Book
2 - The Sequel to
SHORT
IN HEIGHT, TALL IN COURAGE The Story of God's African Special Forces Unit
ALL
FOR THE GLORY OF GOD
CHAPTER ONE of the Sequel
No Greater Love Hath Man
Artie Shaw and Giff Davies were currently in a
very heated discussion with their Mossad Chief, Hadar Gabbai. He was up
against two of the most stubborn men God had ever created, and Hadar knew it.
However, he was arguing not to deny their request necessarily, but to
test the soundness of that request. Hadar suspected that if this crazy two-man mission
to save six British aid workers in the heart of Al Shabaab country in southwest
Somalia had any possibility of success, the two men sitting across the desk
from him were capable of pulling it off. Still, it had a high probability of being
a suicide mission.
Currently, Israel is fully occupied fighting Hamas
in Gaza, and quite often against Hezbollah, Yemen, and Iran at the
same time. A commitment of valuable resources to a side rescue that would
involve heavy fighting with military assets that could be provided only by
robbing Abraham to pay Moses.
Hadar explained this to Artie and Giff. He also
laid out to the men that the U.S. military had its hands full with Yemen, Iraq,
and Iran in the Red Sea. Britain had stretched its meager assets to aid the
U.S. and NATO's objectives in the area. France, well forget it.
Germany was still sluggishly rearming with a guilty conscience. The mission
would need to do some very creative ally generation from God only knows
where.
Artie smiled at that last comment. "You should
know my God because he is your God, too, Hadar. At times, we act like we are in
charge, while it's always God that's calling the shots that
count."
Artie had thrown Hadar a curve ball that
made him lean out of the batter's box.
Giff took advantage of the respite to throw
in this, "So, Hadar, if we can find alternate allies, the
mission is on?"
Hadar let out a defeated sigh, "Yes,
Giff, but you two are on your own. This is not a Mossad-backed operation.
Understood?"
Not bothering to answer, Artie and Giff jumped up
and ran out of the room. Hadar was left staring at their
empty seats, as he pondered what had just taken place.
The following morning, Hadar sat up straight in his
office chair upon receiving word from his adjutant that Artie and
Giff had somehow commandeered a civilian aircraft with a willing pilot and two
parachutes during the night. No flight plan was filed.
"God only knows where those two fools and that
plane are headed. They're below radar level," responded the Adjutant.
Hadar pounded his desk with his
fist while shouting, "I know exactly where those fools are
headed! Headed to southwest Somalia where they'll manage to get
themselves killed! I'm not going to let their deaths make me feel guilty. I
warned them - I told them! Get me any satellite images of the
location where the British aid workers are being held. Get me the Sayeret
Matkal Chief on the line - now! I should never have let those two imbeciles
into Mossad. They are not going to make me feel guilty about letting them
commit suicide just because they want to save six of their countrymen. I
was warned about these do-gooder Christians."
The Adjutant studied his iPhone,
"It's about 3,500 miles to their POC. All we have to do is check all the
airports en route through Egypt, Sudan, etc. then grab them at one of
those points. The Cessna 182 only has a range of 1050 miles."
Hadar gave his Adjutant a dirty look,
saying, "Is your hearing going bad? I said, I do not care."
The Adjutant had a sly grin on his
face as he quipped on his way out, "Yet, those two are
your favorites just like JJ said they would be. Trouble makers in
leisure - indispensable in combat."
Hadar threw a book from his desk at the exiting adjutant.
The Cessna 182 landed in Cairo at the International
Airport with its pilot and two passengers. The Cessna was piloted by an ex-SAS
buddy of Artie and Giff. They stayed overnight at a hotel close to the airport.
They needed rest and to make phone calls to gather supplies for the mission.
Phone calls to the right contacts found those
supplies in Ethiopia, right on their planned route. A wealthy
relative of one of the British hostages was footing the bill for all the
supplies and equipment needed. He had greased the way for the flight with
pre-approved landing, servicing, and fuelling. More importantly,
the powerful man had paved the diplomatic road through each country.
Artie and Giff just needed to come up with those much-needed allies Hadar
spoke about. That was growing more difficult by the moment with all the turmoil
ratcheting up in the area. They were committed and nothing, not even
the lack of allies, would keep them from attempting the rescue. Still, Hadar
wasn't far off base when he called it a likely suicide mission.
What, once upon a time, would have been crazy was
now a common occurrence for the two. Stopping
everything, they got down on their knees and prayed in
the middle of the hotel room floor while the pilot and longtime friend looked
on in total disbelief.
Artie looked up at the shocked pilot, saying,
"Join us, it's time you chose a new path laid out by the man upstairs,
my friend."
The pilot never said a word. He just bent down to
his knees, and joined hands with the pair, as
tears came rolling down his cheeks.
The plane glided smoothly over the night-masked
Somali terrain spread out beneath them. How deceptively peaceful it appeared in
its slumber. A true decent into hell.
Artie sitting in the co-pilot's seat
staring at the GPS, said, "It's time. Giff you ready? Per the
plan, rations and backup equipment first. Next pass is us."
The first drop went according to plan, hitting
within safe range of their landing point. Next pass, Giff went first, loaded
with too much armament. Next, Artie yelled to the pilot his heartfelt thanks. A
split second later, he was out and floating. He saw Giff's chute open
far below. He guided on that chute. The pair came softly to an upright landing.
Veterans of many night jumps into enemy territory, Artie and Giff no sooner hit
the ground than chutes were off and stashed in the brush.
Risk was an old familiar friend. Lurking death was
a welcome break from the everyday tedium. They spoke no words. Any necessary communication
was by hand signals. A bushpig resting nearby, unaware of their stealthy
landing, let out an excited grunt and shot off into the brush when
Artie tossed a rock at him. The poor creature surely believed in
ghosts after the encounter.
The backup ammo, water, food, and special-needs
meds for the hostages were dragged a few feet to a clump of scrub trees and
camouflaged lightly. The spot was saved on the GPS.
Giff, staring at his shielded GPS, signaled Artie
the direction. The pair scanned the area carefully avoiding even
small twigs. The terrain was heavily brush-covered with a few groups
of trees here and there. The night vision on their heads gave longer-range
precision sight than mere human vision, but not perfect. Still, the
two had many years of combat experience wearing such devices. The night was
theirs, and they intended to make full use of that advantage combined
with their cat-like approach.
They took a well-worn trail to cut the noise of
going through the tall brush which averaged about 4 feet in height.
Taking trails was dangerous, but noisily traveling through the thick brush was
worse in their estimation. Being shot mistakenly for an animal carelessly
rummaging through the brush would be an embarrassing situation, more prestige
being shot as an invader.
Encountering signs, the partners slowed to a creep
as they worked their way to within an estimated 100 feet of the Al Shabaab
encampment, Artie, in the lead, spotted a man doubled over up ahead. Without
hesitation Artie accelerated to the man. With an effortless motion, he disabled
the man by slamming his fist into the man's kidney while clapping his hand over
his mouth to prevent any sound from escaping. The man's mouth was covered in
something mucky. The smell told Artie it was vomit. The man was still
convulsing. Sensing the man wasn't capable of sounding an alarm, Artie released
his vomit-covered hand over his mouth. Whispering in a guttural and threatening
Arabic, "Where are the hostages?"
Shaking from fear, in between heaves, the sentry
managed quietly, "All are tied together on their backs in the middle of
the camp."
During all this, Artie had withdrawn his stiletto
from its sheath. With the information obtained, he plunged the knife firmly
into the base of the man's neck just under the skull, penetrating his
brain. It was over thanks to Mabior's method. He and Giff placed the
man in the brush beside the trail while honoring him with a silent prayer. It
was not the time for soldiers to moralize. It was time to disable the enemy and
rescue.
These terrorists had placed
themselves knowingly in this situation. Samuel had taught the two men well. He
told them to always be prayed up for situations just like this. Ecclesiastes
3:2 (NIV), "There is a time for every activity under the heavens: a time
to be born and a time to die."
Giff and Artie were coming upon a scene totally
unanticipated. A scene only God could have created before them. Everywhere they
scanned through their night vision goggles, they saw men heaving while bent
helplessly and unarmed on their hands and knees.
The twosome stopped and stared at the gruesome
commotion all around. Finally, both turned and looked at one another. Both wore
a devious grin.
Giff spotted and pointed out the hostages amid the
cacophony surrounding them. He yelled to nobody and everybody,
"Charge!"
They rushed up to the hostages, who were revolted
by the sight of the otherworldly-looking men covered with all their military
equipment attached to and sticking frighteningly from their clothing. The odd
thing about the hostages was that none were convulsing.
Artie introduced the SAS/Mossad to the hostages.
"Listen carefully, we are Brits, SAS, Mossad, sort of, here to rescue you!
We have to act quickly and quietly. My partner is cutting you loose, then we'll
head to a pre-chosen area from here to await rescue choppers.
Move!"
There were four men and two women. Giff cut the
first man loose, then handed him the dikes, and instructed
him to free the others. He resumed scanning their surroundings for any threats
after that.
The group moved out through the sickened men, some
appearing as though dead, and maybe they were. The rag-tag group was out of the
enemy area unchallenged, and on the move to where the equipment
had been stashed. Artie at the lead, and Giff bringing up the rear of the small
eight-person column.
Stealth was not the main priority at this point. It
was speed. Distance from that former danger gave them a slightly better chance
of pulling this insane mission off. The dormant Mossad boys knew word would get
out to the local Al Shabaab population in the area, and they would come for
them with a certain animus in their hearts.
While scanning for the opposition, a parallel
thought cropped up, "It's so different operating with God. The
impossible just seems to flow around you in an impenetrable and
protective mass."
The motley group arrived at the equipment dump
site. Soon, a muffled sound of a chopper's rotors could be heard in the
distance. The ground vibrated as the chopper came closer. The time before
extraction was spent frantically creating insight into the bizarre situation at
the enemy camp.
It seems the hostages were limited to a few scraps
of bread and foul-tasting water for nourishment while their captives were
dining on half-cooked and contaminated meat that night. The hostages were
spared the misery of food poisoning while the enemy was totally immersed in the
plague sent by who else - "the God of Israel," injected Giff.
Everyone smiled at his comforting comment.
Time was short. The Chopper, an old
Vietnam-era Huey arrived from another old friend from the SAS working
as a mercenary in Ethiopia. Artie commented, "Didn't know you could fly a
chopper me old mucker."
His chum answered, "Just learned to fly it
last week when the pilot was killed in a firefight down Dire Dawa way. I'm
pickin' it up along as I go."
That's when the group got themselves in a bit of
what Giff called, "A pickle." Actually, everything went
south in an instant. Al Shabaab backups arrived and surrounded the rescuers and
hostages. Incoming small arms fire inundated the area.
Immediately, Artie signaled Giff
to Sweep-fire the surrounding bush while he tossed grenades all around the
perimeter.
After the grenades, Artie signaled the pilot that
the hostages were loaded and to leave. "Now, without he and
Giff."
The pilot didn't question the order. He was a
former SAS and knew their ultimate duty was the safety of the hostages - no
questioning. Furthermore, as was expected of good SAS men, Artie and Giff were
sacrificing themselves for something larger than themselves. Some people
understand and respect this concept, some do not.
While Giff laid down cover fire and backed slowly
to the scrub trees where the equipment was stashed, Artie rushed into the
equipment and pulled out a 50cal. machine gun and set it up. They
knew all along this would most likely be a suicide mission, and they were prepared
to give the enemy a devastating "dog and duck" (fight).
Artie threw a bundle of Scar clips to Giff before
opening fire with the 50cal. Giff walked calmly to Artie placing his
back to Artie. They were in their element.
Enemy fire slowed to sporadic with
the intensity of fire the bad boys were putting out. Screams of the
wounded came frequently from the tall brush. Here and there fires
flared up and the screams turned to panic-stricken with that.
Occasionally, Giff would stand and calmly toss several baseball grenades from a
box he had dragged next to him. Both men were studies in concentration and
tranquility.
By their faces and reactions, you wouldn't know
that both men had been wounded at least once each, other than a field dressing
quickly stuffed inside their clothing to staunch the bleeding. This action
enabled them to further punish the enemy. At one point, Artie casually grabbed
a plastic water bottle beside him, took a drink, and offered the remainder
to Giff, who nonchalantly replied, "Thanks." Then Artie
lackadaisically opened up a new 50 cal. ammo canister while whistling
the classic Irish tune "Molloy Malone," and reloaded the
machine gun, as Giff joined in on the tune. Artie tossed this comment
into the fray, "Where's a good piper when ya need him?"
More Al Shabaab reinforcements were arriving. Al
Shabaab fire and RPG rounds were coming closer and increasing in
volume by the minute. The "Gruesome Twosome," as their former SAS
comrades referred to them, their time on earth seemed to be coming to an end.
Not that one could tell that end was near by looking at these two godly men,
yes, godly. They displayed no indication of fear nor even the slightest
concern. They were prayed up.
An end-indication came as Giff took a wound to
the stomach, a wound as painful as they come. taking in a deep and painful
breath, he turned and tapped Artie on the shoulder. Pointing to his
wounded area, he said, "I think it's time to attack."
Artie nodded in emotionless agreement. He
pointed to the ammo canister, indicating when it was out he was
ready. The plan was that when their death was imminent, they would do a
kamikaze charge into the Al Shabaab ranks, taking as many as possible with
them. It was at this moment that an RPG rocket blew up almost on top of them.
Both men were stunned and knocked defenseless. The end was appearing different
from that which was anticipated and planned.
