Deadly Force

8

Just before the door had closed on the Gulfstream at North Island, a sailor had come boiling up in a Humvee waving a sheaf of papers. He ran to the door and pushed them at Senior Chief Sadler.

“Faxes just came in,” the sailor said. “Master Chief told me to get here before you took off or I was toast.”

“You made it,” Sadler said. “Now drive slow going back.” At once the crew chief closed and locked the cabin door.

Murdock and Lieutenant (j.g.) Gardner divided the stack of fax pages and began reading.

“Oh, yeah,” Murdock said. Sadler and Gardner both looked at him. “Now we know why we’re going to that little country. Some wild-eyed rebel down there kidnapped the Vice President and is holding him for ransom.”

“No shit?” Sadler said.

“So all we have to do is track down this rebel band, kill all the bad guys, and rescue the VP,” Gardner said. “Piece of cake.”

“Yeah,” Murdock said. “That’s the what. Just how we do it will depend on a thousand different factors. Some of them must be in all this fax paper.”

Then all three went back to reading. Quickly Murdock discovered that the tiny nation was only ten years old. It had been carved out from another all-black African country through a small revolution. It was near the west coast bulge of Africa, and had one good-sized river flowing through it. The population was listed as being 3.8 million people in an area about twice the size of Delaware. The nation was a member of the United Nations, and had a questionably elected government that was reported to be totally corrupt, with most foreign aid ending up in the leaders’ pockets.

It had been described as a “mess of a country” that deserved better. The standing Army of 4,000 was poorly trained and had old weapons, and the men were paid infrequently. Sierra City was the capital. The country’s Navy consisted of six small riverboats and a few more than one hundred sailors.

Gardner looked up from his reading. “Sounds like a sorry outfit. Why was the Vice President there in the first place?”

Murdock grunted. “Yeah, here it is. He went there on a goodwill trip representing the President. This country was added to his tour only three weeks before he left when another nation backed out.”

“So the rebels had to find out he was coming and then plan to capture him,” Senior Chief Sadler said. “Just who is this Mojombo Washington character anyway?”

Murdock shook his head. “I don’t see much about him. Evidently he’s new to the ranks of the rebels. Here it says that the man speaks English and has attracted some support from the outlying villages. The police think he has a stronghold somewhere up the Amunbo River that runs through there. Eyewitnesses said that the Vice President was taken up that river in a boat.”

“Who will we have to work with when we get there?” Gardner asked.

Murdock checked another page. “A small embassy has been established there and the new ambassador is in it. The President of Sierra Bijimi is Thom Kolda. We don’t have much on him, but he evidently is the top bad guy in the place. Another bad guy probably is General Kiffa Assaba, who is the head of the Army and the National Police.”

“Hey, look at this,” Gardner said. “The only airport has one runway that’s less than a mile long. The Vice President’s Air Force Two had a narrow scrape landing there. It will be able to carry only half its normal load of fuel if it wants to take off.”

Murdock was glad when they landed at Newfoundland. The JG took the men on a two-mile run without any weapons or equipment. Murdock used the Gulfstream’s radio to try to contact Don Stroh in Washington, D.C. He got through to the right office, but the secretary there whom Murdock had talked with before, said Stroh had already boarded a commercial flight on his way to Africa. She couldn’t say exactly when he would get there. Murdock thanked her and hung up.

He took out the fax orders and looked at them again. The SEALs were to report to the American Embassy in Sierra City and wait for further instructions. At least they could do a little looking around, get to know something about the situation. If it was as bad as the reports he had read, neither the Army nor the President would be of much help. Now he wondered how strong this rebel leader was.

A messenger from the airport office raced in a jeep to the refueling location and asked for Commander Murdock. He saluted smartly, then gave Murdock a large manila envelope and retreated. Inside were more fax pages. Murdock saw that they came from Stroh. He read:

“Murdock. This is the latest. We may not have such a panic as we first thought. We received a SATCOM message directly from Vice President Adams. I’ll give you a word-for-word transcript. Here it is:

“ ‘Hello, Mr. President. Please don’t worry about me. I’m being well treated and I am safe and in no danger. I already consider these men I’m with as friends….”

Murdock frowned, then read the rest of the Vice President’s message. So he considered the kidnappers his friends, and he was being treated and fed well.

Stroh went on: “You’ll land in Africa before I will. Get situated in the embassy or wherever they can house you and start nosing around to see what you can find out. This may turn out far differently than we first suspected. At least we stopped General Lawford from sending in a dozen F-18’s to strafe the whole area up the river and follow up with a dozen riverboats to blast everything that wasn’t dead already.

“Digest all of that local material and we’ll talk as soon as I hook up with you in Sierra City.”

The SEALs came back from their two-mile run. They had hardly broken a sweat. Lieutenant (j.g.) Gardner was sweating like a filly in August, Murdock thought. Gardner eased into his seat and shook his head.

“Hell, I thought I was in pretty good shape. Not so. I’m going to be on the three basics from now on, sit-ups, chin-ups, and pull-ups.”

Murdock shuffled the Stroh faxes to him. Gardner read the first few pages and looked up in surprise. “Vice President Adams is already a friend of his kidnappers? What the fuck is going on?”

“That’s what we’ll find out after we land in Sierra City. Why don’t you brief the men on Stroh’s material and what we learned from the other faxes. I want all the men to know as much about this situation and about this country as we do.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Gardner said. He wiped the sweat off his forehead and the back of his neck and stood up.

“Okay, men, listen up. We’ve had some more intel on our mission. Here’s what we know so far.”

Senior Chief Sadler followed the details of the situation, but he also kept thinking about the black girl back in San Diego who had been so full of life one minute, and an hour later dead in the alley behind the club where their Gaslamp Dixieland Jazz Band played. Had Shortchops given her an overdose, or was he just messing around with her? Sadler couldn’t remember if the detective had told him not to leave town. Hell, he was a material witness in a murder case. He could be in one shit-pot full of trouble as soon as they got back to the States. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He’d have to worry about that when they finished this little job and reported across the Quarterdeck. Until then he had to concentrate on the problem at hand.

Mojombo Washington smiled when Vice President Adams finished his radio message to the White House.

“Excellent, Mr. Vice President. That was a fine report to your countrymen so they don’t drop a nuclear bomb on our camp. I hope that they believed you. I realize it’s a bit unusual for a man evidently kidnapped to give such a friendly report.”

“They have to believe me. I hope to have more good news for them before long. You have a name for this camp we’re going to?”

“Yes, it’s Camp Freedom. We have about a half mile to walk up this trail to the camp. We didn’t want it to be vulnerable to rifle fire from the river in case President Kolda sent some riverboats up this direction with soldiers in them.”

The Vice President had been a bird watcher at one time, and now he enjoyed spotting various species in the thick jungle growth. He’d reached twelve species sightings when they emerged into a clearing beside a small stream they had been following. The camp was as rough as Adams figured it would be. There were two dozen tents that would hold six men each. He spotted a mess tent for cooking, but with no place to sit down and eat. There were a number of small fires burning around the area. He caught the gentle purr of a small gas motor, which could be running an electrical generator, so they might have lights.

He saw weapons everywhere. Each man evidently had to carry a personal weapon with him at all times. They were rifles, submachine guns, and a few carbines and pistols. A mix of guns that would be hard to provide ammunition for.

Mojombo led the Vice President to a tent and pointed in through the open flap. “This, Mr. Vice President Adams, is your tent. It isn’t as fancy as a hotel room, but I hope you’ll find it comfortable. It has the only real bed in the camp, and at night there will be electric lights if you want to read or write. I have a selection of books, fiction and non-fiction, and writing pens and paper.”

“No bars on the flap?”

“Absolutely not. You’re free to move around the camp. Of course it’s about twenty-five miles through the jungle back to town if you want to hike it.”

“I won’t be doing that. I’m interested in your cause, in getting this crooked, murdering President out of office.” He went into the tent and looked around. It was better than the tents on some camping trips he’d been on. He sat down on the bed. “Oh, yes, this is good.” He looked up and frowned. “Now, how is the revolution coming along? What can I do to help? Right now there’s no way I can bring in a battalion of Marines with all of their firepower.”

Mojombo stood just outside the tent.

“Come in, come in, sit down so we can talk,” said Adams. “I did some Navy time. Maybe we can come up with some ideas. How many men do you have with weapons?”

Mojombo stepped inside the tent and sat down in the one straight-backed wooden chair. He made a fist with one hand and rubbed it with the other hand. “I can put eighty men on a march with weapons and enough ammo for a good fight.”

“The general has about four thousand, you said.” Adams scowled. “Probably reserves he can call up. Those are not good odds.”

“That’s why we make surprise attacks and then run like crazy. The traditional guerrilla operation.”

“It’s worked for you so far, but they will get wise to that and keep out patrols, maybe put lookouts on the river at night.”

“You’re right. I realize that with less than two hundred men, I can never win an all-out battle with General Assaba’s forces. That’s why you are my guest.”

Vice President Adams frowned slightly, then nodded. “Yes, yes, I see. If I’m here, that would bring worldwide attention to your cause, and to the atrocities and sacking of the national treasury. But you need more than just publicity.”

Mojombo stood and paced around the small tent. He went back to the chair and sat. “Yes, more than publicity. I can get maybe five thousand farmers and hunters and their families to follow me down the river to the city. A citizens’ march against the federal government and the fraudulently elected President. We might win, if more than half of the military would swing over to our side and, with weapons, march with us. I would need at least two thousand armed men from General Assaba’s camp in order to stage a real revolution. Until that happens, I’m merely a criminal rebel with a price on my head.”

“I may have an idea that could help you, Mr. Washington. The American CIA calls it covert intervention.”

Mojombo grinned. “That is beautiful, a wonderful idea. What you’re saying is that some foreign nation, like the United States, sends in some troops on a highly secret basis. They help me win my revolution and slip out the back door before anyone spots them, and the whole thing is done covertly, and everyone but the bad guys wins.”

Vice President Adams smiled. “Mojombo, you are an extremely bright and quick-thinking young man. Your English is better than mine.”

“I had a well-to-do father who sent me to school in America.”

“Why did you come back home? I’m sure you could have had a good job in the government somewhere.”

“I finished graduate school at the same time my father took seriously ill. I came home to take care of him and my mother and because I love my country and want to help my people.” They were both quiet for a short time. “Can you tell me more about this covert-intervention idea? Is it something that you could sell to your government?”

“I’m not sure. It would take a lot of investigation of the climate here, the whole situation, the criminal actions of the President and his Administration. Then you would have to prove that you have the support of the people, that they would be with you on an all-out assault on the capital.”

“That would be the easy part. I can videotape fifty witnesses for you within a week. I can document the atrocities, the massive thefts of money and matériel, and the killings by the Army of many innocent farmers.”

“Fifty witnesses to those crimes would be impressive. This all will take some time.”

“If you could send in five hundred Marines with their firepower and a dozen helicopter gunships, we could reduce General Assaba’s Army to a handful of wild-eyed hard cases in three or four days.”

Vice President Adams stood, walked the short length of the tent, and came back. A small boy slipped inside the tent with a wooden platter filled with several kinds of fruit, including a banana on top. Adams took the banana, peeled it down two inches, and had a bite.

“I’m afraid we couldn’t be covert with five or six hundred men charging around your country. I was thinking more about twenty specialists to train and lead, perhaps carry out some swift silent strikes on their own.”

Mojombo shook his head. “Mr. Vice President Adams. Frankly I don’t see what twenty men could do to help us. I need men with rifles and machine guns and hand grenades to engage the enemy.”

“You must have heard about the Army Rangers, the Marine Recon, and the Navy SEAL teams. These are Special Forces highly trained to do just this sort of work. I know of some of the work they have done around the world in the last five years, and it’s truly amazing.”

Mojombo took a small notebook from his Army-style cammy shirt pocket and began making notes. “Let’s say for the sake of our discussion that we could get a team of specialists in here from the United States. What kind of a time element are we talking about? I had a timetable that already is behind schedule. This week I was supposed to be able to raise three hundred men. Most of my volunteers come from the outlying areas. I need many more from the capital.”

“Time element. Yes, a problem. First I’d have to talk to them in Washington about the idea. Maybe we should fire up the SATCOM right now so I can talk with the President or his Chief of Staff. I know the frequency to get through on.”

The Gulfstream II set down at the Sierra City airport at 1515. Murdock stood in the aisle and looked over his platoon. Most were awake after the long hop.

“We’ll deplane in about five. Each man will take all of his own gear. The skycaps in this airport are hard to find. If we’re lucky someone will meet us. Otherwise we send out scouts to find the embassy.” There were a few grunts and hoo-has, and the men began gathering their gear.

A young Coast Guard flight chief came and stood by the door. When the brakes brought the plane to a stop, he opened the door and let down the stairs. Murdock moved off first. A yellow thirty-passenger school bus was parked fifty feet away across the tarmac. The driver came out and waved to them.

“Your limo’s here,” the American said.

A ten-minute ride in the bus, and it pulled into an enclosed compound of the U.S. embassy. The building was four stories, had bars on the windows on the ground floor and a ten-foot decorative steel fence around the outside of the property. A man wearing a slightly rumpled suit and white shirt and tie stood on the steps. Murdock walked up and met him as the troops lined up in squad order.

“Lieutenant Commander Murdock and the Third Platoon of SEAL Team Seven reporting as ordered, sir.”

“At ease, Commander. I’m Ambassador Nance Oberholtzer. Still can’t get used to that title. We’re not nearly that formal here. Usually it’s too damned hot. Hope you had a good ride. I have some faxes and radio signals for you to look at. I don’t know how the hell we got in this jam. I didn’t expect Mojombo would do anything while the Veep was here. I guess nobody calls the Vice President the Veep anymore. Who was it who popularized that term? Don’t remember. I’ll have to look it up.”

“As I remember, Mr. Ambassador, that would be Harry Truman’s Vice President, Alben Barkley. He was a real character.”

“Yes, I think you’re right. You must be a historian. Bring your boys in. I’ve got spots for them down on the second floor. Two to a room, but the beds are good. This will be your home for as long as you need it. Like I said, we’re not all that formal here.”

Two native men appeared and led the SEALs into the embassy and to the second floor, where they found the rooms and settled in.

One of the native men came up to Murdock. “Dining room on first floor end of long hall. We eat dinner at five-thirty. Okay?”

“Okay,” Murdock said. He found the ambassador in his office, which had been furnished recently and was still undergoing changes.

“Mr. Ambassador. I’d like a meeting as soon as possible with the top Army general here. Do you know his name?”

“Yes, that would be General Kiffa Assaba. A word of warning. He’s not a real general. He has the rank and post because he’s the hatchet man for the President. This is as near to an outlaw government as I’ve ever seen. But we have to live with it. I’ll phone him at once and see when you can get together.”

The general set it up for 6:30 that night at a downtown restaurant.

“That means he’ll want you to buy him dinner,” the ambassador said. “You know about money here? Probably not. Medium of exchange is mostly barter, but they also have paper currency called the dagnar. It’s fifty of the suckers to one U.S. greenback. I’ll give you a wad of five-hundred-dagnar notes. They are worth ten dollars each. Watch this sneaky little bastard. He’ll see how he can use you and your men to help his cause.”

“Be on my guard. Any more traffic on the SATCOM from the Vice President?”

“Yes, we did get a call he made to the White House. We have a recording of it on tape. Let me play it for you.” He took out a tape recorder, put in a small tape, and hit the play button.

“Yes, this is Vice President Adams calling the White House. I’d like to talk to the President or to Walters.”

“Mr. Walters will be right with you, Mr. Vice President.”

“Good. I’ve got lots to say. Where is he?”

“Right here, Mr. Vice President. How are you holding up?”

“Fine. About this situation. You must know what a rotten gang we’ve got here in this Sierra Bijimi government. Rotten right down from the fraudulently elected President to the political general of the Army and the police. Mojombo Washington is trying to get it fixed and he can use some help. What we need to do is send in a battalion of Marines and wipe out the current officials, but I know you would frown on that. How about some Special Forces to come in covertly and do some work down here?”

“Good thinking, Mr. Vice President. Fact is, we shipped out a platoon of SEALs almost twenty-four hours ago. They should be in country by now.”

“They are here on a covert basis?”

“As covert as hell.”

“That could be a start. I really think this young man has a magnificent project here. I’m going to try to help him in any way that I can. Oh, do we have any Navy in this area?”

“We checked that, Mr. Vice President. The closest asset is a task force off Portugal. Take them several days to sail down within striking distance of you. The unit has been ordered to move in that direction.”

“We aren’t going to blow this little nation off the map. Tell everyone to relax. I’m in no danger. The SEALs are here. I’ve seen them work before. Now I’ll try to send a runner to contact them. I think we’re through here, Walter. You take care.”

The ambassador turned off the tape recorder. “So, now you know as much about this situation as I do. The Vice President must be taken by this young man. Sounds like he wants to be one of the leaders in this battle coming up.”

“What else do I need to know about this General Assaba?” Murdock asked.

“That’s about it. He’s a former night club owner who went broke. Later he helped the President get elected. When the top general in the Army refused some of the President’s orders, Kolda had him tried and shot for treason. Then he moved Assaba into his place.”

“Sounds cozy. We’ll talk. Outside of that, I don’t know what we’ll do. Our CIA control should be arriving here today or tomorrow. After that we’ll get to work.”

The dinner meeting that evening went about as Murdock figured it would. General Assaba was a small man, slender, looked good in his uniform, had a wolfish face and overly large eyes that seemed to bore into everyone he looked at. Murdock tried an eye-to-eye contest one time, and lost quickly.

“My English,” Assaba said. “Many years ago we were a part of another country — we don’t mention that it was a British colony. So the British taught everyone English along with our native Wolof. Now English is one of two official languages of our nation.”

The restaurant was the most expensive in town, and the general ordered the highest-priced dinner and a bottle of wine.

“We know you are with the U.S. Navy SEALs, a Special Forces group, and we know that you are remarkably talented. Perhaps you can chase down this rebel Mojombo Washington. We have tried. We sent two gunboats up the Amunbo River to try to find him. The boats were heavily armed with machine guns and rifles. The men on the ship never saw a rebel. However, they took such heavy fire from the jungle cover that we lost ten men dead and six wounded, and had to turn around and power away before the boats had made it halfway to the suspected target.”

“He owns the river. How close to Sierra City did the shooting start?”

“About fifteen miles upstream they took the first rounds.”

“I’d like to talk to your G-2 man, your head of intelligence. Maybe by working together we can figure out a plan to move up the river at night, say, then hit the jungle and move around him and hit him from the rear.”

General Assaba put down his fork, which had just dipped a bite of lobster into the melted butter, and smiled. “Oh, yes, I like the way you think, Commander. I’ll set up a meet with our Colonel Dara for ten o’clock tomorrow morning at our headquarters in the Government Building.”

A short time later the dinners and desserts were finished, and the men shook hands and left the restaurant.

Murdock took a taxi back to the embassy. He had a strange feeling about General Assaba. The man did not even sound like a military man, which he wasn’t. His uniform fit, but any tailor could manage that. There was something about the man that hit Murdock the wrong way. Was he as corrupt as the ambassador said? If so, there might not be much value in helping him. What confused Murdock more than anything was the radio talk he had heard between the Vice President and the White House. Mr. Adams sounded like he had adopted Mojombo Washington and swung completely behind him in his try to overthrow the elected government and establish a real democracy.

If that were true, Murdock pondered, why should the SEALs do anything to help the forces of the fraudulently elected government?