Clear by Fire: A Search and Destroy Thriller

by Joshua Hood

  The government had artillery in the hills around the city. They could hear the large shells cutting through the air as they flew overhead. One of the shells fell short and impacted a residential area off to the west. The explosion rocked the car and kicked up a huge plume of smoke and debris. The rebels in the street turned toward the explosion as another shell detonated with a crunching thump. Zeus kept his head down as he drove.

  “This neighborhood is primarily Shia. I hope the fighting stays north of here.”

  “There’s another checkpoint ahead,” Renee said from the back.

  The cars in front of them were being stopped by a group of fighters wearing yellow Hezbollah headbands.

  Mason looked up from the phone, annoyed that he couldn’t get ahold of Mr. David. He saw that the traffic on both sides made it impossible to turn around, and he knew they were stuck. Tossing his rifle into the backseat, he ordered Tarek to cover it up with his blanket. If Lebanese guerillas suspected anything, the men would be executed in the street.

  “Shit,” Mason said.

  Zeus calmly waited to pull up to the makeshift checkpoint while Mason slipped his pistol out of its holster and stuck it under his leg. The Libyan had the window down and came to a stop as one of the fighters stuck his head in.

  “Where are you going?”

  “We’re heading south. The rebels have cut the road and are attacking the army checkpoints.”

  “I know that, but why are you heading south? The fighting is the other way.”

  Mason lit a cigarette and tried to stay calm as another guerilla strolled arrogantly toward his side of the car and looked greedily at Renee in the backseat. Things were about to get ugly.

  “Look, my friend. We have a job to do, and we would like to get past if we may.”

  “How do I know that you aren’t with the Brotherhood?” Zeus was trying to find an answer when the man shoved his rifle through the window. “Where are you from?” Mason moved his hand nonchalantly to his pistol and prayed that if he started shooting Zeus would hit the gas.

  “Is that your commander over there?” Zeus pointed to a man in camo fatigues sitting on a folding chair. “Tell him that I need to talk to him. He knows who I am.”

  “You know that guy for real?” Mason asked as the rebel looked back toward his boss.

  “Fuck no, just follow my lead,” Zeus said quietly.

  “We are going to die,” Tarek whispered from the backseat.

  “Stay calm,” Renee said, placing her hand on his shoulder.

  “Either you bring my old friend over to me, or let me go talk to him. It’s your choice. I assure you, he will not be happy if I am not allowed to speak to him.”

  The Hezbollah fighter looked confused but allowed Zeus to open the door. Swiftly grabbing a stack of cash from the center console, he asked Mason to pass him the cell phone before getting out of the car. The Libyan walked confidently down the road and called out a greeting to the commander. He held his arms wide open as the man slowly got to his feet with a bemused smile.

  Zeus embraced the man. The rebel at Mason’s window lowered his rifle and walked on to the next car. He could see Zeus pointing back to the car while holding up the phone. The commander nodded as the Libyan passed him a stack of bills and began dialing a number into the phone. The commander smiled and slipped the cash into his pocket before taking the phone.

  As he lifted the phone to his ear, Zeus turned and flashed Mason the thumbs-up. The commander talked on the cell phone for a few minutes before handing it back to Zeus. The two men embraced warmly, and Zeus trotted back to the car with a large smile. Mason could see the Hezbollah commander yelling to his men, who began piling into a white pickup, preparing to move out.

  “Allah is with us today, my friend,” Zeus said as he jumped into the car and put it in drive.

  “Did you just bluff that guy?”

  “Holy crap, I thought they were going to kill us,” Renee exclaimed.

  Zeus raced through the gears, accelerating to catch up with the white pickup, which had sped off in front of them. Seven Hezbollah fighters were holding on for dear life as the driver swerved back and forth across the lanes of traffic, making a path for them to follow.

  “Sort of. When it looked like Gaddhafi was going to lose control over the country, Ahmed thought it would be best to find alternate means of employment.”

  “You mean he wanted to save his ass.”

  “Yes, of course, but what do you expect? He had contacts in Lebanon who thought he worked for Hamas. Ahmed convinced certain people that he had infiltrated the Libyan intelligence network and began selling them intel on Israel. The whole thing was rather preposterous, but Ahmed pulled it off.”

  “So how did you turn that interesting tidbit into the little performance we just witnessed?”

  “Well, the money helped, and I just prayed that he knew of Ahmed.”

  “What was your plan if he didn’t?” Renee asked.

  “That much money has a way of changing a person’s mind.” Zeus smiled.

  Mason shook his head in amazement as he retrieved his rifle from the backseat. Up ahead, two more pickups waited on the median. The fighters held on for dear life as the drivers jumped the curb and took the lead.

  “Ahmed told him that the Muslim Brotherhood had hired Westerners to blow up the mosque,” Zeus said with an evil smile.

  “That was smart. Who knows, we just might make it out of this.”

  “Abdul is the Hezbollah commander for the city,” he said, pointing to the white pickup that had already sped off. “He will be extremely motivated in ensuring Barnes fails in his task.”

  “I just hope we find Barnes first,” Renee said.

  Mason felt a wave of relief now that they were moving. He had seen checkpoints like these in Darfur and knew what type of men manned them. When law and order fell away, it was always the “freedom fighters” who did the most damage. In Africa, he’d seen more rape and murder than any one man should ever have to witness.

  Looking up at the rearview mirror, he locked eyes with Renee. She smiled at him, and he wondered if she knew of the danger they had just avoided.

  “You don’t have to worry about me,” she said, leaning forward.

  “Oh, really?”

  “I’m a big girl, and I can take care of myself.”

  “I know. But if it’s all the same to you, try to stay close.”

  She reached over the top of the seat and gently squeezed his shoulder. They had both found something in each other that they had been missing, and it scared Mason.

  Up ahead, the lead pickups darted into oncoming traffic and blocked the road. The convoy cleared the intersection. The drivers of the blocking vehicles honked their horns and flashed their lights as they weaved their way back up to the front.

  A truck passed, the bed loaded down with heavily armed jihadists. Mason wondered what Toyota would think about the fact that their pickup was the vehicle of choice for the new freedom fighters. It would be a great commercial, for the right audience.

  “We’re getting close,” Zeus said.

  The last truck crossed the median and sped past the convoy on the wrong side of the road. A yellow flag snapped in the breeze from its place on the roll bar as civilian drivers fought to get out of its way. At the last minute, the driver jumped the median and pulled into the center of another intersection.

  “I don’t think that flag is such a good idea,” Tarek observed from the back. Zeus was about to reply when he saw a jet of flame and a cloud of dust kick up across the street. A moment later, an RPG slammed into the pickup, flipping it over in the middle of the road.

  “Contact front,” Mason yelled, bracing himself against the dashboard as the truck in front of them locked up its brakes.

  Zeus jerked the wheel hard to the left and hit the gas to avoid hitting a Hezbollah fighter who’d been flung from the bed of the truck. He slammed his foot on the brake, which locked up. The burning truck spun on its roll bar in th
e middle of the street.

  “Hold on,” Zeus yelled. The truck in front of them dodged right into their path.

  Time slowed. Zeus punched the gas in an attempt to avoid a collision. Mason felt the car shudder as the transmission slipped. They slammed into the steel bumper of the pickup. The impact sent Mason’s head crashing against the windshield. Their vehicle stalled and came under fire.

  Bullets shattered the windshield. The American could feel blood dripping from a gash on his forehead. He sat dazed, staring through the smoke wafting up from the crumpled hood. Another burst of fire raked the car. Shaking his head, Mason tried to focus. His vision was blurry, and he was having trouble getting the door open. He slammed his shoulder against the door frame while pulling up on the latch. The door groaned before finally opening.

  Falling out of the car, he felt a hand grab him from behind. Mason let himself be pulled away from the mangled car. He felt hot brass falling onto his neck. Looking up, he saw Renee firing one-handed as she dragged him to cover.

  They had driven right into an ambush. Heavy rifle fire was pouring in from fighting positions dug along the far side of the road. Mason’s vision cleared slowly. He could see a squat brick building to his nine o’clock, which had a reinforced position set up on the roof. A heavy machine gun, most likely a DShK, was firing at their vehicles in long, slow bursts. The heavy .51-caliber rounds chewed up the lead trucks as a green flag with crossed swords snapped in the wind above the gun. It was painfully obvious that the Muslim Brotherhood was in control of this block.

  The Hezbollah fighters scrambled for cover and began to return sporadic fire. Tarek pulled the SAW out of the backseat and laid it across the hood of their car. Holding the trigger down, he fired off a long burst at the roadblock set up on the other side of the intersection. Bodies of civilians and fighters littered the roadways as both sides fired indiscriminately.

  Mason stumbled to his feet and brought his AK up to bear. He saw the gold dome of the mosque five hundred meters down the street.

  “Zeus, there it is.” He pointed.

  “I’m a little busy right now.”

  “I need more ammo,” Tarek yelled.

  Renee ducked low and sprinted to the trunk of the battered car. She placed the muzzle of her rifle on the lock and fired a round through the mechanism. Fighting against the mangled trunk, she pried it open and snagged two ammo cans out of the back. Using her left hand, she tossed the first one to Tarek before coming under fire.

  Mason staggered over to her and returned fire at a position across the road. Pushing her to the ground, he grabbed the last ammo can and lobbed it toward Tarek.

  “Get the RPG,” he yelled as he steadied his rifle on the roof of the car. Taking his time to get a good sight picture, he fired two more shots. One of the rebels hit the ground.

  Renee leaned into the trunk to reach the RPG launcher and the rockets, which had slid to the back of the cargo area. She yelled to Mason, “My belt’s caught—it got caught on the latch.”

  A bullet whizzed past his head with a hiss. He ducked down as the next round dinged off the exposed metal and ricocheted with a menacing whine. Scraping his knees on the ground, he fumbled with Renee’s belt until it finally came loose. Mason tried to pull her free of the car, but she scrambled back to retrieve the rockets.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he yelled as she ducked down beside him with a wink.

  “Someone has to get us out of here,” she laughed.

  “You need to be careful,” he yelled back.

  “Yes, dear,” Renee replied as she snapped the launcher together.

  Mason dropped the empty magazine and pulled a fresh one from his kit. He slammed it into the rifle. Renee expertly slid a rocket into the launcher and locked it in place with a twist.

  The amount of fire pouring into the kill zone made it difficult to find a target. Bullets zipped into the vehicles, sending shards of metal and clouds of glass flying into the air. A bullet hit the tire of one of the pickups, causing it to hiss as it deflated. Renee peeked out from behind the car, looking for a target. Mason was about to tell her to try to clear the road when more trucks sped into the intersection from the west.

  “Technical,” Zeus yelled out at a flatbed pickup. A Soviet KPV-14.5 antiaircraft gun mounted in the bed swung into view.

  “Right there,” Mason yelled to Renee.

  “I’ve got it, get out of the way,” she replied as she stepped out of cover. “Back blast area clear,” she yelled before pulling the trigger.

  Mason jumped out of the way. The booster charge engaged, sending a jet of hot exhaust out of the back of the launcher. The rocket rushed from the launcher. A split second later the main charge kicked in, leaving a trail of white smoke as it hurtled toward its target. He could tell right away that it was off target.

  “Move,” he yelled, grabbing Renee by the shoulder as he pulled her away from the car. His rifle smacked against his knees, but he was focused on getting her to cover since they’d given away their position. “Zeus, fall back,” he yelled.

  Mason looked over his shoulder and caught a brief glimpse of the youth manning the KPV. The tails of the green head scarf tied around his forehead snapped in the air as he struggled to pivot the huge gun. The muscles in his thin, ungainly arms strained beneath his faded Beastie Boys T-shirt as he stood on tiptoes to reach the trigger. Manhandling the heavy weapon until he was aiming at the mass of stalled vehicles, the young jihadist pressed down on the butterfly trigger and fired. The gun’s heavy recoil shook his rail-thin body, giving the impression that he was having a seizure. However, as the bullets hammered into the position Renee had just vacated, a toothy smile played across the youth’s acne-marked face.

  • • •

  Scottie had a full head of steam as he shot around the corner and sped toward the target. Downshifting, he expertly worked the wheel. The back end of the dented sedan snapped around as they came out of the curve, and he smiled. Harden grabbed on to the dashboard. Despite the pungent odor of the overheated brake pads, Scottie knew the car would hold up and wasn’t worried when the needle of the faded tachometer jumped to five thousand RPMs.

  Scottie was determined to make it to the mosque. If they wanted him to go slow, then they were going to have to take him out of the driver’s seat. Red brake lights blinked on and off ahead of him, and cars slowed down. Hopping the median, he swerved into oncoming traffic, shifted gears, and cut back into his lane. He was having the time of his life and had totally forgotten about the van trying to keep up with his nimble vehicle.

  “You realize that there is a bomb in the van, right?” Jones said, leaning forward over the armrest.

  “You want me to slow down so we can get fucked up?”

  Jones looked out the open window, taking in the burned-out vehicles and scattered shell casings lining the road.

  “No, you’re doing good.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Scottie yelled back.

  “Take your next left and then a right turn,” Harden cut in. “The target will be five hundred meters to the south.”

  “Roger that.” Scottie whipped the car wide in preparation for the sharp turn. He felt the tires struggling to grip the road as he drifted smoothly around the corner.

  Explosions and small-arms fire echoed all around them. As the symphony of war rose to a crescendo, they raced through the urban wasteland. The buildings muffled the direction of fire, making it impossible to get a fix on their point of origin.

  Harden had abandoned the idea of his driver slowing down. He had to keep looking up from the map, which he’d positioned in his lap, because Scottie’s erratic driving evoked waves of nausea.

  Colonel Barnes swayed in the backseat as Scottie expertly handled the turn. He was calmed by the realization that he was closing in on his destiny. More than any man before him, he was going to change the face of this ancient city forever, and single-handedly solidify his place in the pantheon of conquerors.


  Barnes harbored no qualms whatsoever about putting civilians to the sword. He saw them as savage enablers who provided the jihadists with an unwavering infrastructure, and their reparations were well past due. The world was about to take notice, he thought as the car slipped around the final turn and immediately came under fire.

  “Back the fuck up,” Harden yelled as a bullet knifed through the windshield and thumped into the colonel’s headrest. Barnes twisted to see the hole, where his head had just been, as Scottie yanked up on the emergency brake and spun the car in a 180-degree circle.

  “Go, go, go,” Jones yelled, shaking the back of the driver’s seat with his hands.

  The car shook as the engine redlined. Scottie released the emergency brake and pushed in the clutch. His right hand shot to the gear shifter, and he slammed the sedan into first before mashing on the gas. The tires squealed on the pavement, and the sedan shot forward.

  “Watch out,” Harden yelled as the van careened around the corner.

  The van’s large bulk filled the windshield. A collision was imminent. Scottie could see Boz fighting the wheel in the front seat of the van and braced himself for impact. The sound of squealing brakes followed the bomb-laden vehicle as it fishtailed out of his line of sight. Then a sickening crash echoed over the gunfire. The van slammed into the concrete wall of a shop.

  • • •

  “They wrecked out,” Jones yelled.

  “Contact front,” Boz yelled over the radio as they came under fire.

  “Damn it,” Colonel Barnes yelled, punching the back of the seat in anger, and Scottie slid the sedan to a halt.

  Boz still had the talk button depressed, and everyone in the car could hear the staccato chatter of a rifle firing inside the van. Villa’s muffled voice was yelling Hoyt’s name. Then the radio went dead.

  Colonel Barnes was out of the car before it stopped. His rifle came to his shoulder as Harden threw the car’s door open and followed him. He could see smoke drifting from the engine compartment of the van, the twisted rebar poking out of the smashed wall as he ran. Barnes knew an errant round could set the bomb off, but he still harbored an ember of hope that they could make it to the target.