Use of Force

CHAPTER 23

They waited until well after midnight to launch their operation. Harvath tried not to think of everything he was doing wrong.

One of the things they absolutely should have had before going in was a study of the people in and around the target called a pattern-of-life analysis. By observing a target over time, you could gain a lot of additional intelligence helpful in planning and executing a raid. Harvath, though, had decided to do without it.

The flat, barren terrain around the smuggler’s compound offered no way to approach it without being seen. There was only one exception, and tonight was it. There was no moon. It was the only advantage they were going to get.

Harvath tried to reassure himself with the fact that while still a dangerous assignment, they weren’t going up against a professional military or hard-core terrorist organization. Halim’s men were likely to have very little training, and even less discipline.

What concerned him, though, was the Libya Liberation Front. They were trained, they were disciplined, and they were paid to “protect” Halim.

Based on the drone footage, there was no sign of them anywhere near the warehouse or the compound.

More likely than not, they were protecting Halim from rival smugglers trying to cut in on his business, as well as other militias that might want to shake him down for money and refugee women they could sell or use as sex slaves.

The big question was: Were they being paid enough to come running if Umar Ali Halim was under attack? Harvath already knew the answer.

Based on the contacts in the dead militia members’ phones, the NSA had already intercepted a significant number of Libya Liberation Front phone calls.

The men’s bodies had been pulled from the charred remains of the electronics shop. And even though they were burned beyond recognition, the bullet holes in their skulls made it clear that the fire wasn’t the cause of death.

The militia was out for blood. That meant, whatever happened, Harvath’s team couldn’t let Halim or any of his men raise the alarm.

It would all come down to three key elements, perfectly summed up in the Delta Force maxim: surprise, speed, and violence of action.

All of Harvath’s guys knew their jobs. The rules of engagement were simple. Anyone with a weapon was fair game. And that went double for anyone who tried to call for backup.

The one person the team was not allowed to kill was Halim. Harvath had been adamant about that. Only if there was no other choice was anyone allowed to put a bullet in him.

Though the moonless night gave them the advantage on their approach, two homes north of Halim’s compound caused Harvath to conclude that they should come in from the southwest. There was no telling if the neighbors were on Halim’s payroll. They couldn’t take a gamble on whether they might tip him off to unfamiliar vehicles in the area.

They had chosen to bring the technical. If anything went down, Harvath wanted the extra firepower. Before leaving the safe house, they had done a full inventory of its contents and divided them up between the two vehicles.

In addition to the .50 caliber machine gun mounted in the bed, the Hilux pickup also contained five hundred rounds of .50 cal ammunition, a Russian KBP LPO-97 pump-action grenade launcher with three thermobaric rounds, an RPG-7 shoulder-fired rocket-propelled grenade launcher with two PG-7VL grenades, and one thousand rounds of 7.62 x 39mm ammunition suitable for feeding the three AK-47s they had taken off the dead militia members earlier that day.

For once, Murphy had paid the bad guys a visit. Harvath was happy to profit from their loss. The question now was whether Murphy would stay out of their way long enough so that he and his team could parlay this small advantage into a win.

One of the biggest things concerning Harvath was that even though they were all experienced operators, they actually had very little experience operating together.

Extra training would have fixed that, but with the clock ticking, the CIA couldn’t invest in any. Part of Harvath’s responsibility was figuring out how to make it work. It was why he had been chosen, and why he had been given this team. As had been drummed into him in the SEAL Teams, failure wasn’t an option. He had to adapt and overcome.

Dosing the shopkeeper with another round of ketamine, they had departed the safe house.

With Haney and Morrison in the technical, Harvath, Staelin, Gage, and Barton had followed in the Land Cruiser.

Two miles out from the compound, they pulled off the road and into the desert.

The terrain was flat. There were no hills, no gullies, no stands of trees — no place to hide their vehicles. If not for the pitch darkness caused by the absence of the moon, it would have been like putting up a billboard announcing their arrival.

They had pulled the fuses for their taillights back at the safe house. Killing their headlights and instrument lights, they now carefully piloted the vehicles with only their night vision goggles to see by.

Once they got as close as they dared, they stopped and turned off the engines. Overhead, the Reaper monitored the smuggler’s compound and kept Harvath apprised of any movement.

His plan had been to hit the compound while Halim and his men were asleep. The only movement the drone had picked up was more than an hour ago. A man had stepped out of the guesthouse, smoked a cigarette, and returned inside. Since then, there had been nothing else. So far, so good.

Climbing out of the vehicles and gathering at the rear of the technical, they quietly gave their equipment a final check.

On such short notice, the CIA had done an admirable job. In addition to getting them into Libya, it had secured the safe house, arranged their primary vehicles, and provided a decent array of gear.

In addition to helmets and night vision goggles, there were six suppressed M4 rifles, all complete with red dot sights and infrared lasers.

In the sidearm department, it had been a grab bag, but no less impressive. Harvath still had his H&K from earlier, Gage and Staelin had called dibs on the two 1911s, Barton had chosen the Sig Sauer, and Marines Haney and Morrison had each snatched up a Beretta 92.

Despite most of the equipment being second-hand, the communications gear was top-notch. It was all cutting-edge, fully encrypted, and the absolute best available.

With the drone as their only backup, Harvath had insisted the team up their combat load. As a result, they had all stuffed their chest rigs with as many extra magazines as they could carry.

Once everyone was ready, Harvath gave the signal and they crept soundlessly toward the compound.