Уильям Дитц - Seek and Destroy

There was a twenty-second pause while the man considered the order. “Maybe you should do the same.”

McKinney shrugged. “This isn’t personal, sir. There are a lot of people who want to kill the president, and we don’t know you.”

Another five seconds passed before the man placed the M16 on the ground and took a step back. McKinney was about to follow up regarding the pistol when Sloan took three paces forward. Slowly, almost reverently, he laid the M4 next to the M16. Then he straightened. “Yá’át’ééh.” (Good morning.)

The other man smiled. “ Yá’át’ééh , Mr. President. You did your homework. I’m Chief Natonaba. Welcome to the Navajo Nation.”

The challenge was there, since the Navajo Nation didn’t qualify as a nation in the true sense, even though Natonaba wanted people to think of it that way. But Sloan chose to sidestep the issue for the moment. “Thank you, Chief Natonaba. I wish the circumstances of our meeting were different. We’re in enemy-held territory.”

“Yes,” Natonaba agreed. “Yet you came to Tijeras. Why? ”

“Come with me,” Sloan said. “I’ll show you.”

Together they walked out to the point where they could look down onto the devastated town of Tijeras. I-40 cut through it like an ugly scar. Sloan had seen the community from above. But the aerial photographs had a clinical quality. These images were real . And the fire-blackened buildings, the shot-up vehicles, and the haphazard grave markers had the emotional weight that a picture couldn’t convey.

Sloan felt a rising sense of sorrow knowing that 257 soldiers and civilians had died trying to keep the Confederate Army out of Albuquerque. Natonaba must have been experiencing similar emotions. “The Navajo Nation lost thirty-two warriors in the fight,” he said tightly. “Together with the army, they held this pass for two days.”

“That’s a terrible loss, and I’m very sorry,” Sloan said. “Unfortunately, I’m here to ask you and your people to make even greater sacrifices. My generals tell me that the Confederates are using two routes to funnel supplies into Albuquerque. One follows Highway 285 north through Vaughn, New Mexico, then west through Mountainair to I-25 north. And that takes them into the city.

“The other involves taking convoys north to I-40 before turning west and driving to Albuquerque. That means they have to pass through Tijeras.”

“Yes,” Natonaba agreed. “It always works the same way. They send attack helicopters through first. The gunships arrive during the hours of darkness. They attack anything with a heat signature, and that includes cattle. Once that’s over mine-protected vehicles lead the convoy in. They are nearly impervious to mines and IEDS. Stryker vehicles follow, each carrying a squad of infantry. The supply trucks are behind them.”

Sloan nodded. “That matches what I’ve been told. And that’s why I came. I want you and your warriors to seal off both supply routes. We’ll provide you with the military-grade weapons required to do so. In a month, two at the most, the rebs will be forced to withdraw.”

Natonaba frowned. “Why don’t you bring a brigade of troops in?”

“I don’t have any to spare,” Sloan told him. “If we pull a brigade off the line back East, the Confederates could break through.”

“So you care more about the cities of Springfield and Clarkesville than you do about Albuquerque.”

There it was… the sort of challenge that Sloan had been expecting. “No, that isn’t true. We believe the attack on Albuquerque was a feint designed to boost morale in the South and pull troops away from the main line of battle. So we have three choices. We can do what the rebs want us to do, we can let Albuquerque remain under enemy control until the strategic situation improves, or we can cut their supply lines and take the city back in sixty days or so. Which course of action do you like the most?”

Sloan was playing hardball and could see the anger in Natonaba’s eyes. “Hundreds, even thousands of my people could die,” the chief objected.

“Yes,” Sloan agreed. “Tens of thousands of Americans on both sides will die before the war is over. But remember… your people are Navajos, but they are Americans, too, with a heritage of valor. More than three hundred code talkers received Congressional Silver Medals for saving thousands of lives during World War II.”

Natonaba’s expression softened. “You are a manipulative son of a bitch.”

Sloan nodded. “That’s part of the job. Will you fight?”

“We’ll fight.”

They shook hands.

IN THE AIR OVER NORTHERN TEXAS

Major Robin Macintyre was trying to look cool as the C-130 called Yankee Two flew low over Texas. Looking cool was important because it sent the right sort of message. “There she was,” some private would say, “sitting there reading a magazine while we flew over enemy-held territory!”

And it was true. Mac was staring at a magazine even though the words were a blur, and her thoughts were elsewhere. She stole a look at her watch. It was 0036. Yankee One was supposed to land in ten minutes. What would Overman and his company encounter? A deserted airport? Or a whole shitload of trouble? Not knowing was driving her crazy.

Mac looked across the cargo bay to see that Lieutenant Lyle was asleep. Or was he? Were the closed eyes part of an act? She wouldn’t put it past him.

As for New York Times correspondent Cory Olinger, he was hunched over an airsick bag, staring at the deck. The faint odor of vomit hung in the air. Mac wrinkled her nose. Still, the reporter was there, even if flying was difficult for him. And he deserved credit for that.

A crewperson appeared at Mac’s side. Her flight suit was so large it made her look like a kid. “Yankee One is on the ground,” she announced. “And there is no resistance so far.”

“That’s good news,” Mac said. “What’s our ETA?”

“Fifteen minutes, ma’am.”

Mac looked at Lyle. The Green Beret was awake now… Or maybe he had been all along. “It’s time to load the team,” Mac said.

Lyle nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

Three special operators were slated to travel aboard CALIFORNIA GIRL, in addition to Lyle, Mac, Olinger, and the Stryker’s two-person crew. The other vic, a Stryker called LUCKY LOU, was riding on Yankee Three.

CALIFORNIA GIRLhad been loaded ass in, so she could roll straight out the moment that the ramp was down. And as Mac entered the cargo compartment, it felt like walking into a coffin. She didn’t like being cooped up inside a metal box even if it was safer there.

Once the special operators were strapped in, the bullshit began. They were teasing a member of the team about the size of his nose, and he was bragging about all of the many things he could do with it. But Mac knew it was an act… a way to conceal the fear they felt. The fear she felt… Fear of dying, yes. But the greatest fear was that she would fuck up, and in doing so, cost other people their lives.

“We’re thirty seconds out,” the copilot announced over the team’s radio network. “Yankee One is off the runway, Alpha Company has deployed, and Yankee Three is fifteen minutes out. Have fun out there.”

Mac waited for the thump as the plane’s wheels made contact with the runway, followed by a series of bumps as the C-130 rolled through potholes and over pieces of debris. Engines roared as they went into reverse, and the passengers were thrown sideways.

As the transport jerked to a stop Mac knew that crew people were hurrying to free the Stryker from its tie-downs. The moment that process was complete, Kona started the vic’s engine and drove it down the ramp. There was a bump as the rear wheels came off. A Green Beret named Anders had agreed to serve as Mac’s RTO. He was holding a handset to his ear. “Captain Overman is on the east side of the field,” Anders said.