by Walt Gragg
The demolition expert appraised the situation. He examined the damaged buildings to determine what it would take to create a pile of rubble so high and deep it would ensure a forty-seven-ton T-72 couldn’t breach it. It wasn’t long before he had his answer.
“I’ll need to demolish the apartment building on the far corner and the storefront on this one. Might have to take down a third building if those two don’t finish the job.”
“How long’s it going to take?”
“Ten . . . fifteen minutes maybe. No longer than that. I’ll start with the apartment. Once I’ve blown it, we’ll have a better idea what more we need to do.”
“Okay. Wait for us to find a place to cover you and then get to it.”
Porter and Abernathy started withdrawing from the crossroads, each hugging the frail edges of the fading afternoon.
“Hey, where are you two going?” Sanders asked. “Don’t leave me in the open by myself. I want you out front, not hiding somewhere behind me.”
The pair stopped and looked at each other. Grins spread from the corners of their mouths.
“Charlie,” Porter answered, “think about what you just said. We’ve got to be behind you. If we’re in front when you destroy the first building and you succeed in blocking things, how do you propose we get back on this side?”
A sheepish smile came over Sanders’s filthy face. “Oh yeah. What the hell am I saying? Man, I’m tired. Three days without sleep has scrambled my brain. And this headache I’ve been walking around with for the better part of the afternoon isn’t helping.”
“Look,” Abernathy said, “after what we’ve gone through, no one’s thinking clearly. And neither of us wants to be on this assignment any more than you. But we’ve got a job to do. So let’s focus the best we can. As soon as we find safe vantage points, you can get started.”
With their rifles at the ready, the duo turned and edged down the roadway. Thirty yards behind, they took up covering positions in heavily shaded doorways. Sanders turned toward them. Even to his skilled eyes, neither was visible. He nervously glanced at the deserted streets around him.
The Sahara winds suddenly stilled. In the distance an abandoned dog, its belly empty, eerily howled. Sanders glanced toward the east once more, searching for his cohorts’ hiding places. He knew they were there, watchful and vigilant. Yet for the life of him, he could find no trace of either. The apprehensive engineer had never felt more alone, or more vulnerable, in his life. He could sense death’s whisper lingering in the twilight, waiting for him to make a mistake.
“You two better stay alert for the bad guys,” he mumbled. “It’s my ass hanging out here.”
With the deepest hues of a developing dusk taking hold of what remained of the day, Sanders edged across the broad street. He stopped in front of the four-story apartment and took another hurried look around. Everything was strangely quiet. Not a single sound or hint of movement reached his well-defined senses. There were no signs of friend or enemy alike. He reached into his rucksack and withdrew the explosives.
It wasn’t long before the job was completed and the lethal team on the move again. The destruction of two buildings was all it took to ensure Mourad’s tanks would find the critical intersection impassable. Four blocks north and one farther west waited their next objective.
Other than a brief pause for Porter and Abernathy to slit the throats of a couple of careless sentries, everything was on schedule.
The second crossing, smaller and already partially blocked by the haphazard remains of several decrepit dwellings, wasn’t as challenging as the first had been. The task was effortlessly accomplished, and in minutes they were on their way. Night was falling full upon them.
Two blocks north and one east, toward their own lines, waited their final responsibility. Hiding behind the ongoing prayers, the deadly assembly arrived without incident.
Yet as they reached their last objective evening prayers came to an end.
“Okay,” Abernathy said, “here’s the third one. Sanders, how many buildings do you need to take down to do the job?”
He surveyed the scene. Every timeless structure in the area had suffered severe damage from the Chosen One’s artillery attacks.
“Just this one right here,” he said. He pointed to an old six-story hotel on the southwest corner. He glanced at the nearly indistinguishable sign on the front of the run-down building. In the half-light he could make out the words Hotel Louraine.
“Reminds me of an old fleabag hotel I stayed in while passing through Memphis a few years back. The place was a dump. But the girl across the hall soon made me forget all about it. You know, I think her name might have been Louraine. Or something like that. Sure made for one hell of a weekend. Man, that woman was wild, and more than eager for some Sanders action.”
“Here we are in the middle of nowhere. The Mahdi’s soldiers are probably crawling all around us,” Porter said, “and Charlie’s thinking of a woman.”
“Yep. We could be dead before we knew what hit us,” Abernathy added. “Leave it up to Sanders to see a dumpy hotel and find a girl to reminisce about.”
“If you’d have seen her, you’d be reminiscing too,” Sanders answered. “But enough of that Louraine. Once I’m through, this one will leave a pile of rubble twenty feet high right in the middle of the road. Nothing will be able to get through here.”
“Do you have enough explosives to finish the job?” Abernathy asked.
“Hell, it won’t take much. This place is so rickety if you breathe on it hard it’s likely to fall. In ten minutes, it’ll be nothing but a pile of sticks and mortar. And we’ll be on our way to rest, relaxation, and pursuit of the opposite sex. I can’t wait for those women the captain promised.”
“You should be so lucky,” Porter said. “I suspect as soon as we get back, Captain Morrow won’t remember one word of what he’s told us. So before you get carried away with your erotic visions, wait for us to find a good spot to cover you.”
The stealthy pair crept into the darkness. Eighty feet east, Abernathy and Porter dropped into the gloom on opposite sides of the foreboding street. Sanders glanced in their direction. He’d seen exactly where they’d entered the frail wisps of light, yet neither was visible. He knew they were there. Yet for the life of him, he couldn’t tell where. He shook his head in amazement at their remarkable abilities.
“I swear those two aren’t human,” he muttered, his words barely audible. “The way they appear and disappear. The devil himself must have trained them to do what they do.”
He started attaching the explosives to the final building. A smile came to his haggard face. It was nearly over. The weight of this last mission had been lifted from his shoulders.
Sanders, however, had relaxed too soon.
Porter sensed their presence well before he saw them. In the distance, a strong infantry force was moving down the narrow street. Leapfrogging from building to building, the careful Pan-Arabs edged forward. There appeared to be close to one hundred in their number. For now, there was no need for the Green Berets to panic. The point element of Mourad’s soldiers was two blocks away. Porter signaled to Abernathy. The senior sergeant indicated his awareness of the approaching formation. Both crouched in the black void of the filthy gutters, watching their adversaries’ movements. So far, none of the Americans had been spotted by the advancing enemy.
Busy with his preparations to destroy the aging building, and forever lost in his burgeoning fantasies of soft beds and beautiful women, Sanders didn’t notice the threat drawing near.
“How many do you count?” Porter whispered.
“Can’t tell. But it’s way more than we can handle,” was Abernathy’s response.
“Want me to slip up there and get Charlie?”
“Negative. There are too many watchful eyes coming this way. Even as good as you are, there’s not much
chance of getting to him without being spotted. If that happens, he’ll have no chance. And they’ll likely get you too.”
“What’re we going to do?”
“We’re going to wait. Maybe they’ll turn onto one of the side streets, or Sanders will spot them and figure a way out.”
Unfortunately, the young Green Beret was too distracted by his idyllic dreams to worry about the growing danger.
“Charlie, look up,” Porter pleaded.
But Sanders continued to absentmindedly prepare his explosives. The Pan-Arabs closed to within a block and a half. They’d yet to locate the figure kneeling deep within the darkness of the downtrodden structure.
“Dammit, Sanders,” Abernathy said, “what the hell’s wrong with you? Where’s your head? Look up, you crazy bastard.”
Yet Sanders’s mind was anywhere but there.
“What’re we going to do?” Porter asked.
“What else can we do? Give them another fifty yards. If they don’t turn when they reach the final side street, we’ll open fire. That’s sure to get Sanders’s attention. Hopefully, he’s still in good enough shape to run like hell. Because if he doesn’t they’re bound to nail him. If he catches a break and makes it to our position, we’ll disappear down one of the streets behind us and hightail it for home. Our lines are only three blocks away. I know we can get to safety no matter how many of Mourad’s followers are prowling around.”
They waited and watched, praying for Sanders to notice the overwhelming band headed for him. Straight and steady, the Chosen One’s soldiers came on. Doorway by doorway, house by house, they moved up the roadway. They’d nearly reached the point where Abernathy and Porter planned to open fire. The ambush team stared intently at the approaching enemy. There appeared to be no doubt. The potent force was headed for where Sanders was working. In the heavy half-light, two M-4s were raised and pointed in their direction.
Without warning, a Pan-Arab soldier stepped out of a constricted alleyway not more than twenty feet in front of the waiting pair.
“What the hell?” Abernathy screamed.
He opened fire. The Libyan fell to the sidewalk, bullet holes painted across his chest.
A second poked his head out. Porter blew it off with one quick burst. The slender passage was full of movement. A significant element had surprised the Americans.
“Where’d they come from?” Porter excitedly asked.
“Who knows? We were so busy watching Sanders that we did what he did. We got distracted. Wherever they’re from, there are way too many of them. Let’s get out of here while we still can.”
“What about Sanders?”
“There’s nothing we can do for him. He’s on his own. Let’s go.”
Both sprayed a final volley toward the sheltered opening. By the time the echoing sounds of gunfire stopped, they were gone.
A dozen of the Mahdi’s followers edged toward the front of the alley. The minute they were certain it was safe, they took up positions on both sides of the street.
A startled Sanders’s soaring daydreams were forever shattered. A hundred of the enemy were headed toward him. Still more blocked his retreat. He looked south down the side street only to find rifle-carrying figures in the distance. He was cut off. He frantically searched for a way out. None, however, presented itself.
The detachment’s junior member edged deeper into the murky protection of the old hotel. The developing night continued to mask his presence. The peeling door to the Hotel Louraine was ajar. The entrance was a few feet away. He peered inside the shrouded doorway. He could see nothing but darkness beyond the slender opening. He waited and listened. The decaying hotel was frightfully silent. Sanders took a frenzied look around, hoping to find another solution. Yet once again, no answer appeared.
With as little movement as possible he scooped up his rucksack and rifle. He eased inside the smothering building, and without the slightest sound, closed the tired door behind him.
31
7:17 P.M., OCTOBER 19
ODA 6333, CHARLIE COMPANY, 3RD BATTALION, 6TH SPECIAL FORCES GROUP (AIRBORNE)
THE HOTEL LOURAINE
CAIRO
The dingy lobby was dank and musty. The air in the room lay heavy and stale upon the encroaching night. It pressed down upon the grimy hotel’s reluctant visitor. The pungent odors of rotting carpet and the thousands of unwashed bodies who’d passed through this place in the past century filled every corner of the cramped entryway. The fading furniture was strewn about. It was obvious, even in the scant threads of light penetrating the old structure, that the location had been abandoned in a great hurry.
To his right, Sanders could make out a timeworn stairway leading to the upper floors. A small dining area nestled behind it. Next to the stairs sat a primitive elevator of long-forgotten design. Feeling his way, his rifle poised, Sanders moved farther into the room. Step by wary step, he crept through the small foyer. His senses were keenly alive.
Smothering himself in the sheltering darkness, he eased into the hotel. He needed time to adjust to the sparse light. But he was unsure if the enemy had spotted his hasty actions. For all he knew, one hundred angry souls were closing for the kill. He stumbled over the pieces of a cheap lamp lying on the threadbare rug. He reached for his flashlight but thought better of it. With nothing but his instincts to guide him, he pressed into the nearly sightless world. Well within the room, he stopped for the briefest moment to listen for the sound of footsteps either inside or out. A haunting quiet greeted him. Nothing but calm reached his ears. The humble hotel appeared to be empty. And the Mahdi’s soldiers were moving slowly, unsure what their compatriots had stumbled upon moments earlier. They’d yet to reach the modest crossing.
Sanders knew a formidable presence was drawing near. The trap was tightening. He had to find a way to escape—a side street or alleyway still clear of sword-wielding zealots. If nothing else, he had to uncover a sheltering rock to crawl beneath to plan his next move.
He spotted what appeared to be a doorway at the far end of the lobby. Always on the alert, he eased past the antiquated check-in counter. Patiently, Sanders opened the creaking door and peered inside. A small, windowless kitchen waited in the blackness. He could just make out the far wall. The modest enclosure couldn’t be wider than fifteen feet in either direction.
“I’ll bet if there’s a way out of here,” he whispered, “it’ll be on the other side of this room.”
He moved forward, hoping against hope that the dim kitchen would hold the priceless treasure of freedom at its end. To his disappointment, the only thing he found on the far side was an impenetrable wall of mortar and brick. It had to be at least a foot thick. He felt his way along it, searching for a glimmer of salvation. But none appeared.
Like so many of the structures in Cairo’s oldest section, this one had been built wall-to-wall with its neighbors. Still he needed to ensure he hadn’t missed an escape route within the meager space. The apprehensive sergeant reached for his flashlight. Its light soon shined, piercing the stifling void that closed in around him to feed upon his fears. A cursory check with the penetrating beam did little good. The results of his investigation were the same. The stout wall was a dead end. There appeared to be no way out except through the front of the hotel. And with death waiting in a hundred rifles, that was no way at all.
Sanders was surrounded. If his presence was discovered, he’d be no match for the overreaching attackers. He’d go down fighting to the last. Even so, his end would soon come.
He couldn’t chance the light any further. His flashlight was quickly extinguished.
Maybe the answer for which he was searching could be found in another part of the broken-down building. He turned to retrace his steps. That’s when he heard them—excited voices drawing near. Whether they were inside the squalid edifice or gathering in front of its framework, he couldn’t determine.
It didn’t much matter. Either way, he couldn’t chance a return to the lobby. He was trapped in the kitchen. And sooner or later, they’d stumble upon his hiding place. The sounds grew louder. He froze. Not a muscle moved. That’s when he saw it out of the corner of his eye. Waiting in an obscure niche sat another door, small and narrow.
Tucked in the wall separating the kitchen from the lobby, the indistinct area had been ignored in his initial search. The door was partially open. Sanders didn’t have the slightest clue where it went. Nevertheless, it seemed his best chance, possibly his only chance, of avoiding detection.
He moved across the room toward it, measuring each step to avoid making the slightest of sounds. He soon found himself facing the gaping doorway. He peered inside. He was greeted by absolute darkness. He had to know where it led. He had to risk the flashlight, to gamble on it not being seen once more. It was back in his hands.
With its bright glow, the riddle was partially solved. On the other side of the entryway, wooden steps led underground. To where, Sanders couldn’t determine. Yet with the enemy so near, anywhere was better than where he was. The door was ajar enough to allow him to squeeze past. He moved around it, edging inside. The first of the deteriorating steps sagged beneath his weight. He glanced back toward the kitchen, taking a final look.
He pulled the sheltering door closed and reached to bolt it. But there was no latch. He’d no way of securing it from the inside. For now, however, such problems would have to be ignored.
Ever vigilant, with the beam to guide him, he headed down into this new world. On the creaking stairs and rotting banister were the unmistakable signs of blood. Its age was impossible to determine, although it gave every indication of being reasonably fresh. From where it had come, and who’d left it, he hadn’t a clue. The solitary Green Beret’s senses heightened.
It didn’t take more than a handful of steps to realize what he’d discovered. A tiny, windowless basement. A dank environment filled with rows of wine racks. The sunken opening was the hotel’s humble cellar. In its day, each of the cobwebbed racks had held the finest wines. The British colonists had demanded no less. Now the majority of the racks stood empty. Even so, enough grit-crusted bottles were scattered about the small room to satisfy the thirst of an entire A Team for many a week.