Exit Plan

by Larry Bond

  Jerry said, “I’ll get us some help. Just keep us alive for ten minutes,” he told Ramey.

  The lieutenant set about organizing their defense.

  ~ * ~

  Lieutenant Sistani had taken a position on the rise, next to Private Alizadeh. His night sight was proving vital, both for spotting the enemy and guiding the mortar. The sight had a built-in laser rangefinder, and he’d fed range data to the 60mm mortar Corporal Afshar and Private Kiani were firing.

  The second volley of fire had driven the fugitives down the hill, which was good, but where were they now? “What can you see?” Sistani demanded.

  “I saw motion down the hill, sir, but nothing now. I think they’ve gone to ground.”

  “Give me a range to where you last saw them.”

  The private checked his sight. “Three hundred and sixty-five meters.”

  Sistani hurried down the hill to the mortar position. “Afshar, get ready to put six rounds down at three seven zero meters, in line with the truck.” As the corporal nodded, Sistani called to the nearest private. “Ostovar, tell Jahveri to put machine gun fire down wherever he sees mortar shells exploding. Stay there and be ready to advance when I give the word. Go.” The lieutenant watched him trot out of sight, counted another thirty seconds, then told Afshar, “Now.”

  ~ * ~

  USS Michigan, Battle Management Center

  2033 Local Time/1733 Zulu

  Guthrie’s voice boomed out of the intercom. “BMC, Conn. We’ll be ready to launch in a minute or two. Any updates?”

  Frederickson answered, “They’re still getting mortar fire. Lapointe is stable.”

  A new voice came over the intercom. “Control, Launcher. Missile compartment manned and ready.” Doolan’s voice was almost breathless. “Were making the final checks now.”

  “No shortcuts, Mr. Doolan,” Guthrie cautioned.

  “We’re good, sir. I double-checked the seals myself.” There was a short pause, and he reported, “Tube two four is ready.”

  The SEAL lieutenant keyed the radio. “Launch in two minutes, XO.” He heard two clicks in response.

  ~ * ~

  Fortress of Solitude

  2038 Local Time/1738 Zulu

  Jerry wasn’t getting a lot of help from Lapointe. The petty officer had refused to take any painkillers so he could stay awake, but he’d lost a lot of blood, and half the time Jerry couldn’t hear his answers, especially in the middle of a firefight.

  With Lapointe treated, Fazel had gone into sniper mode, concentrating on the PKM machine gun that flanked them. He’d hit the gunner at least once, but after a short pause, it had started up again. The SEALs picked their shots carefully, no more than two rounds at a time, both for maximum effect and to avoid revealing their location.

  In between mortar bursts, Phillips had spotted movement along the highway, then the others saw it as well—soldiers lining up along the road. “They’re positioning themselves for a charge, once the mortars have softened us up.” Ramey and the others picked off a few who didn’t stay low enough, and tried to keep the others’ heads down in between mortar bursts.

  Jerry held the controller so Lapointe could operate it, and followed the petty officer’s hands as he powered up the device and tested the controls. It was designed for use in the field, but Jerry had never trained on it. Lapointe was breathing hard, but ran Jerry through the procedure.

  As Jerry started to ask a question, the controller beeped twice, and Lapointe said, “Time’s up. Take it, XO.”

  Jerry fitted the visor over his eyes and adjusted the strap. The visor was size of a pair of safety goggles, but heavier. Inside Jerry saw bright symbols and numbers surrounding a black rectangle. In the center of the display, the word “Signal” blinked, and Jerry could feel Lapointe guiding his fingers on the hand controller. Lapointe placed his index finger on a switch, and the image came alive.

  He was flying over a dark, featureless surface. A bright, irregular landscape lay in the distance, but he was closing in at high speed. The numbers and symbols started to change, and he recognized readouts for airspeed and altitude. “I’ve got the signal,” Jerry reported. He was over the water, approaching the coast.

  Guided by Lapointe, Jerry’s finger pressed another switch. “You’ve got it,” the petty officer told him.

  Jerry gingerly moved the controller, and saw the landscape fall away as the UAV climbed. That suited him fine. Aviators get nervous too close to the ground, especially in an unfamiliar aircraft.

  “I’m slowing down,” Jerry stated. The speed readout was over five hundred knots.

  “Stalling speed is one twenty,” Lapointe told him, “but you’re loaded, so try not to drop below one forty.”

  “Understood, bringing it down slowly,” Jerry replied. “Five hundred, four fifty…”

  The vehicle slowed quickly, and Jerry experimented with a left, and then a right turn. He quickly brought the UAV back on base course, though. A cursor at the top of the display indicated the direction to the controller, bringing it straight toward him.

  Jerry brought the Cormorant in overhead at five hundred feet and two hundred and fifty knots. On the thermal imager, he could see the bright flare of the burning truck, and the line of soldiers lying prone along the highway. “I’ve got them!” he announced.

  “Find that goddamned mortar!” Ramey ordered impatiently, and Jerry, already past the battle, turned the Cormorant to the right, trying to time the turn so he ended up over the highway. He was off, with the highway to the left of center, but as he flew overhead, he saw two human figures well back from the highway, working with something even brighter and hotter than they were.

  “Got it,” Jerry reported. He was past the target by that time, but he risked slowing a little more to focus on making a crisp one-eighty. This time, as the Cormorant passed over the mortar’s position, he used the hand controller to mark its precise location. Increasing power, he said, “Climbing.” He was getting the hang of this thing. He was sure a pilot had a hand in designing the visor. The readouts looked just like his Hornet’s heads-up display.

  At a thousand feet, he made a wide circle, constantly informing the impatient SEAL lieutenant of his progress. “I’m ready,” he told Lapointe, and felt his hand guided to another pair of buttons. “Left to lock them up, right to fire,” Lapointe reminded him.

  He pressed the left button, and a bright “L,” for laser, appeared in one corner. Then he pressed the right button twice. The image shook for just a second, and two streaks of light leapt from the foreground toward the two figures and what was hopefully the mortar.

  He heard the double explosion at the same time as the screen flared. It was much louder than the mortar shells, and Jerry could see the figures were no longer together, and lay sprawled and unmoving. The laser-guided Hydra rockets had found their target.

  “That’s what I’m talkin’ about, XO! Now get that machine gun off our backs.”

  ~ * ~

  Lieutenant Sistani lay with his men along the highway, trying to gauge the enemy’s status. They were pinned down by fire, had at least one casualty if Alizadeh was to be believed, and were virtually surrounded. He had men to the north and east, the ocean was at their adversaries’ backs to the south, and if they tried to break out to the west, he’d cut them down.

  He’d been willing to wait and let the mortar work on them when he heard an explosion from behind him. It had come from the direction of the mortar crew. Had there been some sort of accident? He’d almost gotten up to go find out before remembering the enemy in front of him.

  He was still low, crawling to a place where he could get up safely when another pair of explosions ripped the landscape near— No, it was at the PKM’s position. It didn’t fire again. He hadn’t seen anything but rifle fire from the enemy. The range was too great and the explosions too large for a grenade launcher. He thought of a helicopter gunship, but there was no noise. Was it a stealth bomber?

  Would there be more exp
losions? He was losing men, and the battle. His only hope was to close with them so that they couldn’t drop any more bombs.

  “By opposite numbers, advance!” Sistani’s only thought now was to finish this quickly.

  ~ * ~

  Jerry heard Ramey’s shout just as he was lining up for a shot on the soldiers on the highway. In the display, he saw them moving, and pressed the right button twice, quickly, even though he hadn’t marked their position. He kept the crosshairs centered on the middle of the line and watched explosions knock three men off their feet.

  But they were coming now. Lapointe helped him find the autopilot key that would send the Cormorant into a circular orbit at a safe altitude.

  “Help me up,” Lapointe asked, and pushing up with his good leg, Jerry got the petty officer faced forward, then handed him his rifle.

  Jerry grabbed his own weapon and looked for a place. Ramey motioned for him to go to the far end of the line, near the Iranians, and staying low, Jerry joined Fazel and Yousef, both firing.

  The Pasdaran soldiers were advancing in pairs, taking turns firing while the other ran forward for the next bit of cover. Fazel was having the best luck sniping at the shooters, who were stationary at least, even if they were under cover. Kneeling next to Shirin, Yousef used his rifle to give Harry covering fire.

  Jerry concentrated on the advancing soldiers, trying to guess when they’d spring up and run forward. He might actually hit one, or at least make him stop sooner than he’d planned. The trick was keeping them from getting too close.

  Fazel dropped another one. As Jerry tried to count how many were still out there, he saw the soldiers nearest them raise their arms. He shouted, “Grenades!”

  They ducked as the grenades fell short, but Jerry felt the blast on the back of his neck. Knowing the explosions would signal a general charge, Jerry came up firing, holding the trigger on full automatic and emptying the magazine.

  Yousef was doing the same. Only the SEALs took the time to squeeze off aimed shots. Three soldiers had charged their position, firing as they came, but they all died. Jerry didn’t know who had hit whom, and he didn’t cared.

  He was putting in a fresh magazine when another grenade went off in front of them. Suddenly, he heard Shirin scream and saw Yousef falling. Calling “Harry!” as he leapt over her, Jerry rolled Yousef face up and felt something warm and wet on his hand.

  Somebody grabbed the back of his vest and yanked him away from Yousef, and Fazel said, “I’ve got him. You keep firing.”

  Jerry quickly turned and brought up his rifle, searching with the night-scope, but didn’t see any movement. The firing had stopped on the other side as well. Several bodies lay sprawled a dozen meters in front of them, but remembering his past experience, Jerry didn’t move forward.

  “It’s an artery,” Harry said softly to Shirin, but Jerry was close enough to hear it as well. “Probably a grenade fragment.”

  Ramey asked, “Is the Cormorant still up there?”

  “We’ve got another fifteen or twenty minutes on station.”

  “Can you use it to see if there are any stragglers?”

  Jerry reluctantly turned away from Yousef, but knew he was in good hands with Harry. Finding the visor and controller, he took control of the orbiting UAV and had it fly straight overhead. “I see us, I see at least ten bodies, including three by the machine gun and two . ..

  “Wait. I’ve got movement. One figure is running. I can see him heading for a vehicle—a truck.”

  “You’ve got to take him out,” Ramey ordered.

  “Doing it,” Jerry said. It was eerie. Jerry could see the front of the vehicle grow brighter as the motor started. Before it could start moving, he put the UAV in a shallow dive and fired. The last two laser-guided 2.75-inch rockets hit the truck, and when the display cleared, the vehicle was on its side, burning. Jerry couldn’t feel good about it.

  “It’s near bingo fuel,” Jerry reported.

  “Then send it home.” Ramey answered. “Can you give a UAV a medal?” he asked, smiling.

  As Jerry was telling the autopilot to head for the rendezvous point, Phillips walked up and spoke softly. “Boss, Harry’s been working on Yousef, but it looks bad.”

  Jerry’s heart sank. Ramey just said “Shit,” and went over to kneel down by Yousef.

  Fazel explained, “I’ve stopped the arterial bleeding, but I think the fragment did more damage internally. He’s sinking, and I’ve run out of things I can do.”

  He was so pale, and Shirin did her best to smile and hold his hand, which was cold as ice. “My brave soldier,” she repeated over and over again. She wasn’t sure he could hear her, but he finally smiled, and coughed. He looked at her, then Harry, and said weakly, “Now you will say the Janazah Salah for me.”

  Shirin tried to speak, but tears stole her voice. “I promise,” Harry finally said. “If we did it for our enemies, how much more will I do for my own brother?”

  “Take care of her, then, brother.” Yousef rasped. As he finished speaking, he exhaled—a long, slow, gurgling breath, and he was gone. Harry reached over and closed Yousef’s lifeless eyes. Shirin began to weep uncontrollably, saying over and over again, “No, Baba, no!”

  ~ * ~

  “We’ve got to get moving,” Ramey ordered.

  “I saw a truck, but one of my rocket strikes wrecked it,” Jerry reported.

  “Then we walk,” Ramey answered. “Right now. Column formation. It will help hide our numbers.”

  Ramey then turned to Fazel and handed him a dead tree branch. “Harry, do what you can to hide our footprints. I don’t want the Iranians to see us heading toward the beach.”

  Phillips and Jerry, the designated stretcher-bearers, rigged a litter and carefully moved Lapointe onto it. Once Fazel had dosed the petty officer with much-needed painkillers, and was sure Lapointe was settled, he asked Jerry, “Can you take my pack, XO?”

  After Jerry took the backpack, at least as heavy as the fifty pounds he was already carrying, Fazel took a blanket and tied it around Yousef’s body to hold it in place. Hoisting the limp form with Ramey’s help, he balanced Yousef on his shoulders. “I’m ready,” Harry announced. He saw the surprise in Jerry’s expression. “You didn’t think we were going to leave him, did you?”

  “We could bury him here,” Jerry suggested. He didn’t say it, but he was a little worried about Harry’s load. He’d traded a fifty-pound pack for two hundred-plus pounds.

  “I’m good,” insisted Fazel.

  “We don’t have time,” Ramey said firmly. “And we don’t leave our people behind.”

  Without another word, Ramey led off on point. Jerry and Phillips followed, carrying Lapointe, then Fazel with his solemn burden, and Shirin walking at his side.

  ~ * ~

  17

  AFTERMATH

  6 April 2013

  2300 Local Time/2000 Zulu

  South of Highway 96

  They’d been walking for about half an hour when Jerry saw what had to be a convoy. Even from three hundred meters south of the highway, he could hear the diesel engines, and instead of one or two sets of headlights, he counted at least four or five, traveling as a group, and heading west, toward where they’d fought the battle. “If those trucks are carrying troops, that’s at least a company,” Phillips observed softly.

  They’d frozen, of course, taking a knee and waiting for the lights to pass. There was enough vegetation along this part of the coast so that they were usually able to find cover when they needed it. The gulf lay just a hundred meters to the right. Ramey kept them closer to the water, where the brush was thicker and would hide their tracks.

  Jerry was grateful for the frequent stops, even if it meant having to stand up again after the traffic had passed. Sometimes, Ramey would let them rest for an extra minute, using the time to check Lapointe or adjust someone’s load.

  They were all weighed down. Jerry carried Fazel’s pack, Philips carried Lapointe’s, in addition to both o
f them carrying the stretcher. Fazel of course carried Yousef, and now Shirin had a hand on his arm to help steady her. Even she did her part, carrying Harry’s rifle slung over her shoulder.

  The SEALs were absolutely silent as they withdrew from the scene of the skirmish. Besides the occasional snap of brush, or the sound of tottering rock, the group made little noise. Ramey led the way, but also would scout ahead, or to the side, or fall back and watch for any pursuit. For every step Jerry and the others took, Ramey took three.

  The platoon leader pushed them hard, not just because they had to clear the area of the battle, but because they had to reach a good layup position before dawn. Their best option, a grove of trees close to the airfield, lay on the far side of the small village of Mollu, a little over four miles from where they’d had the fight. It was hard to estimate their progress, and the pauses didn’t help. Jerry knew they were moving more slowly than they had two nights ago, but Ramey insisted they’d be there before dawn.