Joint Task Force #4: Africa (8 page)

Abdo nodded. “And we used to be feared by so many, but now we must reconstitute ourselves; return to where the fields are ripe for your picking; and, if you so desire in a few years, we can return and pursue your guidance from Allah.” He pushed down again on Abu Alhaul’s shoulders.

Abu Alhaul nodded and squatted on his haunches. No one sat on the jungle floor where so many things could craw upon you to eat.

Abdo squatted beside him, pulling his backpack off and tossing it in front of them. He opened it and rifled through the stuff crammed into the back, pulling out an American energy bar. “Here, eat this.”

Abu Alhaul took it, turned it different ways, looking at the English printed on both sides, and then handed it back. “It is Western. It is not fit for the lips of Allah’s prophet.”

Abdo handed it back. “All the Allah’s prophets in the world are useless if they die.”

“We can make Him happy by dying.”

“We make our enemies happier, so eat.” Abdo unwrapped the bar and shoved it back into Abu Alhaul’s hand, forcing his brother’s fingers around the bar. A few seconds later Abu Alhaul was eating the energy bar.

Abdo looked at his watch.

“How long?” Abu Alhaul asked.

“Ten minutes.”

They had been resting and now even he didn’t feel like starting again. Were the Africans still pursuing them or as Abdo said, they have stopped or lost our tracks? Were they truly safe for the time being? He lifted his head, twisting it from side to side.
What is that noise
—
that buzz?

Several seconds passed as Abu Alhaul listened to the
noise, trying to separate it from the mix of jungle sounds. Whatever it was, it was growing in sound. He recognized the sound.

“Airplane,” he said.

Abdo lifted his head.

Abu Alhaul stood. Abdo followed. “Looks as if you will get your wish, Abdo. Have our warriors with those
obsolete
surface-to-air missiles prepare themselves.”

“I did not mean to say they would not work.”

“I know, my brother, but you are right sometimes and when you are right, it is hard to admit it.”

“We don’t know whose aircraft it is.”

Abu Alhaul shrugged. “Doesn’t matter, does it? If it’s flying, it can’t be a loyal warrior. We have no aircraft, just the foot soldiers of Allah.”

Abdo hurriedly moved past Abu Alhaul, and seconds later he had the four men with the missiles lined up, the barrels pointing upward toward the unbroken canopy of vegetation that covered them from the sky.

“HERE HE COMES, CHIEF,” PETTY OFFICER LACEY SAID
, slapping Razi on the shoulder.

Coffee spilled over the top of the cup, splashing across Razi’s hand and onto the small mess table. “Hey, watch it, clown.” He winked at Lacey as he eased by the two sailors from the Naval Research Laboratory. Down the aisle came the new ensign. Razi slipped the half-full cup of coffee into a metal holder attached to the side of the bulkhead, leaned around the edge of the half-wall that separated the operating part of the aircraft from the mess area, and watched the ensign work his way aft.
He’s heading to the head or back here.
Razi’s fingers slipped into the flight-suit
pocket on his right leg and found the peanut-butter packet. He laughed. He couldn’t help thinking of the expression on newbies’ faces when he did this.

He pulled the peanut-butter packet out, ripped the top off, and with his left boot crossed over his knee, he squeezed the mixture along the edge where the sole met the heel, using the empty packet to smooth the stuff down.

Lieutenant Reed, a mission evaluator, stood near the coffee urn. Razi put his flight shoe down and smiled at the officer.

“New meat,” Razi said.

“New meat,” the lieutenant acknowledged, turning to watch. The officer sipped his coffee with his free hand while the other held on to the safety bar overhead.

Razi walked forward, eased past the two sailors from the Naval Research Laboratory, and sat down on the arm of one of the passenger seats mounted along the starboard side of the aircraft.

Lacey took his earphones off, pushed himself out of his seat and directly in front of the ensign so that he led the way aft.

Razi lifted his flight boot and crossed it over his right knee. Behind the ensign, the new female flight engineer followed by a few paces. Razi’s eyebrows rose and fell several times.
Pits must have given up and taken his seat back. A little fleshy, but she looked scrumptious.

“Chief,” Lacey said, stopping a couple of steps from Razi and causing the ensign to stop behind him. “Someone must have stepped in dog shit.” Lacey wrinkled his nose as if trying to trace the smell.

“Lacey, what the hell are you talking about?” Razi said, his mind coming back to what he was doing. “No one steps in dog shit without knowing it.” Razi stood and tapped the
two aircrew members sitting directly across from him. “ Either of you two step in dog shit?”

“Not us, Chief,” they said in unison, small smiles crossing their faces.

Out of the corner of his eye, Razi saw the two sailors from Naval Research Laboratory turn to watch.

“I don’t believe you. Check your flight boots.” He pointed at Lacey. “You too, Lacey.”

“Chief, I’m the one who smelled it—”

The ensign stopped, unable to get by because of Razi and Lacey.

“Which means you’re the one most likely to have it on your shoe. Quit arguing and check.”

Behind Lacey, the ensign leaned forward watching the sailors check their shoes.

“Not me, Chief,” one of the operators said.

“Me either, Chief,” the other echoed.

“And, as I told you, Chief,” Lacey said, drawing out his words. “It ain’t me, either.”

The new flight engineer bunched up against the ensign and Lacey. She leaned around the two, forced her way to the right near the boarding hatch, stopped, and watched.

Razi noticed her breasts first, but that was his job: Notice the finer details of his fellow chief petty officers and make sure they appreciated it. He glanced up at her face to meet hooded lids over sparkling eyes. She smiled.
Well, at least she knows she got my attention.

“Chief, you haven’t checked your flight boots. You must have stepped in it.”

Razi sat back down on the arm of the chair. First, he lifted his right boot, showing everyone there was nothing there.

Then, he slowly lifted his left flight boot, the sole facing toward the Lacey, the ensign, and the female flight engineer.

Lacey burst out. “There! I told you so, Chief. You’ve got dog poop all over the bottom.”

Razi raised his hand and waved Lacey down. “Now, now, now,” he said patronizingly. “Just because you say it is doesn’t necessary mean it’s dog poop.”

“I can smell it. Can’t you?” Lacey asked the ensign.

The ensign shrugged. “I don’t smell anything.”

By now, others in the aircraft had gathered to watch.

Razi leaned forward, getting his face as close as he could to the offending boot-bottom. “Well, Lacey, it does look like dog poop.”

A chorus of agreements came from the onlookers and Razi smiled when he heard the ensign agree.
Wow! This is going to be the best one this year.

With great show, Razi raised his right hand, held up his index finger, and ran it through the pasty, brown peanut butter, coming up with a large dab of it on the end of his finger.

“Looks like dog poop.”

A chorus of “It is dog poop” and “What the hell did you think it was?” and “Damn it, man, don’t put your fingers in it” roared from the growing number of aircrew who were working their way aft. Laughter filled the fuselage.

Razi looked around the aircraft. Lieutenant Reed opened the door to the head, stepped inside, and pulled it shut. Aircrewmen in the back, stretched their necks, trying to watch. Most of the eyes were on the ensign. The ensign stared directly at Razi’s finger.

Razi raised the stuff near his nose. “Lacey, you may be right. I’m not wrong often, but it sure smells like dog poop.” He looked at the two sailors manning Dragnet. One grinned while the other looked awfully pale. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the new flight engineer move toward him, easing past Lacey and the ensign, but not blocking the ensign’s view.

Razi opened his mouth, moved his finger down with its offending dab, and suddenly the new flight engineer leaned over with her finger, swiped the dab off his, and jammed it into her mouth.

The ensign’s eyes widened and “Oh, my God’s” filled the air as she rolled the stuff around her mouth a couple of times. Razi turned toward the NRL sailors just as the palefaced one power-vomited, the mixture hitting Razi in the chest, splattering some on his face. The other sailor dove toward the mess area away from the follow-up heaving erupting from his partner. Aircrewmen pushed and shoved to get away from the sick sailor.

Razi jumped up. “What the hell!” He glanced at Lacey who had tears rolling down his cheeks. The first-class fell to his knees, clutching his stomach and lightly hitting his head against the back of a nearby seat. “Did you see that?” he gasped between laughs to the two sailors sitting in the console seats.

Razi looked down, his hands spread out to the side, staring at the yellow bits of half-eaten food that stained his suit.

The ensign shoved past the kneeling Lacey, knocking the leading petty officer into on opening between the two seats. The ensign reached the door to the head and snatched it open. Lieutenant Reed stood there peeing into the large urine container.

“What the—”

The ensign pushed Reed aside and vomited into the quarter-full container while Reed fought to zip up and mold himself to the backside of the head at the same time.

The flight engineer brought her finger out of her mouth. “Nope, peanut butter, Chief. Nothing but peanut butter.” She reached inside a flight-suit pocket on her chest and pulled out a wad of napkins. “Here, Chief. You probably can use this.” She smiled, leaving him looking like a wet
dishrag as she continued to the mess area, stepping over the heaving sailor. She patted him on the head as she passed. “There’s more fun later, sailor,” she said.

A series of beeps from the Naval Research Laboratory position sounded over the noise of the crowd dispersing, as they returned to their mission positions. The sailor on the deck pulled himself up and slid back into his seat. The other sailor reached over and handed his shipmate a wet rag from the galley. The recovering sailor wiped his face before placing the wet handkerchief on the console table so he could press the computer-image icons on the data screen.

“Looks good,” the other sailor said. “Gotta tweak it a little.”

The sickened sailor acknowledged with a slow nod, grabbed the handkerchief, and wiped his face again. “Good God,” the man muttered.

“Peanut butter.”

“I didn’t know it was peanut butter.”

Razi watched the two as he wiped the mess off of his flight suit. The beeping continued until the sailor to the left pressed an icon and the beeping stopped. Razi started toward the mess area. He needed more water to get this smell off of him.
This isn’t the way I planned it. That sailor wore wings, what in the hell kind of aircrewman is he who gets sick over a little practical joke? A
s he crossed into the lighted area of the galley, he realized the laughter was more on him than the sailor and the ensign.
Oh, well, you win some and you lose some.
He wished he had brought along another flight suit. Staying in this one for ten hours wasn’t his idea of a good flight.

The new flight engineer turned as Razi entered.

“Good job, Chief,” he said to her.

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” she said, then she
started laughing as she held out her hand. “Anita Jennings, Chief.”

“Bad”—He couldn’t say Badass to her.—“Will Razi,” he said gripping her hand and shaking it.

“Funny, I thought they called you ‘Badass’?

“They do,” he replied, then, holding his hands out and looking down at the mess on the front of his flight suit, “but after this, I think I’m going to need a new handle for my flying days.”

“How about ‘vomit man’?” said Lieutenant Reed from behind him.

“Chief!” one of the NRL sailors shouted. “You better come here.”

“Good to meet you, Anita. Great job, once again, but if we’re going to work together on things like this, we need to coordinate our actions.”

She smiled.

She does have a nice smile,
Razi thought. It’s the dimples in the cheeks that make the smile look wider and friendlier than she probably means.

“Sounds like we will have to get together after the flight, Chief, and develop our coordination.”

He felt a slight blush, but didn’t understand why— unless it was the quick image of her spreadeagled and moaning that was zipping through his thoughts.

She laughed. “No, not that type of coordination, Chief.”

“Chief!” the sailor shouted again. “We’ve got something.”

“Excuse me.” Razi hurried toward the prototype system. “What have you got?”

“This.” The screen on the CRT display flickered for a moment and then a graphic display of heat signatures appeared. Immediately, small computer-generated figures of men replaced them. “We have just flown over a group of about twenty to thirty humans.”

“How you know?”

“The computer knows.”

“Chief, I’m sorry for puking on you,” the other sailor said.

Razi patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. If you get hungry later, you know where you can find some food.” He turned to the sailor in charge. “How do we know the computer is right?”

The other sailor turned pale again.

The sailor shrugged. “It hasn’t been wrong yet when we’ve tested it.”

Razi moved to the other side. “Don’t puke again, son. You’ve done enough damage,” he said, frowning. “Lots of difference between testing it in the field and testing it in the laboratory.”

“Chief, while we argue here, the aircraft is getting farther and farther away. We need to turn back.”

“If we turn back are we going to get anything more than we have people below us?”

“Well, Chief, we also have a magnetometer on board EP-3Es. The magnetometer has a similar database concept as Dragnet. The magnetometer can tell, by the intensity and density of the metal below, what type of weapons may be there. If we consolidate the intelligence from Dragnet and the magnetometer, we might be able to determine what is below us.”