by Chuck Holton
“Valor One, this is Valor Three, over.”
Sweeney. John hit his push-to-talk button. “Go, Three.”
“We’ve run into a large herd of goats. Gotta be a hundred of them at least, all baaing like crazy.”
Bleating, Bobby. Goats bleat. Sheep baa.
“Anyway, we’re having a hard time getting up there to provide support. Give us another five minutes, and we’ll try to be in place, over.”
We don’t have five minutes! John’s internal alarm clock was already ringing off the bedside table and doing a jitterbug across the floor. He just hoped they weren’t too late. He refused to think about what might have happened to Liz and her sister by now.
And it would all be his fault.
Not now, man. You can do guilt after the party’s over.
He left his night-vision goggles flipped up on his helmet because the light above the front gate would make them all but useless. Strangely, he could see no guards of any kind on the outside.
John turned to Rip, keeping his voice to the faintest whisper. “Okay, we’ve got to do this, and do it now. You cover Doc and me as we run up to the wall next to the gate. If it’s clear, I’ll wave you on up. Take Doc’s radio so we can communicate.”
“You got it, bro.” Rip reached up and flipped the bipod legs out on his heavy-barreled rifle and then dropped to the prone position. He crawled forward until he had a clear view of the gate about thirty yards away.
When Rip gave the okay signal and waved them forward, John tapped Doc. The two of them ran to the wall of the fortress just outside the circle of light given off by the mercury vapor bulb above the gate. Back to back, with John facing the gate and Doc Kelly facing away, they moved down the wall into the light until John could look around the corner into the compound.
He saw nothing. No movement whatsoever. This can’t be right. There has to be a… Tiny bits of stone exploded as bullets smacked into the corner of the gatepost, sending a few stinging shards into his face as he heard the heavy stuttering sound of an AK-47. John jerked his head back just as another weapon boomed from outside the compound.
His radio crackled in his ear. “You okay, Coop?”
“Yeah, Rip.”
“The shooter was up on the wall. He’s not anymore, though.”
“Good.” John turned to Doc, knowing the shots would have alerted anyone else in the compound to their presence. “Let’s move!”
The two of them charged up to the partially opened gate and slipped through. They scanned the courtyard with weapons poised and ready.
Nothing.
The Fortress
LIZ FORCED HERSELF to stay still for several minutes. She needed to be sure that no one was down here with her. As she waited and listened, her trembling slowly eased until it was gone.
She got to her feet, stifling a groan as her ankle and spine protested. She moved silently over the rugs to the doorway. She listened a bit longer until she was as sure as she could be that she was alone.
For a moment longer, she stood just inside the room, eyes squeezed shut, trying to get up the nerve to look out. Last time she’d looked to see what was happening, she fell off the fortress wall. What could happen this time that was any worse? She gave a mirthless laugh. How about a bullet? She glanced down at the beige handwoven rug with its brown, blue, and gold pattern and imagined her red blood marring its beauty.
Taking a deep breath, she stuck her head out, looking toward the steps. She pulled it back immediately as she registered that no one was there. Just as quickly she looked the other way. No one.
With a sigh of relief she entered the hall and crept toward the fourth room, the one with the door she’d heard the men open. The door remained ajar, and a shiny new padlock hung from the hasp attached to it. The room was dark, but she thought she heard something. She stilled and strained to hear. With a sense of shock, she realized it was the sound of a woman weeping.
Her heartbeat quickened as she rushed toward the open door. “Julie?” she whispered even as she realized that the door wouldn’t be hanging open if this was where her sister was being held prisoner.
A gasp sounded, and the young woman Liz had seen lurking in the doorway appeared out of the gloom. They stared at each other. Liz was uncertain who had scared who more.
“Julie?” Liz asked. “Where is she?”
The young woman’s tears flowed, her cheeks like the face of an overflowing dam after a great storm. She stuffed a fist in her mouth in a futile attempt to contain the sobs.
“You are too late,” she managed. “They have taken her already.”
Liz stared at the young woman in horror. A roaring filled her ears, and she thought she would pass out.
God, how can this be? You brought me here against all odds, You got me inside this horrible place when I should have been discovered, and You kept me safe even here in the tunnel. And Julie’s already dead?
I keep those in peace whose mind is stayed on Me.
Liz blinked. Where had those words come from? She looked at the young Muslim woman who gave no sign of hearing anyone but Liz herself. She glanced up and down the corridor and reconfirmed that no one was here except the two of them.
That left one possibility, didn’t it? She had just heard God’s voice. She shivered. She’d never in her whole life heard Him speak like that. And He hadn’t said, Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints. Did that mean that Julie was still alive?
Okay Lord. I’m trusting. It makes no sense, but that’s what trust is, right?
“Where have they taken her?” Liz asked. “How long ago?”
The woman waved vaguely toward the stairs. “Only a few minutes.”
Liz thought of the men who had just been down here, only to go back upstairs almost immediately. She had undoubtedly been within feet of her sister, separated only by the rough-hewn wall of the prayer room—well, that and several armed men.
“Show me,” Liz ordered.
The woman merely cried harder.
Liz let out an exasperated sound and turned to leave. She would have to find Julie on her own.
“Wait.” The woman, still crying, looked at her now, an almost angry expression on her face. “I will show you. They should not do this thing.”
She brushed past Liz and headed for the stairs. Liz followed, anxiety and desperation eating at her. Oh, Lord, help me know what to do when I find her—and don’t let us be too late!
As they approached the room with the table, an old cleric suddenly stepped into the corridor, blocking their way. Cold, black eyes swept over Liz and turned to the young woman. “Karima!”
With shaking hands, the woman stepped between Liz and the cleric. “Uncle,” she managed in a strangled voice.
“Where are you going? Who is this woman?”
Karima opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
He took a menacing step toward them, his white robes billowing. “Who is this woman? How did she get in here?”
“Please, Uncle.” Karima spread her hands in supplication. “Don’t let them kill Julie. She has done nothing to you, to any of us.”
Rage radiated from him like a fever. “That is none of your concern!”
“But you can—” Karima’s protest was cut short by a vicious backhand from the old man.
“Hey!” Liz blurted in English, anger rising in her chest. “Leave her alone!”
The man whirled to look at her. “You…you are an American!” It was half question, half epithet.
The cleric lunged at her. Liz gave a shocked yelp and took an automatic step backward. In her hurry, she trod on the hem of her skirt, lost her balance, and fell. She tried to skitter away, but the old man caught her and dragged her to her feet.
He tore off her head scarf and grabbed her dark hair, looking more closely at her face in the dim light. A wicked smile spread across his face. “You resemble our captive. A sister perhaps?”
He wasn’t much taller than she, and he was much older
. He was fit for an old man, but she was fit, too, and much younger. Liz struggled, trying to twist away.
Lord, give me a chance and the courage to take it.
When he wrapped his hand more tightly in her hair and yanked, she couldn’t stifle a cry. Fighting him was not working. She forced herself to go limp, and he smiled, thinking her defeated, just as she wanted. He turned to his niece. “Karima, go to your room. I will deal with you later.”
Karima blanched and turned to go.
He released his grip on Liz’s hair and shoved her toward the faintly-lit stairwell leading to the courtyard. “Allah, may his name be praised, has sent us another infidel woman. Today is indeed a great day.”
Liz spun to face him, her anger overcoming her fear. “Would that be Allah the Merciful?”
She never saw his fist fly. Stars burst on her vision as the crushing blow connected with the left side of her face. She stumbled backward, hand to her jaw, and fell. Landing on her right side, she cried out as a fist-sized rock bruised her thigh.
“Stop it, Uncle!” Karima’s hands shook almost as much as her voice as she darted forward, but her chin rose in spite of her obvious fright. “Rashid would not want you to do this thing!”
The cleric was panting and red-faced as he rushed at Karima and grabbed her about the neck. “Rashid was a fool who wasted his life!” He began to squeeze. “Imad is our future!”
“Uncle!” Karima clawed at his hands. “Stop! Stop!”
Liz reached for the rock that was still digging into her thigh and discovered it wasn’t a rock at all but Rips radio, still in her pocket.
As she clambered to her feet, she pulled at the radio, struggling to free it from the folds of material that insisted on wrapping around it. With a mighty yank and a tearing sound, she got the radio free.
She launched herself at the cleric’s back, swinging the heavy plastic radio like a club. With all her strength she brought the radio down on his head. He cried out and turned to defend himself. As he did so, Liz brought the radio down on his temple. She flinched at the sickening hollow sound.
For a second she thought nothing had changed. All she’d done was break Rip’s radio. She lifted her arm for a third swing with the shattered plastic when the man toppled like a falling tree. He hit the floor with a thud and didn’t move.
Liz stared down at him. Had she killed him? Though the thought made her nauseous, she knew she’d had no choice. He was going to kill Karima and Julie and wanted to kill her, too.
As Karima’s rasping breaths filled the corridor, Liz turned her back on the old man. “Let’s go.” She reached a hand to help Karima who had fallen when the old man fell.
Karima seemed not to hear. She stared at the crumpled figure of her uncle.
“Karima!”
The girl blinked, then took Liz’s hand. Liz saw the fear in her eyes and knew she had to be the strong one.
“Show me where they took her, please. Help me. Help Julie!”
Karima looked again at her fallen uncle, then at Liz. “There are many of them.”
Exactly what I’m afraid of. She pulled Karima toward the stairs. “We’ve got to try!”
Shots sounded in the courtyard outside, and Liz’s heart turned over.
The Fortress
Seeing no movement in the courtyard, John raced to the corner of a shed about four feet away from the stone fortress wall, Doc on his heels.
Then came the sound of running footsteps. A shout. John peeked around the corner of the building and saw two armed men emerge from a stairway that looked like it led underground. He snapped his weapon up and fired a long burst, sweeping both terrorists off their feet.
His headset beeped. “One, this is Five, I’m coming in.”
“Make it snappy, Rip. Sweeney, you copy?”
“Stand by, One.” He could hear Sweeney breathing like he was running a footrace. “Be advised, we are being chased by a really mean donkey, over.”
John blinked. “Whatever. Just get in here!”
“Roger, be right there.”
John heard Rip approaching the gate. Then a bullet snapped by John’s head. He flinched and dropped to the prone. He knew the sound of a near miss.
“Did you see where that came from?” Doc scanned the area.
“Nope.” John keyed his mike. “Hold up, Rip! I think we’ve got a sniper.”
Too late. Rip was already rounding the corner, coming through the gate. A volley greeted him, some rounds sparking against the ages-old rock. Rip hit the brakes and tried to retrace his steps, but a round found him, knocking him off his feet. He went down hard on his back and lay still.
“No!” Rage roared through John. Lord, not again! He jumped to his feet, ready to charge around the corner and annihilate the enemy.
“No, John!” Doc grabbed his vest and pulled him back down. “Don’t!”
He struggled to pull from Doc’s grasp. The need for revenge burned white hot.
Doc stuck his face in John’s. “Cooper! Remember the ITEB. We can’t fire back unless we know what we’re shooting at!”
Anger threatened to consume John from the inside out. Doc was right, of course, but that did nothing to quell the shock of seeing his friend gunned down. He looked again at Rip’s motionless body, then back at Doc. Slowly training kicked in, and the red haze cleared, at least for the moment.
He nodded and said through clenched teeth. “Okay. Let’s find our target.”
His radio crackled. “Valor One, Valor Three. Is it safe to come on in?”
He hit the transmit button. “Negative, Three. Rip is down. We have a sniper. Stand fast while we deal with it.”
John slapped a fresh magazine into his carbine, then turned to Doc. “You stay here. I’m going to see if I can flank the sniper from the far corner of this building. When I engage him, you go get Rip.”
“Hooah.” Doc gave him a sweaty thumbs-up.
John moved quietly to the far corner of the long wooden shed where they had taken cover. Doc again followed close behind. A ten-foot gap stood between the building and an identical one right next to it.
Before charging around the corner, John stuck his head out to find his next cover and concealment. When he did, the machine gun opened up again. He jerked his head back to keep from losing it to a hail of bullets.
He dropped to the ground and returned fire around the corner on full automatic, hoping to keep the gunner’s head down long enough for Doc to get to Rip. Seconds later, his magazine was empty, and John rolled back behind cover just as the machine gunner opened up again, punching holes in the shed above John’s prostrate form. Then another weapon joined the fight from John’s right. The enemy fire stopped abruptly.
“That was one of ours!” John turned and sprinted back toward their original position. As he ran, he heard shouting, but it wasn’t in English.
It was in Spanish.
Rip?
John rounded the corner just in time to see the skinny Latino limping toward him with one arm around Doc Kelly. He was muttering in Spanish all the way. John didn’t understand what he was saying, but he got the drift. Rip was mad.
John was so relieved he wanted to hug Rubio. “Are you okay?”
“No! I’m not! That chango shot me, man!” He dropped to one knee.
“So you took him out?” John asked. “Doc did.”
The medic looked smugly satisfied.
John shook his head. “I thought you were done, Rubio.”
“Good. Because so did he.” Rip jerked his head in the direction the sniper had been. “Why do you think I wasn’t moving? I wasn’t going to advertise that I was okay, or he’d have finished the job. But hijo de la mañana that hurt!” He rotated his arm and pulled his vest out to look under it. “Man, that’s gonna leave a mark!”
John’s radio squawked. “Valor One, this is Three. Everything’s clear out here. Need some help in there?”
“Roger that, Three. Bring it on in.”
“Be right there.�
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A moment later, Sweeney, Frank, and Hogan swept into the compound. John nodded to them as they hunkered with him, Doc, and Rip behind the storage shed. The six gathered in a tight half-circle, facing toward the courtyard with the wall at their backs.
John scanned the courtyard, then spoke quietly. “We need to clear the two arched tunnels at the far end. We can’t see the one on the left from here, but I think I saw a truck parked in it. The other is where the resistance has come from. Sweeney, cover the right side tunnel with your element while Rip, Doc, and I clear the left one.”
Faint voices sounded in the courtyard. Six weapons snapped up and prepared to fire. Rip put a finger to his lips and stepped to the corner of the shed that shielded them. Keeping low, he looked around the corner, then frowned and made a low growl of disbelief. “Coop, you’ve got to see this.”
John stepped forward and looked around the corner with his weapon at the ready.
Two figures were hurrying from one tunnel stairwell to another, trying to keep to the shadows, which were receding as the eastern sky began to lighten.
Two women!
“Liz,” John muttered, relief surging over him like high tide over a jetty. She’s alive!
John let out a whistle. The two women froze and looked toward the sound. John stepped out from behind the shed and waved.
Liz beckoned frantically.
He waved back, then turned to the others. “Bobby, you guys cover us. Rip, Doc, let’s go!” Before Sweeney could protest, and John was sure he wanted to protest, he took off at a run across the courtyard, Rip and Doc close on his heels. He kept his weapon trained on the stairwell to the right. Six seconds later they reached Liz, who was accompanied by a younger Palestinian woman.
“We’ve got to quit meeting like this.” John couldn’t quite swallow his smile.
Her quick smile disappeared into a look of desperation. “Karima says Julie is in one of the three rooms down that staircase.” She pointed to the opening on the right. “John, they took her there to kill her.” She grabbed his arm, as if to pull him toward it. “We have to hurry!”