CHAPTER ONE of the Sequel: No Greater Love Hath Man

 

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 them. 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 so 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, 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 Somalie terrain spread out beneath them. It appeared so deceptively peaceful in its slumber. 

     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 friend. Lurking death was a welcome and familiar face. 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. 

     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 bent in half up ahead. The pair didn't hesitate. 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?"

     The sentry was shaking from fear and heaving as he 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. 

     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. 

     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 knew he had to introduce the SAS to the hostages. "Listen carefully, we are Brits, SAS, 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. 

     Artie was scanning with an experienced eye for any sign of enemy presence. As he did this, running through his mind was, "It's so different operating with God. The impossible just seems to flow around you in an impenetrable and protective mass."

     The dubious group arrived at the equipment dump site. Almost immediately, a muffled sound of chopper's rotors could be heard in the distance. The ground vibrated as the chopper came closer. The little 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," spoke Giff. Everyone smiled at Giff"s powerful 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. 

     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.