Born of War (31 page)

P
arker and Tola knew that time was short.

“I can't get a signal.” Tola had played with both the tablet and communications gear that he had. The wind created static as the air molecules moved faster and faster. The static electricity caused the signal to crackle.

“Where is the MarSOC team?” Parker asked. They had heard a truck spinning its wheels to the east, not too far in the distance. “Do we know if they are on the ground?”

“In this weather, they may have turned around,” Tola speculated. “And if they are down, it was not a fun ride.”

“We can't wait.” Parker knew that Stewart was very ill. He had not seen the other doctor but had to assume that they were both under the tarp in the back of the truck.

The plan was simple. They would move in a two-link chain with Parker in the lead. Any shots to the left would be taken by Tola, and Parker would take the ones to the right. It was important to move into the wind and move quickly. Surprise meant that several well-aimed shots would result in a successful mission.

“We need to get them and move out of here. We have to head back to the west and hope that the rain continues.” Parker had an idea as to how he could save Stewart's life. He didn't know about the Frenchman.

“Agreed?” he asked Tola.

“Yes. I am ready.”

They began to crawl forward until they got to within fifty meters. The closer they were able to get to the camp, the better the probability of successful shots. The Kalashnikovs had suppressors on them so the silence might buy another half second, but one round from a fighter would give the other army a location and a range.

They paused while Parker scanned the campsite again. The friendly one who had helped Karen was asleep against the trunk of the tree next to another body. The other two were huddled up with each other and their rifles. Omar was missing.

Shit
. Parker thought to himself.

There was no time to wait.

He felt the bolt of the Kalashnikov to make sure that it was both forward and tight. He pulled the stock up into his shoulder, put the first head in his sight, and felt the trigger on his bare finger. He stopped for one second to look behind and check that Tola was at the ready. And then he squeezed.

A thump caused the first man's head to slap back.

The man asleep against the trunk of the tree looked up in surprise.

Parker squeezed off the second round and the other man's head popped back just as the one at the base of the tree started to reach for his rifle.

Parker and Tola stood up in a low crouch and moved forward at a quick pace through the savannah grass. They never looked down.

Seeing the two strangers come out of the darkness, the remaining fighter at the base of the tree made the decision of his life. He dropped the rifle and held his hands up high.

Parker scurried into the campsite looking in a circle for the man he most wanted. He went to the bed of the truck and slowly nosed his weapon under the tarp not knowing what to expect.

Two frightened people with large hollow eyes looked back at him.

“I am an American,” William Parker said to the two. He repeated it again.

“I am an American here to help.”

 

 

“Where is he?” Parker hadn't made this journey for just the two hostages. And they were not safe until he found Omar and got them away from the approaching army.

“I don't know.” Tola swung around with his back to Parker, keeping his rifle trained on the one who surrendered. “I will check the cab.” He turned towards the cab while still keeping an eye on the one with his hands raised.

“We need to get the hostages out of here. We need to get them into the dark.”

Parker went to the back of the truck and slowly dropped down the bent tailgate.

“We will get them out of here and then I will come back for Omar.”

Tola shook his head in agreement but never fully turned his back to Xasan. He started to turn towards the cab trying to cover two points at the same time. Parker had the job of getting the hostages out of the fire zone and into the safety of the dark.

“Come with me.” Parker helped the two captives slide out of the truck bed. As he did, he could feel their bones through their clothing. They were wet and both were shaking like leaves in a windstorm.

“You will be all right. We just need to get you out of here.”

He pulled Karen up like a toddler and he grabbed the Frenchman by the back of his belt. The man weighed little at this point.

They started to move towards the darkness. The truck was to their rear and Tola was to Parker's back left.

A window cranked down. It was a sound that caused Abo Tola to turn his weapon around towards the truck cab.

In that instant something fell out through the window.

“Grenade!”

 

 

Tola didn't think. The grenade was to the side of the truck but well within range of both Parker and the hostages. Abo Tola jumped on the grenade and, as he did, he pushed it as deep as he could into the mud. The fuse was smoking. Instantly, there was a horrible “thump” sound.

Tola stayed limp.

Somehow, in the randomness of combat, the man with his hands held high fell to his knees and then collapsed. A fragment of the grenade had struck him in the head. Xasan was dead.

“Shit!” Parker screamed. He dropped the two hostages to the ground and ran towards Abo Tola.

At that moment, the door to the truck opened and he saw in the corner of his eye a figure run into the darkness.

Parker kept his rifle in one hand and felt Tola for a pulse with the other hand. His friend was badly wounded.

“Hold on!” he yelled.

Just as he started to clear Abo Tola's face of the mud to see if he was breathing, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“I will take over from here, sir.”

Parker pulled his rifle to his rear, ready to shoot, when he realized that several shapes had come out of the darkness. One was the MarSOC medic. The others surrounded the campsite. They disappeared into the black, taking up positions that would stop anyone else from coming in.

“Will, are you okay?” Gunnery Sergeant Kevin Moncrief was checking on his friend.

“I need your .45.”

Parker took the MEUSOC semiautomatic and quickly moved into the darkness.

He followed the road, knowing that the target was scared and only willing to take the easiest route.

He won't go into the thorn,
Parker guessed. He would go where he thought his comrades might be. He would follow the road.

The grenade had sent a signal that everyone heard. It would not be long now before the shit hit the fan.

Parker had only one goal right now. The hostages were being taken to a flat field some several hundred yards away where two MV-22 Ospreys were sitting in the dark. Once they got word of the rescue one bird would start to spin up its turbines. But Parker wasn't here for the flight.

Parker stopped as the wind died down for a moment. He bent down to listen. He heard a man's heavy breathing ahead. He pulled back on the pistol's slide, quietly, making sure that a .45 ACP cartridge was seated in the chamber. The barrel was extended with a suppressor. But it was pitch black and he was blind. He was going on instinct.

However, Omar was running in the dark as well. It was an even playing field.

Parker did have one other advantage. Omar wanted to escape. Parker wanted to kill. And Parker didn't care what happened to himself.

The grove of acacia trees was in a small valley. The road led up from the valley to a plateau that extended for a mile or so. The thorn bushes grew thick on the side of the rise. Parker kept moving. The thorns cut through his cotton shirt and pants. Parker continued forward.

And then he heard a noise. It was a metallic sound and not a sound of nature.

A pop of something metal filled the air. It sounded like a small firecracker.

Parker hit the ground and waited.

The thump of a second grenade shook the ground. It had fallen into the mud and puddles of the wet road. But it wasn't as effective as the first.

Parker attacked in the direction of the sound. His instincts took over. He felt the presence of the man and followed it until he saw the shape of a figure hunched down on the ground.

“I am not armed,” Omar cried out as he huddled down like a child. “Help me!” he screamed. “Help me!”

Gunfire started to ring out overhead as the soldiers of Al Shabaab were approaching.

The lights of trucks started to flash in the distance. The grass broke up the beams like flashlights waving in the air.

“Help me!” Omar screamed again.

Parker ran to Omar, knocked him over with a solid left hook, and pushed his face into the ground.

“It does not bother me that you will die here.” Parker remembered Mobile and the pictures of the children. He remembered the schoolteacher's face. He continued to push Omar into the ground.

The lights grew brighter.

And then Parker felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Sir, we need to get down.”

The Marine pushed Parker to the ground just like Parker had pushed Omar into the mud.

Parker heard the Marine whisper, “I have him. We are ready for Big Bear, over.”

Parker tried to look up as the Marine laid down and covered both of them with his body. Parker could feel the magazines from the soldier's vest push into his back.

I know what is going on,
he realized as he lay there with the back of Omar's neck in his hands. And then it struck.

The ground shook as if there had been an earthquake on a plateau of the western Somalia plains. It repeated itself like thunder that rolled in wave after wave. Parker felt the warmth of hot air pass over his body.

The C-130 gunship came through the clouds, never really visible, pounding the earth with its 155-millimeter artillery rounds on a hydraulic system that was a large version of a Gatling gun. The shells tore through the line of vehicles just over the ridge and the few men who survived ran frightened into the night.

One truck that was struck on the far end of the convoy held a cell phone. The shell was a direct hit. The vehicle was vaporized before the order could be put in to launch a missile. Godane was dead.

 

 

Parker walked to the MV-22 with his prisoner in hand. The Marine had used a zip tie to bind Omar's hands tightly. They walked past the campfire seeing the dead bodies that remained. Xasan had died of his own fighter's cause—shrapnel from a grenade—and rested next to his father's body. No one would come to bury the dead. The Reapers would do that.

Omar was like a child. He was kept under armed guard, bound to a chair in the aircraft with no hope of escape. More important, they made sure that there was no hope of his jumping from the craft. He had a long trip ahead. They all wanted to make sure that he had a heartbeat to face everything that awaited him.

“How is Abo doing?” Parker asked as soon as he got to the bird.

“The mud helped.” The medic was attached to a MarSOC team.

Parker knew that Tola could have been wounded in an emergency room in downtown New York and not have stood a better chance of surviving than he did with this medical team.

“Where is he?”

“Sir, he is on the other bird. One nice thing about all the doctors being here is that they have more medical gear than we have in Djibouti.”

Parker looked around the aircraft.

He saw the sunken-down shape of a woman.

“Does she have meningitis?” he asked the medic.

“Yes, sir, I would bet that she does.”

“She is O positive. We need to give her a transfusion now.”

“I only have plasma with me.”

“I understand. We've got the same blood type. Trust me, she needs a transfusion now.” Parker pulled up his sleeve, baring his arm to the medic.

The aircraft struggled with the winds as it climbed up, but the front had passed through. It soon reached calm air and the transfusion began.

“Thank you,” Karen whispered as she looked up at the stranger's face.

 

 

The Navy SEAL team from Carrier Group 12 had preferred to wait until darkness. It didn't like giving up any advantage that it could have over the enemy. But this mission was different. Time was of the essence and there was no idea as to when a cell phone call might have been made.

The location of the missile was another educated guess on the part of intelligence, but again, the consequences were too great for it to hold back the mission.

The Blackhawks circled well to the north, staying as high as possible as they crossed the coastline, and then turned back to the east and south. Finally they dropped like rocks falling from the sky.

The admiral had debated as to whether to put a Tomahawk on the target but, again, he needed confirmation. His intelligence people wanted something else as well. This was the first chance to look at a DF-21 missile up close.

The
Zumwalt
moved close to the shoreline, taking a position that bisected the house containing the missile with the carrier group. The ship stood with its weapons armed in case any other action needed to be taken. It was a blocking force between the carrier killer and the carrier.

The SEAL team later called this one “easy.”

The Al Shabaab guards were still waiting for their cell phones to ring with orders. They would not learn until later of the battle that occurred or the martyrdom of hundreds of their fellow fighters. It would be described as the martyr Godane's last stand. The flag of Al Shabaab had been ripped apart by the C-130 air strike.