by Roger Hayden
“What’s the status?” Craig called out from behind cover.
“I got nothing yet!” both Steve and Louis shouted back.
There was no telling what lay under the tarp of the many crate before them. Artillery? Chemical agents? Explosives? Or just warehouse equipment? Craig figured that they would find out in time. The main objective was Omar. He could feel his presence. He was close.
“Everyone stay alert,” Craig said. The limited field of vision from his mask made it hard to navigate the room so he stayed close to cover.
No movement of militants was detected, and the vast storage facility before them appeared to be free from danger. Craig looked up and observed the tiny dust particles falling past the tiny windows above. A rat suddenly scurried across his feet, startling Craig. He almost shot it in response.
“Son of a bitch,” Craig said.
“What happened?” Thomas asked.
“Nothing,” Craig said. “Just keep moving.”
Suddenly, a shot rang out, blasting through Keagan’s forehead, just below his helmet. Craig jumped back as Thomas hit the ground. Laughter followed, coming from above. Craig looked up. On a railing high above them, Omar stood behind a pillar clutching a long rifle.
“Oh my God,” Thomas said.
Craig turned, shocked to see Keagan lying on the cement floor with his mouth agape and the back of his head split open. A splatter of blood splayed across the floor from under his head.
“No…” Craig said in disbelief. He ducked down and pulled his mask off as another shot rang out, hitting the ground. Thomas grabbed Keagan’s legs and pulled his lifeless body behind the tarp. A streak of fresh blood followed from the back of his open head.
Thomas knelt beside Keagan’s body with pale shock on his face. His arms seemed to collapse, and his gun fell to the ground.
“Agent Thomas!” Craig said.
Thomas’s head jolted up. Tears welled in his eyes.
“It sucks, I know. But we’ve got to stay focused here.”
Thomas nodded and ran his hands over his face. After a sniffle, he picked up his pistol and crawled closer to Craig.
Craig jammed his mask back into its case around his waist. Wiping the sweat off his face, he rose to get a closer look.
The Patriot Riders took cover and fired back at Omar, hitting the concrete pillar he was hiding behind. His laughter continued, mocking and taunting them. He shouted to Craig from his concealed position.
“Agent Davis! I knew you would come here. But do you think any of this makes a difference? You think killing me or my brothers will change a thing? You are foolish!”
“We got you pinned down, pal. Give it up!” shouted Louis, one of the Patriot Riders. He fired at Omar as his team kept a barrage of shells coming their way.
“Conserve your ammo, you dummies!” Steve said to the men. “As long as he’s behind that slab of concrete, you’re not going to hit him.”
As Omar glanced out, Craig looked up and saw the top of his head. “Enough games, Allawi!”
Omar laughed even harder. “Why? So you can shoot me like a dog? I have plenty of rounds left.”
“It’s over,” Craig said. “You lost!”
“How can you say that?” Omar shouted. “After all we’ve done the past few days? Thousands killed. A country in disarray. If that’s a loss, I’d hate to see what a victory against the Americans looks like.”
“You didn’t complete the third phase. You failed.”
“Not true,” Omar said. “We already shipped a hundred pallets yesterday. You’re too late. Phase three is already in effect.”
“You’re lying,” Craig said.
“How can you be so sure? What makes you the expert? You don’t think I know the inner workings of my own operation?”
As their back-and-forth shouting match continued, Craig signaled to Thomas to move forward and get the Patriot Riders closer to Omar. There were steel wire mesh stairs on both sides of the room leading to the railing Omar was hiding on. If done right, it wouldn’t be hard to close in on him. Thomas nodded, and then moved between tarps.
“Kill me and you’ll never find out where the shipments went,” Omar continued.
“Let me live, and I’ll tell you where they shipped to.” For a moment nothing was heard beyond some distant shooting. “Do we have a deal?” Omar paused again, waiting. “Do we?”
Craig thought to himself. “Okay. Deal!” he shouted. “Now come on out.”
A few of the Patriot Riders split off to different sides of the room, following Thomas to the stairs.
“There’s more,” Omar said. “I can tell you who in your government let us into the country and funded us.”
“What are you talking about?” Craig asked.
“You think we’re doing this alone?” Omar asked. “You’ve been played, Agent Davis. Since day one.”
“Enough,” Craig said. “Put your hands up and come out! None of my men will shoot you.”
Omar slowly walked out from behind the concrete pillar with his hands up and a smile on his face. “I knew you could listen to reason. Good sense is still somewhere in that thick American skull of yours.”
Omar was in plain view and Craig had a clear chance to shoot him. Instead, he waited against his better instincts, hoping that Omar could yield them the information needed to prevent the loss of more innocent lives.
In that single moment of hope, Omar betrayed every last bit of goodwill Craig had in him. He moved one hand behind his back and launched a frag grenade into air. It smacked the ground and rolled right toward a group of Patriot Riders.
“Take cover!” Steve yelled to his startled team.
Enraged, Craig fired at Omar, but just missed him as he jumped behind the pillar. The grenade exploded—a loud startling blast that sent deadly shrapnel through the air. One of the Patriot Riders, a man named Trevor, took a piece right through neck. He fell to the ground gurgling as the others jumped for cover.
“Kill them all!” Omar shouted.
Two doors at the end of the room suddenly burst open, revealing a stream of militants, at least ten or more, who immediately began firing while shouting “Allahu Akbar!” at the top of their lungs.
In a flash, a new firefight was upon them. Craig hit the ground near Keagan’s body. Bullets were flying everywhere. Thomas’s team were pinned down, taking heavy fire while fighting off the militants. The first four or so militants from the initial ambush were taken down easily. The rest had taken cover and fired at Craig’s men with relentless furry.
Among the staggering chaos, Craig tried to keep watch of Omar. He observed an emergency escape ladder close to where Omar was hiding. Upon this discovery, Craig saw Omar toss what looked like another grenade to the side and across the railing. Instead of exploding, it popped, releasing thick billow of smoke into the air.
Craig knew all too well what the terrorist leader was up to. He was making a run for it. He was going to try to escape. Craig fired at the smoke again and again as the firefight between the militants and his men continued in close range. His rifle clicked. Out of ammo. He tossed it aside and grabbed Keagan’s M16 rifle lying nearby. A figure sprinted through the smoke and to the ladder. Omar was on the move.
Craig jumped up and ran to the left side of the room toward the left staircase as gunfire continued all around him. His movements went largely unnoticed and he was focused on one thing alone: stopping Omar’s escape. Smoke drifted across the railing, consuming the entire structure.
Craig stopped on the stairs and aimed at Omar, who was rapidly ascending the ladder toward a hatch on the ceiling. Suddenly a bullet whizzed by his face. Craig turned. Another shot went in his direction. He was exposed and the militants had taken notice.
Omar made it to the top of the ladder, pushed open the hatch and crawled up. Craig was left with only one decision. He sprinted up the stairs, dodging gunfire, and made it to the red iron escape ladder hanging from the ceiling. Smoke drifted near, concealing him as h
e pulled himself up the ladder with a ravenous appetite for vengeance against Omar burning from within.
In his haste, Omar had left the ceiling hatch open. Craig continued up the ladder with Keagan’s rifle hanging off his shoulder and smacking his back with every upward movement. The firefight continued from down below. He could hear anguished screams of both the militants and of his men. The intoxicating gunpowder which he had grown so accustomed to the past couple of days flared within his nostrils. Once reaching the top, he paused and aimed the rifle upward, into the open hatch where the clear blue sky was in view. The ladder began to shake. There was a disturbance above. Craig listened closer and heard the sound of a helicopter.
In adrenaline-fueled haste Craig pulled himself up through the hatch and rolled onto the roof. A latch near the opening of the ceiling snagged onto the strap of the rifle and yanked it clear off him, sending it flying back down the hole.
Panicked, Craig reached for it a moment too soon. He got on his knees and felt around for his pistol. Only the empty holster at his side remained. A wild gust of wind nearly sent him back down onto the roof’s hot gravel surface. Craig looked over, squinting.
A small helicopter was nearing lift-off from a launch platform roughly one hundred feet away. Omar ran ahead as his the ends of his black robe tussled in the air. There was one pilot at the controls, waving at Omar to hurry. To Craig, the escape plan was clear: the terrorist leader had never intended to go quietly. Like many of the top-ranking ISIS leaders, Omar wasn’t interested in martyrdom. He was perfectly willing to abandon his factory and men, if it meant saving his own skin.
Craig pushed himself up and launched forward in a blaze. Omar was in range and getting closer as the helicopter began to hover from the middle of the platform circle.
“Allawi, you son of a bitch!” Craig shouted, pumping his legs as fast as they could go.
Omar continued on, unabated and leapt into the two-passenger sky-copter, landing head first into the floor. The pilot quickly jerked upward and lifted them up. With one determined leap, Craig jumped inside and landed on Omar, digging his knee into the embattled, helpless terrorist leader.
The pilot—a young Middle Eastern man wearing mirrored aviator lenses and a headset—shouted at Craig in Arabic, while nearly spinning out of control. Lying on his stomach, Omar turned and slashed at Craig with a knife, just missing him. Craig jumped back as the pilot pivoted the copter to its side in an attempt to toss their unwanted guest five thousand feet below. Craig gripped onto a hanging latch and held tightly and fought against the pressure. He could see tiny fires burning around the factory in the distance. The trees, cars, the bodies had all grown smaller. The pilot steadied the controls and shouted to Omar in Arabic.
Omar flipped around from the ground and slashed at Craig once again, determined the leave a mark. The knife cut across his arm, and as Craig backed into the passenger seat Omar rose up and lunged at him. Craig caught both his arms just in the time. The knife—inches from this throat. Omar pushed down with all his weight, grunting. His enraged eyes boiled as his brows furrowed downward into primal rage. His teeth clenched as spittle flew into Craig’s face.
“O-One of us is going to die…” Omar said with heavy, forceful breaths. “Or both of us.”
The knife was getting closer. Both men were shaking and using every last ounce of strength they had against each other. Craig strained against Omar’s relentless force. He could feel the tip of the knife touching his Adam’s apple. Sweat trickled down his forehead, stinging into his eyes.
“Die!” Omar shouted.
The frightened and distracted pilot swerved again. The copter swooped up, tossing Omar’s head into the ceiling, then back down. The knife fell from his hands and onto the floor. Omar landed directly on Craig in one disoriented lump, knocking the wind out of him. Craig gripped the side of his head with one hand and punched him in the right temple in swift, powerful blows.
“Commander!” the pilot shouted out. Craig could see him reaching for something, when he suddenly pulled a small pistol out. With Omar over him, Craig could barely move. He punched him square in the nose and pushed him to the side. Omar was dazed, but still fighting back. His arms flailed in the air, missing Craig.
The pilot aimed just as Craig brought one leg up and kicked the weapon out of the man’s hand and sent it flying out the window. Livid, he shouted in Arabic at Craig again, pointing at him, and then went back to the controls, where he said in English, “madman is going to get us killed!”
Omar was scrambling on the floor in search of the knife as he held his profusely bleeding nose. Craig’s boot went right over the glistening blade just as Omar’s fingers touched it. He pressed down harder as Omar winced. Craig then kicked him in the face. Omar flew back. His head smacked against the dashboard. Craig leaned down and pulled him closer by his collar, staring into his swollen, bloodied face.
“Tell me about the shipments! Do it now, or I’ll toss you out of this helicopter!”
Omar’s head bobbed as Craig shook him. He looked disoriented and was losing consciousness. Craig pulled him closer to the side against the passenger door as it swayed open.
“What are you doing?” the pilot shouted in a thick accent.
Craig ignored him and held Omar’s head outside. The heavy wind beat against his face. His bandana flew off, and his long black hair splayed wildly in the air. The green plains below looked like several symmetrical squares, lined up in columns.
“Talk, Omar. I’ll throw you out like it was nothing.”
No response. Craig punched him in his sides. In his kidneys. Omar gritted his teeth and tried to hold in his cries of pain.
“Go to hell, you American scum…” he seethed.
Craig looked down on the floor and swooped up the knife.
“Hey!” he shouted to the pilot.
The nervous man looked over.
Pinning Omar down with one hand, Craig held the blade to the back of his neck. “Land this thing now, or I’ll drive this right through his neck and toss him out the window.”
The pilot flashed Craig a petrified stare and raised his hand up. “No, no! Don’t do it!”
Omar tried to yell out, but his words were barely audible to the pilot. “Don’t listen to him, Ahmed!”
Craig pushed the tip of the blade into Omar’s neck as the pilot watched, horrified and helpless.
Omar screamed out. Blood oozed from tiny hole in his neck.
“Okay!” the pilot said. “I will land.”
“Back to the factory,” Craig said, pointing the knife at him.
The pilot complied and turned the copter around.
“You fool!” Omar said as Craig pulled his head inside. “You think I would compromise my plan for any reason. If you must torture or kill me for information do it here!”
Craig pulled back on Omar and rammed his face into the metal dashboard, knocking him out. Omar went limp and quiet. The pilot glanced over, dismayed.
“He’ll live,” Craig said.
The factory was ahead in the distance with thin lines of smoke still rising into the air. But there was something else: helicopters—four of them, flying low to the ground and headed for the same destination. Two of them—black with white lettering—he could identify as bureau. The other two looked to be none other than Homeland Security.” He could make out the seal as they got closer and wasn’t surprised. The authorities were bound to show up eventually.
The pilot grew nervous upon seeing their approach. He shifted the copter downward in haste.
“Keep it steady,” Craig commanded. He had the pilot land behind the factory, near the storage warehouse where the last firefight had taken place. After a hard jolt upon impact, the copter landed, and everything was still. Craig’s head pounded from all the commotion. He ached in every conceivable place, but he was alive. He pushed Omar out. His unconscious body hit the grass. Craig pointed the knife to the pilot.
“Ahmed, was it?”
The pilot n
odded.
“Get out. You’re both coming with me.”
Silent, he turned a few switches and shut the engine down just as the authorities began a rushing to the building from the large parking lot. If he could get back to the rally point where their vehicles were with Omar in tow, the mission would have been a success. He didn’t want interference from the very agency he worked for. He resented their presence, and it felt like they were already getting in his way.
Ahmed helped him get Omar on his feet as they moved to the warehouse, free of gunfire. The circling of the copter blades slowed upon their gradual wind down. Still a hot zone, Craig approached with the building with caution. He came to the hole that Hank had blown in its side and had Ahmed and Omar go ahead. Ahmed moved his leader along with an arm around his shoulder. Omar groaned as he slowly regained consciousness.
“It is okay, my Commander.”
They entered the demolished factory floor, where dead bodies of both militants and Patriot Riders were abundant. From up ahead, past a bottle filling machine, Craig could see Thomas and the remaining team emerge from the smoke and ash of the other room. His heart jumped. He was ecstatic to see them alive.
“Agent Thomas!”
Thomas looked up, took off his protective mask, and squinted ahead. “Davis? That you?” He looked utterly baffled by the sight of a haggard Omar Allawi in the flesh and standing nearby. Craig hastily met up with them, pushing his prisoners along. Two Patriot Riders standing before him had been shot—one in the leg, the other in the side. Amid their pained expressions, their wounds had been dressed with cloth. Their men held them up and helped them move. Craig looked at their numbers. Fifteen men remained.
“We were able to take out the last of them,” Thomas said. “But it didn’t come easy.”
Craig observed the solemn faces of the men. “We stopped them. That’s what matters. Your bravery and sacrifices to this cause has made all the difference. Your amazing courage under fire—”
“That him?” Louis interrupted. His thick finger pointed at Omar. “That the bastard we lost all these good men for?”