They touched down on the South Lawn. A group of SEAL snipers ran for the small hill off to the right. The rest of the SEALs made a beeline through the trees for the Oval Office. As he went out the door with his radiomen, Captain Hasford grabbed Welsh by the flight suit and yelled, "You stay the fuck here!" Welsh opened his mouth, and the captain motioned to the helicopter door gunner, who looked at Welsh and smiled. Welsh sat back in the cabin. As soon as all the SEALs were out, the helicopters took off again.
Staying close to the walls, Ali and his three Guards began attaching charges to the armored door of the Oval Office. "Put them near the hinges," Ali said, as quietly as he could through the gas mask. Waving the others back, he pulled the igniters. The Guards hunched over, palms pressed against their ears. Ali prepared to throw a grenade as soon as the door blew.
The Secret Service agent positioned at the door thought she heard something outside. She was trying to see through the blocked peephole when the door blew apart.
Latimer had been watching the helicopters land on the lawn. In the shock of the blast, he automatically rolled over on top of the President. When he saw the open doorway, Latimer pushed the President behind the desk and leaned over the top, taking aim with his M-4.
Something small sailed through the doorway. It looked like a dark baseball and was moving very fast. The object hit a sideboard and bounced into the air. Sensing rather than knowing what it was, Latimer dropped the Uzi and sprang across the room. He made a great one-handed catch and was cocking his arm to throw the grenade back when it exploded.
Latimer's body absorbed most of the shrapnel. More grenades came flying into the room. They hit the walls and floor and bounced wildly. The explosions were incredibly loud, and the Oval Office filled with swirling dust.
After the door blew, Hawkins rolled on top of the burned Secret Service man. He was trying to pull a chair over them both when a grenade went off nearby. The blast hit him like a baseball bat, and he couldn't move or think.
The SEALs in the Rose Garden couldn't get through the armored door to the Oval Office. They began attaching a linear shape charge to blow it open, and a few pounded on the windows, shouting for someone to unlock the door.
Hawkins's head cleared a little, and he saw the SEALs at the window. The sight of his left arm made him sick—he couldn't feel it, but it didn't seem like there was much holding it together. Hawkins knew the grenades were mainly for shock, and that someone would be coming in soon to finish the job. Even though he was afraid his arm would fall off, Hawkins began crawling across the carpet to open the door.
The President was unhurt behind the desk, but his vision was fuzzy and he couldn't hear a thing. There was an awful stench of spilled bowels and high explosives, and blood was splattered everywhere. Knowing what was about to happen, the President picked up Latimer's M-4 from the floor and braced the weapon on his desk, aimed at the doorway.
Ali told his men that they would all go in after the last grenade. Just after it went off, Ali thought he heard something behind them. When he turned around quickly to look, the Guards mistook it for the signal and rushed screaming through the doorway.
Hawkins grabbed the molding of the door with his good arm to pull himself up. His nerves weren't numb anymore, and the pain was searing. He strained to keep conscious.
The SEAL platoon commander positioned his men on either side of the door. He could see Hawkins, but the charge was in place and he knew he'd have to blow it— whether anyone was in the way or not.
As the platoon commander was about to fire the charge, Hawkins tripped the lock and fell out of the way.
Six SEALs burst through the door, almost together, just as the Iranians charged in firing from the opposite side. It was a gunfight through a haze of explosive smoke at a distance of fifteen feet, and the best and fastest would win.
Two SEALs took hits on their body armor and went down. But the three Iranian Guards were nearly dismembered by the concentrated rifle fire. It was all over in four seconds, but the SEALs changed magazines in the blink of an eye and kept firing through the doorway.
Ali watched in disbelief as his men surged past him. He was about to follow when a hail of bullets came through the doorway. The intensity of the fire drove him back out of the office. He couldn't believe it, they had beaten him again. Then a surge of anger forced the thought down.
Not yet. Backing away through the secretaries? office, Ali took the last fire bottle from his pouch. He pulled the safety strip from the cover and lobbed it through the open doorway into the Oval Office.
The SEALs immediately wrapped the President in body armor and a ballistic helmet. The Corpsmen were starting to attend to the wounded when the firebomb came through the doorway and exploded at the feet of a SEAL. They dragged the burning man out of the mass of flames and threw themselves on him, using their own fireproof assault suits to extinguish the blaze. The President was the next out, surrounded by four SEALs who set him beside a pillar and pressed so close that he could barely be seen. Other SEALs braved the flames to drag the rest of the wounded and dead out. The two SEALs who had been hit on their body armor were only stunned.
A SEAL medical corpsman put a tourniquet around Hawkins's arm, gave him a shot of morphine, and started an IV. "Don't worry, pal," he said, "you're going to be just fine."
The morphine had started to work, and Hawkins smiled weakly. "The fuck you say," he told the SEAL. "Looks like another medal…they'll probably send me to fucking Alaska this time."
"What was all that?" a nearby SEAL asked the corpsman.
"Nothing," said the doc. "He's just a little shocky."
Captain Hasford, concerned about his men but relieved beyond words to have the President safe, radioed Lieutenant Colonel Van Brocklin to bring in his helicopter so they could evacuate him immediately.
Diving back into the West Wing hallway with the window drape around his shoulders, Ali knew he would have to move quickly or be trapped by the flames. The men supposed to be waiting for him were gone. He was furious. He dropped his rifle and grabbed a squad automatic weapon from one of the dead Guards. The hallway into the main White House was blocked by fire. Praying that the rooms farther down the West Wing had not been burned, Ali crawled down the hall. He knew it was only a short way to the end. The hall was full of smoke, and he had to hold his breath. The heat made it feel as if his gas mask was melting. Just when he thought he could hold his breath no longer, Ali reached the exit. Now the smoke was thinner, and he could breathe close to the ground.
Ali looked out the window and couldn't see anyone nearby. Deciding that speed was better than caution, he burst out the door and dashed to the left, along the side of the building toward the South Lawn. Nearly running into several White House police, Ali dropped low and crawled into the border of trees and shrubs that screened the Rose Garden from the surrounding buildings.
Crouching behind a clump of bushes, Ali removed his bandana. He tore off the Marine body armor and threw it into the bushes. The one hand grenade left in the pouch went into his pocket. Finally, he stripped off the gas mask, reveling in fresh air that did not taste of rubber. The air was cold against skin used to the heat of the mask.
It felt strange to be completely alone for the first time in months. Ali took stock. He had a full belt left in the squad automatic weapon, and his pistol was in the holster at the small of his back. He could hear Americans talking off to his left, but he needed a clear field of fire. Ali decided to follow the thick foliage around the edge of the formerly pristine South Lawn, now pocked with mortar craters and the debris of explosions.
CHAPTER 32
The helicopters were circling over West Potomac Park when Captain Hasford's call came in. Lieutenant Colonel Van Brocklin passed the orders to his deputy and the other flight leaders. The command helicopter, accompanied by a backup Blackhawk and two gunships, broke off from the formation and headed for the White House. Rich Welsh cinched his seat belt tighter in preparation for another assault landing
. The two doorgunners readied their weapons.
The ten surviving Iranian Guards moved through the ground floor of the main White House, throwing their last few firebombs. They set fire to the Red Room, the Green Room, and the Blue Room. When they tried to enter the East Room, they were ambushed by a team of Secret Service agents. Any escape in that direction was cut off.
The Guards dragged their wounded back through the burning Green Room and tried to flee out the South Portico, but the first two were shot dead by overeager SEAL snipers firing from the small hill on the South Lawn.
A group of SEALs with Secret Service guides came down the Grand Staircase from the second floor and trapped the Guards in the State Dining Room.
The Iranians ignored repeated calls to surrender. After their ammunition ran out, they chose to charge the Americans with their last grenades. None survived, but two SEALs and a Secret Service agent died with them.
* * *
Lieutenant Colonel Ali Khurbasi crept cautiously through the trees of the South Lawn, skirting the driveway that crossed the lawn and curved in front of the South Portico. He picked a spot where the van bomb had blown two trees across the drive and checked to be sure the way was clear. With his SAW at the ready, Ali crawled across the driveway as fast as he could, concealed by the tree trunks. Once on the other side, he followed the treeline bordering the outer fence, then cut back in toward the lawn.
Ali moved slowly on his stomach until he reached a spot where the trees opened up onto the South Lawn. He slid under a large, thick, flowering bush. He couldn't imagine them taking the President out one of the destroyed gates. No, they would call a helicopter, and as soon as they left the safety of the Rose Garden he would have a clear shot. Ali carefully broke off some low branches and laid them over himself to cover his jeans. He extended the SAW's bipod legs and made sure the barrel didn't protrude from the foliage to give him away. He checked once again that the weapon was loaded properly. Then he took the grenade from his pocket and placed it beside him, removing the safety clip and straightening the pin for easy removal. He would not fail this time, he promised himself. There was much blood to be repaid.
* * *
Van Brocklin brought the Blackhawk in along the same route he had used before. Welsh didn't like it one bit It would only make it easier for anyone sighting in on them. Welsh was listening to the radio traffic over his headset when the unit crackled and went out. He reinserted the plug and banged it a couple of times for good measure, but no luck. He took off the headset and put it aside, since he didn't want to accidently screw something up.
As they came in over the trees, Welsh leaned his head out the open door to get a better look. He wasn't afraid of heights, just helicopters. As the rotor downblast blew away the branches, Welsh thought he saw a flash of blue in the treeline between the helicopter and the White House. He looked away and then back, and thought he saw it again. Dark blue is not a color that occurs often in nature.
* * *
Ali cursed as the wind from the helicopters blew away the covering branches, but he didn't dare move.
* * *
Welsh popped the catch on his seat belt and scrambled across the cabin to the left doorgunner. "I think I saw somebody in the trees," he shouted.
The gunner followed Welsh's outstretched arm. "I don't see anything," he shouted back, as Welsh knew he would.
"We can't take the chance," Welsh yelled, slowly so the man could make out the words over the engine noise. "Tell them to keep the President under cover."
"What?"
Exasperated, Welsh lurched forward and grabbed Van Brocklin by the shoulder. The colonel jumped, then pulled up the bottom of his helmet so he could hear.
"There's someone in the treeline," Welsh screamed in the colonel's ear. "Don't let them come out on the lawn."
The colonel's eyes widened, and over the intercom he asked the doorgunners if they could see anything.
Through the windscreen Welsh could see the SEALs bringing the President through the thinly spaced trees that screened the driveway. No one was moving fast enough, and there was no way he was going to sit there and watch the President be gunned down before his eyes. Welsh reached behind the copilot's seat and grabbed the man's personal weapon, an M-4 carbine. He brushed past a surprised doorgunner and jumped out the opposite side door. He kept the Blackhawk between him and the White House. The treeline was only thirty feet away, and Welsh sprinted for it.
Once he was in the trees, Welsh extended the M-4 stock. He made sure the magazine was loaded, and reinserted it into the weapon. There were two more magazines in a nylon pouch attached to the stock. He pulled back the cocking handle and let it fly forward, chambering a round. It suddenly dawned on him that there was an excellent chance of being chopped into hamburger if the doorgunner's vision improved and the kid saw him moving around. Or the SEALs might start clearing the woods and grease him by accident. And he hadn't taken a radio. Nothing like a little fear to focus the mind. Just don't fuck up, Welsh, he told himself. Do not fuck up.
Recalling all the techniques of silent movement, he began making his way through the shrubbery. The green flight suit was good camouflage, and the snug fit kept it from snagging on the brush and making noise.
Once he got through the bordering shrubs it was very open between the trees. The groundskeepers were obviously efficient, and that pissed Welsh off. He went deeper into the treeline so he could come up behind whoever it was.
* * *
Ali saw the Americans in the green uniforms heading toward the lawn. There were four out in front, and the President was completely surrounded by another four. It didn't matter. With the SAW he could knock them down, bulletproof vests or not, then charge them and finish the job before the rest could react. The helicopters wouldn't fire if there was a chance the President was still alive. Ali pressed the stock into his shoulder and leaned into the bipod until the weapon was locked tightly against his body. The safety was off, and he sighted in on the walking figures.
* * *
Welsh cautiously moved from tree to tree with his weapon ready, keeping his eyes toward the border of the South Lawn. He saw a patch of blue and dropped quietly to the ground. He crawled up to the nearest tree and peeked over some large exposed roots at the base of the trunk. There was a man under some bushes about fifteen yards away. What looked like a blue windbreaker made Welsh hesitate for a moment. Shit, no Secret Service agent or plainclothes cop would be lying out there camouflaged in tree branches. This guy was waiting in ambush with what looked like a squad automatic weapon. Welsh knew what the SAW could do, and there was no way he was going to tell this stud to drop it and put his hands up. Welsh had no idea where this particular M-4's sights would hit, so he decided to aim low and just keep shooting. The adrenaline was pumping like it always did in combat. He squeezed his hands into a fist to stop the shaking. He leaned his head and shoulder against the tree trunk, rested the M-4 on the roots, and looked out over the sights. It's time for a little payback, you bastard, he thought.
* * *
Ali heard the M-4 safety click and instantly whirled around. The barrel of the SAW hung up in the bush, and the ground erupted next to him. He yanked the weapon free and fired a burst in the direction of the sound. Then he felt a sharp blow to his side, then more, and lost his grip on the weapon. His first thought was that he had been hit with a club.
* * *
The rounds cracked just over Welsh's head and leaves fluttered down around him. He kept firing and could see his rounds hitting. The terrorist rolled over on his stomach, and Welsh's magazine ran out. Welsh ducked behind the tree, changed magazines, and knocked the charging handle forward. Twenty-eight or so rounds left.
Welsh felt a terrible urge to rush forward, but he stayed behind the tree. He got up on one knee to see better, keeping the M-4 ready. The terrorist was still moving a little. His arms were under his body. "Get your hands out in front of you!" Welsh yelled. "Get 'em out, or I'll shoot your ass again."
* * *
Ali tried to raise his head to see who had hit him, but it was too heavy to move. The earth smelled wonderful, and as he lay there he felt for the first time released from all obligations, content to simply rest under the trees.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a woman advancing with a gun in her hands. The reverie was broken. The woman. The woman in uniform. She was coming for him again. She would beat him and laugh at his weakness.
Ali was frantic. He sobbed into the earth—the SAW was out of reach, and he could not get to the pistol. Once again he was helpless. It was so hard to think, to move. There was something under his chest. He felt with his hand, and cried with relief. The grenade felt marvelous, smooth and cold: an engine of deliverance. He hooked his finger through the pin. He could feel it coming out, but there was not enough time. She would take it away and laugh at him.
* * *
Welsh watched as the male Secret Service guard kept the terrorist covered. But when the woman moved in with the handcuffs, Welsh shouted for her to stay back. She just waved him off. "Don't go near him," he bellowed. "For Christ's sake, don't touch him!"
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