Free Joint Task Force #4: Africa by David E. Meadows Page A

English printed on both sides, and then handed it back. “It is Western. It is not fit for the lips of Allah’s prophet.”
    Abdo handed it back. “All the Allah’s prophets in the world are useless if they die.”
    “We can make Him happy by dying.”
    “We make our enemies happier, so eat.” Abdo unwrapped the bar and shoved it back into Abu Alhaul’s hand, forcing his brother’s fingers around the bar. A few seconds later Abu Alhaul was eating the energy bar.
    Abdo looked at his watch.
    “How long?” Abu Alhaul asked.
    “Ten minutes.”
    They had been resting and now even he didn’t feel like starting again. Were the Africans still pursuing them or as Abdo said, they have stopped or lost our tracks? Were they truly safe for the time being? He lifted his head, twisting it from side to side. What is that noise — that buzz?
    Several seconds passed as Abu Alhaul listened to thenoise, trying to separate it from the mix of jungle sounds. Whatever it was, it was growing in sound. He recognized the sound.
    “Airplane,” he said.
    Abdo lifted his head.
    Abu Alhaul stood. Abdo followed. “Looks as if you will get your wish, Abdo. Have our warriors with those obsolete surface-to-air missiles prepare themselves.”
    “I did not mean to say they would not work.”
    “I know, my brother, but you are right sometimes and when you are right, it is hard to admit it.”
    “We don’t know whose aircraft it is.”
    Abu Alhaul shrugged. “Doesn’t matter, does it? If it’s flying, it can’t be a loyal warrior. We have no aircraft, just the foot soldiers of Allah.”
    Abdo hurriedly moved past Abu Alhaul, and seconds later he had the four men with the missiles lined up, the barrels pointing upward toward the unbroken canopy of vegetation that covered them from the sky.
    “HERE HE COMES, CHIEF,” PETTY OFFICER LACEY SAID , slapping Razi on the shoulder.
    Coffee spilled over the top of the cup, splashing across Razi’s hand and onto the small mess table. “Hey, watch it, clown.” He winked at Lacey as he eased by the two sailors from the Naval Research Laboratory. Down the aisle came the new ensign. Razi slipped the half-full cup of coffee into a metal holder attached to the side of the bulkhead, leaned around the edge of the half-wall that separated the operating part of the aircraft from the mess area, and watched the ensign work his way aft. He’s heading to the head or back here. Razi’s fingers slipped into the flight-suitpocket on his right leg and found the peanut-butter packet. He laughed. He couldn’t help thinking of the expression on newbies’ faces when he did this.
    He pulled the peanut-butter packet out, ripped the top off, and with his left boot crossed over his knee, he squeezed the mixture along the edge where the sole met the heel, using the empty packet to smooth the stuff down.
    Lieutenant Reed, a mission evaluator, stood near the coffee urn. Razi put his flight shoe down and smiled at the officer.
    “New meat,” Razi said.
    “New meat,” the lieutenant acknowledged, turning to watch. The officer sipped his coffee with his free hand while the other held on to the safety bar overhead.
    Razi walked forward, eased past the two sailors from the Naval Research Laboratory, and sat down on the arm of one of the passenger seats mounted along the starboard side of the aircraft.
    Lacey took his earphones off, pushed himself out of his seat and directly in front of the ensign so that he led the way aft.
    Razi lifted his flight boot and crossed it over his right knee. Behind the ensign, the new female flight engineer followed by a few paces. Razi’s eyebrows rose and fell several times. Pits must have given up and taken his seat back. A little fleshy, but she looked scrumptious.
    “Chief,” Lacey said, stopping a couple of steps from Razi and causing the ensign to stop behind him. “Someone must have stepped in dog shit.” Lacey wrinkled his nose as if trying to trace the smell.
    “Lacey, what