Clear by Fire (36 page)

“I’m a little busy right now.”

“I need more ammo,” Tarek yelled.

Renee ducked low and sprinted to the trunk of the battered car. She placed the muzzle of her rifle on the lock and fired a round through the mechanism. Fighting against the mangled trunk, she pried it open and snagged two ammo cans out of the back. Using her left hand, she tossed the first one to Tarek before coming under fire.

Mason staggered over to her and returned fire at a position across the road. Pushing her to the ground, he grabbed the last ammo can and lobbed it toward Tarek.

“Get the RPG,” he yelled as he steadied his rifle on the roof of the car. Taking his time to get a good sight picture, he fired two more shots. One of the rebels hit the ground.

Renee leaned into the trunk to reach the RPG launcher and the rockets, which had slid to the back of the cargo area. She yelled to Mason, “My belt’s caught—it got caught on the latch.”

A bullet whizzed past his head with a hiss. He ducked down as the next round dinged off the exposed metal and ricocheted with a menacing whine. Scraping his knees on the ground, he fumbled with Renee’s belt until it finally came loose. Mason tried to pull her free of the car, but she scrambled back to retrieve the rockets.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he yelled as she ducked down beside him with a wink.

“Someone has to get us out of here,” she laughed.

“You need to be careful,” he yelled back.

“Yes, dear,” Renee replied as she snapped the launcher together.

Mason dropped the empty magazine and pulled a fresh one from
his kit. He slammed it into the rifle. Renee expertly slid a rocket into the launcher and locked it in place with a twist.

The amount of fire pouring into the kill zone made it difficult to find a target. Bullets zipped into the vehicles, sending shards of metal and clouds of glass flying into the air. A bullet hit the tire of one of the pickups, causing it to hiss as it deflated. Renee peeked out from behind the car, looking for a target. Mason was about to tell her to try to clear the road when more trucks sped into the intersection from the west.

“Technical,” Zeus yelled out at a flatbed pickup. A Soviet KPV-14.5 antiaircraft gun mounted in the bed swung into view.

“Right there,” Mason yelled to Renee.

“I’ve got it, get out of the way,” she replied as she stepped out of cover. “Back blast area clear,” she yelled before pulling the trigger.

Mason jumped out of the way. The booster charge engaged, sending a jet of hot exhaust out of the back of the launcher. The rocket rushed from the launcher. A split second later the main charge kicked in, leaving a trail of white smoke as it hurtled toward its target. He could tell right away that it was off target.

“Move,” he yelled, grabbing Renee by the shoulder as he pulled her away from the car. His rifle smacked against his knees, but he was focused on getting her to cover since they’d given away their position. “Zeus, fall back,” he yelled.

Mason looked over his shoulder and caught a brief glimpse of the youth manning the KPV. The tails of the green head scarf tied around his forehead snapped in the air as he struggled to pivot the huge gun. The muscles in his thin, ungainly arms strained beneath his faded Beastie Boys T-shirt as he stood on tiptoes to reach the trigger. Manhandling the heavy weapon until he was aiming at the mass of stalled vehicles, the young jihadist pressed down on the butterfly trigger and fired. The gun’s heavy recoil shook his rail-thin body, giving the impression that he was having a seizure. However, as the bullets hammered into the position Renee had just vacated, a toothy smile played across the youth’s acne-marked face.

•  •  •

Scottie had a full head of steam as he shot around the corner and sped toward the target. Downshifting, he expertly worked the wheel. The back end of the dented sedan snapped around as they came out of the curve, and he smiled. Harden grabbed on to the dashboard. Despite the pungent odor of the overheated brake pads, Scottie knew the car would hold up and wasn’t worried when the needle of the faded tachometer jumped to five thousand RPMs.

Scottie was determined to make it to the mosque. If they wanted him to go slow, then they were going to have to take him out of the driver’s seat. Red brake lights blinked on and off ahead of him, and cars slowed down. Hopping the median, he swerved into oncoming traffic, shifted gears, and cut back into his lane. He was having the time of his life and had totally forgotten about the van trying to keep up with his nimble vehicle.

“You realize that there is a bomb in the van, right?” Jones said, leaning forward over the armrest.

“You want me to slow down so we can get fucked up?”

Jones looked out the open window, taking in the burned-out vehicles and scattered shell casings lining the road.

“No, you’re doing good.”

“That’s what I thought,” Scottie yelled back.

“Take your next left and then a right turn,” Harden cut in. “The target will be five hundred meters to the south.”

“Roger that.” Scottie whipped the car wide in preparation for the sharp turn. He felt the tires struggling to grip the road as he drifted smoothly around the corner.

Explosions and small-arms fire echoed all around them. As the symphony of war rose to a crescendo, they raced through the urban wasteland. The buildings muffled the direction of fire, making it impossible to get a fix on their point of origin.

Harden had abandoned the idea of his driver slowing down. He
had to keep looking up from the map, which he’d positioned in his lap, because Scottie’s erratic driving evoked waves of nausea.

Colonel Barnes swayed in the backseat as Scottie expertly handled the turn. He was calmed by the realization that he was closing in on his destiny. More than any man before him, he was going to change the face of this ancient city forever, and single-handedly solidify his place in the pantheon of conquerors.

Barnes harbored no qualms whatsoever about putting civilians to the sword. He saw them as savage enablers who provided the jihadists with an unwavering infrastructure, and their reparations were well past due. The world was about to take notice, he thought as the car slipped around the final turn and immediately came under fire.

“Back the fuck up,” Harden yelled as a bullet knifed through the windshield and thumped into the colonel’s headrest. Barnes twisted to see the hole, where his head had just been, as Scottie yanked up on the emergency brake and spun the car in a 180-degree circle.

“Go, go, go,” Jones yelled, shaking the back of the driver’s seat with his hands.

The car shook as the engine redlined. Scottie released the emergency brake and pushed in the clutch. His right hand shot to the gear shifter, and he slammed the sedan into first before mashing on the gas. The tires squealed on the pavement, and the sedan shot forward.

“Watch out,” Harden yelled as the van careened around the corner.

The van’s large bulk filled the windshield. A collision was imminent. Scottie could see Boz fighting the wheel in the front seat of the van and braced himself for impact. The sound of squealing brakes followed the bomb-laden vehicle as it fishtailed out of his line of sight. Then a sickening crash echoed over the gunfire. The van slammed into the concrete wall of a shop.

•  •  •

“They wrecked out,” Jones yelled.

“Contact front,” Boz yelled over the radio as they came under fire.

“Damn it,” Colonel Barnes yelled, punching the back of the seat in anger, and Scottie slid the sedan to a halt.

Boz still had the talk button depressed, and everyone in the car could hear the staccato chatter of a rifle firing inside the van. Villa’s muffled voice was yelling Hoyt’s name. Then the radio went dead.

Colonel Barnes was out of the car before it stopped. His rifle came to his shoulder as Harden threw the car’s door open and followed him. He could see smoke drifting from the engine compartment of the van, the twisted rebar poking out of the smashed wall as he ran. Barnes knew an errant round could set the bomb off, but he still harbored an ember of hope that they could make it to the target.

The driver’s-side door cracked open. Boz leaned out of his seat, dazed, and pushed it all the way open. He tumbled to the ground but remained in control of his rifle, which he began firing from his side.

Shots rang out from inside the van, followed by a muzzle striking the windshield, as Villa tried to get a better view of his attackers. Harden sprinted to catch up with the colonel, who went straight to the back doors of the van and pulled them open.

The cargo compartment was covered in blood. Barnes stepped up onto the bumper and saw that Hoyt was on his back, bleeding heavily from his chest. He ignored the man and checked the bomb’s components as his soldier weakly raised his hand for help.

Villa wedged himself through the narrow space between the two front seats and jumped into the back of the van. His foot slipped on the bloody metal floor, causing him to bang his knee as he tried to open the sliding door.

“Help him,” he yelled at the colonel, who refused to look up from the bomb.

Cursing, Villa grabbed the handle and slid the door open before grabbing Hoyt by his drag strap. His rifle bumped against his groin as he carefully lifted Hoyt’s upper body out of the van. The heels of the man’s boots hit the pavement with a thump, and Villa dragged him around to the back of the van, where Harden was yelling at his boss.

“Get out of there. We have to go,” Harden ordered, but Villa gently laid his teammate on the ground and ripped the first aid pouch from his kit.

Harden could see the pale edges of Hoyt’s femur poking out of his pant leg as Villa pressed down hard on his chest. Blood squirted from beneath his palm from the pressure on the wound.

“I need some gauze,” Villa yelled as the colonel reached out of the van and slammed the doors shut.

“What the fuck is he doing?” Jones demanded breathlessly, running to the side of his fallen comrade.

“Forget about him. Focus on Hoyt,” Villa said as Harden dumped the blowout kit on the pavement and began rummaging through the medical supplies.

“Move your arms,” Jones said, pulling out his knife and cutting the plate carrier straps off Hoyt’s shoulders. As soon as he pulled it clear, he could see the uneven rise of the man’s chest, which was indicative of a collapsed lung.

As they fought to control the bleeding, the ragged sound of Barnes trying to start the mangled engine crept over the gunfire.

“Help me roll him over,” Jones said as the colonel fought to get the van started.

“I can’t find an exit wound,” Villa yelled.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harden could see Scottie shooting over the hood of the car. He grabbed a plastic tube off the ground and expertly pulled out a long, thin needle. Using his fingers, he worked his way down from the chest bone, probing for the intercostal space between the ribs before deftly inserting the needle into the chest cavity. He was trying to relieve the pressure in the man’s lungs, but he knew it was hopeless.

Barnes had abandoned trying to get the van started and suddenly appeared on the right side of the van.

“Leave him, he’s dead,” he ordered harshly.

The men ignored him and continued working to save their teammate’s
life. Barnes brought his rifle up in a smooth motion and fired a single round over Villa’s shoulder and into Hoyt’s forehead. Harden scrambled backward at the sudden gunshot and reached for his weapon. Villa stared at the small hole in his friend’s forehead, trying to figure out what had happened, and Barnes grabbed his shoulder and pushed him out of the way.

A deathly silence fell over the small group as the realization of what had just occurred sank in. Barnes lowered his rifle and calmly said, “Get up, the mission’s not over.”

•  •  •

Mason pushed Renee to the ground as the KPV pummeled the car, blowing holes the size of a fist in the thin metal. The gunner walked his fire down the side of the car before pausing to inspect the damage, and Renee fought to reload the RPG launcher.

Tarek and Zeus were huddled near the rear of one of the disabled pickups. While Zeus was trying to get Mason’s attention, Tarek engaged the technical with the SAW. The Libyan tried to pull his countryman to safety, but Tarek brushed him off and darted from cover.

Laying the light machine gun over the hood, he fired off two long bursts at the gunner and knocked him off the gun.

Mason heard him yell in triumph and was stepping out to see what had happened when he heard the sound of a heavy impact to his rear, followed by automatic fire. Renee felt Mason’s grip on her shoulder loosen and finally got another rocket into the launcher.

Zeus sprinted toward Mason in a crouch as Renee got to her feet and moved to a better position. Taking her time, she lined up the shot and closed her finger around the trigger. Mason jerked his head in her direction. The rocket leapt from the launcher and rushed toward the technical. Another rebel was just getting the gun back into action when the RPG slammed into the wheel well and flipped the truck into the air.

Renee yelled in triumph and turned toward Mason with a huge
smile on her face. Mason was looking back toward the front of their position with an ashen expression. She knew immediately that something was wrong. Ditching the launcher, she looked between the open space of the two vehicles to see Tarek sprawled in the open in a pool of his own blood.

Huge chunks had been taken out of his chest and part of his head was missing. Somehow, his hand was still clutching the mangled SAW.

Mason started toward his dead friend, but Zeus grabbed his arm. Renee watched the American try to fight him off.

“Get the fuck off me,” Mason yelled.

Zeus yelled back at him, but Renee couldn’t make out what he was saying over a sudden upswell in rifle fire. She could see the Libyan pushing Mason back toward the rear of the trucks when an explosion went off to her six o’clock.

“Mason,” she yelled as rounds began pouring in from the rear. She managed to find cover just as a neat row of holes appeared along the wall she’d just been standing next to.