by Walt Gragg
Wells hurried to catch up. As he moved along the disintegrating wall she remained a few feet behind, unsure of what his reaction would be to a woman attempting to walk next to him.
Even more, she didn’t know how the mujahideen would respond to any presumptuous actions she might take. At first, lost in pleasing memories of long past years, the Chosen One didn’t notice her attempt to lag. Yet it wasn’t long before the demure little man figured it out.
“Miss Wells, please. Why don’t you come up next to me? It’ll make it so much easier to talk.”
“I didn’t know if it was permitted, Mr. Mourad. And with these guys carrying rather nasty swords, I figured it was better to be safe than sorry. I’ve had a blade on my neck once this week. I wouldn’t want that to happen again. Are you certain it’s okay for me to walk with you? What are your followers going to think about a woman appearing to act as your equal?”
“The nice thing is in my position it doesn’t matter what anyone thinks. I do what I want, when I want. No man can judge. Only Allah can do so. If I wish a woman to walk at my side and speak with me, then that’s what I’ll do.”
“But won’t it make many of them angry?”
“They’re already quite upset about your being here. So our walking together won’t change that. To be frank, they’ve pleaded with me often to remove your head, so what difference will this evening make?”
She stopped and looked at him, her worry evident. “It’s clear from how they stare, some of them resent my presence. There’s hatred in many pairs of eyes passing through the antechamber in the past few days. But I’d no idea they wanted you to take my life.”
“So many lives have been lost. In many ways what’s one more? But for some reason yours does matter to me. And you’ve nothing to fear as long as you’re under my protection.”
“Are you sure, Mr. Mourad?”
“Like I said, I do what I want, when I want.”
“And for some reason you want me to live?”
“Yes, I wish that to happen. I didn’t know why until just a few minutes ago. And it’s become even clearer as we’ve walked together. It’s obvious what I saw in you that fascinated me so. I should have realized it well before this moment.”
“What’s obvious? What should you have realized?”
“That in many ways you remind me of my wife.”
“Your wife?”
“Yes, my wife. You’re extremely different from her, but you’re also remarkably similar. Sharif was so exceptionally smart, and so stubbornly determined. Just as you are. She was a woman who spoke her mind.”
“And as the Mahdi that didn’t bother you?”
“At first it bothered me a great deal. I was thoroughly confused by her approach, but after a while I began to see the benefits of loving a woman who’d tell me the things I needed to hear. And Sharif would definitely do that. She knew her place, but she also understood it was her counsel I cherished above all others. She was a remarkable woman and I was so fortunate to have her in my life.” He paused. Lauren could see the pain in his eyes as his memories took him back to the woman he’d loved.
“You must miss her very much.”
“More than you’ll ever know. But please don’t concern yourself. It won’t be too much longer before we spend forever in each other’s arms. The years will pass, and my life’s burden will be complete. When it does, Sharif will be with me once again.”
Wells smiled, her expression genuine. She didn’t know what to say, so she walked along in silence.
“I sense there’s more about you reminding me of her,” he said. “But I’m not certain what it is. Like Sharif you’re quite beautiful, but no one would ever mistake you for her. Her hair was long and shimmering black. Yours is short and an attractive shade of reddish brown. Both of you have brown eyes, but hers were much darker. Your smiles are similar, but hers was a smile of love for me . . .”
He stopped his reminiscing, his face turning a bright shade of red. He’d let his guard down, and for the life of him couldn’t understand why. His embarrassment was unmistakable. He couldn’t imagine how the conversation had gone so far down this path.
“I’m so sorry, Miss Wells, I don’t know what got into me. I’d no right to say such things in your presence. It was highly inappropriate. Other than when I was with Sharif, I’ve never spoken in such a manner to a woman.”
“It’s perfectly all right, Mr. Mourad. To tell you the truth I rather enjoyed hearing what you had to say.” She smiled again, trying to reassure him.
He looked toward the horizon, doing his best to hide his discomfort. “It’s a pleasant evening, isn’t it?” he said.
“Yes, sir, it is.”
“I wish all could be so.”
“I’ve seen you leaving every day about now. Is this what you do each time?”
“It is. At sunset, since I was a boy, I’ve gone outside to honor my mother’s memory. I do so again tonight. I’ll do so again tomorrow night, and for every night remaining within my years.”
The daunting day had nearly disappeared, with only the faintest orange wisp upon its edges.
He grew quiet as he recalled those long-ago moments. Serenity overcame him, the tranquillity of the distant evenings returning as if they were yesterday. He’d performed his duty to his mother.
He turned to look at Lauren Wells. “Well, I guess we need to be heading back. Evening prayers will soon be upon us.”
65
6:46 A.M., NOVEMBER 5
3RD PLATOON, BRAVO COMPANY, 2ND RECONNAISSANCE BATTALION, 2ND MARINE DIVISION
ON THE GREAT BATTLEFIELD
NORTHERN EGYPT
Beneath the burning North African sun a week was far too long to leave the thousands of corpses unburied. Hour after hideous hour, long night and unyielding day, the Marines stoically moved about the disagreeable ground collecting the enemy dead and depositing them in enormous communal craters. In response to their grievous task, the taxed Americans had long ago shut down their minds. It was the only defense they had from the horror and revulsion closing in from every side. They were in a loathsome nightmare from which they couldn’t awaken. They felt like unearthly creatures as they stumbled through this surreal world. It was as if they could no longer separate themselves from the dead. The wretched smell of decaying flesh clung to their skin, overwhelming their agonized senses. Sam Erickson was convinced no matter what he did the vile sensation would never leave his battered psyche. The malodorous smells and gruesome images would walk with him for the remainder of his years.
With James Fife’s assistance, he tossed the fractured pieces of a mangled Pan-Arab into a deep hole where hundreds of others waited. That was the last of them, a final body, a final pit. With the coming of the stark morning’s first offensive glare, their unutterable task was over. The vexed platoon leader signaled and the bulldozers started pushing dirt onto the immense gravesite. The spiritless Marines looked around. For days, they’d done nothing but fill one fissure after another with once-living forms. Their onerous undertaking was at an end.
The helicopters were waiting to take off. Their engines were running, their blades spinning. The numb survivors shuffled across the sands. They were soon heading toward the beach. Not a word passed among them as they rushed toward the Mediterranean shore. In twenty minutes they’d return to the place where it had all begun. Erickson was too exhausted to think about where they’d been and where they were going. The only thing keeping him sane was the thought of holding Lauren. Within the hour, he’d do so once again. After a lengthy shower in an ineffectual attempt to wash away the corruption, he’d find the woman he loved.
The formation churned north. The fateful shore came into view.
* * *
—
Sam lifted the flap on Lauren’s tent. He was anxious to see the surprise on her face. Yet it was the spent lieutenant wh
o was surprised. She wasn’t there. He searched for her among the row of tents. Still, she was nowhere to be found. He was confused by her absence, yet saw no reason to be concerned. He glanced at his watch. It was the first he’d done so in forever. For a horrid eternity, time had had no meaning. For hideous days without end, there’d been only a sickening present. No past. No future.
It was nearing eight. A smile appeared on his rugged features. The explanation for her absence was apparent. He knew she was a creature of habit. At this moment, she was probably in the mess tent having breakfast. He turned to join her. After enjoying a hot meal, something he hadn’t experienced in uncounted days, he’d return with her to her tent.
Erickson hadn’t gone more than a few steps when he spotted his company commander approaching. He could tell from Richards’s face something was amiss.
“Figured you’d be here, Sam,” the captain said as he neared.
“Yes, sir, I came to find Lauren.”
“That’s the reason I was looking for you. She’s not here.”
“What do you mean she’s not here? Where is she? Did she get another assignment?”
Richards hesitated. “Not exactly, Sam. I don’t have all the details, but it seems nearly a week ago she stole a Humvee and took off with her cameraman for the front lines.”
Erickson’s heart sank. “I warned her not to try anything so stupid.”
“Well, obviously she didn’t listen.”
“Is she all right?” Erickson asked. “Was she wounded?”
“Nobody knows. Three days ago, our guys overran a Pan-Arab outpost sixty miles north of here. They found the Humvee she’d taken. It was out of gas.”
“Was there any sign of her, sir?”
“Not exactly. They spotted women’s clothing scattered about near the abandoned vehicle. And a watch and wedding band the outpost’s dead political officer was wearing were identified as belonging to her cameraman. But there was no sign of either of them.”
Erickson stared at Richards in disbelief. His mind was racing as the implications set in. He couldn’t form the words to respond.
* * *
—
It was late afternoon. Erickson sat on the shoreline staring at the swelling tide. He’d been there for hours, alone and motionless. The emptiness within him wouldn’t abate. His grief was all-consuming. He’d only known her for a handful of days. Even so, he felt her loss more deeply than anything he’d ever experienced. In a passing moment, the woman he loved had been taken from him. The irony was overwhelming. He felt cheated by life’s cruelties. A torment was growing that couldn’t be put into words.
Her death had served no purpose. Once this was over, he wouldn’t rest until he found her remains. If he didn’t, he’d never find peace. He continued staring through unfocused eyes at the mocking waters. That’s where Richards and Fife found him as night fell. They walked up to where he was sitting. There was a bizarre sort of smirk on both their faces. He looked at them, his pain immeasurable.
“I know we thought we were out of this, but if the opportunity arises, do you think you’re up for another mission?” Richards asked.
Erickson knew revenge wouldn’t bring Lauren back. But it no longer mattered. “Sir, if it gives me a chance to kill a few more Pan-Arabs, I’m definitely up for it. The more of those sons-a-bitches we eliminate the better off this world’s going to be.”
“Like a chance to go after the biggest son of a bitch of them all?”
“What are you talking about, sir?” There was confusion in his response.
“Ever seen the pyramids, Sam?”
The question struck him as strange, even in this rather peculiar conversation. Still it was obvious Richards was waiting for an answer. “No, sir, only on television and in pictures.”
“Well, in thirty hours you’ll see them firsthand.”
“What? I still don’t understand. What are you talking about?”
“What I’m talking about is the killing’s not over for us yet. They located the Chosen One hiding in the pyramids. We’re going to support an attack on the Giza Plateau to eliminate the sorry bastard. We’re going to take out Muhammad Mourad. Battalion commander’s at division right now getting the details.”
66
6:54 P.M., NOVEMBER 5
ODA 6333, CHARLIE COMPANY, 3RD BATTALION, 6TH SPECIAL FORCES GROUP (AIRBORNE)
RHODA ISLAND
CAIRO
Night was settling around them. Sanders, Porter, and Abernathy hid in the sheltering rubble near the isle’s southern tip as they observed the final piece of another lengthy crossing being bolted into place. In days past, the deadly trio had rushed forward at precisely this moment to destroy each nearly finished span. This time, however, they stayed where they were, watching their adversaries work. They made no effort to eliminate the enemy structure. Within the hour, their orders to do so had changed.
“Okay, Sanders,” Abernathy said, “couple minutes and the bridge will be ready. Tell Captain Morrow to have the French bring their tanks forward. As soon as Porter and I get on the other side and secure the far end, the Leclercs can start across.”
“All right, Sarge, I’m on my way.”
Sanders scrambled to his feet and headed across the tumbled landscape. He soon disappeared.
Four of the Mahdi’s engineers rushed about, finishing the final portion of the hazardous task. A pontoon bridge soon floated uninterrupted from the Nile’s western bank to Rhoda Island.
“Okay,” Abernathy said, “it’s our turn.”
The duo attached silencers to their sniper rifles. Each raised his malignant weapon and took aim. Both squeezed the trigger. Two of the Pan-Arabs went down. They tumbled into the waters on the northern side of the bridge. Their bodies slowly floated away. The kills had been so exact neither victim uttered a sound. Their startled companions searched the island, trying without success to locate the aggressors’ position. The surviving Pan-Arabs turned and ran toward the distant shore. A new round loaded, the long rifles appeared on the Green Berets’ shoulders. They had the running figures in their sights. A second squeeze and the last of the engineers fell from the structure.
The time had come for Abernathy and Porter to complete the harrowing assignment. It was a mission neither was anxious to initiate. But if the counterattack was to commence, someone had to cross and establish a defensive position on the western bank. Abernathy signaled the 82nd Airborne squad lurking nearby to provide covering fire. Both Americans got to their feet and edged toward the Nile. After a careful look around, they started running across the endless expanse. Five hundred yards away waited Giza’s shore. They’d be exposed and vulnerable the entire time. Fortunately, after six days of fighting with nothing gained and far too many lives lost, their antagonist was confused and dispirited. And the 82nd’s burgundy-bereted soldiers did a masterful job of pinning their scattered foes’ noses in the dirt. No real resistance rose up to meet the sprinting team. Only a handful of haphazard shots were fired in their direction.
Despite the Mahdi’s orders to fight on, the intensity of the Pan-Arab assault had dissipated hours earlier. By a sweltering midafternoon’s arrival, all of the grappling rafts had vanished or been destroyed. For the first time since the siege began, the Nile’s vivid red was beginning to fade. Nothing more than an occasional mortar round screamed toward the battered island. Only scattered gunfire continued from the distant shore. To a man, the Chosen One’s followers recognized they were beaten. Throughout the day, uncountable thousands had walked away without giving it a second thought. More were doing so each hour.
They’d survived the battlefield, but considerable numbers wouldn’t live through the undertaking they now faced. The cruel desert stretched for hundreds of miles before the demoralized deserters. Yet it no longer mattered. Most were willing to take their chances with the blinding Sahara. At least they no longer f
eared the political officers’ swords. With Mourad’s edict, the mullahs were making no attempt to dissuade the deserters from leaving.
It would be a difficult journey filled with misery and suffering. The wounded especially stood scant prospects of success. Still, despite what they’d face, all were determined to endure the steadfast exodus.
Those who stayed did so reluctantly. With the outcome certain, none was anxious to forfeit his life in the waning struggle. To die now seemed almost senseless. Their agony-filled passing needed to serve a greater purpose if they were going to serve their God. Paradise could wait until their death would contain notable meaning in Islam’s future conquests of the nonbelievers.
Even with his army crumbling, their leader continued to cling to the hope that an all-powerful deity would intercede and grant the pious a miraculous result. As Allah had accomplished untold times throughout history’s annals, he would smite Satan’s followers and show his chosen the way.
Still unwilling to accept defeat, Mourad continued to insist upon building the bridges for a fanciful conquest that would never arrive. It was a huge mistake. One the Allies would use to their advantage.
With the day’s end near, the Americans allowed the Pan-Arabs to complete a dozen bridges across the wide river. It was a gamble they were willing to take. Even if their counterattack into Giza failed, they suspected the enemy was too weak to take advantage of the opportunity.
The first of the Leclercs started over the troubled waters. Others moved forward along the Nile. Across the wide river the Allies poured.
The determined advance had been timed to coincide with major pushes in the north and south. They would close in on the laboring defenders from three sides at once. Thirty miles from the Egyptian coastline, Hornets roared from the carriers to bolster the attacks. At the same moment, the British Challengers and their Marine supporters struck with renewed fury.