He was praying out loud, very quickly, without even realizing he was doing it. Sweat dripped off his face as he got past the wreckage and floored the gas pedal towards the buildings down the road. He checked his rearview mirror and saw the two cars trying to follow him.
“God is great,” he repeated, gripping the wheel and diving as fast as his car would go.
Chapter 39
Assault on Al Udeid
Eric was walking Earl back to the infirmary for a quick bandage change and wound check. The previous meeting had frustrated the team members, who weren’t used to sitting on the sidelines when there was something big going down.
“You saved my ass, E,” said Earl from out of nowhere as they walked. His mind had been churning a hundred miles an hour since his conversation with Cascaes.
Eric didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. They continued walking.
“I froze, man,” he said quietly.
“It was dark. You and the hajji almost walked into each other, man.”
Earl stopped walking and looked at Eric. “I froze, plain and simple. We don’t hesitate. We’re trained to react instantly. I saw the guy’s face…saw how young he was…I just stared at him.”
Eric had stopped walking, too. “Look, man. I had your back. It’s over. I know the ambush messed with your head. I was lucky—I didn’t have to see it up close. But I put a round through the driver, and a second one through one of those kids. It’s fucked up, Earl. But this is the sandbox. Everything out here is fucked up.”
Earl looked down at his feet.
“You always talk about how bad your neighborhood was growing up. Did the kids in your neighborhood all walk around with AK47s chanting ‘death to somebody’ while their parents encouraged them? I don’t think so. I’ve been in Iraq, A-Stan, and now here. For every kid I see that reminds me of the kids at home, I see another one that would ghost me in two seconds. You gotta stay frosty, man.”
An explosion in the distance stopped Earl before he could respond. They both looked towards the direction of the explosion, looked back at each other, and then started sprinting towards their barracks where their weapons were stowed and the rest of the team was lounging.
“That’s the east gate!” yelled Eric as they ran.
Earl ripped off the sling as he ran, whipping it to the ground as they sprinted. By the time they got to the barracks, some of the other men inside were starting to run out, most with weapons.
“East gate!” yelled Earl as he pushed past a few men and bounded up the stairs. Eric was right behind him. They made it to their wing of the building in less than three minutes, passing other Marines who were now heading outside. A few were on their phones, trying to reach their superiors.
Mackey and Cascaes were already coming out of the door with their weapons when Earl and Eric got there.
“East gate got hit!” yelled Eric as he raced to his weapons locker to retrieve his sniper rifle. Earl grabbed his M4 and stumbled out of the room into the hallway where the rest of the team was now racing towards the stairs as they snapped magazines into their weapons.
By the time they got downstairs, the base sirens were going off and they could hear gunfire.
“If they have Sarin we’re fucked,” screamed Mackey as he and Cascaes sprinted towards the noise. They were both in civilian clothes and carried M4 carbines. The air base was huge, but their barracks were only a short run from the gate.
A couple of Marines had hopped into trucks and were roaring off towards the sound of the explosion. Mackey and Cascaes ran in the street behind the truck, which quickly distanced itself from them. The rest of the team was catching up to the two Chrises, with Earl and Eric only a little behind. A Marine Cobra gunship roared over their heads towards the attack.
“That’s it!” screamed Mackey to the assault copter. “Go!”
* * *
It had taken Rasheed almost six minutes to maneuver around the wreckage. He was driving through the base looking for the large barracks he had studied in the picture of the base that Abdul had given him; but now that he was actually driving, he was a little confused. There were buildings and tents and airplane hangars in every direction. To detonate at the wrong place would be a waste of his life. He needed to find the barracks or the mess hall and prayed that Allah would guide him to the enemy. Behind him, the other two drivers sped and swerved through the narrow streets. A few Marines and airmen ran out of the way of the vehicles as they realized something was wrong. Most of them weren’t armed while walking around on base and could do nothing but run and try and call base security on their cell phones.
Rasheed came to a crossroads. He hesitated for a moment and looked around. A left turn—it was a left turn. As he began to accelerate, he heard it before he saw it. He looked up and saw what looked like a very small plane—no, not a plane, a helicopter. Rasheed pushed the gas pedal to the floor and cut his wheel left. He began praying loudly and racing towards where he thought the large barracks were.
The Cobra pilot pressed the trigger and unleashed a fifty round burst from his M197 .20 mm electric cannon. The lead car vibrated in a cloud of sand and dust as the rounds impacted the passenger compartment. With a quick flick of his thumb, the pilot fired a hellfire missile into the vehicle and watched it explode in a huge fireball.
* * *
The team was still racing towards the gate when they heard the explosion.
“Cobra got him!” screamed Mackey triumphantly.
“What about the Sarin?” screamed Cascaes as they ran.
“We have to warn everyone! They have to clear out of there!”
They turned the corner and saw the burning car at the end of a long road, maybe a half a mile away. A few Marines and MPs were ahead of them running towards the wreckage.
“Stay back! Stay back!” yelled Cascaes.
“Sarin! They’re loaded with Sarin!” screamed Mackey. It was useless, the Cobra was firing it’s mini-gun at another vehicle that had taken off down a side road and was racing towards the rows of tents the Marines used as living quarters. The second car was being hit by the gunfire but kept speeding towards the tents. The third car swerved around the wreck of Rasheed’s car and raced straight towards the team.
Eric dropped to a knee and pulled the caps off of his sniper rifle. He glanced quickly at the American flag hanging limp on the pole—no wind. Moving faster than normal, he chambered a round and put the scope to his eye. Everyone on the street with a weapon began firing at the car, but it was still too far away and moving erratically at high speed.
Eric looked through his scope and could see the face of the driver. He inhaled, exhaled, and put the crosshairs on the driver’s face.
Chapter 40
Abdul Aziz pushed his way through the crowd and headed for the exit. There were uniformed police and soldiers with MP5s everywhere. He kept his Keffiyeh close to his face and avoided eye contact. When he reached the top of the stairs, he looked back out into the stadium. The match was in full-swing, and the crowd was loud and excited. Abdul began scanning for his men. He could see them mixed with the other hawkers all over the stadium. They were spread out for maximum damage. The world would not have seen an attack of this magnitude since 9-11. Abdul smiled and began quickly walking towards the escalator that would bring him outside. He would go to his car, dial the number that would detonate the boxes, and drive back to Saudi Arabia where he would assemble another group of followers for the next attack.
* * *
Hodges was on one knee, blocking out the chaos around him. All he heard was his own heartbeat and breathing, which he was trying to control. He exhaled, inhaled, held his breath, and ever-so-slowly squeezed the trigger as he held the drivers face in his cross-hairs. The car was less than a half mile away and headed straight towards them.
The rifle let out a loud blast, recoiled slightly, and th
en Hodges held it steady, staring through the scope again. The man’s face had exploded inside the spider-webbed windshield, and the car veered sharply to its right where it struck a concrete barrier and stopped. Eric was sure the driver was dead, but with a possible finger on a trigger, he was taking no chances. He fired a second round that removed a good portion of the man’s head, and then put three rounds into the engine block to make sure the car wouldn’t move again.
The other members of the team were still running towards the gunfire when the Cobra fired off another missile. It struck the last remaining vehicle, which exploded and flipped on to its roof. The gunship fired several mini-gun bursts, and the car began burning.
Cascaes yelled to Mackey. “What about the Sarin?”
“We just have to keep everyone clear. There’s no breeze and the fire will help destroy the chemical. Tell the team—keep everyone back!” Mackey handed Cascaes his encrypted satellite phone and began running towards a jeep.
“Where are you going?” asked Cascaes.
“Airfield!” he screamed back, never breaking stride. “Call Dex and have him call this base! I need emergency authorization to run an op now!”
Cascaes ran to Moose and Ripper who were standing nearby watching the vehicles burn in stunned silence. “We need to keep everyone back! Spread the team out and tell everyone it’s Sarin. They need to keep away and get EOD over to the car Hodges took out. It can still go off. Go!” As soon as the team moved into action, Cascaes hit redial and called Dex Murphy in Langley.
Moose relayed the orders to the team and the men began racing through the streets screaming at everyone they saw to stay back because of the Sarin. It didn’t take much convincing—when the word Sarin was heard, everyone began hustling away from the wreckage. Everyone, that is, except for a Marine sergeant who raced past Moose towards the destroyed gate.
“Hey!” Yelled Moose. “You hear me? That’s Sarin gas! Stop!”
The sergeant ignored him and kept running. Moose and Ripper hauled ass after him. “Hey! Stop!”
The sergeant was heading for the two men at the front gate—his two corporals he had posted a few hours earlier. He heard Moose and Ripper yelling at him to stop, but ran as fast as he could, anyway. He was getting close to the vehicle that Hodges had stopped when Moose tackled his legs and took him down.
“What the fuck?” screamed the surprised Marine.
“I said stop! There’s Sarin gas all over the place!”
“I’ve got two men at the gate!” screamed the sergeant.
“They’re dead!” yelled Moose. “And if you get any closer, you’ll be dead, too! It’s too late!”
The sergeant struggled to get up, but Moose was too strong. Moose ended up giving the stranger a bear hug and saying, “I’m sorry, Sergeant. They’re gone, brother.” The stranger began sobbing, and Moose just sat on the ground with him holding him close.
Chapter 41
Airborne
Mackey had driven like a lunatic to the airstrip while screaming into his radio to the control tower.
“I need a Prowler on the runway immediately!” he was screaming at the tower controller. “Get me the fucking General or whoever you need to authorize it now!”
The major on the phone didn’t know Mackey from a hole in the wall, but he also knew the base was under attack. He patched Mackey through to the flight coordinator, a Lieutenant Colonel Forrest, who had just received a call from General Houston, the base commander. By the time the lieutenant colonel agreed to supply the Prowler, Mackey was already at the runway where the four crewmen from the Marine Tactical Electronic Warfare Squadron 3, the “Moon Dogs” were scrambling to their jet.
“Who’s the copilot?” screamed Mackey.
“Me,” answered a captain.
“Not today! I’m going up with these guys and I can fly.”
“No fucking way. Who the hell are you?”
“I’m CIA, authorized by the President of the United States—you got any problems, you take it up with him. You the pilot?” he screamed at one of the men. That man looked at another captain who said he was.
“Let’s go! We need to be wheels up now! I’ll explain in the air! We’ve got to stop another attack!” He was still holding his assault rifle.
“Look, I’m not a regular copilot!” screamed the first captain. “I’m an electronics counter measures officer! I’m responsible for defending this aircraft.”
“This aircraft doesn’t need defending, and this is a short hop. We have a simple mission and we’re out of here. We need to move now!” He pointed the rifle at the captain.
The crew didn’t like it, but they also knew they weren’t witnessing a normal day. They ran towards the waiting jet and began climbing the ladder to the cockpit. The pilot dropped into his seat and called the flight commander in the tower.
“Sir, I’ve got some lunatic telling me he’s authorized to fly with me and direct this aircraft! What am I supposed to do?”
“Go! The base is under attack, and I’ve got authorization from the Joint Chiefs. That guy with you is a spook, but he’s a pilot. Do whatever he says, that’s right from the top. You’re cleared for takeoff!”
The flight team strapped in and began closing the cockpit while the flight crew on the ground watched the whole bizarre scene in amazement.
“Head to the soccer stadium!” Mackey screamed at the pilot.
“You’re not in a flight suit. If I go full speed, you’re going to pass out.”
“I’ll be fine, you’re under one G. Haul ass, Captain!”
The pilot had been cleared for takeoff. He radioed the tower and asked for a heading for the soccer stadium. As soon as the crew was ready and the ground crew gave a quick salute, the pilot threw the plane to take off speed and they roared down the runway. Mackey could feel his eyeballs trying to go through the back of his head and grimaced as the jet headed up at top speed. They banked and flew at over five hundred miles an hour towards the stadium.
“What’s the deal?” asked the pilot.
As soon as Mackey’s head cleared, he said, “Terrorists may be planning to hit the stadium like they did here. If they’re using remote detonators, you need to jam the stadium.”
“Roger that. You copy, Two and Three?”
The Electronics Counter Measures Officers in the rear, ECMO2 and 3, responded. “Copy, Skipper. Jamming the stadium.”
The jet roared over the desert making a bee-line for the stadium. It was, as Mackey promised, a very quick trip at five hundred knots.
“There’s the stadium, ten o’clock,” said the pilot, who slowed and banked to begin a holding flight pattern above the stadium below.
The ECMOs in the rear began their electronic attack. Every cell phone call below immediately ended, and a myriad of other electronic problems began. The announcer inside the soccer stadium lost his microphone, the large replay screens went static, the remote controlled thermostats on the massive chillers ceased operation, and the hundreds of flatscreen TVs placed around the stadium in bathrooms and eateries went black.
* * *
Abdul Aziz sat in his car. He prayed and thanked Allah, then pulled the phone from his pocket. Scanning around him for security personnel and seeing no one nearby, Abdul dialed the number that would detonate the eighty Sarin bombs all over the stadium.
“Allahu Akbar!” Shouted Abdul as he pressed the Send button.
He listened and waited.
Nothing happened. Abdul waited another second, and then he realized he was much too far away to hear the explosions. They were only small charges designed to vaporize the Sarin and send the clouds of gas into the crowds.
He nodded. He wouldn’t get to enjoy hearing the explosions or screaming yet. That wouldn’t be until he was safely at a place that had a television camera. He waited another few seconds.
Wait
.
If the Sarin went off inside the stadium, there would be hundreds of panicked soccer fans streaming from the exits. Something was wrong. Abdul drove his car down the long aisle of cars and headed closer to the stadium. He could see police officers and soldiers walking calmly outside. Did they not know that the bombs had gone off yet? Was everyone dead inside? Was that possible?
Abdul drove all the way to the first row of parking, nearest the stadium, and stopped. He opened his car door and stepped out into the hot sun. He could hear normal cheering inside the stadium. Something was wrong. Abdul pointed his phone at the stadium and pressed Send again. Nothing.
He could feel panic inside his chest. Abdul got back into his car and roared out of the parking lot to the highway that would take him back to Saudi Arabia. If his attack had been foiled, then what about the base? He drove as fast as his car would go once he cleared the stadium roads. On the highway, he was driving almost a hundred miles an hour when he decided to try Rasheed’s phone. He was now ten miles from the stadium and beyond the range of the Prowler that was, unknown to him, jamming the stadium. He called Rasheed’s number and it went immediately to voice mail. It was most likely good news—their attack had already occurred. He would make sure. He called other numbers of the group to see if they would be answered.
The Team Page 14