by Walt Gragg
* * *
—
Norm Sweeney was experiencing even greater luck than his section leader.
He had destroyed a pair of fully loaded feluccas near the center of the wide river when he spotted an immense prize. He couldn’t believe the treasure he beheld. Just ahead, on Giza’s shores, more than a dozen sails sat motionless as their troop-carrying decks were being filled with anxious soldiers. In all, nearly four hundred of Mourad’s followers were assembled on the embankment as the loading process continued.
The naval aircraft roared forward. Its pilot released the first of his large Zuni laser-guided rockets at the widespread throng. It flashed across the low skies. The stalwart Zuni pounced upon the stationary targets, devastating the northernmost elements of the impressive gathering. The crushed pieces of four feluccas were soon ablaze. In a twinkling, well more than a hundred of the enemy were gone.
On the ground, the survivors turned to run from the horrific scene. They’d, however, be far too late to save their fading lives. Another rocket, and seconds later, a third, went in search of the Chosen One’s followers. In a handful of passing moments, the toll on the western shoreline reached uncountable proportions. For hundreds, their final journey had begun.
Sweeney followed upon his murderous siege with intense bursts from his Vulcan cannon to ensure none survived. Upon the venerated river’s western shore, the slaughter was beyond description. Yet the lieutenant had neither the time, nor the desire, to consider the result of his actions. For there was a great deal of work remaining.
Like his section leader, he moved on.
* * *
—
Both reached the southern end of Rhoda Island at the same instant. Beyond the disappearing landfall, there were white sails without end upon the sweeping river.
Yet with Blackjack Section rampaging up and down this portion of the Nile, there wouldn’t be for much longer. The surging Hornets raced forward, making attack after attack as they dispatched those trapped on the waters below.
As they reached the southern end of the city, the destructive aircraft turned to make another run. Further victims called to them. And they were determined to dispatch them all.
For sixty relentless minutes, the hounding twosome made pass after pass. With each run, the gruesome result grew. Minute by minute, the sails dwindled until there were no more.
All along the Nile, the American fighters tore after the Pan-Arabs with a vengeance. The attacks went on without pause. As the hour reached its end, not a single felucca would remain on the wine-colored waters.
The Americans turned and headed home. They’d lost three of their number, downed by Stinger missiles during the furious assault. But considering the intensity of the mission and the tactics they’d been forced to employ, the result was well below the naval strike force’s expectations.
Because of the Hornets’ resounding victory, few more, if any, of the Chosen One’s disciples would find their way onto Cairo’s streets.
* * *
—
Blackjack Section’s day was far from over. There would be three additional assignments to undertake in widespread corners of the battle zone before the exhausted pilots would find their beds at shortly before midnight. The oozing scars on Bradley Mitchell’s soul were far from healed. And the unending concerns involved in dealing with Brooke remained. Still, the day’s successes had helped his battered psyche. And for the first time since his perceived failure to protect the Eisenhower, he was able to settle in for a decent night’s rest.
The same, however, couldn’t be said for another in this horrid conflict. For his sleep was far from comforting.
37
1:04 A.M., OCTOBER 22
3RD PLATOON, BRAVO COMPANY, 2ND RECONNAISSANCE BATTALION, 2ND MARINE DIVISION
217TH MOBILE HOSPITAL
NORTHERN EGYPT
Sam Erickson was having the strangest dreams. For hours on end incoherent images, vivid and distorted, raced through his subconscious at breakneck speed. Scenes of long-ago days of childhood brought momentary peace to his pummeled spirit. Wondrous pictures of the women he’d loved, and those he’d lost, teased and taunted him. Revelries filled with passion and joy were his for the taking. Fantasies littered with life’s fleeting victories, or tinged with the bitter memories of everlasting defeat, fought for center stage. Terrifying emotions crammed with fear and loathing tore at him. Surging impressions clouded with the recent remembrances of flowing blood and horrific suffering found a place to display their appalling visions.
As the lieutenant reached the twentieth hour of drug-shrouded sleep, his mind’s roller coaster neared its end. The searing nightmares of desperate battles crowded out all other thoughts and seized his tortured intellect. The angst-filled images grew grim and violent. The faces of the dead locked on to his core, refusing to release their accusatory grip upon his anguished existence.
He fought against his mind’s frightening illusions, sinking deeper into a morass of despair and pain. He had to find a way out of the agonizing dream world. If he didn’t, it wouldn’t be long before the gruesome visions would destroy him.
He awoke with a start. His crusted eyelids fluttered. His eyes struggled to open. He stared at the tent’s low canvas ceiling, unable to comprehend the unfamiliar surroundings. The aftereffects of his mind’s conflicts were evident on his disconcerted face.
Next to his bed, an attractive woman sat on an uncomfortable folding chair. In her lap lay a novel filled with mystery and romance. She looked at him and smiled, her relief evident.
“What do you know, our wayward patient’s finally awake. Glad to see you’ve decided to rejoin the living. Remember me?” Lauren Wells said. She spoke quietly in deference to the wounded around them.
“I remember. Where am I?” Erickson asked. His voice was strange, his throat hoarse.
“You’re in the mobile hospital on the beach.”
“How’d I get here?”
“They dragged you in yesterday morning. The shrapnel caused your arm to become infected. The doctors removed it, sedated you, and stuck you in with the walking wounded.”
He painfully raised his arm to examine the heavy bandages and dangling tubes.
“The good news is in a few days you’ll be just fine,” she said. “The bad news is in a few days you’ll be just fine. So it looks like your time in this insane war isn’t close to over.”
“I expected no less. Where’s my platoon?”
“They’re camped about a quarter mile from here. First Marine Division relieved your battalion early this afternoon. Your guys are catching up on their sleep and getting ready to enjoy a few precious days of R and R.”
“That’s good,” Erickson said.
“Your company commander and some of your platoon have been by twice tonight. They seemed genuinely concerned. I got the impression they weren’t real excited about heading back into this mess without you. They spent quite some time regaling me with glowing descriptions of their valiant lieutenant’s daring deeds in the deserts of northern Egypt.”
“It’s nice to know I’m appreciated. But don’t let their tales fool you, Miss Wells. Stories of wartime exploits are like children’s rumors. They have a tendency to grow with each telling. Despite what they might have said, I didn’t do any more than anyone else out there. It was simply a matter of trying to stay alive. One of the things I’ve discovered in this line of work is oftentimes people mistake necessity for bravery.”
“That may be. Or it might be I’ve stumbled across a rarity in today’s world, a truly modest man.”
“I doubt I’m rare or modest. I’m just a guy doing a difficult job the best he can.”
“Believe what you want. But I know your men will be relieved to hear you’re awake. I think I’ll wait until morning, however, to let them know you’ve returned to the world of the living. They
looked totally exhausted.”
“You would too if you’d been through what they have.”
“I can only imagine. But that’s behind your guys for the moment. My guess is your battalion will stay out of the front lines for at least three or four days. Two British armored divisions sailed from England a few hours ago. They’re headed straight for this beach. Figure you’ll wait for them and then take off across the desert to support their attack on Mourad’s forces. Seven hundred Challenger tanks are on the way. Once they land, you won’t be fending off any more Pan-Arab assaults. It’ll be the Mahdi’s turn to hold on against a superior opponent.”
“That’s a sight I know I’ll enjoy. Helping dig Mourad’s grave is something I want to be a part of.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that too much,” she replied. “Unless the doctor’s misdiagnosed your injury, it looks like you’re going to get your wish. There’s no doubt this thing’s going to wait for you to return before reaching its conclusion.”
“That’s good. I wouldn’t want the end to come without my being right in the middle of it. So tell me, since I’ve missed what’s gone on today, how are we doing at fending off the fanatics?”
“Not much has changed. Pan-Arab divisions continue to attack our lines. We continue to beat them back. In the past few hours, the 1st Marines have gotten a strong taste of the Chosen One’s fury. They’re knee-deep in blood, Arab and American, but their defenses are holding.”
“Glad to hear it. I’d hate to think our efforts had been for naught. What about Cairo? Has it fallen to the sorry bastards?”
“There’s been nothing but good news from there. The Lincoln’s Hornets are making the Nile run red. Every bridge the enemy’s built has been blown up. And they were able to launch a successful air assault to destroy all the feluccas the Chosen One had. So none of his armor or infantry has reached the other side in quite a few hours. Between the storm slowing the Pan-Arabs and the arrival of the 82nd Airborne, Mourad’s operations have ground to a halt. With the way things are going, a decision was made to save Cairo at all cost. So the British diverted two battalions of mechanized infantry headed for Kuwait and the French did the same with one of their best armored brigades. Both have arrived, been unloaded from their transport aircraft, and set up defensive positions throughout the city. The lines have stabilized. Word is the Mahdi’s forces haven’t gained a foot of ground. Each side’s where it was yesterday.”
“That’ll play right into our hands. The longer we hold, the stronger we become.” He paused for a moment, puzzlement on his face. “Look, I know my brain’s a bit addled, but there’s something I’ve been wondering since the moment I woke up . . . What’re you doing here?”
“Just after you arrived, a friend alerted me they’d brought you in. Since they’ve got us confined to the area on the beach surrounding what’s been not so affectionately dubbed ‘Press City,’ I’d nothing better to do. So I headed over. Figured there might be a good follow-up story.”
“Follow-up to what?”
“Oh, that’s right, you don’t know, do you? From the reports I’ve heard, you’ve probably been a little too busy to pay attention to what’s going on in the outside world. I suspect you’ve had no chance to watch television since we last met.”
“Television? No. Mourad’s seen to that. Since we talked on the beach, I haven’t had time for anything except keeping a zealot’s sword from my neck.”
“That’s what I figured. Anyway, the interview I conducted with you was a big hit. For the better part of a day it played on all the major news networks.”
“To tell you the truth, I barely remember talking to you. I was so exhausted when we met on the beach. Still am. What time is it, anyway?”
“A little after one in the morning.”
“How long have you been sitting here?” he asked.
“Off and on for about twenty hours.”
“You’ve sat for nearly a day hoping for another story? Lady, I thought I was serious about what I do, but you’ve got me beat by a mile.”
“Well, if we’re being honest, it wasn’t just the story keeping me glued to this chair.”
“Oh?”
Her words were a bit reluctant. “How do I put this without it coming off the wrong way? Let’s just say there’s more than professional curiosity here. I know we only talked for a few minutes the other day, but your interview really stood out. There was something about you. I don’t know how to describe it exactly. There was a quality to you. There was a spark in your eyes telling me you were someone I wanted to know more about.”
“As a journalist?”
“Yes, as a journalist. And after I confirmed there was no wife and children cluttering up your life, also as a woman.”
There was an uneasy lull in the quiet conversation. Her discomfort with the direction of the discussion couldn’t be missed. She was accustomed to being in control. Yet this time she’d let down her guard. And her embarrassment showed.
“Look,” she said, “why don’t we talk about this later. You look like someone who needs a lot more sleep before being ready to rejoin the living.”
“You’re probably right. I don’t know what the doctors gave me. But I’m feeling no pain.”
“Then it’s settled.” She got up to leave. “I’m going back where I belong and let you get that sleep. To tell you the truth, I could use a little myself.”
“What about the story you wanted to get?”
“It can wait. And so can any other vague reasons I’ve got for being here. Why don’t we leave it like that for now? When you’re up to it, if you want, we’ll take a stroll and talk.”
She gave him a broad smile and gently touched his hand. Without waiting for a response, she headed out of the stuffy tent.
Erickson watched her go. He lay wondering whether what had occurred was real or nothing more than another in an endless line of fantasies. It wasn’t long, however, before his eyes shut and he drifted back into the world within his dreams.
This time, with Lauren Wells’s beautiful image to hold on to while crossing through the darkest recesses of his mind, his sleep would be a pleasant one.
38
9:12 P.M., OCTOBER 22
3RD PLATOON, BRAVO COMPANY, 2ND RECONNAISSANCE BATTALION, 2ND MARINE DIVISION
217TH MOBILE HOSPITAL
ON THE BEACH, NORTHERN EGYPT
Lauren walked up to the wounded lieutenant’s bed carrying a hospital-issue robe. Even in an olive-drab military T-shirt and camouflage fatigue pants, she was strikingly appealing. Erickson smiled as he saw her approaching.
“You look a hundred times better than the last time I saw you,” she said. “Obviously the doctors were right about your rapid recovery. Ready to take that walk we talked about?”
“More than ready,” he replied. “Any excuse to get out of here. I’ve been staring at these walls for hours. And they’re really starting to get to me. I’m not used to being cooped up like this.”
“I know exactly what you mean. I swear I’m going to lose my mind if I don’t find a way to get off this beach. I feel like some sort of criminal. They’ve had the entire press corps confined to Press City for the past five days. We’re not allowed to leave the area without the military’s permission. They’ve spoon-fed us reports every few hours. But so far, we’ve not been able to go to where the fighting is.”
“With what things are like up there, that’s probably a good idea,” he said. “You’re far too likely to get your head blown off. Or because of your presence, cause someone else to lose theirs.”
“Maybe so, but don’t you think the American people have a right to know what’s going on? You know, freedom of the press and that sort of stuff. And I sure can’t tell the public what’s happening if all I’ve got are the vague reports we’ve been receiving here on the beach.”
“Have you talked to a
nyone about it?”
“I’ve talked to everyone. From the commanding general down to the pimply-faced private dishing out food in the mess tent. I’ve pleaded, I’ve threatened, I’ve even shed a few tears, trying to find a way out. But so far, nothing’s worked. All my requests, both official and otherwise, have been denied. I’ve been told the same thing over and again. Until things are more secure, the press must remain at the landing zone. When the military’s gained control of the situation, they’ve promised to let us go out under armed escort to take a look around. I figure that’ll be about two weeks after the war’s over.”
“I’m sorry, but you’ve got to understand,” he answered. “After seeing what those on the front lines are going through, I don’t know how much sympathy I can muster. At least you’ve got the freedom to move around the beach when you want. Being allowed to wander the shore sounds like a pretty nice thing to me.”
“Then if you’re up to it, let’s go find a nice piece of sand to walk on with a gleaming chunk of sky overhead. The winds have blown the smoke away and there’s a big, bright slice of moon out there tonight.”
“I’m up to it. They removed all the tubes a couple of hours ago. And the swelling in my arm’s way down. I’m a bit weak, but starting to feel like myself again. The doctor said as long as I don’t overdo it, it’s okay to take a walk with you.”
“Then let’s take a stroll along the beach.”
He struggled out of bed. After nearly two days off his feet he fought against the dizziness that suddenly appeared. The light-headedness quickly passed. She handed him the robe. He strained to put it on over his injured left arm. With her assistance, and a momentary flash of lingering pain, the robe found its way onto the wounded lieutenant. He looked around. There was no sign of anyone waiting outside to accompany them.
“Not bringing your cameraman?” he said.
“You won’t have to worry about that. Chuck’s busy trying to get the dirt from this afternoon’s sandstorm out of his precious equipment.”