Infidels (18 page)

Hold
until relieved.

The
words echoed in his head, the voice replaced by Richard Todd’s from The Longest
Day. This wasn’t Pegasus Bridge, but to those inside, it was just as important.
They needed to give the civilians enough time to get into the bunker buried
deep beneath the building, then if necessary, execute an orderly retreat into
the same bunker, otherwise they could be looking at another Benghazi.

Only
worse.

Benghazi
was an attack by less than 150 men. This time there were thousands. The only
way the embassy would be taken back would be by force. Fortunately the French
weren’t pussies. They wouldn’t hesitate to use the force necessary to end the
siege, the problem was how long it would take to get things rolling, what with
the chaos erupting throughout the city. With an estimated two million Muslims
in metropolitan Paris and nearly five million in France, the French had a
nearly impossible problem on their hands if even just a fraction of those
decided to participate in a violent uprising.

Many
people had already forgotten the 2005 rioting by mostly Muslim youths that
swept across France resulting in almost 10,000 vehicles being torched and
hundreds of millions of dollars in damage—not to mention the deaths. It took
over 20,000 police officers to restore order. And that was all caused by the
perceived injustice by the police when two boys died from electrocution, hiding
from the authorities after allegedly vandalizing a construction site with other
youths.

What
would it take to stop tens if not hundreds of thousands upset over their
holiest relic being stolen by infidels?

Niner
shuddered to think.

Taking a
knee at the roof edge at the one-two corner, he had a clear view of the front
gate and the gardens to the right of his position. Three choppers had managed
to land and evacuate the senior staff, but there were still hundreds inside
including terrified American citizens who had sought refuge from the rampaging
hordes.

And one
ambassador who had refused to abandon his post.

He
glanced to his left and spotted Dawson twenty yards to his left, about
mid-point on the front of the building, other Marines taking up positions
around the entire perimeter. As he scanned the ground below he could see dozens
of people now over the fence of the main gate, dozens more climbing the fences,
some advancing short distances before falling back to the perceived safety of
numbers, no one yet making an attempt to charge the building.

Gunfire
erupted to his left, outside the embassy grounds, flashing red and blue lights
of police and other emergency vehicles lighting the night sky as smoke grenades
were launched and high-pressure hoses turned on the crowds.

Are
they going to try to take back the embassy already?

Niner
looked through his scope and frowned. It wasn’t a counterattack, it was a
rescue operation. Or more accurately, a recovery operation, the bloodied bodies
of two fallen police officers being retrieved, the riot police immediately
falling back to their previous position, the crowd swarming back in as if a
levee had broken.

And the
crowd was massive. There were thousands filling the streets for as far as the
eye could see. Smoke rose across the city, flames flickering as cars and
buildings were set ablaze, the once beautiful city looking like it hadn’t in
over a century, even the Nazis having enough respect to not try and destroy
this jewel of culture.

“Here
they come, warning shots only!”

Niner
leaned forward for a better line, taking a bead at the feet of the boldest of
the crowd in his zone, now numbering nearly one hundred inside the grounds. He
adjusted his aim and squeezed off two rounds. The crowd recoiled, similar short
bursts sounding out from around the building.

This
isn’t going to work for long.

No one
had authorized deadly fire unless the crowd breached the building, and even
then the rules of engagement were to only fire if absolutely necessary—in other
words, if
lives
were in danger, not property.

He
squeezed off another two rounds as the crowds continued to pour over the fence,
people now sitting on the top, pulling others up and over. Fortunately the
bollards in place along the entire road outside the embassy fence prevented any
vehicles from getting through to the gate, the controls to lower those at the
entrance locked down from inside the embassy itself.

He had
images of medieval movies, wondering when the ladders to climb the castle walls
would appear.

“They’ve
got a ladder!”

You’re
kidding me.

He
looked to his left and spotted what appeared to be a standard contractor’s
ladder, probably stolen off the back of a vehicle, the traffic not moving, most
people having abandoned their vehicles.

They
were streaming up the ladder now, the numbers inside the grounds swelling
quickly.

“The
embassy has been sealed!” shouted someone from the door. “Prepare to fall
back!”

Niner
squeezed off a few rounds at the feet of the approaching crowd, but they were
wise to the tactic, hesitating for a moment, then continuing forward, knowing
full-well their adversary wasn’t prepared to fire upon them.

At least
not yet.

Several
shots rang out, tearing into the façade of the building, only feet from his
position.

“Taking
fire!” he shouted, ducking down until the shots stopped, then immediately
popping back up, trying to find the shooter.

“Got
him,” shouted Dawson. “My two-o-clock, behind the guard house.”

Niner adjusted.
“Got him. Permission to fire?”

“Permission
granted.”

“Taking
the shot.” He squeezed the trigger and the man dropped, screams erupting as the
crowd scattered like cockroaches when the lights were turned on.

Then
they charged.

Mohammed Aziz raced toward the main entrance, his fist raised, a
roar emanating from his chest as he swore blood vengeance on those who had just
killed one of the faithful. He reached the doors, slamming his fists against
the glass then stepping aside when someone else began hammering away with a
cobblestone. The glass began to splinter and he stood back, urging others to
give the man room.

One of
the cars in the small parking lot that ran along the front of the building,
inside the gates, was flipped over, the car alarm wailing as other vehicles
were destroyed, some set ablaze, some simply bashed with rocks and whatever
else the faithful could find to use as weapons. He felt the urge to join them,
to take part in the destruction, but he resisted, knowing the real enemy wasn’t
the vehicles, but the owners inside.

And he
wanted to be among the first inside the doors to exact revenge on the infidels,
to slaughter as many of those who would defy the will of Allah and defile the
holy relic meant to honor their faith. The very thought of the stone in the
hands of the Crusaders enraged him to the point he wanted to tear the flesh off
of every American he could get his hands on, to chop the head from their
shoulders and spit down their necks, to broadcast the delivery of justice to
the entire world so no one would ever dare insult the one true religion ever
again.

And
should the infidels succeed in destroying the relic?

The
decision had already been made in the meeting at his mosque.

All the
infidels would die.

As Allah
would will it.

A gleeful
cry came from the man with the stone as the glass finally gave and he pushed
through the opening. Within moments the doors were opened and they rushed into
the building.

Only to
find no one.

Where
did they go?

Footfalls
to his left had them all turning toward a set of stairs, a group of soldiers
rushing down the steps.

“Kill
them all!”

Dawson sprinted down the stairs, M4 in hand as he and Niner covered
the rear, half a dozen Marines leading the way followed by almost a dozen
stragglers, civilian staff that had hid under their desks or locked themselves
in offices in panic rather than follow the orders to report to the shelter in
the basement.

It was a
colossally stupid move, but panicked people often did colossally stupid things.

No
amount of drills could prepare you for the real thing. He had lost count of how
many soldiers fresh out of basic, all gung ho and eager to get into the fight,
had pissed their pants when under fire for the first time. But usually, after
the initial shock, a seasoned vet was there to give your helmet a smack and
snap you back to reality.

Never to
piss your pants again.

It was
human nature to panic in the face of danger. Soldiers were trained to push
through the panic and take action, just like fire fighters, police and paramedics.

You did
it because no one else would.

And now
a dozen people were being saved because the Marines ahead of them had insisted
on a floor-by-floor search since their training told them not everyone would
have obeyed the order.

And
judging by the bloodthirsty looks in the eyes of those now staring at them from
down the hall, these civilians would have been slaughtered mercilessly. Six Marines
immediately formed a shield line as the others continued to lead the civilians
down to the next level.

Dawson
joined the line, Niner beside him as the crowd seemed undecided on what to do.

“I’m not
seeing any firearms.”

Dawson
nodded. “Neither am I. But a thrown knife can kill.”

“Good
point. So, fire if thrown upon?”

Dawson
looked at the Gunny standing with his men. This was his turf. He knew the
building inside and out and knew his men better than anyone. And Dawson had no
problem following this man’s orders.

He
hadn’t met a Gunny yet that wasn’t on the ball.

“What’s
it going to be, Gunny?”

The
crowd answered for him, someone throwing something and shouting, the entire
crowd roaring and racing toward the firing line.

“Let’s
teach them how fine a weapon the M4 is.”

“Roger
that, Gunny.” Dawson took a bead on the leader and squeezed the trigger,
hitting him in the leg, the man stumbling forward then collapsing with a scream
of pain. More shots, controlled, disciplined, continued to wound, not kill the
approaching hostiles, but they continued to pour through the now open front
doors, there simply too many to handle.

They’d
be out of ammo long before they’d be out of targets.

A shot
rang out from the crowd and a Marine dropped beside Dawson. He grabbed him,
pulling him out of the line of fire, quickly inspecting the shoulder wound.
“You’ll live, Corporal. Can you make it down the stairs?”

The
young man winced. “Yes, sir!”

“Then
haul ass!” Dawson pulled him to his feet and returned to the shield line, the
hallway jammed with people now, stepping over the writhing wounded.

The Gunny
acknowledged a communications over his gear.

“They’re
in the bunker! Fall back to the lower levels!”

The line
began to retreat, still firing low, but as soon as the crowd sensed what was
happening, they charged.

“Fire
for effect!” ordered the Gunny. “Take the bastards down!”

Dawson
raised his weapon slightly, picking his targets, taking the center of mass
shots. Attacker after attacker dropped as Dawson and the others slowly
retreated. His mag empty, he quickly reloaded, emptying the magazine into the
slowed but still advancing crowd before disappearing around the corner, rushing
down the stairs to the next landing. Dawson and Niner turned, aiming up the
stairs, the Gunny between them as he ordered the rest of his men to continue
down to the lower level.

“Three
shots each, then down to the next landing on my mark!” he ordered.

“Roger
that.” Dawson, on the left of the firing line took a bead on the first to round
the corner in his field of fire.

“Fire!”

He
squeezed off three quick rounds, one for each of the first three on the left,
all three dropping, as did six more as the trio immediately rushed to the next
landing, taking aim again. A gunshot from above tore open the concrete of the
landing they had just been on, Dawson adjusting his aim to find the shooter.

He
squeezed the trigger, the man dropping, his weapon immediately retrieved by
another.

“Fire!”

Nine
more rounds slammed into the crowd, the fallen slowing down the mass of flesh
noticeably.

“Let’s
make a break for it!”

“You
don’t have to ask me twice!” said Niner, taking the lead as they tore down the
final flights to the lowest sub-level. As Dawson exited the stairwell he found
the Marines they had been with waiting at the massive metal doors leading to
the underground bunker.

“Come
on!” shouted one of them as the doors to the stairwell burst open behind them.
Three Marines stepped out to the far side of the wall, raising their weapons as
Dawson, Niner and the Gunny immediately hugged the side, continuing toward the
door. M4’s opened up on the first through the stairwell exit as Niner cleared
the metal doors, the Gunny following. Dawson spun toward where they had come,
raising his weapon and firing.

“Inside!
Inside! Inside!” he shouted at the Marines providing covering fire as he opened
up. The three men sidestepped through the doors as they began to close, Dawson
retreating inside, continuing to fire through the ever narrowing opening.

Until
the doors slammed shut, the hiss of heavy cylinders locking into place, sealing
them safely inside, and a world gone mad outside.

And with
it, any hope of retrieving Maggie.

CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia