Easy Day for the Dead

by Howard E. Wasdin

  After filming the temple complex, they packed up, then drove along a road southeast until they reached a private hospital. “This is the hospital here,” Alex said. “Leila, you’ll park here tomorrow night.”

  “Yes.”

  Cat pulled into the hospital parking lot and circled it before returning to the road southeast. Finally, she slowed down in front of a rock quarry located on the same hill as the Sheikh Abdallah Barracks. John pretended to film the rock quarry, but he was actually filming the Sheikh Abdallah Barracks. His fellow Outcasts stood around him like they were viewing the quarry, but they were obstructing onlookers from seeing John while he filmed.

  They finished their recon and had just loaded into the van when a vehicle came speeding into the parking lot and stopped in front of them. Two Hezbollah men in green uniforms approached the driver side and motioned for Cat to roll the window down.

  She rolled down the window with her left hand and started the ignition with her right.

  One of the men tilted his head in a way that made it look as if it were on crooked. He spoke Arabic to Cat.

  “He’s asking what we’re doing here,” Cat said. With her foot on the brake, she shifted into low gear, ready to plow through the Hezbollah vehicle before shifting into drive and speeding away.

  “We’re a movie production crew,” Alex said.

  Cat translated.

  “Who are your stars?” Crooked Head asked.

  “This is our main star.” Alex pointed to Pancho.

  “Hi,” Pancho said, waving with a smile.

  “Who is he?” Crooked Head asked.

  “Pancho Bardem,” Alex said. “He was nominated for an Oscar two years ago.”

  Crooked Head poked his head inside Cat’s window and surveyed the interior before resting his eyes on Pancho. “Never heard of him.”

  Pancho frowned and turned up his nose.

  “He’s well-known in Spain and Mexico,” Alex explained.

  Pancho smiled, flashing what he thought was a killer grin.

  “I’ve watched behind the scenes and this isn’t enough people to make a movie,” Crooked Head said.

  Alex allowed irritation to creep into his voice: “This is a documentary.”

  “Where is your film equipment?”

  Alex turned to John and Leila. “Show him.”

  They reached down and unzipped their duffel bags.

  Crooked Head watched intently.

  John pulled out a camera and tripod, and Leila also took out a camera and tripod.

  “What are your jobs?” Crooked Head asked.

  Alex pointed to himself. “I’m the producer-director.” Then he pointed to Cat. “This is my assistant. Pancho is our host-narrator, and in the back are our two camera people.”

  “You don’t need two cameras for a documentary.”

  “We don’t do multiple takes,” Alex said impatiently. “That’s why we shoot with two cameras. Our movie is honest—what you see is what it is. And I don’t appreciate you insulting Pancho. You don’t even know who Pancho Bardem is, and you try to act like you know how to make a documentary. Have you been living under a rock?!”

  Cat’s translation was only about half as long as what Alex said.

  Alex’s eyes burned into Cat. “Don’t edit me. Tell him everything I said.”

  The other Hezbollah guy pulled Crooked Head aside and spoke broken English: “You make movie here?”

  “We filmed the temple ruins,” Alex said. “We heard the rock quarry is a good place to film so we came here, but there’s nothing to film here.”

  “Can I see?” the Hezbollah man asked politely. He was older and seemed to be the senior of the two.

  “The film? Sure.” Alex turned to John. “Show him what we took of the temple ruins.”

  John stepped out of the van and played back the recording on the camera’s swing-out monitor. Crooked Head looked over Senior’s shoulder.

  Senior finished viewing the monitor and focused on Alex. “What you know about Hezbollah?”

  “Just what I hear on the news,” Alex replied.

  “The news is wrong. I tell you truth. Take my picture.”

  Alex took a few moments, as if he were seriously thinking about it. He looked the soldier up and down before answering. “You have the hips of a younger George Clooney. Okay. Everybody, let’s film what he has to say.”

  The Outcasts unloaded from the van. John and Leila set up their cameras on the tripods with the sun to their backs and Senior, Crooked Head, and Pancho in front. Senior patted his hair.

  “Are we filming?” Alex asked.

  “Yeah, boss,” John said.

  Leila nodded.

  “Pancho,” Alex said.

  Pancho, Senior, and Crooked Head exchanged greetings before Pancho asked Senior about Hezbollah.

  Senior said something to Crooked Head in Arabic and he took a step back. Senior didn’t want Crooked Head crowding him in the picture frame. “Hezbollah is political party in Lebanese government. We built hospital, radio station, television station, university, schools for children, and housing for poor people. Hezbollah is doctors, lawyers, teachers, students, farmers, and common people. . . .” He conveniently left out any mention of terrorists and went on to complain about Israel, the United States, and Europe. Eventually, he became tired of talking.

  “Great,” Alex said. “Let’s call it a day.”

  Pancho shook Senior’s hand, thanking him. John and Leila packed up their cameras. Alex thanked Senior and gave him a business card for a dummy movie production company, phone number, and email address where a real secretary stood by to answer inquiries in order to maintain the cover. The Outcasts loaded into the van and waved to the Hezbollah pair before driving away. Senior and Crooked Head smiled and waved back.

  24

  * * *

  In the Sheikh Abdallah Barracks, Major Khan and his Hezbollah interpreter entered the building where the hostages were kept. Major Khan had heard that one of the three prisoners was a young man named Youssef Rahbanni. Having already received clearance to interrogate the young man, Major Khan and his interpreter checked in with the guard at the desk, then proceeded through the doorway and to the right. At the end of the hall, Major Khan found a guard seated in a chair. Major Khan kicked the chair. Startled, the guard stood and unlocked the door. Major Khan told the interpreter to wait in the hall. He didn’t need an eyewitness. He entered the interrogation room, where Youssef was already sitting with his hands tied and a black hood over his head. It had been too long since Major Khan’s last interrogation, and he ached inside with anticipation. The boy couldn’t speak Farsi, so Major Khan skipped the talking and cut straight to the monster.

  After his session with the young man, Major Khan left the interrogation room and he and his interpreter left the building. The interrogation session relieved Major Khan’s monster for the time being, but disgusted the piece of humanity that he still clung to. Rather than dwell on it, he looked around the building and noticed the nearby stone wall. “If I were the enemy on land, I’d come over this wall,” Major Khan said. He and his interpreter scaled the wall and lowered themselves outside the barracks. He scanned the area. There were numerous possible approaches, but each would probably converge at the wall near the prison building. Major Khan needed to set up a sniper hide with eyes on that spot of the wall. He didn’t believe the Americans had the guts to do a helicopter insertion, but if they did, he’d have a good shot at the helo, too. To the north, a cluster of upper-class houses faced the barracks. He pointed to one that looked like the perfect location. “That one.”

  Major Khan and the interpreter returned to the barracks and found Pistachio, Lieutenant Saeedi, and their gear. They loaded into a gray Range Rover. Pistachio drove them to the house north of the barracks, where they met the owner, an average-looking middle-aged woman.

  Pistachio had a way with women, so he gave the pitch and the interpreter translated for Major Khan. “We’d like to rent a room in
your house to conduct some surveillance on the barracks.”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “My late husband left me with a sufficient inheritance, and I really don’t need the money.”

  “I understand. We have to give you the money, it’s only the fair thing to do, but this isn’t about the money. This is about the security of your neighborhood and supporting Hezbollah.”

  Lieutenant Saeedi stared at the woman. Major Khan tried to give him the evil eye, but Saeedi didn’t notice.

  “How long will you need to be here?” she asked.

  “A day or two,” Pistachio said. Even though the mission could last weeks or months, it was easier to ask her for a couple of days. “You’ll be safer with us here. Your neighborhood will be safer, too.”

  Lieutenant Saeedi seemed to be raping her with his eyes.

  “This house is more than I need anyway,” she said. “I guess it would be okay.” She showed them the house without asking how much money they were offering.

  Major Khan paid little attention to the first floor, and Lieutenant Saeedi paid more attention to the owner than anything else. When they reached the bedroom on the second floor with a view of the barracks, Major Khan became fully alert. “This room is perfect,” he said.

  “Okay,” the owner said.

  “Can we be alone for a few minutes to discuss our surveillance?” Major Khan asked.

  The owner nodded and left the room.

  Major Khan sent the interpreter to fetch his bag.

  When the three of them were alone, Lieutenant Saeedi said, “I really want to have sex with her.”

  “Why don’t you try to get to know her first?” Pistachio said.

  “Because that never works,” Lieutenant Saeedi said. “Once a woman gets to know me, it’s over.”

  “You just have to find the right woman,” Pistachio said.

  “That’s easy for you to say. Women are always hanging all over you. Every woman is the right woman for you, but no woman is the right one for me.”

  Pistachio looked to Major Khan for support.

  “I don’t care about the woman,” Major Khan said. “And I don’t care about your need for sex. What I care about is the mission. After we kill Alex Brandenburg and his men, you can rape every woman in Lebanon.”

  Lieutenant Saeedi’s face sagged. He found a chair in the corner and sat. Major Khan understood what it was like when the monster needed to be fed, and he couldn’t feed it. Even so, Khan would kill Saeedi without hesitation. There was no room for negotiation.

  The major pulled a table in front of the window. Then the interpreter returned with Major Khan’s bag and handed it to him. He dismissed the interpreter then opened the bag. Inside was a Nakhjir, a Russian Dragunov sniper rifle licensed for manufacture in Iran. The Nakhjir’s magazine held ten rounds of 7.62x54mmR ammunition, similar to the American .308. At the end of the rifle was a flash suppressor so the enemy would have more difficulty spotting him. Major Khan attached a PSO-1 optical sight and looked through it. The sight magnified everything four times its normal size.

  Next, Major Khan pulled out a pair of binoculars. “We’ll take turns in six-hour shifts watching the barracks with these binoculars. If anyone spots something suspicious, he’ll tell me, and I’ll do the rest.”

  25

  * * *

  The next day Alex and Cat met again with Omar and Brutus. Now the Sunnis were on America’s side, but Alex knew that someday Islamic fanaticism might rear its ugly head, and they’d be enemies. It saddened Alex, but he didn’t dwell on it.

  At 2300 hours, Alex, Pancho, John, and Leila left the apartment wearing civvies and hiking boots and carrying large black duffel bags. Under the light of a partial moon, the SEALs loaded into the back of the black Hummer and Leila drove. Minutes later, Cat would head out in the van to link up at the final rendezvous point with Brutus. Alex worried about leaving her alone with Brutus, but Alex needed Pancho and John with him on the assault—and Cat wanted no special favors.

  The SEALs put cammies and dark inflatable life vests on over their civvies. In Alex’s pockets he carried a map, an energy gel tube, Swiss Army knife, first-aid kit (blowout kit), survival kit, PRC-112 survival radio, and gloves. From his duffel bag he pulled out his holstered Zoaf pistol and put it on. Then he took out his AKMS assault rifle and loaded it. Next, Alex donned his combat vest loaded with rifle and pistol ammo, grenades, GPS, and radio. From his radio he could transmit to and receive from each of the Outcasts and Omar. Last was his small backpack with the rest of his gear.

  Alex applied olive drab green and loam paint to his skin, making sure to keep the high areas like his nose and cheekbones dark and the low areas, like around his eyes, light. Where light shone, his skin became dark, and where shadows fell, his skin became light, so he looked other than human. The SEALs checked each other’s war faces to make sure no natural skin color was exposed.

  A little more than an hour later, they arrived in Baalbek, where they’d seen the Hezbollah posters around town and met the Hezbollah vendor before entering the temple ruins.

  Two men in green uniforms armed with AK-47s stood in the road and waved for the Outcasts to stop—Hezbollah. Damn, we haven’t even reached the objective! “Leila, stop and see what they want.”

  Leila stopped in front of them. The guards approached her and gestured for her to roll down the window—they couldn’t see through the Hummer’s tinted windows in the dark as well as the Outcasts could see out. John quietly opened the rear door on the passenger’s side and slipped out. Alex followed, drawing his sound-suppressed pistol. They crept around the back of the Hummer. Leila was speaking in Farsi, confusing the two Hezbollah men.

  John turned the corner followed by Alex, both looking down the sights of their pistols. Now Alex could see the two Hezbollah men talking to Leila. John walked close to the vehicle, giving Alex space to walk on his left and an open field of fire. The Hezbollah man on the left appeared in Alex’s sights, and Alex squeezed the trigger three times. The first two rounds struck the Hezbollah man in the upper torso, and the last struck him in the head just as John shot him in the head, too. Alex aimed at John’s man on the right, but he was already down. Alex was smooth, but John was smoother. Smooth is fast. They moved forward and gave each of the Hezbollah another shot in the skull to make sure.

  Alex and John dragged the bodies off the road and into the bushes. They returned to the Hummer and sat inside. Pancho was eating a bag of Keebler peanut butter cookies.

  “Thanks for the help,” Alex said.

  “No problemo,” Pancho said with his mouth full.

  Alex wasn’t happy. “Leila, take us to the insertion point.”

  Leila took her foot off the brake and stepped on the gas. Pancho gave her a cookie.

  John held his hand out to Pancho. “How about it?”

  Pancho handed John some cookies.

  “Sam,” John said.

  “Huh?” Pancho asked.

  “The nineteenth elf.”

  “Oh, yeah. The peanut butter baker.” Pancho gestured with a cookie to Alex. “Uncommonly good cookies for uncommonly good shooters.”

  Alex shook his head and took it. After eating the cookie, he wanted another. Pancho must have read his mind, because Pancho gave him two more.

  Leila drove a few minutes before parking behind a deserted building on a hill. The guys put on their NVGs.

  Alex keyed his radio once, breaking squelch to signal everyone that he was in place. Leila broke squelch twice, Cat three times, and Omar four—they were in place, too. So far, so good. Pancho slipped out on Leila’s side, followed by Alex and then John. Alex didn’t like leaving Leila by herself, but he was short on assaulters as it was. She would have to fend for herself.

  Alex could see his breath in the moonlight, but his adrenaline was pumping so hard that he didn’t feel cold. Pancho led them behind the hospital southwest through a grove of cedar trees powdered with snow. The SEALs crossed a street and entered another grove of
cedar trees behind another hospital. Pancho skirted around the hospital to the right and passed between two buildings before taking them across another street. Heading west, they crept behind a group of buildings laid out in an L-shape. A dog barked. I wish that dog would shut up.

  Rather than walk across an open field, at the second house from the end of the L-shape, Pancho cut between houses. They crossed another road and walked through snow above their ankles until they reached the next road. As the SEALs rounded a large three-story building, Alex could see the Sheikh Abdallah Barracks less than two hundred yards away. They crawled between the three-story building and a farmer’s field. In spite of all the snow, there were rows of bushy green plants growing in the field. Pancho low-crawled through the field, followed by Alex and John. The ground was frozen hard, and Alex was thankful for his knee pads and arm pads. Pancho stopped and slowly looked around in front of them. Alex examined the area left and right. He glanced back to see John checking behind them. When John turned back around and made eye contact with Alex, John made no indication that there was a problem. Alex returned his eyes to the front.

  To the SEALs’ right was a larger field. In it lay Omar and his men. They kept still. Good. Although Alex could see some of them with his NVGs, he wondered how well the enemy might be able to spot them. Pancho resumed crawling through the rows of bushy plants.

  The SEALs exited the farmer’s field and quickly crawled over a stone wall. Inside the wall of Hezbollah’s barracks, they lay still for several minutes before entering a clump of cedar trees next to their target building. Pancho moved forward as far as he could without exiting the clump of trees and stopped. This is it. Alex’s senses were so heightened that a breeze through the trees sounded like someone stomping toward him. His breathing seemed loud enough to wake up the whole Hezbollah barracks. He could even hear the quickening beat of his heart. Breathe. He took slow, deep breaths. His heart and breathing rates slowed.