Disclaimer: See Chapter 1. It still applies
Author's Note: Though I am not Irish, Danny Boy and the Minstrel Boy are etched in my consciousness forever. I've been to far too many police funerals. A good number of them, whether the cop was Irish or not, featured these two songs. The task at hand in the story seemed to lend itself to the song. So bros, this one's for you.
Technical Notes: There are more terms I'll be using in this chapter that need explaining:
RPD- Russian made light machinegun
MP5SD- Suppressed version of the H&K MP5. The SEAL's best friend on quiet missions.
AKM- The modernized version of the AK47. Weapon of choice for terrorists everywhere.
RPG-7- Rocket Propelled Grenade launcher.
"Technical"- A small pickup truck(think Toyota) mounting a 12.7mm Heavy Machine Gun.
RHIB- Rigid Hull Inflatable Boat. Approximately 13 to 28 feet long. Used by SEAL's to insert over the beach.
"The Minstrel Boy to the war is gone. In the ranks of death you will find him; His father's sword he hath girded on, And his wild harp slung behind him"- Thomas Moore
Air France Flight, Mexico City to Paris Tuesday 2000 hrs
It had been a busy two days, thought Gibbs. The first class seat felt good. As did the Jack sliding down his throat.
Getting his vacation time from Vance on Monday had proved surprisingly easy. There had been a raised eyebrow at the two weeks, but Vance had signed off.
Getting out from under his team had been more difficult. He finally had to call a team meeting, a 'campfire', if you will. In Abby's lab. He'd told them he was going to see Mike Franks, fish, do some repairs on Mike's house, and be back in two weeks. End of story. Get back to work.
They had all looked at him like he had grown a second head.
As Gibbs got on the elevator, DiNozzo slid between the closing doors. As the car started to move. Gibbs stared straight ahead, silent. Half way up, Tony flipped the stop switch.
Gibbs slowly turned his head.
"Something, DiNozzo?" asked Gibbs mildly.
Any other time Tony would have been warned by the mild tone that he was close to having his head separated from his body. Not today.
"I want to go, Boss. I know you're going after Ziva."
Gibbs turned the rest of his body to squarely face his Senior Field Agent.
"Special Agent Dinozzo, if I was even contemplating what you just said, it would be a violation of so many sections of the US Code, I'd be spending my retirement in Leavenworth. Do I look that stupid?"asked Gibbs.
"Ah….No, Boss?" said Tony.
"Right answer, DiNozzo" said Gibbs, reaching out to flip the switch that sent the elevator back on its journey.
After that, things had gone smoothly. Gibbs had driven directly to Reagan Nat'l. He caught an Aero Mexico flight to Mexico City, changed planes and was being picked up by Mike Franks in Baja by early afternoon.
As they'd driven away from the airport, Mike looked at his friend.
"Care to tell me what's really going on Probie?" He asked.
"No," said Gibbs "But I'm going to anyway."
After hearing the whole story, Mike fixed Gibbs with "the Look".
"Don't say it Boss"
"Okay" said Mike "But you watch your ass, Jethro".
Gibbs smiled at the memory, finished his drink and reclined his seat.
As he drifted off to sleep he hoped that he'd really be able to get some fishing in when this was over.
Room 1307 Novotel Paris Charles De Gaulle, Wednesday, 1600 hrs
Gibbs & Co. were awaiting the arrival of Matt Brown for their briefing. No one had encountered any problems reaching Paris. The team was able to secure adjoining rooms.
There was a knock. "Doc" Valle being closest rose and looked through the peephole. The face looking back matched the picture Gibbs had shown everyone.
Doc unlocked and opened the door.
Matt Brown walked in, laptop case slung over his shoulder.
Gibbs rose and shook Brown's hand.
"Been a long time, Sergeant Major" he said
"Yes it has" said Brown, eyeballing the rest of the group.
Gibbs made the introductions.
When Gibbs got to Peters, Brown's eyes narrowed a bit.
"Have we met?"
"Naples" said Peters.
Brown's eyes widened in recognition.
"The wiseass SEAL".
"At ease, Pete" said Crawford as Peters started to stand.
"Aye, Aye, Chief." Peters sank back into his chair, smiling faintly
"Briefing, Sgt Major?" said Gibbs.
"Right" said Brown setting up his laptop and plugging it into the room's 21 inch plasma TV.
"First things first" said Brown. "Per your request, the group's compensation was deposited in an account at the Banc du Credit in Nevis. Here's the pass code."
Brown handed Gibbs a slip of paper. Gibbs handed it off to Peters.
Crawford and Gibbs wouldn't be getting paid, but it had to look like it. Their pay would be split between Peters and Valle.
"OK," said Brown. " Weapons and equipment. I was able to get everything you wanted except the RPD. The MP5SD's are from a stolen arms shipment, the AKM's with the under barrel grenade launchers are Syrian Army surplus, the silenced .45's are Spanish, the personal radios are S. Korean, NVG's are Israeli, the desert cammies, web gear and boots are Cuban. All the medical supplies are S. African. The collapsible stretcher is French. There's plenty of ammo for all the weapons. I assume the AKM's are insurance in case things get loud?"
Crawford nodded in the affirmative.
Brown hit a key on his laptop.
"Target". An overhead view of a collection of huts of various sizes came on the screen. There was a substantial looking building in the upper left corner of the picture. Brown circled it with a laser pointer.
"That's where the Al Qaeda cell is staying. One story, solid block construction. Flat roof. One door. T type hallway. The long portion has a storeroom, an office, bunkroom, kitchen and chow hall. The short portion has three rooms. One at the junction and one in each of the arms. Ms. David is in the right arm room.
"You've got someone in the village." said Gibbs. It was a statement, not a question.
"That's correct" said Brown. "My unit is tasked with infiltrating the pirate organizations and passing on any Intel to the Combined Joint Task Force-Horn of Africa. The info on this particular enclave hasn't been disseminated yet." There were snorts all around the room.
Brown hit another key. The view widened.
"This enclave is 60 miles North & East of Eyl. It's affiliated with the Marka Group. There are approximately 60 to 70 effectives. They are armed with AK 47's and RPG-7's Also there are two "technicals" mounting 12.7 mm HMG's. Camp followers number another 80 or so. AQ's manpower is between 10 and 15. They've been rotating in and out."
"The insertion will take place here" said Brown, using his pointer again. "You'll be landed by RHIB."
"My guy will drive the boat and provide security for it while you're gone. It's a five mile walk from the beach to the villie. There's no soft sand, its hard pack all the way, with lots of low scrub. There's a small rise behind the AQ house, between these shacks. More laser pointing.
"I have hard copies of all the visuals and maps will be available at the jump off point."
"Now" said Brown "on to the juicy."
He hit a key and a head and shoulder picture of an Arab male with a mustache and scruffy beard appeared.
"Qadir ibn Hassan, number four on the depth chart of AQ/Horn of Africa. Bring him out and my people's happiness will know no bounds."
"And if not?" asked Gibbs.
"Less happy, but not sore." said Brown.
There followed a discussion of the voyage to the insertion point. This would be accomplished by dhow sailing from the Port of Djibouti. It was approximately a two day sail.
"That's all I have" said Brown.
"There's an Air France flight leaving tonight at 2320 hrs for Djibouti. Upon arrival head for the taxi stand. A van with one of my guys will be there. Here's his picture. He'll bring you to a warehouse in the Port. You'll pick up your gear and head out. I'll see you there."
As Brown packed up, he snapped his fingers.
"The airport is also the HQ of the Joint Task Force. Try and keep a low profile."
'Pete' Peters put on a "Who me?" look. Even Brown laughed.
"See you in Djibouti."
Off the Beach, 60 miles NE of Eyl, Somalia, Saturday 0130 hrs
The flight to Djibouti and linkup at the warehouse had gone smoothly. Weapons were chosen and cleaned. Satellite photos were studied. A route from the beach to the target area was decided upon. The dhow was loaded and Gibbs & Co shoved off with Matt brown along.
The two day voyage was used to good effect. All weapons were test fired and zeroed. The rest of the gear was distributed across the group. The MP5's would be the primary weapons on the raid. The AK's would be strapped to backs. Used only if they were discovered. On the trip Crawford had the hardest job, keeping Peters and Brown apart.
But that was all over now. It was show time.
Brown's guy ran the RHIB up onto the beach. The four raiders tumbled out of the boat formed a skirmish line and moved up the beach. It was clear. Gibbs and Valle helped the boat driver haul the RHIB further up the beach.
After the boat was secure, the team left in an arrow formation. Peters was on point with Gibbs on the left and Valle on the right. Billy Crawford was in the center handling the compass and pace count.
The trip to the village went quickly. The temperature was in the high 70's, but dry. Gibbs was feeling loose.
The team held short of the rise. Peters went forward to make sure it was clear.
"Come up" came over Gibbs' earpiece.
The three men joined on Pete. They settled on the sand.
It was 0335 hrs.
At 0400 they would hit the house.
A/N: You may wonder why I went into such depth about the equipment. This is a "sterile" op. Nothing visible points to US involvement. Of course if one of our hero's is killed and his body fingerprinted and photographed the identity comes out. But it can be explained away. Peters or Valle would be painted as mercenaries. Gibbs or Crawford as rouges bent on saving a colleague. Plausible deniability.