TWENTY ONE.
Each step was taken
with great care. Smaller rocks lying at odd angles were avoided
while the men searched for firmer footing.
They kept their
separation at all times, Wicker setting the pace and each man in
succession responsible for not falling too far behind or bunching
up. This very act, this art form, of moving silently through total
darkness, on an un blazed trail with a thirty-pound pack in hostile
territory was perhaps the most difficult thing for a Special Forces
soldier to master.
All four of the men
picking their way through the jungle tonight excelled at this
silent skill. They'd made steady progress since the insertion, but
the terrain did not lend itself to a rapid pace. Coleman was
beginning to doubt that they'd be in position by sunup. At the rare
moments when the jungle canopy parted he could tell the sky was
quickly going from black to dark gray. He checked his watch. The
sun would be starting its crawl over the eastern horizon.
Clutching his MP-10
in his gloved hands, Coleman looked down through his NVGs, in
search of firm footing so he could boost himself over a fallen
tree. As he placed his right foot on the moss-slick tree he looked
up to check on Wicker and froze. Charlie Wicker was standing
completely still, his right hand held up in a fist. Coleman's own
fist snapped up without hesitation, signaling the men behind him to
freeze. The former commander of SEAL Team 6 searched in vain to see
what had spooked his point man.
After several tense
moments, Wicker gestured for Coleman to join him. He could have
used his headset to call for him, but used hand signals instead.
Coleman silently slithered over the log and carefully made his way
to Wicker's position.
Wicker turned,
cupping a hand over Coleman's ear and whispered, "There's movement
up ahead."
Coleman's eyes
strained to see what he was talking about, then whispered back, "I
don't see a thing."
Wicker pointed to his
ear, meaning he'd heard something.
"Animal?" asked
Coleman.
Wicker shook his
head.
"Definitely human.
I'm going to go sneak a peek."
Coleman nodded and
shooed him on his way. Keeping his eyes on Wicker he raised his
hand above his head and gestured for Hackett and Stroble to join
him. If Wicker ran into trouble they needed to be in position to
help him out. When the other two were at his side he briefed them
on what Wicker was doing and then the three of them moved forward
one by one.
They continued up the
left side of the small creek to a point where it flattened. The
rocks were replaced by a grassy bank. They moved forward in a
crouch, treading lightly and staying close to the drooping branches
of the trees. After rounding the next slight jog in the creek
Coleman sighted Wicker about forty feet ahead of them kneeling next
to a tree. He also, for the first time, heard the voices that had
spooked his point man. It sounded like two men talking in hushed
tones.
Coleman didn't like
this development one bit. As far as islands went, Dinagat wasn't
very small. Over thirty miles in length and twelve across, there
was only one main road that ran north-south and they weren't
anywhere near it. The odds of them accidentally running into a
couple of locals at this remote juncture, and this early hour, were
minuscule.
Coleman's thoughts
drifted to the dark memory of the two SEALs who were lost on the
beach not far from where he stood. He'd seen the proof of how that
mission had been compromised, but for the life of him he couldn't
imagine how this little covert endeavor could have been blown. Rapp
had assured him that the circle of people who were in the know was
tiny. And the number of people who knew the exact specifics, such
as insertion points and times, was limited to just their war party
and the pilots who'd ferried them in.
But still, they
weren't alone out here in this jungle and it would be light soon.
Coleman watched as Wicker turned toward him with the single lens of
his NVGs protruding from his face. Wicker pointed toward his eyes
with two fingers and then held three fingers up in the air, telling
Coleman that he had three enemies in sight. Wicker then waved him
up. Coleman turned to Hackett and Stroble, pointed at them and then
held a clenched fist in the air. They both nodded their
confirmation and then Coleman moved out.
It took him the
better part of a minute to reach Wicker and on the way he noticed
the smell of tobacco in the air. This made him feel slightly
better. It was improbable that anyone waiting to ambush him and his
men would be dumb enough to smoke cigarettes, but then again,
Coleman had seen people do a lot of truly stupid things in the
field.
When he reached
Wicker's position he saw the men standing approximately fifty feet
from them. They were on the opposite side of the creek next to what
appeared to be a bridge made of fallen trees and stones. Water
trickled from under the bridge as the creek dropped several feet
into a circular pool of water that meandered its way toward them. A
thin mist hung in the air.
Coleman noted the
small waterfall and the noise it produced. The trickling sound
would help conceal their own approach. The two tangos were carrying
AK-47s with their distinctive banana clips, and the third man was
carrying a rifle that he couldn't quite make out. The weapons were
slung over their shoulders, muzzles pointed down.
Coleman frowned at
the stupidity of such a move.
Whoever these three
Filipinos were, they weren't very smart, and if they'd ever
received any formal military training, they'd already forgotten all
the important parts. After watching them for another moment Coleman
decided there was no way they were here to spring an ambush. They
were more than likely Abu Sayyaf, and the way they were acting
suggested they weren't too worried about security. If this was the
best the Islamic terrorist group had to offer, the former SEAL Team
6 commander felt pretty good about the odds of the rescue operation
succeeding.
There was also the
possibility that the men were part of a local militia or workers
for one of the island's farms. The intelligence dump he'd received
on the island told him that with Abu Sayyaf roaming about, everyone
had armed themselves.
SEALs were normally
very good at patiently waiting and watching an enemy, but right now
Coleman needed to get his team to the top of the mountain that was
still a quarter of a mile straight uphill. There were three
options. The first, most straightforward, and least desirable
option was to kill the three men and get on with their mission. If
he knew with any certainty that they were Abu Sayyaf, he'd gladly
pull the trigger himself. The downside of that, however, was that
they had to come back down the mountain when they were done, and
three missing terrorists might bring some unwanted attention to the
area.
The easiest course of
action was to do nothing. Wait until the men moved on, and then
proceed. But time was not a luxury at this point.
They needed to get
moving, and they needed to do it fast. That unfortunately meant
backtracking a bit and then moving through the jungle to get around
the men. Any way he sliced it they were running out of time.
Coleman didn't want to admit it yet, but it was looking more and
more like they wouldn't be making it to the top of the mountain on
time.
Coleman felt Wicker's
hand on his bicep. He turned to see the point man walk two fingers
in front of his face signaling that more people were approaching.
The man's hearing was supernormal. Coleman, who was no novice in
the woods, hadn't heard a thing.
Suddenly, the three
Filipinos by the bridge threw their cigarettes to the ground and
stamped them out with their sandaled feet. One by one they
un-shouldered their weapons and tried to look alert. Coleman heard
someone speaking Filipino to the men from farther up the
trail.
Suddenly, there was
another flurry of activity. Two of the men rushed to the other side
of the small bridge and took up positions as the fourth man
appeared from the jungle. Coleman saw that the man was carrying an
M16 and
Both he and Wicker
ducked behind the tree at the same time.
There was no
mistaking the profile of the new man. He had on a pair of night
vision goggles. They lay completely still behind the tree listening
for the slightest indication that they'd been spotted. After what
seemed like an eternity, Coleman peered out from the opposite side
of the tree. From his new vantage he could only see one side of the
bridge. The man with the goggles was nowhere to be seen. Carefully,
he slithered on the ground, backing up at first and then working
his way toward the creek.
Once again, with a
full view of the bridge, he found the man he was looking for. The
man had flipped his NVGs into the up position and was talking in
Filipino to the two men on the far side of the bridge. He pointed
in the opposite direction from which he'd come and the two men
immediately took off down the trail. The man with the M16 then
pulled his goggles back down and began scanning the area. Coleman
smoothly drew back behind the tree. The wisest thing for them to do
right now was to sit tight. It was better to lie still than risk
attracting attention.
Running down the list
of possibilities, Coleman wondered if their insertion had been
noticed and the guerrillas were attempting to set up a picket. If
more men arrived and they began working their way down the stream
it would be a foregone conclusion. Thinking ahead, the commander
began to plot an ambush. If they had to, they could do it on the
fly.
Coleman would leave
Wicker where he was and the commander and Hackett would collapse to
the middle. They'd let the enemy work their way down the stream far
enough until they were fully flanked by his position and then
they'd unload with Stroble and Wicker working their way from the
outside in and he and Hackett the inside out. It would not be
difficult for them to take down at least twelve men before a
warning shot was fired.
Coleman was about to
fall back when he felt Wicker tightly squeeze his arm and not let
go. Looking over, Coleman saw that his point man was looking at the
bridge from the other side of the tree.
Slowly Coleman peeked
out from behind the right side. He blinked twice
in disbelief. It took
him a moment to process what was happening on the
small bridge and
another moment to realize that his finger had moved off
the guard and onto
the thin trigger of his MP-10.