“May Day,” Fitz said with a grin. “Christmastime for Commies.”
“Bravo, you copy?” Fitz said into his mike.
“Copy,” Boomer said.
“Anything?”
“Just came up to take a look. Halfway up the river.”
“Tangos?”
“Six or seven, guarding the entrance, don’t look like they’re expecting company. No problem.”
“Twenty minutes to hostage site rendezvous, Boomer. Go.”
Tangos, or T’s, Hawke knew, was SEAL-speak for terrorists. It’s what they labeled all bad guys around the world. He felt his adrenaline surge. It had been a while since he’d found himself in a foreign locale, surrounded by so many men who would like to do him serious harm.
“Froggy,” Fitz said, “get your NV gear on and see if they’ve got pickets out here.”
“Aye, aye,” Froggy said. Hawke watched the wide little Frenchman strap the night-vision equipment on his head and then slip out of the stand of trees. He darted across the beach, staying low, for about two hundred yards. Then he checked up and ducked behind some large scrub palms and bushes.
“Two tangos in a parked ATV,” Froggy said. “Shucking and jiving, mon ami.”
“Have you got a head shot? A clear plink?”
“Aye on both.”
“Make that hush puppy bark softly and wax ’em, Froggy,” Fitz said. “We’re moving up right behind you.”
Hawke barely heard the whump of the two deadly 9mm whispers in the dark.
“Two deceased tangos,” he heard Froggy say in his headset.
Then Fitz turned to Hawke. “The Frogman is our medic,” he said, “on the off chance anybody gets hurt. He’s also the platoon’s best shooter, which is saying something, believe me.”
Fitz then held up his hand and motioned the squad forward. The Finca Telaraсa lay ahead, sleeping in the darkness. They would leave it in peace for a while. Alpha’s first stop would be the large building at the rear of the compound where Hawke believed they’d find Vicky.
If she was still alive.
53
Hawke was breathing hard.
They’d covered the last thousand yards of thick jungle at a dead run. With all his gear, cradling the HK MP5 submachine gun, it had been an effort. It wasn’t that he didn’t keep himself in very good shape. The fact was, of the whole team, he alone was unaccustomed to twenty-mile jungle runs every other day.
Alpha squad had encountered a total of six sentries. All six had been dispatched quietly and efficiently. Four by squeezed-off head shots they never saw coming. Two had their throats slit from behind before they could sound a warning. So far, there was no sign of alarm anywhere within the compound.
So far, in other words, so good. Everything was proceeding according to plan. An entirely dangerous state of affairs, as Hawke knew from long experience.
They were all crouched at the base of a towering banyan tree when he pulled up, wheezing a bit. Fitz was studying a crayon drawing he’d made of the compound. A tiny red penlight moved over the surface of the map he’d created based on the sat photo analysis. The men huddled close around him, peering at the drawing.
“We’re here,” he said. “Fifty feet from the sand road. The target building stands there, in a large clearing five hundred yards in that direction. It appears to be surrounded by an eight-foot chain-link fence topped with concertina wire. The last two days of thermals indicate a pair of perimeter guards walking the fenceline. Cosmo, got your clippers?”
“Aye, sir,” said one of the Gurkhas. Perhaps one of the smallest, and easily the toughest, men on the squad.
“Go make us a nice large hole, lad,” Fitz said, pointing the pen-light at an X marked on the map. “Right, I believe, there.” He spit one dead cigarette out of his mouth and stuck another one in the corner of his mouth. He didn’t light it.
“Don’t smoke ’em if you got ’em,” Fitz whispered. “These woods could be crawling with tangos.”
The little commando instantly slithered into the underbrush and was gone. Fitz looked at his men. “It should come as no surprise that the fence may have electronic sensors. If it does, we’ll all know soon enough. Get ready to blow through the hole if all the fooking bells and whistles go off.”
Hawke saw all the men flick their HK MP5 machine guns to full fire.
“Bravo?” Fitz said into his mike.
“Set,” Hawke heard Boomer say.
“We’re cutting wire. Give us two minutes.”
“I’ve got Cosmo in my NV,” Boomer said. “We just waxed two guards and are moving along the fenceline toward him now.”
The two squads would rejoin at the predesignated fence opening. Once through, Alpha would go left to the western side of the building, Bravo would go right to the eastern entrance. This would be the hard part, the hundred yards of open ground they’d have to cover once inside the fence.
“You see any other tangos outside or inside the building, Boom?”
“Negative. Building is dark.”
“Could be a trap.”
“I don’t smell one, Fitz.”
“Good enough for me,” Fitz said quietly. In the Mekong, Boomer could smell VC traps literally a couple of klicks away.
The men waited in tense silence for the sound of alarms and the harsh glare of floodlights. For Hawke, it was the most agonizing minute of the mission. If they were detected early, the guards would surely kill Vicky before he had any chance of reaching her.
“Okay, we got us a hole here you could drive a half-tonner through, Chief,” they all heard Cosmo say in their phones.
“Bravo, go,” Fitz said, at the same time raising his hand and motioning Alpha squad forward.
Three minutes later, Hawke and the rest of Alpha emerged from the jungle at the fenceline. He saw Cosmo, Boomer, and his men already there. Boomer smiled at him.
“Fun and games, sir?” Boomer whispered.
“Just like the good old days,” Hawke replied.
The three-story rectangular building was dark, just like Boomer had said. There was a dirt road leading around to the rear. Three or four vehicles were parked in the front, two half-ton trucks and a couple of WWII vintage Jeeps.
“Somebody check those vehicles for keys on the way in,” Fitz said. “We may just need them. No keys, be ready to hot-wire. Alex?”
“Right here,” Hawke said, sliding forward to crouch next to Fitz. Fitz pulled out his drawing of the building.
“If we got her code correctly, top floor, backside left, Vicky’s room should be right here. Last door on the right at the top of the stairs. We go four-through-the-door and clear the room. You, Froggy, and Cosmo come in on our heels. Clear?”
“Damn it, Fitz, I’m the only one who knows her on sight. I told you before, I should be in the front four.”
Fitz regarded him for a hard second. He saw he was unlikely to change Hawke’s mind.
“Christ,” he said. “All right, it’s your ass. We go in low. Acquire and shoot. No fancy head shots. We’re firing heavy loads. A hit anywhere will take the tango down.”
“Aye,” Hawke said, a grin spreading across his face. He’d known he’d get his way.
Fitz looked at his digital watch. “Twenty seconds,” he said. The men all pulled their black balaclava hoods down over their faces.
“We blow the east and west doors simultaneously. Clear the stairways and get to the top floor fast. Smoke grenades, stun grenades, and frags. Good hunting, lads. Let’s go hop and pop!”
Fourteen men snaked single file through Cosmo’s tear in the fence. A hundred yards to go and the large building was still dark, save a yellow light burning over each entrance. Alpha went left; Bravo went right. Anybody looking out a window would spot them immediately. Alex was in a low sprint right behind Fitz. He was expecting the sound of automatic weapons fire at any second.
It didn’t happen.
When they reached the entrance, every man stood aside as Cosmo placed a small explosive-packed battering ram against the heavy wooden door. No door could withstand its impact.