On Target - By Mark Greaney Page 0,122

seen no evidence that the opposition knew where they were.

Hightower had seen enough combat in his life to recognize that the main thing they’d had going for them was the confusion on the part of their enemy. He was certain the Sudanese Army had no idea they were only up against five men, and these five men were not holding their president hostage as a human shield. If they did know the only threat was right here in these buildings by the souk near the water, they would simply concentrate all their forces here, blast the hell out of the malls, and kill everything that moved inside.

Five men, no matter how good their training, could do nothing against that sort of assault.

And it was starting to look like five men had become four. Spencer had not transmitted since disappearing out the window to divert the attention of the helicopter ten minutes earlier. It was possible he’d lost his radio or the signal between the buildings was broken, but Sierra One thought it likely that Sierra Five had made it across the souk, only to stumble into a superior force of GOS infantry on the other side.

Still, Zack and his men were heading carefully through mall Bravo now in an attempt to find their comrade.

Hightower’s sat phone vibrated. He pressed the answer button, which put the call through to his tactical headset.

“Hey, Six. You chillaxing on the beach with a mai tai?”

Gentry’s voice came through the line. “We’re secure. You?”

“Knee-deep in it. About fifty yards from the water, three blocks north of the causeway. Still in sporadic contact. Haven’t been able to shake the GOS long enough to slip away. How’s your back? Run into any more Comanches out on the trail?”

“I’ll live. You need me there?”

“Sure you can put Oryx on ice?”

“Affirmative. I’ll tie him up and drug him. He’s not going anywhere.”

“Alright, then get on your horse and get over here ASAP. We need you to bring us some wheels, get us some kind of sitrep as to the concentration of OPFOR in the streets. I was thinking you might be able to come in low-pro from the west, score us a ride, and then move close enough to lead our exfil back to it.”

“Shit, Zack, want me to pick you up a fucking Happy Meal while I’m at it?”

Zack chuckled as he knelt in a shop that made and sold tin pots and pans. Brad was ahead, clearing a doorway with his scavenged Type 81 rifle. Dan was behind with Milo. “Man, where did you learn to be such a smart-ass?” It was a rhetorical question; Zack knew the answer. “The only burger meat around here is going to be Whiskey Sierra unless you come and pull our asses off the grill.”

Zack heard the sigh, but he also knew his former operator would comply with nothing more than a little bitching and moaning. “Roger that, I’m on the way. I’ll use the radio when I get in range.”

“Good boy. On your way over here, I want you to call the Hannah and let them know where you stashed the president. Just in case none of us make it out, they can come in and pick him up.”

“Roger that. Six out.”

It took a half hour for Gentry to get Oryx secure, change his shirt to something less torn and bloodstained, cover his head with a turban, siphon fuel from a parked cargo truck to gas up the Mercedes, and get back into Suakin’s city limits. He almost took the truck and left the Mercedes behind, but the old, heavy, diesel sedan was serving him well at the moment, it had not been compromised by the enemy, and the truck looked like shit, even by the lousy standards of what passed for motor vehicles around here. Heading back into the target zone, he passed army trucks and police cars moving in all directions, and bewildered civvies doing the same.

Overhead a pair of old American F5 fighter jets, flown by the Sudanese Air Force, etched figure-eight-shaped contrails in the bright blue sky.

There did not seem to be much cohesion to the movements of the military forces, which Gentry took as a good sign. From the look of it, the Sudanese had no idea how big an opposition force they were up against. With Gentry’s movements to the southeast of the square, the two operators in buildings in the square, the van shooting its way around the entire town, and the brief

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