by Isaac Stormm
“Colonel.” The voice sound far away in his ringing ears. Arms scooped him under the shoulders and two of his men lifted him out of the rubble. “They’re taking out the minarets.”
Three thousand one hundred and fifty-six meters away, the last TOW gunner set his crosshairs on the top of the final spire and fired. There was a quick flash and whoosh as the slender probe attached to a stubby body shot from the tube. Behind its fiery motor, twin guidance wires unraveled, slaved to the crosshairs which remained steady. Flying in a razor-straight line with just a hint of climbing, it vectored toward the minaret. Hitting 650 miles per hour top speed, the missile’s probe impacted just below a window and its shaped-charge fired itself into the stone. The minaret incinerated immediately in a quick flash and smoke just before it was covered by the white veil of creeping gas.
“That’s the last of them,” he radioed. Where the majestic minarets once towered over the mosque, what remained were only the tips of smoky spires.
A series of pops spewed the white all over the courtyard again. Incoming from four directions were eight Black Hawk helicopters with 12 Special Forces each. Two men on each side of the choppers prepared to toss ropes to rappel down with. Donned in gas masks too, the pilots flew into the white mist, barely able to recognize the immense outline of the mosque’s walls. They flared their ships hard on their tails to halt and immediately, down rained the ropes. The first men streamed down with the rope between their legs. They didn’t try to brake and hit hard in the courtyard. They raised weapons and raced off as the others followed as if winding down a carousel. Once all twelve landed, the chopper’s crew chief disconnected the ropes and the Black Hawk pitched its nose forward and scooted out of the way for the next one.
Now the choppers began arriving simultaneously over the north and south portions of the mosque. Ropes unraveled and shimmied with the downward movement of men onto the courtyard.
Foxmann saw their outlines through the smoke. He freed himself from the two men holding him, raised his carbine and yelled into the radio. “Damn it, Gil, meet me now. They’re inside.” The two men with him raised their carbines and headed for the nearest window overlooking the courtyard. The rotor wash drove them back.
Automatic weapons fire began eclipsing that of the rotors and Foxmann led the two men through the hazy hallway toward the stairs. As he rounded the corner of the stairway, he saw the two black uniformed men and before they reacted, steadied his carbine in his side and fired two short bursts which slammed them against the wall and felled them at his feet just as he jumped over them. He continued down the stairs and stopped to peek around the corner. The haze was enough to where he could see maybe 20 feet in front and he heard the high-pitched automatic report of submachine guns beyond that. He could just see an opening into the courtyard and raised his hand to motion the other two to follow. Then, he was off, plunging through the haze in which a hundred shadows darted about trying to kill each other.
The wash of rotors subsided and he slammed into one of the shadows. Both men lost their balance and rolled on the ground. Foxmann stopped first, but his weapon sling had twirled the MK18 behind his back. So he pulled out his Glock 26 subcompact pistol and fired twice into the man’s body before realizing his mistake. He wore body armor. He pointed at his head and their eyes met before the 9mm round tore through the Saudi’s forehead and blasted pink brain matter out the back. Before he could take in the sight, he was up and running, the sound of gunfire now becoming a solid melody due to the amount of automatic fire being exchanged. He ran deeper into the mist, orienting his direction toward the ATV.
An explosion blew him onto his back, making him momentarily lose consciousness. When he awoke, he saw the blackened shapes leap over him, thinking him dead. He counted, one…two… three, looked around then rolled over onto his belly pushing himself up. He brought the carbine up and heels dug into the ground propelling him off. He estimated he was still mid-courtyard. Still a long way to go to get to the nukes.
He knew command was unraveling fast. His legs pumped like pistons through the white. He needed to speak to his sections. “Prepare for breaching from the roads.” He just knew that they had to be coming. He didn’t think there were enough Saudis inside right now to overwhelm his force. The breach on the ground would bring the heavy stuff.
A bright flash and bone ripping vibration wave almost cost him his balance, but he continued his run. Someone was blowing the south gate. He’d felt it.
He bore through the white and made it under cover near the Kaaba. He held his weapon sight up to his eyes, training on everything that moved. He didn’t squeeze the trigger. Two men emerged from the haze moving in a fast walk, weapons at eye level. He didn’t catch them in time. His swing of the MK18 too slow. Their sights locked on him and he started to close his eyes for the end when they both jolted and flung their weapons away. They bowled over and out came Gil David behind them, ejection cases streaming over his shoulder, suppressor smoking.
Relief cooled his body and he smiled. “Thank you.”
“Come on.” David helped him up. They brought their weapons up and maneuvered deeper into the zamzam. They stepped over one of their own lying motionless, facedown. Foxmann bent down and rolled him over while David swept 360 degrees above him.
He saw who it was…Stillman. His eyes were agape and appeared to be looking directly at him. Foxmann placed his fingers on the eyelids and closed them. No time to grieve. He rose and led David to the door a few feet away, pressed the MK18’s suppressor against the lock, and blew it off.
He leaped through into the darkness going down the stairs. David shut the door behind and followed. When they reached the floor, Foxmann flipped on the light switch just as another explosion rattled concrete speckles from the ceiling onto their shoulders.
“That’s a damn tank round,” David called.
Foxmann didn’t bother looking up. He bent down next to the nuke and said, “Get on the other one,” to which David complied. “Remember, forty-five minutes.”
The two produced their envelopes, opened them and retrieved the code cards.
Foxmann took off his mask, drew in a heavy breath, and exhaled quick. “Let’s begin.”
He depressed the on button. The screen showed a line of 9 zeros. Foxmann read his code and carefully tapped each number. Once he reached the last, he twisted a knob and pulled down a switch beside it. A red light came on next to it and started to blink. He flipped another switch next to it that armed the anti-lift explosive to detonate in case someone tried to move the package. It wouldn’t set off the uranium core, but was just enough to take the hands and arms off someone. He then looked at the clock numbers above the code and programmed it for 45 minutes until detonation.
David finished his input and flipped both switches. “Is that it?” All too easy.
“Yes. The computer program installed will take care of the rest. Now, let’s get the hell out of here.” He rose, ejected his magazine and yanked another one from his vest and rammed it home. He pressed the bolt release and started to head out.
“Wait. Wait. I almost forgot.” David produced a Claymore from his pouch. He turned on the laser trip beam and set it down off the side of the doorway. If someone came down the stairs, they wouldn’t see the Claymore, and were certain to set it off. That combined with the nukes anti-lift charge would be more than enough to get potential handlers to think twice. Above all, it afforded them vital precious time.
Foxmann put his mask back on and he and David slipped out into the mist, and the noise arrived like a freight train in their ears. They heard a loud thunderclap more than a grenade or Claymore made and the radios crackled. “Tanks taking down southern gate. They are breaching.”
“Hold as long as possible then retreat to northern sector. If sector is breached, you make the call where to go,” he shouted. He raised his MK18 and fired at a couple of dark, fleeting shadows near the courtyard.
The first Abrams tank entered the gate with its co-axial
turret machine gun spitting tracers. It traveled just beyond the gate and stopped, traversed its turret looking for prey; the gas cloud still made the area a milky white swirl unable to discern friend from foe.
A shower of sparks blasted off the left front turret, leaving a tiny dimple where the shaped charge impacted. The turret turned into the direction of the blast still unable to see anything. Another bright flash blasted the left tread apart and it unwound beneath the wheels as the Abrams tried to move forward. Wounded, it started going in circles until the driver halted and just the turret traversed. Another shaped charge bore through the back exploding the reactive armor plating and continuing through the rear ceramic portion to explode inside the turret. The tanks main gun rose skyward spewing fire and sparks then the driver’s hatch opened and a man scrambled out to escape, to be cut down before he could clear his lower body. He slipped back down into the hatch leaving just his arms visible.
“Good shot,” David said to the gunner with the AT-4.
The metal gate at the northern sector buckled and broke off its hinges as another Abrams pushed forward.
Foxmann ducked to the ground on the left side of the vehicle as two AT-4 gunners fired from opposite directions. The two missiles exploded simultaneously against the reactive armor. No penetration. Then, behind this Abrams came the first of the ground force.
Foxmann jaunted back into the hallway. Explosions began blowing up each outward closing door to the streets. The Claymore’s at work. He didn’t stop to look. He joined David and now Talbert firing at the ground element. Firing single shots, they felled one each, but there were still at least 30 more to take their place. “Grenades,” Foxmann yelled. He pulled the pin, let the spoon fly, and lobbed the baseball-sized weapon behind the Abrams at the troops using it for cover. The mist covered them as the explosion tore them apart. Foxmann started running for the ATV.
David and Talbert lobbed grenades that landed in a group of men coming up alongside the Abrams. The bright blasts sent them crashing against the tank’s side. They tumbled off as more men leaped over them.
Foxmann reached the ATV, dropped into its seat and turned the engine on. David entered to his right and Talbert leaped into the back. He gunned the engine, then shifted into gear. The ATV leaped forward a few feet and nailed a Saudi soldier who rolled up on the small hood then was thrown forward by sudden braking. The ATV’s engine roared again and the vehicle climbed over the man’s body, spinning its wheels on his chest. It burst forward barely under control and Foxmann worked the wheel getting it into a straight line. The vehicle launched into ever higher speeds and zoomed across the courtyard.
David raised his carbine and shot several rounds into a cluster of black uniformed operators standing over an Israeli body. The 5.56 Armor Piercing rounds dug into their body armor and they fell, clutching different parts of their torsos as the vehicle sped by into a cone of tracer fire from another Abrams. The rounds perforated the thin steel hood, and fragments of metal nicked Foxmann and David in the face, spotting them with red specks on their cheeks. Foxmann hauled the wheel left to escape the fire and tracers streaked over their heads. He passed the destroyed Abrams and veered left to avoid the second. That’s when an entire ten-man Saudi squad stepped from behind the vehicle. The ATV plowed through them, jumping and bouncing over and through bodies before they could get off a shot. Then he saw the open southern gate. Nothing was ever so beautiful. He slammed his foot to the floor and bore toward it at full throttle, seeing another Abrams turn the corner, effectively blocking them. Foxmann spun the ATV around and the vehicle skidded through a 360-degree rotation then lined up on a widening space the Abrams just cleared as it headed into the courtyard.
A man stepped out from behind the tank and raised his weapon the same time David raised his. The two pressed the trigger simultaneously and the man’s head exploded and David lurched to the right, his shoulder shot completely through with a 5.56mm round. He dropped the carbine into his lap and clutched the wound. The ATV slammed into the falling body and it crunched under the wheels as they hit the opening still barely wide enough to fit through.
The ATV burst onto the street and turned left into a column of soldiers running for the opening. The vehicle sped through them as if parting a river before clearing and zigzagging down the road.
“Get on the damn GPS!” Foxmann hollered above the high pitch of the engine. David released his bleeding shoulder and with a red-stained glove, pulled the GPS out of its pouch.
Behind them several explosions sounded and a whole portion of buildings outside the southern gate collapsed into fire and rubble. Then explosions walked around outside the mosque obliterating hundreds of exposed soldiers trying to enter. The blasts then began a run to the north, south, east, and west, gigantic mushrooms of flame and dirty gray churning the earth out toward the perimeter, toward Al-Bashir.
Toward Foxmann.
He didn’t need to look back. He couldn’t. He shouted the GPS coordinates for David to calculate and the ATV started bouncing along with each artificial quake headed their way.
“Got it. We’re going in the wrong direction, boss.”
“Shit!” He yelled back. He couldn’t stop. The blasts were coming down either side of the road toward him. He saw an Abrams tank in the middle of an approaching intersection. No one was around it. “Where to turn, damn it!”
“Right. Go right,” David shouted.
Before he finished the last word, Foxmann swerved right, leaped a median, and buzzed past the tank. Little more than a second later, the tank’s turret blew twirling into the air as a jet-fired maverick missile struck home.
Too much noise to use the tablet, Foxmann ducked onto a sidewalk which had eaves overhanging and sheltering it from the sun. He pulled the tablet up and yelled above the explosions. It did no good. He put it away and another string of blasts walked across the intersection. “Here’s praying they won’t see us.” He set off down the sidewalk and didn’t pull onto the road until reaching another intersection. Whatever the destruction the Air Force wrought behind him, he could only guess. But whatever it was, in typical Israeli fashion, it was completing the task. Yet, with no way of communicating, the little ATV was just as much a target.
Keeping the throttle down, he headed for another sidewalk. The ATV sped along it and burst through an outdoor café’s seats and tables, dragging the shattered wood underneath it. Foxmann slewed the wheel left and right freeing it from the clump of refuse. He swerved back onto the street. It curved left into a tight turn and came to a fork.
“Which one?” He slammed on the brakes. The vehicle skidded several feet leaving a trail of fresh black rubber streaks behind it.
“Ah shit,” David mumbled, palm covering his wound. With his left hand he held up the GPS. “Right, I think.”
The ATV’s wheels smoked and chirped. Foxmann took the fork and said, “Sorry. I didn’t know,” in reference to David’s wound. He squinted his eyes, peering through the street’s heat mirage which danced into infinity and centered the vehicle. Back up to 60 miles per hour, not missing a beat. He knew they were lucky they didn’t suffer an engine failure after the Abram’s .30 caliber gun peppered the hood, but so far, so good. The ATV hummed out past a last row of buildings on either side and shot out into more sparse surroundings. The few buildings remaining provided a gray contrast to the desert’s tans as the ATV drifted over to the left side of the streaming lane markers.
David leaned in. “We’ll come to another fork about eight miles ahead. Take the left and it should take us directly to the coast.”
“Got it.”
Al-Bashir rolled out from under the APC. His ears throbbed like the blood in his veins, still reeling from the bomb and missile impacts. Behind him came the Crown Prince and imam who needed help getting back onto his feet. Both men’s robes were stained with black smears of asphalt and heat. They looked up at the sky expecting to see where the destruction came from, but only the blue absent of cloud rode above them. The k
illers were long gone.
The men surveyed the sights before them. Mecca was effectively leveled in a 360-degree radius around the mosque which appeared undamaged but fires across the streets were drifting smoke against its walls and staining them different streaks of black.
“Allah has been most merciful,” the imam smiled. “The mosque still remains.”
You fool, Al-Bashir thought. It’s by design it wasn’t destroyed, not a blessing from Allah, but right now, whatever he wanted to believe was fine with him.
The flames and debris blocked all of the roads leading to the mosque.
It looked like a white ship amid a sea of red from their vantage point. Al-Bashir looked for the adjutant. He had the tablet. He couldn’t find him. Perhaps he had taken cover in one of the buildings. Then he remembered and went back inside the remarkably undamaged APC and picked up the radio headset, set the dial, and began calling on the assault forces’ frequency.
The helicopter force was still intact as was the ground force. They had cornered the final Israeli resistance in the northern sector and were preparing a final assault. They were also sweeping the building for explosive devices and the nukes, though Al-Bashir had doubts any nuclear device actually resided within the structure.
He turned onto another frequency. “I need a helicopter immediately.” Just then, the Crown Prince entered as he got an OK signal from the radio.
“Have we taken the mosque?”
“Not yet.” Al-Bashir put the headset down. “Excellency, we will go in as soon as they do.”
“We defeated the Zionists. Despite all their power, we prevailed in the end. And though with so much destruction around us, I want to offer my congratulations. Since the buildings were evacuated early on, I shall not despair at the devastation but rejoice that we succeeded.”