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  Niner grinned. “So do I.” He turned to Atlas. “Don’t you?”

  Atlas growled. “Don’t you get started.”

  Niner patted him on the knee. “He loves me.”

  Vanessa threw her head back, groaning. “Sometimes I wonder if Niner is actually his soul mate and not me.”

  “Certain questions are better left unasked,” said Shirley.

  “Well, you’re right about that,” agreed Dawson. “You two better be on your best behavior. I don’t think the Nigerians are going to understand your brand of humor. If you two start Dutch ovening each other in your tent and giggle like schoolgirls, you’re going to seriously affect the reputation of the—”

  Shirley interrupted. “Dutch ovening?”

  “I’ll show you tonight,” said Red before he turned and grinned at Dawson.

  Maggie’s eyes narrowed. “What is Dutch ovening?”

  Dawson turned to her with an equally toothy smile. “I’ll show you tonight.”

  Vanessa groaned. “When I was introduced to Niner, I should have known you were all terrible.”

  Flexible wrists all slapped against chests. “Who? Us?” echoed the team.

  “Yes, all of you. You’re terrible.” Vanessa stared at Shirley and Maggie. “A Dutch oven is when you throw the covers over your heads in bed and fart so that your partner gets to suffer.”

  Shirley groaned. “Oh, God, he’s done that before, the pig. I just didn’t know it had a name.”

  Red frowned at Vanessa. “Gee, thanks for ruining my fun tonight.”

  Vanessa eyeballed him. “If that’s your idea of fun in bed when you’ve got a gorgeous wife like that, I feel sorry for Shirley.”

  Shirley frowned at her husband. “Yeah, maybe I should get that cornbread recipe from you.”

  Red turned toward her. “But I don’t like cornbread.”

  Shirley eyed him. “I never said I was making it for you.”

  Everyone roared with laughter as Red’s cheeks matched his nickname.

  “You got burned, buddy, you got burned!” cried Niner.

  Red finally joined in. “Okay, I deserved that. No more Dutch ovens.” He jutted his chin toward Niner and Atlas. “But you two sweethearts better put corks in them, because if you start stinking up that Herc tomorrow, I’m lowering the ramp and kicking you two out on harnesses.”

  Niner batted a hand at him. “I’m sure there’s some regulation somewhere that says you can’t do that.”

  Atlas agreed and tapped his chili. “A much wiser course of action would be to arm yourself, otherwise this Howitzer is going to blow you out the back of the plane.”

  Red stared at Atlas for a moment then cursed. “Okay, give me another damn bowl. This means war.”

  Shirley’s head sank and her hands covered her face. “I married into a family of man-childs.” She turned her head to look up at her husband as Vanessa delivered a bowl of chili. “You’re sleeping in the guest room tonight.”

  Red took the bowl then hesitated. “You’d deny me the night before I deploy?”

  She sat up. “No, you’re right. You don’t deserve that.” She looked at Vanessa. “Give me a bowl of whatever recipe has the most beans. If I have to sleep with Farty McFartFace here, I’m going to Dutch oven the shit out of him.”

  3 |

  Over the Atlantic Ocean

  Dawson groaned as Atlas leaned over and cocked a cheek, ripping something that had to have a clause in the Geneva Convention against its use. At least he had aimed it at Niner, but gas respected no boundaries, and just as easily could come back on friend or foe. Fortunately, all twelve of them were loaded to bear, and many a story had been told of refined women performing Dutch ovens all night, giggling as much as Niner would.

  Niner leaned away, covering his mouth and nose with a hand. “Oh my God, I think I can taste that one.”

  Red turned to Dawson as he grimaced. “Sergeant Major, I highly recommend that when this mission is over, you ask the colonel to ban any methane-inducing cuisine the night before.”

  Dawson finally let one go that he had been holding for hours. He sighed in relief. “Sorry about that. I’ll be meeting with the colonel the moment we get back stateside.” He stabbed a finger at Atlas. “I blame you for this.”

  Niner squeaked one out and giggled. “I make no apologies. I blame him too.”

  “How is it my fault?” protested Atlas.

  Spock cocked an eyebrow. “You’re the one who started dating a woman who believes in human experimentation.”

  “Hey, I didn’t see anybody complaining. You’re only uncomfortable because you’re all trying to hold it in.” Atlas leaned forward, extending a hand then clenching it. “Embrace the fart side. You know you want to.” His ridiculously deep voice was made even deeper by his Darth Vader impression that would have made James Earl Jones sound like a soprano by comparison.

  Niner agreed wholeheartedly. “Fart away, gentlemen. It’s both liberating and fun. The sooner you do, the sooner your suffering is over.”

  “Oh, to hell with it,” said Mickey, a long high-pitched ripper following his surrender. Someone else farted, then another, and within minutes they were all wishing they had gas masks with them. But the intestinal cramping had been relieved. Red groaned in ecstasy as he launched an air biscuit that Dawson swore rattled the airframe.

  Atlas’ eyes shot wide as he rated the effort with two thumbs up. “Holy shit, Sergeant, you’ve been holding out on us.”

  Red’s shoulders slumped as every muscle relaxed with the exquisite release. “You have no idea.” His head lolled to the side and he stared at Dawson. “My recommendation stands, however.”

  Dawson waved his hand in front of his nose. “Oh my God, it definitely does.” He directed his attention at Atlas. “And you tell your girlfriend to stop experimenting on us.”

  Atlas grunted. “Yeah, right, like I can tell her what to do.”

  Niner eyed him. “What, are you scared?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You are scared. Have you looked at yourself in a mirror lately? How the hell does anything scare you?”

  “I am not scared, but have you looked at her in a mirror lately?”

  “I don’t know. Have you found my hidden camera yet?”

  “Huh?”

  “Forget about it. No, I haven’t looked at her in the mirror lately. What’s that got to do with it?”

  Atlas gave a toothy grin. “If you had seen her in a mirror, there’s no way you’d ever say no to that woman.”

  Mickey nodded in agreement. “He’s got you there. Vanessa is one fine-looking woman and one hell of a cook. Don’t you dare tell her to stop experimenting on us. Though I do agree with Red, lay off the gas-inducing ones the day before a mission, especially one that has us flying in a tin can with no windows to open.”

  Atlas held up his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine, but when you’re eating MREs for the next week, you’re going to be missing my woman’s chili.”

  Wings executed a one-cheek squeak. “Just adding my vote. More experimentation, better timing.”

  “Seconded,” said Sergeant Gerry “Jimmy Olsen” Hudson, his trousers coughing.

  Dawson rolled his eyes but didn’t dare sigh because that would require inhaling. “Okay, enough of this.” He checked his watch. “We’re landing in an hour at Kano. Let’s review the mission. We’re splitting into two teams. I’ll be leading Team One, Red, Team Two. We each have a list of Forward Operating Bases that the Nigerians have asked us to consult on from a security perspective. Uncle Sam has graciously volunteered our asses—”

  “I think he knew we were going to be loaded to bear so planned ahead,” rumbled Atlas.

  Dawson gave him a look. “Our asses, loaded or not, were volunteered because Boko Haram is so active. The Pentagon is concerned that with the collapse of ISIS, Boko Haram might attempt more kidnappings to raise funds for their operations. We all know what these animals are capable of and how many schoo
lgirls they’ve kidnapped, how many people they’ve murdered, all in the name of their twisted version of Islam. Our job is to make sure these new bases have a shot at allowing those stationed there to defend themselves. We’ll review, make recommendations, then move on to the next base.”

  “Are we expecting another UN Peacekeeping operation?” asked Niner.

  It was well known in the military world why peacekeeping operations were often undertaken by Third World countries. They would show up ill-equipped, often with nothing at all, and it would be up to a NATO ally to provide them with everything they needed to survive and prevent the inevitable slaughter if the warring parties they were there to keep apart ever discovered that those manning the ramparts had no weapons or ammo.

  Dawson shrugged. “No idea. However, if past experience dictates, I’d say we’re going to show up at some of these new installations and find canvas fencing. The Pentagon wants us to assess the situation, make recommendations on how to improve things, and supplies will be sent in if the Nigerians agree.”

  “Why wouldn’t they agree?”

  “They seem touchy about letting anyone operate on their soil, though I think they’ll happily take anything materiel that we offer them.”

  “Are we expecting any problems?” asked Atlas.

  “Always expect problems, but the Nigerians insist they can handle anything Boko Haram might attempt to throw at us.”

  Spock cocked an eyebrow. “If they can handle anything, then why do they need us there?”

  Dawson smiled slightly. “Exactly. So, heads on a swivel, gentlemen. There could be an AK-47 around any corner.”

  Jimmy grunted. “And let me guess, ROEs are that we can’t fire unless fired upon?”

  “Welcome to the modern US Army.”

  Niner grinned. “Where we give the best hugs.”

  4 |

  NAF Kano Kano, Nigeria

  Dawson stepped off the C-130 Hercules’ ramp and onto the tarmac at Nigerian Air Base Kano. He had been here before and was certain he would be here again. He smiled at the sight of Sergeant Major Yemi Buhari, a man he had dealt with before. Competent, capable, and friendly. He was standing beside a colonel, who judging from his expression, wasn’t too pleased to be here. He could understand the man’s feelings. No one liked having to admit they needed someone else’s help.

  Nigeria was a poor but proud country, with the largest population in Africa, approaching two-thirds that of the United States, wedged into an area less than a tenth its size. They were dealing with a significant Islamic fundamentalist problem, and after over twenty years of war, nobody had more experience in that area than the United States. His country was only too happy to help, especially when China and Russia were attempting to exert influence in Africa, the Russians through discounted weapons sales, the Chinese through their Belt and Road Initiative, which merely saddled Third World nations with massive debt.

  “Sergeant Major White, so good to see you again,” said Buhari, addressing Dawson by his codename. “This is Colonel Oguntade. He’s in charge of the FOB expansion program.”

  Dawson and the others snapped to attention, saluting the senior officer. He returned the salute. “Sergeant Major, on behalf of the Nigerian government, I welcome you to our country and thank you for your assistance.”

  “It is our honor, sir.”

  Oguntade indicated Buhari. “The sergeant major will be your liaison. Should you require anything, speak to him.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Oguntade turned on his heel and left them without saying another word. He climbed into a nearby jeep that sped away, leaving the NCOs to themselves. Buhari shrugged. “You’ll have to forgive the colonel. He feels things like this are beneath him.”

  “Well, a senior officer receiving a bunch of sergeants probably isn’t something he’s accustomed to.”

  Buhari grunted. “No. If you were a Nigerian, he wouldn’t have said a word to you unless he wanted you to polish his shoes.”

  Dawson held out a hand toward Red. “My second-in-command. Master Sergeant Grey.”

  Buhari shook Red’s hand. “Good to meet you, Sergeant.”

  “Likewise.”

  “Are you and your men ready to go?”

  “We’re always ready,” replied Dawson with a slight smile.

  Buhari chuckled. “I have no doubt. Change of plans, however. We had some extremely heavy rainfall yesterday that’s made some of the roads to your first base impassable. We’ll be taking you in by chopper instead.”

  “Always preferable than half a day on a bumpy road.”

  “I thought you might like that.” Buhari turned to Red. “Unfortunately for you, your roads are perfectly fine.”

  Red rolled his eyes. “Gee. Don’t I feel lucky?”

  Buhari laughed. “At least you’re only looking at a couple of hours in the back of a troop transport.” He turned and whistled. “Sergeant!” A man standing nearby with several other soldiers jogged over. Buhari indicated Red. “This is Master Sergeant Grey. He is in command of the team you’ll be partnered with. Sergeant Grey, this is Sergeant Akintan. Anything you need, you ask him, and he’ll do his best.”

  Red shook the man’s hand. “Got a helicopter hanging around that’s not being used?”

  Akintan jerked his head at the lone chopper in sight. “You’re lucky we were able to get approval to use this one. I think the colonel would have been happy with you walking to your destination.”

  Buhari gave Akintan a look, the same look Dawson would have given any of his men if they criticized a senior officer in public. Akintan’s jaw clenched and he pointed at a nearby truck. “When you’re ready, Sergeant, I’ll be over there.”

  Red nodded. “Thank you, Sergeant. We’ll be with you shortly.”

  Akintan jogged back to the truck, orders snapped to others in the vicinity. Buhari lowered his voice slightly. “I must apologize.”

  Dawson dismissed the apology with a flick of his wrist. “No need. NCOs complaining about their officers among other NCOs is common the world over.”

  “Yes, but not to another country’s NCOs.”

  “Consider it forgotten.”

  Atlas tossed a duffel bag on the large pile the team had been unloading, and Buhari frowned. “I didn’t realize you’d have so much equipment.” He glanced over his shoulder at the chopper. “There’s no way we’re fitting you and all that on there.”

  “How long a round trip?”

  “Two hours.”

  “Do you have permission for two trips?”

  “No.” Buhari grinned. “But I’ve always found it’s better to apologize after the fact than to ask permission before.”

  Dawson chuckled. “I think I’ve heard that somewhere, and I tend to agree.” He turned to his team. “Break it down, gentlemen. Essentials only. The rest will be two hours behind us.”

  His team went to work, setting aside anything they would not need in the next several hours, and when they were done, three duffel bags remained to be loaded on the chopper, containing mostly items they would require for self-defense should things go south.

  Red approached, his team already loaded in the back of the transport with their equipment. “We’re heading out now. See you in a week.”

  “See you in a week,” replied Dawson, exchanging a fist bump.

  Buhari jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the chopper as it powered up. “I suggest we leave now before the colonel figures out that this pile of equipment is going out on a second unauthorized flight.”

  Dawson eyed the hoard. “We’re going to need guards on this. There’s some highly classified stuff in there like changes of underwear and new MRE recipes.”

  Buhari smiled, reading between the lines. He turned and whistled, rhyming off four names. The men in question rushed over and Buhari pointed at the equipment. “Nobody gets near this stuff. This is United States Government property. When the chopper returns, load it, then return to your posts. Understood?”

  A choru
s of, “Yes, Sergeant Major!” was the reply.

  “Men I can trust,” explained Buhari as they strode toward the helicopter.

  “I have no doubt. I meant no disrespect.”

  Buhari slapped him on the back. “And you gave none. Nigeria is a poor country, and unfortunately, sometimes things such as a pile of American equipment can prove an irresistible temptation to someone whose family is desperate.”

  Dawson stood by the side of the old Bell Huey and watched as his team boarded. He gave a wave to Red and Team Two as their truck rumbled past accompanied by two jeeps, front and back. Buhari climbed aboard the chopper and Dawson followed, the last boot off the ground. He took a seat as they lifted off, then stared down at the base below and prayed for an uneventful mission.

  But when Boko Haram was involved, anything was possible.

  5 |

  Boko Haram Staging Area Outside Maiduguri, Nigeria

  “The infidel is weak, for he does not have Allah in his heart. Only through Allah can we have the strength necessary to be victorious. The infidel, he rejects Allah, he rejects His words as they are written in the Koran, and it is because of the constant state of sin they live in that they will be defeated. It is only a matter of time, and it’s why we win victory after victory.”

  Ibrahim Mohammed ran his hands down the backs of two spoils from previous victories, two girls, favorites in his harem. His group, founded by the great Mohammed Yusuf, was famous—some might say notorious—for kidnapping schoolgirls by the hundreds. And with the death of Yusuf, he had continued the tradition. Choosing schoolgirls was an intentional decision. It not only shocked the world, which brought Boko Haram respect among its peers, it saved the girls from the satanic teachings they were subjected to by a government intent on adopting Western ways.

  And it also had advantages in other ways.

  Many of the girls, once taught the Koran and what was expected of them as good Muslim women, embraced the teachings. Some married their captors and bore their children. Those who truly resisted were punished in other ways. Some became rewards for his men that served him well, and the rest were sold as sex slaves or returned when ransom was paid. Everyone gained in the end. His own collection numbered a dozen, ranging in ages from ten to twenty, some willing participants after they had been broken, like the two girls with him now, others still intensely resistant, which he found deliciously exciting.