“I know the feeling,” Peace replied, remembering the pain from his broken teeth long ago in an Iraqi cell. “Maybe we can find some Ambesol, or something with Novacaine, in the town. We’ll look, right after we waste Khatami’s army.”
Tony clapped a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing, seeing Samud whip around to look in amazement at Peace.
Peace looked back at Samud, waving him forward.
“With all this information, you did not remember to tell us how your meeting with the beautiful Zehra went,” Peace said in Pashto. “Was she happy to see you?”
“Zehra was very pleased and surprised to see me,” Samud replied. “We did not have an opportunity to speak in private, because of her brother’s fear the Cleric’s militia would see me. As it turned out, he was right.”
“Do not worry about a thing,” Peace said confidently. “I have a plan.”
“Uh oh,” Tony broke in. “Did I just understand you to say you had a plan?”
“Your Pashto is improving,” Peace said, as they slowed down to signal Bull and Ibrim they were approaching. “Don’t worry, the Chief will have final say on it.”
“You’re going to what?!” Bull exclaimed, his words slurred from the swelling in his mouth and face.
“Hey, you remember that Cleric, you and Dan told me about, who cost you both about six months extra in Iraq?” Peace asked.
“Yea, the one who holed up in a Mosque, with all his guys right in one spot, and… wait a minute… I see where you’re going with this,” Bull sighed. “I’d forgotten all about that prick al-Sadr.” “I bet Dan hasn’t,” Peace added.
“Mugtada al-Sadr?” Samud questioned. “I know that name.”
“We should have blasted that son-of-a-bitch to kingdom come the moment he opened his blasphemous mouth,” Bull nodded. “The Captain will indeed remember him. You’re right, Peace. Go ahead and call him up.
You’ll have to do it. It hurts me even talking.”
“Did you keep rinsing your mouth out, Chief?” Tony asked.
“Nope, he ignored your advice,” Ibrim chuckled. “The big weenie said it hurt too much to even sip water.”
“I’m going to break your other ankle in a minute, big mouth,” Bull growled, his words blending together due to the swelling.
“We’ll try and find something for you to numb it up with,” Peace said. “You haven’t even mentioned all the metal you’re hauling around.”
“My damn mouth has taken over all my attention,” Bull admitted. “The aspirin’s the only thing keeping me from crying like a baby. I need to kill something. Call the Captain and let’s get this over with. Make it quick though, just in case these guys have anything they can triangulate our signal with.”
“I doubt we have to worry about that,” Peace replied, standing up and taking out their com gear from his saddle bag. “I’ll keep it short though. The key will be him remembering al-Sadr.”
“He’ll remember,” Bull said with confidence.
Chapter Fifty
Sadr Syndrome
“This better be good,” Dan said in Spanish when he came on line.
“Glad to hear you’re all right too, Sir,” Peace replied in the same language. “Two wounded. Small town, just East of the big dance. We have an al-Sadr syndrome here. Want permission to end it, and then cleanse it.”
“An al-who syndrome?” Dan asked. “I… Sadr… wait… okay, I get the picture. You could cause a lot of bad Karma if you want what I think you want. How many?”
“Hundreds, many of them crashing the party from outside,” Peace answered. “I slip in, make sure, bring back a souvenir, then we light the dance hall up.”
“When do you need the party favors?”
“One hour, two, if the favors are shipped from far away,” Peace answered.
“This sounds too good to pass up,” Dan admitted. “I’ll have the favors there in one hour. Tag the dance hall real good, and don’t hang around for the last waltz.”
“Roger that,” Peace confirmed. “Can we get a quick evac after, two to go?”
“Leave me a green card, and I’ll drop in for a moment,” Dan replied, telling Peace to use a smoke grenade, and that he would be coming along personally.
“Will do, can they spare you?”
“Yes, the big dance was a real hit. See you soon.”
Peace walked back over to his friends, who had spread out in a defensive perimeter between the town and their horses. Peace settled in next to where Bull hunched painfully behind the M60 Tony had set up earlier.
“It’s a go, Chief. Dan’s even sending a limo for you and Ib.”
“Man, I won’t turn down a ride,” Bull slurred. “What do I have to do to get it?”
“I’ll join the party at the Mosque, while you guys set up a safe distance away. I’ll slice up the big cheese, and bring him out for proof of the prize. You all help the ones who follow me die for their cause; then Big Bird flies here in one hour to cleanse the defiled Mosque, and pick you and Ib up.”
“It sounds so simple when you put it like that,” Bull replied, shaking his head slowly. “Why not just let Air Cav handle it all?”
“We don’t need any live martyrs showing up later. We’ll think we did a great job, and then Al Jazeera will be interviewing the asshole for tomorrow night’s broadcast.”
“I guess you’re right,” Bull admitted. “Help me up. We don’t want to be late.”
__
“I will come with you to watch your back, my friend,” Samud offered in a whisper.
Peace looked up from where he and Tony were helping Bull and Ibrim get comfortable in a position to work the M60, and Peace’s sniper rifle. They were as close to the Mosque as they dared get. Groups of militia were cooking over open fires outside the Mosque. Noise from inside the Mosque indicated the occupants were carrying on a spirited meeting. Peace had stopped to strip off the clothing worn by one of the dead men who had been following Samud. Peace carried the man’s AK47; but had secured his silenced automatic within easy reach inside his outer robes. He shook his head in the negative at Samud.
“I will need you here to help keep the militia pinned down until help arrives. You go with Tony to set up a crossfire.”
“Very well,” Samud acknowledged. “What if you do not come out?”
“Then you will have to get Tony to act as your intermediary with Zehra,” Peace shrugged. “Concentrate on what you need to do, my friend. The lovely Zehra does not want to be made a widow before the wedding night.”
Samud nodded reluctantly.
“That Sadr wannabe will be well guarded, Wolvy,” Bull offered.
“I don’t plan on anything complicated. I’ll go in, get close, and start dancing. Hell, the boot camps don’t even have a perimeter, or guards at the entrance,” Peace said, checking his watch. “Vaya con Dios, hombres. Handcuff our young friend here to your wrist until I get back, will you, Tony?”
“I’ll make sure he’s with me,” Tony promised. “If it gets too hot in there, leave the proof and haul your butt out.”
Peace saluted comically, and then blended into the darkness, staying close to the buildings around the square as he made his way towards the Mosque.
“Think he’ll make it back, Chief?” Tony asked, peering after Peace.
“I don’t know; but I hope that Cleric guy’s saying his prayers, cause he’s a short timer. Get moving, Tone. We want to be ready.”
“Roger that,” Tony replied, pulling on Samud. “C’mon Sammy.”
After Tony and Samud had left, Ibrim finished setting up Peace’s sniper rifle, while Bull continued shifting uncomfortably behind the M60. Bull glanced over at Ibrim finally, having given up his endeavor.
“Are you sure you can fire that thing, Ib? Your head looks like it’s growing a softball out the temple.” Ibrim laughed uneasily.
“I don’t know,” Ibrim admitted, touching the bandaged side of his head gingerly. “I’m not as good as Peace; but if I have my head
wrapped tightly enough, I should be able to give him some close support. Since we won’t be able to switch on the night vision stuff until the party starts, this could get dicey.”
“I’m going to waste everything in front of the Mosque, the moment I hear a commotion from inside,” Bull said, patting the M60. “Peace will be in the clear if he gets out the door. Just work the crowd following.”
Ibrim nodded. “Hey, at least they don’t have tanks.”
Bull laughed painfully, eyeing his friend with affection. “The glass is never half empty with you around, Ib.”
When Peace reached the outskirts of the makeshift encampment outside the Mosque, he straightened, and strode purposefully towards the entrance. His heart raced as he passed the small groups of men, smoking and cooking around the campfires. At the Mosque entrance, Peace could hear the shouted arguments plainly. The subject centered on where they should go. All pretenses of religious deference were being ignored inside. Militiamen jockeyed around, fully armed inside the Mosque, to get better views of where their leader sat with his cadre of bodyguards.
Peace immediately aped the others inside, moving slowly through the crowd towards the pudgy figure now waving his arms for silence. The bearded Cleric’s fat cherubic face glistened with sweat. He repeatedly called out for order. He quieted the crowd with the help of a black robed, long bearded man of authority, who sported a thin white scar across his forehead. After seeing the scarred man gesture angrily from next to the cleric, the crowd listened. Moments later, the more vocal voices in the crowd quieted, allowing the Cleric to be heard. Peace threaded carefully through the crowd, the odor from the unwashed militia assaulting Peace’s senses. He continued mumbling phrases he had heard on his way in, switching from dissent to full support, and then back to dissent, concerning the main course of action being discussed.
Peace listened to the Cleric implore his followers to hold fast in the area; and begin a campaign of ambushes, geared to demoralize the factions rebelling against the Mullahs. Peace reached into his robes as he drew within fifty feet of the Cleric. He pulled the pin on the grenade he now held, gauging with a backward glance where he wanted it to land. With a quick, powerful toss over his shoulder, Peace launched the armed grenade into the crowd furthest away from the entrance. He ducked down quickly amidst the men near him. The explosion rocked the building. Screams of agony, pain, and fear rang out in the aftermath. Smoke and debris billowed throughout the Mosque as the militiamen recovered from their initial shock, moving towards the entrance in a panic, just as Bull opened up with the M60 outside. Screams outside blended into a frightening cacophony of the dead and dying.
Staying low to the floor, Peace shouldered through the panicking stream of militiamen, towards the Cleric’s cadre. Some militia fired wildly out into the darkness, while the majority took cover, huddling in terror as they listened to the M60 bursts. Peace popped up as the number of militiamen thinned, leaving the Cleric and his bodyguard contingent by themselves. Before the bewildered bodyguards could react, Peace executed four of them, plunging into their midst as they attempted to bring their more awkward AK47 rifles to bear on him. In moments, seven men lay dead and dying at the feet of a terror stricken Muslim Cleric. The authoritative man, who had helped Khatami quiet the crowd, jumped between the Cleric and Peace, shouting unintelligibly in fear and panic. Peace shot the man twice through the forehead. All semblance of the bravado once echoing around the chamber, Peace had heard in the Cleric’s voice during the leader’s call for action earlier, was gone. In its place, Peace heard a whimpering tone, undermining a frustrated rage. Peace saw in the Cleric’s eyes a war between fright and fury, as he pulled him to his feet.
Peace hauled back on the white robes, pulling the Cleric back into the shadow of an alcove near where the Muslim leader had been speaking. The Cleric’s hands were clenched into fists, but he allowed himself to be dragged without protest. Peace looked back over the milling crowd. Dozens of men, many severely wounded, were dragging themselves back into the Mosque against the rain of death outside. None had wasted a thought on the young Cleric, nor even a glance. Peace smiled.
“You are no longer very popular,” Peace commented in Pashto.
“Why have you done this?!” The Cleric screamed, trying to turn towards Peace. “You are a traitor to Allah. You will die…”
Peace plunged his razor sharp knife through the billowing robes, covering the Cleric’s back, into the fatty layer around the right kidney. At the same time, Peace pulled the man’s head back with an iron grip around his throat. The Cleric screamed as he felt the blade run inches into his side, and then slide upward slightly.
“Be still!” Peace ordered. “Show me the way out the back, or I will slice you right out of your skin!”
“Through… there… through there,” Khatami groaned, pointing to an alcove off to the left of their position with a shaking hand.
Peace withdrew the knife, dragging Khatami into the alcove by his throat. With Khatami as a shield, Peace burst though the rear doorway of the Mosque, and out into the cool night air. Men, huddled at the rear of the Mosque, turned questioningly, their AK47’s at the ready. They died in an instant, riddled with what Peace recognized immediately as MAC 10 fire.
“Over here, Peace!” Tony’s voice called out from across the street, where he and Samud had been waiting.
Peace pushed and dragged Khatami across the open expanse, and into the alleyway where Tony had set up his ambush.
“I was wondering if you would come through there,” Tony said, leading the small group towards Bull and Ibrim.
“It probably would have been smarter to find the rear entrance before I went in,” Peace commented ruefully.
“Ya think?” Tony called back.
“You… you are Americans…” Khatami groaned in heavily accented English.
“You betcha,” Peace whispered into his ear, propelling the man forward.
“Kill him now, Peace,” Samud urged fearfully, the awe in his face at being so close to one of Iran’s ruling Clerics plain to Peace.
“Easy, my friend,” Peace replied quietly, tightening his grip on Khatami.
“Traitor!!” Khatami screamed in a rasping voice, from Peace’s choke hold, at Samud.
Samud fell back away from the Cleric’s rage. So ingrained the hold Muslim Clerics had over the people of Iran, it took all of the young man’s courage not to bow his head in deference to Khatami’s rage. Seeing this, Peace abandoned the idea of propelling the Cleric along under Khatami’s own steam. Slamming the Cleric to his knees, and with grim expertise, Peace broke Khatami’s neck. Hardly missing a beat, Peace hoisted the still twitching body up and over his shoulder. He turned slightly towards Samud.
“Come on, this pig is not getting lighter,” Peace said.
Samud ran forward, and took Peace’s AK47 from his unburdened shoulder. Tony had paused at the ready, twenty yards ahead.
“You two better move your butts, or we’re all going to get toasted. Air Cav will be here shortly, and we’re still in the blast radius,” Tony said as Peace and Samud drew abreast. “Did you really have to off the prick on the way, Peace?”
“He was getting annoying,” Peace grunted.
“More annoying than giving him a ride on your bad shoulder while he releases his bodily fluids?” Tony asked rhetorically, pinching his nose comically as Peace went by.
“Shut up,” Peace replied.
The three men no sooner reached the M60 nest, calling out to Bull and Ibrim, before they heard the whisper of approaching helicopter gunships over the din of battle. Peace threw Khatami’s body down, and helped Tony pack up the M60. Bull struggled painfully to his feet, with Samud’s help, and then both men helped Ibrim up. Without waiting for Peace and Tony, Bull and Samud helped Ibrim limp in the opposite direction of the Mosque. Gunfire still shot blindly into the night, but dwindled as the M60’s lethal fire had stopped. Tony shouldered his MAC 10, Peace’s sniper rifle, and gripped the M60. Peace again sho
uldered Khatami’s corpse, immediately turning to follow Bull, Samud and Ibrim.
Tony brought up the rear, keeping the M60 ready to fire along their line of retreat.
The first blasts of rocket fire reduced the Mosque to burning rubble. The three gunships moved into a rotating fire pattern, obliterating all life within the radius of the doomed Mosque. Safely away from the kill zone, near another open square, Peace unburdened himself of Khatami. Waiting until the helicopter attack ended, Tony lit off a green smoke grenade to mark a safe landing zone. Five minutes later, one of the attack helicopters flew into the square, as the waiting party ducked and covered.
A bearded, and robed pair, jumped down from the chopper the moment it touched down. They ran over to Peace’s little group, and helped get Bull and Ibrim aboard the helicopter. Only when the wounded were safely inside the helicopter did Dan and Doc exchange greetings with Peace, Tony, and Samud.
“It went well, I take it,” Dan shouted, as they ducked down for a moment below the whipping blades.
“Roger that,” Peace shouted back. “You bring a digital?”
“Right here,” Dan nodded, taking a small digital video camera from his robes. He immediately began taking pictures of Khatami’s body, which Peace spread out in repose, concentrating on the dead Cleric’s face. “We’ll need some DNA proof too, Peace.”
“Will you need the body?”
“No. Take samples and ditch it. Just don’t leave it anywhere they can make some kind of shrine,” Dan instructed, handing him a large parachute bag he had exited the helicopter with. “There’s DNA kits in the bag, along with fifty thousand in gold. The brass want you guys to do some heart and mind work here since you all caused all this havoc. Take whatever time you need, and then you and Tony work your way back to Samud’s town. We’ll meet you there later. Find out anything you can from the locals on the way.”
“Aye, aye, Sir,” Peace acknowledged, hefting the bag doubtfully. “It’s one thing to play Carebear with people we’re relatively familiar with; but a whole other deal with strangers.”
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