The Perfect Candidate: A Lance Priest / Preacher Thriller (No. 1)

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The Perfect Candidate: A Lance Priest / Preacher Thriller (No. 1) Page 29

by Christopher Metcalf


  “Third floor clear,” Captain Hubbard spoke into his mic. “Multiple enemy casualties, no sign of Yellow 1.”

  Fuchs stopped on the second floor landing beside a Delta lieutenant stationed there. “Increase casualty count. No prisoners, no sanction.” Lance watched Fuchs and his control of the situation in a completely new light. Fuchs was no back-bencher. He was a low-key, no-nonsense and lethally efficient killing machine. He turned to Lance and smiled. “Sorry to keep you in the dark on this little side mission, but how do you feel about killing the main asshole?”

  “I’d love to.” Preacher replied.

  Fuchs stepped aside and Lance headed up the next flight to the third floor. Another Delta was posted there. He had been shot in the shoulder but gave no indication it caused him any pain. “Where is Hubbard?” Lance asked the sergeant.

  “Other end of the hall. About to go up.” He replied.

  Lance turned back to Fuchs. “I’ll go to the other end. You go up here.”

  “Not supposed to let you out of my sight.”

  “Got to let me spread my wings sometime,” and Lance started down the hall. He looked back and smiled, “First one to put a hole in Yellow 1 gets a gold star on their forehead.”

  “Just keep your head down.” Fuchs started up the stairwell.

  Sledding up to this point had been a little too easy. The Delta Force teams had more than done their jobs and killed dozens. Only one Delta had been lost and a couple injured. But every perfect mission must face reality eventually. In this case, reality came in the form of the reverberating sound of helicopter blades beating the air.

  As Lance made it to Hubbard heading up the stairwell at the far end of the hall, the unmistakable sound of choppers overhead made them both think the same thing – “the roof” they said in unison.

  “Eyes, give me eyes on the birds coming in.” Hubbard demanded an update.

  “Four I can see. Moving fast. Three spreading out, one heading for the rooftop.” The sentry on the roof next door reported back.

  “Godammit. I need those birds taken down.” Hubbard shouted.

  “On it.” The sergeant stationed at the closest truck, Mushroom, jumped into the back to procure a SAM – surface to air shoulder-fired missile launcher. But unfortunately, at the same time, a dozen Iraqi soldiers came around the corner and spotted him raising the SAM to take aim at the incoming birds. Before he could lock on any of the helicopters, he was blown away in a hail of bullets. As he fell, he pulled the trigger and the missile fired directly into a storefront across the street. The structure exploded and a fireball went up into the darkening evening sky. Abdullah had tried to cover the sergeant, but also fell in the barrage of bullets.

  “SAM is down. Mushroom is out.” The rooftop sentry now turned his attention to the soldiers filing into the street. He took aim and took down four of them. Unfortunately, the helicopters and gunners coming on scene could see the muzzle flashes from his M-16 plain as day on the rooftop. He was nearly cut in half by a 50-caliber machine gun. A third Delta Team member was gone.

  Just over 800 yards away, Seibel watched the choppers come in and the fireball go up. He knew the mission was over. He just knew it.

  He watched the chopper land on the roof of the office building and he knew Saddam was still among the living. A call had gone out, a rescue mission had been launched to save the Iraqi leader. Seibel had listened to the Delta radio traffic and knew the situation his men faced. He spoke into the radio with a voice significantly calmer than his demeanor.

  “Pepperoni, Sausage, prepare for departure. Now.” Papa ordered the two remaining trucks to get ready to evacuate.

  Lance and Hubbard heard the words and shook their heads. Tarwanah and Jamaani jumped into the cabs of their trucks and moved to the east and north sides of the building. The Delta Teamers in and near the lobby stepped out to the perimeter to take aim at the approaching Iraqi soldiers.

  Lance felt the tug at his shoulder and turned to look at Hubbard. The mission’s lead captain started down the stairs. Preacher should have followed. Should have been right on his tail. But instead, he turned to the door knowing full well someone with a loaded gun stood on the other side. Hubbard turned back up to him.

  “Soldier, move now. We are out of here in 30 seconds.”

  “Sorry sir, we’re too close. If he is through that door, then we need to take him down. Papa did not put all this together to have it fall apart when we’re this close. I’m going in.”

  And with that, Lance fired a dozen shots through the door leading into the fourth-floor hallway. He kicked the door open and rolled inside. As he rolled, he fired into the hallway killing three security guards. Pretty good stuff. But a fourth guard fired his machine gun in Lance’s direction striking him twice, in the right thigh and hip. Lance winced but returned fire blasting the man backward with four rounds center chest. Getting better with a gun all the time.

  He rose to one knee in firing position and realized in an instant he was back at Harvey Point working his way through a training mission completed several dozen times. Preacher noted that he’d never been shot in those training sessions, but what the hell. First time for everything.

  With the hall clear, he got up on his wounded leg and advanced to the other stairwell with roof access. As he approached, he heard gunfire at close range behind the door. Suddenly, Hubbard passed him. With a wounded leg, Lance was slower than normal. As they reached the door, they silently coordinated their entrance and burst through.

  He and Hubbard stepped through the doorway and annihilated two of Saddam’s remaining security guards positioned above on the stairs firing down the stairwell at Fuchs below. With these men down, Hubbard ran up the stairs leading to the roof with Lance limping behind. Fuchs and Marsh, a Delta Sergeant, came up quickly behind them.

  Hubbard looked back at them and signaled a four-direction entry onto the rooftop. He threw open the door and all four of them spilled out onto the roof firing in all directions. Just over 40 yards away stood two security guards firing back at them. Ten yards behind the two guards, the helicopter revved up its whirling blades. Getting onto the chopper were two men, one seriously wounded, bloody and limping badly. It was Saddam.

  Injured but not dead.

  All four of them fired on the security guards. They went down in the hail of shots. But behind them, a gunner firing a 50-caliber gun took aim on them. They had to spread, jumping, rolling, twisting in all directions. In this precious succession of seconds, the pilot put the chopper to full throttle and lifted off the rooftop. Hubbard regained composure and expertly put three bullets into the gunner’s head, but the chopper began to lift and bank away.

  All four took aim at the bird and in just a few seconds fired hundreds of shots into glass and metal and hopefully flesh. The pilot expertly turned away from the barrage and dropped the bird off the edge of the 50-foot tall building.

  The bullets fired into the helicopter were all that the team could do. A few moments later, the whirling helicopter rose back into their view. They raised their weapons to take aim again, but at the same time one of the three other helicopters moved in from the west and opened fire. Hubbard was struck in the back and hurled forward by the 50-caliber round. Fuchs turned his aim at this new chopper. Lance and Marsh moved to grab up Hubbard and pull him inside the protection of the stairwell.

  Once they were all back inside, Lance and Marsh put Hubbard’s arms over their shoulders to carry him down.

  “We are coming down. The bird got away. We will be at rendezvous in 30. Hubbard is hit.” Fuchs reported.

  “Pepperoni in position and ready.” It was Tarwanah.

  “Sausage ready,” Jamaani added from the cab of his truck.

  The remaining Delta Teamers gathered in the lobby of the building laying down suppression fire against the Iraqi soldiers gathering at the end of the block. Everyone in the team knew the next steps. Evacuation was as important as entry exercises for Deltas. The exit route required the t
wo working trucks to transport team members to the rally point where the two choppers that dropped them off this morning would retrieve them and hightail it back to the desert and across to Saudi Arabia.

  That all looked a whole lot better when there weren’t helicopters buzzing overhead. To a man, they knew the prospect of getting out of here in those trucks without getting the hell blown out of them by the guns mounted on those choppers was none, not even slim. They needed a miracle.

  As if on cue, Seibel’s miracle came through. The ground shook beneath their feet and a fireball lit up the sky less than a mile away. High overhead, US aircraft had unleashed a little hell on essential command-and-control targets in Baghdad. Lance knew from his memorization of city that the explosion was a refinery. As he, Fuchs, Marsh and a badly wounded Captain Hubbard reached the first floor lobby, a second ground-shaking explosion went up. This time to the east.

  “Power plant.” Lance whispered. Moments later all lights went out. With the sky mostly dark now, the loss of electricity would make it more difficult for the helicopters to make out what was happening below. Getting away might just be merely impossible now.

  Fuchs assumed mission control with Hubbard injured and barely hanging on. His demeanor was complete command. Fuchs spoke into the open radio, “Everyone. We exit east and north ends of the building and board the vehicles. Put down fire in all directions. No delays, no one left behind. Go.” As they split into two groups and made their way to the trucks, another explosion rocked the evening sky. This one was closer. It shook the building and knocked out a few windows. Glass shattered all around as they made their way to the waiting trucks.

  Before the last man was on board, the vehicles were rolling toward the pick up spot just less than two miles away. Each man reloaded weapons and took up positions with their sights set on either the surrounding landscape or up at the sky.

  It took the choppers only seconds to begin their assault on the moving vehicles. The first one swooped in with the gunner opening fire. Usually, a helicopter with a 50-caliber weapon sweeping in from above has a significant strategic and tactical advantage over those below. But usually those below are not Delta Force teams and trained CIA killers. As the gunner opened fire, two team members returned fire and literally blew the gunner’s head off. It exploded as it was struck by a dozen rounds. The pilot’s vision was obscured by multiple shots striking the glass in front of him. He pulled up and made room for the next attacking chopper. One down.

  Tarwanah and Jamaani had worked out their routes to the pick up spot in advance. They took different streets that basically ran parallel toward the destination. The Jordanians pushed the trucks to their speed and control limits. Traffic was extremely light as nearly all of Baghdad hunkered down in advance of the inevitable US attacks.

  Lance was sitting in the cab next to Tarwanah with an M-16 pointed out the window. An Iraqi army jeep appeared from around a corner and Lance was the first to take a bead on its passengers. His spray of bullets killed the three soldiers inside. The vehicle rolled lifelessly forward into a parked car.

  Word had definitely gone out and several more jeeps appeared ahead. The Deltas standing in the rear of the truck focused their weapons on the vehicles and a deadly barrage of bullets took out those inside and exiting from the jeeps. The two cargo trucks hurling through the streets of southeast Baghdad were a killing parade leaving carnage in the streets behind.

  With the open field now in view, Lance got excited about maybe getting out of here. One hell of a story to tell. He looked at his blood-soaked pants. The pain was slightly past severe but not much he could do about the wounds right now. He’d have to hit the first aid kit on the Black Hawk. A radio staple by Journey started up in his head. His foot tapped along on the floorboard.

  He was going out of body when a helicopter gunner overhead took aim and scored a direct hit on the right front panel and tire just feet from where Lance sat. The tire basically imploded and the radiator spewed steam. Smoke shot out through the holes and the truck rocked back and forth as Tarwanah expertly maneuvered the vehicle on three tires and a sparking bare wheel.

  The Jordanian knew right away they were sitting ducks. He spun the wheel and maneuvered the truck into an alley where they would have a little protection from the chopper and be able to fight off soldiers approaching on foot. It wasn’t ideal, but stopping in the middle of the road was suicide.

  As they came to a stop, the Delta Teamers automatically disembarked from the vehicle and took up positions without a word. Their actions now were instinctual, based on years of drills and real-world experience. Lance got out and stepped up on the runner bar to take a look at Hubbard lying on the truck’s bed. He was bandaged and in bad shape but still managed a smile and thumbs up.

  “Foxy, Foxy. We are hit and disabled approximately a quarter mile from rendezvous.” Lance spoke into his mic calmly. As if he’d been here before.

  Fuchs and his fellow passengers were a couple hundred yards away fending off the other helicopter. Shots being fired in succession made it difficult to hear him. “What is your position, exactly?”

  Lance could see exactly where they were on the map in his brain. A little red “you are screwed” circle flashed on his mind map. “Approximately 500 yards southwest of the pickup on the road. We pulled into an alley after losing a tire.” Lance could see the helicopter buzzing the other truck.

  “We’ll be there in two minutes. After we blow this damn chopper out of the sky.” Fuchs’ German accent 100% gone.

  Another benefit of Tarwanah bringing the vehicle to a stop was the opportunity to fire the remaining SAM without burning the skin off everyone in the truck bed. Marsh grabbed the shoulder-fired missile launcher and stepped up to the front of the building to peak around. The chopper was banking around; coming in from the north. He flipped the activation switch. The high-pitch whine revved up. To get the shot off, Marsh needed to move out into the street. Lance stepped out in front to lay down covering fire against the soldiers coming up on foot.

  Both Lance and Marsh spotted them at the same time. Coming in fast from the south were two more helicopters. But these were Black Hawks -- the units that dropped them off early in the morning. The Black Hawks separated about a half-mile out, one destined for the chopper swooping in on Lance’s crew the other targeting the bird harassing Fuchs’ group. Marsh switched the SAM off, not wanting to fire the missile and have it hone in on the heat signatures from their own birds. He and Lance stepped back behind the building’s corner.

  The Iraqi pilots didn’t have a clue what was about to happen. The Black Hawk swooped in behind the first unsuspecting chopper. The Hawk’s co-pilot had moved to the M60 machine gun. When they were within 200 yards, he opened fire. It was sitting duck city.

  He strafed the Iraqi bird mercilessly. Within seconds, smoke appeared and the chopper began to falter. The engine and rear rotor were hit. A few seconds later it exploded in a fireball as it crashed a block away.

  The Iraqi soldiers who had been advancing on the alley stopped and took up aim at the Black Hawk. The pilot had to bank hard to move out of firing range. As the closer bird lifted away, the other Iraqi chopper less than a quarter mile away started its rapid descent. It too had been riddled by the second Black Hawk’s M60. Two more down.

  With the harassing birds out of the air, both trucks could have proceeded to the pick up spot and got the hell out of Dodge in minutes. But trying to make it to the pickup spot on three tires would make Lance and crew an easy target.

  “Should we run for it?” Marsh called to everyone.

  “Just over a quarter mile, but out in the open and we need to carry Hubbard,” Lance replied.

  Tarwanah came around the truck. “If we stay here we will be sitting targets for them in three maybe four minutes.”

  “Can the bird land right here in the street and pick us up?” Captain Doster this time.

  “Do you think we can lay down enough fire to keep them back?” Marsh looked around
the corner and saw three jeeps coming and what looked like several dozen Iraqi soldiers running.

  “Foxy, how far away are you?” Lance called to Fuchs.

  “We will be turning onto your street in 30. What does it look like there?”

  Lance joined Marsh to look around the corner of the building. “The locals are restless and coming. Maybe 45 seconds to a minute and they’ll reach us.”

  “Pepperoni, this is Beaver 1. We will come back around in a flash to run off some of those wild Indians. Where is Mushroom? We see only you and Sausage en route.” The pilot of the first chopper called in while banking around.

  “Mushroom is out. All team members are in the two remaining trucks. And now we are down to one. Pepperoni’s wheels are SOL. Sausage is swinging around to come to our rescue.” Lance responded.

  “I see.” The pilot radioed his counterpart. “Beaver 2 we need to lay down a little cover to allow these boys to join up and make it over to the rendezvous.”

  “Got it. We’ll come around at 3 o’clock for a run and hit their position.” Beaver 2’s pilot replied.

  “Beaver 1, what else can you see from up there? How many more locals do you see rallying to our location?” Lance posed an important new question.

  “Tough to tell with lights out. Looks like another firefight is going on a few blocks back. But I see more headlights moving your way. We need to get ya’ll outta there quick-like.” The pilot could see the warehouse battle still raging, but indeed, vehicles appeared to be gathering to follow the action.

  In the distance, another massive explosion went up illuminating the night sky for a few moments.

  “All units, all units. Gather up your stuff now.” Seibel weighed in after listening for 10 minutes of non-stop action. “Grab Hubbard and throw him onto Sausage when they reach you. You two birds lay down a shitload of cover fire and escort the Sausage mobile to pickup. Get everyone out in five minutes. Move.”

 

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