by Walt Gragg
“From the looks of this, he must’ve been in a hell of a lot of pain for the past few days.”
“The crazy bastard hasn’t complained once. With the constant attacks, he probably felt he needed to stay with his men no matter what. Can you get the shrapnel out?”
“In his condition, I’m not even going to try. I’ll let the doctors handle that. He’s already unconscious. If I do something wrong, he could slip into a coma. All I’m going to do is get a drip started and pump him full of antibiotics. Once he’s stabilized, we’ll load him in an ambulance. If we’re going to save that arm, we’ve got to get him back to the hospital they’ve set up near the landing zone.”
“What are his chances for recovery?”
“Who knows, sir? With all the swelling his injury may look far worse than it actually is. If things go well, in a few days it’s possible the lieutenant might be good as new and ready to rejoin the battalion. You’d be surprised what clean sheets and good living can do to a person. Especially when there’s a pretty face, filled with smiles, bringing you your medicine.”
35
6:34 A.M., OCTOBER 21
ODA 6333, CHARLIE COMPANY, 3RD BATTALION, 6TH SPECIAL FORCES GROUP (AIRBORNE)
IN THE WINE CELLAR, THE HOTEL LOURAINE
CAIRO
The storm rushed south, its immense display surging unchecked down the Nile Delta. As morning neared, the ominous clouds’ downpours continued their assault upon the beleaguered city. The sorrowful heavens gave no indication the tumult would soon end. Silt-clogged eddies of swirling rainwater raced down the timeless streets of Old Cairo. But there existed few outlets for the deluge’s bounty. The confounding rains were finding a home wherever they could.
The hotel’s fading lobby was immersed in an ankle-deep pool of filthy rainwater. The damaged remains of the tattered building creaked and groaned with each blustery gust. So far, the surprisingly resilient structure had stood fast against the appalling conditions. Yet with each of the gale’s fierce blasts, its brittle walls threatened to surrender their tenuous hold and end their defiant stand against nature’s overwhelming power.
Water seeped into the windowless cellar from a dozen widening cracks in its worn walls and ceiling. In much of the dank enclosure, the dirt floor had turned into a soupy mud. Humid morning air, stale and oppressive, hung upon the soiled room like a suffocating blanket.
Kneeling over her, Sanders brought the candle’s flickering light nearer the wounded girl’s face. She was awake again. Despite her attempts to mask her discomfort from the revolting American, pain was etched upon her delicate features. It settled deep within the corners of her eyes. Her vivid eyes held something else. Something she made no attempt to hide. Her eyes were filled with an all-consuming contempt for the man who’d saved her life.
“Good morning, Reena,” he said.
The girl looked up at him in astonishment.
“That’s right, I know your name. Found your ID card when I removed your shirt to doctor your shoulder. Couldn’t make out what most of that scribbling was in Arabic, but your name, age, and address were there in English. You’re Reena Sharma. You’re nineteen years old. And you come from some place in Tunisia I couldn’t possibly pronounce.”
She attempted to move, trying to put a little distance between herself and the black soldier hovering over her makeshift bed. It was no use, however. Even the slightest action sent daggers deep into what remained of her mangled shoulder. The pain was too much to bear. The agony of her efforts soared through her. Reena fought to keep from losing consciousness. She lay perfectly still, praying for the anguish to pass. Her vile captor continued to talk, his foreign words meaningless.
“There’s something else about you. And I didn’t need any ID card to discover it. I knew it the moment I laid eyes on you. Reena, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. And let me tell you, I’ve seen lots of women. I mean lots of women. But don’t you worry, none of them mean a thing to me now.”
She stared at him, the unbearable discomfort slowly receding from her face.
“I wonder if you believe in love at first sight. I never did. At least I didn’t until I found you. I know you’re probably thinking this is kind of impulsive. But I’ve had lots of time sitting in the dark to reflect on it. So I don’t think I’m being the least bit impetuous. As I stare at that sweet face of yours, there’s no longer any doubt. I’m certain I’m falling in love with you. I’ve no doubt you’ll soon learn to love me back. I really am a nice guy when you get to know me. And we could be great together. So my mind’s made up. Don’t even think about trying to talk me out of it. When this is over, if I’m still alive, I’m going to take you with me to America. I realize you’re in no condition to discuss it right now, so I’m not expecting an answer right away.”
He looked at their squalid surroundings. “Let’s face it, there’s no hurry. Neither of us has anywhere to go. I’ll give you all the time you need to make your decision. I know it would be quite a change in lifestyle. But it’s truly a great country. And a wonderful place to raise our children. I bet you’d like it there. It’ll take some work to get all of Mourad’s crap out of that brain of yours, but eventually we’ll turn you into the loving wife every man would envy.”
The wave of misery subsided. The disgust returned to the girl’s face. Lost in his fantasy of what life with her would be like, Sanders didn’t notice.
“Reena, I’m afraid I don’t speak Arabic. Is there any chance you understand English?”
The expression on her face never changed. It was obvious she didn’t comprehend a word he was saying.
“Well, no matter. It would’ve been nice to be able to talk. But I guess that wasn’t meant to be. There’ll be plenty of time to teach you later. For now, it looks like your shoulder’s really hurting. Let me see what I can do to put you at ease.”
Sanders adjusted her pillows, trying his best to make his patient as comfortable as possible. As he did, he accidentally brushed against her wound. She writhed in agony once more.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean to do that.” He grabbed his rucksack. “Look what I found during my last foraging trip.” Sanders held up a half-full bottle of aspirin. “Wish I had a more powerful painkiller. But you’ve got to understand. It’s not like I can wander out to the drugstore to pick something up. Your friends have seen to that. They’re crawling over every inch of ground outside. I’ve already pressed my luck as far as it’ll go. Three trips into the hotel during the night was more than any sane person would’ve chanced. And when I’m upstairs I’m sure you understand I can’t spend a lot of time looking around. As it was, I was lucky to find the aspirin. It’ll have to do.”
He got up and headed for the nearest wine rack. “Let’s find something to wash the pills down. After that, if you’re up to it, maybe you could try eating a bit of the food I discovered in the kitchen.”
Sanders returned with a soot-covered bottle of the finest French wine. He inserted the corkscrew he’d discovered in the little restaurant on one of his precarious ventures outside the basement. As he did, a severe blast of wind rocked the hotel’s structure. Even in the cellar, there could be no mistaking the impact of the powerful storm. The lovestruck sergeant stared at the low ceiling. A momentary fear flashed across his face.
“This old dump probably can’t take much more. I sure hope the ceiling holds if the rest of the building collapses. To tell you the truth, being buried alive wasn’t the way I wanted to go. Lying here trapped beneath thirty feet of rubble with no chance of escaping wasn’t what I had in mind. No slow, agonizing death for me. No, sir. That’s not what I want. When it happens, make my end swift and certain.”
He took out two aspirin. She reluctantly opened her lips to receive the painkiller. He put the wine up to her mouth and started to pour. The instant she realized what he was giving her to drink, she spit the dark liquid in h
is face. Her outraged form was defiant.
“Look, I know it’s against your religion to drink alcohol. But despite the fact it’s raining like crazy outside and there’s water everywhere, none of it is fit to drink.” He held the bottle to her lips once more. “You need to swallow those aspirin.”
She looked at him with an all-encompassing hatred in her dark eyes. Her jaw was clenched tight. Sanders realized he wouldn’t be able to force open her mouth without risking the loss of the tips of his fingers. There was no way she’d drink the wine.
He shrugged his shoulders. “What do I care? Have it your way. Down the damn pills any way you can.” He stared at her ireful face. His tone softened. “Look, I know they’ve got you brainwashed to hate me. But I’ve thought about that too. To tell you the truth, I don’t get it. Someone as pretty as you shouldn’t hold so much anger inside. So how about cutting me some slack. I saved your life, for Christ’s sake. That should count for something. I could’ve left you to die and tried to sneak back to my own lines that first night. That’s what most people would’ve done. It was only a few blocks. I bet I would’ve made it. Right this minute I’d be curled up on a soft bed with a lovely little wench who wanted nothing more than to give old Charlie pleasure. Instead, I’ve been stuck here with you for the past thirty-six hours. It’s now five days since I’ve slept. And there’s no longer any chance of my escaping. That ship has sailed. So now I’m trapped until your sick friends discover this place and put an end to me. And the sad part is, there’s nothing I can do about it. After a day and a half of hiding in this hole, I’m probably five miles behind the Mahdi’s lines. For all I know, all of Cairo’s fallen into his perverted hands.”
Her rebellious expression didn’t change. Sanders stood. He turned and headed over to the far wall. He found himself a reasonably dry spot and dropped to a sitting position with his back against the aging mortar. The girl never took her eyes from him. The cruel death she wished with every measure of her being couldn’t be ignored.
“Have it your way, Reena,” Sanders said with a shrug.
He blew out the candle.
36
11:15 A.M., OCTOBER 21
BLACKJACK SECTION, FIGHTING SQUADRON VF-57
USS ABRAHAM LINCOLN
NEARING RHODA ISLAND
As the late morning rains withered and the first wisps of sunlight peeked through the clouds, twenty-four exacting Super Hornets rocketed down the Nile.
The city was drawing near.
Blackjack Section, with the farthest to travel, was in the lead. Beneath his mask a smile spread across Bradley Mitchell’s face. This was an exceptionally dangerous, highly arduous task. One demanding the most skilled of the American fliers. And Mitchell’s had been the first name the wing commander called at the early morning briefing. The struggling pilot had done nothing to hide the pride he’d felt in being designated to lead the furious assault.
It was exactly the type of action-laced mission he enjoyed. The coming hour would be filled with tension and significant uncertainty for the members of the advancing force. Mitchell’s every thought would be consumed by the enormity of the swiftly unfolding events. The assignment would require lightning-quick reflexes and split-second decisions. Just the thing to allow him to break free from his essence-consuming funk.
With the storm-induced lull in the attacks upon the Marines, the Americans had been able to focus, at least for a few hours, on another critical component in their defense of Egypt. Before that window closed they needed to strike.
Over the past days, they’d been able to use their carrier-based aircraft to destroy every temporary span the Pan-Arabs built across the Nile. Only a few of the hastily constructed pontoon bridges had survived long enough to be of any use to the Chosen One’s armored forces as they attempted to ford the wide waters. The Hornet pilots’ determined efforts had ensured no more than meager numbers of the Mahdi’s tanks reached the streets of Cairo.
They’d been far less successful, however, in stopping Mourad’s infantry from arriving on the eastern shore. Most of the ardent enemy had traversed the broad currents unopposed. There hadn’t been the time, or the resources, to halt the streams of resolved warriors from setting foot upon the eastern banks. From the northern edge of Cairo to its far southern reaches the agile feluccas had continued to cross the Nile filled with soldiers ready to join in on the visceral attack. If the Americans didn’t soon stop them, their growing numbers would permanently tip the scale in favor of the fanatics.
The outmanned defenders had no choice. They had to eliminate the legion of sailing ships to have any chance of holding on to the city. And they had to do it now.
With Mitchell in the lead, the F-18Es had sprung from the Lincoln intent on doing just that. None would return to the carrier until they had destroyed all the little boats, effectively limiting Mourad’s ability to place additional numbers on the other side. The daunting fighter aircraft would swarm over every inch of the dark waters until not a single sail remained.
Each of the deadly Hornets was configured for an air-to-ground attack. All were armed with pods filled with Hydra and Zuni rockets. Their 20mm Vulcan cannons were loaded to the brim for the close-in offensive.
Death was on the way to stalk the ancient river.
As they reached their sections of the time-honored flow, Hornet pairs began peeling away until only the final two aircraft remained. Blackjack Section had drawn Cairo’s southernmost area. They were tasked with razing every Pan-Arab sailing on the troubled currents from the northern tip of Rhoda Island to the final expanses of the great city. To do so, they would be conducting the merciless onslaught from scarcely two hundred feet above the immense currents.
“Rhoda Island coming up on our left, Worm. Get set to undertake the attack. Growler aircraft should have jammed things up real good before we arrived. Even so, there are going to be lots of Stingers in the area, so be ready to drop flares and chaff the moment your system identifies even the smallest of threats.”
“Roger, Blackjack.”
“I’ll handle the left half of the river and the eastern bank. You’ve got the right.”
The duo split, each taking a position in the middle of the targeted area. Three hundred yards apart they began hunting their prey.
Everywhere they looked there were billowing white sails on the storm-surged river. In seconds, Mitchell spotted the first that would find its way into his gunsights. The modest craft was nearing the ravaged island. Every inch of its deck was crammed with well-armed men. The struggling felucca had been built to hold no more than ten. But thirty or more fixated souls clung to its bobbing wooden deck.
The Super Hornet roared toward them. At the last possible instant, those on the ill-fortuned launch spotted the low-flying assassin. Even so, there was little Mitchell’s startled foe could do to save their lives. Their fate had been sealed by the screaming assailant’s sudden appearance. The Chosen One’s promise was coming for them all.
Many of those on the targeted sailboat began firing their assault rifles at the onrushing executioner. Hundreds of hurried rounds rushed skyward. It was nothing more than a useless gesture, filled with noisy symbolism, but little else. The fierce American aircraft was impervious to small-arms fire, no matter how accurate or intense. As he lined up his shot for this initial encounter, its pilot ignored the hapless efforts of those trapped on the accursed vessel.
Mitchell made a passing pull of his six-barreled cannon’s trigger. It was followed by a second. And then a third. Scores of 20mm shells poured from the overpowering killer. The venomous rounds raced toward the august waters. They would be more than sufficient to finish the task. The unmerciful munitions ripped into those firing from the felucca. Huge, fatal wounds appeared. Like a well-rehearsed demon’s medley, those on the boat tumbled from its crowded deck. Each fell into the reddening waters. Not a soul was spared.
The crippled craft b
egan taking on water. Within seconds it sank.
Fifty yards beyond his first victim, the Hornet pilot spotted a further offering. Having deposited its weapons-carrying cargo on Rhoda Island, this one was headed toward Giza to gather a fresh load. Mitchell was so close he could see the terrified expressions on its flailing sailors’ faces. A single burst tore from his Vulcan cannon to devastate yet another of the floundering skiffs. The vessel disappeared beneath the waters, heading for the river’s bottom.
Nearing the island’s southern tip, he found three fiercely blowing sails. Each was just reaching the decimated isle’s jumbled shoreline. The crush of soldiers on the small decks was readying to leap onto solid ground. In all, their numbers approached one hundred. The feluccas and their human cargo were tightly bunched as they touched upon the riverbank.
A wide grin appeared on Mitchell’s face. A huntsman’s feast awaited the voracious predator. The targets were far too tantalizing to resist. The American pilot moved in for the kill. He fired the first of his Hydra rockets from a pod beneath the Hornet’s right wing. The rocket leaped from the eradicating aircraft. It was a whirling blur as it rushed toward the ground.
It took no more than a heart-stopping moment to arrive. An existence-devouring blast, filled with thousands of high-velocity steel fragments, struck in the center of the arriving enemy. An immense explosion tore into the docking boats. Each was ripped apart in the all-consuming assault. Little would remain of the devastated feluccas.
The furious detonation’s crushing power reached out to cut down the luckless Pan-Arabs. Not one would survive the encounter. When the fierce rocket was through, what remained of the battered boats’ ravaged travelers scarcely looked human. Both in the crimson waters and on the blood-splattered shore, the dead and dying were everywhere.
Further targets awaited.
The F/A-18 roared south.
