for sure. We’ve got to get these guys medevaced.”

  “Stabilize them as best you can. We’ll get them on the flatbed and heading toward Chad.”

  “Affirmative, sir.”

  “What the hell happened?” Jim knew it had to be an IED, but he wanted to know more.

  “Sulu says that one of the Janjaweed appeared to be alive. They approached with T-Bone in the lead, and when they got close the guy dropped a grenade into a satchel. The explosion was too large for a single grenade, and Sulu thinks there were more explosives in the satchel. Maybe grenades, too, we passed several scattered around as we approached. T-Bone didn’t stand a chance…”

  “Damn it!” Jim shouted.

  “Sir, the truck is gonna be a slow and rough ride. I’d rather call in a Blackhawk.”

  “That’s not an option,” Jim retorted. “We came in on foot for a reason—no air support.”

  “Understood, sir. I can patch them up, stop the bleeding… they should make it.”

  Jim didn’t pause before issuing his next order. “Chico, New York. Get Hamaad’s wounded on that flatbed. Then get our wounded loaded… and do what you can to gather up T-Bone’s remains.”

  “Yes sir. We’ll put his remains in a body bag,” Chico replied. When the SGIT team was operating covertly in a foreign and potentially hostile country, they always brought along a few body bags. Should a team member be killed, it was not acceptable to leave his body behind. Officially, the risk of political fallout was considered too great. However, the standing order was hardly required. All of the team members lived by an unspoken code of honor that would not allow any man to be left behind. Alive or dead, every soldier under Jim’s command would return home.

  “I want you to head north,” Jim continued. “Follow the tracks from the Toyotas that drove away with the hostages. New York, you pilot the drones from the back of the truck; scout ahead and try to locate them.

  “As soon as you get the students and other wounded, you get to the border as fast as you can. Once you cross into Chad, radio in your location. I’ll have the medevac cleared and on standby before you get there.”

  “What happened?” Peter asked.

  “An IED… triggered when they walked up. T-Bone is dead. If it had been mortar or artillery shells, all three of my men would have been vaporized.”

  “How was it triggered?”

  “Man
ually, by a Janjaweed militiaman. Simple enough to rig the charge using a grenade as the detonator when my men were close enough.”

  “So we didn’t get them all,” Todd observed.

  “It only takes one,” answered Jim.

  “I’m sorry, sir.” Ethan spoke in a soft voice. He had seen too much killing.

  Rambo hobbled back, aided by Magnum, while Bull carried Sulu slung over his shoulders.

  By the time Magnum and Bull arrived, Jim was already on the satellite radio.

  Chapter 21

  Darfur

  June 12

  With the loss of his science experts plus the number of wounded, Jim knew the prudent decision was to abort the mission. It took about a minute to get through to Colonel Pierson, and Jim quickly briefed his boss.

  “Under the circumstances, I am recommending that we abort the second part of the mission, sir. We can medevac from Chad with the civilians.”

  Colonel Pierson was characteristically direct. “Negative.”

  “Say again, sir?” Jim knew what he heard, but he wanted confirmation.

  “I say negative, Commander. We have new intel—intercepted radio transmissions. Seems your field exercise was noticed. Radio traffic from the approximate location of the complex has been unusually high during the previous two hours. NSA is warning that they could remove key evidence and obscure the true function of the compound. We can’t afford to abort and come back in a month or two.”

  “Colonel, I am down to six men and my specialists are out of play.”

  “Improvise, Commander. That’s what you get paid to do.”

  Jim didn’t agree with the decision, but it wasn’t his call. “Understood, sir. Will proceed with the mission. Civilians and wounded will medevac from Chad.”

  Jim terminated the transmission and turned, facing Peter, his thick mustache unable to hide the newly-formed frown.