Battleground (18 page)

He shook his head. That Navy friend was on a breakaway ship that had put to sea an hour before the coup. No help there.

Koinange had twenty-two men left. The colonel, or rather the general, had said that would be plenty of men to guard the ship. The general had been confident that the Americans would make no move against the ship while he had all of the hostages.

First the search. Yes, a search. He would order his men to fire at anything that moved or made a noise. That had to work. If they found nothing, he would have half the men on guard at night. Yes, that would be a help. Surely they would find any of the Americans who had hidden aboard when the capture was made. Surely they would.

Wednesday, July 21

0926 hours

USS
Monroe,
CVN 81

Off Nairobi, Kenya

The sixteen SEALs of the Third Platoon sat and stood around the big table in their assembly area. Several desert cammi shirts had been unbuttoned and sleeves rolled up in the warm room. The air conditioner kept blasting away, but it was no match for the sullen heat of the near-equatorial spring.

“Hell, yes, we could go in with three hundred Marines from the amphib and smother the place, but we don’t need them,” Magic Brown said. “How many of you been on a frigate before?”

Every hand but one went up.

“So, we know something about the craft. Them shit-kickers on board are Army dudes, for gawd’s sake.”

“Yeah, Magic, but they been there for three-four days now,” Bishop said. “They ain’t stupid. They must know somebody will be calling.”

“That’s why I say a quick hit with grappling hooks on both ends of the ship and the pier just after dark, and we’ve got the surprise element going for us. We could have half the bastards dead before they knew we were there.”

“Use the silencers on everything including the Mark 23 pistols?” DeWitt asked.

“Damn right,” Magic said. “We won’t even need the sniper rifles or the MGs. Leave them on the ship. All of us with silenced weapons, we go in and do them.”

Murdock stood. “We’ve heard most of the arguments by now. I agree, we don’t need the Marines off that amphib. We need to go in silently. The ship is about a klick, maybe a klick and a half from that inlet we were in yesterday. How do we get there?”

“Not the damned air cushions,” Fernandez said. “Too fucking noisy.”

“Any Special Boat Squadron runners on this task force?”
Jaybird Sterling asked. “We could use two of those new ten-meter RIBs. They do forty knots, and could get us in fast to within a klick. Then we swim in from there for a silent attack.”

“We’ll find out about the RIBs, Jaybird,” Murdock said.

“I still like the IBSs,” Nicholson said. “Hell, we can get eighteen knots out of them moving in, then cut it to five, and be on top of the damn Kenyan motherfuckers before they know what hit them.”

“We brought four IBSs, so we still have two.” DeWitt said.

Don Stroh came into the room, and everyone fell quiet.

“Hey, don’t let me stop you. As you were, as you Navy guys say. I’m slumming.”

Ed DeWitt went over to him and they talked a minute. Then Don left the room.

“He’s going to check on the RIBs,” DeWitt said. “He’ll shake them loose if anyone has any. Twenty warships out here, should be some of them somewhere.”

Murdock resumed the discussion. “Okay, so we’re on-site. We stick with the silenced weapons?”

Most of the men nodded.

“Damn right,” Ronson said.

Murdock squinted a moment at some notes on the table. “The ship is tied up, so we don’t need to worry about the bridge, the engine room, or the main control room. We just have to root out the fucking rangers. How?”

“We start at the top and work down to the weather deck; then we take them one deck at a time,” Ken Ching said. “Most of the bastards are going to be holed up in officer country, and the officers’ mess eating their brains out.”

“I’d Roger that,” DeWitt said. “We can go to the quarterdeck, and spread both ways fore and aft. Then we use our Motorolas, and when that deck is clear we move down one. We can clear the coops and the missile storage areas quickly. Any idea how many men will be there?”

“Two dozen, my guess,” Ron Holt said.

“They should have twice that many,” Doc Ellsworth said. “This is the only U.S. property they still control.”

“What about the embassy?” Ted Yates asked.

“I mean anything that’s worth ransoming,” Doc said.

A half hour later, Don Stroh came in grinning. “Hey, you’ve got your choice. The amphib has three of the RIBs if you want them.”

“Let’s use the damned IBSs,” Ricochet Lampedusa said. “Hell, we know them, we can get eighteen knots for four klicks, and not make any more noise than some of the small diesel fishing boats that must be working this area. Then we get close, we go down to five knots and slip up on them without a mother-licking sound.”

“You lick what you want to, Lampedusa,” somebody called, and they all laughed.

“Okay,” Murdock said. “We’ll go with the IBSs and all silenced weapons. This is all house-to-house killing fields, so the MP-5’s will be handy. We can get plenty more from supply, I checked on that. Double ammo, no rebreathers, cammies, so no wet suits.”

Don Stroh went out the door, and returned a minute later with a full commander who carried a briefcase and a sheaf of papers.

“Commander Pollard, glad you could come,” Murdock said. “Men, meet Commander Pollard, CO of the USS
Colgan.
We’ve got a two-hour drill on a frigate, how to get around in it. The tough spots to defend, where most of the enemy probably will be, and what to try not to destroy if you don’t have to.”

The commander rolled out drawings of the ship with overlays that showed in detail the areas of access, and how to get from one part of the frigate to another. The SEALs crowded around and started memorizing everything they could about the layout of a U.S. Navy frigate.

At the end of the two hours, every SEAL in the room knew a lot more about how he would attack the
Roy Turner.

The commander rolled up his displays and held up his hand.

“Men, I wish you luck, and keep the damned machine operable. As soon as you have the vessel secure, a skeleton
crew from my frigate will be boarding the
Turner
to sail her out to sea. Be careful, but be thorough. Find all of those murdering bastards. I don’t want to lose any of my crewmen.”

1415 hours

RX Military Headquarters

Nairobi, Kenya

General Umar Maleceia paced his office, blowing one blast of cigar smoke after another into the already too-warm room.

“How could they do it? I sent two hundred men in there to put down that raid on the prison, and all hundred and sixty prisoners still got away? You’re telling me that they all escaped and got on U.S. Navy hovercraft and charged out to sea? The one hundred and sixty hostages I had in the prison all got away?”

“Yes, my general. There were the jets strafing the prison, and then they had direct hits on our trucks that brought in the men. The men couldn’t fight back against hundreds of rounds of twenty-millimeter cannon fire. I’m sorry, my general.”

“You’re sorry? Hell, we lose this fight and you’ll be hanged, you know that, don’t you?”

The colonel nodded.

“So, what do we have left? The ship, the stinking little frigate we captured at dockside. How many men we have guarding it?”

“There are twenty-four men under Lieutenant Elijah Koinange. He’s a fine officer.”

“Have you heard from him today?”

“No, sir.”

“Didn’t you give him one of our new radios?”

“Yes, sir. I’ll get in contact with him at once.”

“If the bastards rescued the crew from the prison, sure as hell they’ll try for the ship too.”

Colonel Kariuki saluted and hurried out the door.

General Maleceia continued to pace. He’d had it in his grasp. He’d had the embassy and forty hostages. Then he’d had the ship and a hundred and sixty hostages. What the hell went wrong? He shook his head, and took a long pull from the glass of bourbon on his desk. Too many things had gone wrong.

There was still time. He would hold the U.S. Navy ship. Send five hundred of his best rangers to pitch camp on the docks with all of their heavy weapons. Yes, that would do it. He looked at the list of the units he had in Mombasa. Not a lot.

He had sent his Fifth Infantry to the prison. A late report showed that they had suffered nearly fifty percent casualties, including more than seventy percent of the officers. That unit was out of service.

The Second Infantry was fifty miles north of Mombasa in a blocking position. Two hundred men, two tanks, and 81mm mortars. Yes. He’d get them moving almost at once.

Colonel Kariuki came rushing into the room, then slowed. He held up a piece of paper.

“General, it seems there have been some attacks on our guards left on the American ship. Two men were killed last night, and some arms and grenades were stolen. Lieutenant Koinange has no explanation other than that there must be some American sailors hiding on the ship and attacking during the night.”

General Maleceia threw his drink across the room. The glass shattered on the far wall.

“Idiots! Why am I surrounded by idiots? He was told to search the ship and make sure there was no one hiding. Idiot. Have that lieutenant relieved and broken to a corporal with a note on his personnel file that he is never to be promoted any higher.

“Then, send an order to the Second Infantry posted fifty miles north of Mombasa to de-camp and proceed today to the dock beside the American ship. They are to get there before dark, and let their supplies and equipment follow. I want them in place before dark and ready to fight.

“If the Americans try to retake their ship, they will find a new fighting spirit facing them. Go now, Colonel. I’m making it your responsibility to get those troops there on time if you have to carry them on your back.”

Colonel Kariuki let a frown tinge his face. “But General, sir. We have less than five hours until full darkness. It will be impossible for any but a few truckloads of the troops to be in place by…”

General Maleceia turned, and stared hard at his second in command. The colonel stopped talking, took a deep breath, then ran out of the office.

For the first time in two days, General Umar Maleceia smiled.

1425 hours

Mackinnon Road

Kenya

Major Meru Mudodo looked at the dispatch his radioman had just brought him:

He called in his second in command, who read it.

“A joke, sir.”

“No joke, not with Colonel Kariuki’s name on it. Get the troops alerted now. We move out in fifteen minutes. How many trucks do we have?”

“Six big ones, maybe five smaller that will run. Sir, it’s over fifty miles to Mombasa and at this time of day, the roads will be crowded, and it’s market day, and—”

“We use sirens and gunfire and move everyone any way we can. We must be on that dock before dark and ready to fight. Issue ammunition to squad leaders. They are to issue it to the men ten miles outside of Mombasa. Move, now, Captain, move.”

They didn’t leave camp in fifteen minutes. Two of the big trucks wouldn’t start. Mechanics worked on them, and they were ordered to make them start and bring their loads of men as quickly as possible.

That left four heavy trucks, each jammed with twenty men. Four of the personnel carriers were working, and could each carry ten men. Three utility rigs held four men each.

It was nearly two hours before the convoy pulled onto the road. Major Mudodo led them. He punched his utility rig up to forty miles an hour, but found the big trucks couldn’t keep up with him. He slowed to thirty miles an hour and established that, then gradually crept up to thirty-five. At that rate they would make the fifty miles in two hours. It was market day. The road was jammed.

That would make it 1815, just to get to the outskirts of Mombasa. If he remembered right, he knew the way to the docks, but Mombasa was a big city, the traffic that time of day would be terrible, and they would have only an hour left then to darkness. If they made it to the docks by 1900, it would be a miracle. That was the same time for sunset that day.

He crept the speed up to forty miles an hour, but the convoy fell behind. Captain Mudodo swore, and told the driver to ease off to thirty again.

Long before they came to Mombasa itself, the road was jammed with market day people going home. His driver was constantly on the horn, and twice the captain had fired a burst from his Uzi submachine gun into the sky to move people aside.

The sun went down a half hour before they came to the Kipevu Causeway to get onto Mombasa Island. They still had three kilometers to travel down the harbor frontage road to Pier 12. Captain Mudodo wondered how long his military career would last. He had gone over to General Maleceia reluctantly, but at the time it seemed the best thing to do.
Now he was questioning it. He had 132 men with what ammunition they could carry and some in reserve, but not much. If it came to a firefight, he couldn’t hold out for long. He prayed that 132 men standing guard over the ship would be enough.

1840 hours

USS
Monroe,
CVN 81

Off Mombasa, Kenya

Lieutenant Blake Murdock had made a final inspection of his men. Ed DeWitt had done the same. Each SEAL had a silenced weapon, and his silenced Mark 23 pistol. They wore their darker jungle cammies, and had camouflage paint in various shades on their faces, especially their ears and noses, which could catch light easily. This was billed as a dry operation, so they didn’t have their rebreathers or wet suits.

Murdock had everyone in the two IBSs by his Time of Departure, and now the fifteen-foot-long Zodiac-type rubber boats slashed through calm seas toward the coast. The
Monroe
had edged to within four miles of the shore, but would come no closer. At eighteen knots, the IBSs could cover the distance to the Mombasa bay in twelve to fifteen minutes.