shooting, either I or Mr. Johnson will give the order. Is that clear?”
Resentful nods and assents came from the audience.
“Now,” Lee continued. “Once we’ve secured the facility, Mr. Langevin will be in charge. You will take orders from him, especially in regard to any uranium ore, yellow cake, or equipment. If everything goes well, we can pack up and return to the capital day after tomorrow.”
Keegan and Marsh exchanged knowing glances.
Marsh raised a hand. “Sir, how do we know the yellow cake won’t be taken out tonight?”
Lee assumed a relaxed posture. “We don’t, Mr. Marsh. That’s why Sergeant Nissen and three troopies are watching the roads in and out of there. They left right after we landed. If they see suspicious activity, they’ll call us and both you gentlemen will hustle up there with five Chadians apiece.” He grinned ironically. “Sorry, but you may not get much sleep tonight.”
Keegan appreciated the plan if not the specifics. “What will the rest of you do in that case, sir?”
“We’ll man up the trucks and be there in about three-zero mikes.” He looked around. “Yes, Sergeant Bawoyeu.”
The Chadian NCO asked,
Johnson translated: “What do we know about the guards? Are they experienced fighters?”
Lee responded, “That’s a fair question. We don’t know exactly how many are up there — maybe twelve to twenty. Since they presumably work for Groupe FGN, we can assume they know what they’re doing. Probably several of them are ex-Foreign Legion. But we outnumber them and we’ll have some degree of surprise.”
Lee consulted his briefing notes, checking off each item. “Oh, yes: prisoner handling. Everybody there will be disarmed and searched. But it should be done professionally, with a minimum of force. Actually, they’re not prisoners, just detainees. If they don’t resist us, they’re not liable to prosecution. So we’ll keep them in a secure area until things settle down.
“Lastly: casualty treatment. We have a Green Beret medic with us as well as two Chadian corpsmen. The Air Force has part of a combat control team and some PJs on one of the Hercs, and those folks will establish an aid station on board the airplane. If we have to, we can use one of the choppers for a med-evac.”
He looked around again. “Anything else?”
When no ore responded, Lee gave a brisk nod. “Very well, gentlemen. Unless something pops tonight, we arrive at the mine ten minutes past daybreak.”
46
“Trucks are coming from the south. Maybe three kilometers out, moving fast.” Etienne Stevin’s voice was urgent, slightly slurred.
Marcel Hurtubise rolled off his cot and scooped up his FA-MAS. He glanced at his watch: about two hours’ sleep. “Paul?”
Stevin shook his head. “What?”
Hurtubise gritted his teeth in frustration. The realization struck him: Stevin had been drinking last night.
“Oh. I think he’s still with the first truck. You wanted him to stick with it, didn’t you?”
“All right. You meet our guests. Don’t shoot if you don’t have to, but give us time to get going.” He held Stevin’s gaze to emphasize the importance. “You understand?”
Stevin nodded, dropped the tent flap, and disappeared. Hurtubise was angry: with his deputy, with the workers, with the equipment, with himself.
He stepped outside, seeing the gray hues of dawn stretching across the barren landscape. He stopped for a moment, reviewing his dispositions. Full alert: sixteen men awake and fully armed. Five at the front gate with Etienne, four more a hundred meters back to provide fire support. Three positioned at the north gate to defend the exit, two each with the trucks. He would have liked another section at the exit gate, since the Americans were likely to attempt an end-around, but he needed most of his force to slow the attack along the main axis of advance.
Hurtubise took the spare Range Rover, cranked the engine, and coaxed its 2.4 liters into life. With his rifle and kit bag beside him, he stepped on the gas and sped for the quarry.
In the back of the lead truck, two SSI operators accompanied Bernard Langevin and eight Chadian troopers. As the Renault sped toward the mine, Langevin looked at his nearest companion, the man known as Breezy. He had his eyes shut as he seemed to inhale deeply, hold his breath, and expel it.
On the opposite side, Bosco caught the scientist’s eye. He gave a knowing grin.
“What’s he doing?” Langevin asked.
“It’s called the count of four. You inhale on a four count, hold it for four, and exhale for four. Do that four times. It’s, like, a relaxation technique.”
“Does it work?”
Breezy opened his eyes. “It’s my pre-combat routine, Doc. Lowers the heart rate, gets more oxygen into the blood.” He regarded the nuclear specialist. “Give it a try.”
“Well, I…”
Lee opened the flap separating the bed from the cab. “Line of departure, gentlemen! Lock and load!”
Terry Keegan knew something would go wrong; it always did. He did not expect it to be communications.
Inbound at two hundred feet, he banked his Alouette to clear the uranium mine, lest the operators assume he was a threat. He intended to hover nearby while the truck convoy confronted the gate guards, leaving Eddie Marsh to handle contingencies. But moments before the first truck squealed to a stop, Keegan lost contact with Marsh.
Beside him, Charles Haegelin played with the unfamiliar radio set. After twisting the knobs for volume and gain without avail, he shifted frequencies — still no success. “It is no good,” the French Canadian mechanic conceded. “I can do nothing in the air. Maybe if we landed…”
Keegan shook his head. “We can’t do that, Charles. Not until I know how things are going down there. Otherwise our troopies might be out of position if we need ‘em.” He nodded over his shoulder, indicating the five Chadian soldiers behind him.
“Can you still talk to Major Lee?”
“Yeah. I ran a comm check on the way in. But I can’t talk directly to Eddie.” He thought for a moment. “If I have to, I could relay a message to him via the ground team.”
Haegelin shrugged. “Well, he knows what to do.”
Paul Deladier heard the warning shouts, saw Hurtubise’s Range Rover speeding toward him, and discerned helicopters in the distance. He did not need to await more information. He nudged his driver, a former
Etienne Stevin’s experienced eyes were bleary but they took in the rapidly developing situation. Three trucks deployed within fifty meters of the entrance, disgorging two trucks worth of troops. He realized that whoever commanded the operation was an experienced soldier.
Three men advanced toward the gate: a white and two Africans. Two carried rifles, muzzles down; the
