Mission Liberty Read Online Free PDF Page A

here,” the SEAL said, clearing away the sand to show DeLuca and the others where he’d buried a line of explosive
     detonating cord, capable of killing anyone who stepped on it or tripped over it. The drab green cord, about the thickness
     of a cotton clothesline, was rigged to a half dozen Claymore mines, stuck into the sand on tripods with the curved side facing
     the approaching rebels, capable, when detonated, of killing anybody within one hundred feet in a ninety-degree arc. DeLuca
     assumed the SEAL team that had prepared the take-out point had mined the beach in the opposite direction as well.
    “Lieutenant John Riley,” the SEAL said. “Step over the cord and follow me. Do you have wounded?”
    “We’re good,” DeLuca said, as a rocket-propelled grenade fired by one of the rebel soldiers destroyed the Isuzu behind them.
     Pieces of shrapnel rained down around them, a rear wheel rolling down the beach and curving into the sea. Then a machine gun
     opened fire from the rooftop of a four-story beachfront apartment building. DeLuca fired on the machine-gun position, joined
     by the SEAL with his M-5, chromed against corrosion from seawater and vented to drain.
    To the west, DeLuca saw palm tree after palm tree splinter and fall, mowed down like blades of grass by the incoming rounds
     as the
Minneapolis
opened up with all its guns, six-inch and eight-inch shells raining down with incredible precision. A pair of F14 Tomcats
     crisscrossed in the sky above them, strafing the beach in either direction as the Apache they’d seen before returned to send
     a fire-and-forget wave-seeking Hellfire at the automatic weapon on the apartment building roof, taking it out with the first
     shot.
    Down the beach, a pair of SEALs rose from the surf, gesturing for DeLuca and his party to join them.
    “It’s too dangerous to land a craft but once you’re in the water, your target profile is minimal,” Riley explained. “Mr. Ambassador,
     are you a strong swimmer?”
    The ambassador shook his head.
    Riley handed him a float vest from his pack and told him to put it on, while the others jettisoned their gear, dropping it
     in the surf that crashed all around them. DeLuca was happy to lose the tie.
    “SEAL four, five, six, and seven, need your help,” Riley barked into his radio, and in an instant, four other SEALs in scuba
     gear rose from the water where they’d hidden, submerged.
    “Sorry we’re late,” DeLuca said as the Apache circled back to strafe the beach in the direction of the presidential palace.
     “Traffic was bad.”
    “That’s all right,” Riley said. “Any chance I get to work on my tan is always appreciated. We’re not used to doing this in
     daylight.” The second and third SEALs held remote detonators, one looking west, the other east. Riley regarded the screen
     on his handheld, which showed infrared satellite images of the approaching rebels.
    “We should go,” he said, extending his arm and pointing into the sea.
    The water was warm, rising in broad swells beyond the breakers. Each member of the team had a Navy swimmer as a partner, Lieutenant
     Riley taking the ambassador by the back of his vest and pulling him forward. DeLuca turned briefly when he heard an explosion
     on the beach where a rebel soldier had tried to cross the hinter line, which the SEALs had also mined. Three rebels streaked
     in through the beach, firing on them with AK-47s.
    “Don’t worry about it,” his SEAL swim partner said. “Hitting a person this far out is like shooting at a coconut.”
    Then the
Minneapolis
put a round on the beach, directly in front of the shooting rebels, and when the smoke cleared, DeLuca saw only body parts.
    One hundred fifty yards from shore, the SEALs directed them to form a line and hold their right arms in the air. A PBR fastboat
     appeared, its .60-caliber deck gun blazing toward shore. A SEAL in a Zodiac tethered to the starboard side dropped rings attached
     to lines over their