Chapter 18 Chapter Sixteen
Curly-haired Kerry is the vanguard. He is responsible for giving a warning when he finds the enemy. The others follow him and march in skirmish formation.But not a single enemy was encountered.Captain David walked in second place, waving the thermal imager to the left and right all the time.But no other warm-blooded creatures made an appearance.
Dai carried his communicator, which he carried in the small rucksack on top of Bergen's pack, just behind his head.With a headset in one ear, he listened to any news from Tampa via Djibouti.The Djibouti side is watching them from above the stratosphere right now.At half past three, he walked up to David and whispered:
"Half a mile to go, sir."
With forty kilograms on their backs, they hunched over and walked another eight hundred yards.As they were walking, clouds began to appear in the sky and the light level decreased.
The captain stopped, and with a slight wave of his arm, signaled to stop.The others immediately squatted down in the sand.David took out a monocular night vision goggle and looked forward.He spotted the target—a low, square house that belonged to the village.Silva's compass guides them to the entrance of the objective.
The starlight gradually dimmed.The captain put away the binoculars, took out the goggles and put them on.The other six people followed suit.The scene in front of him turned into a brighter light green, but his field of vision became very narrow.The function of the night vision device is to capture the extremely weak light source in the surrounding environment and concentrate it in the current field of vision.The wearer loses the sense of space and has to turn his head to see anything to the left or right.
Now that the target has been found, the paratroopers no longer need the Bergen backpack, but only the ammunition and grenades inside.They put the packs on the ground, gently removed the shoulder straps, and stuffed all the pockets of the camouflage uniforms with ammunition. M4 automatic rifles and pistols have been replaced with full magazines.
What they saw was exactly the same as the pictures from all angles that Global Hawk had framed for them in Djibouti.David and the tracker crawled forward together along the path that stretched from the center of the village to the desert.At the other end of the road, on the left-hand side of the road, there was a big house, which was the house of the village headman, and now lived the missionary gang.
A small dingo came running up the road and stopped to sniff.Here comes another one.They were dirty and probably both had rabies.They have been scavenging for food in the garbage, eating dung, or eating sheep offal when sheep are killed on religious festivals.They sniffed again, suspecting that there was something outside, but they hadn't barked to the point where all the dogs barked in unison.
The tracker took something from his breast pocket and threw it at the dogs like a baseball pitcher.The thing fell to the sand of the path with a soft thud.Both dogs jumped, but sniffed again before barking.It was raw steak.They came forward and sniffed again, and the first piece of meat was swallowed by the leading one.The other one, like its friend, devoured the second piece of meat in one gulp.
Stalkers threw chunks of meat across the intersection of the trail.There were more dogs, nine in all.When they saw that their leader ate the meat, they all ate it too.The tracker prepared a total of twenty yuan.Each dog had two yuan to spare, and the wild dogs each ate at least one piece.They continue to smell after eating to see if there is any more.
The two that ate first began to sway, their limbs became weak, and they fell on their sides on the ground, their legs twitched slightly for a while, and finally stopped moving at all.The same goes for the remaining seven.From the moment the first piece of meat was thrown, all the dogs passed out within ten minutes.
David climbed up, curled up and motioned forward.He held the gun, finger on the trigger.The other five followed him.Barry scanned the outside of the house.Nothing moved, only the grunting of a donkey from the depths of the village.The enemy in front of you is either sleeping or laying an ambush.Trackers think it's the former.The people from Marka were also strangers to the village, and dogs would bark at them.The tracker is right.
The attacking team walked up the path and approached the house on the left.That is the third house facing the courtyard.Wearing masks, they could tell that there was a door at the end of the path made of planks they had gotten from nowhere.There are some camel's thorn bushes next to the door.The wooden door is divided into left and right, but there is no lock.David pushed with his fingers.The door did not move, it was bolted from the inside.This method is very primitive, but very effective, you have to use a door breaking device.The captain pointed to the door, motioned to Tim who was in charge of military equipment, and stepped back.
Tim is holding a small ring.He put the thing in the gap between the left and right doors.If the door is metal, magnets or putty can be used.The door is wood so he used thumbtacks.Do not mallet, only thumb press.He secured the ring, set the fuse, and waved the others back.
The others stepped back fifteen feet and crouched on the ground.The blasting uses shaped explosives, so the explosive force will not be outward when blasting.The momentum of the Taian plastic bomb is forward, and it can cut through wood like a chain saw in an instant.
The sound of the explosion was so low that the pursuers were very surprised: there was a "click", very light, like a branch breaking, and the latch inside the door was blown off.The four people in front gently opened the door and stepped in.There are three pickup trucks parked in the yard, the donkeys are all tied up, and the sheep are in the pen.Tim and Day stayed outside, controlling the area.
The paratrooper captain was at the front, and the tracker stood alongside him.Three people got up from the ground, half asleep and half awake.The silence of the night was broken by the M4 automatic rifle in automatic mode.All three were the gang from Marca.They were the missionary's bodyguards, and they hung up before they could stand upright.Shouts came from behind the inner door.
The captain paused to confirm that all three were dead.Pete and Curly Kerry entered the house from the path.The tracker kicked open the door of the back room and rushed in, praying that Opal, wherever he was, had heard the shooting and was already on the ground—preferably under the bed.
There are two people in the room.Unlike the people outside, they slept in beds—the kind of simple beds made of thick planks covered with camel-hair blankets.The two of them had already got up, but the room was pitch black and nothing could be seen.One of them was burly and he was the fourth bodyguard.Obviously he was in charge of the night duty, so he probably didn't sleep, just took a nap, and didn't fall into a deep sleep.He stood up, held the pistol, and fired in this direction.
The bullet passed the tracker's head, and what the gangster hit was actually the light from the night vision goggles.After the light is magnified many times by the night vision goggles, it is emitted from the position of the light port, just like a head-mounted searchlight.The tracker immediately started blind-firing, using automatic mode, swiping from right to left.The bullets hit the two men, a fourth Pakistani bodyguard and Jama, who was supposed to be the missionary's personal secretary.
Tim and Dai stood at the entrance and exit of the yard, and as agreed in advance, shot at the house on the other side of the yard.In the house were the Sasads from Galaad Bay.Two paratroopers fired in long bursts, sending bullets through every window.The windows had no glass, just blankets, fastened with nails.The two knew that the shooting height was above the bed, so they quickly replaced the new magazines and waited for the enemy to return fire.They didn't have long to wait.
The pursuer heard a low rustling and movement in the house.He turned towards it.It was a low bed on wheels, propped against the corner.There's a man underneath, wearing a baseball cap.
"Stay there," he cried, "don't move! don't come out!" The rustling stopped, and the hat drew back.
The stalker turned to face the three men behind him.
"It's over here, go help deal with the gangsters in the north."
In the courtyard outside were six men from Galaad Bay.They thought they were betrayed by the group from Malka, and shot towards the yard with AK-47.They hid among the three parked cars and the donkey.The donkeys were pulled by the reins, their hind legs were erected, and they were braying loudly.
But they were in the dark, and the stars were hidden by clouds now.Tim and Day each spot one and shoot at them.The flash from the muzzle was enough for the other four gangsters to spot them.The Russian-made submachine guns of the gangsters spewed out tongues of flame.Tim and Day got down quickly.Pete, Kerry, and the captain just came to the path, and when they saw the flames of the AK-47, they immediately got down.
From their position on the slope, five paratroopers spotted two other bandits on the run.The fifth man ran out of bullets and stopped to change the clips.He was conspicuous by the sheepfold, and two bullets from the M4 automatic rifle went straight to his head.
The last man was huddled in the back of one of the convertibles, out of sight.The firefight stopped.The man was trying to find his target in the dark.Unknown to him that his enemy has night vision goggles, he pokes his head out in front of the engine like a green football.Another bullet exploded his head.
Be quiet all around.Nothing happened in the pirate's room.The paratroopers had eight targets and killed six, short of two.They did not hesitate to risk injury and were ready to rush over.But there is no need.They heard more gunfire on the road behind the village, three shots in all, less than a second apart.
Barry had a clear view of the situation in the village.He jumped up, dropped his guard on the edge of the path, and went around behind the house.He was wearing night vision goggles and saw three figures running from the back of the pirate's room.Two were wearing robes, and the third was staggering, begging for something, and was being carried away by two Somalis.He has golden hair.
Without even asking, Barry got up from the camelthorn bushes, waited until they were within twenty yards of him, and opened fire.The one-eyed Yusuf was hit first with an AK-47.The latter one was older and was shot twice in the chest. It was later confirmed that he was the demon Alfred.
The big paratrooper walked up to what he had shot and came up to the boy.Between the two dead bodies lay the blond-haired boy, curled up in a ball, weeping softly like a fetus.
"It's all right, son," said the battle-tested sergeant major, "it's over, it's time to send you home."
The sergeant-major tried to get himself up, but the boy's legs gave way, so the sergeant-major put the boy on his shoulders like a toy, and strode back into the village.
The tracker watched the house through night-vision goggles.All who came from Marka died, except one.There was an entrance in the side of the house, not a door, just a hole, and a blanket hung over it.
The tracker rolled through, crouching under the possible firing line of the gunman inside the house.After entering the house, he moved forward with the gun close to the door.No shots were fired.
He looked around the house.This was the last house, and the best one, which belonged to the village chief.There was a bed with a coverlet, but no one was on it.The blanket was thrown aside.
There was also a fireplace with some embers in it, which glowed blindingly white through the night-vision goggles.There is a large armchair in the room.Made of wood.An old man sat on a chair and looked at him.They stared at each other for a few seconds.The old man spoke very calmly.
"You can shoot me. I'm old and my time has come," he said in Somali.But the tracker knew Arabic and could understand it.He replied in Arabic:
"I don't want to shoot you, Chief. You're not the man I'm looking for."
The old man gazed at him fearlessly.Apparently what he saw was a monster, wearing desert camouflage and frog-like eyes.
"You are Kafir, but you can speak the language."
"Yes, I'm looking for a guy, a very bad guy. He killed a lot of people, including Muslims, women, even children."
"Have I seen him?"
"You've seen him, Chief. Here he is. His eyes—" the old man must have never seen amber before, "are the color of fresh honey."
"Ah——" the old man shook his hand contemptuously, as if he wanted to push away something he didn't like, "he ran away wearing women's clothes."
For a moment, disappointment hit the pursuer like a punch.ran away.He was wrapped in boca and hid in the desert, and he was sure not to be found.Suddenly, he noticed that the old man's eyes swept over it, and the tracker immediately understood.
When women in the village use well water to wash their clothes, they don't hang them in the yard.There are sheep in the yard that eat camel thorns, which scrape clothes to shreds.So they set up a drying rack on the flat roof of the house.
The pursuer walked through the house and out the door.There is an upward staircase on the side of the house.He leans the M4 against the wall and draws the pistol.He wore anti-skid paratrooper boots and went up the steps without a sound.The tracker climbed onto the roof and looked around.There are six drying racks in total.
In the darkness, he carefully looked at everything.Women's polka dots and men's headscarves hang on two racks to dry.There was a movement of a tall, thin man in white Pakistani knickerbockers.Trackers could see his head and bushy beard.At this time, three things happened suddenly, and the speed almost killed the pursuer.
A full moon finally emerged from behind the clouds, blindingly bright.The stalker's vision was instantly destroyed—the light concentrated by the night vision goggles blinded him briefly.
The man in front of him charged at him, and the tracker ripped off the night vision goggles and raised his own thirteen-shot Browning.The person who attacked him raised his right hand high, and the things in his hand gleamed coldly.
The pursuer squeezed Browning's trigger, and the firing pin slammed forward—the barrel was empty!Misfiring!He picked it again, and it was still empty!Very rare, but still possible.He knew his clip was full, but the gun wasn't there.
With his free left hand he grabbed a cotton sarong and threw it in a ball towards the severed blade.The knife touched the swishing cotton cloth, got tangled together, and was no longer so sharp when it hit the pursuer's shoulder.The tracker dropped the Browning pistol with his right hand, and from the scabbard on his right thigh drew a U.S. Marine Corps tactical dagger—pretty much the only equipment he still had with him from London.
The man with the beard doesn't use a Yemeni scimitar, which is shorter, curved, and the main part is decorated.He used the Somali dagger, a large, sharp-edged dagger used only by Somalis.Two strokes of this knife can cut off an arm.The point of the knife is so sharp that it can pierce through the human body from front to back in one stroke.
His attacker changed the grip of the knife like a street gangster, twisting his wrist to lower the blade for an upward thrust.The tracker's eyesight returned, and he noticed that the man in front of him was barefoot, which would have given him more stability on the clay roof.But the tracker himself was wearing rubber-soled anti-slip paratrooper boots, and he would not lose to him.
Soon, the Somali Knife launched a second attack—from the lower left side, towards the abdomen of the tracker.But that was exactly what he had hoped for, and he met the wrist with his own left hand and grabbed it, the point of the knife only three inches away from his body.He felt that the other party also grabbed his right wrist.
The missionary was twelve years younger than him and had been living in the mountains like an ascetic.If it's a brute force fight, the missionary wins.The tip of the Somali knife moved an inch closer to the pursuer's upper abdomen.The tracker thought of his instructor at the paratrooper course at Fort Bragg, who had extensive combat experience in addition to teaching high-altitude rappel jumping.
Once in the non-commissioned officers' club, he drank two or three glasses of beer, and the non-commissioned officer said to him, "The people in the area east of the Suez Canal and south of Tripoli are not very good at fighting. They only know how to use knives. bridge of the nose."
The stalker threw his head back, then slammed forward.There was a pain in the forehead, and he knew it would be a bump, but he heard the sound of the bridge of the other man's nose cracking.
The stalker freed the hand from his wrist, freed it to check back on the elbow, and swung it forward.The tactical knife plunged cleanly into the left side of the opponent's body, between the fifth and sixth ribs, right in the heart.The hateful amber eyes were right in front of the stalker, only inches away.The light of life gradually dimmed, leaving only an expression of disbelief on his face.
In the moonlight, the tracker saw the amber eyes fade to black.The dagger in his hand also fell down with the weight of that person's body.He thought of his father in bed in the intensive care unit.The tracker leaned over, lips just above the black whiskers, and said in a low voice, "Always faithful, Missionary."
The Blazers formed a defensive ring and waited until dawn.Monitors in Tampa confirmed to them that there was no hostile movement in their direction.There are only those wolves in the whole desert. Team members retrieve their Bergen backpacks.Pete also retrieved his first aid kit to give medical attention to rescued trainee Off Carlson.The boy spent several weeks in the cellar in Galaad, infected with the parasite.In addition to being overly frightened, there was also severe malnutrition.Pete could only do his best, and he was given a shot of morphine.The intern lay in bed, in front of a roaring fire, falling asleep for the first time in weeks. Curly Kerry carefully checked the three convertibles in the yard with a flashlight. One was sieved by an M4 automatic rifle and an AK-47.He checked and found that the cars had five-gallon gas cans, enough for hundreds of miles. David contacted Djibouti at dawn to confirm that his team could drive two convertibles to the Ethiopian border.If they can arrive, after crossing the border, there is an improvised airstrip in the desert, which is the best evacuation location they have determined in advance.Curly Kerry estimated that if he hadn't been attacked, it would have taken about two hundred miles, or ten hours, if he added refueling and changing tires. The C-130 Hercules had returned long ago, and Djibouti had confirmed to them that the plane would be there waiting for them. Agent Opal—the dark Ethiopian—felt relieved to finally be spared the increasingly dangerous life of an undercover agent.The paratroopers unpacked their food packs and ate a good breakfast—mainly a warm fireplace and several large cups of thick and sweet milk tea. The bodies were all dragged into the yard and left for the villagers to bury.The missionaries had a large roll of local Somali currency on them, which they gave to the village chief as compensation for everything. They found the box containing a million dollars in cash under the bed of the room where the missionaries had escaped to the roof.The paratrooper captain said that those parachutes and skydiving equipment they threw away in the desert were worth half a million dollars, and it was not a good idea to go back and find them. Could they not return the loot?Everyone agrees. At dawn, they prepared a gurney for the still comatose Of Carlson and put it in the back of a convertible.Seven Bergen backpacks were loaded into another vehicle.Then they said goodbye to the village chief and left the village. Kerry's estimates were remarkably accurate.It took eight hours to get from the village to the Ethiopian border.Tampa told them when they crossed the border and directed them to the improvised airstrip.It wasn't actually an airstrip, no concrete, just flat ground about a thousand yards long with hard gravel, no control tower, no hangar, just a windsock that swayed intermittently in the steamer-day breeze.It was hot as hell. The first thing they saw was the roomy and "comfortable" C-130 Hercules transport plane, marked with the logo of RAF 47 Squadron, at the end of the runway in the Ogaden Desert, a mile away.As they approached the plane, the rear ramp had been lowered, and Jonah and his two dispatcher assistants, along with two packers, trotted out to meet them.But there was no work for them: the seven parachutes at £50,000 each were gone. They accidentally discovered that there was also a white Beechcraft King Air business jet parked next to the Hercules transport plane, with the logo of the United Nations World Food Aid Program printed on its fuselage.Standing next to the plane were two people wearing desert camouflage uniforms with tanned skin. On their respective shoulders, the two soldiers wore shining six-pointed stars. Two trucks stopped.Opal, who was sitting in the back of the first pickup, hopped out, ran towards the two men, and hugged them frantically.The tracker was a little curious, and he walked over. Israeli Major Benny didn't introduce himself, but he knew who the American was. "Just one question," said the tracker, "and I'll say goodbye. How did you get an Ethiopian to work for you?" The major looked surprised, as if it was a matter of course. "He's Farasa," he replied, "and he's a Jew like me." The tracker vaguely recalls that, a generation or so ago, this small Ethiopian Jewish tribe had been seeking independence from Ethiopia and its brutal dictatorship.He turned to the young agent and gave him a military salute. "So, thank you Opal. Todah rabah, mazel tov." Beech flew away first.Enough fuel to fly it to Eilat.Hercules then flew away.Two battered pick-up trucks were dumped for any nomadic tribe who happened to pass by to pick them up. Sergeant Ord sat watching them take off in the bunker at McDill USAF Base in Tampa, and he saw a convoy coming from the east.There are four cars in total, heading towards the border.It was the pursuit force of the Islamic Youth Army, but they acted too late. Ofe Carlson was admitted to the state-of-the-art American base hospital in Djibouti until his tycoon father arrived on a special plane to pick him up. The tracker said goodbye to the six pioneers, then boarded his Grumman business jet, and flew to Washington via London's Northolt Airport and Andrews Air Force Base.The RAF had slept through the day.With the tank topped up, they were ready to go again. "If I have any more crazy things to do, can I call you guys to come with me again?" the tracker asked. "No problem, man," Tim said.The U.S. lieutenant colonel can't recall the last time he was called "dude" by a private.But he likes the title. Just after midnight, his Grumman took off.He was asleep until the plane crossed the Libyan coast.The plane chased the rising sun all the way to London.Now that it was fall, the leaves in Northern Virginia must have been red or gold, and he was glad he could see those beauties again.
Notes:
The Blazers formed a defensive ring and waited until dawn.Monitors in Tampa confirmed to them that there was no hostile movement in their direction.There are only those wolves in the whole desert. Team members retrieve their Bergen backpacks.Pete also retrieved his first aid kit to give medical attention to rescued trainee Off Carlson.The boy spent several weeks in the cellar in Galaad, infected with the parasite.In addition to being overly frightened, there was also severe malnutrition.Pete could only do his best, and he was given a shot of morphine.The intern lay in bed, in front of a roaring fire, falling asleep for the first time in weeks. Curly Kerry carefully checked the three convertibles in the yard with a flashlight. One was sieved by an M4 automatic rifle and an AK-47.He checked and found that the cars had five-gallon gas cans, enough for hundreds of miles. David contacted Djibouti at dawn to confirm that his team could drive two convertibles to the Ethiopian border.If they can arrive, after crossing the border, there is an improvised airstrip in the desert, which is the best evacuation location they have determined in advance.Curly Kerry estimated that if he hadn't been attacked, it would have taken about two hundred miles, or ten hours, if he added refueling and changing tires. The C-130 Hercules had returned long ago, and Djibouti had confirmed to them that the plane would be there waiting for them. Agent Opal—the dark Ethiopian—felt relieved to finally be spared the increasingly dangerous life of an undercover agent.The paratroopers unpacked their food packs and ate a good breakfast—mainly a warm fireplace and several large cups of thick and sweet milk tea. The bodies were all dragged into the yard and left for the villagers to bury.The missionaries had a large roll of local Somali currency on them, which they gave to the village chief as compensation for everything. They found the box containing a million dollars in cash under the bed of the room where the missionaries had escaped to the roof.The paratrooper captain said that those parachutes and skydiving equipment they threw away in the desert were worth half a million dollars, and it was not a good idea to go back and find them. Could they not return the loot?Everyone agrees. At dawn, they prepared a gurney for the still comatose Of Carlson and put it in the back of a convertible.Seven Bergen backpacks were loaded into another vehicle.Then they said goodbye to the village chief and left the village. Kerry's estimates were remarkably accurate.It took eight hours to get from the village to the Ethiopian border.Tampa told them when they crossed the border and directed them to the improvised airstrip.It wasn't actually an airstrip, no concrete, just flat ground about a thousand yards long with hard gravel, no control tower, no hangar, just a windsock that swayed intermittently in the steamer-day breeze.It was hot as hell. The first thing they saw was the roomy and "comfortable" C-130 Hercules transport plane, marked with the logo of RAF 47 Squadron, at the end of the runway in the Ogaden Desert, a mile away.As they approached the plane, the rear ramp had been lowered, and Jonah and his two dispatcher assistants, along with two packers, trotted out to meet them.But there was no work for them: the seven parachutes at £50,000 each were gone. They accidentally discovered that there was also a white Beechcraft King Air business jet parked next to the Hercules transport plane, with the logo of the United Nations World Food Aid Program printed on its fuselage.Standing next to the plane were two people wearing desert camouflage uniforms with tanned skin. On their respective shoulders, the two soldiers wore shining six-pointed stars. Two trucks stopped.Opal, who was sitting in the back of the first pickup, hopped out, ran towards the two men, and hugged them frantically.The tracker was a little curious, and he walked over. Israeli Major Benny didn't introduce himself, but he knew who the American was. "Just one question," said the tracker, "and I'll say goodbye. How did you get an Ethiopian to work for you?" The major looked surprised, as if it was a matter of course. "He's Farasa," he replied, "and he's a Jew like me." The tracker vaguely recalls that, a generation or so ago, this small Ethiopian Jewish tribe had been seeking independence from Ethiopia and its brutal dictatorship.He turned to the young agent and gave him a military salute. "So, thank you Opal. Todah rabah, mazel tov." Beech flew away first.Enough fuel to fly it to Eilat.Hercules then flew away.Two battered pick-up trucks were dumped for any nomadic tribe who happened to pass by to pick them up. Sergeant Ord sat watching them take off in the bunker at McDill USAF Base in Tampa, and he saw a convoy coming from the east.There are four cars in total, heading towards the border.It was the pursuit force of the Islamic Youth Army, but they acted too late. Ofe Carlson was admitted to the state-of-the-art American base hospital in Djibouti until his tycoon father arrived on a special plane to pick him up. The tracker said goodbye to the six pioneers, then boarded his Grumman business jet, and flew to Washington via London's Northolt Airport and Andrews Air Force Base.The RAF had slept through the day.With the tank topped up, they were ready to go again. "If I have any more crazy things to do, can I call you guys to come with me again?" the tracker asked. "No problem, man," Tim said.The U.S. lieutenant colonel can't recall the last time he was called "dude" by a private.But he likes the title. Just after midnight, his Grumman took off.He was asleep until the plane crossed the Libyan coast.The plane chased the rising sun all the way to London.Now that it was fall, the leaves in Northern Virginia must have been red or gold, and he was glad he could see those beauties again.
Notes: