The missiles tore away from the destroyer, popping upward from their vertical launcher. Storm saw them appear in the holographic display; their targets bore tiny initials, literally marked for death.
“Let’s get these bastards,” he said. He punched the communications unit at his belt. “All hands—all personnel involved in Operation Bloodthirst—hostilities are now under way. I promise you, we will revenge the deaths of our comrades who fell in action on November 6, 1997. Each one of their deaths will be avenged tenfold.”
Gulf of Aden
2338
THE FIRST SHELL LANDED ON THE SUNKEN TRAWLER NEAREST
to the shore just as Ali got down to the dockside. Water and shrapnel sprayed only a few feet away. A second shell exploded, this one on another hulk farther out in the harbor.
The loud boom emptied the air of the noise around him. Ali felt as if he had been lifted physically away from the earth, pulled into a place above what was happening. The connection between the present and his thought was severed momentarily, and he felt as if he were independent not simply from his body, but from everything around him.
The Americans are attacking.
SATAN’S TAIL
319
Satan’s Tail must be offshore.
I will strangle them with my bare hands.
Another explosion, this one on the nearby wreck close to shore, shook him back to reality.
“Quickly!” he shouted. “The Americans are attacking us!
We will not lay down for them! Quickly.”
As he reached into his pocket for the phone to pass the orders along, another volley from the American guns landed, this time on the land nearby. Dust and dirt flew everywhere; he just barely managed to touch the quick-dial sequence that would signal that he was under an all-out attack. He looked at the phone, not sure if the call went through.
Send all the hell you can, he thought. There was no need to say it, however; the fact that the number was dialed and that he did not answer when called back would be enough.
Ali steadied his fingers to make a second call, alerting his crews farther west. A fresh shell burst near the shoreline, shaking the ground so severely that he dropped the phone.
As he bent to grab it, another shell landed directly behind him, and the force of the explosion pushed him down the embankment toward the water. He managed to grab a large stone pillar to stop his fall.
He spit the dirt and rocks from his mouth. He’d lost the phone somewhere along the way and had to scramble back up the hill for it. Another shell landed below, near the water.
Ali sensed it before he heard the explosion, and in that small space of time realized he’d been lifted upward by the force.
He started to scream, but before a sound could come from his mouth, the world turned black.
Aboard Dreamland
Osprey, approaching northern Somalia 2340
DANNY SAW THE OBLITERATED GUARD POSTS AS THE FEED
from the Flighthawk played on the visor screen of his smart 320
DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
helmet. Several figures were coming from the caves near the water; another dozen were moving from the village buildings just to the east. But the top of the cliff was unprotected and he zoomed in to it, focusing on landing zone one and then two.
“Abner Read, be advised we are inbound to LZ. Do not shell the cliff,” said the pilot over the Dreamland circuit.
“Repeat. We’re inbound and will arrive in sixty seconds.”
Someone on the Abner Read acknowledged. The shelling of the wrecked ships in the harbor continued; the Navy gun-nery experts had predicted it would take a little more than twelve minutes to obliterate them all. As incredible as it seemed, the awesome torrent of shells made it seem like they might do it even quicker. The Werewolves had been unable to keep up with the Osprey and the accelerated schedule; they were running behind him by about ten minutes.
He’d make the landings without them.
“Team One is up!” shouted Geraldo “Blow” Hernandez, who was acting as jumpmaster, supervising the exit of the aircraft via the ropes. “Team One is up!”
The Marines and three of Danny’s men moved toward the door as the Osprey revved into hover mode, its tilt-wing swinging around as the craft arced to the disembarkation point. Danny’s men were used to the jolt of weightlessness that this induced, but the Marines weren’t, and even the men who had been with them on the mission the night before jerked against their straps and each other.
“Go! Go! Hit the ropes, let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” yelled Boston.
“Do it, men!” yelled Dancer. “Make your mamas proud!”
Danny watched her grab a rope and go down with the rest of the team. They’d given up trying to use the Marine systems with the smart helmets and Dreamland circuit; instead, Danny had given her a backup short-range radio-only headset so she could talk directly to him. His people had been split up to work with different knots of Marines.
“Team Two coming up! Team Two coming up!” yelled Boston.
SATAN’S TAIL
321
Danny moved with the rest of them. The Osprey swung around to get into position. One of the chain guns beneath the front of the aircraft began to rotate, spitting bullets at the lip of the crag. Danny thought they were probably shooting at ghosts, but there wasn’t time to question the pilots—he put his gloved hands onto the rope, pulled his feet into place, and fast-roped down.
The Osprey stuttered backward as he descended, shuddering under the weight of bullets it was firing. But he got on the ground solidly, pushing to the left as the rest of the team came out.
“Incoming!” yelled someone as Danny jumped from the aircraft. Something flashed thirty yards ahead; it was a rocket-launched grenade fired nearly point-blank, but fortunately without much of an aim. Running forward, Danny peppered the area where it had come from with his MP5 before sliding down to one knee. There was no answering fire.
He swiveled his head back and forth as he took stock of the situation. More gunfire erupted to his right; three members of his team, all Marines, were engaged with someone at the very edge of the cliff.
“Grenade!” someone yelled.
It could have been a warning or a suggestion; in any event, nothing exploded. Two muzzles flashed from the direction of the sea to Danny’s extreme left; more terrorists coming up to the defense.The gunfire was answered by someone behind him.
Men were still coming off the Osprey, easy targets.
“Get the machine guns up!” yelled Danny. “Get the bastards on the cliff down! Go!”
More pirates came up the cliff and began to fire, bullets blazing everywhere. Something exploded behind him; as he turned to look, he saw the right wing of the Osprey break apart, struck by a mortar shell that had the incredibly bad luck to land on the engine housing and detonate. The aircraft veered sideways, spun forward, then sailed toward the water.
“Son of a bitch!” yelled Boston into his open mike.
Danny threw one of his grenades toward the cliff where he’d 322
DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
seen the muzzle flashes. Someone else had the same idea, and their grenade exploded first, followed quickly by Danny’s.
Jumping to his feet, Danny ran forward, emptying the MP5 before diving flat on the ground, next to a Marine. He slapped a new magazine into his weapon and fired a few rounds. There was no return fire, but just to be sure, he threw another grenade.
“Come on, Marine, come on!” he yelled, jumping to his feet after it exploded. As Danny took a step, a fresh burst of automatic rifle fire stoked up from the right and he threw himself back down. He didn’t fire back; he had people in that direction and in the scramble now couldn’t be positive who was where. He tried crawling forward but the ground began percolating with gunfire.