Eyes of the Hammer (The Green Berets) (30 page)

Carefully, Riley slid the hood down from around his head and listened to the night air. Nothing but the sounds of surf and the night creatures in the wood line ahead. Three hundred meters off to his left, he could see the small wooden dock that was the reference point. They had landed in the proper spot.

Riley received a nudge from the right telling him all were ready. With a careful glance each way down the beach, he stood up quickly and sprinted across the sand toward the wood line. The rest of the team followed. He broke into the trees and was immediately grabbed by Lane, one of the two security men who had swum in earlier. "We're clear to fifty meters. No sign of anything."

Riley nodded and quickly stuffed the fins into his backpack. He removed the night-vision goggles and his MP5 submachine gun from their waterproof wrappings, strapped on a shoulder holster, and replaced the .45 Colt automatic he had been carrying in his hand. He waited patiently as each man prepared his weapon. Powers was still carrying his trademark AK-47. Lane bolted together the massive Haskins .50-caliber sniper rifle. While they were doing this, the two security men had gone back out on the beach and obscured the trail across the sand.

All was ready. Riley checked the glowing dial of his watch: 2223. Another hour to target.

FORT BELVOIR, VIRGINIA

10:30 P.M.

"I've got marines in civvies checking all the local places where Stevens could be. We're getting nothing out of the bartender from the Embassy Cafe where the girl Stevens was with works. He's saying nothing and we really can't put too much heat on him considering we're in his country. Over."

Westland stared at the radio in frustration. Jameson's words only reinforced the growing bad feeling she had in her stomach. "Where do you think Stevens is then? Over."

Westland could almost see Jameson shrug as the reply came back. "He probably went out to catch a quick snort and maybe a quick piece of ass, if you'll pardon the expression. Never should have had a goddamn alcoholic on this mission in the first place. Over."

Westland shook her head. She looked at Pike, who angrily gestured at the radio. "Tell them to find him."

She keyed the mike again. "Keep looking. We need to find him. You stay on this net and monitor for him. Out." She turned to Pike. "What do you suggest, General?"

Pike sighed. "I don't like it. We all knew Stevens had problems but I didn't think he'd do something like this. We abort. If it's nothing, we can try again later, but if it isn't, they're in big trouble."

Westland was relieved to find that Pike was thinking the same way she was. "I agree. As soon as we get their initial entry report, we'll tell them to abort."

BARRANQUILLA

11:34 P.M.

Riley slowly edged forward through the dense vegetation, moving one stealthy step at a time toward the target, which should be just over the next piece of slightly higher ground. Since leaving the beach, their route had taken them through swampland interspersed with small areas of higher dry ground.

They moved another two hundred meters inland. Powers, acting as the point man, signaled a halt, and Riley crept forward to the team sergeant. In the glow of arc lights he could see their target. "Shit!" he muttered.

Activity and lots of it. Riley scanned the compound and felt worse the more he saw. At least thirty personnel were up and moving around. They were off-loading weapons from trucks and on-loading cocaine. Riley didn't need to be clairvoyant to realize what this meant.

"Keep an eye on it," he whispered to Powers as he slid back to where the rest of the team waited.

He crawled next to Marzan, who had just set out the SATCOM satellite minidisk antenna. "You set?" he whispered. Marzan nodded. Riley turned down the volume on the radio to minimum and picked up the handset.

"Hammer Base, this is Eyes Three. Over."

The answer was almost instantaneous. "Eyes Three, this is Hammer Base. Over."

At least they were awake up there. "We've got a shitload of activity down here. They're moving weapons in and cocaine out. What's the status of Hammer? Over."

"Hammer is en route. Listen closely. The mission is an abort. I say again, the mission is an abort. Hammer will be on station in forty-five minutes. Use only if needed to cover your exfiltration. Over."

Shit, Riley cursed again. "What happened? Over."

Riley heard Pike's voice come on, replacing Westland's. "Don't worry about that right now, just get the hell out of there. Over."

"Roger." Riley handed the headset back to Marzan. He quickly considered their options. Hell, there were no options. They had to go back the way they came. Riley's thoughts were interrupted by Powers inching back from the tree line.

"We got company coming. About ten sicarios are coming in this direction from the camp and they're loaded for bear. They got patrols heading out in all directions. It's like they were expecting us. I also spotted two Redeye missiles getting off-loaded."

Riley thought rapidly. If they were unloading antiaircraft missiles up there, the sicarios were definitely expecting something. It wouldn't do any good to wait for Hammer's covering fire. Plus they'd probably be found by then. He turned to the team and hissed, "Time to vamoose. Pike just gave me an abort. Let's go!"

Marzan was packing up the primary radio. Riley had the backup SATCOM in his ruck. He pulled out one of the Claymores in there and hung its carrying bag around his neck, as did the other members of the team. Once everyone was ready, Riley started to lead the team back toward the shore. He could hear the sicarios breaking brush behind them.

Riley's mind raced with various thoughts: wondering how the mission could have been compromised; judging the distance to the shore and how long it would take; considering how they would get across the beach; hoping it wasn't guarded.

Despite Riley's night-vision goggles, the dense vegetation cut visibility down to only a few feet. It was probably that, plus his lack of concentration, that allowed Riley to almost walk on top of the Colombian sicarios coming in from the north.

The surprised sicarios' point man called out as he practically collided with Riley. It was hard to say who was the more startled, but Riley's reactions were swifter. He swung up his MP5, firing a silenced burst into the sicario. The man flew back, screaming. Instantly all hell broke loose as tracers split the night.

The man Riley had killed was obviously the point man for a larger party. His partners in crime were now firing blindly into the dark. Riley tore off his goggles, which had blanked out from the light of the muzzle flashes.

"Break left! Break left!" Riley screamed as he blindly gave covering fire. He could hear Powers yelling as the team sergeant led the rest of the men off ninety degrees to the left in an attempt to break contact.

Riley followed in that direction, occasionally firing a quick burst to the rear. He changed magazines as he ran, branches slapping him in the face. He couldn't see well, since his eyes were still adjusting from the goggles to the moonlight. Strings of tracers flying through the trees let him know the sicarios were still following. Riley could hear yelling in Spanish from other sides as more patrols closed in.

Riley sprinted in the direction the team had gone. As he circumvented a dense thicket of thornbushes, a hand reached out and grabbed his upper right arm. Riley swung the muzzle of his weapon in that direction but halted a split second before firing as he heard Powers's voice. "I got a Claymore on a wire in front of you."

Powers guided Riley over the trip wire he had just strung out across the path. The wire ran to a Claymore mine the team sergeant had quickly attached with a few wraps of electrical tape to a small tree at chest height. Riley followed his team sergeant.

Riley knew that the other four team members were not too far ahead. The SOP was for the team to go 300 meters in the break direction, then turn back on the original azimuth they had been on prior to contact. Riley estimated they had already gone 250 meters, although he sure as hell hadn't been keeping a pace count.

The crash of the rigged Claymore behind them was followed by screams from those not killed outright. As it exploded, the mine sprayed the jungle with thousands of tiny ball bearings.

Riley stepped out behind Powers into a sparsely treed area. Twenty meters ahead, the rest of the team was just about to go into the far wood line.

Riley dove for cover as the roar of automatic weapons seared the night. He heard Marzan cry out, screaming for Partusi, the medic. Riley poked his head up. The four other members of the team had gone to ground just short of the wood line. They were taking fire from their right front. Riley could see muzzle flashes in the far trees. He fired off a sustained burst in that direction, giving the men some covering fire. Powers, lying next to him, also emptied a magazine.

Riley glanced over at his four teammates as he changed magazines. Partusi was the only one moving, still trying to drag Marzan back toward the tree line that Powers and Riley had just exited. Lane and Holder were giving them covering fire. Even as he watched, Riley saw Partusi punched down with the impact of rounds. The medic didn't move again. An explosion seared the night in the vicinity of Lane and Holder. When Riley's eyes cleared, he could barely make out those men's crumpled forms.

A group of sicarios burst from the wood line, firing wildly. Riley and Powers raked the group in concert, mowing them down. Riley attempted to move forward to check out his men but was grabbed by Powers and slammed into the ground. A line of tracers reached out at an angle from the far tree line and probed the ground, running over the prone bodies of Riley's men.

"They're all dead!" Powers yelled at him over the sound of the firing. "We got to get out of here."

Riley was torn. He didn't want to leave his men, even if they were dead. He fired another burst toward the source of the tracers. He was rewarded by the deadly stream of bullets turning his way, joined by several others.

Powers grabbed him by the arm and started pulling him away. "Let's go! You can't do anything for them."

Riley allowed himself to be led away. Initially the crackle of rounds in the air around them diminished, but Riley knew it wouldn't be long before the chase would be on again. He calculated rapidly as Powers led him on a northwest course, directly toward the ocean. They were probably only three hundred meters from the water. If they could get there and get in the water without being seen, they could make it. He felt the sweat pouring down his body underneath the rubber of his wet suit. Not far now.

Riley could hear the sound of pursuit pick up behind them. All he could hope was that they didn't run into anyone on their way to the beach. As if in answer to that thought, Riley heard voices off to their left front. The Colombians were yelling to each other, trying to coordinate their search.

Riley contented himself with following Powers, as the veteran wove his way toward the coast, using the noise the patrols were making to avoid them. Faintly, and then growing stronger, the pounding of the surf could be heard. Powers came to a halt at the edge of the tree line and peered out.

"Fuck," Powers muttered. A group of five sicarios stood on the beach looking toward the tree line, weapons at the ready. Powers turned to Riley. "Here's what we do—and I don't want any bullshit arguments from you. I'm going to head south, away from the city. Give me two minutes to move and then I'm going to blow a grenade and pop some tracers across the beach. That ought to draw these guys down my way. You hit the water and head for the boat.

"I'll keep running to the south and stay about four hundred meters from the shore. You get to the boat, bring it up, and then come up on the spare SATCOM. Get Hammer to circle. I'll tie an infrared chem light to my hood and they can track me with that, and the bad guys using thermals. With Hammer giving me covering fire I can make it to the beach, and Hammer can guide you in to pick me up."

Riley's brain spun as he listened to this desperate plan. The situation called for extreme measures, but he'd be damned if he was going to leave his team sergeant holding the bag. "Sounds good, but I'll run the diversion and you swim out."

Powers grabbed Riley by the shoulders and looked into his eyes. "Listen, asshole, we ain't got no time to argue. It will take me twice as long as you to swim out to the boat. Also, I'm a hell of a lot better at surviving in the woods than you are. GO!" With that, Powers turned and disappeared into the darkness.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

MONDAY, 2 SEPTEMBER

BARRANQUILL A

6:14 A.M.

Riley forced himself to remain calm. He stopped finning and looked over his shoulder back toward shore. From the curve of the beach, he knew he was very close to the buoy marking the Zodiac's watery grave. He needed to relax and search the area slowly. It wouldn't do him any good to splash around and miss the buoy by ten meters. Every so often, as he topped a swell, he would turn over onto his stomach and scan the area, trying to spot the low-lying marker.