by Walt Gragg
39
5:29 A.M., OCTOBER 23
ODA 6333, CHARLIE COMPANY, 3RD BATTALION, 6TH SPECIAL FORCES GROUP (AIRBORNE)
IN THE WINE CELLAR, THE HOTEL LOURAINE
CAIRO
Charlie Sanders awoke with a start.
There could be no denying, even in his addled state, that he’d been dozing. His catnap had lasted an hour this time. His faltering mind was confused and disoriented. He struggled to clear away the cobwebs. This wasn’t the first time he’d fallen asleep in the past three days. Despite his efforts, after a week without the briefest moments of relief, his body had succumbed to its need for slumber. He understood letting his guard down could prove fatal. If he were sleeping when the enemy discovered his hiding place, he’d stand little chance. So he fought hour after hour against the overpowering craving for unconsciousness.
He took the lighter from his pocket and felt for the candle at his side. Its flame soon burned, illuminating his cramped surroundings. Deep within his taut belly the stranded American was feeling the morning’s hunger pangs. With the flickering light to guide him, Sanders searched the contents of his rucksack. His investigation confirmed what he already knew. The meager amount of food he’d found in the hotel’s kitchen had been consumed. The only provisions remaining were enough packets of MREs, meals ready to eat, to feed a single person for three days. He shook his canteen. There wasn’t sufficient water to prepare the final packets. Even so, he wasn’t concerned. The next time he ventured into the kitchen he’d drain enough from the rusting water heater to fill the canteen.
He was still kicking himself for failing to notice the ample water supply until a couple of days ago. If only he’d thought of the obvious source earlier, the failed attempt to force Reena to drink the wine wouldn’t have happened. And her hostility toward him might not be so great.
Water wasn’t the immediate problem. They had enough of it to get through the coming days. He was certain at least twenty gallons remained within the old water heater. More than adequate, if rationed properly, to last for a long time to come.
Still, they needed far greater amounts of food to sustain them than what they had. Sanders would have to figure out a way to rectify the situation as soon as possible. He glanced at his watch.
He’d no idea how far behind the lines the hotel was situated. From the way things looked on the day he was surrounded, Cairo could have capitulated days ago. Even if such had happened and the war in Egypt was over, he understood he couldn’t surrender. To do so would be to sign his death warrant. If he gave up, his life would be over in no more than a few tortured minutes.
A sharp sword would sever his head.
He’d had endless hours to search the farthest reaches of his mind to discover a way out of his predicament. Yet so far, he’d drawn a blank. With no idea what the tactical situation was, there was no chance of finding a means of escape. His best option, his only option, was to stay where he was and wait. For what exactly, he’d no idea. Nevertheless, the Special Forces sergeant had little choice. Unless discovered by the Chosen One’s soldiers, he suspected his stay in the musty basement would go on indefinitely. He anticipated being trapped in this dark world for far longer than the couple of days his remaining rations would last. It wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility they’d be here for countless weeks. He might have to hole up for months in the suffocating cellar before his chance for freedom appeared. As he stared into his rucksack and its scant supply, he faced the awful truth. Death by starvation was becoming a reality.
Sanders understood what he needed to do.
He got up and headed across the narrow aisle to the girl’s resting place. He held the candle near her face and verified Reena was asleep. With her severe wounds, she’d slept for the majority of the past three days. He’d performed well in addressing her injuries. Her wounds were healing nicely. His stitches were a bit crude, and there’d always be a nasty scar. Yet given the circumstances, he’d excelled in his secondary specialty. There was no doubt she’d survive the bullet that had mangled her beautiful shoulder.
The young soldier smiled as he viewed her face. His peculiar love for her was stronger than ever. Although he’d seen no signs she’d changed her attitude toward him, he believed she’d eventually come around. Despite the bleakness of his situation, he was convinced things would turn out exactly as he desired. Someday, somehow, Reena Sharma would become his adoring wife.
“We’re going to be out of food soon,” Sanders quietly said to the silent figure. “And I’m certain we’ve cleaned out what there was to eat in the kitchen. But there might be a bounty capable of sustaining us for many days waiting in some unexplored corner of this old dump. The hotel was evacuated in one hell of a hurry, and they left a little food in the kitchen. So maybe, just maybe, there hadn’t been time to gather any remaining elsewhere. It’s a long shot, I admit. Still I thought I’d check as many of the rooms as I can to see if there’s some elsewhere. I know I’m risking being discovered, but it’s a chance I need to take. So I’ve decided to go upstairs and stay as long as I dare while searching for something to fill our bellies. The sunrise won’t be here for over an hour. That should give me enough time to look around on the upper floors. You lie real still while I’m gone and dream a sweet dream of mountains of tasty morsels just waiting to be discovered.”
Sanders grabbed his rucksack and rifle. He headed for the wine cellar’s creaking stairs. The cautious sergeant blew out the candle. He couldn’t risk any light once outside his protective den. Even a faint glow might be detected from the corner in front of the hotel. And the result would be inevitable. Within minutes, Mourad’s soldiers would be swarming over every inch of the place.
It was a chance he couldn’t take. He’d have to work in near darkness.
To avoid making more noise than absolutely necessary, he cautiously placed his boot upon the first step. The aging wood groaned. His senses heightened.
He had to be careful. Until he’d returned to the dank cellar, every movement would be adroit and calculated. He understood any ill-positioned action could be his last. Placing his weight to minimize the noise, he eased up the rotting staircase until he reached the narrow door into the kitchen. Sanders took the safety off his M-4. He held his breath and pushed the door open a fraction of an inch. He stood on the top step for nearly a minute, listening for any sound of impending danger. The morning was hauntingly quiet. Outside only a light desert breeze disturbed the early hours. Neither footsteps nor voices reached his ears. He waited, searching in the blackness for anything out of place. Nothing, however, appeared.
Sanders carefully opened the door. He hesitated, adjusting to the dark void within the windowless room and waiting for his mind to confirm it appeared safe to move on. The air in the kitchen hung heavy and stale, but it felt like heaven when compared with the stifling cavern he’d left. He took a tentative step into the kitchen. Without warning, the room came alive. It was filled with furious movement and unwelcome noise.
Something brushed against his boot and rushed past his leg. Something else raced by a fraction later. Sanders froze. He knew in an instant what he’d uncovered. The space was filled with scurrying, squeaking rats. He could feel their sordid presence around him. He waited, never moving a muscle as the vile scavengers hurried to find a hiding place. It didn’t take long for the bloated Nile vermin to locate a safe hole. Their frantic movements subsided as swiftly as they’d begun.
He waited to ensure the rats were gone. Hopefully, no one outside the kitchen had heard the rodents’ actions. If they had, they might come to investigate the cause of the din. He listened for the telltale signs of man-made sounds. Yet nothing out of the ordinary emerged. Slowly, measuring each step meticulously, he felt his way across the small enclosure. He pressed his ear against the lobby door and waited. Once again, nothing but the rustling noises of the morning’s gentle winds greeted him.
He pushed the
door open and peered into the lobby. On the other side of the lightless passage, near the foyer, the enticing stairway waited. Now would come the most harrowing moments of his plan. To reach the stairwell he’d have to cross the room, coming perilously close to the hotel’s front door and the street beyond. As he did, he’d be at his most vulnerable. If his adversary entered at an inopportune moment, or a passing Pan-Arab soldier spotted movement inside the hotel through the dirt-crusted windows, the game would be over. After a brief but furious struggle, his life would end. Nevertheless, traversing the decrepit space was a chance he’d have to take. He needed to discover if more to eat could be found within the Hotel Louraine’s crumbling walls. He knew he was risking it all in hopes of finding something to nourish them. He understood the chance he was taking. He’d few choices left, nevertheless. It was a gamble he had to take.
The anxious Green Beret moved across the dingy chamber. The tattered rug was impregnated with filthy rainwater from the earlier storm. Its surface squished beneath his feet. He did his best to make the minimum amount of noise. Halfway through the cluttered space, he stopped and listened once more. The hotel was deathly silent. The ancient street in front of the timeworn building was the same. He sensed nothing either inside or near the hotel. For the first time, his keen hearing picked up the sounds of distant small-arms fire. There was fighting going on somewhere in the city. Yet he couldn’t determine its source or intensity. Sanders moved on, coming nearer to the entrance.
Finally, the tantalizing stairs were within reach. He felt for the deeply shadowed handrail. Once more, he froze, waiting and listening. A less experienced individual would have headed up the steps and away from the obvious dangers the hallway presented. But Sanders wasn’t going to make such a mistake. Instead, at the bottom of the stairwell he stood motionless, letting his finely tuned senses examine his surroundings for signs of danger. He had to ensure nothing outside the structure seemed amiss. If his movements had been detected, the odds were good that excited voices would fill the street in front of the building. Even more, he needed to verify that nothing on the upper floors indicated the enemy’s presence. In his long hours in the wine cellar he’d heard no indication of anyone inside the hotel. Even so, he didn’t know whether voices in the lobby or floors above would’ve carried to his well-insulated hiding place. And with his luck, Mourad’s men could’ve arrived and headed upstairs while he snoozed. For all he knew, every inch was filled with sleeping Pan-Arabs. So he held his ground in the foyer.
His eyes never left the door leading into the dirty street while he waited and listened. The doorway and the pavement beyond were scarcely an arm’s length away. Sanders would’ve loved to look at what awaited outside the hotel. He was severely tempted to take a quick peek through the tattered curtains. Yet he thought better of it. A glance out the slender windows, even a brief one, might prove fatal if a careful sentry was posted nearby.
Satisfied there appeared to be no one within the building, he turned and headed up at a slow, calculated pace. After pausing on each landing to allay his fears, he intended to go to the sixth floor and work his way down. He’d search as many rooms as he could in the time he had to find the banquet he craved. Long before the sun arrived, he planned on returning with as much food as his strong arms and rucksack could carry.
Shortly before the lobby’s tired clock chimed six, the anxious American reached the top floor. He made his way to the end of the hall and mindfully opened the door on the right. Always conscious of the need to avoid the windows, he started his determined search.
There was nothing in the first room he checked. Or the second. And nothing still in the third. In the darkness, it took twenty minutes to examine the contents of the twelve rooms on the sixth floor. His search found nothing in any of them. There was no food on the top floor.
Disappointment showed at the corners of his mouth. Still, he wasn’t ready to give up. He’d thirty minutes remaining before being forced to crawl back into his hole. He moved to the fifth floor. A first room awaited his inspection. He hoped what he required would appear. If not, he’d keep checking for as long as the coming morning would allow.
Maybe a king’s feast waited in the next room . . .
40
6:47 A.M., OCTOBER 23
ODA 6333, CHARLIE COMPANY, 3RD BATTALION, 6TH SPECIAL FORCES GROUP (AIRBORNE)
THE HOTEL LOURAINE
CAIRO
Sanders had come up empty. For nearly an hour he’d searched for anything they could eat. He’d covered every room on the top three floors. But no food had been revealed. And he’d stayed much too long. The dawning day was near. The creaking hotel was growing far too light to continue with his quest. Maybe tonight, well after dark, he’d resume his mission by scouring the rooms on the first, second, and third floors. He knew from the previous hour there wasn’t much hope of finding anything. Nevertheless, he had to try. Maybe this evening he’d uncover the supplies they desperately needed.
The discouraged sergeant stepped out of the final room on the fourth floor. In the growing twilight he moved like a whisper through the depressing hall. Despite the lack of meaningful sleep and despondency from the futile search, he attentively edged down the old stairs. Every muscle was alert, every sense vigilant. Now wasn’t the time to let down his guard.
Sanders reached the third floor. He paused, listening and waiting. He moved on, a single step at a time. The second-floor landing would be his last stop before the lobby. He soon arrived. He held his breath at this final resting place and examined his surroundings. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
He started down the final staircase. One exacting movement after another, he made his way for home. He was halfway to the foyer. Five minutes from now, after stopping at the water heater to fill his canteen, he’d be back in his burrow.
Suddenly, the hotel’s door flew open wide. Two figures were standing in the half-light. Both were carrying rifles. Each appeared to be wearing a Pan-Arab uniform. The intruders began speaking in a language he didn’t understand. The arriving pair weren’t particularly vigilant. Neither spotted the murky form on the fragile stairs. They moved into the foul-smelling lobby.
“What the hell are they doing here?” Sanders said in a voice so soft only he could hear it.
They soon answered the bewildered American’s question. The first pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He removed a couple, handing one to his companion. He lit both with the lighter he’d liberated from a dead Egyptian soldier a week earlier. As they smoked, they continued their relaxed conversation with no more than a curt glance around the tussled room.
“You two may be careless,” Sanders muttered. “But you’re no fools. It’s still dark enough outside you’d have been spotted three blocks away lighting those cigarettes. Bet you didn’t want to tip off your superiors you were having a smoke, so you snuck in here to make sure you wouldn’t get caught.”
The leader dropped upon the tattered couch in the middle of the lobby. It was obvious the enemy was in no hurry to return to the street. So far, Sanders had been lucky. They hadn’t noticed his presence. Even so, he couldn’t expect his good fortune to last much longer. The day was growing lighter. It wouldn’t take much for the Pan-Arabs to spot him. He needed to find someplace to hide. And he needed to find it fast.
Anywhere was better than where he was. The hundreds of hours of hard training he’d endured in learning how to avoid detection were going to be tested to their limits in the coming seconds. Without the slightest sound, he slowly turned and headed up the stairs. His foot placement on the faltering staircase was critical. Even the faintest noise would be heard by those below. He was eight steps from the second-floor landing. A mistake on any and the game would be over. He pushed aside his fears and focused. A single stair was conquered, and then another. One at a time, he addressed the final six. Undetected, he returned to the second floor.
He slipped inside the r
oom at the head of the stairs. Sanders dropped behind the shaded door. He held his breath and listened, searching for telling footsteps.
He looked around. It wasn’t much of a hiding place. Nevertheless, it was a significant improvement over where he’d been. He pulled his knife from its sheath. Even if it meant all day, he’d stand motionless and wait.
* * *
—
Reena awoke. As she’d done often, she lay perfectly still pretending to be asleep so the infidel wouldn’t bother her. She waited in the devouring darkness, her breathing measured, her body unmoving. For reasons she couldn’t quite determine, she sensed she was alone. She raised her head and scanned the pitch-black room, searching for noise or movement.
There was none.
She held her breath and listened. The small enclosure was silent. Her tormentor didn’t seem to be there. She was becoming more confident her suspicions were true. Her captor had disappeared. When he’d left, and where he’d gone, she hadn’t a clue. She instantly understood one thing with resounding clarity. Her chance to escape and alert her countrymen of the American’s presence had arrived. Her wounds were extremely serious and she’d barely moved in the past days. She wasn’t, however, going to let that stand in her way. Freedom waited at the top of the cellar stairs.
Using the peeling clay wall for support, she started lifting herself to a sitting position. Her efforts were slow and awkward. Her breathing strained. Still, she wasn’t going to be denied. Inch by inch, she struggled against the all-encompassing pain until her back was against the ancient mortar. She placed her good arm on the earthen floor and strove to stand. The attempt resulted in an unqualified failure. She slumped against the wall, fighting the surging torment and compelling nausea that threatened to engulf her. Reena tried again, but didn’t get far. She rested, resisting the misery and steeling herself for another effort. Against all odds, she had to succeed. A third attempt . . . her body tenuously rose. It took every measure of strength she could muster to complete the undertaking.
