Task Force Desperate by Peter Nealen Read Free Book Online

attack went down, the Colonel recalled all of our units, except for the higher-profile advisors, to the operations base. We are to stay static, inside the wire, until we receive orders otherwise.”
    “But liberty’s fine? Even with the attack, and the unrest you were talking about?” I was starting to suspect something about our German friend. It was confirmed when he froze, then smiled.
    “You are most astute, meine freunde ,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “As it turns out, mon Colonel is no fool. He has a few of us out on the streets, to keep an eye on things.”
    “So he’s getting ready to act, even if his higher headquarters isn’t?” Larry was leaning forward, his forearms on the table, paying close attention.
    Kohl had gone slightly colder, and was eyeing us both carefully. “I wouldn’t know,” he said. “He does not reveal his plans of action to me. I am only a sergent-chef .”
    “Of course,” I said apologetically, even as my ears pricked up. The noise down the street had changed. It was getting louder, and taking on a distinctly nasty edge. I was starting to feel my hackles rise. “I’m sorry, I was just curious.” I nudged Larry, who looked over at me, and saw how I was listening. He cocked his head, and his face changed. Trouble.
    Kohl heard it too, and also saw how we reacted. I was hoping that he’d write it off to our being veterans, like we’d told him, but he didn’t say anything about it. He just put a handful of francs on the table and stood. “I think we had best get elsewhere, my friends,” he said, cool professionalism in his tone. “It sounds like things might get a bit ugly today after all.”
    “I agree,” I said, standing up as well, and starting to move for the street. As I did so, Kohl stepped close to me, and spoke in a low undertone.
    “I will see what my contacts can find about what you’re looking for, my friend. I will be ‘in touch,’ as you Americans say.” I looked at him in surprise, and he smiled, then hurried out of the café.
    I looked at Larry, shrugged, and we followed him out.
    The street, which had been bustling with hucksters, merchants, and shoppers, was now deserted, left to the trash and standing, brackish water. The noise of the crowd was coming from the west, in the direction of the traffic circle at the end of Avenue 13. We promptly turned and headed the other way.
    We were already several blocks down the street by the time the crowd cleared the corner. Crowds don’t usually move all that fast, and I was extremely thankful for that. From the scraps of Arabic chanting I could pick out, we would be targets if anyone in the crowd spotted us.
    Looking up, I spotted a balcony that we could climb up to, and pointed it out to Larry. I wanted to get a better picture of what was going on, and watching the crowd for a little bit might be informative.
    “And if the house is occupied, we get compromised that much faster,” Larry objected. “And if we get compromised, odds are we get torn apart by the crowd. I’m not in favor of that.”
    I hesitated for a moment. I really wanted some more information to go back with, but Larry had a good point. Finally, as the crowd got closer, I shrugged. “You’re right. Bad idea. Let’s get moving.”
    The trouble was, as much as we wanted to get out of sight, I didn’t want to cut through the slums. We’d have to go in there eventually, but going in blind and in broad daylight was not a course of action I was comfortable with. But the crowd was getting closer, spreading out along Avenue 13, even as it seemed to be generally pushing north. We had to either go to ground or find a different route.
    “Fuck it,” I finally decided, and ducked into an alley leading to the slums, Larry close on my heels.
     
    We wove through the filthy back alleys, piled with trash, and often with raw sewage running down what passed for streets, which were mostly bare dirt or crumbling asphalt. Increasingly run-down