A Touch Of War

by Isaac Stormm

  Huffman came up beside him. “Damn, it’s like a tanning booth out there.” He took notice of the red welts on the back of Carlson’s neck. He’d gotten them when he was scanning on foot earlier. “You need some treatment before we go in. Here.” He produced a half-flattened tube of sunscreen. Carlson took it and put it in his pocket.

  “I’ll live with it.”

  The radio buzzed.

  “Yes?” Carlson pressed his talk button.

  “They want released from Egyptian prisons two hundred Muslim brotherhood members. They say they’ll start executing a hostage per hour starting at six. They finalized that by saying no further negotiations would be necessary.”

  “Then we’ll go in fifteen minutes.” He turned to Huffman. “Have all detachments ready. We’re going in. We’ll hit them at 1832 hours.” They went back to the elevator. Carlson spoke into the mike. “Have the choppers come in.”

  The door opened at the lobby and they headed out back into the parking garage. Atop it was the vacant space where the choppers would swoop down to pick them up. The detachments were already gathered and Carlson twirled his finger as he entered. “Let’s go.”

  They made their way up a winding road to the top of the garage where the heat shimmered in a giant mirage. It had been over 120 20 degrees there. And immediately sweat began pouring off Carlson’s forehead. He paid no attention. He looked and saw the three Little Birds flying in a Delta formation at eye level coming in over the rooftops for them. Below, the Egyptian and American Special Forces were making their way on foot toward the police barricades that would be a staging area when they launched. The plan called for them to ram the front gate just as the Little Birds were setting the Delta teams down. Men would follow the vehicles into the courtyard and seize the ambassador’s residence and enter on the ground level of the embassy. They would work their way up just as the Delta team was working its way down. Carlson of course had some trepidation working with the Egyptians for the first time. He was reassured that everything would be all right and that he was to be on time and not to mess up. He didn’t bother trying to argue with them.

  The Little Birds sat down in their Delta formation and Carlson got on the lead chopper, fastened his seatbelt, closed his eyes, and mentally rehearsed just how fast he had to be to get off the rooftop and into the building. This would come during a diversion he’d suggested during the briefing. It entailed using four Egyptian F16s to blast by at low level in afterburner. The noise should be sufficient enough to mask the Little Birds approach. There was nothing that could be done about looking out the windows and that’s why he insisted they fly by on the opposite side of the chopper’s approach.

  The Little Bird lifted off, taking him away from the embassy a couple miles to hover and wait. He looked out toward the horizon and could just make out the pencil thin jet plumes heading toward him at a swift rate. They came speeding past in four abreast formation, afterburners singing and vapor enveloping them for a second. They just broke the sound barrier. And Carlson thought about how many windows for miles that just busted into a million pieces from the thunderclap which he heard even through the headphones.

  The three choppers formed up in a follow the leader pattern and twisted back round to face the embassy which appeared as a little stump sitting at the center of a massive number of similar buildings. Carlson checked his weapon, making sure the safety was off. He looked back to the other man sitting beside him and gave the thumbs up, which wasreturned in kind.

  The choppers banked and the horizon tilted right, gravity trying to pull Carlson from the seat. It leveled out and he saw the first F-16 streak by ahead and off to his left. It appeared to pass just feet from the Embassy, momentarily disappear, then shoot off and up to the left in a zooming climb as another began its run.

  Their roar vibrated his ears. He imagined what it must’ve sounded like in the Embassy. Hopefully, it kept them occupied as the choppers banked right and aimed directly for the roof.

  Another F-16 streaked in, banking the moment it passed the embassy, showing that glowing afterburner and deafening sound wave emanating from it. Carlson looked down and there he saw two armored trucks with at least a hundred Special Forces following in cover at the rear of them.

  An F-16 sounded close again. He watched the vehicles ram through the gate with no difficulty, sending it askew of its mount.

  The men scattered, speeding as fast as they could for the buildings. He heard no gunshots over the whine of the engine, then he realized they were seconds away from touchdown. He unstrapped his belt and leaped just as the chopper crossed the roof. Huffman was right behind him as were Quinn and Wilson. They reached the service door and stacked up. Carlson laced a putty of explosive on the knob and retreated. It blew with a loud pop. Carlson pulled the door open as the sound evaporated. Gunshots now sounded somewhere deep below and inside the building.

  They flipped down their NVGs and made their way down a steep staircase to the first room where they flipped the NVDs up. Carlson reached for another knob. Holes burst through the wooden door, the bullets almost grazing his forearm. He jumped back, produced some more putty and exploded the knob. The door swung open and he and Huffman threw in two flashbang grenades. The ground rocked beneath them as the explosions sounded. They shot through and Carlson’s carbine acted instinctively, coming up to his eye to let the red dot settle on the gunman’s head. His finger stroked the trigger twice and two jacketed rounds tore through the man’s forehead exploding in a cranial mist out the back, spraying red matter upon the wall. Carlson leaped over the dead man and his AK-47, and pointed the carbine behind the desk. He did a complete 360 around it making sure no one was hiding under it. He saw a storage closet beyond it and reached and turned the knob. Mops fell out. “Let’s go.” Another door waited. The smell of the flashbangs teased their nostrils. They stacked up again. Carlson tried turning the knob. The door clicked open. He yanked it as hard as he could and threw in another flashbang. What met him was a wide open office area with a few cubicles and sunlight coming through the windows giving plenty of illumination. They spread out. Eyes trained the red dots in a sweeping motion covering the desks and cubicles. So far everything was clear.

  As Carlson turned to his left, he heard Huffman call. “Tango!” Carlson came back around to his right and the AK-47 round nailed him dead center in his vest. It threw him back tripping him over a chair, slamming him down hard on the ground. He heard a spatter of gunfire. “Tango down” played in his headphones. He clasped Huffman’s outstretched arm and pulled back up. “Thanks.” He felt the hard ESAPI plate through the hole in his vest and noticed a slight indentation of the ceramic. Good to go.

  Huffman led the way to the door. Carlson moved him aside. ”I’m alright.” They blew the lock and entered a lobby where two elevators waited. “The stairs.” Carlson pointed. Just then two people stepped out into their path, one of them with blood streaming in a hundred little currents down one side of his face.

  The carbines came up.

  “I’ve been shot,” he said. “she escaped with me. They are below you. Lots of them. Help. Me.” He collapsed to his knees and the woman tried to steady him. He then lay down on his cheek. And a small hole could be seen near the side of his temple.

  Carlson pulled the clotting syringe out, placed it next to the wound and injected the contents. “This’ll stop the bleeding.” He raised up and said, “Stay with him. More help will be on the way,” and headed for the staircase.

  Several explosions deep below them rattled their legs and merged with more gunfire. Carlson wondered how far down the other group was as he sprinted down to the next floor and toward an opened door. Flashbangs arced through it detonating in a quick ripple.

  They slouched but moved quickly. It was another office area. Simultaneously two figures, both of them with black hoods, leaped up from some cubicles. The carbines began their trek toward them, but were too slow this time. AK-47 fire tore through a cubicle that Carlson jumped behind. As he
lay on the floor, he rolled out into the walkway, put the red dot where he thought the man should be but could not see him. He rolled back in. Another flashbang twirled end over end toward the suspected targets.Carlson rolled the other way just as it detonated. He saw the figure leap away from the cubicle and he hit them with the red dot on his legs and fired fully automatic. The 5.56 jacketed rounds perforated the target’s knees and he crumpled to the ground screaming. Another burst from the gun settled things and he collapsed face first, a pool of red forming on the carpet beneath him.

  Through another door. Down a hallway. Down some more stairs. Gunfire below them getting heavy, almost continuous. Carlson recognized the new floor. The schematics told him it was the ambassador’s. His office was at the far end. Four rooms to search to get there. Doors open, lights on in all. He and Huffman took the first. Mustin and Wilson the second. No gunshots. Empty. Single desks in each. Now to the others. He peeked around the corner and moved through, checking behind the desks. An explosion almost took him off his feet. It sounded like it was right under him. Not a flashbang. That was a grenade. The firing paused then resumed again. Everything clear. He emerged and headed for the ambassador’s office.

  Gunshots stitched the wall beside him before he was able to peek in. Huffman moved to his side and tossed a flashbang. They moved the moment it detonated. Facing them was a black-hooded man with his arm around the throat of a male hostage. The flashbang caused him to raise a pistol pointed at the man’s temple into the air in stunned reaction. That gave Carlson ample time to swing the MK18 to his forehead and touch the trigger twice. The terrorist’s head exploded all over the walls and the hostage shrieked and fell with the man who still had another arm around his throat in a death grip. Carlson lunged to help free the hostage who rolled about for a second, face covered in blood and brain matter. Carlson pulled the lifeless arm away from his throat and helped the man up.

  “Damn it to hell.” The man rubbed the blood on his face only smearing it worse. “Who are you?”

  “U.S.” The gunfire became louder.

  “Who?”

  “Stay here,” Carlson yelled and turned away.

  “I’m the damned deputy ambassador,” the man called.

  Carlson heard him but didn’t answer. It was good to know they just secured the ranking member of the hostages though.

  “Next one’s going to be rough,” Huffman said as they took the stairs.

  Carlson’s mind computed the thought refined by years of training about what to do next. Only, it produced a blur. Now he relied on instinct instead of mind, the training still kicking in.

  They arrived next to closed double doors, the AK-47 fire hammering on the other side. This must be where the terrorists had been cornered by the ground group and were making their final stand, or they were firing out the windows.

  Carlson’s mind stopped racing. It sounded like there was an AK just on the other side of the door. Then the sound moved away a little, or he assumed it did. Good. He knew exactly the next move. He pulled his last flashbang from his vest, pointed to Huffman who pulled out his and pointed him and Wilson to the other door. He pulled another small explosive and placed it on the locks. Then, he yanked out the flashbang’s pin, still pressing the safety lever against the grenade’s body. Silently, he counted one, two, three. The doorknobs blew off and doors rocked forward and he and Huffman kicked both as hard as they could, slamming one terrorist in the head and knocking him down as the flashbangs sailed forward.

  Everything happened in slow motion. They’d entered a meeting area where there were no desks or chairs. The four men were in in less than a second. Carlson saw two Tangos firing out the shattered windows off to his left. His carbine veered onto them and his index finger melded with the trigger’s smoothness, pulling it gently back. It sent a swarm of 5.56mm inches apart into the two men, lifting them off their feet in a wild dance, flinging the weapons out of their arms and against the windows. They slammed into each other and fell like that, heads almost touching.

  He heard the other shot takeout the terrorist on the floor. As he scanned to the right he saw another tango, his AK already sighting on him. He knew it was not aiming at him but Huffman. Before he could speak, Huffman was already raising his carbine. The AK and the M4 chattered simultaneously. The 7.62 rounds hit Huffman’s chest. Another passed through his neck leaving a small exit wound. He went down just as the terrorist did. Carlson continued on toward the downed man who just shot his teammate. He rolled over as Carlson’s boot flicked the AK away from him. Blood gurgled out his nostrils and from the corners of his mouth. It looked like he was attempting to smile then the expression froze, eyes staring lifelessly toward the ceiling.

  Carlson ran back to Huffman who was attempting to crawl.

  “Hold it, friend. I got you.” He placed the man on his side, blood trickling out of the entry wound next to his Adam’s apple.

  “Can’t breath much.”

  “Damn. You boys got ahead of us.” It was one of the Delta detachment leaders.

  “Get him evacuated.” Carlson nodded down at Huffman.

  “Will do.”

  “I have to leave now. Hang in there.”

  “Give em’ hell, boss.” Huffman cracked a weak smile.

  “Where the hell were you guys?” Carlson asked the detachment commander.

  “Coming up behind you. I tried radioing for you guys to slow. Didn’t you hear me?”

  “No. We’ll worry about that later. Some more floors to do.”

  “Mind if we lead this time?”

  “Stay on our ass. I ain’t tired yet.”

  “You four cleared this shit on your own. Impressive.”

  Carlson didn’t answer. He exited the room and started back down the stairs. Save for his footsteps, all remained quiet. They came to another double door. The detachment commander placed his putty and the long line of operators formed up into stacks behind him and Carlson. The doors blew askew and the great mass of men rushed through. Their darting eyes like radar beams picked up the clump of hostages sitting in the center of the room. Standing among and beside them were their captors.

  Weapons jerked up and unleashed a furious tornado of projectiles that blasted through almost every square inch of air. Six men fell, some still firing into the ceiling as their bodies jerked backward, fingers locked in an eternal grip on the triggers. Spent cartridges rained over the hostages, mouths yawned agape in horror and surprise.

  The great mass of men spread out forming a skirmish line across the entire room. They then moved forward past the hostages, checking the targets for any sign of life. Soon Carlson heard the word “clear.” Sound from across the room from the detachment commander. “Clear,” he responded.

  At the far end of the room was another set of double doors. They exploded inward with something much more powerful than anything Delta carried. Shards of wooden splinters sliced the air, cutting several operators. Carlson was one of them. He raised his weapon seeing figures wearing Egyptian army uniforms standing at the entrance.

  “American? American?” One of them called in a nervous rasp.

  The Delta carbines dropped. Carlson raised up and ran over to the Egyptians. “We’re clear. How are things downstairs?”

  “Six criminals dead. Two of ours wounded. How many did you all get?”

  Carlson’s heart was racing in enjoyment that things just ended. “Six as well. The deputy ambassador is upstairs. Also got one of my men wounded, a hostage wounded and another hostage with them.”

  “We’ll secure them,” the Egyptian said and motioned over his shoulder for the rest of the men to follow him.

  Carlson joined them. He needed to see Huffman off. He went back upstairs and found him being administered to by one of the Delta medics. He was still awake, eyes squinting, darting nervously about. No blood trickling out of his mouth though.

  “You don’t have to speak. It’s over. All the hostages have been secured,” Carlson said, patting his shoulder. “You
’ll get sent home for this.”

  “Thanks, Major. I’ll see ya, when I see ya,” he managed through a weak smile.

  “Godspeed.” He left and went to rejoin Mustin and Wilson. “Huffman’s on a bird back to the states. It looks like it’ll be just us three for a while. All right?”

  The two nodded.

  “I’ll see if any of these Delta boys want to come and join us. Don’t think they would though.”

  “Where to next?” Wilson asked.

  “Don’t know. Probably back out to sea.” He really didn’t want to. Last time he almost got seasick and was about to lean over the railing a couple times when no one saw him. He managed to hold it but didn’t know if he could another time around.

  “Major Carlson.” It was General Nalini, his arms outstretched to greet him. He placed them around his shoulders as if to hug him. “Excellent job. You can now return to the house. The helicopters will take you and your men back to your ship.”

  Carlson nodded, resigned to his fate. “Come on, let’s go.” They made their way down through each floor, seeing the detritus and result of battle all around them. They stepped over some of the terrorist bodies and walked out in the bright but cool sunshine as it was beginning to disappear over the skyline.

  A finger tapped Carlson’s shoulder. He turned to see the deputy ambassador.

  “I’m James Bloom.” He held out his hand. “I want to thank you for saving my life.”

  “You’re welcome.” He took it in a firm grasp. “I’m Carlson.”

  “Anything you need? I’ll see what I can do for you.”

  “No, that’s okay. We’re waiting for transport.”

  The ambassador shifted his eyes and saw Nalini coming over. “General, good to know you were involved with this operation. You did wonderful.”