pointed to the seaplane. The young trooper did not move. “Cover him,” the captain said. Carlin and one of the exhausted men stood up and followed John into the underbrush. “He’s the best sniper we have,” Woodward said.
A few minutes later, they heard the crack of the rifle. Mackay studied the seaplane through binoculars as it moved farther offshore and then halted. The rifle cracked again from a different location. John was moving between shots. This time the seaplane did not move. “He’s probably out of range,” Mackay said. Again, the rifle sounded and the plane moved farther offshore. Mackay nodded his head in approval at John’s marksmanship.
“Trouble,” Woodward said. “They’ve got an inflatable.” Mackay joined the captain and focused his binoculars onto the five Americans. They were dragging an inflatable motorboat with an outboard motor from between two buildingsdown to the water, obeying shouted orders coming from the buildings. Two of the girls lay down on the rubber pontoons, shielding it with their bodies while the other girl and two boys hurried back to the building. Now they came back out forming a human shield for two of the men off the fishing boat. One was an old man and both were carrying Uzis. “Damn,” Woodward said. “Get John back here.”
“Not too much we can do,” Mackay said, bitterness in every word, a coppery taste in his mouth. He watched in frustration as the two armed men lay in the bottom of the boat and made the five Americans launch them into the water. Then the five sat on the pontoons as the motor started and the boat moved toward the seaplane.
John rejoined them and sighted the boat through his telescopic lens. His youthful face was calm and innocent as he studied the boat. A man’s head appeared above the pontoons at the bow, guiding the seaplane. John squeezed off a shot and the top of the man’s head disappeared in a bloody mist. The expression on John’s face was unchanged. “Got one, sir,” he said.
A hand reached up out of the boat and grabbed the blond hair of one of the girls and dragged her head down to the muzzle of an Uzi. For a moment, the men froze, certain they were about to witness an execution. “Hold your fire,” Woodward said. The girl’s head did not move as the boat approached the plane.
“Shit!” Mackay said. The rare outburst surprised him; he had not used profanity since he was a teenager. It didn’t help. They watched in silence as the boat bumped against the seaplane and the five Americans were pulled into the rear hatch. They were followed by the old man lying in the bottom of the boat. The seaplane turned into the wind and they heard the engines run up as it started a takeoff run. Finally, it lifted clear of the water and curved out to sea, heading north.
Woodward motioned for them to move out and the patrol shifted its position away from the camp.
Thirty minutes later, Trevor rejoined them. “Thirteen left in camp,” he said holding up two fingers, indicating he had taken out two men who had been trying to hunt him down. Mackay wondered who had been doing the hunting.
A hard look crossed Woodward’s face. “I don’t thinkthey’ll be going anywhere, do you?” It wasn’t a question. “I would like to know who they are. Should we drop in on them tonight for a chat?” It also was not a question or open to discussion.
“They are being very cautious,” Woodward said. “Look at the way they still maintain cover.” It was night and he was studying the camp with one of the two Pocketscope passive viewers the patrol carried. The fat, four-inch-long night vision scope weighed less than two pounds and could be fitted onto the MP5s they carried as a sight. Woodward handed the scope to Mackay.
Mackay said nothing and focused the scope on the old Gurkha camp. A greenish figure materialized out of the heavy undergrowth and moved toward them. Mackay handed the scope back to Woodward, pointed out the figure and
A few minutes later, they heard the crack of the rifle. Mackay studied the seaplane through binoculars as it moved farther offshore and then halted. The rifle cracked again from a different location. John was moving between shots. This time the seaplane did not move. “He’s probably out of range,” Mackay said. Again, the rifle sounded and the plane moved farther offshore. Mackay nodded his head in approval at John’s marksmanship.
“Trouble,” Woodward said. “They’ve got an inflatable.” Mackay joined the captain and focused his binoculars onto the five Americans. They were dragging an inflatable motorboat with an outboard motor from between two buildingsdown to the water, obeying shouted orders coming from the buildings. Two of the girls lay down on the rubber pontoons, shielding it with their bodies while the other girl and two boys hurried back to the building. Now they came back out forming a human shield for two of the men off the fishing boat. One was an old man and both were carrying Uzis. “Damn,” Woodward said. “Get John back here.”
“Not too much we can do,” Mackay said, bitterness in every word, a coppery taste in his mouth. He watched in frustration as the two armed men lay in the bottom of the boat and made the five Americans launch them into the water. Then the five sat on the pontoons as the motor started and the boat moved toward the seaplane.
John rejoined them and sighted the boat through his telescopic lens. His youthful face was calm and innocent as he studied the boat. A man’s head appeared above the pontoons at the bow, guiding the seaplane. John squeezed off a shot and the top of the man’s head disappeared in a bloody mist. The expression on John’s face was unchanged. “Got one, sir,” he said.
A hand reached up out of the boat and grabbed the blond hair of one of the girls and dragged her head down to the muzzle of an Uzi. For a moment, the men froze, certain they were about to witness an execution. “Hold your fire,” Woodward said. The girl’s head did not move as the boat approached the plane.
“Shit!” Mackay said. The rare outburst surprised him; he had not used profanity since he was a teenager. It didn’t help. They watched in silence as the boat bumped against the seaplane and the five Americans were pulled into the rear hatch. They were followed by the old man lying in the bottom of the boat. The seaplane turned into the wind and they heard the engines run up as it started a takeoff run. Finally, it lifted clear of the water and curved out to sea, heading north.
Woodward motioned for them to move out and the patrol shifted its position away from the camp.
Thirty minutes later, Trevor rejoined them. “Thirteen left in camp,” he said holding up two fingers, indicating he had taken out two men who had been trying to hunt him down. Mackay wondered who had been doing the hunting.
A hard look crossed Woodward’s face. “I don’t thinkthey’ll be going anywhere, do you?” It wasn’t a question. “I would like to know who they are. Should we drop in on them tonight for a chat?” It also was not a question or open to discussion.
“They are being very cautious,” Woodward said. “Look at the way they still maintain cover.” It was night and he was studying the camp with one of the two Pocketscope passive viewers the patrol carried. The fat, four-inch-long night vision scope weighed less than two pounds and could be fitted onto the MP5s they carried as a sight. Woodward handed the scope to Mackay.
Mackay said nothing and focused the scope on the old Gurkha camp. A greenish figure materialized out of the heavy undergrowth and moved toward them. Mackay handed the scope back to Woodward, pointed out the figure and
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