Into Africa

By

UCSBdad

Disclaimer: I own no Castles. Or Becketts. Rating: K+ for language. Time: The present day, but in an alternate universe.

"I was commanding a Ranger platoon in Iraq. Our company was providing fire power for various special ops people hunting down high value targets. I always had this idea of Special Forces as John Rambo types with a machine gun in each hand and a knife between their teeth. But I got to know a Special Forces sergeant who was nothing like that. He looked after the Iraqis with us, interpreters, police, soldiers, scouts and spies, and their families. He made sure everyone had a place to live, that their families were safe, the kids went to school, everyone got medical care, even clothes and shoes. I asked him why he did all of that. He told me he'd studied the great guerilla leaders and counter guerilla fighters. Everyone from T.E. Lawrence to Michael Collins of the IRA, Orde Wingate and the Special Night Squads in pre-WWII Palestine, Gerald Templar in Malaya after World War Two, Edward Lonsdale in the Philippines and early Vietnam, Colonel Roger Trinquier who wrote about the French war in Algeria, and…"Rick grinned at Kate. "And all sorts of people that you never heard of or have any interest in."

She smiled back. "Now that I've heard of them, I'll learn more about them."

"Anyway, he told me that the job of Special Forces was more than just raising armies of guerillas or armies of counter-guerillas. Their job was to build a strong society that wouldn't have any reason to rebel. And that was what he was doing. Every Iraqi sergeant who learned to keep his men supplied with what they needed, who looked after his men's families as well, was building a better Iraq. That really impressed me. That's when I decided I wanted to join the Special Forces."

"Was this sergeant's name Joe Flood by any chance?"

Rick shook his head. "No, and I'll never tell anyone his real name. But, all of a sudden, I wanted to write again. And the character of Joe Flood appeared."

"How do you find the time to write?"

"Mostly I do the story in my head. Luckily for me, the Army does a lot of hurry up and wait. I'll get my team to the airfield at 0400 and there's no aircraft there until 1000. So, I write down what's already in my head."

"Your secret is safe with me, Rick. Oh, and here's your mail."

For over a month, things went well. The Rangers became interested in archeology, or at least in some archeologists and began to help out at the dig. The team at the dig appreciated their enthusiastic, if amateur, assistance. More and more Roman artifacts were found to the joy of Dr. Beckett.

One day, Rick came by the dig as Kate was complaining aloud.

"Problem, Dr. Beckett?" He said with a smile.

Kate grinned back at him. "This is the outline of a typical first century CE Roman auxiliary cavalry fort. Roman soldiers, or at least their commanders, loved to inscribe bricks, tiles and stones with the unit's designation and usually the name of the commander. We haven't found enough of those to build an outhouse."

To Kate's surprise, Rick laughed. "Dr. Beckett, what you need is a well-read soldier. Have you ever heard of Hadrian's Wall?"

Kate was almost insulted. "Of course. The Roman Emperor Hadrian had a wall built in northern Britannia to separate the Roman citizens of Britannia from the Scots who liked to raid their wealthier southern neighbors."

"The Scots were called Picts in those days, but you're right. But then about 410 CE, the Romans left Britannia. Some Roman limitanei, their frontier troops, might have held part of the wall for a while, helped by pro-Roman local tribes, but eventually they all disappeared. Do you know what happened to the wall after that?"

Kate shook her head.

"Every time a farmer needed a new pigpen, he'd head over to the remains of the wall and get a couple of wagon loads of nice, rectangular stones. Every time a man needed some new roof tiles, he'd head for the wall. After a thousand years or so, the wall was pretty much gone. If you want to find the remains of the fort here, go look at the local goat pens. If you can stand the smell and the locals don't toss you out."

Kate curtseyed. "An excellent report. Have you ever considered becoming an archeologist?"

He bowed. "No, but I might take one to dinner tonight. I know a place with excellent MREs and ambience to die for."

Kate laughed. "And a walk afterwards?"

"Of course."

However, this didn't last. One night, the command bunker got a radio call from one of the machine gun bunkers.

"Base Eighty Six, this is Bunker Two. Come in."

"Base Eighty Six, what do you have, Bunker Two. Over."

"One of the archeology chicks went down the slope. She said she had to crap real bad and wanted to get out of our sight. That was ten minutes ago. I looked down the slope with my NVGs and couldn't see her. Over."

"Shit." Reed muttered. "Tell Bunker Two to stand fast while we check the women's bunker."

Rick and Reed ran to the woman's bunker and told Kate what had happened. A quick headcount showed they were short one woman.

"It's Julie Manning, Dr. Beckett." Chris Sullivan said. "She's always been kind of a party animal and she's been bored here. She said something about going into town for some fun, but we all told her not to. That was a week ago. I thought that she'd forgotten all about it. I mean, there's no bright lights and action around here."

Kate turned to Rick. "What might happen to her?"

"I don't know, but a lot of bad things spring to mind." He turned and sprinted back to the command bunker with Reed and Kate right behind him.

Lt. Glass spoke as soon as they entered the bunker. "Sir, we put up a drone. We have her on visuals. She's headed for the village, all right."

"Get Lt. Diori and his people here ASAP." Rick said.

"I'm already here, Captain." Diori said softly from the doorway. I assume you want me and my men to recover the woman before anything untoward happens?"

"Exactly."

"We'll have her back soon." And Diori was gone.

"We have another drone almost ready, sir." Glass said. "We can track the woman with one and Diori with the other. She's walking and Diori and his men are running. We'll have her back in no time."

They watched the two screens showing the feed from the drones. It looked like Julie Manning would reach the village a bit before Diori and his men."

"Oh, shit!" Cried to drone operator following Manning. "There are two fucking technicals parked in the village. That means jihadis sure as shit."

"Get Diori on the horn and let him know." Rick barked. "This could go very bad."

"How bad is it?" Kate whispered to Rick.

"We don't know. She may see the technicals and turn back, the villagers might treat her as a guest and hide her. The jihadis might not want to fight Diori and his men and retreat. I don't know."

Far in the distance they heard the rattle of automatic weapons fire.

"Base Eighty Six, this is Diori." Said he calm voice of the Nigerien. "That was one of the village sentries letting everyone know we're about."

Rick glanced at the two screens. "Diori, this is Snowshoes Six actual. The gunfire scared her she's running like hell for the village. There are two technicals there."

"Copy that. Out." Diori said.

"Crap!" Someone yelled. "She ran right into the fucking jihadis. They grabbed her and they're tear-assing out of there."

"Wait one." Said the drone operator. "One technical is headed off with Manning. The other is heading towards Diori. Let him know he's in deep shit."

But Diori and his men were already well aware of the oncoming technical. Mounted on the bed of the pickup truck was a 23 mm anti-aircraft gun. It was capable of being lowered to shoot at ground targets, but as the crew found, it couldn't be lowered enough to hit prone men close to the vehicle. Bursts of automatic weapon's fire killed the driver and brought the truck to a halt. Then, a shower of grenades killed the rest of the crew.

"Snowshoe 6 this is Diori. The woman was not in the vehicle we destroyed. We'll go into the village and see what we can learn. Out."

'Can we get the Hummers down the slope?" Rick asked the engineer sergeant, Pham.

"It'd be a bitch. The scree, the loose rocks, will slide out from under the Hummers. Even if you hit the brakes, you'll keep on sliding, just like if you were on ice. You might make it down with one intact, but probably not."

Reed spoke." Even if we get Hummers down there, the jihadis would have a head start of at least a half an hour on us, they know where they're going and they know the country, a lot better than we do."

"We can track them with the drones, right?" Rick asked.

"No sir." Replied the drone operator. "The ones we have are short range, just for keeping an eye on our immediate vicinity. Another ten minutes and the drone we have following the jihadis with the girl will be out of fuel."

Rick turned to his communications sergeant. "Call up Base Aerienne 201. Have them send a helicopter up here ASAP."

That was not to be.

"Sorry, Snowshoes 6, no can do. Every bird we have is down south moving a Nigerien battalion. And before you ask, the French are using all of theirs in a big op in Mali. The RAF Chinooks are fully committed to that as well. Over."

Suddenly there was an interruption. "Break. Break. Snowshoes 6, this is Budweiser two four. We're an Oscar Golf Alpha Charlie Victor Two Two. We're about twenty minutes from yours. If we can get permission from Home Base…."

There was another interruption. "Dave, is that you up there?"

"Charley? You're down there? I thought you were surfing in Mauretania."

"Charley don't surf. Now cut the bullshit of checking with Home Base. We've had a kidnapping of an American woman here. Get your ass down here and pick up a team to go after them."

"Well, why the fuck didn't you just say so? Be there soonest. Out."

Kate looked at Rick. "Oscar Golf Alpha? Charlie Victor two two? What are those?"

"The phonetic alphabet. OGA means other government agency and is a euphemism for the CIA. A CV 22 is a tilt wing transport aircraft, half airplane and half helicopter. "Rick turned to Lt. Glass. "Get your sniper team here and ready to go. Who else to you have that's a really good shot?"

Glass glanced at his platoon sergeant. "Corporal Jimenez and Specialist Hebert are a couple of country boys, grew up with rifles in their hands. PFC Nichols from the machine gun squad is from Detroit, but he can shoot. Sergeant Williams, one of the squad leaders is a good shot, too. He got through half of sniper school before he busted his wrist."

Rick nodded. "That's enough. Get them here and briefed and ready to go when the bird gets here. I'll take Mr. Reed and Sergeant Pirelli, we may need a medic, although I sure hope we don't."

"Rick, a Special Forces medic is a good idea, but a Special Forces medic and a doctor is a better idea."

Rick stared at Captain Fields for a long minute. "Okay, but you wear your flak vest, helmet and carry a weapon. Do not, under any circumstances, decide you're the medical version of Rambo. And I'll only allow you to fire your weapon if we're being overrun by jihadis."

"I'm going, too. "Kate said.

"The hell you are." Rick shot back.

"Julie Manning will probably be terrified out of her mind. Hearing a voice she knows will calm her down."

"Doctor Beckett…" Rick began.

"Now, where's my flak vest, helmet and M4?" Kate demanded.