Easy Day for the Dead

by Howard E. Wasdin

  John crept past Alex and Pancho and turned the target building corner to pick the lock on the door with a customized silent steel pick made with a polymer core inside and polymer lamination on the outside. Pancho stood with his pistol drawn and headed for the door. Alex, also with pistol drawn, crouched behind Pancho. Who or what will be waiting for us when we step through the door? A booby trap? Ambush? Will the hostages be there? Breathe.

  John opened the door and Pancho rushed inside and to the left. Alex was second through the door and peeled right. Both were careful to get inside the door and to his position so the train wouldn’t get stuck in the doorway. If the train stopped in the doorway, everyone behind the first man would become useless because they couldn’t engage bad guys. They were also careful not to advance too quickly through the room—thus missing something and getting shot by a terrorist or their own Teammate. Alex scanned his area—nobody. They were in an office room. John entered the center of the room to fill in if someone was shot or had a weapon jam, but no shots were fired and there were no bad guys. Because there were only three of them assaulting, John also took the job of making sure no one sneaked up on them from behind.

  Pancho led them through the doorway and turned right. Alex kept close behind. There was a wall to the left. He turned right, entering a hall after Pancho, who kept to one side so Alex had space on the other—better to have both weapons aimed down the hall than just one. At the end of the hall, outside the door leading to the hostage cell, a man in a uniform sat sleeping in a chair. He woke up and when he saw Pancho and Alex coming at him, he jerked toward an AK-47 propped against the wall. Alex and Pancho popped him. The SEALs proceeded down the hall, passing a closed door with a poster of the Hezbollah leader on it, then past another closed door.

  At the end of the hall was the room where the hostages were supposedly being held. John removed the bar barricading the door and checked the lock. As expected, it was locked. Rather than search through the guard’s pockets for the keys and try to figure out which was the key to the cell or find out the guard didn’t have the key, John picked the lock. Pancho aimed at the hostage’s door—there could be a guard inside, or worse, a trap. Alex covered the area behind them. Alex heard a sound come from behind the closed door with the Hezbollah poster. He was sure his senses weren’t overreacting. Someone else was in the building.

  John finished picking the lock. He looked at Pancho, who nodded. John opened the door and Pancho smoothly moved inside. Next came Alex, looking for threats—the room was empty except for a bucket, three men, and their blankets. Two hostages were lying asleep on the floor. They appeared much thinner than they did in their pictures. The smallest hostage sat in the corner, his whole body shaking and his eyes moving in slow motion. Saliva dripped from his mouth like a dog. He’d obviously been tortured severely. Each man’s hands and feet were tied. The room smelled like a locker room, outhouse, and slaughterhouse combined. The stench was so thick it made Alex gag.

  Pancho stayed with the hostages while Alex and John searched the room next door. It was empty except for a table and two chairs. It stank, but not as bad as the prisoners’ cell. Maybe it was an interrogation room. The ceiling, walls, and floor were stained worse than the prison cell. Alex didn’t take the time to imagine what horrors took place in the interrogation room, but he knew he would never be taken alive. No SEAL had ever been held prisoner of war, and Alex would rather die fighting.

  Alex and John returned to the hall and Alex pointed to his ear, then the door, signaling that he heard someone inside. John tried the door—it was locked. He picked the lock. After opening the door, the SEALs entered the room to find a couple in bed. On a chair beside the man hung a pistol in a holster on a belt. The man awoke to find Alex restraining him with zip-ties on his wrists and ankles. Meanwhile, John tied up the man’s significant other. Then the SEALs put hoods over the couple. Alex and John didn’t need to search them because they were naked except for their hoods. Alex put the pistol belt over his shoulder.

  Alex and John left the Hezbollah couple and went back to the hostages. Pancho had already searched their bodies for weapons—unlikely, but the SEALs didn’t take any chances. The hostages were awake now. Pancho gestured for them to keep quiet. “Be quiet,” he said. “We’re friends of Dr. Khamenei and Omar Bisharia. They sent us to rescue you.”

  The two Palestinians didn’t seem to understand.

  “Omar Bisharia,” Pancho said slowly. “He sent us to rescue you.”

  Youssef was lost in a different world, but a spark seemed to flash in Dalal’s dim eyes.

  Using his pocketknife, Pancho cut off the cord tied around their ankles so they could move faster, then the cord on their wrists so they could climb over the wall.

  The SEALs escorted the precious cargos (PCs) into the hallway. Alex signaled for Pancho to stop, and he came to a halt. Alex broke off from them, went into the Hezbollah couple’s room, grabbed them, put them in the hostages’ cell, and lowered the barricade on the door. He heard them gagging on the stench inside as he returned to his men and the hostages. Alex took the ammo out of the pistol in the belt slung over his shoulder and put the bullets in his pocket. Then he threw the belt into the bedroom. Alex signaled Pancho to move out.

  The SEALs sneaked out of the building and around to the back with their PCs. The Hezbollah barracks was still quiet. So far, the mission was proceeding better than expected.

  Pancho scaled the barracks’ stone wall and dropped over the other side. Alex helped the hostages up. They were moving too slowly, leaving the whole team vulnerable. Alex quickly followed the hostages over. When Alex landed on the other side, a shot came from the north, but he didn’t see the muzzle flash. Pancho took a step back before his legs buckled and he fell on his knees. He stood up and took two steps before falling on his face.

  “Sniper, front!” Alex yelled. He didn’t bother to see where Pancho was hit; they needed to get out of the sniper zone—fast! Alex tossed a stun grenade north, hoping to throw off the sniper with the bright flash and loud bang. Hezbollah would be arriving any moment.

  Alex hoisted Pancho in a fireman’s carry and waddled east. Pancho was so heavy, and the ground so frozen and uneven, that a waddle was as quick as he could move.

  “Go, go, go!” John yelled from behind. Alex didn’t know if John was yelling at the PCs or him.

  Alex ran faster than his feet could keep up, and he stumbled and fell. Before he hit the ground, a bullet snapped the air above, just missing him. He landed on the ground hard. Alex could barely breathe underneath Pancho’s weight.

  John fired in the sniper’s direction, but they were so far away and the sniper was so well hidden that the best he could hope for was to keep the sniper’s head down long enough for the SEALs and their hostages to get out of his sights.

  Omar’s men took John’s cue and fired in the sniper’s direction, too. Alex was happy they put the pressure on the sniper.

  Alex picked himself and Pancho up and continued east, putting a building between them and the sniper, blocking his view—and bullets. Pancho was so heavy—why did he have to eat all those cookies?

  John hustled to the front and ran point. Three armed Hezbollah men appeared from the barracks to their right. John stopped, planted his feet, and fired from the standing position: pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop. One of the three Hezbollah fired off some rounds on full auto before John’s shots took him and his buddies down to the frozen dirt.

  “Pancho, you okay, buddy?” Alex asked.

  Pancho gasped for air.

  At least he was conscious, but gasping for air wasn’t a good sign. “We’re going to get you out of here, just hang on.”

  Pancho continued to gasp.

  They still had nearly a klick to go before reaching Leila. Alex passed John and headed northeast. Meanwhile, John stayed between them and Hezbollah. Alex heard a vehicle roar out of the barracks and head for them. He suddenly realized he was running on the right shoulder of the road. The even surface h
elped him put more distance between them and the Hezbollah, but being in the open made it easier for the bad guys to find them. Alex turned right on a road.

  Taking out the driver was the most effective way of stopping any vehicle. John fired again: pop-pop-pop—until the sound of the vehicle behind Alex and the PCs stopped.

  Alex reached a dead end. Now he was lost. He backed up against a cypress tree and balanced Pancho and checked his compass. Somehow, he had gotten turned around and headed southwest. He needed to go northeast. Alex corrected his direction and cut through residences and crossed another road. He entered a grove of trees and still didn’t know where he was.

  “You okay, Pancho?” Alex asked.

  There was no reply.

  “Just hang on, buddy.”

  Alex looked behind him. The PCs were still there, Hassan and Dalal helping Youssef, but he’d lost John. From the direction of the Hezbollah barracks, the air popped off like the Fourth of July. Instead of one John shooting against many, it sounded like many firing against many. Omar’s men were shooting it out with Hezbollah.

  Alex passed trees, bushes, and buildings before he crossed a road. Ahead was one of the hospitals. He turned around to make sure the others had stayed with him. They had. Now I know where we are, but where’s John? Pain shot through his neck, shoulder, and back from carrying Pancho, but he knew if he could gut it out a little more, the pain would become numbness, and he wouldn’t feel it anymore.

  Alex hobbled clockwise around the hospital until he reached a cluster of cypress trees. Using them for cover, he picked up speed, stumbling over tree roots. Up ahead he spotted the Humvee in the parking lot. On the driver’s side sat Leila. He crossed the parking lot and Leila turned the engine on. Alex struggled to open the door, then one of the PCs came up from behind and opened it. The three PCs packed into the back row of the Hummer. Because there were only two seats in the back, Youssef sat on Hassan’s lap. Alex laid Pancho across the second row of seats, knelt beside him, and closed the door.

  “Where is John?” Leila asked.

  Alex didn’t know, but he assumed John would arrive any minute. “He’s coming. Just wait.”

  Alex called on his radio, “John, where are you, buddy?”

  No answer. Maybe he was busy. Or dead.

  Someone keyed the mike once. John.

  “Is Pancho okay?” Leila asked.

  “He will be.” Alex didn’t want to look, but he knew he had to. The veins on Pancho’s neck bulged out, and he was still gasping for breath. One side of his chest looked bigger than the other and the small side was wet and making a sucking sound. Alex used his pocketknife to cut away Pancho’s clothes so he could find the wound. Thick, dark liquid frothed from Pancho’s chest.

  Suddenly the side door flew open, and someone rushed in and closed the door. It was John. He knelt on the floor next to Alex. “How’s Pancho?”

  “Leila, take us out,” Alex said. He pulled the blowout kit from Pancho’s pocket. “He’s got a collapsed lung,” Alex said. The outside air was competing to get into the wound while his lung was fighting to push air out of it.

  Leila drove them from the parking lot.

  “We need to get Pancho to the ship ASAP,” John said. “He needs a surgeon.”

  “I know,” Alex said. He pulled an Asherman chest seal out of Pancho’s first-aid pack and opened it. Alex used the enclosed four-by-four-inch gauze to wipe Pancho’s blood and sweat from the wound, and he taped the Asherman chest seal on the wound. The one-way valve in the seal allowed air out without letting it back in.

  Suddenly, one of the hostages screamed so loudly it startled Alex. “What the hell?” he asked.

  “It’s Youssef,” John said. “The kid is having flashbacks or something.”

  The PCs tried to calm Youssef down.

  “A car is coming behind us,” Leila said.

  Alex looked to the rear, but the approaching vehicle’s high beams were ruining his vision through his night goggles, so he took them off. John did the same. Alex’s vision struggled to make the transition from NVGs to unaided night vision.

  “Get down,” John said to the PCs. Dalal lay down on the floor, Hassan lay down on the seat, and Youssef lay down on top of Hassan.

  Alex readied his weapon and flipped off his safety switch. As the vehicle came closer, Alex recognized the outline of a Land Rover. Leila was close to maxing out the Humvee’s acceleration, but the Land Rover pulled up beside them. Whatever they want, this isn’t going to be good. Leila managed to momentarily pull ahead of them, but within seconds they pulled up beside her. There were three men in the Land Rover: Lieutenant Saeedi was behind the wheel, with Major Khan beside him, and Pistachio was in the back.

  “Smoke ’em!” Alex shouted. Because the Land Rover’s and Humvee’s accelerations were out of sync and Alex’s vision wasn’t a hundred percent, he flicked the selector switch on his AKMS to full auto, pressed the muzzle against the side window, and sprayed. John squeezed in beside Alex and joined him in firing through the window, too: pop-pop-pop-pop.

  The evil trio ducked as their windows imploded, and the Land Rover’s brakes squealed, decelerating the SUV. Its ass end fishtailed.

  “I think I got a piece of Captain Fat’hi,” John reported.

  The Land Rover’s headlights behind them became smaller and smaller. Then they stopped shrinking. The lights grew bigger and bigger.

  “They’re coming back for more,” John said. The PCs seemed to have already gotten the message because now they were huddled down low. Alex was too cramped for space and moved up to the passenger seat in front. John stayed kneeling on the floor next to Pancho. Alex fired through the left side of the rear window. John shot through the middle of the rear window.

  Alex hoped the hostages had enough sense to keep their heads down, because he and John were shooting right over them. In spite of the heat that Alex and John delivered, the evil trio kept their heads down and the Range Rover came at them like a rocket. It struck the back of the Hummer with a bang, and Leila lost control. The Hummer swerved into the left lane and back across to the right as Leila struggled to regain control.

  John ran out of bullets in his magazine. “Changing ammo!” He ejected the spent magazine and loaded a fresh one filled with thirty rounds. Meanwhile, Alex continued shooting at Major Khan and his men. When Alex had to change ammo, John fired.

  The Range Rover came in to ram the Outcasts again. Without warning, Youssef popped up screaming and waving his arms. Alex and John stopped shooting so they wouldn’t hit him. “Get down!” they yelled at Youssef. “Keep him down!”

  Leila translated for Hassan while speeding northwest. Pancho groaned.

  Major Khan and his men didn’t waste the opportunity of a lull in the shooting. They unloaded their rage on the Outcasts. Rounds punched through the rear windshield and popped the air. Instinctively, Alex ducked. Bullets ripped into seats. The Range Rover rammed into the Hummer: bang! Leila lost control again and swerved. Rounds stopped cracking overhead, so Alex rose from cover and took aim. John did, too. Either Hassan and Dalal pulled Youssef down or Major Khan and his men had shot him, because Youssef wasn’t sitting up waving and screaming like a maniac anymore. Alex adjusted his aim to compensate for the weaving of the Hummer and scored direct hits on the Range Rover—so did John—causing Major Khan and his men to back off.

  The Hummer slowed down and ran off the road.

  “Leila?” Alex called.

  No answer.

  Alex turned to see Leila slumped over the steering wheel. “Leila?!” Alex shouted. He reached out and grabbed her arm, but there was still no response.

  The Hummer ran through the front of someone’s yard and into a field. They headed on a collision course with trees bordering the edge of the field.

  “What’s going on?” John asked, continuing to shoot at Major Khan and his men.

  “Just keep ’em off our ass!” Alex yelled. The back of Leila’s head was gooey wet. He pulled her off the steer
ing wheel and took it, turning the Hummer away from the trees. Then he took her foot off the gas pedal and parked the vehicle so they’d stop rolling. Alex grabbed gauze from his blowout kit and secured it to the back of her bloody head before moving her into the passenger seat. “Leila, stay awake.”

  Leila opened her eyes and said something, but her voice was so faint, he couldn’t hear it. He put his ear to her lips, and her voice came out in a breathy whisper. “Alex.” When he looked at her eyes again, they were closed.

  “Wake up, Leila. We’re going home.”

  Alex climbed into the driver’s seat. He knew that if he didn’t get them out of this mess quickly, they’d all die. He stepped on the gas and wheeled them around in the direction of the road. Major Khan’s Range Rover drove off the road and headed straight for the Outcasts. They appeared to be aimed at each other for a head-on collision. Alex took both hands off the wheel, picked up his AKMS, leaned forward, pressed the muzzle against the windshield, and rapidly fired at Lieutenant Saeedi in the driver’s seat. Saeedi ducked, so Alex pivoted to Major Khan and unloaded, but he ducked, too. He couldn’t see Pistachio in the back, but he fired into the seats anyway. The Hummer and Range Rover passed so closely that their side mirrors broke off. In the rear of the Hummer, John’s AKMS sounded possessed as it blasted hell at Major Khan and his men.

  Steering the Hummer with one hand and holding his AKMS in the other, Alex tore onto the main road and stomped the gas pedal to the floor. As he sped northwest, wind howled through the holes in the windshield and windows. The wind must have been cold, but Alex didn’t feel it. He checked the rearview mirror—Major Khan was still more than a hundred yards behind them. “Leila, you’re going to be okay. Just hang in there.”