Deadly Force (17 page)

“You've been to see him before?” Stroh asked.

“Three times. Two of the visits I was chewed out for stopping foreign aid after he stole what we sent him. The Marines will stay in the lobby. I'll take you with me.”

“Moral support?”

“About it. Don't say a word unless he asks you a question.”

“Easy.”

The car stopped in front of the Presidential Palace, and they were escorted inside, where the Marines settled down in chairs and Stroh and Oberholtzer were shown to a couch, where they sat for thirty minutes before being admitted.

“The old make-him-wait ploy,” Oberholtzer said. “I've used it a time or two myself.”

The President's office was large and elaborate, with the main man's desk at the far side under the nation's flag. The President did not rise as they walked in. He stared at Stroh.

“Who is this man?”

“My new special assistant. He came in three days ago.”

“No matter. I think your Marine guards blew up my Army camp and killed the commanding general last night.”

“Mr. President, may I respond?” Oberholtzer asked. The man sitting at the desk nodded. “All of our Marines were in the compound each night this week from dark to daylight. It is our policy, and your suggestion. They had no hand in the destruction at your Army base, or the death of
the general. From news reports it seemed like dissidents from the Army killed the general. The men were reported to wear your Army's jungle cammy uniforms.”

The President leaped to his feet, his face red as he screamed out the words. “No, not my own men. Everyone knows the general was assassinated by foreign agents who used a new kind of ray gun to stun everyone in the area. Then the cowards ran to the car and shot General Assaba. Everyone knows it was foreign agents.”

President Kolda leaned forward, balancing on his hands, his face blood-red now, his breath coming in gasps.

“Everyone knows,” he said again, and slid into his chair. His hands covered his face a moment. Then he looked up.

“You and your complete embassy staff have twenty-four hours to get out of my country. I am expelling every one of your embassy people. As of six
P
.
M
. today, no Sierra Bijimi citizen will be allowed to enter your compound. You're through here. Now get out of my sight.”

On the way out to the car, Stroh looked at the ambassador. “Can he do this?”

“Oh, yes, he can. We'll close up the embassy, hire some guards to patrol the walls outside, and scoot over to Zambia until this gets cleared up.”

In the car Stroh frowned. “Easy for you diplomats to leave, but what about the SEALs? They don't have diplomatic passports. They don't have any passports at all.”

 

 

As soon as Stroh hit the embassy parking lot, he ran up the steps to the second floor where the SEALs were quartered.

“Listen up,” he called. “Moving day. President Kolda has closed down the embassy. You guys and I will be moving up to Camp Freedom as soon as the Skyhawk chopper can get here. I'm on my way to call in the bird now. Kolda is trying to play hardball. He doesn't know about our chopper yet. I'd guess we have about two hours before we fly out of here.”

It took him an hour to raise the SATCOM at Camp Freedom.

“Yes, Stroh, this is Camp Freedom.”

“Good. At last. Get Murdock.”

“Aye, sir. Right away.”

It was five minutes before the commander came on the radio.

“Murdock here. What can we do for you, Mr. Stroh?”

“You can get that chopper warmed up and send him down here as quickly as possible. Every U.S. citizen at the embassy has been kicked out of the country. The SEALs and I are coming to pay you a visit. Don't send anyone with the bird except the pilot and copilot. We'll have fourteen bodies to fill it up. Let me know when the bird takes off and his ETA. I'll leave this set on to receive with somebody monitoring it.”

“That's a roger. I'm on my way.”

Stroh packed his one airline rolling bag and took it down to the front door. He had learned to travel light. Sometimes
he had to buy clothes wherever he was, but for him packing was never a problem.

The SEALs were wrapped up and ready to go in thirty minutes. They waited in their rooms, glad for a day off from training. Lieutenant (j.g.) Gardner and Senior Chief Sadler found Stroh in the cafeteria having a cup of coffee. They joined him.

“What will we be doing up at Camp Freedom?” Gardner asked.

“Probably getting in on some of the action,” Stroh said. “Not sure just how far my orders go. I'll check with Washington when we hit the camp.”

Bill Bradford, who had been baby-sitting the SATCOM, came running into the cafeteria.

“Hey, figured I'd find you in here. Murdock called. The chopper just left. He says it should have a flight time of about fifteen minutes. He said the pilot asked for two red flares on the LZ. It may take him a couple of circles to find us since he doesn't know where the embassy is.”

“Everybody into the east parking lot,” Gardner said. He took one last gulp of coffee and ran with the others to the second floor to pick up all of his gear.

The SEALs were waiting with their equipment when the Seahawk swept in from the north. It hesitated a moment. Then the pilot must have seen the two red flares. He raced in, slowed, kicked the nose up on the bird, and settled to the ground.

“Mount up, let's move,” Gardner bellowed over the sound of the chopper. The SEALs ran to the helicopter in squad formation and climbed onboard.

Stroh had told the ambassador they would be leaving, and he waved at the man, who now stood on the steps. Then Stroh jumped on board, squeezed into a small opening, and at once the bird lifted off. The pilot climbed the little chopper as he slanted away from the center of town to get to the countryside. Then it was a straight run up the river.

 

Ten minutes later the Skyhawk settled down at the LZ at Camp Freedom, Murdock waited for them.

“About time you guys got here,” he barked at the men. “No tents or cots left, but we've got plenty of good soft grass to sleep on. Chow here is good, and we'll get some action. Understand El Presidente didn't take kindly to his top man cashing in his chips.”

“Madder than a bumblebee with a boil,” Stroh said. “Got so mad he couldn't talk. That's when he threw us out. Whole damn embassy is packing up to fly to Zambia.”

Murdock looked over his platoon. “Mahanani, I want you to take your kit over to the leader's tent and look at his arm. He picked up a round last night on the way in. A patrol surprised us with a searchlight in our faces. See how the in-and-out looks.”

“Aye, Commander. I'm moving.”

“Mojombo wants us to bunk down over in this section. He's not sure now long we'll be here. The word around camp is that we'll be going downstream to the first village about five miles away. The people there have asked for protection by the Loyalist Party. It's the first move to retake the outlying areas and gaining strength.”

“When do we get into some action?” Canzoneri asked.

“As soon as we work out some details,” Murdock said. “This first move is more important right now. If Mojombo doesn't have the people behind him, his cause will sputter and blow out.”

That afternoon, Mojombo met the rest of the SEALs and welcomed them. “You got here just in time to move,” he said. “We go downstream about five miles tomorrow morning. Most of the men will be living and eating with the villagers in their homes. This is going to cut down drastically on the supplies we need. We'll pick up that cache of canned food on our way past tomorrow. What we can't take with us, we'll come back for with some carts. So relax, you guys, and enjoy the wonders of the outdoors and nature herself.”

That afternoon the soldiers began to take the camp apart. All of the tents came down, but the pole frames would be left. They had four carts that would be pulled and the motorcycle that they'd brought from the President's
warehouse. The three SEALs would ride their bikes down as well.

By chow time that evening most of the camp had been dismantled. The word went out that the trek south would begin at 0600. Right after early chow at 0500.

Murdock and Stroh huddled with Mojombo.

“What can we do that will hasten Kolda's departure from office?” Murdock asked.

Mojombo thought about it. “Probably a hit at the police. We hurt the Central Police Station last week, but there are six more around town. The police here are not what you think of as police. They all are soldiers with blue uniforms. They all have the mentality of storm troopers. Some casualties in their ranks would bring cheers from the population. The police are the most hated group in the whole government system.”

Gardner grinned. “Colonel, if you would tell us where these facilities are, we could do some work on them while you're getting in solid with the villagers.”

Murdock nodded. “It would seem like a good choice. We could take out the buildings and anyone in them with our twenties. It would be a quick and simple hit and then we'd hustle back north.”

“Why not use the Seahawk?” Jaybird said. “We could fly to an LZ three or four miles in the country so they wouldn't hear us coming. We chogie in to our targets and do our business, take a hike back to our protected transport, and be back to our grass shack before morning.”

Stroh had been listening. He looked at Murdock. “I'd think the commander and Howard would like that chopper idea after they made that thirty-mile hike a couple of nights ago.”

“Amen, brother, you have seen the light,” Howard said.

“Oh, while I've almost got the floor, we were talking about some prime candidates for a visit,” Stroh said. “We have details and locations on four so far. These would be two- or three-man missions strictly on a hit-and-run-like-hell basis.”

“Tomorrow is moving day,” Murdock said. “After we get situated there, and find a nearby LZ for our Seahawk,
we'll get with Mojombo and detail our police targets. Then I want him to look over our four-man hit list to see if he agrees with the ambassador.”

The pilot of the chopper and his copilot drifted up to the group. “For you who don't know these gentlemen, the redhead is Josie Halstrom, the Seahawk's pilot,” Murdock said. “This must be the copilot.”

“Yes sir, sir, Commander. I'm JG Hal Parcells.”

“We going to have an LZ down below?” Halstrom asked. “We can lift out a good-sized load of whatever needs to be moved.”

Mojombo gave the pilot a high five. “Now why didn't I think of that. Lieutenant? Why don't you and I fly downstream first thing with daylight and we'll find a good LZ close to the village. As I remember, this one has a soccer field. We could use that. Can we check it out before we take a load down?”

“If you think it's close enough, we might as well take a load as we look,” said Halstrom. “Save fuel. I brought extra tanks, but fuel is going to be a problem soon.”

“Could you have the other sixty on the destroyer fly in three barrels of juice for you?” Lam asked. “All we'd need would be a hand pump and we could keep you gassed up.”

“Good idea. I'll talk to my CO tonight on the chopper radio and set it up for tomorrow afternoon.” Halstrom grinned. “Commander, where did you find these guys?”

“Lieutenant, we sifted through half the Navy before we picked our platoon. It's paid off.”

They heard cheering, and looked down at the one flat area of the camp. Twenty men were in a hot soccer game.

“Yeah, most popular sport in our country,” Mojombo said. “You call it soccer, we call it football.”

“Thank God for soccer,” Halstrom said. “That field down at the village will be an ideal LZ.”

The meeting broke up. Bill Bradford took out his sketch pad and made drawings of the tents, the chow hall, and the soldiers in their new cammies looking stiff and unsure. “Man, I'm getting all this travel and places to sketch, and besides that, I'm getting my SEAL pay to do it. What a deal. I may re-up for about twenty more.”

Paul Jefferson tried to get a chess game going, but he couldn't find anyone interested. At last he approached JG Gardner.

“Sir, how about a friendly little game of chess. I hear you played in college.”

Gardner grinned. “Hey, you didn't hear that, Jefferson, because I didn't. It was the high school chess team and I was captain. You want black or white?”

In an hour it was dark. The generator had already been packed on the chopper along with most of the heavy kitchen equipment. When darkness hit, the troops went to bed. They had left up the Vice President's tent. He invited Murdock in to use the other cot. Murdock at first declined, then thinking about another night on the hard ground convinced him and he took it. He thought they might talk a while, but as soon as the VP hit his bunk he was asleep, snoring softly.

 

The next morning chow was simple, and then the move began. Murdock had never seen such mass confusion. There was no beach-master to move groups and items in an orderly process. The tents had been carefully folded and tied to ten-foot poles, and men shouldered each end of the poles and headed down the trail. Other soldiers carried goods in slings across their backs. Some had sacks and baskets filled with goods. Several shouldered cases of canned goods.

The chopper took off at first light, and and was back thirty minutes later empty and ready for a new load. Mojombo had stayed at the new location to talk to the people. He soon found twenty homes that would take two soldiers each. Two SEALs wound up on a pole carrying a tent. Murdock, Jaybird, and Howard rode their motorcycles down to the soccer field, then grabbed a chopper ride back up with ten others to make a second trip.

Three horse-pulled carts came down the trail from where Mojombo and his men had hidden the rest of the food they took from the President's warehouse. It was stacked in a pile inside one of the tents that had been put up using freshly cut poles from the jungle.

Loads were potluck. Men took whatever they wanted to carry. Murdock and Jaybird grabbed twenty-four-can cases of vegetables and headed down the trail. They met fifty men coming back up for another load.

By afternoon everything had been transferred. A dozen tents were set up around the edge of the soccer field so there was still room for a game. Men had been assigned to the homes, and the rest took to their bunks in the tents. The SEALs had tents now too, and cots.

“We going out tonight?” Jaybird asked.

“Haven't you had enough action for one day?” Murdock asked.

“Hell, no. Just getting warmed up. How about us hitting two cop stations at the same time. One squad on each one. We could ask Mojombo where two of them are the closest together.”

Murdock had been feeling uneasy, as if the SEALs were a fifth wheel here. “Check with the chopper pilot and see how his fuel is. He said he'd get in fuel via the other bird tomorrow. Then we'll decide.”

Murdock went to talk to Mojombo. He was hosting a group of local village leaders. They were delighted to meet one of the SEALs. When Murdock found a minute, he asked Mojombo about two police stations near each other that they could hit at the same time.

“Yes, there are two. I'll get back with you in about an hour. Still plenty of time. I need to do some fence-mending here about our using some of the soccer field.”

In two hours it was set. The whole platoon would jam into the chopper for the quick flight. The targets were on the south side of the city, so they would fly around it and then come back. They would need to take two local men to guide them to the right spots.

Murdock called the SEALs together and told them it was a go for that night. They would leave just after 2300. “Anybody feeling the effects of the native food? Any diarrhea, upset stomachs, or vomiting?”

Tracy Donegan held up his hand. “Been heaving for the past two hours. Don't know why. Doc gave me some pills.”

“Anyone else?” No one else responded. “Okay, you
guys. We need to take two guides with us and that overloads the bird. So Donegan and Howard will keep the campfires burning for us tonight. Howard, you had enough work the other night.

“Get a nap if you want one. We'll suit up with all weapons and normal ammo and load out of the LZ at 2300. Any questions?”

“We have guns free on the police, or just the building?”

“Mojombo says the police are only soldiers in blue uniforms and most of them are sadistic bastards. The population hates the cops. Yes, we have open season on police in blue uniforms.” There were no more questions. “Check your squads and I'll see you at 2250 at the LZ.”