At precisely 1303 the cell phone towers that provided southeastern Sudan with its characteristically spotty reception had a power failure. This was not unprecedented; the system had crashed three times in the past two months alone. There were few calls on the network in the area to begin with; not only was the service considered extremely unreliable, but it was also commonly assumed — incorrectly, as it happened — that the government monitored all calls through the cell tower.
Somewhat less usual, there was a malfunction at the same time involving the satellite telephone network most convenient and popular in the area. Anyone on a call inside a hundred-square-mile circle — there were about two dozen — heard a bit of static, then had their conversation fade in and out before completely dying. A few seconds later full service was restored; it was somewhat unusual, but not entirely inexplicable — sunspots, bizarre electrical fluctuations, even strange weather patterns were randomly but plausibly blamed by the few people who happened to be inconvenienced.
The fact that both events occurred simultaneously was not, of course, an accident. The power disruption at the cell towers was accomplished by explosive charges, which wiped out the transformers at two key stations. Had it been detected, the evidence would have pointed to a rebel group, of which there were many operating in the Sudan: the explosive was manufactured in an Eastern European country known for its easy exportation policies. The men seen in the vicinity were driving a four-door white pickup common to many groups. The men, all three of whom were black, wore anonymous brown fatigues that had their origins in China — another common quality among the ragtag groups that vied for control in this corner of the country.
The men were actually two Marines selected personally by the third man, Sergeant Ben “Boston” Rockland, from the two Marine platoons assigned to the Whiplash operation and rushed to Ethiopia only two hours before.
Blowing up the transformer was a rather crude and old school approach to killing communications. While effective, it stood in sharp contrast to what happened to the satellite communications, also perpetrated by Whiplash. This was actually accomplished by a high-altitude balloon and a UAV only a bit larger than the average buzzard. Indeed, the UAV looked very much like a buzzard from the distance; one had to get relatively close to see the net antenna that trailed from the wings or the stubby protuberances from the bottom. These antennas allowed the unmanned aircraft to intercept and redirect satellite signals emanating from the ground to the Whiplash satellite system. This redirection brought the ground half of these transmissions to MY-PID, where they could be altered as well as modified; the system could allow normal communications to proceed through an antenna in the small balloon, or route them to human operators located at an NSA facility in Maryland to conduct the calls.
In effect, no one in this small corner of the world could call home without MY-PID’s permission, and even then it might not be home they talked to at all.
Thus was the Brothers camp isolated from the rest of the world.
Danny Freah, en route south in the repaired Osprey, worried that the disruption of telephone service would tip off the people inside the camp that they were about to be attacked. He wasn’t as much worried about them increasing their defenses as the possibility that they would begin leaving the camp. While he had the road under surveillance, dealing with a mass exodus would have been nearly impossible.
MY-PID now estimated there were nearly 400 people inside the camp, though only 250 to 300 were likely to be fighters. At the moment, Danny had only twenty people to stop them, counting Melissa. The roads were mined and the ridges surrounding it could be blown up to stop an exodus, but it would be extremely messy.
His force would be augmented at nightfall by four Whiplashers arriving with more equipment from the States, the two platoons of Marines he’d been assigned, and the SEAL who had parachuted in with Nuri’s vodka. The SEAL was so eager for action when he saw the Marines arriving that Nuri told Danny he’d probably be shot if Danny didn’t give the OK.
“And I doubt I’ll get the gun out of my holster before he draws his,” Nuri had added.
Pitting a force seventy-odd strong against three hundred made for almost suicidal odds in a traditional military situation. But this wasn’t going to be a traditional military situation. Not only were the core fighters highly trained, but Danny had formulated a plan to use Whiplash’s nonhuman assets to balance the odds.
Primary reconnaissance was being provided by a Global Observer, a long-winged spy plane that could cover a vast swath of northeastern Africa from high altitude. With wings as long as a 747, the odd-looking, push-propeller plane was fueled by hydrogen cells that allowed it to stay airborne for weeks at a time. Her long wings and spindly body mounted an array of video and infrared cameras that covered the entire compound. With backup from the Global Hawk that had been circling over Duka, MY-PID had a comprehensive image of the enemy camp. The computer could selectively zoom in on any spot in the entire area. The images would be fed not just to Danny and everyone else on the Whiplash team, but to the Marine commanders via their standard “toughbook” laptops.
Spread out over almost a mile in the mountains, the Brothers’ stronghold looked something like a pair of sunny-side-up eggs with slightly separated yolks and a misshapen and large white ring. The defenses were situated in a way to protect against an outside attack — from the ground.
The “yolks” were clusters of clay and stone buildings that were like miniature citadels, about a half mile apart. Analyzing intelligence data relating to the terrorist organization, MY-PID had decided the cluster to the northeast was the most likely command post; most radio transmissions seemed to have originated from that area, and the satellite images showed more human traffic there.
Studying the same data, Danny concluded the opposite. The Brothers were undoubtedly aware that they were being monitored, if only by the Sudanese authorities; they would do everything in their power to throw them off. So he decided his first attack would be aimed at what was supposedly the less important “yolk,” with action at the other cluster intended simply to hold the enemy in place.
At first, anyway.
Danny rendezvoused with the Marine commanders in an abandoned oil field about ten miles north of the Brothers’ camp fifteen minutes after communications had been cut. The small village near the field was abandoned about a year before, after the wells went dry; they had polluted the groundwater long before that, making the place virtually uninhabitable by anyone who didn’t have a reason to be there.
Nuri and Hera, who would liaison with the Marine platoons, came as well, as did Melissa and Flash, who was filling in for Boston as Danny’s chief enlisted officer.
Danny arrived a few minutes early, and was on the ground waiting when the Marine Osprey skimmed in over the flat terrain, flying so low its wheels could have touched the ground had they been extended. The aircraft maneuvered so it was behind a set of derelict derricks, then landed neatly thirty yards from the Whiplash bird.
“Colonel Freah, helluvapleashuretameetya,” said the first man off the helicopter, Captain Joey Pierce. The officer in charge of the two platoons, Pierce had a Midwest accent but ran his words together quicker than someone from New York; Danny, whose ex-wife had come from New York, had trouble parsing the syllables into actual sentences.
It took him about ten minutes to sketch out the basic plan, emphasizing that the situation would be fluid from its inception.
“My people will hit the interior of the compound at 2300,” Danny told the captain. “We need you to tie down the main part of the Brothers’ force with an attack in this area here, and a feint at the main gate first.” He pointed to two areas on the southern side of the camp. “We need them to think that the main attack is occurring there. Once they’re committed to defending that area, we’ll come in.”
“Won’t they just reverse course and attack you?” asked Pierce.
“They won’t be able to,” said Danny.
“Colonel, with all due respect.” Pierce pointed to the map. “Looks pretty open to me.”
“It won’t be,” said Danny. “And whatever your forces do, absolutely do not pursue them inside the camp. For your own protection.”
“Our protection?”
Danny nodded solemnly. “We’ll hook into your communications just prior to the assault. Flash has a rundown on the emergency procedures, and what we’ll do if there’s a hurry-up — if things happen before the planned assault time.”
Danny glanced at Nuri when Flash had finished.
