Swedish Drop
Page 8
"I need five more minutes, sir. The system is running slow."
"Copy."
McNeil nodded. "I got that covered." John watched as McNeil jammed his stubby fingers inside his vest and retrieved a small item that looked like an Allen wrench.
"There you go," Voggle said peering over McNeil's shoulder as he carefully reattached the battery of the ignition sequencer disabled when the warhead was removed. He grinned and turned to John. "How's the signal now?”
"Much better... I always heard you guys were good. Now I know why." Just as John pasted the last string of code in place, another explosion rocked them. This time, like shrapnel, tiny pieces of stone and plaster tore through the room, pinging off John's helmet and scratching Voggle's arm.
Holy Shit, this place is about to be blown off the face of the earth...
John stood, cradling his laptop in his arms. The two others gathered around and looked on as the signal from the guidance system scrambled and went dark. Snapping the computer closed, he shoved it inside his pack, and the EODs counted to three before hoisting the sling off the ground. They began side-stepping their way toward the door with John following behind.
Outside, Stone, Norton and the others had fanned out, hidden at strategic positions along the courtyard wall. John and the EOD guys crouched behind a trash heap. "WARHEAD MUTE. I repeat WARHEAD MUTE,“ John whispered the code words into his mic to initiate their extraction.
"Copy — WARHEAD MUTE,” Commander Dewett reported. "Proceed to the extraction site. Bird's ETA fifteen minutes."
God, I hope we can hold out that long...
Suddenly, the bursts of gunfire ceased. "Clear... Advance!" Stone yelled.
John held his weapon with both hands and dashed toward the courtyard entrance with the sound of the EODs plodding footfalls close behind. On the way, John listened for the muffled thuds of an approaching Black Hawk. It was too early, but he listened anyway — hoping — as he bent down to help Gazda up. The wounded SEAL slung one arm around John's shoulder and struggled to his feet.
Ahead, the rest of the team exited through the courtyard gate to provide cover for John and the other four as they followed closely behind. Stone waited for them to catch up. It was his duty to ensure every member of his squad had cleared the area before they could proceed to the extraction site — a clearing in the street a hundred yards away.
While Stone was facing them, John noticed a faint shadow. A man squatting on top of the wall with his blade drawn was ready to drop on Stone. Without a second thought, John raised his weapon and shot once sending the terrorist careening over the whitewashed blocks. Their squad leader jumped. "Good shot for an Air Force combat controller," Stone observed.
The men rushed through the courtyard gate, Gazda doing the best he could hobbling along with John's help as they caught up with Norton and the rest of the men. As planned, the team — eleven in all — made their way toward the clearing.
John's eyes stung from the smoke, and he caught a whiff of burned flesh. To his left, the two pickups had been reduced to twisted metal and smoldering ashes — a charred skeleton drooped from a door. The two men turned away from the grisly scene and trudged on. Covering for each other, the team moved in and out of the shadows as they advanced. When they approached the clearing this time John was sure he heard the whirring rotors of a bird drawing closer.
John peered up as sand pummeled his face. Seconds later, the bird touched down, and the door slid to one side. A medic appeared holding a folded stretcher. Jumping to the ground, he rushed toward Gazda. The others followed the EODs inside and helped secure the warhead. Stone was standing beside the door when John stepped up to get in, and told him, "I didn't learn to shoot in the Air Force. As a kid, every Sunday afternoon I practiced shooting tin cans in the back pasture of my grandfather's farm." Stone passed him a thin smile, and followed him inside closing the door.
After the warhead was secure and Gazda’s IV was in place, the motor whined and a dust storm billowed as the Night Hawk lifted them away. In the dim light of the quarter moon, John peered out the window at the scorched earth.
And this place once was the cradle of civilization?
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