time schedule here.” He tapped another finger. “We need somewhere to process and deliver detainees. I don’t care if it’s offshore, over the border, or in the middle of Bumfuck, Egypt, we need somebody here who is trained on this sort of thing. We’re trigger-pullers, not interrogators.”
He took a deep breath. “And, on top of all that, we need to know what the plan is to get these guys out when and if we find them. They’re talking something close to 200, most of whom will be in need of medical attention and transport. Who’s coming for them? Where? Where’s extract for this operation? We have to have that information, and we need it yesterday.”
The Colonel just nodded. “I’ve been harping on half of that list for the last week, Alek. But I’ll try again, and see if I can get something more substantial than the bureaucratic runaround I’ve been getting. I’ll call you guys back when I’ve got something.” The link went dead.
Things were getting worse out in the city. The Islamist militias were now openly attacking government forces wherever they could be found, which was fewer and fewer places as they went to ground and hunkered down behind walls and barbed wire. The president was running scared, especially with few of his European backers even bothering to return his calls. Given what we had heard of the chaos in Europe after the collapse of the euro and the subsequent disintegration of the EU, that should have come as a surprise to no one.
It had turned out that the Sudanese butcher, Omar Sadiq Hasan, had insinuated himself into the opposition to such a point that he was being put forward as the next leader of an Islamic Djibouti. This was bad news, especially as we suspected, from what Imad had heard, that he had had some part in the attack on Lemonier. The question was, did we risk taking him out? We needed more information.
Meanwhile, refugees were fleeing the city, and militia checkpoints were going up. The government only owned the port area now, and the Legion’s 13 th Demi-Brigade was still staying put.
Imad had slipped back out into the city. He could pass for Afar or Issa if he liked, and was gregarious enough that he could easily slip into just about any group of people and be accepted. I hoped that he wasn’t trying to infiltrate any of the militias, but gathering information was his primary task right now, and he’d do what he thought was necessary to accomplish that.
The rest of us stayed in the compound. The streets were even more dangerous for Westerners now, and all but the hardiest aid workers and journalists had run. Almost overnight, the tourist industry in Djibouti had been extinguished. We could handle ourselves, but Alek had decided that it was going to be more productive to hold tight, and wait for word from Imad or the Colonel, whichever came first.
Of course, given our cover, we qualified as one of those particularly hardy groups of aid workers. There was almost constantly a line outside of Dave’s aid station these days.
As it turned out, the Colonel beat Imad to the punch.
We rolled through the darkened streets in the brown Range Rover, lights out to avoid attracting attention. There weren’t many people out on the streets after dark lately, aside from militias, but there were checkpoints, and we wanted to avoid those at all costs.
Colton was driving, weaving a serpentine route through the streets and back alleys of the city, heading southeast toward the coast. He had his FAST helmet on, his NVGs clipped to them, and his rifle jammed between the seat and the gearshift next to him. Hank was sitting in the passenger seat, similarly kitted up, with his Galil ACE 53 across his lap. Alek and I were in the back seat, fully geared up with vests, helmets, and rifles.
Nobody talked. We didn’t have much to talk about, anyway, and everyone was a little on edge. The reason why became abundantly obvious when we rounded a corner, and abruptly slowed. Colton
He took a deep breath. “And, on top of all that, we need to know what the plan is to get these guys out when and if we find them. They’re talking something close to 200, most of whom will be in need of medical attention and transport. Who’s coming for them? Where? Where’s extract for this operation? We have to have that information, and we need it yesterday.”
The Colonel just nodded. “I’ve been harping on half of that list for the last week, Alek. But I’ll try again, and see if I can get something more substantial than the bureaucratic runaround I’ve been getting. I’ll call you guys back when I’ve got something.” The link went dead.
Things were getting worse out in the city. The Islamist militias were now openly attacking government forces wherever they could be found, which was fewer and fewer places as they went to ground and hunkered down behind walls and barbed wire. The president was running scared, especially with few of his European backers even bothering to return his calls. Given what we had heard of the chaos in Europe after the collapse of the euro and the subsequent disintegration of the EU, that should have come as a surprise to no one.
It had turned out that the Sudanese butcher, Omar Sadiq Hasan, had insinuated himself into the opposition to such a point that he was being put forward as the next leader of an Islamic Djibouti. This was bad news, especially as we suspected, from what Imad had heard, that he had had some part in the attack on Lemonier. The question was, did we risk taking him out? We needed more information.
Meanwhile, refugees were fleeing the city, and militia checkpoints were going up. The government only owned the port area now, and the Legion’s 13 th Demi-Brigade was still staying put.
Imad had slipped back out into the city. He could pass for Afar or Issa if he liked, and was gregarious enough that he could easily slip into just about any group of people and be accepted. I hoped that he wasn’t trying to infiltrate any of the militias, but gathering information was his primary task right now, and he’d do what he thought was necessary to accomplish that.
The rest of us stayed in the compound. The streets were even more dangerous for Westerners now, and all but the hardiest aid workers and journalists had run. Almost overnight, the tourist industry in Djibouti had been extinguished. We could handle ourselves, but Alek had decided that it was going to be more productive to hold tight, and wait for word from Imad or the Colonel, whichever came first.
Of course, given our cover, we qualified as one of those particularly hardy groups of aid workers. There was almost constantly a line outside of Dave’s aid station these days.
As it turned out, the Colonel beat Imad to the punch.
We rolled through the darkened streets in the brown Range Rover, lights out to avoid attracting attention. There weren’t many people out on the streets after dark lately, aside from militias, but there were checkpoints, and we wanted to avoid those at all costs.
Colton was driving, weaving a serpentine route through the streets and back alleys of the city, heading southeast toward the coast. He had his FAST helmet on, his NVGs clipped to them, and his rifle jammed between the seat and the gearshift next to him. Hank was sitting in the passenger seat, similarly kitted up, with his Galil ACE 53 across his lap. Alek and I were in the back seat, fully geared up with vests, helmets, and rifles.
Nobody talked. We didn’t have much to talk about, anyway, and everyone was a little on edge. The reason why became abundantly obvious when we rounded a corner, and abruptly slowed. Colton
Similar Books
