Leahy’s reaction was instantaneous. He dove away from the fire, belly-crawling into the darkness. When he was safely away from the light, he lay still, barely breathing. He could see Williams's shadowy form lying twenty feet away in the circle of dying firelight. From that distance there was no way to tell if he was alive or dead. Nothing else was visible.
There was a throbbing pain in the back of his neck, but he resisted the urge to touch it. Something warm trickled down into the collar of the L-suit. He did not have to see it to know it was blood. There had been no sound, but he knew that a bullet had grazed his neck and another had hit Williams in the chest. Since they had heard nothing prior to the impact, it was apparent that whoever had fired on them was using a silencer. He listened intently for any noise while he mentally reconstructed the shooting. Without moving, he cut his eyes in the direction of the campfire. From the direction in which Williams had fallen, he guessed the bullets had originated from a point to the left of where he now lay. Though he could not see it in the darkness, he knew that about fifty yards in that direction was a gentle rise in the landscape. The other side of that rise would be the most advantageous spot from which a sniper could shoot. From that location the assailant could cover their entire campsite with his weapon.
Leahy assumed that whoever had fired on them could not see him at present, and was probably wondering how badly he had been wounded. If the sniper wanted to finish the kill, he would have to wait for his prey to reveal himself before firing additional shots. He decided that the best course of action was to lie still and wait for the other man to move. In one of his lectures on survival, Williams had reminded him that blind people were highly sensitive to sound, and that by closing your eyes you could increase your own hearing ability. Though he hated to lose what limited vision the darkness afforded, he closed his eyes and concentrated on listening.
He knew the black jumpsuit added to his concealment and would make it nearly impossible for anyone to see him unless they were close enough to step on him. If the sniper's weapon was equipped with an infrared scope, the special lining of the suit would keep his body heat from revealing his position. The only exposed parts of his body were his face and hands, so he buried his face in the crook of his arm, shoved his hands into the sand, and tried to keep his breathing low. He wondered how badly he was hurt. It felt as though someone had pulled a hot poker across his flesh. However, he knew the wound could not be serious as he was still able to move. A deep cut in that area would have severed the neck muscles and probably paralyzed him. If the sniper did not force him to move in the next few minutes, the blood would probably clot.
Over the last few days he had become familiar with the night sounds of the desert. He listened intently, trying to isolate anything unusual. His ragged nerves turned the minutes into hours, but no sound came to him except the subtle movements of the land itself. A light breeze stirred the scrub and whispered in his ears as it drifted across the sand. The air was turning colder, but his body stayed warm inside the suit. Occasionally, he opened his eyes and peered toward the campsite. The fire had gone completely out and he could no longer see Williams's body. He considered trying to crawl to him, but thought better of it. The sniper would be expecting him to do exactly that.
Few options were available to him. It might be possible to crawl deeper into the brush without being detected and eventually get out of the area, but that would mean abandoning Williams, and he rejected that choice as soon as it surfaced. On the other hand, if he kept still the sniper might think he had died in the brush and leave without making sure. Then he remembered the silencer, and eliminated that option. The man who had fired the shots was obviously a professional, and would not leave without making certain the job was finished. Given those circumstances, only one option remained. He had to fight.
The utility knife he carried on his belt was the only thing in his possession that would pass for a weapon. But the knife was useless unless he could get close to the sniper without being detected, and not knowing the man’s exact location made that option a poor choice. The only other thing that might be of help was the emergency flare gun in his pack. The flares would be useless as a weapon at any distance beyond fifteen feet, but if he could get off a shot it might attract one of the patrol helicopters. Moreover, it might scare the sniper into fleeing, or at least into revealing his position. He decided to wait another ten minutes then try for it. If he stayed where he was much longer, the sniper was bound to begin searching for him.
When he was satisfied that enough time had passed, he slowly stretched out his legs and rotated his body headfirst in the direction of the campsite. He had no way of knowing how long he had lain in the same position, but his neck muscles had stiffened painfully. He kept still for another minute, alert for any sound or movement. When nothing happened, he began belly-crawling across the ground. Every few seconds he would stop and listen, but heard nothing. There was no moon, but the stars stretched across the blackness of space like the inside of an inverted bowl. Though they were as bright as jewels, their cold light did little to relieve the darkness. He knew he was moving in the general direction of the campsite, but there was no way of knowing how much distance he had closed. Every few feet he reached out with both hands and felt the ground ahead of him. After what seemed like hours, his groping fingers came into contact with the dead embers of the fire. He slithered around the ashes and continued to inch his way across the ground. Within a few seconds he bumped into one of the supply packs. He let out a long, relieved breath. Although he had crawled less than a hundred feet, the stress left him exhausted. In spite of the cold, a fine bead of sweat stood out on his forehead.
He pressed his face against the pack and rested, listening to the pounding of his heart. The material around the neck of the L-suit felt sticky, indicating that he had opened the wound again. While he rested he considered trying to locate Williams’s body, but decided against it. There was nothing he could do in the dark, and if the sniper was still watching he might only succeed in drawing fire. After a couple of minutes he pushed the pack to arm's length and managed to open the buckles of the top flap. He reached inside and felt the oblong shape of a military mess kit and cardboard packets of ready-to-eat meals. He eased the metal container out of the pack, careful not to rattle the spoon and fork inside. One by one he gently removed the other items, looking for the flares. He finally found them in a side pocket. After a few seconds he had one of the cylindrical objects in his hand. It was shaped like a shotgun shell. Next he took out the flare gun, and as quietly as possible, loaded it. There was a little snap when he closed the breech. The sound was inaudible beyond a few feet, but his nerves magnified it into a thunderclap.
He rolled onto his back and thought about his next move. If the sniper was still there, he would only have an instant between the time the flare went off and the man opened fire. That meant he would have to be ready to run as soon as he pulled the trigger. He decided to run in a zigzag line directly toward the rise. That should make him hard to hit, and would provide an opportunity to see where the man was hiding when he raised up to shoot. The only problem was surviving long enough to reach him. He oriented himself as best he could and got to his knees. Though the darkness and black clothing made him almost invisible, he felt totally exposed. Without wasting time he braced himself, raised his arm, and fired the flare directly overhead.
He was up and running before the noise of the explosive charge faded. The flare streaked into the night sky on a thin column of fire. His eyes were dilated because of the darkness, so to prevent temporary blindness when the flare exploded, he closed one eye as he ran. If things worked right, the sniper would be watching the flare as it went up. That would give him more time to reach high ground before he was spotted.
Three seconds later the flare burst into brilliant radiance, bathing the desert in white light. Leahy opened both eyes and almost stumbled in surprise. Halfway down the slope, not fifty feet away, stood a man dressed in camouflage fa
tigues! The man held one hand across his eyes, apparently blinded by the sudden flash of light. His other hand held a short rifle equipped with a telescopic sight. Leahy redoubled his speed in an attempt to reach the sniper before his eyes adjusted to the light. When he was within twenty feet the man dropped his hand from his eyes and looked directly at him. He tried to raise the rifle into firing position but it was too late. Leahy clenched his teeth and hit him at full speed with a body tackle.
The man grunted in pain as the impact knocked his breath out. They hit the ground together and rolled a few feet down the slope, arms and legs entangled. Somehow the sniper managed to hold onto the rifle as they tumbled. Leahy grabbed the barrel with his left hand and forced it away from their bodies. He balled his free hand into a fist and delivered a terrific blow to the man's right temple. The sniper grunted, shook off the punch, and shoved a forearm under Leahy’s chin, forcing his head back. Leahy struck two more quick blows to the sniper’s face, but the swing was too short to have much effect. The sniper was the larger of the two, and he used his greater bulk to slowly roll their bodies over and get on top. His forearm slipped from beneath Leahy’s chin and pressed hard on his throat. He jerked his knees up in an attempt to change position, but the sniper braced his own legs and held him down, trying to crush his larynx. Blood pounded in his head as he gasped for breath. He was aware that if the pressure continued it would only be a matter of seconds before he lost consciousness. In desperation he cupped both hands, drew back, and slapped them hard over the sniper's ears. The man screamed in agony as pressure exploded inside his skull. He rolled off Leahy and staggered to his feet, still grasping the rifle. Leahy scrambled a few feet away and got to his feet. He faced the sniper in a crouch just as the flare died, plunging them into darkness. The last thing he saw was a look of cold hatred on the sniper's face as he raised the rifle. A streak of orange flame erupted from the gun's muzzle followed by the zing of a bullet passing within a foot of his head. Miraculously, the sniper had missed him! He jumped to his left, attempting to avoid the next shot, dropped to his knees and froze, holding his breath. Two more shots whizzed by him and thumped into the sand a couple of feet to his right. A few seconds of silence followed, then a muffled cry from the sniper. Leahy heard something heavy hit the ground, but he remained as still as death, waiting for the next bullet. For several more seconds there was complete quiet, then he heard someone moving around. His breath began to come in small jerks as he waited for the volley of gunfire that would end his life. Finally, a voice came from the darkness.
“Matt! Where are you?”
The voice belonged to Chuck Williams!
Chapter 8
Leahy was too stunned to respond. He remained motionless for a few seconds, trying to catch his breath. Williams called out a second time, his voice anxious.
"Over here, Chuck," he managed to rasp.
It was hard to tell which hurt the most, his throat or his neck. The cut was packed with sand from the fight, and the blood had stopped. Williams found him, knelt and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“You okay?”
“No.....yeah, I think so. I thought you were dead.”
“For a couple of seconds I thought so, too. Let’s get back to camp and take a look at you.”
"Where's the gunman?" Leahy asked, as Williams helped him to his feet.
"Dead. Do you know who he was?"
"I don't think so, but I really didn't have time to get a good look."
They started off in the general direction of the campsite. When they found it Williams opened one of the packs and took out a flashlight. Using it, they gathered up the unburned wood from the fire and got it going again. They rested for a few minutes, then Williams checked Leahy’s wound.
"A nice cut," he observed, "but I've seen worse. We better clean and bandage it."
"Don't bother with it now, Chuck. Unless I miss my guess, help's already on the way."
"What do you mean?"
"This whole part of the desert is air-patrolled twenty-four hours a day. One of the helicopters is bound to have seen the flare."
"You want to tell me what's going on?" Williams asked in a quiet voice.
"Later. First tell me why you're still alive. I heard the bullet hit and saw you fall before I ducked out of the firelight."
"It was the L-suit. I told you they were tough." He rubbed his chest, then opened the suit far enough to expose the bullet’s impact point. Leahy shined the flashlight on him. A large purple bruise discolored the skin on the left side of his chest.
"Damn!" Leahy said. "Skin's not even broken. I know a lot of cops who'd give a year's pay to have one of these suits."
"Felt like a sledgehammer hit me," Williams responded. He touched the bruise with his fingertips and winced. "I think it may have cracked a rib or two."
"I lost sight of you after you were hit," Leahy said. "What happened after that?”
"You've got good reflexes, my friend. You moved so fast I didn't have time to say anything. I couldn't get a bearing on the direction the shots came from, so I just laid still and waited. I figured whoever it was would come down sooner or later and I'd get him with this," he brandished the knife. Leahy noted it still had blood on it.
"I don't mind telling you that if you hadn't fired that flare when you did, I might have killed you by mistake. I thought you were him prowling around our campsite. Anyway, after you tackled him and the two of you were wrestling about on the slope, I came running up behind you. I was almost there when you broke free and jumped up. Son-of-a-bitch tried to shoot you and almost hit me a second time. Missed me by this much!" He held up his forefinger and thumb an inch apart.
Leahy could not help but chuckle. He shook his head and said, “I thought I was a dead man. I don’t understand how he missed at such close range. I guess you must have distracted him. How did you manage to take him out?"
"Simple. After the flare went out I knew he had to divide his attention between the two of us. You were on his right, so I dodged around in the opposite direction and came up behind him. When he fired the second time I used the muzzle flash to locate him. The rest was routine." He grinned and slipped the knife into his boot.
Leahy remembered how shocked he had been when Williams had demonstrated the impenetrable nature of the L-suit by slashing the knife across his arm. The casual manner in which he spoke of killing the sniper with that same knife gave him a chill. He could almost feel the long blade slipping into his own body.
"You're a dangerous man, Mr. Williams," Leahy observed.
Williams laughed. "From what I saw when the flare went off you're no grandma yourself." His tone held a note of respect. "That was a pretty slick move, firing the flare. In fact, I think I'll give you a passing grade in desert survival." They laughed then sat quietly for a few seconds.
"We better go check on our friend," Leahy suggested.
They found the body and Williams shined his light on the man's face. The glazed eyes were open, staring at the stars. At the base of his throat was a neat puncture wound where the knife had done its work.
"You recognize him?" Williams inquired.
Leahy looked closely at the dead face. The flashlight gave its features an eerie appearance. "No. I've never seen him before."
They rolled the body over and checked it for identification. Except for a plastic cigarette lighter in one of his front pockets, they found nothing. Leahy turned back the collar of the man’s camouflage shirt. The label had been cut out, leaving only a thin white strip of nylon where it had been. He tried to pick up the rifle, but even in death the sniper clutched it tightly. With difficulty he pried it loose and examined it.
"Shine your light on this," he told Williams. He rolled the weapon over and checked the mechanism and barrel. The manufacturer's name and serial number had been ground off the barrel, making it untraceable.
"Looks like he went to a lot of trouble to keep his identity secret," Williams offered.
"Or someone else's ide
ntity." Leahy responded. "If he'd managed to kill us, there would have been no need to hide his identity since we wouldn't be here to ask him any questions. He wasn't carrying any identification just in case something backfired and he was killed or caught. That way we wouldn't be able to trace him to any accomplices."
Williams nodded. "The camouflage clothes probably kept the helicopter patrols from spotting him during the day," he said.
"That's right," Leahy responded. "But he must have had a supply pack. Let's take a look around."
As they began their search, the noise of a helicopter became audible in the distance. They looked in that direction and watched as the chopper homed in on their fire. When it reached the area, a bright searchlight cut the darkness and played over the campsite. The chopper circled a couple of times before the light illuminated the place where they were standing.
They shielded their eyes from the glare as a speaker blared out: "This is a United States military aircraft. Drop the weapon immediately and lie face down on the ground! Spread your arms and legs apart and do not move!"
Leahy threw the gun down and dropped to his knees, but Williams remained standing, glaring up at the light. "For God's sake, Chuck, get down!" he shouted over the noise. The urgency in his voice convinced Williams to obey. He dropped down beside Leahy and they both stretched out on the sand, arms and legs spread.
The pilot settled the gunship to the ground and two Marines with automatic rifles jumped out. They ran to where the two men lay and trained their weapons on them. A young lieutenant came in right behind them. He shined a light in their faces, and then recognized Williams.
"Captain Williams, sir!" he shouted in surprise. "You men get those weapons down!" he ordered the two Marines.
After Leahy and Williams got to their feet, the officer saluted and said, "Lieutenant Greenwald, sir. We saw your flare."
"Have your men secure the area, Lieutenant," Williams shouted over the noise of the helicopter. "Spread out in a wide pattern. We've had some serious problems here and I want to make sure there are no other people in the area."
Close Up the Sky Page 11