Extraction (John Taylor #8) - Chapter 9

The plan started to fall apart almost as soon as they got moving. The truck that was only making a pass once an hour or so came and went around the compound, but Webb never signaled. They waited almost ten minutes for some kind of sign as the men got more and more antsy. Finally, as Stone was about to send a man around to check on Webb, the truck came through again.

That alone would have had Taylor pulling back and observing the compound again, since a plan that started falling apart before any contact was made was never a good plan. Although, this could also be because they’d only watched the truck make two circuits of the compound before setting their plan, which really hadn’t been enough to start making assumptions about an enemy’s patterns.

While he was in the service, his team would sometimes spend a week or more in a hide, just watching and building up patterns and profiles of their target. They’d listen to them on the radio, see who talked to whom, to the point where they almost thought they knew the men they’d shortly be fighting. A two-hour recon was beyond rushed.

Stone then made the second major error a team leader could make. He’d made a plan and he wasn’t willing to alter it, even when it fell apart this fast. Maybe that was partially Taylor’s fault, since in challenging Stone so aggressively, changing plans now would almost be like losing face. Either way, Stone had was pot committed to his plan.

They watched the truck circle around and disappear behind the building again. A few minutes in, Taylor could tell they were getting really nervous. What if the truck did a third sweep? At that point, it’d be impossible to keep going with the original plan. Taylor almost hoped it would come around again, since that would force Stone into slowing things down and doing this more methodically. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen.

After a few minutes, Webb’s voice suddenly came over the comms channel saying, “Dismounted. You’re good to go.”

“Stone,” Taylor said as Stone started to shift up, readying to give the command. “They changed their pattern. We should pull back and set up to observe them through the day.”

“Shut up,” he said, furious. “Either get with the program or stay here. I don’t care which.”

He didn’t stop to get Taylor’s response.

“Let’s go,” he said to the guys around him, all of whom scrabbled over the small rise they’d been holding behind and rushing towards the back wall of the compound.

Taylor followed in close behind them, slamming his back into the stucco wall. Although no one was on this side of the compound, everyone still tried to flatten themselves against the wall. They’d all been through similar training and keeping a minimal profile had been drilled into all of them before they ever left boot.

The pause only lasted a second, with Stone and Dunn checking their groups to make sure everyone had made it this far before the two groups broke apart. Taylor was at the back of his line of four as they circled around the southeast corner of the building and stacked up, waiting to turn the southwest corner and make for the gate.

Taylor couldn’t imagine why the compound didn’t have any kind of ditching or fence to create an outer perimeter, especially in a place like this. Maybe the Northbridge team only thought it was temporary and didn’t see the need for improvements, but this was almost certainly how the militia had been able to get on them so unnoticed. Of course, the militia should’ve realized they’d suffer from the same vulnerability and do something other than sending a truck around the building periodically.

With no lights except the light that spilled out of the gate, there was little chance anyone standing there would see a person peeking around the corner to watch them.

“Go,” Stone said over the comms.

Their team took off, circling wide. The trucks were mostly on the south side of the gate, parked randomly instead of in neat rows, which is why they’d been picked to swing out. Had there been more lighting, this would have been a dangerous move, since there was a good bit of open ground from the corner of the compound to the trucks, but as dark as it was, the guards would lose time pointing lights in this direction, assuming they had them, by which time they’d all be under cover.

Taylor would not have wanted to do this move in the daytime, that was for sure.

There was some commotion at the front gate as the guards tried to figure out where all the noise created by both teams running feet was coming from. Taylor half expected Stones team to start blazing away as they ran up, giving the guys inside time to react sooner, but surprisingly, they maintained discipline.

Had it been Taylor’s plan, he would have tried to take out the handful of guys silently, getting them further into the compound before the alarm was sounded. For a former SEAL, Stone was incredibly straightforward, seeming to prefer direct action over anything more subtle. While it had the benefit of being straightforward and simple, it meant that he’d been dealing with the opposition before they even got into the large building that made up the bulk of the compound and covered the entire southern third of the walled-in area.

Taylor couldn’t see where Stone was until he fired the first few shots, the muzzle flashes shinning against the stucco walls, backlighting him and O’Brien, who were running two abreast, for a moment. The guards had been looking in their direction, and they were caught totally unaware, all five going down in seconds. It was well handled, but the gunfire was loud, echoing off the walls and surrounding hills, filling the night with sound.

As soon as the guards were down, Taylor and the other two men with him moved. They’d eventually be joined by Webb who was probably scrambling down the outcropping he’d been observing from and running to join them. Stone’s team, since they’d been closer when they’d started firing, were through the door first. Stone and O’Brien didn’t even pause to wait for Dunn and Ellis to catch up with them, since they had more room to cover before joining them at the south building.

By the time Taylor got to the gate, Lopez and Patrick from Stone’s team had already peeled off and taken up spots inside the two little buildings on either side of the gate, taking up guard positions. He couldn’t see Stone and O’Brien, which meant they’d already gone through the western entrance to the large building, and they could already hear gunfire coming from inside. The plan had been for Dunn and Ellis to circle around the other direction, checking out the handful of standalone buildings before going through the eastern entrance to the main building, but as soon as gunfire started sounding off inside, they skipped that, running across the open courtyard towards their entrance.

Taylor was floored. They knew this place was crawling with hostiles, which is why they’d planned to use the buildings, hopping along with cover until they got to the door. The open center of the compound was a deathtrap. Not even Stone had been dumb enough to suggest they run straight across.

They’d made it halfway through when the first hostile came through the eastern door. Patrick was on it and gunned him down, but there were more inside and they were smart enough to use the doorway as cover, keeping the gate team from doing more than peppering the walls and door, trying to suppress them. It didn’t work and both Dunn and Ellis were gunned down two-thirds of the way across, their bodies dropping hard as bullets kicked up dirt around them, tearing off chunks of their clothing and packs.

Webb had just made it inside and was moving to go to them, maybe in some desperate attempt to pull the men to safety, when Taylor grabbed the back of his pack and pulled him back behind the gateway buildings.

“They’re gone,” he shouted over the sounds of Lopez and Patrick trying to hold the men back.

“What about Stone?” Webb yelled back.

The answer came almost instantly, as the western door banged open and a militia member began firing. Maybe Stone and O’Brien had gotten far enough into the building that these guys could get around them, but it was just as likely that they were both down as well. The entire plan had been stupid from the beginning, but Taylor had hoped they’d make enough progress to at least let him make a play for the hostages. That wasn’t happening now. There was too much open ground between him and the main building where they were almost certainly being held, and the way guys kept bubbling out of the doorways, going inside was a death sentence.

For now, Webb, Lopez, and Patrick were doing a good job suppressing the hostiles, keeping them holed up inside the doorways. Occasionally one of them would get brave and try and make a run to one of the other buildings, maybe trying to flank the gate team, and get gunned down.

This couldn’t go on for long, though. There were just too many people inside that building and the gate team only had so much ammunition. Eventually, they’d run dry and get overrun.

“We need to pull back,” he yelled at Patrick. “We can’t hold here.”

“No! Stone’s still inside. We need to hold the gate until they come back.”

“Are you blind! There are hostiles coming out of both doors. Stone is captured or dead. If you stay here, you’ll die too.”

“I’m not leaving,” Webb said, and switched magazines, continuing to put pressure on the doorways. “We’re staying until Stone comes back.”

Taylor was floored. These guys were all supposed to have some combat experience. How could they not see how bad their position was?

He was just trying to decide his next move when Lopez went down to his left. He’d learned a little too far out of the doorway and caught a bullet. It was bad luck, mostly, since the guys firing from inside the main building were doing so mostly blind. Bullets were smashing against the walls around them, but it was almost random. They couldn’t get clean shots until the gate team slowed their suppressive fire, which would probably happen in the next few minutes, based on how fast they were burning through ammo.

Taylor looked at Lopez writhing on the ground, and made up his mind. Pulling one of the grenades from his web harness, he pulled the pin, counted, and tossed it towards the eastern door, which was the only one that had a clean shot towards where Lopez had fallen. Part of Taylor had hoped it would have gone inside the doorway, since that would have bought them more time, but it was a long throw over one of the sheds next to the gate and it bounced off the wall next to the door, landing next to one of the bodies that had fallen just outside the door.

It was good enough for Taylor though. He was already moving before it went off and already had Lopez’s ruck and harness off of him when it exploded. He didn’t know if he’d managed to get anyone, but even if he did, it would have only been one shooter, since the firing from that doorway started back up after a few seconds’ lull.

That had been enough time, however. The heavy pack unhooked, Taylor threw Lopez over his shoulders and started to make his way out of the door. The weight was also too much, but he didn’t have to go far as he staggered through the gate and outside the compound.

“Where are you going,” Webb yelled at Taylor.

Taylor didn’t reply. He’d already made his argument and this wasn’t the time for a discussion. They could follow him, or they could stay and die. If they were stupid enough to stay, Taylor was at least going to use them as a distraction.

The guard’s pickup was still parked right in front of the gate and still running. He dumped Lopez in the bed of the truck, throwing his rucksack next to him as sounds of gunfire still echoed across the small valley.

He glanced over briefly as he slid into the driver’s seat and noted Webb, who’d taken up Lopez’s previous position, was now lying prone on the ground. That meant only Patrick was left. He felt bad for abandoning the man, but he’d given him the chance to run and the idiot hadn’t seen how hopeless the situation was.

Taylor threw the truck into gear and took off, following the road north, away from the compound. He wasn’t worried about anyone inside the compound hearing the truck. Firefights were loud, more so when you’re firing from inside a structure. Anyone in that compound’s ears would be ringing for the next several hours. They’d probably notice the missing truck first, but that would take time. Even though Stone’s plan had gotten everyone killed, or at least wounded, they’d killed a fair number of the hostiles, so it would take time to recover. Besides, they wouldn’t send men out far looking for them, since they were still in another warlord’s territory.

Taylor drove north, pushing the beat-up old truck as hard as he could until he found a place that looked safe enough to stop. The elevation had continued to slope up gradually but steadily the further north he’d gone, since the road also veered slightly inland, further into the rocky foothills. In this case, it was at the top of a large rise about a mile and a half north of the compound.

Although it was maybe thirty feet higher than they had been at the compound, the way it had been situated made it impossible to see from where he was. He could, however, see most of the road he’d just driven across, and so far there were no vehicles following behind him, which meant either they didn’t realize that he’d left or they were too concerned about more attacks or their own wounded to bother chasing him.

Taylor pulled off the road and whipped the truck sideways so he could still see the road behind him while he checked on Lopez, just in case.

Lopez was still conscious, moaning as Taylor climbed over the side of the truck and into the truck bed with him. The first step was to find the wounds. Most of his gear was starting to become slick with blood and there was a small pool of it on the bed of the truck, making it harder to find where the kid was actually hit.

The first step was to start pulling off some of the kids’ equipment and search for rips or tears in the clothing, and reaching into his clothes and feeling for punctures in the skin.

The first one had been fairly easy to find, since a small shard of bone was sticking out of the kid’s pants leg where a bullet had shattered one of the two bones in his lower leg, although Taylor wasn’t sure which. He pulled out his knife and cut off the pants, washing the area with water before wrapping it in a bandage. Although it continued to bleed after he’d washed off the wound, it wasn’t gushing in a way a cut artery would bleed, so Taylor only bandaged the wound tightly, to contain the bleeding for now. Lopez screamed out as the bandage tightened against the bone, but the pain would be better than bleeding to death.

Taylor continued to check the man over, looking for other places he’d been hit. He found a second hole in Lopez’s side, but it was clean through the meat and the exit wound wasn’t significantly larger than the entrance, so it hadn’t been a hollow point or something else nasty that could have caused more internal damage. Taylor washed both the entry and exit wounds and bandaged them.

Lopez was fading in and out of consciousness, but his breathing was clear and he still had a decent pulse. The loss of consciousness was worrying him. He hadn’t found any more bullet wounds and the strong pulse and breathing meant he wasn’t hit in the lungs and he probably didn’t have an internal bleed. While the pain from his leg would probably be intense, it also didn’t seem enough to be making Lopez groggy like he was. Unconsciousness from pain was usually total, not an in and out kind of thing like he was doing.

He did have a darkening spot on the side of his head which could be the early stages of a bruise, which might mean he banged his head or something, which could mean a concussion, but there was nothing Taylor could do about that. He didn’t want to leave Lopez in the bed of the truck, rolling around in the drying blood and banging his leg up any worse, so Taylor manhandled him out of the back of the truck and into the passenger seat. Lopez had fully passed out by this point, which was probably good considering how roughly Taylor was handling him.

They didn’t have a lot of time and they were still too close to the compound for Taylor to take time being gentle about it. He drove at more reasonable speeds, since they were not being chased, north. He knew there was a village, and he needed to get someplace clean where he could leave Lopez while he tried to salvage this disaster. With Lopez out of it, he couldn’t just find a place in the desert to drop the kid, since if a wild animal didn’t get him, the elements would. Once Taylor left, there was no telling how long it would take him to get back, and Lopez was in no position to watch out for himself.

The problem was, this was hostile territory. His first thought was to call Wheeler and see if he could arrange some kind of evac out, but Wheeler had made it clear that they weren’t going to come for them until they were both far enough away and the job was complete. He’d made it very clear that, even with Taylor sort of working for, or at least with, him, Taylor was on his own. Had he managed to get some kind of tangible evidence Wheeler could have used, he might have been able to work something out, but he didn’t.

Taylor kicked himself mentally as he drove further into the bluish light of dawn. He’d known this thing was going to be a disaster from the moment Stone had started to lay out his plans, and it had become more clear each step of a way how little chance these guys had of succeeding. This wasn’t the first time he’d had to deal with people so clearly ill-prepared for what they were doing, but Taylor had always managed to find a way to get things to still work out in his favor if he was just patient and watched for his opportunity. Maybe that had happened too many times and Taylor had become reliant on it, instead of making his own opportunities. Maybe there was something more proactive he could have been doing but didn’t that could have gotten him the opening he needed. Instead, Taylor never got past the gate and only had one wounded kid and a bunch of dead assholes to show for it.

“Fuck,” Taylor shouted, hitting the steering wheel hard with the heel of his hand.

He could see the little village, back-lit against the sunrise, coming up in the distance and slowed down, pulling off the road. So far he’d been stalling for time, driving north to ‘get away,’ but mostly trying to figure out what to do next. He wasn’t working for the army this time or any official functionary, so there was no one he could call for backup.

He got out of the vehicle and climbed into the back of its bed, avoiding the mostly dried pools of Lopez’s blood, and looked back the way he came. There was still no sign of anyone following them, although they’d hit a plateau at this point and he’d lost some visibility of the road, hence his attempt to see more standing on the truck.

They were in a foreign nation that the US currently had no significant military presence in. White Mountain might have secured rights to come in country, since the country’s government might not care if they were distracting some of the militias they’d been struggling against for decades, but that was a far different thing than the US government being involved, which was why Stone hadn’t been able to get transportation in and why Taylor couldn’t call Caldwell or anyone else in the US to get them out.

They might owe him favors, but they weren’t about to create an international incident to pay them out. His other contacts, while they had more leeway to help, wouldn’t have the means. They might be able to offer up supplies, additional contacts, or information, but they couldn’t whip up a helo to fly in and pick them up.

Taylor was still listing off and striking through options when a sound from the short but sharp drop-off to his left where the leveling for the road ended. He pulled his sidearm and aimed it in the direction of the noise, only to see a small boy peak his head up over the ledge, his eyes wide at the weapon.

Taylor recognized the boy as the goat herder Stone had pushed shortly after they came ashore. He didn’t see any of the goats, so the child must have gotten back and put them in their pen, or wherever herders left their animals when they were out grazing them. Taylor lowered his weapon and held up a hand as the boy started to dart back below the ledge.

“It’s okay,” he said in Arabic. “You just startled me. I won’t hurt you.”

The kid nodded and pulled himself up and over the ledge, standing just on the edge of the gravel and dirt road, ready to jump down again if things changed.

“Is … is he hurt,” the child asked, nodding his head to Lopez, who was in the passenger’s seat, his head against the window.

“Yes. Is there a place nearby where I can take him?” Taylor asked, hoping the kid knew about an abandoned building or some kind of structure where he could leave Lopez without worrying that the man would become a snack for the African wildlife.

The kid seemed to think really hard and nodded, running back down the road towards the small village, “Come.”

“Wait,” Taylor shouted. “Come back.”

The kid skidded to a stop and looked scared again before he saw that Taylor was climbing into the truck again. For a moment, he thought the kid was going to lead them directly through the village, which might be bad, since there was no telling which of the people here would tell the warlord who did control this area that two Americans were hiding in town. The guy may not care that his rival had lost a lot of men to the Americans, especially since they shouldn’t be in his territory anyways, but he would see them as a money-making opportunity. Taylor didn’t have time to become a hostage on his own.

Thankfully, just before they came up to the village, he turned and ran around the outer edge of it, stopping behind a clay brick house where there seemed to be more mortar than actual brick used in the construction. One wall also seemed to have been repaired with some kind of blue corrugated metal that must have been salvaged from somewhere. Thankfully, this was a stable settlement and not one of the more nomadic villages that were common in some rural areas of the country, with their portable huts made out of canvas and other fabrics.

The village wasn’t a flat square and was more ragged in appearance, so this house sat off a bit from the rest, closer to the edge of the plateau the village sat on. It hadn’t left much room for the truck, but it did mean they were a little more separated from the other people in the village. He could hear a few vehicles moving around so there’s a chance that the beat-up old truck, imported from who knows where, might not have drawn enough attention to make the neighbors, as they were, curious.

Taylor got out of the truck and walked around it to stand next to the kid, looking around to see if they’d drawn any attention. He didn’t know how often trucks drove through here and he hadn’t seen any vehicles park, at least not on the road they’d seen going into the village. Either it was at least a little normal or it was early enough that everyone was asleep, but no one had come out of their small house or hut to check on it.

“In here?” Taylor asked.

“Yes. My mother can help. Bring him inside.”

“Let’s talk to your parents first,” Taylor said, motioning him to go inside.

Lopez wasn’t doing well, but Taylor didn’t want to haul him out of the truck just to find out this wasn’t the place to be and have to carry him right back, since that could make his wounds worse. Besides, the kid may seem friendly, but if the parents were hostile, he’d need to make a fast getaway.

The kid walked through a door, which was more of a sheet hanging over an opening, calling for his parents. Taylor pulled the sheet aside and looked around. Thankfully, it wasn’t bright enough outside for his eyes to need much adjusting, since standing backlit in a doorway wasn’t the best move, safety-wise.

Their house was one room, with a mattress and a bedroll of some kind on one side and a little wood stove on the other, with a large metal drum standing next to it. There was no sign of either running water or a toilet, which wasn’t unexpected for these kinds of small, impoverished villages.

There were two adults on the mattress, partially under a thin blanket. His mother rolled over to admonish her child for being so loud so early when she noticed Taylor and recoiled, a look of terror on her face.

“It’s okay,” Taylor said in Arabic, assuming that if their child spoke it, they would too. “I’m not going to hurt you. I have a friend who’s hurt and your son offered us help.”

She looked to her son and back to Taylor before saying, “We can’t help you. Go away.”

“Mama, we have to help him.”

“Maxamed, be quiet.”

“Mama, he’s the man I met last night when I was trying to bring back the lost goats. He stopped the other man from shooting me and told me to run home.”

“Please. He’s badly hurt.”

She looked at her son again, her mouth a thin line. Maxamed’s father woke up to all the speaking and froze when he saw Taylor, just like his wife had.

She placed a hand on his arm to calm him and said, “Bring him inside.”

“Thank you,” Taylor said, looking over the single room once more before ducking out through the door curtain.

He opened the door and tried to pull Lopez out gently, but the man still groaned slightly. He wasn’t really conscious, but he wasn’t all the way out either. He was in this kind of half-sleep that seemed very bad to Taylor.

Picking him up, Taylor walked back to the house and paused before going inside. There was a chance having him go back out was a ruse, since who knows if they had a gun stashed in there or not. His shadow must have fallen under the curtain, since after a few seconds Maxamed pulled it aside and waved Taylor in. He seemed fairly free of guile and Taylor needed someplace for Lopez to recuperate while he figured out his next move.

Inside, the parents were up. The husband still looked suspicious, glancing back at them as he kneeled next to their little stove, trying to light it. The mother had gotten her hijab in place, and was putting a blanket or sheet over the small bedroll next to their bed, which Taylor assumed was where Maxamed normally slept.

“Put him here,” she said, stepping back.

Taylor lay him down and she shooed him away, her hands lifting up the bandages.

“He needs a doctor.”

“I know. I’m going to try to get someone for him soon, but I can’t yet and I can’t take him to a hospital. If the men who control this area find out there are foreigners here …”

“They will take you hostage,” the woman said, finishing his sentence. “Are you American?”

“Yes.”

“Military?”

“No. We came to retrieve hostages taken by the Muharibi Allah at the old fort south of here.”

“Those people,” the husband growled behind them, next to the stove.

“They’ve been here?” Taylor asked.

They hadn’t made a move this way after the assault and Taylor hoped they’d kept themselves to the immediate area around the compound. If they’d been coming this far north, they might come out here again, and they would definitely be interested if they heard about Americans suddenly showing up in the village hours after the failed assault.

“Yes. They came two days ago, killed two of our men, and stole everything they could. They destroyed several homes and scattered our herd, just to amuse themselves.”

Taylor stopped holding his breath. If they’d treated the people here that badly, these people were unlikely to turn them over to Barsane’s men. It also explained why the kid was out there in the middle of the night. In this culture everyone worked, even the kids, and sometimes that meant letting them go off into the night to retrieve animals that could mean the difference between starving or not.

“I can keep his wounds clean and see to his fever, but if this bone is not set, he will get an infection.”

“I know. I have some medicine I can leave with you that might help. I’ll try and get someone here to pick him up soon.”

“You’re leaving him here?” the husband said, sounding both shocked and angry.

“Yes. I have to go contact our people and see if there is any way they can retrieve him. Can I leave him with you today? Please?”

Taylor didn’t know these people, but he’d helped their son and they didn’t seem immediately hostile and hadn’t kicked them out yet.

“What will you pay us?” the husband asked.

“Abdulla!” his wife said admonishingly.

Taylor had actually expected that. Even if Barsane’s men didn’t come back, there was still danger in harboring what was, to the people who lived here at least, an American soldier. They wouldn’t distinguish between the official US military and a military contractor, especially not with how often guys like White Mountain were used by companies that themselves were contracted by the military. To the people who lived in these areas, they were all the same thing.

“I don’t have much on me, but I will see what I can do about getting something for everything you’re doing for me.”

The husband snorted and began ladling water out of the large drum into a bowl. He clearly didn’t believe Taylor and the wife looked slightly embarrassed, although she didn’t say anything once Taylor had offered. Taylor checked over Lopez once more. He was breathing and seemed stable enough, although for all Taylor knew he could be on the brink of death.

“I have to leave for a little while. I’ll be back for him,” Taylor said.

The woman nodded and the man said nothing.

Taylor left, pushing through the curtain and making sure the coast was clear before heading out. It was almost the time people would be getting up. When he came back, he’d need to stash the truck somewhere nearby and walk in from the direction behind the family’s home, to avoid being seen.

Taylor pulled himself into the truck and checked his weapons before turning its engine over and retracing his way around the village and down the south road. Going back was stupid, and he knew it, but short of walking to a major city and trying to buy transport to somewhere friendly, which wasn’t a safe proposition in this part of the world, he had to find some way to complete this mission if he was going to get anyone out to safety.

Step one was to carefully evaluate where things stood after the botched raid, and then figure out a plan from there.