The New Enemy Page 9

  The next morning, Liam was sitting on his camp bed inside one of a number of shelters erected by the KDF, hunched over his map like a bear tucking into a picnic. After breakfast he’d been true to his word and got straight on with practising his map- and compass-reading skills. He’d also checked through his notes on star navigation. The nights out here were fully dark and the stars were bright and clear. Being able to use them to navigate was something Liam had never really considered before. But now he understood just how essential such skills were. He was still kicking himself for the error he’d made with Pearce after the dead-letter drop.

  A head poked in. ‘Got a minute, RB?’ It was Sergeant Biggs.

  ‘What is it?’ Liam asked.

  ‘Owusu has ordered CTRs on a number of key targets. He’s asked me to get my team together.’

  ‘What about Waterman’s lot?’

  ‘They’re a man down,’ Biggs replied. ‘Fish has managed to get some kind of foot infection. You should see it, mate; like something out of a Rob Zombie movie. Anyway, they’re not too gutted. They’ll be put to good use by Young, I’m sure.’

  ‘You’ve spoken to Cordner and Pearce?’

  ‘They’re waiting for us,’ Biggs said. ‘So put your revision notes away, and follow me.’

  ‘I was just—’ began Liam, but Biggs cut him off.

  ‘I know what you were just,’ he said. ‘And I’m impressed. But don’t go beating yourself up over what happened. Everyone’s fucked up a night nav. It’s easy to do and you’ve learned from it. And because of that it won’t happen again.’

  Liam said nothing more and followed Biggs over to where Cordner and Pearce were sitting on a couple of camp stools, gobbling slop from mess tins – Cordner’s covered in lashings of Tabasco.

  ‘Amazingly,’ said Cordner, ‘I’d forgotten that this shit actually doesn’t taste too bad if it’s heated through.’

  He held the container up to Liam, who took it from him and munched some of it down himself. Cordner was right – it was positively delicious.

  ‘Right,’ said Biggs, ‘this is what we’ve been tasked with . . .’

  He crouched down and unfolded a map of the area they’d just come from, pinning it to the ground with some rocks.

  ‘They’re sending us back?’ said Pearce. ‘What the fuck for?’

  ‘We’re not going to the same location exactly,’ said Biggs. ‘We’re heading along here instead.’ His finger traced a line along the ridge, then down into the valley. ‘The movement we observed at our subsurface hole, well, it seems that it all leads down to this point here.’ He tapped his finger on the map. ‘One of the other sections found a camp and they want us to get a closer look.’

  ‘There’s more to it than that, though, isn’t there?’ said Pearce. ‘CTR means they’ve spotted something specific and want it confirmed.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Biggs. ‘Seems that Al Shabaab’s poster boy was identified in a snap taken by one of the other teams. We’re going in to confirm it actually is Abdul Azeez.’

  ‘Just us?’ asked Cordner.

  ‘No,’ said Biggs, shaking his head. ‘We’ll be taking four of the Kenyans in with us. Cordner – you and Pearce will go in together, and Scott, you’re with me.’

  News that they were taking Kenyans in had them all frowning.

  ‘They’ve had their training, fair enough,’ said Pearce, ‘but this is some serious shit you’re asking of them. And of us too, actually.’

  ‘The lads we’re taking are switched on,’ said Biggs. ‘Wouldn’t be coming with us if they were anything else.’ He turned then, and gave a signal.

  Liam looked over his shoulder. Walking towards them was Odull, and beside him were three other Kenyans.

  ‘All right, lads?’ said Biggs when they arrived.

  Odull nodded. ‘We are ready, Sergeant,’ he said, then addressed Liam and the others. ‘This is Amaziah Jalloh, Moses Mensah and Obama Okeke. They are good men.’

  ‘The President’s man as well,’ said Pearce, winking at Obama.

  ‘Sadly, it is a very common name,’ said Okeke. ‘But I am much better-looking.’ That brought a laugh as Okeke beamed a bright white smile.

  ‘Jalloh and Mensah, you will be with Cordner and Pearce. Odull and Okeke, you will be with me and Scott. We will be heading off in two hours,’ said Biggs. ‘That gives us all enough time to get sorted. We’ll meet back here in ninety.’

  As Liam made his way back to his bed to go through his kit once again, Odull caught his shoulder. ‘I am glad it is you I am with,’ he said.

  ‘Me too, Odull,’ Liam said truthfully. Standing beside Odull, he felt like Jack must have done when he confronted the giant. How could they be anything other than successful with him on their side? It was almost guaranteed. And with what they were about to do, a CTR on one of Al Shabaab’s most wanted, any kind of guarantee was welcome.

  The trip back into Somalia was a serious case of déjà vu. Same truck, same track, same numb backside. Once dropped off, the section made its way along the route Liam and the others had taken a few days earlier. But a few kilometres in, they deviated from the path and trekked into thicker vegetation. In places the way was slow, and Odull and the other Kenyans took point and cut the way through with machetes, which they handled with consummate ease. Liam had used one himself, but was happy to let someone else do the work. They were razor sharp and made swift work of anything in their way. To use one well and without risk to self or others took a lot of practice.

  With the last part of their journey ahead, and day about to break the dull gun-metal grey of dawn, the section rested up, swiftly digging scrapes and getting themselves hidden. Then, when night crept back once again, they split into two teams, and Liam, with Biggs, Odull and Okeke, started to make his way down towards their target.

  The sergeant halted the group. Voice hushed, he beckoned them around him. ‘This is where we are,’ he said, shining a small green light onto his map, which was inside a protective waterproof cover. The light came from inside a rubber container hung round his neck with black paracord, and was emitted by a radioactive chemical which would carry on glowing and proving useful for anything up to twenty-five years. It gave off just enough light to allow navigation, but a few steps away would not be noticed. ‘From here on in we go slow and panther-quiet. RB?’

  Liam looked up at the sergeant.

  ‘You’re on point and leading us in.’

  Liam made to protest, but Biggs stilled him with a steely glare.

  ‘Night nav is freshest in your mind, so no arguing. It will be down to you when we split into point, relay and fire support. Understood?’

  Liam gave an unconvincing nod.

  ‘When you head forward, you’ll leave most of your kit with me and Okeke. Odull will follow you in just far enough to act as a relay between you and us. Slip forward, get as close as you can, and get eyes on the target. You’ve no SLR, so this will be down to your observations only. We’ll be in touch on the PRR, but keep comms to a minimum. Then, when you’ve got enough, fall back to Odull, then to us, and we’ll scoot.’

  ‘No problem,’ said Liam, doing his best to speak the words with conviction.

  ‘Excellent,’ said Biggs, and handed Liam the map. ‘Then after you, Lance Corporal.’

  Liam didn’t speak a word as he started to lead the team down into the valley below. He trusted that they would step where he stepped, so focused instead on every move he was making, ensuring as best as he could that he was silent as a ghost.

  An hour later, his body aching from moving so deliberately slowly, Liam heard a new sound slipping towards them from the darkness ahead: voices. He decided this was as good a place as any to drop his kit with Biggs and Okeke. They would be within earshot of the camp, so if something did kick off, and if, for whatever reason, he wasn’t able to get a signal back to them, they would know anyway.

  ‘Be proper careful about this from now on,’ said Biggs, taking Liam’s bergen. ‘You’re t
here to observe and that’s all. You keep hidden and you stay safe. If anything strikes you as out of the ordinary or a potential threat, you tell me.’

  Liam saw that Odull was waiting for him. ‘Come on then, Odull,’ he said. ‘Time to be sneaky little fuckers. Though in your case, we’ll forget about the little.’

  For once, Odull didn’t smile, instead waiting for Liam to pass by before he crept off after him.

  It wasn’t long before the voices grew clear enough to make out words, not that Liam understood what they were saying. Back in Afghanistan, he’d done pretty well at learning the local dialect up in the Yakchal Valley, but he knew not a single word of Somali. It didn’t matter – it wasn’t what they were saying that mattered so much as what they were doing, how many of them there were, what weapons and transport they had. That’s what Owusu and the KDF wanted to know.

  A few metres further on, Liam held up a hand, signalling for Odull to stop. He pointed at the ground and Odull nodded, dropping to his knee.

  With Odull now in situ, Liam crept forward, slow and steady, careful to make sure his movement was undetectable. After moving in a half-crouch, almost as though he was crawling through an invisible tunnel, he dropped to a leopard crawl. It was slower, and generally more painful, but it kept his profile low and even more difficult to spot. The ground beneath him did its best to prod and jab and snag him with every move he made, but eventually he came to a point where, any further, he would have been out in the open. And with some of the militants little more than five metres away, that was something Liam was definitely going to avoid.

  The camp before him was a freshly cleared area at the bottom of the valley. A few trees had been felled, but most had been left standing, giving good cover from being observed from above. Dotted around were makeshift huts built from whatever the Al Shabaab militants had found around them, including rusting pieces of corrugated iron, plastic sheeting and, on one hut, even an old car door. He could see no track suitable for a vehicle, so his initial assessment was that anyone there had arrived by foot.

  The camp was busy and lit everywhere by flaming torches, small fires and candles. These light sources were enough for him to see what was happening, and whatever was going on, it was causing a lot of excitement.

  Liam pulled out a notebook and, from his hiding place, started writing everything down. He included the numbers of personnel and their ages. They were all men, and to his relief there were none that looked like children, though he could not guarantee that some of the fighters weren’t in their mid-teens. He noted weaponry, most of which comprised numerous AK47s in various states of repair. A few of the men had, to his surprise, American AR15s, but they were definitely in the minority. He also saw a number of crates under a shelter a little way off. What they contained he wasn’t sure, but he doubted very much it was someone’s order from Amazon. More than likely it was ammunition, RPGs, or both.

  Liam stayed low, still and silent for a good two hours, observing everything he could. When he could see no advantage in lying so close to danger any longer, he started to back out, away from the camp. It was then, as he made to leave, that he heard the shouting.

  Liam’s first thought was that he’d been spotted. He lay still and silent as the dead, listening out for anything that would mean his position had been compromised. Then he saw a group of men being marched into the camp at gunpoint. Flipping down his night vision was no help, the light from the fires blurring the image, so he had to make do with what he’d been born with. Squinting, he waited until the men were closer and easier to make out to confirm exactly who they were and what they were about.

  Initially he thought they were just another group of Al Shabaab terrorists come to join in the fun. Then he realized it was something very different. The new arrivals were all wearing military fatigues and were stumbling, badly wounded. Hands tied and blindfolded, they were kicked and pushed and thumped with each step they took. Al Shabaab men prodded them with the barrels of their weapons, spat at them, pushed them onto the ground only so that they could beat them, heave them back to their feet, then do the same again.

  Liam froze. He knew immediately who they were: the KDF soldiers kidnapped from BATUK a few weeks ago. There were five men in total, each in a bad way, and all displaying signs of ill-treatment and malnourishment. Then another thought struck him hard: if he was right, then one of them was Odull’s brother.

  Liam buzzed Biggs on the PRR. ‘They’ve got the Kenyan hostages,’ he whispered very softly. ‘Five of them. Look beaten to fuck.’

  Biggs came back on the PRR immediately. ‘Get the fuck out of there now, Scott. No messing around. Whatever you’ve got is enough. Move it!’

  Liam was about to do just that when the KDF hostages were forced onto their knees in the centre of the camp. They looked terrified. Around them, men were cheering and shouting. Then, from one of the huts further away, a figure emerged onto the scene. He was tall – Liam guessed around six foot – and compared to the others, his clothes were almost clean. The dirt of Somalia was barely visible on his white shalwar kameez, which made Liam think that this was a man who travelled more by vehicle than on foot. His beard was long and well trimmed, and he stroked it like someone would a pet. He was armed too, but unlike everyone else, he was holding with pride an American SCAR. Liam had no doubt that this had been taken from one of the soldiers. He also recognized the new arrival.

  ‘Azeez’s here!’ he hissed down the PRR.

  ‘That’s all we need to know,’ replied Biggs. ‘Now get your arse back here!’

  Liam hesitated. ‘What about the hostages?’

  ‘Nothing we can do.’

  ‘You mean leave them?’

  ‘This is not a rescue operation, Scott. We’d be shredded.’

  Liam watched as Abdul Azeez moved through the circle of men and towards the blindfolded hostages on the ground. He was smiling as though this was the best goddamned day of his life. It was chilling and the hairs on Liam’s arms bristled in response.

  ‘Scott . . .’

  Azeez walked round the hostages, slapping the shoulders of the men surrounding them, laughing, cheering. Then he stopped and moved in close. He crouched down next to one of the KDF soldiers and leaned in, whispering. The hostage didn’t respond, was probably too terrified to do anything, thought Liam. Then Azeez stood up, pointed his rifle, and fired.

  11

  The crack of the bullet shattered the silence and Liam saw the dead soldier fall to the ground, the back of his head missing and now splattered in pieces across the ground. The other hostages started screaming, but that was soon drowned out by more cheering, which jostled in the air with weapons fired in celebration.

  Liam was caught by the shock of what he’d just witnessed. He’d seen death plenty of times and in plenty of ways, but something so cold-blooded made him shudder. Vomit stung the back of his throat, but he swallowed it back down, the taste and the sting of it making his eyes water. He stared as Azeez continued to smile, then walked casually up to the soldier’s body to kick it before finally emptying the rest of his rifle’s magazine into his chest.

  Liam knew he had to get out of there, and fast. But he couldn’t just up and run. He was so close that any rapid movement would be spotted and investigated. And having seen the way prisoners were dealt with, being discovered was not an option.

  With deliberate slowness, his eyes still focused on the hideous scene playing out before him, Liam backed off. Reverse leopard crawl was awkward, and with every move his body complained, not just with the knocks and bruises, but with the stress of having to make every inch gained silent and invisible. Every sound he made seemed to be amplified horribly. Yet Liam didn’t stop, couldn’t. He had to get back to the others.

  At last, Odull loomed out of the darkness, the big Kenyan moving along the direction Liam had taken to get to the terrorist camp.

  ‘I heard the shot,’ he said, his voice a stern whisper. ‘I thought the worst, and was coming to—’


  ‘We need to move,’ Liam whispered, cutting Odull off, and indicating with a nod of his head to turn round and head back to the sergeant and Okeke. ‘There’s nothing to see.’

  ‘What happened?’ Odull asked, his voice low, quiet and bristling. Liam could tell he was gunning for a fight. ‘Did they see you? Who fired?’

  Liam didn’t have time to explain. ‘Just move it!’ he hissed. ‘And that’s an order!’

  Liam pushed past and heard Odull fall in behind him. He didn’t want to say what he’d seen – not right now, at any rate. Odull was a top-notch soldier, but news of his brother could push his loyalties too far. Learning that one of the hostages had been murdered would only add to that pressure. What if the soldier Azeez had so casually executed was Odull’s brother? Liam didn’t want to risk telling him something that would send him racing off to a brave, glorious but undoubtedly pointless death.

  When they came up to Biggs and were at a safe enough distance from the camp to talk, Biggs was into Liam immediately.

  ‘What the living fuck is going on, Scott?’ he hissed through clenched teeth. ‘I told you to get out. You hesitated. Explain.’

  ‘Abdul Azeez,’ said Liam, not giving the sergeant chance to take a breath. ‘He killed one of the hostages. Just picked one at random and took him out. No warning or anything. Point blank with a SCAR. Nigh on took his head off. Enjoyed it too, the bastard.’

  Odull and Okeke bristled at the news.

  ‘The hostages? Then my brother is there also! Was it him they killed?’

  ‘There were five,’ said Liam. ‘Azeez killed one of them on the spot, like I said. The others, I don’t know. I heard no more—’

  ‘What did he look like, the man who was shot?’ Odull interrupted.

  ‘I don’t know.’