The Perfect Candidate: A Lance Priest / Preacher Thriller (No. 1) (36 page)

Tarwanah and Jamaani had worked out their routes to the pick up spot in advance. They took different streets that basically ran parallel toward the destination. The Jordanians pushed the trucks to their speed and control limits. Traffic was extremely light as nearly all of Baghdad hunkered down in advance of the inevitable US attacks.

Lance was sitting in the cab next to Tarwanah with an M-16 pointed out the window. An Iraqi army jeep appeared from around a corner and Lance was the first to take a bead on its passengers. His spray of bullets killed the three soldiers inside. The vehicle rolled lifelessly forward into a parked car.

Word had definitely gone out and several more jeeps appeared ahead. The Deltas standing in the rear of the truck focused their weapons on the vehicles and a deadly barrage of bullets took out those inside and exiting from the jeeps. The two cargo trucks hurling through the streets of southeast Baghdad were a killing parade leaving carnage in the streets behind.

With the open field now in view, Lance got excited about maybe getting out of here. One hell of a story to tell. He looked at his blood-soaked pants. The pain was slightly past severe but not much he could do about the wounds right now. He’d have to hit the first aid kit on the Black Hawk. A radio staple by Journey started up in his head. His foot tapped along on the floorboard.

He was going out of body when a helicopter gunner overhead took aim and scored a direct hit on the right front panel and tire just feet from where Lance sat. The tire basically imploded and the radiator spewed steam. Smoke shot out through the holes and the truck rocked back and forth as Tarwanah expertly maneuvered the vehicle on three tires and a sparking bare wheel.

The Jordanian knew right away they were sitting ducks. He spun the wheel and maneuvered the truck into an alley where they would have a little protection from the chopper and be able to fight off soldiers approaching on foot. It wasn’t ideal, but stopping in the middle of the road was suicide.

As they came to a stop, the Delta Teamers automatically disembarked from the vehicle and took up positions without a word. Their actions now were instinctual, based on years of drills and real-world experience. Lance got out and stepped up on the runner bar to take a look at Hubbard lying on the truck’s bed. He was bandaged and in bad shape but still managed a smile and thumbs up.

“Foxy, Foxy. We are hit and disabled approximately a quarter mile from rendezvous.” Lance spoke into his mic calmly. As if he’d been here before.

Fuchs and his fellow passengers were a couple hundred yards away fending off the other helicopter. Shots being fired in succession made it difficult to hear him. “What is your position, exactly?”

Lance could
see
exactly where they were on the map in his brain. A little red “you are screwed” circle flashed on his mind map. “Approximately 500 yards southwest of the pickup on the road. We pulled into an alley after losing a tire.” Lance could see the helicopter buzzing the other truck.

“We’ll be there in two minutes. After we blow this damn chopper out of the sky.” Fuchs’ German accent 100% gone.

Another benefit of Tarwanah bringing the vehicle to a stop was the opportunity to fire the remaining SAM without burning the skin off everyone in the truck bed. Marsh grabbed the shoulder-fired missile launcher and stepped up to the front of the building to peak around. The chopper was banking around; coming in from the north. He flipped the activation switch. The high-pitch whine revved up. To get the shot off, Marsh needed to move out into the street. Lance stepped out in front to lay down covering fire against the soldiers coming up on foot.

Both Lance and Marsh spotted them at the same time. Coming in fast from the south were two more helicopters. But these were Black Hawks -- the units that dropped them off early in the morning. The Black Hawks separated about a half-mile out, one destined for the chopper swooping in on Lance’s crew the other targeting the bird harassing Fuchs’ group. Marsh switched the SAM off, not wanting to fire the missile and have it hone in on the heat signatures from their own birds. He and Lance stepped back behind the building’s corner.

The Iraqi pilots didn’t have a clue what was about to happen. The Black Hawk swooped in behind the first unsuspecting chopper. The Hawk’s co-pilot had moved to the M60 machine gun. When they were within 200 yards, he opened fire. It was sitting duck city.

He strafed the Iraqi bird mercilessly. Within seconds, smoke appeared and the chopper began to falter. The engine and rear rotor were hit. A few seconds later it exploded in a fireball as it crashed a block away.

The Iraqi soldiers who had been advancing on the alley stopped and took up aim at the Black Hawk. The pilot had to bank hard to move out of firing range. As the closer bird lifted away, the other Iraqi chopper less than a quarter mile away started its rapid descent. It too had been riddled by the second Black Hawk’s M60. Two more down.

With the harassing birds out of the air, both trucks could have proceeded to the pick up spot and got the hell out of Dodge in minutes. But trying to make it to the pickup spot on three tires would make Lance and crew an easy target.

“Should we run for it?” Marsh called to everyone.

“Just over a quarter mile, but out in the open and we need to carry Hubbard,” Lance replied.

Tarwanah came around the truck. “If we stay here we will be sitting targets for them in three maybe four minutes.”

“Can the bird land right here in the street and pick us up?” Captain Doster this time.

“Do you think we can lay down enough fire to keep them back?” Marsh looked around the corner and saw three jeeps coming and what looked like several dozen Iraqi soldiers running.

“Foxy, how far away are you?” Lance called to Fuchs.

“We will be turning onto your street in 30. What does it look like there?”

Lance joined Marsh to look around the corner of the building. “The locals are restless and coming. Maybe 45 seconds to a minute and they’ll reach us.”

“Pepperoni, this is Beaver 1. We will come back around in a flash to run off some of those wild Indians. Where is Mushroom? We see only you and Sausage en route.” The pilot of the first chopper called in while banking around.

“Mushroom is out. All team members are in the two remaining trucks. And now we are down to one. Pepperoni’s wheels are SOL. Sausage is swinging around to come to our rescue.” Lance responded.

“I see.” The pilot radioed his counterpart. “Beaver 2 we need to lay down a little cover to allow these boys to join up and make it over to the rendezvous.”

“Got it. We’ll come around at 3 o’clock for a run and hit their position.” Beaver 2’s pilot replied.

“Beaver 1, what else can you see from up there? How many more locals do you see rallying to our location?” Lance posed an important new question.

“Tough to tell with lights out. Looks like another firefight is going on a few blocks back. But I see more headlights moving your way. We need to get ya’ll outta there quick-like.” The pilot could see the warehouse battle still raging, but indeed, vehicles appeared to be gathering to follow the action.

In the distance, another massive explosion went up illuminating the night sky for a few moments.

“All units, all units. Gather up your stuff now.” Seibel weighed in after listening for 10 minutes of non-stop action. “Grab Hubbard and throw him onto Sausage when they reach you. You two birds lay down a shitload of cover fire and escort the Sausage mobile to pickup. Get everyone out in five minutes. Move.”

Seibel’s commanding words set everyone in motion. Marsh and Ricks jumped back into the truck to lift Hubbard. He moaned but stayed conscious. Lance stepped around the corner, the enveloping darkness made it difficult to spot the Iraqis. They had extinguished their headlights and were moving up on foot. A few moments later Beaver 1 moved overhead and lit up the Iraqis with a spotlight. Lance and three other Deltas used the brief swath of light to pick off more than a dozen soldiers. A barrage of shots from the Iraqis required the helicopter to pull up a few seconds later. Beaver 2 then came in from the opposite direction with the M60 blazing as its spotlight lit up the gathering jeeps and foot soldiers.

Fifteen seconds after that, Fuchs and crew came barreling up to their location. The team had Hubbard lifted to be loaded. The nine in the group were ready to join the other nine remaining mission mates on their truck and get the hell out of town. Lance looked over his shoulder at the Iraqis being lit up from behind by Beaver 2 and saw the one thing he would rather not. Two Iraqi soldiers were bending down to one knee with RPGs on their shoulders. They were about 90 yards away, which meant they stood a good chance of hitting what they were aiming at.

Lance yelled, “Everyone out. RPGs!” In a flash, Jamaani opened his door and Fuchs was right behind him. The Delta Teamers jumped out of their working truck as the RPGs fired.

The elapsed time from Lance’s recognition of the threat until the rocket-propelled grenades reached the vehicle totaled 4.5 seconds. Lance had saved everyone’s life as they dove into the alley or to the ground as both grenades struck the side of the truck. The explosions were fierce. Shrapnel caught a few of them including Lance, but no one was hurt seriously. Well at least, any more than they were already banged up. Lance felt a burning in his back where the metal shard struck him, but it added little pain to his already throbbing leg and hip.

The extreme reality of the situation quickly set in. They were just over a quarter mile away from their pick up with no means of transportation. Each member of the team, when healthy and uninjured, were in excellent physical condition and could cover the distance in two minutes or less. But undoubtedly, several and quite possibly most of them would get picked off if they made a run for it down the street now. Facts were facts. This had turned into your basic shit sandwich.

“What about the rooftop?” Marsh pointed up as Fuchs and the others from the other truck scrambled to their feet. “The bird can land up there and haul us out of here.”

Fuchs got his bearings and stood up. “They’d just shoot it up and anyone else up there. Not enough time to make it happen.”

“I’m guessing that was Sausage going up?” It was Seibel.

“You got it,” Lance replied and peaked around the corner to take a few shots at the Iraqis.

“What is your position, exactly?” Seibel replied.

“Basically screwed,” Preacher smiled as he looked at Fuchs.

“An alley right now. Approximately 500 yards west of pickup.” Fuchs shook his head.

“Exactly 487 yards to the west,” Lance corrected. His mind map was never wrong.

Fuchs smiled. “We are exposed on the north and at the other end on the south.”

“How far away are the hostiles?” Seibel asked.

“About 100 yards east for now. More are on the way and will likely have us surrounded within minutes.” Fuchs added.

“Fortify your position. I am calling in more air support.” Seibel picked up the sat phone and called General Mears again.

Fuchs stood tall and addressed everyone in the group. “We are to stand and hold this position for now. Cashmere Sweater is calling in more air support which probably means F-16s.” He ordered four Deltas to the other end of the alley and Tarwanah and Jamaani to the roofs of each building to give them eyes a little higher up.

Fuchs radioed the choppers. “Beaver 1, Beaver 2. We are to hold our position for the moment. Can you make another run at these guys to light them up for us?”

“You got it boys.” Beaver 1 replied.

Fuchs turned to Lance leaning against the wall beside him. “This one isn’t quite as easy as Jeddah is it?”

“This is nothing. Try hunting with my stepdad. Your life is on the line every moment and very few make it out alive.” Lance kept the smile on his face. He really was enjoying this.

Fuchs let his face turn a bit harder as he spoke his next line, “You do realize that other people in this mess actually care if they live or die. Many of these guys have families back home.”