Oath of Honor

by Matthew Betley

  The Hind rotated quickly, its nose now pointed directly at the vehicles, its external lights still off, although Logan could see the faint illumination from the instrument panel inside the cockpit. Once the beast had turned, Logan knew they had only one realistic target.

  “Aim just below the rotor assembly!” Logan screamed above the din of the Hind’s blades.

  From a ditch between the road and the berm behind it, two SEALs opened fire with M79 grenade launchers, while the rest of the SEAL team, along with Logan and Cole, opened fire with their automatic weapons.

  Thwump! Thwump!

  Two 40mm grenades sailed toward the Hind as the pilot realized a moment too late that he’d flown directly into a trap.

  The automatic gunfire from sixteen weapons was almost loud enough to drown out the roar of the rotors, but the gunfire was only a distraction. Logan knew the Hind’s armor could stop anything up to a .50-caliber round. Their only chance was in the accuracy of the SEAL grenadiers.

  The two SEALs didn’t wait for the grenades to hit. They released the barrels and dumped the high-explosive casings before reloading, closing the barrels in unison. They were so proficient that they completed the reload as the first two grenades struck their target.

  Two explosions shook the Hind just above the cockpit as the gunner opened fire in return, delivering a barrage of destructive four-barrel 12.7mm cannon fire. Unfortunately for the gunner, the pilot pulled up, and the heavy-caliber rounds chewed up the berm above the SEALs, spraying them with a drizzle of dust and rocks.

  The Hind lifted a few feet into the air as the pilot attempted to escape the kill zone.

  Thwump! Thwump!

  A moment later, two more grenades struck the Hind just below the rotors. The explosions sent shrapnel ricocheting off the pilot’s canopy and directly into the starboard intake vent. There was a sudden burst of flame as the engine internally disintegrated, and smoke poured out of the intake’s opening.

  Logan heard one of the SEALs hollering, taunting the war machine as he and his teammates continued to fire.

  The Hind, wounded but not crippled—its port engine now operating at full power to compensate for the lost engine—lifted up and away across the river, leaving a trail of black smoke behind.

  The SEALs ceased their fire. Logan heard Lieutenant Reed say, “Not too shabby, Parker. I guess even a city boy from Chicago gets lucky once in a while.”

  “Fuck you, sir, with all due respect. That wasn’t luck,” Petty Officer Parker shot back.

  “No kidding, sir,” the other grenadier said. “We can’t both be lucky. We’re just that good.”

  Chief Sorenson laughed. “He’s got a point, sir.”

  “Fine, fine,” Lieutenant Reed said, a serious and proud look on his face as he turned to his two SEALs. “That was pretty good. Hopefully, those motherfuckers crash and burn.”

  “Amen to that, sir,” Chief Sorenson said. “Time to load back up, drive north for another ten minutes just to make sure that asshole doesn’t return, and then call in our evac. What do you say?”

  “I think that’s a fine idea, Chief,” Lieutenant Reed said, and then turned to Logan and Cole. “How are you two holding up? Having fun yet?”

  “Just like old times for me, Lieutenant,” Logan said.

  “As for me, now I know how the mujahideen in Afghanistan must’ve felt every time they shot down a Russian helicopter,” Cole said. “That was pretty intense and a little crazy.”

  “That’s the way we do things, Mr. Matthews,” the lieutenant responded. “A little crazy can often go a long way. Now let’s get out of here and finally get you two very important people back to the embassy.”

  CHAPTER 41

  “I’ll get the driver. You get the device,” Amira said as she scrambled out of the Mercedes. She was two steps away from the SUV before John had cleared his door. Let’s see if he can keep up, she thought, a wry smile forming on her strikingly beautiful face, blue eyes glinting.

  “On it!” he shouted as he dashed across the bridge.

  Amira reached the passenger side of the precariously positioned truck, leaving John to find the ONERING. The rear bumper was already elevated to her waist, and she heard the metal frame grinding on the edge of the bridge. We don’t have long.

  She inched alongside the vehicle, careful to avoid making any sound as she stepped over the gnarled remains of the first railing the truck had destroyed. The passenger side-view mirror was visible, but due to the elevated angle, its reflection was impossible to see. She knew she was likely creeping into a trap, but she was focused, ready for whatever surprises the driver had in store for her.

  Bang!

  Amira flinched slightly at the noise before realizing that it was John opening the rear of the cargo truck. Don’t be so jumpy.

  She reached the passenger door and waited below the open window. More sounds emanated from the truck’s bed, but still nothing from the cab. Maybe he’s dead, she thought. Or more likely, he’s aiming a gun and waiting for you to show your face so he can blow it off.

  She couldn’t approach from the driver’s side because all he had to do to was lean out and open fire. She’d be a sitting duck. The roof was out of the question because her approach would make too much noise. No. It had to be this way. Hopefully, if the driver were still conscious, he would be distracted by the sounds of John’s searching. If not, she’d find out soon enough.

  She planted one black boot on the large runner under the door and grabbed the handle with her left hand as she withdrew a compact SIG SAUER 9mm pistol she carried for close-quarters situations. She’d left the Steyr tactical machine pistol in the SUV. She was as lethal with a pistol as she was with her stilettos. Her professional pride and proficiency demanded expertise with all the tools of her unique trade.

  It’s now or never, she thought, and leaned up to catch a glimpse inside the cab from the mirror.

  Blood poured down the face of the man who leaned against the door, a middle-aged Chinese operative who had the look of an experienced veteran. A black pistol was aimed in her direction. Their eyes met, and he opened fire.

  BAM! BAM! BAM!

  The noise of the shots was magnified by the cab’s confines. The bullets struck the metal frame next to the window, sending vibrations shuddering up Amira’s arm as she quickly ducked down.

  No way to get a clean shot without getting your head blown off. Her subconscious then added, I don’t think John would like that.

  A sudden grinding screech rang out from beneath the vehicle, and the cab lurched forward. Amira leapt onto the runner as the middle of the cab passed through the second railing and into the open night air.

  Realizing this might be her only opportunity, she stood and exposed herself as she took aim with the SIG SAUER. She’d guessed correctly—the vehicle’s sudden movement had panicked the driver, distracting him from the threat of her attack. He was struggling to free himself from the shoulder seat belt that held him in its grip.

  As his momentary panic subsided, Yin Liu looked up at the deadly assassin, her upper body framed in the window like an avenging angel suspended in the air. His pistol lay on the seat next to him, ignored as he struggled with the seat belt. He realized he didn’t have a chance to defend himself. He still wanted to live. He did the only thing he could—raised his hands in surrender.

  Amira didn’t react, the pistol trained on his head never wavering.

  “What now?” the man asked in English.

  She contemplated a moment before responding. “Toss me your cell phone,” she said. “The one on the dashboard.”

  She didn’t ask for my pistol? Maybe I still have a chance, Liu thought. He slowly reached forward and extended his arm to where the glass met the PVC surface of the dashboard. He grabbed the phone and carefully threw it to her. It landed short of her outstretched hand and fell to the passenger seat, sliding forward due to the angle of the cab. It stopped at the edge of the bench seat.

  Amira’s gaze was ste
ady, and she didn’t avert her eyes from his. She carefully switched the pistol to her left hand and leaned further into the cab, her right arm feeling for the phone on the seat. Her hand explored the leather until it touched the cell’s hard shell.

  The truck tilted forward yet again, and Amira felt the cell phone slide off the edge. Damnit!

  Taking her eyes off the driver for a split second, she shot her hand out and grabbed the phone as it fell off the seat. But that moment was all he needed.

  Yin Liu knew the unexpected movement had this time given him an advantage, as it had given his deadly female attacker the tactical edge a few moments earlier. His hand grasped for the pistol, and once he’d secured it, he raised his eyes to his target as he lifted his arm.

  The woman was smiling at him, her lips an all-knowing line that turned up only slightly at the ends, accentuating her beautiful features. She expected it. She’s good, better than me, he thought right before his world went black.

  BAM!

  The round struck him in the head above his right eye, sending a spray of blood against the headrest. As the seat belt released, his body slumped forward and slid off the seat, coming to rest as a mere pile of flesh and bone under the steering column.

  Tough luck, Amira thought, and holstered her pistol on her right hip. She’d expected him to try something. I almost would’ve been disappointed if he hadn’t.

  “John!” Amira screamed. She scrambled along the running board toward the rear of the truck, now elevated even higher. “Do you have it? The driver’s dead, and we need to get the hell off this thing before we go for a swim.”

  She reached the surface of the bridge, dropped down, and ran to the back of the vehicle. Staring down at her from the end of the truck several feet above was John Quick, a confident, mischievous grin on his grizzled face. He was holding a black Pelican case the size of a footlocker.

  “What took you so long?” he said playfully. “You want to give me a hand with this thing, please?”

  “While you were finding the Ark of the Covenant, I was obtaining the driver’s cell phone for future intelligence value,” she said, smiling back at him before holding up the black phone she’d retrieved.

  “Well, unless you’re going to phone a friend to help me, can you put it away so I can slide this down to you? Like you said, I don’t need to go back in the Nile. I’ve already been swimming once tonight.”

  “Quit complaining and give me the case,” Amira said, and secured the phone in a pocket on her vest.

  John didn’t respond but slid the heavy case over the edge of the truck.

  Amira grabbed it at shoulder height and secured it against her torso as John released it. She stepped backward and carefully squatted to the ground, setting the case on the pavement.

  “That wasn’t so—” was all John had time to say before there was a loud crash as the rear chassis broke in half and the tangled railing released its hold on the cargo truck.

  The vehicle suddenly slid forward and John launched himself off the back of the truck, sailing through the air. With nothing to break his fall, he landed with a loud smack on the pavement, the wind knocked out of his lungs. Seconds later, a loud splash signaled the final fate of the truck and its dead occupant.

  He gasped for breath and rolled over, only to see the beautiful figure of Amira Cerone standing over him, staring down with a look of bemusement.

  “You going to lounge around all night? Or can we please get this highly dangerous piece of equipment in our SUV and get the hell off this bridge before God-knows-what authorities get here?” She bent over and offered her hand. “Come on. Get up.” She helped pull him up as his lungs struggled to refill their oxygen supply.

  “Thanks,” he muttered in between short breaths.

  She picked up one end of the case by its hard-plastic handle as he hoisted up the other. As they slowly walked the cargo toward the back of the SUV, Amira said, “Nice jump, by the way.”

  “Thanks, although I usually try to do a flip with my dismounts,” he said, grinning at her, his composure regained.

  “Uh-huh. Maybe you can practice some more when we get back to the embassy,” Amira said as they lifted the case into the SUV and John closed the hatch. “But first, radio the rest of the team and find out where they are. Tell them we’re on our way with the package. We’ll meet them at the embassy. We also need to call the station chief and let him know what happened. He’s going to have to call DC with an update.”

  As John slid into the driver’s seat, he turned to her and said, “Anything else you’d like me to do while I’m at it?”

  “I can probably think of something,” Amira said slyly, meeting his eyes.

  His heart raced at the words. You’re so screwed, John.

  CHAPTER 42

  US Embassy, Khartoum

  The CH-53E touched down inside the compound on a designated helicopter landing zone behind the main building of the embassy. Under normal circumstances, the HLZ would’ve been used for loading US personnel and citizens in the event of a noncombatant evacuation operation, or NEO. In this case, it was dropping off two very weary passengers and sixteen satisfied US Navy SEALs.

  Logan walked down the ramp of the helicopter and turned left, keeping his head lowered as he’d been taught years ago at the end of Officer Candidate School. “Turn right, and you just might get a haircut you won’t recover from, Candidate,” the crew chief on his first CH-53E ride had yelled at him. Some things just stick with you, he thought.

  Cole exited the helicopter right behind him, and they made a beeline for the main building, where David Cross and another man they didn’t recognize were waiting.

  “Mr. West, Mr. Matthews, I can’t tell you how good it is to have you both back with us,” David said, a sincere look of relief on his face. He held out his hand and shook Logan’s first, followed by Cole’s.

  “Mr. West, I’m Wendell Sharp,” said the second man, an older African American with graying hair.

  “I have you to thank for the rescue?” Logan asked.

  “We helped coordinate, but that was all JSOC. We had our hands full with something else, which we’ll tell you all about inside,” Wendell said.

  “Mr. Sharp,” Cole said curiously, pausing, “by chance, were you in Algiers six years ago?”

  Wendell raised his eyes at Cole and said, “As a matter of fact, I was.” He paused and then added, “But I don’t remember you.”

  “We hit a target there, a local extremist who’d attacked an oil refinery and kidnapped several hostages, including two Americans. We never met, but your intelligence package was fantastic. My team memorized it, including the locations and details for the hostages. Thank you,” Cole said.

  “I’m just glad that incident had a positive outcome,” Wendell said. “Not all of them do.”

  “Very true,” Cole replied.

  “Come on. Let’s get inside so we can bring you up to speed. Plus, you have some friends who I’m sure would love to see you,” Wendell said.

  Logan was about to respond when Lieutenant Reed and Chief Sorenson walked by, making their way to the glass doors.

  “Lieutenant Reed, Chief Sorenson, hold up a sec!” Logan said loudly to get their attention over the spinning rotors, which slowed as the pilot powered down the helicopter.

  The two SEALs turned toward him, and Chief Sorenson said something to his commanding officer. They changed course, stopping directly in front of Logan.

  “Mr. West, what, pray tell, can we do for you now?” Chief Sorenson asked good-naturedly.

  “Absolutely nothing, Chief,” Logan said. “I just wanted to personally thank you and your team one last time for what you did. Having been in your shoes once upon a lifetime with Force Recon, we appreciate it.”

  The two SEALs exchanged a glance, and Lieutenant Reed said, “Mr. West, from what I know about you, we should be thanking you—for Iraq, that is. I got my hands on a classified after-action of that Al Anbar operation. That was a slick piece of
work.”

  “More importantly,” Chief Sorenson said seriously, “if you had failed, it would’ve jeopardized us in that part of the world once again, embroiled in a war with God knows how many countries. So it’s really we who should be thanking you.”

  Logan was caught off guard by the sentiment, the fatigue from the painfully long day finally setting in now that his adrenaline had worn off. He just nodded, which was enough to express his appreciation. It was obvious they understood.

  “Plus, what you did to that monster earlier? That was worth the price of admission,” Chief Sorenson said suddenly with a grin. “I’ll be telling that story to the boys back in Dam Neck. You can count on it.”

  “Nothing like being famous in one of the most covert units in the US military,” Logan said jokingly. “So what’s next for you guys?”

  “We’re going to head inside, conduct maintenance on our gear, and then do a quick debrief. Hopefully,” the lieutenant said, now looking at Wendell, “there’s some place we can get a hot meal before catching some shut-eye. We’ve got a C-17 flight out of the airport in the morning. State Department set up a ‘diplomatic’ flight for us,” he said, using his hands as quotation marks for emphasis.

  “I’ll have the chefs find you. It’s the least we can do,” Wendell said.

  “Sounds like a plan, sir. We appreciate it. Mr. West, Mr. Matthews, it’s been fun,” Lieutenant Reed said.

  “Second that,” Chief Sorenson said. “Fun, as in escape-from-a-secret-prison-and-win-a-firefight-with-a-Hind-attack-helicopter kind of fun.” Once again turning serious, he added, “See you around, but you also know where we are if you need us. Stay safe, gentlemen.”

  As Chief Sorenson and Lieutenant Reed walked away, the chief abruptly turned around at the glass doors and fired one last parting shot. “I’d normally advise you to stay out of trouble, but I know that’s not possible with you Marines.”

  “Fucking squid,” Logan said.

  “Fucking jarhead,” the chief shot back, and entered the building before Logan could reply.