The Team

by David M. Salkin

  Qatar

  Wednesday was spent in prayer and meditation at the small motel. The men shaved their beards and heads and cleansed their bodies in preparation for martyrdom. Further south, Abdul’s team was busier. Three of them had driven the truck to the stadium, and with the help of their coconspirator in the vending company, carefully smuggled in the loaded vendor boxes to the concession area. The phones had been fully charged, and the batteries would last a few days. The phones were all on, simply awaiting the call from Abdul Aziz that would change history.

  As the men were leaving, they watched nervously as Qatari military trucks began arriving at the stadium. The men hurried back to Abdul at the warehouse and reported the sudden military activity.

  Abdul listened and thought about it. He dismissed it as standard precautions. Besides, the bombs were already inside the stadium. It was too late for the army or anyone else to stop destiny.

  When all the preparations were made, it was simply time to wait. Abdul’s men prepared themselves, just as Rasheed’s had, and spent the rest of the evening in prayer.

  Chapter 36

  Qatar

  Thursday Morning

  Rasheed and his men woke up with the sunrise—the last they would see on this earth. The sun was an orange ball of fire, illuminating the desert with long pink fingers across the sky. Rasheed wondered if it would look like this when the bombs went off. Would he hear anything? Feel anything? He smiled, and thought of the virgins who would be waiting for him.

  The men prayed and wrote letters to family members, which would be left at the motel to be found by housekeeping some time after the attack.

  At five o’clock, Rasheed, now the leader of this small group, rallied his men. “Brothers, we fear nothing. Allah the merciful will welcome us to Paradise as great warriors. Tonight, we’ll drive to the base and catch the Americans at supper. While their pilots fill their fat bellies, Imad will drive the first vehicle into the gate and kill the guards, opening the road for all of us to follow.” He looked at Imad. “Are you afraid, Imad?” he asked.

  Imad puffed out his chest. “I have no fear! Allah shall welcome me to Paradise!”

  Rasheed smiled and patted his shoulders. “Yes, Imad! You will inspire the attack! After Imad kills the guards, I’ll drive the next car into the base. We drive through the entrance road, keep left, and head to the buildings. The barracks and dining hall are all in the same area. Watch for a building with a green door. This is where they eat. This is where I shall go to Paradise. If I’m successful, you will pick the closest barracks.”

  The other two nodded.

  “In a few hours, we shall all meet in Paradise. There can be no hesitation. No fear. Are you all ready?”

  The three of them responded by chanting “God is great!” and then the four of them headed to their vehicles. With Imad in the lead car, the others stayed close behind as they drove down the desolate road. Rasheed dialed Abdul on his disposable cell phone.

  Abdul greeted the only man who had his number.

  “God is great,” Rasheed replied calmly. “We’re on the way. Less than an hour. God willing, we will kill them all. I shall see you in Paradise, my brother. ”

  “Blessings be upon you,” replied Abdul. “You shall be brave.”

  “I’m not afraid,” said Rasheed, his voice quivering ever so slightly. He hung up the phone and concentrated on the red taillights in front of him. He would spend the next hour praying as he drove.

  Chapter 37

  Al Udeid

  Mackey and Cascaes assembled the team for an update. They all took seats around the conference table, including Earl Jones, his arm bandaged and resting in a sling where it would remain for another twenty-four hours.

  “First things first,” announced Mackey. “How are you feeling?”

  Jones flashed his best fake smile and gave a thumbs-up with his left hand. “Hard core, Skipper. Thanks to my man, Hodges, I’m still on this side of the sod.”

  Mackey shot Eric a look. “Fine shooting, Hodges.”

  “Thanks, skipper,” he replied calmly.

  “What did the doc say?” Mackey asked Jones.

  “Piece of cake, boss. Two weeks I’ll be doing one-armed pushups.”

  “That’s what the doc said?” he asked suspiciously.

  “No, doc says three or four weeks, but doc ain’t never seen a hundred and fiftieth Street Recondo before.”

  Hodges and Santos, the other two Marines, both growled, “Ohhh Rraaah!” at that.

  “Um hmm,” grunted Mackey with a scowl. “Just keep me in the loop and let me know how you’re doing. Now for the latest news on the Sarin and the NWJ. We spoke to Langley a dozen times over the past two days. Like I told you yesterday, the Qataris are focusing on the soccer game tonight. They’ve got a few thousand soldiers and cops set up around the stadium, inspecting bags and keeping an eye on things. I hate sitting over here with my thumb up my ass while these psychos try and blow off a Sarin bomb in the middle of forty-five thousand people, but we’ve been ordered to stand down.”

  “So that’s it?” asked Moose, obviously angry. “One of our guys almost gets ghosted in the raid, and then we get told to stay out of it?”

  Cascaes snapped at his SEAL. “Stand down, Moose. We don’t have to like it. Bottom line is, we ain’t bouncers for the Qatari soccer stadium. Besides, it’s not a hundred percent that’s the target anyway. It’s just one theory.”

  “What’s the other theory?” asked Moose.

  “That they’re going to try and hit us right here. Al Udeid. Base commander’s been alerted and the guards have been doubled up. Drones have been patrolling the airspace, Navy station at Doha is on high alert, and all military ships are under way to keep them out of port. Air force has been moving aircraft to bomb-proof bunkers or keeping them under heavy guard. This place is locked down pretty tight, but who knows. We wait and watch.”

  “That’s so reassuring,” said Moose.

  Mackey looked around the room. “Al Udeid is in the middle of the desert. Anyone trying to get in is coming through a heavily defended gate. We’re the Navy All-Star Baseball Team. We can’t walk around base with commando gear. Sit tight and wait for orders. For now, stay here in the barracks. I want everyone close in case something comes up.”

  The team was dismissed, but Cascaes called Earl Jones back to wait a minute. Mack looked over, but Cascaes gave a quick shake of his head, and Mackey understood he wanted a private conversation. He walked out and closed the door behind him.

  “How are you doing, Earl?” asked Cascaes.

  Earl looked at him with a slightly annoyed face. “Like I told Mack, I’m good man. Just a scratch. I’ll be G to G in two weeks.”

  Cascaes sat back and stared hard into his eyes. “I’m not talking about your arm, Earl.”

  Earl swallowed hard and stared back at him.

  “You know what I’m talking about, Earl. How are you doing? You sleeping? Having nightmares?”

  Earl looked up at the ceiling and around the room. He stood up. “I’m good, boss.”

  “Sit down,” said Cascaes in a quiet voice that few fathers can master, but which command instant action. Earl sat.

  “I’m good,” he said, a little softer this time.

  “Earl. There’s no shame in getting help if you need it. There’s people you can talk to if you’re having a hard time dealing with something. The stress we deal with isn’t normal. If you need to talk…”

  Earl’s eyes watered, and he cut Cascaes off. “What am I supposed to say to some shrink, Skipper? I blew away two little kids, and now I feel guilty about it? That gonna make it all better?” A tear ran down his face, which he quickly wiped away.

  Cascaes exhaled slowly. “Look, man—I’m not saying talking about it makes it instantly better, but getting it off your chest helps, sometimes. I’m not
religious, but I’ve seen plenty of my guys go to confession. You know what I think? I think the confession isn’t about being forgiven by God. I think it’s about being forgiven by yourself. You didn’t murder two kids because you’re some kind of sicko. You fired on an enemy vehicle to save me, Earl! You were trying to save my ass because that’s what we do for each other. We kill and die for each other because we’re a family. The kind of family that civilians won’t ever understand. And right now, you need someone to have your back. When was the last time you had a real night’s sleep?”

  Earl stared at Cascaes through watery eyes and shrugged.

  “Have you slept one good night since the ambush?”

  Earl shook his head no.

  “Listen, man—I’m not a psychiatrist, okay? But I’ve been in this shit for my entire adult life. Mack and I were just talking about this stuff. About the fact that we’ll probably always be single because we’re so fucked up after a whole life of doing this shit that we can’t have normal conversations with women anymore. You’re still young. You have to keep your head on straight. And there’s more to it, Earl.”

  He paused and stared at Earl until Earl asked, somewhat timidly, “What?”

  “If you don’t get this shit squared away, you’re going to get yourself or one of us killed. You hesitated out there, didn’t you?”

  Earl burst out crying without warning, and then covered his face with his hand. He’d been holding it in for too long, and when it came out, it didn’t want to stop. Mackey stood and walked around the table, bent over, and gave Earl a hug, holding him for a moment until Earl composed himself.

  “There’s no shame in feeling sad or guilty over what happened, Earl. No shame. You got that? You’re a bad-ass fucking warrior. I’ll share my foxhole with you any day. But you can’t just hold all this in until you explode. You need a few weeks for your arm to heal before you’re ready to get to work, anyway. There’s a doc on base you can talk to; I already asked.”

  Earl patted Cascaes’ arm and Chris walked back around to his chair and sat. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and looked at Earl. “Look, man, we’ve had more vets die from suicide than were killed in combat in the last ten years. Did you know that? It’s fucked up, Jonesy. We get trained to become warriors and we kill and destroy and leave a wake of destruction behind us. And then we just get sent home and we’re supposed to be able to go back to civilian life and be like everyone else. But we’re not. And when you leave this family of guys that would kill or die for you, and you’re all alone back in the world, you better be cool with everything you did over here. Because if you’re not, you’re going to be all alone at home—surrounded by people, maybe, but all alone. No one but your team knows what the deal is. So you need to find your peace now, Earl.”

  “I don’t know why it hit me so hard, Skipper. I’ve been in plenty of combat before. Seen lots of shit. I just, I dunno…”

  “They were kids, and you saw them up close and personal. You don’t think I see them every day? I apologized to them. I apologized to God.”

  Earl looked at him confused. “You said you weren’t religious?”

  “I’m not. That doesn’t mean I don’t believe in God. Find me anyone who’s been shot at that doesn’t believe in something. My point is, I let it go. I apologized, and I forgave myself. And you need to find a way to do that. Otherwise, you’re no good to yourself or anyone else. You’re a good man, Earl. And a good Marine. I’m here if you ever want to talk.” He reached into his pocket and pulled a card, which he slid to Earl. “This is the number for Doctor Hayes. I spoke to him briefly. Seems like a good guy. Anyway, you’ve got a couple of weeks off. Stop by and talk to him.”

  Earl slid the card into his pocket.

  “It stays between us, Earl. But just so you know, the guys would all understand. And at some point, every single one of them should be talking to someone. Now get some sleep.”

  Chapter 38

  Zero Hour

  Abdul’s men traveled to the stadium a few at a time to report for work at the food concession. They smiled as they were frisked and checked with metal detectors on their way in. Military and police presence was heavy, and completely worthless. The men picked up their metal boxes, now full of popcorn, peanuts, soft drinks, and Sarin bombs attached to explosives, and headed out to their assigned sections. If they were afraid, they hid it well.

  It was after six pm, and the temperature outside of the stadium was almost a hundred degrees. Inside the state-of-the art stadium, giant chillers and misters sprayed cool water vapor into the air keeping it closer to seventy for the fans and the players. Only in the Middle East would you find air-conditioning outdoors. It was a beautiful night for soccer.

  The energy in the stadium was palpable, with tens of thousands of fans waving team banners and cheering. The stadium was sold out as expected for two premier teams. Television crews on elevated mobile platforms moved around the field, filming the game live in high definition and broadcasting it around the globe.

  Abdul Aziz checked his watch from his seat in the lower level. He had worn traditional clothing and keffiyeh, and watched with loathing as young women in soccer shirts jumped around flaunting their bodies. Their boyfriends seemed oblivious to the shamelessness of their women, and some even laughed and appeared to enjoy seeing them showoff in public. Abdul glanced around the stadium and saw his men moving around through the crowds. Any moment, Rasheed would be detonating the Sarin in Al Udeid.

  He smiled and stood, scanning the huge crowd. Forty thousand perhaps? Fifty? How many would be choking to death as their skin blistered and their bodies twitched in their last agonizing minutes? He headed for the exit, his hand wrapped around the cell phone in his pocket.

  With the increase in security at Al Udeid, the concrete jersey barriers at the entrance roadways had been shifted from straight roadways to zigzagged paths that prevented vehicles from picking up too much speed. At the end of the zig-zag alley, two young Marines stood post behind some sandbags under a tarp to stay out of the brutal sun. In full combat gear, standing on asphalt in a hundred degree weather wasn’t very enjoyable. Their platoon sergeant had been by an hour earlier delivering water and checking in on them. His parting words were spit out harshly, “No unauthorized personnel or vehicles get past you, clear?”

  The pair responded in unison with, “Yes, Sergeant.”

  As soon as the sergeant’s jeep took off, Jonathan, a country boy from rural Virginia and the platoon comedian, looked at his friend Jordan and barked, “You clear?” in his best Sergeant Rawlings voice. Jordan, a lance corporal, laughed and said, “Crystal!” in his best Top Gun impersonation.

  They sat in the heat for another ten minutes, arguing over whether the Ford F-150 or Dodge Ram was the better pickup truck. Jonathan, a corporal, was due to head home in another month and was deciding on his new truck. He had been “showing Jordan the ropes” when Jordan’s head swiveled to the road. “Yo, yo! D-Man! Vehicles coming down the road, way too fast, bro!” Jordan was a Long Islander, and his accent and expressions were a strong contrast to the country boy. He was a little younger than Jonathan at nineteen, but already had his pilot’s license. He was a smart, detail-oriented kid who was rapidly becoming a favorite grunt to his platoon leaders.

  The two of them immediately jumped up and got behind their two machine guns. On auto-pilot, the two corporals went safeties-off and leaned into their SAWs.

  “They ain’t slowing down,” Jonathan shouted.

  “Son of a bitch, there’s four of ‘em! This is the real deal! I’m sending a warning downrange!”

  Jonathan grabbed his radio and reported back to base security. “Echo George to base! Unauthorized vehicles inbound!”

  The thought of actually firing a few rounds at vehicles on base was almost as scary as the potential threat. What if they weren’t bad guys attacking the base, but rather some VIPs comi
ng in unannounced? Still—they were driving fast and erratically while the base was on high alert. They had over ten thousand brothers behind them, along with a few billion dollars in aircraft. There was no way anyone was getting past them as long as they were breathing. The three vehicles behind the lead SUV stopped. The SUV in front revved and picked up speed. It was now obvious that this was an attack—a suicide bomber, no doubt. They could run for cover and save themselves or do everything possible to stop the vehicles, no matter what. Their decision to stand and fight was instantaneous.

  A short burst of heavy machinegun fire over the SUV did nothing to slow it down.

  “Jordan! He’s still coming!” Screamed Jonathan as he threw his radio and put his hand back on his weapon.

  “Fuck this! Unload!” Shouted Jordan, his finger now squeezing controlled bursts at the cab of the lead vehicle, a dark SUV.

  Jonathan began firing his weapon as well, aiming for the cab and engine block behind the grill. The SUV’s driver floored it, swerving and side swiping the concrete barriers as he closed the distance on the guards.

  Jonathan and Jordan were no longer speaking. The two young corporals focused every ounce of their being on stopping the lead vehicle. They knew how these attacks went down. They’d seen them before. They also knew they were the only thing between the attackers and the barracks behind them. They held their triggers down and sent hundreds of rounds into the SUV. The driver was hit several times and was dying, but not before he managed to push his foot to the floor and release the trigger mechanism in his hand.

  Jordan’s last seconds were spent watching his rounds impact the driver, thinking he had stopped the man in time. The flash of light ended the lives of the two young corporals instantly, sending the guardhouse and pieces of the barriers for hundreds of feet. Seventy yards behind the lead vehicle that had disappeared in the explosion, three cars now sped up through the zigzag path. Rasheed had seen Imad disappear and said a prayer for him. The amount of explosives had created a deep crater, and Rasheed now had to push through the wreckage and move past the barriers without falling into the smoking black hole. This was going to take much longer than he anticipated. He used his car to push the remaining wreckage out of his way and move around the remnants of the guardhouse while the two cars behind him also tried to maneuver around huge obstacles of burning wreckage and chunks of concrete and asphalt.