Countdown: The Liberators-ARC (18 page)

"Four hundred and ninety sets, body armor, various sizes, due in, in four days," Warren answered. "And you have no idea what a bitch it was to track that number down from enough different suppliers to not be noticeable and have it sent to Reilly in San Antonio. Twenty-one hundred sets, battle dress, old style, three color desert, due in, in six days. I lucked out with that one, and found a lot of them through DRMO"-Defense Re-utilization and Marketing Office-"at Fort Stewart. Just, and I mean just, beat Third Special Forces Group to them. Hats, too. LCE"-Load Carrying Equipment-"I ordered from Israel; that's coming in by air in a week. Reilly's been budgeted fifty thousand bucks for boots for the boys as they show up. Belts, underwear and socks; they're on their own. I did order a couple of rolls of webbing and some generic buckles in case we have to make belts for anyone. The advance party's got enough food for three weeks and their field water purification equipment will do until we can send them the Zenon Mini-ROWPU"-Reverse Osmosis Water Purification Unit-"and, before you ask, that's coming in by air, too, scheduled for ten days from now, with the last of the PC-6s."

Gordo sighed with contentment. Good supply sergeants were such a sheer treasure. "Sergeant Warren, I wish you all the luck in the world with the girl this evening."

"The real bitch is going to be getting enough of the armored cars up the river for the boys to train with," Warren said.

"Not a problem, actually," Gordo said. "The basic chassis will come in kinda openly, minus turrets or arms, as ‘all terrain exploration support vehicles.' The turrets we'll fly in.."

"They'll fit a Pilatus Porter?"

Gordo howled with laughter on that one. When he'd recovered sufficiently, he said, "Sure, with both doors open and the main gun sticking out the floor hatch and tied to the fuselage. Nah. No way. But the local ‘air force' operates five light cargo aircraft, Short Skyvans. I'm taking the senior pilot of that crew out for drinks and a girl this evening. I imagine he can be bribed to make a couple of extraneous training flights. Of course, that presupposes Victor can come up with enough of the armored cars."

D-109, Menachem Begin Road, Tel Aviv, Israel

Traffic passing down the centrally located major thoroughfare made it all but impossible for anyone not seated at the same table to hear what the Israeli had to say to the Russian. The table was flush against the railing around the outdoor café portion of the establishment.

"You need what?" asked the Israeli who went by the name of Dov. Both the men spoke Russian, though both also shared English. While Dov looked essentially western in feature and dress, Victor was done up like a Hassid, curls and all.

"Nine Panhard AML-90s, or the Eland clone," Victor answered, "best possible upgrades. Plus three AML-60s and twenty-four M-3 armored personnel carriers. Of those, I need one in three available for movement by sea soonest. And of the M-3s, I need -"

Dov held up one hand. "Stop right there, Victor. The current government is actually trying to stay within the law for arms sales. Knowing you, and I do, there is not the slightest chance you are within anybody's law. Moreover, M-3s just aren't possible. We have none in stock that aren't already committed."

"They've never been that common, I suppose," Victor said. "Not like the 90 and 60 versions."

"No, they haven't," Dov said. "But for that matter, it would be perfectly possible to take a 60 or 90 version and remove the main turret. That would leave enough space inside for maybe five or six infantrymen, plus a two man crew. Extending them is also possible, but harder."

"Maybe," Victor said, while wondering, Will my rescuers be willing to go with those instead of the real thing? They just haven't told me enough.

"Never mind, in any case, Victor. I can't sell you any. No, not even for a really big bribe."

"That's okay," Inning said, his head nodding which made his fake curls swish back and forth. He found that extremely annoying. "I predicted this. I don't want you to
sell
me any. I want you to rebuild the ones I need from some I will get. And I need them rebuilt overseas or aboard a ship. Maybe both. Now does your government have a really big problem with that? You don't need a legitimate end user certificate for mere services rendered and some dual use parts provided, or if you do, you can fudge it. You don't need an end user certificate for giving me the name of the contact there that, I have no doubt, provides you with derelicts in remarkably good shape to rebuild. Because we both know South Africa doesn't use a lot of anti-armor ammunition to train with."

Dov chewed at the inside of his cheek for a while, his head occasionally rocking from side to side. "End user certificate? Mmm…maybe not. Done at sea, you say? Or right in South Africa? Or both. And just how big a bribe are you offering? And how much for the name of my contact?"

"That's all negotiable," Victor said. "It will be large enough. Now tell me what is possible in upgrades."

Dov shrugged. "It's a pretty extensive rebuild: New steering-hydraulic, new disc brake system for all four wheels, new diesel engine-a Toyota, and new wiring. We can put in air conditioning . . . day-night fire control . . . laser range finder . . . armor upgrade for standoff protection from HEAT warheads. Non-explosive reactive is also possible. There's also an option to upgrade the gun to the new high velocity 60mm, basically the same thing we did for the Chilean Shermans. Nice gun, by the way, but we have to modify the turret hugely."

A slender, delicate hand with painted but chipped nails grasped one of the unoccupied chairs and pulled it from the table. Into the chair sat an extraordinarily attractive, slender, wave-haired, and olive-skinned woman. She was dressed in mechanic's coveralls that completely succeeded in failing to hide her figure.

"Hello, Lana," Dov said, with a frown. "Victor, let me introduce . . ." Dove stopped speaking for a moment when he realized Victor was simply paying him no mind at all.

"They say of many women," Victor said, as if from very far away, "that her hair ‘cascades.' I think you are the first one I have ever seen of which the compliment is true. I-"

Victor stopped speaking when he realized than a group of Hassidim had begun to pass, except for one of them who was standing by the railing looking directly at him and chiding him with a waving finger. Victor hunched his head down as if in shame until the finger stopped wagging and the genuine Hassid had walked on with his group.

"Forget it, Victor," Dov advised. "Lana's a dyke."

"Not at all," the woman said, adding, matter of factly, "Tried it; didn't much like it. I've just met very few men I thought worth the trouble and Dov here is bitter that he wasn't one of them. Lana Mendes," she announced, offering her hand.

"You're very beautiful, Lana Mendes," Victor said.

"Don't tell her that," Dov advised. "Tell her she's a great armored vehicle optics mechanic. Tell her she's a first class tank gunner. Tell her she's a fine officer. But never, never, never tell Ms. Mendes she's beautiful."

Lana sighed with exasperation. "As a matter of fact, I used to teach tank gunnery, and now I work as an optics mechanic. And I am a first class reserve officer. But try and prove that in a place like this." She looked around in such a way as to indicate the entire country, not just the local environment. "Dov's right, by the way, you should take the upgrade to 60mm high velocity."

"I don't know about the gun," Victor replied. "I just don't have the authority. I'll check, though. And everything else sounds about right. Now, how mobile and accommodating can you be?"

"We can work anywhere." Dov said.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Certainly there is no hunting like the hunting

of man and those who have hunted armed men long

enough and liked it, never really care

for anything else thereafter.

-Ernest Hemingway, "On the Blue Water"

D-108, Londonderry Port, UK

It was already dark when the boat finally entered Lough Foyle, in the only place where the South, the Republic of Ireland, was north, and the north, the Six Counties, was south.

Biggus Dickus appreciated the darkness. It's just as well, he thought. Even a disarmed and civilian painted ELCO eighty-one foot patrol torpedo boat is inherently suspicious. If it hadn't been so fast and so cheap, I'd probably have turned it down.

"Biggus Dickus" had booked a berth for the Bastard at one of the marinas dotting the sides of Lough Foyle. This did not prevent the boat from taking a slow spin around the Lough, through darkened gray-brown waters that were almost without any natural waves.

"There she is," said Eeyore, pointing leftward with his chin. Eeyore laughed softly.

"I see her," agreed Biggus standing at the wheel of the boat. "And what's so funny?"

"I looked it up. George Galloway is a Brit politician. He's probably an atheist, himself, but he latched onto the Islamics there to launch and support his political career. He even married one of them, a really hot Palestinian girl, though I think she divorced him. He is, in any case, a defensive mouthpiece for Islamic terrorism and an offensive, in both senses, speaker for the gradual subordination of Great Britain to Islam. No wonder they named a boat after him. And naming a boat after him suggests very strongly that that is no innocent ship."

"I always presumed that," Biggus said. "Simmons?"

"Here, Chief," answered the former boatswain standing by what once would have been a mount for a .50 caliber machine gun . . . and would soon be again.

"When we berth, you and Morales go ashore. Get a rental and scout out that ship."

"Wilco, Chief."

"And remember to drive on the wrong side of the road."

"Forty-one . . . forty-two . . . forty-three . . . forty-four," Simmons counted aloud as the last group boarded the Galloway. "Your count agree with that, Morales?"

The Puerto Rican former SEAL nodded, then added, "There's no way that ship needs a crew that size. That's twice as many as they need, maybe more."

"Which smells like trouble even if they're perfectly innocent," Simmons agreed. "But where else have you seen young men who looked just like that lot?"

Morales laughed. "Well, besides Afghanistan, Iraq, Somalia, Sudan . . ."

"Exactly. Those aren't sailors and they aren't mostly illegal immigrants. Those are fighters. We need to bring this back to the chief. But first some measurements. I make it as twelve feet from waterline to top of the hull near the bow."

"A little less," Morales corrected. "No more than ten and a half."

"Nah; it's twelve. Look at the containers. In any case, we can two-man-lift a boarder over it. She carries, max, seven hundred TEU."

"Agreed."

Simmons did some mental gymnastics. "I make her as roughly four hundred feet in length and maybe sixty-five in beam."

"About right," Morales said. "She's Antigua registered. Any issues with that?"

Simmons shrugged. "None I can think of. Maybe Oprah Winfrey or Eric Clapton would object to our taking it. But fuck them."

"Not Oprah," Morales said. "I think she's supposed to become Secretary of Cloying Sweetness under the current administration."

"Sweet," said Biggus, though his tone of voice didn't suggest he found anything too sweet in the news. "I'd thought to get two of us aboard, then wait for the Galloway to get out into the sea lanes. Those two could have taken the radio room and bridge, then the rest of us would have intercepted and boarded. With forty-four men aboard, half of them with no likely jobs, the odds of even one man being found are just too good."

"Simple boarding and seizure at sea, then, Chief?" asked Simmons. He looked around the inside of the Bastard at the mounds of carefully netted and tied down gear provided by the shipping container in Paldiski. "It isn't like we lack for materiel." Simmons held up a radio-controlled detonator, by way of illustration.

Thornton shook his head. "I don't know there'll be anything simple about it. And it'll be tough to do without them getting the word out. Though you're right about the materiel."

"They'll be leaving soon, Chief," Simmons said. "Otherwise they wouldn't have brought the extra people aboard yet."

"I still don't think we can hide two men aboard with all those extra fuckers roaming the ship out of boredom."

"If not two, Chief, how about one?" suggested Antoniewicz. "I'm a little dude; I can find a place to hide if you can get me aboard."

Biggus shook his head doubtfully. "Bad form to send a lone man off," he said.

Eeyore stood to his full five feet, four inches, held his arms out invitingly, and answered, "Hell, Chief, I'm not even a full lone man. So if we can't send two, let's send three quarters or a half. Bound to confuse ‘em."

***

The Russian rubber boat made not a sound as its electric motor forced it through the watery gloom. It passed by Galloway's stern, then drove in under the pier. Once under cover, it weaved between the wooden pilings to the bow. There, it passed under the steel wedge and came around the bow to its port side. The boat came to a stop as it bumped up, still soundless, against the hull. The man at the tiller, Bland, dialed down the power to just enough to keep the rubber tight against the target.

Forward in the rubber boat, Simmons was at the bow, followed by Morales, followed by Antoniewicz. All four men in the boat wore Russian night vision goggles strapped to their heads. These were not the best, perhaps, but they were good enough for this. Without a word all three forward stood low and shuffled to the rubber boat's rounded bow. Antoniewicz leaned forward and put both gloved palms against the hull. Simmons and Morales locked arms and bent low to allow the boarder to get one foot up. They then stood, rocking the rubber boat and almost causing Antoniewicz to lose his balance. He pinwheeled his arms a bit, moving his center of mass forward to balance again against the hull.

Eeyore felt his heart beating fast and hard as his balaclava covered head peeped over the side of the ship. There was a container marked "Cosco" just in front of him. He could see the letters clearly enough even in the grainy image of his NVGs.