Exit Plan

by Larry Bond

  “Exactly,” answered the colonel.

  “Do we know they’re heading southeast?”

  “Not for certain, but that’s the direction they’ve been going.”

  “Understood, sir, I’ll take every precaution.”

  Sistani turned to the two noncoms. “You heard?”

  Both nodded.

  He ordered, “Make sure every man is awake and alert. There are to stay hidden at all times. Zahedi and I will check each position every half hour. Afshar, stay by the radio. If you hear firing, report immediately. Do not wait for my order. I don’t know what’s coming, but they won’t catch us off guard.”

  ~ * ~

  Highway 96, West of Second Squad’s Position

  2015 Local Time/1715 Zulu

  They’d been back on the highway for ten minutes, just long enough for Jerry to get comfortable. He was dozing when Lapointe called out, “Roadblock ahead. Ten klicks.”

  Ramey shook off his fatigue and opened his eyes. He turned to look at the screen, while Jerry leaned forward to see.

  A barrier lay across both lanes of the highway. The foreshortened figure of a man stood next to it. Lapointe was noting the coordinates. He switched to an area map and marked the spot.

  Ramey checked his watch, then called forward to the cab. “Another roadblock in ten klicks. Pointy’s working on a bypass.”

  Fazel responded, “Right, I’ll slow to sixty to give him a little more time.” They’d been traveling at up to eighty kph on the highway when they could.

  Lapointe was still fiddling with the map, zooming in and out, shifting to different sections. The light from the screen lit his face from below. His expression showed he wasn’t pleased. “Boss, XO, we got a problem. There’s no bypass this time.”

  “What? Nothing?” Ramey said, unbelieving. They’d used dirt roads, even gone overland once to get around checkpoints.

  “No roads at all. This is the boonies, even for southern Iran. I even looked at using streambeds, but they don’t run anywhere useful. Here’s the problem.” He pointed to some rough terrain on the map. “A little over a klick to the north of the highway is a bunch of steep hills, real rough country. It completely blocks travel on the north side of the highway.”

  “And if we head south, we get wet really fast. The beach isn’t even five hundred meters away. A natural bottleneck. . . . All right. How far do we have to backtrack?” Ramey sounded resigned.

  “We’d have to pick up a side road at Baverdan.” He slid the map northwest. “See? Almost all the way back to Charak. Then we go east and north to Lavaran, then Armak. That keeps us on the north side of the hills, but the road net only goes to Berkeh Jangal. We can get to Bandar Lengeh and the airfield from there, but it will be from the north and east. And we’ll lose our UAV coverage if we go that far inland.”

  Ramey frowned. “The really long way around. How many roadblocks will we hit while we take the scenic route? And without our advance scout, we’d have to run them blind.” The platoon leader rubbed his jaw; his options were between bad and worse. “Show me the UAV image of the checkpoint again.”

  Lapointe brought up the picture, a thermal image in false colors. Jerry could easily make out the bright figure leaning against the barrier. One of the man’s arms was bent as if he was holding a cigarette.

  “It’s just the one guy,” Lapointe observed.

  “He’s gotta have friends,” Ramey countered. “It makes no sense for him to be alone. What else can you see off the UAV feed?”

  Lapointe called up several other images, small-scale ones of the highway on either side and one with a larger field of view. He then transitioned over to the live streaming video, watching a pan of the area around the lonely sentry. “Nothing. It’s only four kilometers from the checkpoint to either of these two small towns. Maybe the garrison there is just sending this one man out.”

  “Boss? Any word on when to turn?” Harry’s voice sounded calm, but time was passing, and they were closing on the roadblock at sixty kilometers an hour.

  Ramey looked at the image of the roadblock for another few seconds, then answered, “We’re not turning. We have to run this one.”

  “That’ll save us some time,” Phillips observed. “Is there room to go around on the shoulder?”

  “Some, but the shoulder could be mined. We go right through. They can bill us for it.” Ramey knocked on the partition between the cab and the back. “Harry? Did you get that?”

  “Understood, Boss, were crashing the barrier.”

  “The airfield is only fifteen klicks away. We’ll be there before they can react.”

  “What about the sentry?” Jerry asked.

  “Harry will have to take him,” Ramey decided.

  “Hey, Boss! I know I’m good, but I’m driving, remember? Yousef is on that side.”

  “Yousef,” Ramey called. “Can you take out the sentry?”

  Shirin, awakened by the conversation, answered for him. “Yes. He says his rifle is in the cab and it has a folding stock, so he will use that. Harry should tell him when to shoot.”

  Ramey said, “Start to slow down, but don’t let your speed get below thirty. When you get about a hundred feet from the barrier, have Yousef shoot, then floor it.”

  “Understood, Boss. Slow to thirty, shoot at a hundred feet from the barrier, then punch it.”

  Lapointe announced, “We’re five klicks away.”

  “Let’s get ready, just in case,” Ramey ordered.

  There wasn’t a lot to do, but Jerry made sure his rifle was at hand. They piled everyone’s packs in the back, since any shots would most likely come from that direction.

  Shirin had heard the resignation in Yousef’s voice. He had tried to avoid harming his countrymen. Now he had little choice. He’d have to kill so they could live. Yousef prepared his rifle, but held it out of view, in his lap. Harry’s was in back. There was no room for it in the cab.

  We are going to shoot the sentry and crash through a roadblock, she thought. After everything else they’d done, this seemed almost pedestrian. And the airfield was close.

  The moon wasn’t up, so the only visible parts of the landscape were the pools of illuminated highway that preceded the truck. Everything else was a featureless black. She watched the truck’s odometer, figuring the distance to the roadblock.

  Ahead, the horizon could only be seen as an absence of starlight, but a bright spot appeared directly in front of them.

  Harry knocked on the back of the cab. “Boss? Tallyho.”

  “We’re ready,” came Ramey’s answer. “Do it.”

  “Think pure thoughts,” Harry said in Farsi. He held his speed for as long as possible, then gradually slowed from sixty to fifty, then forty, then thirty. Shirin readied herself, but then forced her muscles to relax. All she had to do was duck down when Harry pressed the gas. Simple.

  The light became a shape, then expanded into a red-and-white barrier across the road. She hoped it wasn’t made of metal. A soldier was standing to the right, waving a flashlight.

  Shirin saw him take a few steps. “He’s walking toward the road.”

  “Idiot,” Yousef commented. “You never step in front of a moving vehicle.”

  “Never mind that. Shoot.”

  Although she should have ducked, she had to watch. Yousef brought the rifle up from his lap, leaned out of the passenger side window, and fired a long burst. Inside the cab, the noise was deafening, and the smell of burnt propellant made her gag. She didn’t see any bullets hit the soldier, but he went down in a crumpled heap.

  Harry was shifting gears, although she couldn’t hear the engine until Yousef stopped firing. Lightly loaded, the truck quickly picked up speed and Harry shifted gears again, just as the front bumper hit the barrier. The engine almost howled as he accelerated. It flew up and to one side, and then she felt and heard pieces breaking under the truck’s tires.

  ~ * ~

  Second Squad’s Position

  2025 Local Time/1
725 Zulu

  Alizadeh, on the hill with the squad’s night-vision scope, had seen the truck and called out. “It’s an army truck, approaching from the east!”

  Sistani, standing near the base of the rise, didn’t have to sound the alert. After hearing about what happened at Charak, he was more concerned about the squad firing on a real army vehicle. Probably full of officers, with his luck.

  Then it crashed the barrier and they heard the gunfire.

  “Squad, open fire!”

  ~ * ~

  Shirin saw tracers flying across in front of them, and heard a sound like hail on the left side of the truck. Harry yelled, “Fire from the left!” and floored the accelerator. But even as the truck sped up, explosions sprouted from the pavement a few car lengths in front of them. In the truck’s headlights, some flashed red and gray. Others spat out billows of white smoke.

  Yousef called out, “Fire from the right!” and Shirin saw tracers, a lot of them, coming through the smoke, from the right side of the highway. Were they surrounded?

  The explosions seemed closer, and Harry shouted, “We’ve got to get off the road!” He jerked the wheel to the right and downshifted. The problem was that the ground sloped away on that side, and was cut by streambeds and gullies.

  Only one headlight was working, Shirin noticed, as the truck swerved off the pavement. Harry left it on, needing the light more than the concealment. She saw the driver’s side window crack in a star pattern, then the windshield.

  A line of flame, much brighter and thicker than tracers, flashed from behind and to the right, missing them by a foot and disappearing into the darkness. “RPG!” Harry shouted. “I’m going to try to get us into a streambed!”

  The truck was rocking violently from side to side, the result of Harry’s driving and the uneven terrain. Shirin gripped Yousef’s left arm with both hands, probably tightly enough to hurt, but she saw him hanging on to the door handle with his right hand so they wouldn’t be thrown around. She wondered if any of the truck’s tires had been hit.

  It was hard to make out anything through the damaged windshield. The ground in front of them seemed to heave as the truck lurched and bounced. The tracers didn’t improve the view, either. Shirin hoped the truck’s wild motion would spoil their attacker’s aim.

  Harry certainly wasn’t slowing down. It wasn’t clear whether he was still heading for cover or just fighting for control when their wild ride came to a sudden end. A sharp jolt threw them all forward, and then to the right side of the cab. The SEAL’s grip on the wheel was the only thing that kept him from landing on top of her. The truck stopped moving forward, but the right-hand tilt increased until she was sure they were going over. She tried to curl up in a ball, to protect the baby, but there was not much room to move.

  They landed with a messy crash. Harry, hanging onto the steering wheel, shouted, “Cover your eyes!” and kicked with both feet. From her viewpoint, each looked as big as the truck itself. On the third kick, the windshield broke and fell away. “Get her out of here!” the American ordered.

  Harry took Shirin’s arm and pulled her up and clear. Yousef untangled himself, standing on the side door and then crawling out. While her husband stood up outside, Shirin worked her feet onto the edge of the opening, then let go of Harry’s hand and fell forward into Yousef’s arms. Shouting, “Stay down!” Harry stopped long enough to pass out Yousef’s rifle, and then climbed out himself.

  Jerry had heard the gunfire and felt the bullets striking the side of the truck even as he’d heard Harry’s call and felt the truck’s engine rev. Crouching as low as they could on the floor, the four men in back could do nothing but hang on for dear life as the truck sped up, then suddenly slowed, and swerved right.

  The truck’s downward progress off the road threw everything into the air or against the sides or ends of the space. Even Jerry became airborne when he lost his grip on the bench, landing heavily on Phillips.

  Ramey, sitting near the front, had reacted by grabbing the seats on each side with his hands and extending his legs under the benches, bracing them against the supports. Relatively secure, Jerry could still see him strain to hold his position, and Ramey took hard impacts from several flying objects.

  It got worse when the truck tipped over. The sudden deceleration threw everything and everyone to the front, with the lieutenant under it all. It spilled to the right as the bed went vertical, then a little past vertical on the downward-sloping ground.

  Jerry coughed, tried to move, and realized his legs were entangled with Phillips, while one arm was pinned under Lapointe and several knapsacks, which now seemed to be loaded with rocks.

  “Out! We have to get out!” Lapointe shouted. The petty officer was nearest the open end of truck, and struggled out from under a tangle of gear. He snatched the closest rifle and half-staggered to the opening.

  Jerry flexed his liberated arm. Once assured it was working, he pulled himself clear of Phillips and helped him to stand on what had been the truck’s side, now the floor. “Look after the boss,” Phillips shouted as he grabbed a rifle and joined Lapointe by the back.

  Ramey was unconscious, and Jerry forced himself to carefully check the lieutenant’s pulse and breathing. He was alive, and moaned as Jerry checked for broken bones or other trauma. “Ow. All right, I’m awake. Ahhhh,” he groaned, as he moved his arms then untangled his legs from the bench seats. Pulling himself to a kneeling position, he called, “Pointy, Philly, somebody tell me what’s going on.”

  “Lot of fire from both sides of the road, Boss. It’s died off, now.”

  “They probably think we’re dead,” Ramey answered. “Let’s see if they send someone to check out the wreck.”

  “We’ll keep out of sight.”

  “What about Harry and the Iranians?”

  “I’m here,” Harry reported. “No casualties. I need my weapon. The precious cargo is under cover, next to the truck. There’s a machine gun fifty plus meters away on this side of the road, and I saw RPG fire. I had to get off the road because they had a mortar zeroed on it.”

  They grabbed weapons and packs. Lapointe handed Harry his rifle, and then passed Jerry the night-vision goggles. “Give these to Yousef.”

  Ramey ordered, “Harry, Philly, XO, go up front by the cab. Harry, see what you can do about that machine gun. Pointy and I will stay back here and see if we can put some fire down. They could rush us any time. Move.”

  The group had been huddled down, half inside the truck and the others behind. Lapointe and Ramey moved first, turning to lay prone on the sloping ground facing toward the enemy. As they moved into position, Jerry heard several single shots, spaced a few seconds apart.

  Dirt and pebbles kicked up near Lapointe, and he cried out. “UGH! I’m hit, my leg!” Another shot quickly followed, but Ramey had already backed down the slope and avoided being struck.

  Jerry and Phillips moved Lapointe to safety by the simple expedient of grabbing his feet and pulling. Fazel joined them, but as he reached for his first aid kit, the far side of the road erupted with gunfire, tracers converging on the truck. The machine gun to the right of the road also laced the area. A moment later, a pair of explosions ripped the ground a dozen yards away. “Well, they know we’re still alive,” Jerry said.

  They all understood what was happening. “Get away from the truck!” Ramey shouted. “Head toward the beach!” he ordered. “Philly, XO, help the Iranians.”

  Jerry headed behind the fleeting cover of the truck to find Shirin and Yousef huddled against the canvas top. “We’ve got to get away,” Jerry urged, and pointed down the hill.

  The couple stood and hurried down the slope, with Jerry in front and Phillips covering their rear. Tracers flew over their heads. Another pair of mortar shells landed closer to the truck. They could hear fragments ripping through the metal body. Behind him, Jerry could hear Lapointe trying to stay quiet as Ramey and Fazel carried him, his wound still untreated.

  Jerry heard a different-sound
ing explosion, and had just enough time to register the whoosh preceding it when the truck fireballed, briefly highlighting them in orange-red light as they struggled down the slope.

  Jerry almost fell into a fold in the ground that appeared as a dark chasm in front of them. It was deep enough to kneel behind, but he found that out by landing badly on the bottom. He helped Shirin down and then called to Ramey and Fazel. Carrying Lapointe, they turned toward Jerry and the others, and sped up as much as they could, given the uneven terrain.

  The instant they put Lapointe down, Harry opened his first aid kit and started to work. Jerry quickly crawled over and began taking off Lapointe’s backpack. “Leave it,” the corpsman said tersely. “It’s not in my way.”

  “I want the radio,” Jerry insisted. “Gotta make a call.” He fumbled first with the pack, then with the radio. He’d seen Lapointe set it up plenty of times, but it was dark, and the edges kept getting caught on the fabric of the backpack.