"Whew!" Owen Peckham said. "That doesn't make it much better. He was incapacitated, at any rate."
"He received the bite during an escape attempt," Bentley explained. "But, sadly, he was indeed shot afterward as he lay helpless on the ground."
"Oh, shit!" Colonel Turnbull exclaimed.
"It was a mercy killing," Bentley said. "The SEALs who had captured the man had no means of treating him, and one took it upon himself to keep the poor fellow from suffering an agonizing death. Several witnesses have been questioned about this since those facts were revealed to Brigadier General Leroux at his headquarters aboard the USS Combs." He gave the report a further perusal. "The man who fired the shot was evidently punished for taking the action without his commanding officer's permission."
"Mmf!" Turnbull snorted. "And that's as it should be."
"But what worries me," the President said, "is how the hell did this guy Wallenger hear about it?"
"That's being worked from two angles, Mr. President," Bentley said. "The first is from Barri Prison in Bahrain, and the second from right here in Washington. As we build the facts from both ends, everything will eventually meet in the middle and we'll all know the exact truth of the matter."
"Then tell us what you know now, Liam,"
the President said, putting himself on a first-name basis with the FBI agent.
"I'll start in Barri Prison," Bentley said. "There were two other prisoners with the one who was bitten by the cobra. They are both confined in that facility, where there is a guard by the name of Arjumand Allawi. He is an American citizen and a sergeant in an Army Reserves military police battalion assigned as custodians. He has been observed in countless friendly conversations with various prisoners, including the pair who were captured by the SEALs. Both the inmates, when questioned, stated they had told Allawi about the incident. He was the only one they informed of the snake bite, and we are now convinced he passed on the story to somebody else outside the prison."
"Fine," the President said. "That's one end. What's the other?"
"There is a cabdriver here in Washington named Daleel Guellah, who is known by the code name of 'Ali.' He has been under surveillance for close to a year now. One of his regular customers is Dirk Wallenger. Wallenger most likely learned of the incident of the dead prisoner from him. And 'Ali' had the information from someone in their net between him and Allawi at Barri Prison. Either 'Ali' or Wallenger himself changed the story to make it come out as the murder of a wounded prisoner of war."
Owen Peckham chuckled with delight. "Oh, how I would love to see that pudgy son of a bitch go to jail!"
Arlene Entienne smiled too. "I'll go along with you on that, Owen. I know he's been a bane to you during press conferences."
"I appreciate your support, Arlene," Peckham said. He looked over at Bentley. "Have you questioned Wallenger yet?"
"No," Bentley answered. "But there are plans to not only interview Mr. Wallenger, but also Don Allen, the president of GNB."
Turnbull leaned forward with a grin. "Do you think that whole GNB group might be working for the terrorists?"
Bentley shrugged. "All we are certain of at this moment is what everybody already knows, Colonel. Their newscasts go in a leftist direction as a matter of practice. There have been times when they've put an extra-strong slant on certain types of reports to support their agenda. The GNB has this reputation even among other journalists."
The President leaned back in his chair. "I want the FBI to go to the very heart of this matter, Liam. Consider that an executive order."
"Yes, Mr. President."
CHAPTER 13
OA IRAN-AFGHANISTAN BORDER
1 AUGUST 0455 HOURS
NUMEROUS dark shapes slipping over the Zaheya defenses and heading down into no-man's-land were suddenly discerned by the SEALs standing-to on their MLR. Lieutenant JG Jim Cruiser was the officer of the watch, and he responded immediately to the excited whisperings coming over his LASH headset.
"All hands!" he said in a businesslike tone of voice. "Turn out! We've got 'em coming over here at us big time."
The SEALs off duty responded quickly, rushing from their bunkers to fighting positions, having grabbed weapons and ammo kept next to their bedrolls. Chief Matt Gunnarson's trio of machine-gun crews were up and ready within sixty seconds. In spite of the frantic activity in the American lines, no careless noise was made that would alert the attackers that preparations had been made to meet the assault. Bill Brannigan joined Cruiser, studying the scene through his NVBs. "I don't see anything."
"They've already dropped out of sight into the cover down in the valley," Cruiser explained. "I counted thirty, but there was more than that."
Bruno Puglisi's voice came over the net. "Skipper, d'you want me and Joe to go topside with our AS-fifties?"
"Negative," Brannigan replied. "Get on line. We're going to need all the firepower we can muster up here."
"Aye, sir," Puglisi replied. "We'll grab a couple of the ex-try M-sixteens."
Over in One Section, Tex Benson, the SAW gunner, caught sight of an individual diving into the cover of a thicket. He aimed the automatic weapon into the vegetation and sent in a short burst of fire. An explosion immediately followed that sent rocks and other natural debris hurtling through the air.
"What the fuck was that?" somebody remarked.
"Maybe one of them assholes stepped on a mine," another somebody replied.
"Keep the chatter down!" SCPO Buford Dawkins said. "Nobody yaks over the LASHes except to give orders or warnings. Anyhow, nobody's laid any mines out there that I know of."
Some additional single shots from the American side of the valley sounded as the SEALs did some search by fire, and after half a dozen rounds were fired, there was another explosion. Chad Murchison's voice could be heard right after the fusillades. "The raghead I shot exploded!"
Suddenly some enfilading fire from the SEAL machine guns swept a portion of no-man's-land where some more ragheads were spotted as they dashed from one thicket to another. The results were two more explosions.
"What the fuck is blowing up down there?" came the senior chief 's voice as he ignored his own orders to can the excessive chatter.
.
ZAHEYA BATTLELINE
LESS than half an hour had passed since Brigadier Shahruz Khohollah gave the attack order via his communications system, sending the suicide bombers over the barricades and down into the valley. Five minutes later, Sikes Pasha and the Arab Storm Troopers, along with Captain Naser Khadid and the Iranian Imperial Lions, scrambled from their fighting positions and rushed downward to the valley floor to trail after the human bombs. The young Arab zealots followed previous instructions by taking advantage of the cover and concealment in no-man's-land. They scampered awkwardly forward to get nearer to the American MLR. The mandates given them were simple: Get as close as possible to the infidels, then blow themselves up.
The Arab and Iranian rifle units behind the martyrs were spread out in skirmish formations, firing upward at the enemy. This tactic would most certainly attract attention and bullets their way, but it also would give the bombers a better chance to get close enough to detonate their explosives and take out a greater number of Americans.
Sikes Pasha saw yet another explosion erupt, spreading a brilliant millisecond of light over the scene. "Poor bluddy sod," he muttered to himself, then he spoke into his LASH. "Amkammal rimaya--keep firing!"
As the Storm Troopers continued to send up their fusillades, the Imperial Lions followed suit. The suicide bombers, now at the base of the slope leading to the SEAL positions, were just about in position to begin the ascent under the cover of the sweeping gunfire from their Islamic brethren behind them.
.
THE BATTLE
THE sun was nearing the apex of the eastern mountains, and the light of day was increasing measurably. Along the line in Three Section, SCPO Dawkins and his SAW gunner, James Duncan, kept busy going after targets of opportunity, som
etimes making guesstimates as to where some individuals might come back into view after rolling or diving into the covering vegetation.
Dawkins spotted one guy emerging from between a stand of boulders and fired quickly at him, scoring a direct hit. He watched in amazement as the guy exploded, a small, dark object flying straight into the air from the center of the detonation. Both Dawkins and Duncan watched the thing, worried it might be a large grenade or a mortar shell. It arced toward their position, then began a downward plummet. The two SEALs dived for cover as it hit the ground near them, rolling along the ground until coming to a halt. They looked at it, then each other, then back at the gruesome object.
The head of a young Arab, his eyes open wide and his mouth grinning eerily, lay against a sandbag a couple of yards away.
Dawkins rose to a crouch and went to it, grabbing the severed cranium by the hair. He heaved it over the side of the fighting position toward the ground below. Duncan shuddered. "That's the damndest thing I've ever seen! I'll be having nightmares about that son of a bitch for the rest of my life."
"Well," Dawkins allowed, "it was kind of weird, alright."
ONE of the bombers, a sixteen-year-old who had left school to martyr himself for Islam, had done a good job of getting close to the American positions. He was a skinny little Saudi Arabian, and he used his slight physique to remain out of sight in the scrub brush as he scrambled across the valley of no-man's-land. His mind-set was such that he scarcely noticed all the firing, with bullets clipping the air around him and zinging off rocks. The kid's entire concentration was on staying alive long enough to get up the slopes right under the infidels and yank the firing cord of his explosive vest. When he reached the far edge of the natural growth of thorn bushes, the determined boy stopped and flung himself to the ground.
The sun hadn't cleared the high country to the east, but it had risen enough that the dark orange of dawn had disappeared from the sky. The kid thought of how proud his parents would be, especially his father when they told all the men at the mosque of this great sacrifice made in the name of Allah the Beneficent. Now the night's coolness was gone, and as the day grew brighter, it seemed like the lights of Paradise shined down on the scene. The lad felt a fierce joy grip his heart, and he hollered, "Allah akbar--God is great!"
He leaped to his feet and rushed into the open toward the slope. When he reached it, he clambered upward, tears of joy in his eyes. He managed to go only five yards before the bullet struck his shoulder, twisting him around and causing him to fall face first into a painful slide down the rugged slope to the base of the mountain. An instinctive realization that he had received a mortal blow swept through his fading consciousness. Blood was in his mouth, and he could barely breathe. His life and the time to end it gloriously were fast running out. It took all his waning strength to grab the detonation cord and give it a weak pull. The battery-powered detonator sparked, the cap flashed, and five pounds of C-4 plastic explosive were set off.
The kid's upper torso was vaporized, and the concussion of the blast killed a rabbit in a nearby thicket.
THE SEALs were now fully aware that the attackers--at least those in the direct front of the assault formation-were suicide bombers wearing explosive vests. Everyone concentrated on singling out the crazy bastards, and shooting them down as they charged out into view. Those who escaped the initial incoming rounds ducked back when the volleys of fire from the Americans built up. Occasional explosions still occurred, sending natural and human debris flying upward, along with shock waves that bounced off the hard ground.
Brannigan now issued instructions that all machine gunners, grenadiers, and SAW gunners were to fire hot and heavy, sweeping the areas near the base of the slopes. It was obvious that the bombers' forward momentum had stopped there, and the fanatics were only waiting for half a chance to rush upward toward the SEAL positions. Meanwhile, the enemy backup force of riflemen had been discovered just past the midpoint of the valley. They were undoubtedly waiting for the bombers to disrupt the defenses enough to allow a decisive charge that would carry them to where they could close in for the kill. If they accomplished that, it would pretty much bring Operation Battleline to a halt, with the Iranians being the big winners.
The combined fire from machine guns, SAWs, and grenade launchers was an awesome, rolling thunder of continual destruction. Both human beings and vegetation in the area were smashed and sliced by the incoming slugs, which cleared them away as if some roaring giant weed whacker were being swung through the area.
CAPTAIN Naser Khadid both crawled and rushed from squad to squad among his Iranian Special Forces troops, checking them out. The Imperial Lions had a couple of men lightly wounded, but Khadid knew that when the Americans were satisfied all the suicide bombers had been blown up, they would begin turning 100 percent of their firepower onto his unit and Sikes Pasha's Arabs.
"This is Khadid," the captain said in English over the LASH to Sikes. He spoke in that language so none of the Arabs or Iranians could understand him. "I have lost track of how many of the martyrs have exploded, but I am beginning to feel they may be all dead."
"Right," came back Sikes. "Poor stupid bastards! It looks like they sent themselves to hell without accomplishing a single fucking bluddy thing."
"They did not go to hell, Sikes Pasha," Khadid said. "They are in Paradise this very moment."
"Right, mate," Sikes said. "But it looks to me like all that's melted away to our front. We're gonna end up being out here on our own with them Yanks having a jolly good time shooting the hell out of us."
"I am in total agreement," Khadid said. "It is time to withdraw. And we must do it fast."
"Right," Sikes said. "Are you listening to this, Brigadier?"
Now Khohollah's voice could be heard.
"Yes, Major Sikes. I shall order the support section to begin heavy fire with the grenade launchers and machine guns. As soon as they start, I urge you and Captain Khadid to withdraw from the valley with all haste."
Khadid responded, saying, "I am ready, Brigadier!"
Within half a minute the German machine guns and Spanish automatic grenade launchers employed by Iranian soldiers began laying down covering fire that pounded into the American line.
AT the same moment that the incoming barrage plastered the SEAL positions, Brannigan noted that the Zaheya infantry units were pulling out of the valley. That left him two choices; one, duck down and avoid casualties; or two, mount a rapid attack and stream down into the valley and rush across to close with the retreating enemy before they could reach safety. It took him one immeasurably short spark of time to reach a decision.
"All sections, counterattack! Chief Gunnarson, whip those M-sixties up on the enemy support fire elements!"
The SEALs, grabbing extra bandoliers at their feet, slung them across their shoulders and climbed over the positions to scramble down the incline into no-man's-land. The SAW gunners and grenadiers continued to coordinate their efforts, firing across the two hundred meters of space to where the Zaheya riflemen were making a disciplined withdrawal from the battlefield.
NOW both sides were locked in a massive firefight. A couple of Iranians and an Arab dropped to the ground as the exchange of gunfire built up in intensity. Two SEALs-Paul Schreiner of the Second Assault Section and Paulo Garcia of the Third--went down under incoming slugs from FA-MAS rifles.
Sikes and Khadid practiced fire-and-maneuver smoothly, keeping their battlefield formations moving slowly, albeit effectively, toward the slope leading to their fortification. They and the SEALs began to catch glimpses of each other, exchanging bursts of fire. The Americans' initial headlong rush toward the enemy had now slowed to their own careful, coordinated efforts as they continued keeping pressure on the Zaheya riflemen, who resisted with fierce determination and skill. The covering fire from the M-60 machine guns back at the base camp whipped over the SEALs' heads as Gunnarson's men ignored the heavy fire from the other side's support weapons.
The f
luid movement of the fighting now came to a standstill as both sides found cover and concealment on their particular side of the valley. The fighting men locked into the battle, settling down to take potshots at each other that were punctuated occasionally with grenade bursts. Out of sheer desperation, everyone was ready to slug it out in the wild hope of victory. Above, on both sides of the valley, the fire support elements had all but neutralized each other. They could not exchange fire without getting into a no-win situation of eventually being blasted out of their fighting positions, and that also meant they could no longer cover their comrades-in-arms below, in the valley. All machine gunners and grenadiers were hunkered down, having thoughts about damning convention and logic to battle it out and destroy each other.
Stalemate.
Unknown to each other, the field commanders of the combatants in no-man's-land reached a mutual decision that the battle had now turned to one of attrition in which there would be no winners. At almost the same instant, Sikes Pasha and Lieutenant Bill Brannigan decided it was time to break it off, and each ordered a withdrawal to their own positions. The two sides put out fusillades of gunfire as they made their retrograde movements, not really trying to hit each other but concentrating on keeping the other guy from showing any tendencies toward aggressive behavior.
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