by Clay Martin
We rallied at the EOD bunker, where Scott was running the show. A few grueling hours of slave labor for him filled out the night, and we left the way we came in without incident.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
We reached our camp well before dawn, and spread out in a skirmish line to observe it until the sun came up. NVG’s offer some amazing abilities, but it is still easier to spot disturbances in the daylight. By a long shot. We hadn’t come this far to lose over a well-placed mine or booby trapped grenade. Once we had some light, Scott and I walked in a slow circle around the perimeter, looking for any foot prints that looked out of place. Satisfied, we both checked our pebbles. Mine was still on top of the steering wheel of my truck, and Scott’s was still on the left pocket of his ruck. I called the rest of the team in to check there own, and got a thumbs up on everyone. Good enough for government work. Gabe and Ranger went back on the security stations, while the rest of us set to work on final planning and preparation.
Scott enlisted Frank to help him with some materials he had found to make pressure plates for outside the barracks. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander. Jihadi cousins to the IC had given us all a doctorate in making IEDs over the last twenty years, it would be nice to repay that favor. Reaching back into our own heritage, he had decided to connect the m to claymore antipersonnel mines, with white phosphorus grenades taped to the front. Thank you Grandfather SOG, for your crafty and devious lessons learned in the jungles of Vietnam. We will take it from here. Why have high velocity ball bearings tearing through the air, when you can have flaming high velocity ball bearings tearing through the air I always say.
The rest of us set to work on normal pre-assault tasks. One third at a time, we gave our weapons a wipe down cleaning. No detail strip here, because we had no place to test fire them after. Magazines were topped off and checked, and every one of us found some space for spares. This had the potential to turn into a slug fest, not the time to be running light. Paul, Jim, and I made cutting charges for the cell doors, in case we couldn’t find the keys. Individual work done, we set about removing anything from the trucks we wouldn’t need. Extra fuel cans, extra tires, anything not mission essential. You don’t want to be kicking around MRE wrappers when you desperately need another can of 7.62. Besides, if this didn’t work, no one was going to be left to try a run for the ocean.
By mid-afternoon, we had crossed every T and dotted every I. It was hotter than Satan’s butthole, but I was very much looking forward to crawling under the truck and pretending to sleep for a few hours. I had barely nodded off when Willie shook me awake again.
“We got a situation,” was all he said, before taking off for the observation point.
Fuck. Wake ups like that are never good. I made my way to the OP, which already had every piece of glass and team member sans Gabe laid out in a line, trying to get a look. I bumped Scott off the spotting scope, anxious to see what could have befallen us so close to the finish line.
A slight tweak to the scope brought immediately into focus a scene from every Soldiers nightmares. A video camera on a tripod was set up, facing a line of jihadis in full ninja costumes. In front of them was a man in an orange jump suit, on his knees. An Officer in green and black was waving a Rambo knife around, speaking gibberish to the camera and gesturing animatedly. Fuck me, this can’t be happening.
“Anybody ID the victim?” I asked out loud. Noise discipline be damned.
“Not positive.” Frank said back, and no one else offered anything.
“Mr. Dodge, the range?” I needed to know, it factored into my decision.
“Twenty-one hundred meters.” Came his voice, reverberating off the stock of his rifle. He was already set up.
Twenty-one hundred meters with a 300 Win Mag isn’t impossible, but it is improbable. It can be done, but that is stretching the legs of any rifle cartridge. And even if Scott scored a hit, 2k is a long distance to cover for a rescue. Options were slim and none, and I was all out of miracles. We couldn’t be sure if that was Nick, it was a one in seven chance. But if it was, and I let him get his head sawn off, I effectively just killed all of us. If it wasn’t, but I ordered the shot, I also just killed all of us. And what kind of person would I be if I let some kid die a horrible death, just so we could survive? A commander, that’s what kind. But could I live with that? And what was to prevent them from dragging Nick out next, which would force me to act? Was I going to let a man be butchered, and then we die in a blaze of glory in five minutes anyway? My nerves were frayed to the edge. So much time and effort, and so close to making it. Not for the last time, I wished it didn’t come to this. But I also knew what kind of man I was, and what kind of men I had with me. Even if I said no, Scott was likely to say yes for us. And that is part of the reason we were such good friends.
“Mr. Dodge, on my mark, but not a second before. John, mortar if you please. Everyone else, trucks loaded and ready.”
I felt the tension evaporate from the team, at least some of it. We had decided our fate at the least, nothing to do now but face it. Everyone scrambled into gear, and Scott settled into his rifle.
“Wind, left to right, 6 miles per hour. Hold steady. Wait for my call.”
We were in a high stakes game of chicken, whether the IC knew it or not. I wasn’t going to pull the trigger early, in case a higher ranking goon showed up and kyboshed the whole affair. It also might take this dick seven reshoots to get the speech right, so maybe he would get tired and try again tomorrow. Tilting on the razor’s edge, Scott waited on the command that would unleash the dogs of war.
Down on the airfield, Green Jacket was clearly having a great time. He had no idea 190 grains of frontier justice was primed and ready, just waiting on him to fuck up. This was a game of who blinks first, and I prayed to the Old Gods it was him. He was pointing the knife at the prisoner now, surely not a good sign. I told Scott to get ready, and adjusted my wind call down to 5. Scott had staged a spare magazine next to the gun, knowing this was going to be bad when it went hot. I held my breath.
From the line of ninja’s in black, the center terrorist stepped forward. Green Jacket looked down at the prisoner, and back to the camera.
“Steady.” I whispered.
Ninja man raised his AK to the prisoners head.
“Favor right.. ” I corrected. No time to look at a dope correction on the computer, this was milliseconds away from happening.
Ninja started applying pressure to the trigger, and so did Scott. His muzzle inched upward at the last second, sending a bullet so close it parted the prisoners hair.
“Stand down stand down stand down.” I shouted to Scott in a near panic.
Scott gasped, the first full breath he had taken in minutes. Green Jacket kicked the prisoner in the face, which brought roars of laughter from the chorus line of extras. Two of them grabbed him and roughly hauled him back toward the jail. Fucking mock execution. It probably was a full dress rehearsal. Sick fucks. I hated the IC more by the second, and I would have though my heart was full a long time ago. I passed the stand down over the radio. That had been close. I breathed a sigh of relief, at least for the moment.
I explained the details for the guys that hadn’t seen it, and put everyone back to regular rotation. No chance of getting any sleep now though, our adrenaline was too high. Talk about peering over the edge. We needed to get out of this god forsaken country, and we needed to do it now. As the sun started to wane, we went through one last rock drill rehearsal. Plan your dive and dive your plan. Once the first bullet was fired tonight, there was no time to change it.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
As soon as the sun set, we began the long drive around the airfield toward the bunker side. It was a circuitous route, to keep our engine noise and movement from anyone paying attention. A mile from the fence, Scott, Paul, Jim and I dismounted. We would go the rest of the way on foot, to make sure the coast was clear bef
ore we made entry. If my star crossed lovers had picked this time for a rendezvous, they were going to catch a half a mag apiece from Mr. Suppressed Nordic for their trouble. We cut a man sized hole in the fence, and did a quick scout of the bunker complex. Once we were confident it was all clear, Jim took up a position to watch for anyone coming our way. Paul and I set to work cutting a hole big enough for the trucks, and called them forward.
Scott set to work laying in a network of time fuse and det cord, with a main line leading to a detonator at the gate to the bunker area. When it was time, one man could pop the ignitor, and create a diversion that would light up the sky. Frank and Willie headed for the C-130 and the ground power unit, since dumping fuel was going to take so long. Jim and Paul escorted me to the jail, where I stacked water bottle packages for the last time. After the mock executions, we had added a step to the plan. After coming all this way, we weren’t about to lose our pilot, not a chance. Nick had his head down, and it looked like he was praying.
“All the guardian angels were busy, so they sent us instead.” I whispered into the bars.
Nick looked up at me, weary but alive.” Jesus, how long did you rehearse that line? Fuck it, I’ll take a cornball rescue. Ready to go? Because I know I am.”
“Almost. Couple hours tops, gotta get the bird ready. But I brought you something better this time.” I said, passing my XDM sidearm in the window.” You know how to use one of these?”
He took the pistol in his outstretched hand, and his entire demeanor changed.” Course I do. I saw it on TV once. John Wayne I think.”
“Good. Emergency only, this would be better if we did it quiet from the front. But just in case.” I slid him both my extra magazines.” Be back shortly.”
With that, we headed back toward the EOD bunker. Scott met us with pre packed bags, his other job complete. As we headed towards the barracks, I called to check in on the fuel team.
“Gas Monkey’s, what is your status?”
“Took a while to get the plane plugged in. Just figured out the dump sequence. Start your clock as of 5 minutes ago.”
Unfortunate, but predictable. Things like that rarely go exactly as briefed. I check my Isobrite watch, willing the tritium second hand to go faster. At the barracks, we split into two teams, and gave the buildings a walk around. We stayed to the shadows, as there was still foot traffic about. Outside of my barracks, there was a bbq in full swing, complete with a transistor radio blaring goat humper pop music. We pulled off and found a hiding spot until things quieted down.
After the midnight guard shift change, most started to drift off towards bed, to dreams of chai boys and endless camel herds, and probably death to the great Satan for good measure. We gave it another 30 minutes to be sure, and went to work. Jim and Paul covered us while we emplaced goodies at every entrance, daisy chained to more white phosphorus on the sides of the buildings. There was no time to actually bury the pressure plates, but in the heat of the moment, we guessed it wouldn’t matter. Besides, not like these guys spent their youth learning not to step on them like we did. The barracks job done, Scott set to work rigging some grenades to trip wires on other paths we wouldn’t need to use, but that they might. A US grenade has a 5 second fuse, which makes it less than ideal for that job. But in the chaos we were about to make, we hoped they would be running in packs. If nothing else, it would help sow discord.
With the clock still ticking, we returned to the bunker complex one last time. The trucks had already been stacked deep with LAW rockets, a key element to the strategy we had in mind. Each of us that was on foot grabbed all we could carry to stage in the drainage ditch near the taxi way. LAW’s are small, and thankful come equipped with a nylon carry strap, a nice one considering it is a disposable weapon. Overbuilt, the American way. We spread out the hardware into a few piles, making it easier to shoot and scoot.
Our preparation was half done, ahead of schedule, as I was setting a satchel charge on the first of three large generators that kept the base in power. And then I heard a sound that made my heart stop. The unmistakable pop of a handgun inside a building. Next to the generator, it was subtle. A handgun is not loud compared to most things, and structures tend to dampen that even more. Unless you happen to be in them with the firing at least. Half a second past as I implored the universe for this to be something else. An accidental discharge from a jihadi in the barracks. A suicide from the Officers’ quarters. And then I got my answer, in the form of a long burst of Kalashnikov fire. I jerked the fuse ignitor on the charge I was setting, not even bothering to see if it sparked. I was already sprinting towards the prison, Paul and Jim at my heels.
“Go hot Go hot!” I screamed into my radio as I closed the distance to our objective. No going back now. The battle was on, ready or not. More fire from the direction of the jail. Fuck!
Rounding the corner to our entry point, I picked up movement 50 feet to our left. My internal ballistic solver put it at just far enough I had to stop moving to shoot. The suppressed Nordic was in my hands, the wrong tool for the job, but it would have to do. I splashed the laser on a lone jihadi’s chest and pumped 5 rounds into him, causing him to drop his rifle and run. Pistol bullets are near noiseless out a carbine, but they suck for lethality. Jim bounded past me and grabbed the door. As he jerked it open, Paul flung himself inside, and I pushed off hard to catch him, twisting my NVG’s up at the same time. The worst thing you can be in Close Quarters Battle is alone. Paul went right, I could hear him firing already as I followed half a step behind, going left to ensure he didn’t get earholed. I collapsed my corner and followed the sector of fire around to the door in the center of the room, where the guards had massed to shoot at the prisoners. My red dot settled on a head, and before conscious thought had time to form, I was slapping the trigger, snapping to another target. My peripheral vision caught the rain of brass coming out the side of Paul’s gun, and Jim stepping into the gap between us already shooting. The ballet of death chewed through the guard force from right to left, left to right, and center out, all at the same time. In less than three seconds it was over, eight men dead, and each of us reloading from bolt lock on auto pilot. Jim turned his back on the carnage to cover the door as Paul and I crossed the floor to the pile of bodies. We gave them each a coffin nail, just to be sure.
“Comanche, find the keys. I’m going in.” I said to Paul. Then into the opening of the half cracked door, I called to Nick.
“Nick, Eagles coming in. You there?” I waited a few seconds, with no response. Fuck it, time was wasting. I yelled the same thing at the top of my lungs.
“Yeah, I’m here,” he yelled back.
“Coming in, don’t shoot,” I yelled again, to be sure he was paying attention. The gunfire must’ve done a number on his hearing, along with everyone else.
Stepping into the cell area, I saw a single terrorist splayed out in front of the cage next to Nick’s, a meat cleaver in his lifeless hand. That must’ve been what prompted the shooting. Some dumb son of a bitch got bored, and now my plan was turning to dog shit soup over it. Nick was still holding the XDM, staring at me in disbelief, like I just caught him stealing cookies from the jar.
“He was going to collect a hand, he had Tim’s arm jerked through the bars and....”
“Shut the fuck up,” I cut him off. “It doesn’t matter now. Done is done. Everybody, step back from the bars, lay down, cover your ears. I have to blow the doors, so get as far from them as you can. Starting up front here.”
I was already working on emplacing the cutting charge. Traveling light, my charges were six inch strips of medium grain explosive cutting tape. It was a risk to anyone in the cell, but it had to be big enough to cut the lock. With hands sped by years of practice, I set a charge on each side of the hallway, offset so the back blast didn’t knock the other one down. I stepped back into the other room as I called fire in the hole, firing one and then the other. Booms a second apart t
old me we didn’t have a misfire. I ran back in to set the next two. As I was unspooling the initiator, I heard the charge on the generator go off with a deafening roar, which almost gave me a heart attack. Unexpected explosions when you are handling demo will do that.
In the cells I had just liberated, the occupants were dazed but unhurt. I grabbed them and shoved them through the door, following right behind. I hit the initiators and was heading back in when Paul grabbed me by the shoulder.
“Keys!” he said, dangling them in my face.
Paul went in to finish the job, keys a much better option than charges. I was lucky so far that I hadn’t managed to foul a cell door, wedging it hopelessly in place. A big enough charge will clear anything, but trying to get surgical complicates matters greatly. While he was busy, I grabbed my two Airmen and assessed their mental state.
“You two with me? I need you to roger up. Are you onboard with what’s next?” I said, watching their reactions.
“Yes sir,” the first one responded, and the second one asked for a gun. Good enough.
I gave him my Nordic and unslung my rifle. The time for quiet was well passed, time for a gun with some ass behind it. Strictly speaking, arming freshly liberated prisoners in the middle of a rescue is a bad idea. After what they have been through, you have no idea how they are going to react. They might shoot you. Or they might go crazy and run right at the bad guys like Rambo. They might even shoot up your escape vehicle. But I felt our situation was dire enough to warrant it.
“Don’t shoot unless they are right on top of you, or one of us tells you to. We have guys all over the place on our side, so be sure of your target. Don’t hit a friendly.” Two more joined the party as I was finishing my speech. “You three, grab some AK’s off these dead guys, and extra mags too.”