As the troop of men continued landing, the first two jumpers to touch down approached me, both toting their kit bags before depositing them at the treeline.
“Suicide?” one asked, watching me with his four-monocled night vision device.
“In the flesh,” I said. “You the point man?”
“Yeah. Bronson.”
I’d done my best to map out a series of checkpoints between this clearing and the MSS, planning a route that would keep the assault force out of the thorns and away from clearings. Those points were now loaded on the wrist-mounted GPS he checked presently, orienting himself in the direction we’d be moving as his partner pulled security.
I cautioned him, “After the MSS, best route is anyone’s guess—my guys cloverleafed to the objective, so I’m not sure what the terrain will be like.”
“No sweat, we’ll find our way.”
The final jumpers were touching down as a new trio of operators approached, dropping their kit bags on top of the pile as the point man turned to them and called out quietly, “Right here, boss.”
The central figure stopped in front of me and said, “Danforth, GFC. How’d you guys get on target so fast?”
“We were in the area for another thing. Got lucky.”
Turning to appraise the drop zone, where waves of shooters were hauling in their parachute equipment, he responded, “I want you to stay behind me in formation. We’ll be following a recce element and a few assault teams.”
“You got it. Once you’re in position, my surveillance positions can open fire on your mark—”
“Hell no,” he said. “We’re going to get as close as humanly possible before we start shooting. Then we’ll be moving through the camp at a sprint. I want your surveillance positions to hold their fire, period.”
I recoiled at the comment, then realized that for all these guys knew, we were a few cowboys from Ground Branch with questionable marksmanship abilities. Given that this was a hostage rescue, every shot had to be surgical, and no one in the world did it better than Delta.
“No problem,” I said, watching the operators consolidate in a perimeter around us. “It’s your show. Just let us know how we can help.”
“My guys are tracking your men’s surveillance positions and will control their fire accordingly. But I don’t want your people to move until I get the all-clear, then direct you to have them activate strobes and consolidate on the objective. Any updates at the camp?”
I lifted my ruck from the ground beside me, worming my arms through the straps as I replied.
“None of the hostages have moved from the dome tent. No piss breaks, nothing. My guys believe Usman is with them. Still three guys in perimeter security out of eight total, and I can get any updates you need en route.”
“Good,” he said, “hang on a sec.”
Pausing to listen as various callsigns checked in over their radio frequency, the accountability ended with the commander transmitting, “Recce, lead us out.”
Their point man led the way, trailing a wedge formation of assaulters.
Another wave of shooters filed into the woods before the commander took his place in the patrol, waving at me to follow. He was flanked by a unit radio operator on one side and an Air Force combat controller on the other, both of whom made quiet transmissions at various points to carry out his guidance. An hour ago these guys were leaping off the ramp at 20,000 feet to begin a high-altitude, cross-country canopy flight to the landing area, and now they were en route to the objective as casually as if this were a routine training patrol.
Staying a few meters behind the commander as the assault force slipped north through the Sambisa Forest, I keyed my team radio and whispered, “Assault force is on the ground. We’re beginning movement.”
18
Ian remained under the cover of the hide site, now its sole occupant.
He’d offered to accompany David to the drop zone, of course, but his team leader had been adamant that the hide site was a much safer place to wait. If he got smoked on his way to meet the incoming Delta shooters, he said, the assault would proceed regardless—and there was no need for Ian to risk his life.
So Ian waited alone in the darkness, acting as an observation post to listen for enemy movement ahead of the assault force. As he did so, he felt a mounting sense of unease.
Everyone on the team had their concerns, but Ian’s had nothing to do with the tactical situation ahead and everything to do with the appearance of seven hostages on their objective. They’d only expected five, of which only three had been positively identified; a fourth was very likely the remaining oil executive that Cancer had spotted but been unable to confirm. Even if the fifth hostage was one of the two that Cancer had been unable to see clearly—a very big if, in Ian’s mind—then who were the additional two hostages, one of them a woman?
But when Ian proposed questions about the two additional captives, the general consensus from his teammates had been, who cares? They’d come for five hostages and would help save seven instead. Sweet.
For Ian, however, that abnormality marked the onset of a disturbing series of questions that had no answers. Sure, it was theoretically possible that Boko Haram had snatched two targets of opportunity somewhere between Lagos and the Sambisa Forest. That wasn’t, however, what had occurred—Usman had taken a substantial force across Nigeria, far from their secure territory in the northeast, to the delta region where his organization rarely operated, all to conduct a remarkably sophisticated kidnapping attempt that indicated weeks if not months of detailed planning. He’d even lost a trail vehicle in his convoy to Ian’s team, ditched his cell phone, and still proceeded.
Nowhere in that chain of events was there room to seize a pair of accidental hostages, particularly when the consequences risked Usman exposing his entire operation. No, Ian thought, the terrorist leader knew exactly who he was snatching and why, and the explanation would only become clear if and when Delta succeeded in securing the camp.
Cancer transmitted then, speaking in a tone of disbelief.
“They really said we’re not supposed to shoot anybody? Like, zero shots fired?”
Ian shook his head. Even now, no one but him cared about anything other than the tactical particulars.
David replied, “The commander was very clear on that point. They’re going to assault directly between your surveillance positions. And you need to stay in place until I direct you to come out—then you’ll follow their people off the objective and link up with me for the return trip.”
Now Cancer sounded professionally offended.
“What, they think we’re some kind of amateurs?”
Worthy replied, “No, they think we’re not Delta Force. And we’re not. Just let them do their thing—this isn’t their first rodeo.”
Then David transmitted, “Angel, point man is a hundred meters out. Kick on your strobe.”