The Case Officer (4 page)

He smelled the salt air coming
off the ocean south of the city, and heard the horns of cars on the highway and
the muted sounds of the city spread out along the coast only a half-mile away
from him. The night was dark, but there was a glow above the city and the
quarter moon and stars above gave off enough light to illuminate his night
vision scope and goggles.

He stopped frequently to scan the
area around him, paying particular attention to the row of shops and bars and
two-story buildings that lined the road to the east of him, where the two
smokers had drawn their last breaths of nicotine-filled air.

Needing a better vantage point,
he left the drainage ditch and moved slowly and silently through the forested
area to the edge of the tree line. From there he had a clear view of the row of
buildings facing the road and the buildings beyond. He dropped behind a fallen
tree, flipped up his night vision goggles, and brought the rifle to his
shoulder.

The darkened buildings of the
fire station, 400 meters away, popped into focus. He scanned them from left to
right. If Aideed had placed sentries to watch the compound, that would be a
good place to station them. There appeared to be activity several blocks behind
the buildings and to the south, but the area in front was dark and quiet. He concentrated
on the dark doorways and shadowy areas in front of the buildings and then,
seeing nothing, brought the rifle up to scan the rooftops where the initial
sighting had been.

He spotted the target on the
north side of the roof of one of the two-story buildings of the fire station,
almost directly above and beyond the doorway where he had shot the two smokers.
The sentry was fully visible from the waist up, standing on the flat roof
behind the low wall surrounding it. He appeared relaxed, clearly unaware of the
sudden deaths of his comrades in front of him, as he surveyed the compound wall
through binoculars, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

Do all these fuckers smoke?
Good thing, though, because
it really illuminates the targets.
He adjusted the elevation on his scope
to 400 meters and brought the rifle to his shoulder.
This rifle is really a
wonder
. He placed the crosshairs high on the chest below the cigarette,
released the safety, and squeezed the trigger.

The bullet smashed into the sentry’s
breast bone under the throat throwing him straight back and down behind the
hip-high wall.
Three shots, three bad guys. Not a bad night so far, thanks
to the gunny’s fine equipment.

He scanned the rooftops of the
fire station and spotted two more sentries, one peering over the hip wall of
the roof in the center of the building, and the other sitting on the corner of the
wall at the end of the roof. He decided to take out the peering guy first,
because he might have heard the last victim fall, and because he could pull
back out of sight behind the hip wall at any moment.

MacMurphy had a clear view of the
sentry’s head peeking out over the wall and took the difficult shot. The bullet
smashed through the sentry’s nose and blew out the back of his head. Mac quickly
moved his sights to the center mass of the fellow sitting on the corner. The
bullet slammed into the sentry high on the chest tearing through his breast
bone and threw him back and down sprawling on the roof.

Almost too easy. Don’t get
careless
. Adrenaline
pumping, he slipped farther down behind the fallen tree and quietly removed
five more rounds of ammunition from his bandoleer, eased four of them into the
magazine of the rifle, and gently slipped the fifth round into the chamber. He
spent the next few minutes quietly scanning the row of buildings to seek out
any new targets through the powerful rifle scope. None were visible, so he
slipped back into the woods and reported in as he made his way closer to the
city on the south side of the compound.

“Three more down,” he whispered
into the lapel mic. “No more activity visible along the east wall. Heading
south. Over.”

“Roger, Easy Two, keep up the
good work,” said the gunny.

Still using the cover of the
drainage ditch, he reached the southeast corner of the compound. The area in
front of him was open for about fifty meters. Next was a line of trees
bordering the golf course, and beyond that the occasional lights of the heart
of the city. To the right, directly across from the compound, were the darkened
buildings of the International Golf and Tennis Club and the red clay tennis
courts.

He crossed back over the ring
road and darted back into the shadows of the compound wall. He followed the
wall toward the west. At the end of the compound, lay the sprawling, unlit
Somali National University. He scanned the area in front of him and to his
left, looking for possible sentry locations. He knew any main-force troops
would be farther to the rear, but he decided to continue to take out as many of
the sentries as possible to remove the eyes and ears of Aideed’s militia.

Nothing was visible on the golf
course or around the tennis courts, but his attention was drawn to the
clubhouse and administration buildings of the Golf and Tennis Club as likely
observation posts for sentries.

He needed to get closer to the
buildings, so he backtracked over the ring road and darted into the tennis
complex. He moved quietly between the chain-link fences separating the courts.
Taking advantage of the shadows created by the wind-netting attached to the
fences, he was able to move within 100 meters of the administration buildings.
He dropped into a prone position behind a bench and surveyed the buildings
through the rifle scope.

He spotted two more sentries on
the roof of the administrative building and another in a tall minaret about 200
meters farther south. He decided to take out the two closest targets first, so
they wouldn’t hear the sonic snap of a bullet passing overhead, and hoped that
the guy in the minaret wouldn’t see any muzzle flash.

He easily took out the two closer
targets with perfect center chest shots and immediately raised his elevation to
300 meters and sighted on the minaret. The sentry inside was speaking into a
walkie-talkie. He decided to hold his shot and watched the guy babble into the
handset while frantically looking out over the terrain in front of him.
Convinced that he was reporting something, MacMurphy held his fire until the
target brought the walkie-talkie down, ending his transmission. The target then
turned and looked to his rear. At that point he squeezed off another round. The
bullet smashed into the back of the target’s head, and he went down.  

MacMurphy chambered another round
and continued to observe the minaret. He heard a shout, then more, coming from
the general direction of the minaret. Moments later a head appeared, looking
frantically out over the edge of the minaret in MacMurphy’s direction. The
Marine put a round in his throat, throwing him back and out of sight.

He was definitely blown by now,
so he decided it was time to get out of Dodge. He slipped back into the shadows
of the tennis courts and reported his situation to Gunnery Sergeant Bradshaw.

“Better get back in here, Easy
Two. Your huntin’ days are over for tonight. Return to the compound wall and
follow it west toward the University. There’s a small entry door about halfway
down, and we’ll have it open for you.”

“Roger that, Easy One. If it’s
not open you’ll hear me banging. Watch the area around that minaret. I think
all hell is going to break out pretty soon. I’m blown...”

The Marine replaced the spent
rounds in his magazine and retraced his steps back to the ring-road. He darted
across the road to the shadows of the compound wall. There he sat with his back
to the wall and directed his attention to the growing commotion taking place in
front of him. He heard the sounds of Toyota-4WD pick-ups moving up and shouted
commands in the distance. He scanned the area with the rifle scope, paying
particular attention to the wood-line on the other side of the road. Nothing…

He brought the rifle up to sight
on the minaret and, sure enough, two more skinnies. One was scanning the area
with binoculars, and the other was talking on a walkie-talkie. He set the
elevation for 400 meters and took out the one with the binoculars first. He
chambered another round for the walkie-talkie guy, but he had disappeared. He
kept the rifle trained on the spot for several more moments in the hope that
curiosity would get the best of the second guy, but it didn’t, so he moved down
the wall closer to the door and safety.

Something moved in the tree line
in front of him and to his left, near the end of the tennis courts. He dropped
into a prone position and brought the rifle to his shoulder. People were moving
within the trees, heading toward the road and compound wall. Three of them,
carrying AK-47s at the ready, had stepped out of the tree line and were visible
targets.

He estimated the range of the
closest one at just under 200 meters, with the other two spread out farther
down the tree line at about 25 meter intervals. He was still about 50 meters
from the nearest entrance to the compound, and he contemplated whether to take
the shots or remain motionless where he was.

He decided he couldn’t remain
where he was for very long with them coming out of the trees, so he picked off
the nearest one with a careful shot under the armpit, chambered another round,
and dropped the second one with a chest shot as well. The third started to
move, so he brought the crosshairs down on center mass and squeezed off a less
carefully aimed shot that caught the man in the gut, bringing him down
screaming his lungs out.
Shit, that’s not good
.

Inserting three more rounds into
the magazine, he snapped his night vision goggles down over his eyes. No one
was coming out of the trees to check on their dead and screaming comrades, but
there was now a lot of commotion coming from behind the tree line all along the
road.

He remained quiet in the shadows,
scanning the area for a few more moments. Things were coming alive all around
him, and he knew he had to get out fast before someone spotted him. At that
point, the relative silence of the night was broken by the clatter of a heavy
machine gun coming from behind the tennis club. He could hear the snaps of the
bullets going over his head and their impact on the compound walls.

The bastards are raking the roof
of the chancery
.
They must think the sniper shots are coming from there.
Still in the
shadows of the compound wall, he dropped back down to a kneeling position and
aimed the rifle at the top of the minaret where he had seen the muzzle flashes
from the machine gun. Two of them, one behind the gun firing in short bursts
and the other feeding the ammunition belt, popped into clear focus through the
night vision scope.

He remembered that his elevation
was set at 400 meters, so he aimed low on the chest of the one feeding the ammo
and shot him in the throat. He took out the shooter in the same manner, the
bullet hitting him high on the forehead and slamming him back against the far
wall, silencing the heavy weapon for the time being.

Now I’ve really got to haul ass
out of here
. It
was suddenly very quiet, except for the moans of the wounded skinny. The
gunny’s voice in his earpiece startled him. “Good shootin’ Easy Two. Now get
your ass back in here a-sap, before you get yourself killed. We’re waitin’ for
you at the door.”

Before he could respond, firing
opened up from the southeast corner of the compound, near where he had taken
out the guys on the roof of the administration building. He could hear the
familiar bop-bop-bop automatic fire from the assault rifles as AK-47 rounds
began to splatter around him. Someone had figured out what was going on.

He raised up into a crouch and,
hugging the shadows of the compound wall, began moving rapidly, carrying his
rifle at port arms, toward the safety of the entrance where the gunny and his
fellow Marines were waiting for him.

He was about ten meters from the
door when the rounds became more concentrated around him. Suddenly he felt a
sledgehammer blow to his chest just below the throat that knocked him on his
back in the dirt. He began to crawl toward the door with bullets impacting
around him and ricocheting off the compound wall. He was hit again and then
again. The searing pains in his arm and leg distracted him momentarily from
concentrating on the means to escape but he knew he had to get to cover or die.

He tried to get up, but his legs
didn’t work, and he couldn’t hold on to his rifle. Suddenly, all hell broke
loose from the roof of the chancery building. Bullets and rifle grenades began
raking the tree line and the other side of the road. He felt himself being
tugged and lifted and dragged by two Marines, and he heard the comforting voice
of Gunny Bradshaw saying, “We gotcha, Captain. Hang in there. We gotcha…”

And then he was safe within the
compound walls with the firefight raging around him.

Chapter Seven

H
e awoke the next day in the USS
Trenton’s
sick bay. He felt groggy, numb, drugged. The people around him were out of
focus, their voices coming from far away. He could make out the fuzzy images of
Spinelli and the gunny and the Regional Medical Officer from the embassy, and a
couple of nurses and some others. They were standing around his bed, looking
down at him.