Vulcan's Fire [SSI 03]

by Harold

  When two other attempts produced no response, he switched frequencies and made the call he did not want to make. “Dancer, this is Tawfiq. Reply.”

  The response came through muted but legible. “This is Dancer. Where are you? Reply.”

  “I am looking for Jinn.”

  “He called ten minutes ago, looking for you!” There was an insistent pause. “Reply!”

  Tawfiq considered his response before keying the mike. “I am . . .”

  * * * *

  “Tangos! Left front!”

  Wallender saw one human form in his goggles and another heat source behind it. It was usually difficult to estimate distance with NVGs, but surely the strangers were within the two-hundred-meter zero of his sights. He went to kneeling, aware that Fares and Ashcroft had deployed either side of him.

  “No joy,” Ashcroft said.

  “I’m on ‘em.” Furr assumed a braced standing position, leveling his Robar custom rifle in the notch of a tree. The night scope’s reticle settled on the nearer form.

  Wallender’s mind raced. The odds that two or more friendlies would be somewhere ahead of his group approached absolute zero but he could not afford to take chances. He spoke into his headset. “Slim, this is Josh, over.”

  Phil Green replied. “Slim Six actual is nearby. You need him?”

  “Negative, Phil. I need to know your posit, definitely. Over.”

  “We’re still at our briefed position. No joy here.”

  “Roger that. We got bogies in front of us. Over.”

  Seconds ticked past. “You need help?”

  Wallender shook his head, as if Green could see him. “Negative. Will advise, out.”

  He turned to either side. “Tangos are hostile. Repeat, tangos are considered hostile.”

  Ashcroft asked, “Shall we flank ‘em?”

  “No, keep everybody together. It’s bad enough in the dark.”

  * * * *

  Hazim scanned the area while Tawfiq talked on the radio. On the second sweep his captured Galil with the night sight picked up two or three human forms. He rode the adrenaline spike, then relaxed slightly. The observer team at last!

  The youngster took several steps forward, tapped Tawfiq on the shoulder, and pointed into the dark. “I believe the observers are less than seventy meters ahead.” He assumed a sitting position.

  “What? Where?”

  Hazim was tempted to hand the Galil to his superior so Tawfiq could look for himself but thought better of it. “Call them, brother.”

  It was the best news Tawfiq had heard all night. He stood up and keyed the mike. “Jinn, I think we see you. Reply. Now!”

  When no response came, Tawfiq began feeling more anger than caution. He took several steps forward, raising his voice. “Jinn! Reply!”

  * * * *

  The first round from Furr’s rifle took the leading Hezbollah man almost on the notch of the sternum. The impact drove him to the ground, where he rolled over and muttered liquid syllables.

  Hazim immediately put his scope on the most prominent target, remembered to control his breath, and pressed the trigger. He repeated the process five times, each aimed at a different shape.

  Rob Furr was an expert rifleman; he could cycle his bolt-action weapon almost as fast as he could produce aimed fire from a semi-auto. But the volume of incoming Dragunov rounds provided a temporary advantage to the Hezbollah sniper.

  Hazim’s first round had missed its mark but struck the disarmed militiaman several meters behind its intended target. The youngster cried aloud, grasped his shoulder, and fell to one side. The second round destroyed Josh Wallender’s night-vision device, sending metal fragments into his face. The third and fourth rounds struck Furr’s tree, forcing him to seek cover.

  The fifth round killed Salah-Hassan Fares. The sixth went somewhere into the Nabatiyeh darkness.

  With a last wide-eyed look at Tawfiq’s body; Hazim scrambled across the rocky ground, fleeing that dreadful place.

  * * * *

  28

  SSI OFFICES

  “How bad is it?” Derringer knew only the basics of the previous e-mail from Lebanon.

  Sandra Carmichael checked her scribbled notes. “I just talked to Frank on the satellite phone. Our El-Arian team—that’s Chris Nissen’s—was involved in countersniper and security operations last night. They were out with some militia looking for a mortar that had been dropping rounds in the area lately. Apparently they ran into the Hezbollah security element and there was a firefight. Josh Wallender took a round to his NVG and may be blind in one eye. Anyway, Terry Keegan is going to bring him home from Beirut.”

  Marsh Wilmont asked, “What about the other casualties, Sandy?”

  “One of the Druze leaders was KIA and another militiaman was wounded.”

  “Who was the leader?”

  Carmichael squinted at her handwriting. “Fares. Salah—something—Fares. He was the IDF contact for the El-Arian unit.”

  Wilmont expelled his breath, drumming his fingers on the table. “Not that it really matters, but any word on hostile casualties?”

  “Rob Furr got off the first round and apparently that guy’s a KIA though nobody went looking for bodies. As Frank said, there wasn’t time to score and paste targets. After that, the hostile sniper or snipers opened up and achieved fire superiority. Then they broke contact and disappeared.”

  Derringer was clearly troubled. “If that’s an accurate report, we finished on the short end of a three-to-one score.” He shook his head. “How did that happen? We’re supposed to be better than that.”

  Carmichael’s rebel blood began stirring. “Excuse me, Admiral. But this was a collision of two maneuvering forces at fairly long range in the dark. Frank’s not making excuses but he says the whole thing lasted about fifteen seconds, if that. Furr was the only one to make an aimed shot because only he had a night scope. The opposition had semiautos, probably Dragunovs, and they throw more lead than a bolt gun.”

  The SSI president saw the fire in the blue eyes and backed off. “All right, Sandy. All right. But if we understaffed this job, we need to send more people.” He thought for a moment. “Can we send a replacement for Wallender?” He looked at Jack Peters, head of scouting and recruiting.

  The former Green Beret almost smiled. “Admiral, I’d be willing to go myself! But since that’s not why I was hired, I should be able to turn up a couple of guys. However, you understand, neither of them are going to be as well qualified as those we already have over there. We really did send the first team, especially where language is concerned.”

  Marsh Wilmont leaned forward. “According to Mordecai Baram, everybody’s happy with the progress the Druze are making with our instructors. But we did expect casualties on this contract. That’s why we have a few guys suited up, sitting on the bench.”

  “How soon can they get over there?”

  Peters frowned in concentration. “I’ll have to check, but probably not before the end of next week.”

  Derringer turned to Carmichael. “Sandy, let Frank know that we’re lining up two replacements. Obviously one will fill in for Wallender, then Frank or Chris can decide where to put the other. But with things heating up, it’s probably best to have another man there right away.”

  The blond head bobbed. “Concur, Admiral. The new guys will need some time to get up to speed in any event.”

  “Speaking of Wallender, I want him to get the best possible care. If we have to pay some out-of-pocket expenses for the best specialist, so be it.” He looked at Wilmont.

  “I’ll make it happen, Mike.”

  * * * *

  NABATIYEH GOVERNATE

  Esmaili sat with Azizi, considering tactical options within the context of the emerging strategic plan.

  “Tawfiq will not be easy to replace,” Esmaili said. “He was my best and most experienced man.”

  The liaison man from Tehran slightly cocked his head, studying the Hezbollah leader. “You fought togeth
er for a long time.”

  A quick nod. “To lose him in a relatively minor mission is . . . regrettable.” Esmaili managed to keep an even tone in his voice.

  “Well, he now sits in Paradise. Allow your sorrow to be eased with that knowledge.”

  For an ephemeral moment Ahmad Esmaili felt himself warming to the go-between. Then he caught himself. Show no weakness. It can lead to mistakes. And mistakes can be fatal.

  “Truly.” After a suitable pause Esmaili asked, “How shall we proceed?”

  Azizi relaxed. “As much as Brother Tawfiq will be missed, we are to continue our operations. Your young marksman, Hazim. He did well.”

  “So it seems.”

  The cocked head again. “There are doubts?”

  “Brother, there are always doubts after combat. Especially after a fight in the dark. I do not doubt Hazim’s belief in what he told us. But with no one else to describe the action, it is impossible to know for certain.”

  “Yes, of course. That is why I have sent agents to El-Arian. They may learn something in addition to what our signals branch reports on militia radio intercepts.”

  Esmaili frowned despite himself. “Why the concern? As I say, it was a small incident except for the loss of Tawfiq.”

  “I remember what you said about the phantom sniper in Baghdad. Juba?”

  “Yes, I discussed that with Tawfiq. It’s not certain that he was real. Why?”

  “We might make use of young Hazim. Build up his reputation, perhaps even using his real name. It could cause fear in the militias while we continue sending your other snipers to harass them.”

  Esmaili realized that he may have condemned the youngster by a casual discussion with the now-deceased instructor. “If he gains enough of a reputation, he will certainly be hunted down and killed.”

  Azizi rolled his shoulders. “We all serve God in our own way, brother. Meanwhile, I have sent for help.”

  “What kind of help?”

  “A Chechen sniper, vastly experienced. You know that Chechen Muslims are mostly Sunni. Well, the fighter known as Akhmed grew up sniping Russians and has trained resistance fighters in Afghanistan. He has more than two hundred hits to his credit.”

  Esmaili was tempted to smile. “There are claims and there are results. They are not always the same.”

  With a wave of a hand, Azizi placated his colleague. “It does not matter. The important thing is that Akhmed has skills well beyond any of your . . . er, our men. His identity will be kept secret but his deeds can be publicized to our benefit.”

  “In other words, to Hazim’s detriment.”

  “As I said, we all serve God in our own way.”

  * * * *

  NORTHERN ISRAEL

  For a change, Brigadier General Nadel went looking for Colonel Livni. Not surprisingly, the senior officer found his nominal subordinate engaged in a shouting match with a sergeant. The colonel won, not from a position of greater authority, but the ability to summon greater decibels.

  The NCO offered a perfunctory salute and stalked away.

  “What was that about?” Nadel asked.

  Livni waved dismissively. “Oh, Feldmann throws occasional tantrums. He can’t stand the thought that somebody else might know as much as he does.”

  Nadel arched an eyebrow. “A sergeant resents a colonel’s level of knowledge? That’s one for the record book.”

  “I’ve known Feldmann for ten years or more. One of the smartest people I ever met but he’s a victim of his own intellect.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Well, he’s turned down a commission at least twice. His family are all fervent socialists, some from the old school. They equate officers with snobbery and privilege so he wouldn’t ever consider joining the ‘elite.’” Livni etched quote marks in the air with both hands.

  “So why keep him around? Is he so bright that he’s worth the effort?”

  “Mostly he’s just a pain in the ass, but now and then he comes up with something really useful. Sometimes it’s a fresh way of looking at an old problem.”

  Nadel leaned forward. “Yakov, you always pique my curiosity. May I ask what’s the problem this time?”

  “Peanut butter.”

  The general’s face betrayed incredulity. Before Nadel could respond, Livni explained. “There’s a big dispute in some orthodox communities about whether peanuts can be used during Passover. You know, like other legumes. I told Feldmann that the Ashkenazi don’t allow peanuts but do allow peanut oil, which is true. And presumably kosher peanut butter should be allowed. Since he’s not Ashkenazi it’s not really a concern but he disagrees.” Livni shrugged. “Feldmann often disagrees just to be disagreeable.”

  While Nadel absorbed that revelation, Livni folded his arms and tapped his toes. “What can I do for you, General?”

  Nadel shook his head as if avoiding a pesky gnat. “Get rid of that damned sergeant. He’s undermining your morale and the national war effort.”

  “Well, as long as I run special operations, I’ll keep some special people around me. Now, what’s on your mind?”

  “I got your message about the militia situation in El-Arian. I agree they’re going to need a Druze officer to replace Captain Fares.”

  Livni nodded slowly, pondering options. “Do you have anyone in mind?”

  “I’m thinking of Hussain Halabi. A bright, energetic lieutenant. Do you know him?”

  “I’ve heard of him.” The colonel unzipped a wry grin. “But God deliver us from bright, energetic lieutenants!”

  “Well, he has some experience over there and I think he would fit in. Besides, he’s the best English speaker among the likely candidates, and that’s important.”

  “Agreed. The militia is asking for more American instructors but that’s going to take a little time. The way things are going in that area, they might not arrive soon enough to make a difference.”

  Nadel inclined his torso, obviously interested. “Why? What have you heard?”

  “I don’t think I’ve heard much more than you have, Sol. But the way I see things, there’s likely to be more Hezbollah activity than before. It could lead to something bigger than we’ve seen in quite a while.”

  “All right, then. I’ll make sure that my boys keep their contingency plans updated.” He wagged a cautionary finger. “Just don’t let me be surprised, Colonel!”

  * * * *

  29

  SSI OFFICES

  “Okay, who can we send? I have to let the admiral or Marsh Wilmont know today.” Sandra Carmichael did not like to lean on a colleague, but time was short and getting shorter.

  Matt Finch of SSI’s personnel department was ready for the inquiry. “Ken Delmore’s ready to go and Steve Lee says he’ll commit to a couple of months if we really need him. But that’s going to cause problems.”

  “Yes, I know. Wallender was committed to the full contract, so if Steve only signs on for sixty days we’ll end up short again.”

  Finch nodded. “Yes, but there’s more than that. I mean, he’s a former major and a Ranger to boot. How’s he going to fit in with Nissen’s team? They don’t know each other very well, and I just don’t see Staff Sergeant Nissen rolling over for a new guy O-4.” He shrugged. “It could cause more problems than it solves.”

  Carmichael leaned back and examined her manicured nails. “Well, one thing’s for sure. We can’t tell the operators in the field how to do things. I’ll get hold of Frank and see what he says. Maybe the best bet is to reshuffle the deck. Send Delmore to Nissen and transfer one of Frank’s people as well. Then Lee can understudy Frank—maybe work as his exec.”

  Finch gave a toothy grin. “Colonel, did you ever consider a career in the personnel field?”

  Carmichael speared the human resources dweeb with her blue gaze. “Negative. Not once. Not ever.”

  * * * *

  NABATIYEH GOVERNATE

  Hazim was the man of the hour. Though trying to maintain Muslim decorum, he simply could
not suppress the soaring feeling of ego gratification.

  It was delicious.

  Azizi added spice to the taste by openly lauding Hazim. “Our sources are clear, my brothers. Hazim fearlessly engaged a superior number of the enemy and killed or wounded three of them. He is our lion! Learn from him and become lions yourselves!”

  Sharp male roars erupted from the jihadists, reducing in the end to a rhythmic chant. “Ha-zim! Ha-zim!”