Time to Kill: A Sniper Novel kss-6

by Jack Coughlin

  Abdel grabbed Kyle with his right hand and pulled the black-masked man toward him. “You knocked out the tanks, just as you said.”

  “Forget that. You led this attack, and just look what you did, pal,” Kyle said, watching the confidence grow in Abdel’s eyes. “You’re the leader now. They want to join you.”

  It was a flesh wound, and the nurses had him bundled up, with his left arm in a sling. “What next? Just let everybody go home?”

  “No. A column of reinforcements will be coming in from the airport. Stop them and you win the entire battle.”

  “Show me how.” A broad and enthusiastic smile crossed his handsome face, and Abdel held his rifle high while people cheered and cell phones and cameras snapped pictures and made little movies that would soon flood the Internet. An unknown man wearing a black roll-down mask was right beside him.

  30

  “You disobeyed me!” colonel Naqdi shouted as he stormed into the command post at the airport, and his furious eyes were like daggers. He did not care that other, lower-ranking men would hear what he had to say to their commanding general. The man was finished! “I told you to personally take charge of tonight’s executions in the park, General Khasrodad. You ignored my direct order, and look what has happened.”

  “Keep your voice down, Colonel Naqdi,” Khasrodad replied in an equally hard tone. “We’re organizing a counterattack, and I have no time to waste arguing with you. Stay out of our way.”

  Radios crackled on different tactical frequencies, and aides hurried in and out with reports and orders. Naqdi felt the eyes of the staff members scalding him and moved to one side to watch. He could wait a little while longer to deal with the insubordination. Let them stew for the time being and wonder what he was going to do.

  The general was committing the last Boragh armored personnel carrier that had been airlifted in with the troops, this one armed with a cannon as well as the big machine gun. A bus that had been confiscated would follow it, tailed by three pickup trucks, all four filled with troops. Forty elite Iranian commandos with automatic weapons were ready to roll and eager for a fight, tired of being forced to stand by as a defensive occupation force. The officer in charge of the relief convoy reported that it was ready, and the general gave permission to set it in motion.

  As the string of headlights went through the front gate, the general turned to Naqdi with a snarl. “Now. What do you want?”

  Colonel Naqdi would not accept being bullied. “I wanted you to do your job, Khasrodad. I demand an explanation of why you were not down there as ordered.”

  “Because my proper position is here at the headquarters, where I can see the big picture and command my entire force. You want a martyr with a sword on horseback. That’s stupid thinking.” He walked to a wall map of Sharm el-Sheikh and put his finger on the execution park. “We are going to reestablish control and get our men out of there.”

  “How bad is it?” The colonel had heard only fragmentary reports on the fighting.

  The general let out a long breath. “We don’t know. Local observers have told us that it was an ambush and heavy fighting, with both of our armored vehicles destroyed. I don’t understand why the captain did not call for backup forces, or even withdraw, if he saw such a threat developing.”

  “It was your poor leadership. Do not try to fob it off on some captain.” Naqdi made his decision on the spot. “General, you are relieved of your command. I shall take over here. I order you to leave immediately.”

  With every soldier in the room watching, Khasrodad turned slightly to his right and spoke to a monstrous man standing nearby. “Take this man out of the command post, Sergeant Major. The colonel is confined to his quarters, under guard.”

  “No! You have no authority over me, Khasrodad. I refuse to be arrested.” The sergeant major grabbed Naqdi’s bicep with a huge hand and squeezed hard. It felt like the arm was being torn off.

  “Very well. Then take him outside and shoot him, Sergeant Major. The charge is cowardice in the face of the enemy.”

  “Yes, sir.” The big NCO shoved Naqdi toward the door.

  “Cowardice? That is absurd, and I shall tell our senior leaders in Tehran of your insubordination and ineptness.”

  “No. You will tell them nothing, for in about two minutes, you will be dead and out of my fucking hair, you interfering dog. This whole thing was your plan, and it has blown up in our faces.”

  The colonel slowly raised his hands in surrender. “I’ll go. But you know I will still report this insubordination to Tehran.”

  “So will I, Colonel. So will I. Now, leave.”

  * * *

  The convoy of reinforcements encountered no opposition as it trundled out of the airport beneath a spangle of stars. The headlights were bright and the ride smooth along the paved highway. In the distance lay Sharm el-Sheikh, most of it wrapped in darkness but with a few of the big hotels still gaudily lit. Those bright lights drew the eyes of the soldiers, when they should have been studying the road ahead and the buildings around them. The traffic circle that was the first checkpoint was directly ahead, and the armored personnel carrier led the way into it, now entering the more populous section of Sharm, although the streets were empty.

  The APC had to slow a bit to handle the curve of the traffic circle but arced around smoothly, followed by the other vehicles. The driver saw the main road’s exit just ahead and steered for it, ready to accelerate. His commander was right behind him, mentally picturing the distance left to the park, and he ordered his radio operator to alert the base that they were through the first checkpoint and continuing on.

  Simultaneous flashes popped through the darkness as three rocket-propelled grenades erupted from the ground floors of three different buildings at the exit, and the first one burst against the side, taking off a track. The second bored into the weak rear doors to explode inside, and the third skipped under the APC and went off like a land mine beneath it. In an instant, the powerful armored vehicle leapt upward in a fiery ball and crashed back to the roadway, everyone in it dead, its big cannon useless, and the burning hulk blocking the forward exit.

  From rooftops and windows, men jumped up and let loose with a typhoon of gunfire at the troops in the bus and trucks, and a final RPG flashed out and drove like a burning lance into the last truck, which had just entered the traffic circle. It detonated, and the incinerated vehicle rolled to a halt to seal off the exit. The other vehicles were now trapped inside, and the soldiers bailed out of the trucks, harried by the gunmen firing down on them. The Iranians opened up with their own weapons, unable to see their targets, just raking the upper floors and roof edges around them. They knew that they were supposed to charge into the buildings and take the fight to the enemy, but most of their officers were dead, and every soldier there felt alone.

  The whole column had been destroyed, at least a quarter of the force was dead or wounded, dancing flames surrounded them, and gunshots were blinking from every dark building, making more of them fall by the minute. The shouts of Egyptian rebels fell on their ears, and as soon as one Iranian soldier began to run, so did the others. Safety lay beyond this deadly traffic circle and out of this deadly ring of gunfire. The airport was the only place to go.

  * * *

  Swanson watched them go from the rooftop of a corner building, thinking, Well, that’s the end of that. His M-16A3 rifle was slung across a shoulder, and he had rolled up the mask, feeling a sense of relief for the first time in days. His fight here was over, and he could leave.

  Abdel El-Din, with the bloody shirt and youthful enthusiasm, was the hero. Kyle’s guidance of the youngster in any future battle would be replaced by that of the police chief, a former army guy who knew what he was doing. As soon as he had been freed from his execution post, the old man had grabbed a gun and started shooting at Iranians. His men followed his example, and he threw open the police armories to get better weapons for the civilians who wanted to stand and fight the invaders. Kyle had advi
sed on setting up the traffic circle ambush, but the chief didn’t need much help, due to his twenty years of military experience. He positioned the RPGs and a pair of light machine guns, then lined men along the surrounding rooftops and the upper windows, but he let Abdel give the order to fire. The chief, too, understood that the charisma and bravery of the young man was a force unto itself, a focus around which the people would rally. About a hundred men from Sharm el-Sheikh were now already fanning out to collect more volunteers and establish roadblocks.

  “How you doing, kid?” Swanson asked.

  Now that the excitement was calming, Abdel was feeling the effect of his wound. He was pale and weak, leaning back against a wall as a doctor worked on him. “I am good, but it hurts.”

  “He must go to the hospital,” the doctor said. “The wound is not serious, but the bullet is still inside. It needs to be cleaned out and properly repaired. He has lost a lot of blood.”

  The police chief stroked his beard and examined the young man who had made this all happen. “Then let’s get him over there,” he said. “We’ve got things under control for now. We have our guns again and can go back to being policemen and protecting our citizens.”

  “I don’t want to leave,” Abdel protested. A grimace of pain twisted his face, and the doctor prepared a needle and inserted it in the forearm. Abdel looked at Kyle; his eyelids fluttered and closed.

  “He turned into quite a soldier,” Kyle said to the chief, who nodded agreement. “Not bad for an untrained man who rents jet skis to tourists.”

  The chief laughed, then spoke in remarkably good English. “I understand that he reported a couple of jet skis were stolen from his business recently, the night the ship blew up in the harbor.”

  “That right?” Kyle scratched his ear.

  “Ummh. I’ve been meaning to get around to investigating that soon.” A wink. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep watch over him from now on. If I cannot persuade him to become a policeman, maybe he will be mayor or something.” He extended his hand, and Kyle shook it. “From what Abdel told me before the fight, your hand was on this rebellion all the way, sir. And I saw the way you handled your rifle.”

  “A young man’s imagination. I was just hanging around, and now I’m going to check into one of those big hotels. I’m just a tourist, and I think it is best if I go home now.”

  “Where is your home? Are you American, British?”

  “Best of luck, Chief.” Swanson turned away and disappeared into the crowd that had come out at night, unafraid, to fill the city streets.

  THE AIRPORT

  Colonel Naqdi was in a room that had been set aside for his use, surfing the Web on his laptop. His unfinished business with General Khasrodad would have to wait, but he had not forgotten the arrogant senior officer, nor the big sergeant major who had actually laid hands on him. Eventually, he would deal with them both.

  The high-definition resolution on his screen brought the rebellion of Sharm right into his room. Every news channel was broadcasting pictures of the uprising, and the social media sites were alive with individual reports. Naqdi did not have to crawl back over to the general and beg for a report about the convoy of reinforcements, for its fate was there for all to see; any child anywhere in the world with access to a computer could watch the shameful, crushing defeat of the Iranians both at the execution park and later at the traffic circle. Elite soldiers had turned and run like cowards.

  The one outstanding figure in the narrative and the photographs and news reports was a young man who apparently was the leader of the rebellion, a rather heroic-looking fellow who was now getting worldwide attention for his bravery. He was shown fighting, cheering his men on, talking seriously to older men, including one wearing a mask, and finally refusing to be loaded into an ambulance because he was wounded. His name, the reporters said, was Abdel El-Din, and he normally worked at his family’s seaside marina. The colonel studied the various scenes, clicked on several specific pictures, and downloaded them to a printer.

  Naqdi finally turned from the computer, for the news was not going to change. Of more immediate concern now was his own survival. The general would do whatever he could to save the remainder of his command, but that was no longer the colonel’s problem. In fact, he was under a peculiar kind of arrest, for while no guard stood outside the door, the entire airport had become his prison. He went outside for a walk. Dawn was just about to break in the east, and that gave him the idea. He quickened his pace over to a hangar into which his own plane had been taken. He could fly out of here anytime he wanted! Get back to Cairo and find some levers of control, out from under the thumb of this failed general, and into the welcoming arms of the Muslim Brotherhood.

  Several mechanics in stained coveralls were in the large building, and, since he was still in his military uniform, he had no problem ordering them to fuel the plane, do a preflight check, and move it out of the hangar to the apron, prepared for an immediate takeoff. While they did that, he returned to his quarters to gather his computer and civilian clothes. Should he tell the general he was leaving? Why bother? He would find out soon enough.

  Naqdi came back outside and saw that the mechanics had been quick. The light tan plane was sitting there, waiting for him in the first glow of the new day. He would have the props turning in five minutes and be gone in ten, abandoning the failures of Sharm to the general.

  * * *

  Four stubby MiG-21 fighters bearing the red, white, and black rondels of the Egyptian Air Force kicked away from the military base at Hurghada on afterburner and headed across the Red Sea toward Sharm el-Sheikh only a little more than fifty-one miles away. The old but agile planes steadied up at 1,300 miles per hour, rocketing across the water and the ship-packed channel that led into the Suez Canal. The pilot of each plane started checking down his weapons systems immediately after takeoff, because they would be in attack mode in a matter of moments. Each had a 30 mm internal cannon and a pair of 500 kg bombs hanging on wing pylons.

  They flew due east, then broke into two pairs as they began a low circle back west so they would come out of the rising sun. Radars all around, including at the airport, would paint them brightly, but that was immaterial this morning. This fight would be over in the blink of an eye, and the pilots would be back at Hurghada in a few minutes for the debriefing and a big breakfast.

  The four MiGs dropped out of the sky like an aerie of hawks and came streaking over the runway in line, popping eight large bombs right down the centerline, then zoomed up, flipped over, and came roaring in again, emptying their cannons on any targets the pilots chose. The series of explosions followed by the booming chatter of the cannon fire and the shriek of the jet engines on afterburner stunned the entire Sharm airport, not so much for the damage inflicted but as a signal that the Egyptian military had made up its mind and was coming after the Iranians.

  No one was more shocked than Colonel Yahya Naqdi as he was running toward his plane, only to dive hard onto the tarmac when the bombs began to fall. He was battered by the bomb blast concussion waves and watched helplessly when a strafing MiG zoomed directly overhead and chewed his little plane to bits.

  31

  THE BLUE NEPTUNE

  Karam, the concierge, looked up from his desk in the refurbished lobby of the Blue Neptune and saw a man with a familiar face standing before him. “Mr. Kyle Swanson? Are you all right?” The visitor was dirty and unshaven, dressed in the clothes of an Egyptian workingman, and carrying a worn duffel bag.

  “As you can see, I didn’t make the plane out before the Iranians landed, so I would like my old room back for a few days, if I can get it.”

  “There is still fighting going on in the city, sir.”

  “Not much longer. It looks as if the Iranians are bottled up at the airport now, and the executing of citizens is finished once and for all.”

  This man was a big tipper and always seemed to be a harbinger of useful information, so Karam started running the profit possibilities. Peac
e would mean a return of commerce to normal levels, and his family could benefit from that by getting an early start, bringing in fresh supplies and repair material. They could rent trucks, buy food elsewhere cheap, hire African immigrants for labor …

  “Karam? Hello? My room?”

  “Oh, pardon me. Of course, Mr. Swanson. Fortunately it escaped damage during the awful attack.”

  “Believe it or not, I still have my key, since I did not have a chance to check out properly before the shooting started. I hope my suitcase is still in your left-luggage storage room, and I would like it sent up immediately. Also send up a medium steak, potatoes, and a salad, with a twenty-four-bottle carton of bottled water. A stack of fresh towels, too. Can you do that?”

  “Yes. Of course. Welcome back, sir. May I ask your immediate plans?”

  “Not very complicated, Karam. I’m going to shower until my skin falls off, eat a huge meal, and then sleep the rest of the day. I don’t want to be bothered.”

  “Depend on it, sir. Have a good rest. Whatever you need, sir, just call me.”

  In the distance, toward the airport, they heard the running thumps of exploding bombs and the whine of attacking jet planes. “What was that?”

  “Just someone carrying on the good work, Karam.” Kyle rapped the desk with two knuckles and headed for the elevators. Those distant explosions meant the Egyptian military had finally gotten off its collective ass and decided to do something about the foreign interlopers. The only question was, would it be a prolonged fight to the death, or would reason take hold and things finish peacefully? The Iranians could not win, but they had to decide how they would lose.