The Panther

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE


We didn’t want to go into Ta’iz with shot-up vehicles, and Mike also explained that Ta’iz was a hotbed of Al Qaeda and anti-government activity, and that the Commies were still strong there.

Sounded like the San Francisco of Yemen.

The good news was that the Predators had spotted an open gas station outside of town. The Predators are better than GPS—they shoot missiles.

Anyway, we followed Brenner’s vehicle and up ahead we saw the gas station.

Brenner got on the radio and said, “Vehicles One and Five, fill up. Everyone else take up positions.”

Mike parked on the side of the road with the engine running, as did Buck’s and Kate’s SUVs, while the lead and trail vehicles pulled up to the two pumps.

Brenner, carrying his M4, got out of the SUV and went to the trail vehicle to check on Zamo.

Buck, also armed, got out, and Clare said, “I need to make a house call,” and exited with her medical bag.

I got out, too, carrying my M4, and checked out my surroundings as I walked. The gas pumps were modern, but the parking area was dirt, and the building was a small concrete-block hut, from which emerged six Yemenis in ratty white robes, all carrying their Yemeni walking sticks, a.k.a. AK-47s. I haven’t seen this much firepower at a gas station since my road trip through Alabama.

Two of the Yemenis were the gas attendants—no self-service here—and the other four were nosy. They checked out the shot-up Land Cruisers, and Buck was conversing with them. I had no idea what he was saying, but he should tell them we were just shooting at each other for laughs. They’d totally believe it.

Clare had gotten into Zamo’s SUV, and Brenner had his head stuck in the window. He made room for me and I poked my head in. Zamo was sitting in the rear seat, and Clare was unwrapping a bloody first-aid pressure bandage from his left forearm.

I asked him, “How you doing?”

“I’d be doing better if people stopped asking me.”

Clare got the bandage off and said, “This is not bad.”

“I know that,” said Zamo.

“I’ll clean and dress it, and maybe suture it when we get to the hotel.” She handed Zamo a vial of antibiotics and asked him, “You want a painkiller?”

“No.”

Brenner asked the doctor, “Is he okay for duty?”

Zamo himself answered, “Good to go.”

Everything seemed under control here, so I walked into the station hut looking for the restroom, and thinking maybe I could buy a few Slim Jims and a Dr Pepper. But there was nothing in the hut except some white plastic chairs and a prayer rug. Which way is Mecca?

Buck joined me and said, “The restrooms are out back.”

We went through an open doorway where there was a slit trench, and we held our noses and dicks and did our business, joined by a few of the DSS guys, in shifts, then Brenner, then Kate, who asked, “Who left the toilet seat up?”

We stood watch with our backs to Kate as she used the unisex trench. This was a great bonding experience, and I was sure there’d be more of them in the Badlands.

Anyway, the A-team was all assembled, so we used the opportunity for a quick meeting before we got back on the road.

Buck informed us, “I’ve reported the incident to the embassy by sat-phone, and they have relayed my report to Washington.” He added, “The State Department will notify the Yemeni government. But we are not admitting to any unauthorized use of Hellfire missiles.”

I pointed out, “I don’t think rifle fire can cause that kind of damage, Buck.”

It was Mr. Brenner who replied. “Small-arms fire can detonate roadside bombs and fuel tanks.” He added, “The Yemenis don’t have the sophisticated forensics to determine otherwise.”

Right. Whatever.

Kate then said, “Howard may want to report this as it happened.”

Buck said to Kate, “Tell him I’d like a word with him.”

Kate nodded and left.

Buck explained to me and Brenner, “It’s important that there are no conflicting accounts of what happened.”

“Right,” I agreed. “Especially true accounts.”

Buck further explained, “We were the victims of an apparent Al Qaeda attack. We don’t want to be seen as aggressors or provocateurs.” Buck also informed us, “There are certain groups in the States who are not in favor of our Hellfire assassination program.” He added, “This incident, if it became public, could be misinterpreted as offensive rather than defensive.”

Right. We don’t want to upset human rights groups in the States with our HAPPY program—Hellfire Assassination Program to Pacify Yemen. I made that up.

Buck also said, “It is important that we four are not declared persona non grata and asked to leave Yemen.”

I agreed, but pointed out, “If it wasn’t for the Hellfires, we’d all be declared persona non breathing.”

Buck ignored that and continued, “This attack, along with the Hunt Oil attack, will cause Washington to re-evaluate our military mission in Yemen.” He added, “Just as the Cole did.”

Right. So, bottom line here, you sometimes need an attack to get things going your way. The Alamo, the Maine, Pearl Harbor, the Gulf of Tonkin, the USS Cole, and so forth. Sometimes the attack is an unprovoked surprise, and sometimes it isn’t.

Howard appeared from the hut, spotted the trench, and used it. He then said to me, “I don’t know how I can ever repay you for inviting me along.”

“I’ll think of something.”

Buck had already thought of something and said to Howard, “This is a national security matter, Howard, and a sensitive diplomatic matter at the highest level.” He added, “Please do not say anything to anyone that would jeopardize this mission.”

Or we’ll kill you.

Howard, practicing not saying anything to anyone, just nodded, then left.

We all assembled in front of the station. The Land Cruisers were topped off, the windshields were cleaned of mortal remains, and we got in our vehicles. Gentlemen, start your engines. And off we went, southeast toward Aden.

Brenner transmitted, “Predators still on station until we reach our destination.” He added, “Two new Predators with Hellfires on the way.”

Great. So, what did we learn from our drive in the country? Well, we learned that Al Qaeda knew of our trip to Aden—but that was almost a given. We learned, too, that Al Qaeda was willing and able to attack an armored American convoy. They were getting their act together. What Al Qaeda didn’t know, however, or didn’t expect, was Hellfire missiles—and that was because the Yemeni government idiots usually said no to Hellfires. But we solved that problem by not asking. This was a new game.

What we didn’t know was if Al Qaeda knew that Mr. John Corey was in the convoy. But we could assume they did. In fact, Al Qaeda knew that John Corey and Kate Mayfield would be in Yemen before we knew we were going. What we didn’t know was if The Panther was now in Paradise, or in Marib, or someplace else. Wherever he was, he was pissed.

Good. I was pissed, too.