Deadly Force (11 page)

Now it was little more than a trail, nearly hidden by new plants and in some places vanishing completely, being taken over by the voracious growth of the greenery. Murdock decided it would be a great place to raise tomatoes. Think how fast they would grow. Of course you'd have to cut down some trees and brush so the sun could get in to ripen the fruit.

They hiked steadily for another half hour, and then Murdock held up his hand and they stopped. They listened.

“Rifle fire,” Howard said. “Could be the flat crack of the old AK-47. Must still be a lot of them around.”

“Right, and as deadly as ever. Good range, too. So what are they doing?”

“Target practice. We hear firing for a while, then all is quiet as they check the targets, then more firing. Ready on the right, ready on the left, ready on the firing line.”

They both knew the routine. They moved with more caution now. The trail came closer to the river, which had shrunk in size as they'd climbed a gradual incline. Here and there they heard some rapids and saw a little white water. No boat was going up this stretch unless it was a jet-powered boat with no propeller.

“Will there be any more outposts?” Howard asked.

“I'd put in at least one more. From the rifle firing, my guess is his camp is on this side of the river. So we look for another outpost or at least a lookout along here anytime now.”

“We go around him again?”

“Don't think so.” Murdock said. “If it's handy, we capture him without harming him. Then we take him with us
up where he can help us get through their defenses so we can talk with the good Mr. Washington.”

“That just may be an idea whose time has come. You want me on point?”

They moved cautiously now. There was more rifle fire and it was getting closer, but it still sounded like target practice. They paused at each small turn in the trail and checked ahead. The fourth time they did it, they grinned. A lone cammy-clad soldier with a long gun over his shoulder walked from one side of a small clearing to the other side directly across the trail. Evidently this was his post and he had to walk it in a military manner.

Murdock signaled to the left and they faded into the jungle. Moving silently, they worked up to the far point of the guard's walking post. It was less than four feet from the jungle itself. Murdock eased up behind a huge tree and waited. The guard walked toward him, stopped, then did an about-face to go back in the other direction. That was when Murdock surged out of the jungle, took two steps, and hit the guard in the middle of his back, driving him forward and into the grass and weeds on his stomach. Murdock's hand went around the soldier's mouth holding it tightly.

Howard slid in beside them and fastened the guard's ankles with plastic riot cuffs, then caught his hands and brought them both behind him and manacled them. Murdock turned him over still holding his mouth closed.

“Now, young man, we don't want to hurt you. We're here to talk to your leader, Mojombo. Is he at this camp?”

The wild-eyed man mumbled something. Murdock took his hand away and the man screamed. Murdock's hand clamped back tight. Howard took a kerchief from his pocket and fashioned a gag around the man's head and through his mouth. He could breathe but couldn't yell. They sat him up and Murdock tried again.

“We're not here to harm you or you'd be dead already. Don't you agree?” The guard's eyes had lost their wild look and he nodded slowly. “We want to talk to Mr. Washington. Is he in this camp?”

The guard nodded again.

“How far is the camp? A mile?” The head shook no. “Two miles?” This time a nod.

“If I take off the gag, will you promise not to yell or scream, just talk to us?” The man frowned, evidently thought about it, then nodded. The gag came off.

“Now, Mr. Washington is at the camp close by. Can you take us there?”

“No, there are other guards.”

“How many?”

“Three more. One every half mile.”

“Can we go into the jungle and go around them?”

“No. A rocky wall on one side, the river on the other side. The guards would see us and shoot.”

“Do you have a radio?”

“No, only officers have them.”

“We could capture the other three guards,” Howard said.

Murdock considered it. “Could, but a big risk factor. I have a notion that most of these conscripts are green and any little thing out of the ordinary, they're going to start shooting. We can't shoot back. Would put us in a dangerous position. So we go back.” He dug into his cammy shirt pocket and took out a computer-printed message the ambassador had given Murdock before they left.

He unfolded it and showed it to the guard. “This is a message from the U.S. ambassador at Sierra City. He wants to help the Vice President. It tells him to turn on his SATCOM every day at noon and again at six in the evening so the ambassador can talk with him. Do you understand that?”

“Yes. Understand. Who are you?”

“Tell Mojombo Washington that we are U.S. Navy SEALs. We may wind up helping him instead of hunting him. The Vice President must talk to the ambassador every day. Do you understand that?”

“Yes sir.” He frowned. “Are you an officer?”

“Yes, Lieutenant Commander Blake Murdock in the U.S. Navy. That's like a major in the Army. Can you take this to your commander?”

“When my guard duty is over in an hour. That way I won't get in trouble for leaving my post.”

Murdock grinned. Somebody had trained this boy well. He looked no more than seventeen.

“All right. You do that. At the end of your shift you talk to your sergeant and tell him you have to see Mr. Washington. Here, give him this. It's one of the new U.S. gold-plated dollar coins. My good-luck charm. Give it to General Washington.”

The guard looked at the coin, read the printing, and grinned. “Yes, I can do this. It will be good on my record.” He frowned. “Can you untie me now?”

 

It took Murdock and Howard two hours to work back down the faint trail and around the first outpost. Then they jogged down the path toward their bikes. They stopped at the bikes and ate half the sandwiches and drank from the canteens.

“If we push it, we can get back to civilization in three hours,” Murdock said. “I just hope that half the countryside isn't returning from market day and clogging up the road.”

They were. Murdock groaned. They pulled into the embassy grounds slightly before 1700, just in time for chow at the cafeteria.

The ambassador welcomed the news of the contact. He checked his watch. Dinner was over. “Five minutes to six. Time for us to set up the SATCOM and try to talk to the Vice President. This could be the contact we need to turn round this difficult situation.”

Vice President Adams turned on his SATCOM radio at five minutes until six and set it to receive on the same frequency he had used when talking with the White House.

It had been an interesting afternoon. The sentry had talked to his sergeant, who'd brought him at once to see Mojombo Washington. Adams had been in the leader's tent at the time. The soldier, in his new cammies, saluted smartly and handed a folded sheet of paper to his commander.

Mojombo took it and read it. He looked up and frowned, then read the words again.

“How did you get this message, Private?”

“Two men in uniforms almost like ours, but they had black marks on their faces like camouflage.”

“Why didn't you shoot them?”

“They slipped up on me. I never heard them. Then they hit me in my back and knocked me down.”

“Did they have weapons?”

“Yes, sir, some kind of submachine gun. Short ones tied over their backs.”

Mojombo's voice softened. “Did they tell you who they were?”

“Yes, sir. One said he was Commander Blake Mur something. That he was a U.S. Navy SEAL.”

“Be damned,” Adams said. “They slipped past all of your security to get to this guy. They are experts at infiltration. They could do it.”

“These men, did they hurt you?”

“No, sir. Tied my ankles and hands with plastic cuffs at first, then let me go. They mostly just talked to me.”

“Did they kill any of our guards?”

“I don't think so, sir. All of our group of guards were present when we were relieved about half an hour ago.”

“Thank you, Private. You did your duty well. You will get a special commendation and a promotion. You're now a corporal and you are dismissed.”

The man turned, and a wave of relief washed over his face as he hurried out of the tent.

“What does it say?” Adams asked.

“Message to you from Ambassador Oberholtzer.” He handed the message to the Vice President. He read it.

“Mr. Vice President. I hope this message gets to you. First, we must communicate. You have a SATCOM. So do I. It would be most helpful, sir, if you could turn your set on every day at twelve noon and again at six for any messages we have for you or that you might have for us. Leave it on the same frequency you used to talk to the President.

“We are aware of your solid support for the Bijimi Loyalist Party and Mojombo Washington. We are desperate to know more about him and his plans, and what you want to do in the next few days. The President is still concerned about your safety.

“Please let us know what we can do to help you. Two Navy SEALs have delivered this message. They have been instructed not to harm in any way any of the Mojombo forces. I trust they achieved this today and delivered the message.

“If you could confirm your receipt of this message at six o'clock this evening, we can talk.

“May you stay safe and in good health and spirits. I am respectfully your servant: Ambassador Nance Oberholtzer.”

“What time is it?” The Vice President looked at his watch, a solar-tech one powered by the sun or any other light, which charged the batteries. “Good, only three-thirty. We'll talk with the ambassador tonight. Maybe we can get those SEALs to help us launch some attacks. They are
good, fantastic. The best trained and most effective sea, land, or air combat forces ever assembled.”

“How many of them?” Mojombo asked.

“That's the beauty of them. They work in platoons of sixteen men. Only two officers, but in the field every man is of equal rank. It's amazing what they can do. We send them all over the world on a covert basis to get our chestnuts out of the fire.”

“Who sent them here?” Mojombo asked.

“That's one question we'll have for the ambassador. Let's write down any more questions you have and we'll both talk to him.”

The leader of the rebels stood up from the chair and paced around the tent. He sat down, got up again, and walked outside. Vice President Adams waited for him. When he came back he sat down and frowned, then gave a long sigh.

“Is this a good thing? This talking to the center of our enemy?”

“The ambassador is not your enemy. He's probably the best friend you have in Sierra City. This can only lead to help for you, benefits for you.”

“I have no doubt that these SEALs are terrific. However, they are only sixteen. What can sixteen do against four thousand armed troops shooting at them?”

“Like you, Mojombo, they don't engage in pitched battles except when they can assure surprise or a crushing blow with something other than manpower. Let's wait and see what the ambassador has to say.”

“We will wait. In the meantime, we were working on some ideas for attacks on the corrupt politicians. We already hit the main police station and the Army base. Should we burn down the Hall of Democracy, where the legislature meets?”

“Doesn't seem like a good idea. Maybe we should concentrate on the military. Snipers could infiltrate far enough so you could shoot up the two small helicopters that the Army has. That would put their entire air force out of commission.”

“Yes, good idea. We'll send a four-man team in tonight
to do that. Let me get the men started downstream on our smaller boat. The choppers are kept in the open at the Army camp just north of the capital. It will be a two-day mission. Now what else?”

“Electrical power. Where do you get it from?”

“Most of it comes across the border with Bijimi. We used to be part of that country. The British built the hydroelectric plant twenty years ago. Now it serves four different nations.”

“So we leave the generators alone, and take down the lines that bring the power across the border. That would black out most of the nation and would cause an immediate uproar and problems for the Kolda government.”

“I wonder about that. It would cause government turmoil, but the main losers would be the people, who would suffer the most. Let's get some better ideas.”

“My Navy days didn't include a lot of G-2,” Adams said. “The fact is I was a lowly lieutenant in the black-water boats that got shot up six different times in Vietnam.”

“The police, the Army,” Mojombo said. “Those have to be our targets. I hesitate to do anything that will kill civilians or make their lives any harder than they are right now.”

“Yes, I get the picture. My next suggestion is that you're too far from the center of the action. You need to move closer to Sierra City.”

“But wouldn't that put us in more danger from a raid by the Army? They could being in two thousand men with weapons and rout us in five minutes.”

“Not if you move into an area and get the civilian population entirely on your side. Then if the Army tries to come in, your soldiers can fight or fade into the jungle and the civilians will come out in the street and totally swamp the soldiers. Civilians always inhibit a fighting force. You told me that the Army units won't chase you into the jungle. They proved that before.”

“This idea of starting to enlist all the people in a town is good. I've thought of it, but haven't tried it. Say we moved down to the village called Tinglat. We would still be twenty miles from the city. There are over a thousand people in that village who raise some crops, cut wood, and
harvest certain trees from the forest. I have friends there. Yes, I think they will support me. I'll go down there tomorrow with twenty of my men and we'll talk to them.

“They will be my people. I can protect them from the cheating tax collectors who routinely rob the workers in the villages. We'll strip the tax men and tar them and cover them with chicken feathers before we float them down the river on a small raft. Yes, I think we can do it. We'll start to claim territory and the population. When we get one area well protected, we'll get volunteers to swell our fighting ranks and then move to the next village as we make another jump closer to the city.”

“Now, what about new targets for your night raiders? The government forces will soon be patrolling the river, so you might have to come in by land the last ten miles or so. Any more small Army units you could hit, or government warehouses stacked with foreign-aid food, say?”

“Oh, yes. At least one that I know about. It's in the north end of the city and is the President's personal cache of hard-to-get goods. I'd bet there is food enough there to feed my men for a year, if we just had some way to get it up here.”

“You have a market day in town?”

“Yes. With our poor farmers, every day is market day, so they can scratch out a living from their small farms.”

“Most of those wagons and trucks and carts go back up the trail empty, don't they?”

Mojombo jumped up and laughed. “Oh, you are so right. We can make a raid on the warehouse at night. Transport everything we want into another warehouse farther north in the city. Then the next day . . .” He laughed again. “Mr. Vice President, I'm tremendously glad that you are on my side.”

Mojombo stood and nodded to himself. “Yes, I have much work to do and people to talk to before tomorrow morning. I will lead the raiders myself. We will need to steal trucks to move the matériel. Such a strike as this will not be extremely harmful to the President and his band of thieves, but it will put them on notice that we know more about him and his piracy than he thinks.”

“I want to go along. I had four years in the Navy.”

“No. It is too risky. You are still my key to the whole idea of a national revolution. I am working on the demands that I will make to the world. But first the talk with your ambassador at six, then the raid tonight and the exodus of the goods tomorrow.” Mojombo paused. “Do I have your word as a gentleman that you will not try to join our force that marches out to the river shortly after dark?”

“I could be a great help. I can still shoot well. Mostly trapshooting now, but the rifle is an old friend who—”

“No. You can't go. It's too dangerous. Now, give me your word.”

Vice President Adams scowled and muttered something under his breath while Mojombo grinned and waited.

“Hell, all right. I'll give you my word this time. But before this is over I want to be in the shooting war, you hear me?”

“I hear you, Mr. Vice President Adams. I'll be back in your tent in time for the six o'clock radio talk.”

The leader of the Bijimi Loyalist Party slipped out the flap and Adams followed him, then went to his tent and took out the SATCOM. He had it set up and the small dish antenna aimed at the satellite an hour before it was time. He couldn't sit still. What would he say to the ambassador that he hadn't already told the President? He'd just tell him the truth. It was time the United States gave this regime a hard time, and helped out this struggling young party leader who wanted to return the government to the people. The U.S. told the world that it supported democracy, so it was time to stand up on this one and make its weight known. He hoped the Navy was sending a task force this way. They wouldn't even have to come all the way. The Navy jets could do a combat radius of almost 650 miles. At least the F-18 could, and it was an air-to-ground fighter. A couple of passes without any firing and these government troops would panic. He wondered how close the Navy was. Was there a carrier task force anywhere around?

They could pump up a destroyer with a C-53 chopper on it, scoot down this direction at thirty-three knots, and
beat the slow aircraft carriers here by a day or two. He'd be sure to ask the ambassador about that.

 

Promptly at six o'clock the SATCOM just inside Vice President Adams's tent came on with a call.

“This is Oberholtzer calling Adams. I say again, this is Oberholtzer calling Adams.”

The Vice President lifted the mike he had been holding and pushed the send button. “Adams here waiting for your call. This is all encrypted, isn't it, so no one else can know what we're saying?”

“Right, Mr. Vice President. Only those U.S. units that have SATCOMs that are tuned to this frequency at this time. Which makes it tremendously secure. I'm glad to hear from you. Despite your messages, Washington has become increasingly concerned about your situation there. The President doesn't want you running off on a fire mission somewhere and getting your head blown off your shoulders.”

“Don't worry. I tried, and Mojombo won't let me go along. When are you going to send some help for these men? They are fighting their hearts out and have only made a dent in the corrupt Administration that Washington seems to support. We need the Navy to send in some aircraft and some surface craft and threaten the hell out of President Kolda. We're only two hundred miles from the Atlantic, for God's sakes. Navy jets can do that in ten minutes. What's the matter with you people anyway?”

“Mr. Vice President, decisions like that are way out of my hands. As you know, that has to be done in Washington. There is a Navy task force on its way. I'm not sure where it is, but they did say they would send a destroyer at flank speed that will outrace the task force. I've had a signal from the task force commander that the destroyer should be offshore here sometime tomorrow. She has two helicopters usually used for antisubmarine warfare, but they can be slightly adapted.”

“That's not going to help much, Oberholtzer. We need about twenty F-18's to do a flyover of the Government Building fifty feet over the roof and scare the shit out of these crooks. Why not drop in six or seven platoons of
SEALs to grab the President and the head of the Army and do it up quickly?”

“Like I said . . .”

“Yeah, I know. Not your decision to make. So I'll call the President again. His set must always be on. What good news do you have for me? A pair of SEALs visited this area today. One was called Blake. A commander.”