Light Up the Night (23 page)

Boyd had wanted Bill to stay on the
Peleliu
in the command center, but he'd refused. The only way he'd kept the ship's commander from ordering him to remain aboard was by insisting that he'd be more effective communicating and reacting if he was on site.

That had been one of the hard-won lessons from the Battle of Mogadishu—the communication lines had been too long. General to command control to air mission commander, then on wholly separate radios, often with different encryptions and a spread of frequencies, in order to talk to SOAR and the convoy. Beyond that, Delta and Rangers had been split off yet further, with individual team members dangling out in the wind. When a group leader was hit, that whole section had been cut off and coordination had collapsed even further.

That issue was mostly solved in the modern forces, but it was still a hot button for every student of modern military history. Keeping the communication chain as simple yet redundant as possible was a powerful motivator.

Bill did stick AMC Archie Stevenson aboard for the
Peleliu
's commander. He felt a little guilty for doing that. But, with the two drones aloft, he would have an exceptional view. Also, like Mission Control to the Apollo capsules, it would allow the Navy to have just one voice to communicate with the people out on the front lines. He couldn't afford an extra bird for the AMC to circle high, either. Their assets on the ground and in the air were going to be thin as it was.

The real truth was, Bill was a SEAL. And all of a SEAL's training was about being in the field. He never understood the UAV pilots who could fly their drones from the Utah bunkers. The mental disconnect was too far, and Bill often wondered if that was one of the stresses that led to such a high burnout rate for them.

He climbed aboard the front left end of the outside bench seat on Dennis's
Merchant
of
Death.
Rather than tying himself in, he just faced forward so that he could wrap a leg around either side of the bench.

Michael climbed aboard
Mad
Max
, then shot him a casual salute that he returned. In moments, a D-boy sat at the point of the other side bench seats. The remaining four positions on both birds were then taken by Rangers. They'd lost some of their swagger during Michael's “Lessons from the Mog” lecture. He'd been a first-year private for that outing, hell of an indoctrination.

While waiting for the last of the loading and pilot checks, Bill had a moment to himself. The first one since he'd woken to see Trisha smiling down at him. She'd gotten him half-aroused while he still slept. Once awake, the other half got with the program quickly. It may have been less than five minutes from waking to shower, all they could afford, but she had made it a spectacular five minutes. He cursed the Navy for making shipboard showers too small for even the most creative of couples to share.

He'd never told a woman other than his mother that he loved her. He'd actually never expected to say it aloud to anyone else. Somehow the picture in his head had included a woman who would simply understand how he felt about her and it would be enough. As stupid as he knew it sounded, he'd imagined that late in the shrouding darkness of the night, she would whisper it into his ear, expressing the feeling for both of them.

Bill had certainly never pictured leaning into a roaring chopper and practically shouting out, so that he could be heard by her copilot as well, that he loved a pint-sized lieutenant of the U.S. Army's SOAR. Or that her response would be, “Oh shit!” Of course with Trisha O'Malley, that was so absolutely true to form that it made him feel like everything was right with the world.

He was just as glad there was no one coming up to him with any more questions or they'd ask why he was grinning like a goon as they lifted into the night sky on one of the most dangerous missions he'd ever been a part of.

***

Trisha flew up between the oil tanker
Bateau
and the cargo ship
Evangeline
at exactly twenty hundred hours and zero seconds. Her altitude was less than ten feet above the waves, just five hundred yards off the coastal town of Hobyo. No radar on these pirated ships would be able to pick her out of the surface clutter, even if they were running.

Roland flipped on the jammer that had been added to their usual load and ran through the line of several different band antennas running along the
May
's tail boom. Now there was no way that any communications would be sent from either ship—not radio, cell phone, or anything else. The only unblocked frequencies were those used by the team's encrypted radios.

Less than five seconds behind her,
Max
and
Merchant
slid to a hover over the command deck of either ship. Fast ropes, two inches of braided wool fifty-feet long, were dropped to dangle from the hangers on either side of the chopper. Four Rangers, wearing heavy gloves so that they didn't burn their hands, grabbed on and descended them like fire poles. They landed on the ships' decks three seconds later, their weapons drawn within a second of landing.

Max
,
Merchant
, and
May
all lifted to a hundred feet and set up an overlapping circling pattern that would cover both ships as well as make the choppers exceptionally poor targets. The three Delta operators and Billy, who had remained perched at the front end of their benches on
Max
and
Merchant
, wielded their sniper rifles like scythes. Trisha and Roland sat ready to unleash their miniguns if needed, but the pirates never knew what hit them. Half went down fighting, and the other half came out with their empty hands in the air.

By the time the Navy LCAC hovercraft surged up alongside to board another dozen Rangers onto each ship, both of them were taken back from the pirates. The additional Rangers rounded up the survivors and set perimeter security on each ship. Once they both announced all clear, Trisha switched off the jamming gear and the three choppers dove back to wave height. They circled wide around Hobyo and headed inland to their main target of Galkayo.

Less than a minute later, Lola Maloney reported that the
Vengeance,
with two Delta snipers aboard, and a SEAL team in a high-speed Special Operations Craft-Riverine gun boat from the aircraft carrier
Harry
S. Truman
had taken back the small merchant moored off Eyl a hundred and fifty miles to the north with no loss of life. They'd caught four pirate guards fast asleep.

That ship had been held for over a year, so the chances of a shore watch were considered low and the ship got under way toward international waters immediately. Even if its departure was noted, the pirates on shore wouldn't be likely to connect it to any larger plan or attack. The pirates would be more likely to wait for morning to see if the merchant ship had sunk like the container ship
MV
Albedo
had in July 2013.

The two ships captured by Hobyo would have to wait within sight of the shore until the strike team sent the all clear from the inland strike at Galkayo to free the hostages. The chance that someone would miss the Hobyo ships at eight at night was too high. They needed the element of surprise at the Galkayo site if they wanted to take the hostages without a major gun battle.

Trisha and the other two Little Birds headed for the FARP to refuel in the desert. Lola would cut south to meet up with the C-130 tanker plane for a midair refuel before turning inland to meet them. The Little Birds didn't have that kind of capacity.

They stayed low, following the terrain tightly. They were actually in more danger of being spotted by a nomad with a satellite phone than by radar in this country, at least until they got nearer to Galkayo airport, but there was no reason to expose themselves more than they had to.

The first stage of Billy's plan had gone off without a hitch.

“High five!” Trisha called over the intercom. She removed her right hand from the cyclic for a moment and Roland took his left off the collective. They smacked palms, then both put their hands back on the controls and returned to flying fast and low.

***

Bill climbed down off the narrow bench seat of the Little Bird as soon as they reached the FARP and landed. He tried shaking one leg out, then the other, but the feeling wasn't returning quickly. Everyone wore night-vision gear, so the only light in the area was an infrared beacon. A native could walk by within a few hundred feet and not see anything on the sand.

The ground team scooted him out of the way to begin refueling the bird. The thick rubber bladder was four feet by eight and about eighteen inches high and filled with Jet A fuel. Even as they began fueling up
Merchant
of
Death
, they were unrolling another hose toward the
Mad
Max.

Someone came up and offered him a box of M118LR cartridges for his sniper rifle. Someone was being efficient; they were even the long-range spec rounds that would be best for his rifle. So he began refilling the magazine he'd partially burned up during the taking of the Hobyo ships.

Michael came up beside him and took a half-dozen rounds out of the box and began refilling his own. He wasn't moving any better than Bill was, which made him feel a bit better about it. Michael was dressed much like Bill, except that he wore the uncovered MICH helmet favored by the Deltas. He had the four-tube night-vision gear seated in the front clip of the helmet and had it tipped down over his eyes. Like an alien with four eyestalks, the tubes cast a soft green light back around Michael's eyes.

“Long damn ride,” Bill greeted him and checked that the twenty-round magazine was full. Then he slapped it on his chest armor, to make sure the cartridges were well seated, and placed it in the rifle.

Michael nodded. “Long damn ride. Those seats are meant for short-haul missions. You know that most SOAR companies wouldn't even try this kind of reach. And these guys do it like it's the most normal thing on the planet.”

“I know.” Bill watched Trisha as she settled the
May
on the far side of the fuel bladder. He didn't want Michael to think they were having just a conversation about her. “The whole crew is incredible. Can't say I was ever a big fan of the Night Stalkers, but they're changing my mind for me.”

“Henderson, then Beale, created a very unique team here. That's why I fly full-time with them.”

Bill was feeling a little stupid so he looked away from Trisha as she climbed down and did some limbering exercises as well. He focused back on Michael.

“You fly only with them?” Michael was the top Delta operator on the planet. He should be… Well, Bill didn't quite know where else he should be, but it still sounded strange.

Michael nodded. “I'm a permanent liaison with SOAR Fifth Battalion D Company. We've found it creates a particularly strong alliance to keep at least one member of Special Forces Operational Detachment-Delta embedded with each battalion.”

Bill pictured it in his head. SEALs could do something like that. They flew with the Night Stalkers a lot. Maybe that would be a way for him to stick around if Trisha wanted him to. Maybe even if she didn't want—

“I was looking for a second,” Michael continued, “because this company is so active. They're the newest battalion and this team is both the youngest and the most decorated. Even without Beale. D Company truly is the tip of the spear.”

“Wow!” Bill had known these guys were hot, but never knew they were that far out on the edge. But if Michael said they were, then they were. Without question. Bill scanned the other D-boys clustered together and checking over their weapons. All excellent soldiers. He liked the guys he'd spoken to, but none of them stood out from the other operators.

“So who are you thinking of bringing on?”

“You.” Michael nodded as soon as he saw that Bill was no longer breathing. For all Bill could tell, his heart had stopped beating as well.

Michael walked away to check in with the rest of his team.

“Hey, sailor!” Trisha's slap on his back almost sent him tumbling into the sand.

***

“Ow! You're hard.” Trisha shook her hand. She'd slapped him on the rifle across his back. That was the one drawback to the ADAS display on her visor; it only worked when she was wired to her chopper. The FARP was so dark, she'd almost killed herself half a dozen different ways trying to get to Billy. Practically impaled herself on one of the ever-present thorny acacia bushes. The only scent on the air was the sharp kerosene bite of Jet A totally overshadowing the rusty smell of the desert wind, neither of which had offered her any nighttime guidance anyway.

Billy would probably have to escort her back if she wanted to survive the hundred-foot return journey. Next time she wandered away from her helicopter, she'd remember to clip on a battery-powered NVG like Billy's so she could see what was going on.

“Uh, hi.” He sounded dazed. Just a guy in mid-mission mode.

“So, pretty smooth on Stage One, huh? You done good.”

“Yeah.”

Trisha wished she could see his face. He was being even less chatty than usual, which was saying something. “What's up, Billy?”

“I, uh, just got a job offer. I think.” She could tell by the angle of the soft green glow the night vision splashed across his eyes that he wasn't looking in her direction, but rather over toward the cluster of dim green glows that must be the D-boys.

“Anything good?”

“Damned if I know, Patricia. Damned if I know.”

“That's Trisha.” Though she actually was liking the way her name sounded when he said it. Something she hadn't allowed anyone to call her since Catholic school, like that had taken so well.

“Not Patty?” His voice was coming back to normal.