Peoples Democratic Republic Of Yemen
Lat = 13 degrees, 1.1 minutes North
Long = 45 degrees, 11.9 minutes East
Sunday 13th March 1988
It was Nine p.m. The temperature was a cooler 75 degrees; during the midafternoon it had peaked at over 130 degrees. Mustapha was sitting on the patio of the white washed building in South Yemen, sipping a drink, the man sitting across from him, was a black African.
“So the British disarmed the device; those idiots of yours obviously screwed up.”
“From all accounts their dead idiots now,” replied Mustapha.
Five hundred yards away a pair of eyes were watching the two men on the patio from an observation post (OP) through a pair of high-powered night binoculars, the man watching was Sergeant Roy Smith of the Special Boat service, he touched his throat microphone, “ Gold leader to beach team; any sign of our man?”
“Beach team to Gold leader; just had a signal from the sub he’s on his way.”
“Roger that, I’m on my way back ETA zero-five minutes out.”
At that same moment a mile away to the South a black craft approached silently towards the shoreline insertion point.
A dark clad figure climbed out and walked knee deep in the water, pulling the inflatable Gemini behind him.
On the beach the figure removed a hold all and knelt down on the sand.
It was a beautiful night, a cloudless sky with scores of brightly sparkling stars above.
The last time Max had been here was as a child, the country was then called Aden a British colony, his father had been posted there and Max and his mother followed a month later.
He was reminded of an incident one evening, it was about seven p.m. and as usual night had quickly drawn its veil of darkness over the land.
Max was playing with his friends outside; they had looked up into the sky and had seen bright streaks of light in the sky coming from the direction of the nearby shore traveling towards the houses where they lived.
Max’s father had run out of the nearby army house they were living in, grabbed Max and another boy and shouted at the remaining boys to run back to the house with him, once in the house Max and his friends were bewildered and a little frightened.
A moment later one of the other boy’s father’s came running in, grabbed his son and said, “thank god you’re safe.”
He turned to Max’s father and said, “I saw the tracer bullets and came outside, but you beat me to it, thanks Jack.”
Max’s father smiled, walked over to the fridge pulled two cans of beer out and tossed one to his friend.
Max’s thoughts were abruptly broken, in his earpiece a voice whispered, “I have visual on you, proceed fifty paces North East of your present location.”
Max walked the short distance, a stern voice came from his left out of the dark, “don’t move, drop the bag and down on your knees hands behind your head, try anything and your fish bait.”
Max did as he was told, he saw a shadow appear quickly from his right, followed by a blow to his back and he hit the sand face down, now he knew the meaning of true grit as he chewed on the sand.
He was quickly and professionally frisked, his side arm removed, Max was yanked up onto his knees, the voice on the left said, and “why are you here?”
“To kick some meat head named Roy Smith’s arse,” replied Max.
The shadow on his left paused for a moment and then came over, “Max is that you?”
“You were always a careful man Roy, mind you that’s got you where you are today,” replied Max.
The two men grasped each other hard, “Max where you been?’
“I heard you left the unit, but no one knew where you had gone to.”
“Roy there will be time later for all this, give me a sit rep.”
Max had already placed Roy on his list, as a replacement for John Martin Eagle six, who had bought it on the unit’s first mission.
“Right Max, the target is one mile in land from here, you will not be able to get any closer than 500 yards, between that point and the house there are trip wires linked to flares and claymore mines. The house is guardedby twelve armed men, there are three 4 X 4 vehicles parked out back, just under a hour ago a chopper landed no markings, a black African male alighted and entered the house, he is with Moustapha now on the patio.”
Max looked down at his watch, twenty-one hundred hours. “Roy you know what to do?” “Yep, we will stay and secure the beach up to 22:00 hours, after that we are out of here,” replied Roy.
“And when the shit hits the fan Roy.”
“You have ten minutes to get your arse back here and we melt away,” replied Roy.
“Good man,” replied Max.
“Happy hunting Max,” replied Roy.
Max picked up his bag and walked inland, blending into the darkness.
Roy spoke into his mouthpiece. “Okay men, our boy is on his way stay sharp and frosty.”
It took Max 25 minutes to cover the distance from the beach to the area 500 yards from the white villa. The lay of the land was predominantly flat and required stealth and patience, stopping every few moments scanning the surrounding area with his night vision glasses, before moving on.
Max selected a spot with a good clear view of the villa, which was well illuminated by the interior lights and those on the patio?
Max scanned the villa spotted four armed guards in various locations around the building perimeter.
Up on the flat rooftop were two more; alongside the chopper were another two that left four unaccounted for.
At that moment he spotted the remaining four carrying boxes and loading them onto the chopper.
All the guards were carrying AK47’s.
Max swung the glasses onto the patio area, immediately he saw Mustapha, sitting down with the Black African to his right, Max could not see this mans face.
He placed the glasses down and unzipped his bag, reached into it and pulled out the rifle. He quickly focused the scope onto Mustapha’s head, at 500 yards the high velocity round would not drop; the only breeze was coming in from the shore behind him.
Max adjusted his aim and pulled the butt of the rifle tighter into his shoulder and began to control his breathing, his right forefinger beginning to apply pressure to the trigger.
Mustapha was still sitting in discussion with the African. “The three men you sent were gunned down by the Police following a chase through the London streets.”
“They were expendable,” replied Mustapha.
Max fired the shoot; the bullet entered Mustapha’s forehead, knocking him backwards off his seat onto the floor, spraying flesh and brain matter across the area.
Max quickly brought the scope onto the African who had dived to the floor; Max could now see his face, Shakira! What in hell’s name are you doing here he thought?
Within seconds, powerful searchlights from the 4 X 4’s were illuminating the area, wildly scanning, and flares began to light up the sky above.
The guards were firing blindly and tracer rounds were visible from their fire. Time to get the hell out of here Max thought. The weapon and glasses were back in the bag and Max was sprinting back to the beach.
Roy and his team were waiting; they all climbed into two rigid raider crafts, at that moment they heard the distant sound of the choppers turbines gaining momentum.
Roy gave the order, “Go!”
The engines on both crafts fired up and within ninety Seconds they had rendezvoused with the sub, sixty seconds later the sub was diving and on its way.
Shakira pulled himself up off the patio floor he screamed an order at his second in command Ali Hussein and pointed. “The shot came from that direction, take five men with you.”
“You two come with me, the rest stay and clear this bloody mess up, leave No traces.”
Shakira jumped into the chopper, strapped himself in as the machine rose into the air, like a moth in the glistening dark starlight sky.
The pilot turned the machine, picked up speed and began to head South West.
It took Ali and his men ten minutes to the reach the beach, as there was only one safe route through the mined area.
Ali was experienced enough to realize there would be no one there waiting for them, this had been a hit on a single target, only one shot fired no attempt at secondary targets.
Hussein had met Shakira in Somalia in nineteen seventy seven when they had both joined up as mercenaries when Major General Mahammed Siad Barre launched the Ogaden war against Ethiopia, the war officially finished in nineteen Seventy-eight but low-level conflict continued with raids and skirmishes for years afterwards.
Within minutes his men grouped around him having done a thorough search at the beach area, “nothing Ali,” one of them remarked. “Whoever did this has just vanished”.
“Right back to the villa, we are out of here,” replied Ali.