moved away from the captain, drawing his knife. The figure could be either Trevor or John returning from planting surveillance microphones on the outside walls of the buildings. The small, but very sensitive mikes could pick up movement and voices from inside the buildings and were invaluable for pinpointing the opposition.
“Blackpool,” Mackay whispered from under cover. It was the challenge part of the recognition code.
“Rock,” Trevor responded, completing the code. He emerged out of the dark. “They’re pretty good,” the young SAS trooper said, telling Mackay and Woodward what he had learned. “Trained by Cubans, I’d say.” They paused when movement in the underbrush caught their attention. Mackay whispered the recognition code and John joined them.
“Count?” Woodward asked.
“I still count thirteen,” Trevor answered.
“Twelve,” John said. “One stumbled into me.” He made a cutting motion with his hand. “They won’t find him until it’s light.”
“Are the mikes picking up anything?” Woodward asked, staring into the night.
Carlin cupped his hands over his earphones, trying to identify the different voices coming through on his headset. “I’ve got eight identified in the old headquarters building.” He paused, concentrating. “Chinese. Two of ’em are speakingChinese.” He handed the headset to Woodward who had studied both Mandarin and Thai. Each member of the patrol had studied at least two foreign languages and Mackay alone spoke only English.
“Mandarin,” Woodward said, identifying the language. He listened intently. “They know we are out here and have posted five men outside as guards. Hold on, one came back in. He says it’s quiet.” Again, Woodward paused. “They think we may have left.”
Woodward moved the headset clear of his ears. “Here’s the drill. Three of ’em are unaccounted for, presumably on guard duty outside. We send three pairs in to take them out.” He called in the first two men and told them to search the southern side of the compound for sentries. “For God’s sake,” he warned them, “don’t stray outside your area. The other chaps will be out looking and I don’t need you ‘practicing’ on each other in the dark.” The two men moved out and Woodward called in another pair. He outlined their area and sent them off with the same warning.
Finally, he called Carlin and John over to him. “You sweep the area on this side of the camp,” he told them.
“Let me take this one,” Mackay said. “Keep Carlin here on the radios with you.” Woodward thought about it for a moment then nodded. Mackay and the baby-faced sniper, John, disappeared into the night.
The two men moved silently through the underbrush until they were against the back of a building. Mackay could barely see John’s silhouette in the dark. With deliberate and slow motions, John pointed at Mackay and then pointed at a spot in the dark, the forefinger of his right hand extended and his thumb pointed down—the hand sign for “enemy.” Mackay understood that John was telling him to take the man out.
Mackay slung his MP5 submachine gun onto his back and drew his knife. He crouched and moved toward the spot John had pointed at. When he reached the spot, he gently moved some heavy foliage aside with his left hand and found himself staring into the face of a man. For a split second, both were too surprised to move and they looked at each other for what seemed an eternity. Without thinking, Mackay’s right hand slashed out, rattlesnake quick, driving the point of hisknife into the man’s throat. He felt cartilage surrounding the trachea give and he jerked the blade sideways. The man collapsed to the ground and Mackay jerked his knife free.
The harsh, gurgling, rasping sound of the dying man trying to breathe filled the night but Mackay could only stand there, unable to move. He had seen corpses before, but this was the first time he had to watch a man die because
“Blackpool,” Mackay whispered from under cover. It was the challenge part of the recognition code.
“Rock,” Trevor responded, completing the code. He emerged out of the dark. “They’re pretty good,” the young SAS trooper said, telling Mackay and Woodward what he had learned. “Trained by Cubans, I’d say.” They paused when movement in the underbrush caught their attention. Mackay whispered the recognition code and John joined them.
“Count?” Woodward asked.
“I still count thirteen,” Trevor answered.
“Twelve,” John said. “One stumbled into me.” He made a cutting motion with his hand. “They won’t find him until it’s light.”
“Are the mikes picking up anything?” Woodward asked, staring into the night.
Carlin cupped his hands over his earphones, trying to identify the different voices coming through on his headset. “I’ve got eight identified in the old headquarters building.” He paused, concentrating. “Chinese. Two of ’em are speakingChinese.” He handed the headset to Woodward who had studied both Mandarin and Thai. Each member of the patrol had studied at least two foreign languages and Mackay alone spoke only English.
“Mandarin,” Woodward said, identifying the language. He listened intently. “They know we are out here and have posted five men outside as guards. Hold on, one came back in. He says it’s quiet.” Again, Woodward paused. “They think we may have left.”
Woodward moved the headset clear of his ears. “Here’s the drill. Three of ’em are unaccounted for, presumably on guard duty outside. We send three pairs in to take them out.” He called in the first two men and told them to search the southern side of the compound for sentries. “For God’s sake,” he warned them, “don’t stray outside your area. The other chaps will be out looking and I don’t need you ‘practicing’ on each other in the dark.” The two men moved out and Woodward called in another pair. He outlined their area and sent them off with the same warning.
Finally, he called Carlin and John over to him. “You sweep the area on this side of the camp,” he told them.
“Let me take this one,” Mackay said. “Keep Carlin here on the radios with you.” Woodward thought about it for a moment then nodded. Mackay and the baby-faced sniper, John, disappeared into the night.
The two men moved silently through the underbrush until they were against the back of a building. Mackay could barely see John’s silhouette in the dark. With deliberate and slow motions, John pointed at Mackay and then pointed at a spot in the dark, the forefinger of his right hand extended and his thumb pointed down—the hand sign for “enemy.” Mackay understood that John was telling him to take the man out.
Mackay slung his MP5 submachine gun onto his back and drew his knife. He crouched and moved toward the spot John had pointed at. When he reached the spot, he gently moved some heavy foliage aside with his left hand and found himself staring into the face of a man. For a split second, both were too surprised to move and they looked at each other for what seemed an eternity. Without thinking, Mackay’s right hand slashed out, rattlesnake quick, driving the point of hisknife into the man’s throat. He felt cartilage surrounding the trachea give and he jerked the blade sideways. The man collapsed to the ground and Mackay jerked his knife free.
The harsh, gurgling, rasping sound of the dying man trying to breathe filled the night but Mackay could only stand there, unable to move. He had seen corpses before, but this was the first time he had to watch a man die because
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