“Majra should have relieved you fifteen minutes ago,” he said, looking around the room for Corporal Majra. When he didn’t see him, he threw his hand of cards onto the table and commanded his men, “Spread out and find him; he can’t be far.”
Each of the men grabbed their rifles and poured out of the building in search of their comrade.
A block away, the Recon Marines were watching from a covered position. They remained motionless and took a tally of each Iranian soldier that ran out of the concrete structure. There were no windows in the building, so the only way to get an exact count was to lure them out. Unfortunately for Majra, he’d roamed too far from his base.
The posse was waiting to hear back from Recon with some kind of actionable intelligence. When an hour or two had passed without hearing from them, they decided to call Eagle’s Nest.
Three Recon Marines had Majra in custody and had taken him back to the RP. Instinctually, they did not make radio contact with Banks, under the assumption they were under radio silence. They had already questioned Majra a great deal and learned quite a bit from him. Although he was a member of the Iranian special operations group, he wasn’t that well trained in SERE. Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape was a required course for most American spec ops forces. These Iranians, though well trained in tactical movements, were not well trained in several other categories. Majra spilled the beans on the Jackals, the Fist’s connection to Muhaimin, and a few nonessential but useful tidbits of information.
They had Majra tied to a chair when the call came in from Banks.
“Eagle’s Nest from Echo Five Bravo. Over.”
Sergeant Hammel picked up the radio. “Go for Eagle’s Nest. Over.”
“Requesting intel on tangos. Over.”
“Give them the grid coordinates,” Buchanan ordered.
When the coordinates came over the radio, Banks was jotting down the numbers while the others were looking for a map of the area.
“It’s no good,” Nathan said. “How can we pinpoint them with a ten-digit coordinate if we don’t have a map?”
About that time, several Marines returned to Banks from their search for an overlook. One of them knelt beside Banks and said, “We found an overwatch position just on the other side of this block; from there, we saw a group of tangos running out of a building. They’re searching for something or someone.”
Banks turned around to the other Marines and said, “We’re moving out.” Banks paused for a moment and spotted a smaller building not far from their location. “Where’s my heavy weapons guys?”
Several Marines ran up to Banks.
“Right here. What do you need?” the sergeant asked.
“Can you set up on that building and provide a heavy weapons overwatch?”
“Sure thing,” he answered.
“Stay low,” Banks added. “The rest of you come with me.”
Banks moved swiftly along the wall, with a long trail of Marines following. Banks followed the riflemen to the building that they said would provide a visible vantage point. They opened the door to the building and proceeded up the stairs until they came to the uppermost floor. From there, Banks could see the Marines had already pulled the roof hatch open. The Marines climbed the ladder and landed on the roof.
Meanwhile, the heavy weapons CAAT members were moving through the alleyway to the smaller building. Upon approach, they sat their crew-served weapons on the ground and stacked themselves at the door to make a forced breach entry into the building. The lead Marine looked back at his team, and they signaled that they were ready to breach. He looked back toward the door and reached out with his left hand to grab the handle. His rifle was pulled tightly into his shoulder and his weapon was aimed high. He turned the doorknob, and it gently gave way. The Marines ran in quickly behind him and were caught off guard by an IED. The improvised explosive device was rigged by the Jackals to be a timed detonation. The explosion was huge, so that it shook the walls of the building that the rest of the posse had entered.
Nathan, Denny, and Banks and the rest firmly grabbed their rifles and looked at one another as dust and debris gently fell from the roof.
“What was that?” one of the Marines asked. The rest of them remained silently still and waited to hear a follow-up secondary explosion, as was common among the radicals. There was nothing but silence.
Banks picked up the mic. “Eagle’s Nest from Echo Five Bravo. Was that you? Over.”
“Negative, Echo Five Bravo. Over.”
Then suddenly there were screams heard throughout the streets.
“Allahu akbar.”
The posse slowly looked over the edge of the building onto the streets below and saw several dozen jihadists throwing their hands into the air and rejoicing. Many were jumping in celebration for reasons unknown. The posse feared the worse.
“Over here, guys,” Tori said. The men looked back at Tori, who was standing catty-cornered from them. She was looking down at the street in the direction of the CAAT members last known position.
On the ground level, several jihadists were pulling the remains of the Marines from the debris of the building they had attempted to enter.
“There’s our explosion,” Tori said.
The posse watched and mourned their fallen brothers. They watched closely to analyze whether or not there were any survivors; had there been, they would be forced to reveal themselves to conduct a rescue operation.
Many of the men were trying to salvage gear from the dead Marines, but most of it had been rendered useless. Still, they would take the rifles and sling them over their shoulders and continue rummaging through the debris.
Tori took aim on one of the men, and Nathan caught it and rebuked her.
“We can take them,” she said. “We’ve been fighting these hajis for years. They’re weak.”
“Maybe so, but we don’t have an escape route should things go bad. Me and Denny have been in this situation before.”
“Déjà vu,” Denny said.
She held her peace until she saw one of them mutilating the body of a fallen Marine brother. While the others were watching the other side of the building, she was sighting in on the masochist. She flipped the safety switch to fire and put her finger on the trigger. She wanted to head shot this guy, but the distance was too great to risk. A deep breath in and a slow steady exhale put the target in the center of her front sight tip. A loud crack sounded from her M4 rifle. The man grabbed for his back as if he had been bitten by something.
The men on the roof with Tori came running to her side. All of them opened fire on the enemies below. One man below was carrying a weapon pulled from the rubble of the exploded building. It was slung over his shoulder until he whipped it around and pointed it at the rooftop shooters. He fired a single round only to see an explosion in the rifle’s barrel. The impact of the building explosion was sufficient enough to slightly warp the barrel so that the high-velocity projectile could not pass through. The result was shrapnel to the face of the weapon bearer. Tori and the men shot him as he writhed in pain and groped at his eyes. Once they had all been neutralized, they turned their attention to the other side of the building, where they could no longer see the forty-nine Iranian soldiers.
“Where are they?” Nathan called out.
“Get me eyes on every side of this building,” Banks ordered.
The posse spread out across the rooftop and watched in all directions. It wasn’t long before bullets began spraying up through the rooftop. Just one floor below, the Fist and his men were spraying fully automatic weapons through the ceiling. With no cover to be found, the Marines began returning fire through the roof. An Iranian soldier popped his head up through the roof hatch access point and began shooting at the Marines as he tried to join them on the roof. The posse returned fire and killed the man; he fell onto the floor below. No sooner than he had landed, a Russian-style grenade came flying up from the floor below.
“Grenade!” someone yelled.
The time for mourning would have to wait. One of the Marines pulled the pin of a fragmentation grenade and let it cook for five seconds; he then threw it into the hole, and the explosion caused an equally powerful explosion as the prior grenade. The floor below fell silent. The Marines were approaching the two openings in the roof, and they encircled both areas to make sure they were clear. One by one, they climbed down into the next level and cleared the entire floor. They maintained that procedure until they reached the third floor. From there more gunfire erupted from what sounded like the ground level. The Marines took off running downstairs, clearing corners as they went.
Across the street in every direction, the Syndicate, together with the Recon Marines, was engaging the Iranians in direct gunfire. Banks called out to the Recons and told them they were exiting out of the south fire escape. Banks and the rest of the posse reached out of the nearest window and grabbed the extending ladder, their weight bearing them to the ground, where they crossed the street and joined the Syndicate and Recons in the firefight.
The roar of HMMWVs was heard above the sounds of gunfire. Buchanan was coming in hot with .50-caliber machine guns ripping through the walls of the building. The MK 19s would have been blasting the area had they not been within the minimum effective range. It was pointless for the fully automatic MK grenade launcher to attack anyway; the .50 cals were pulverizing the lower level of the building. When Buchanan was sure there could be no living soul inside the lower levels, he called out, “Cease fire, cease fire.”
The air fell silent again. Every ear and eye was attuned to sound and movement.
“Movement, fifth floor,” somebody shouted.
Suddenly gunfire erupted from the fifth floor of the building. On the roof of the Fist’s concrete hideout was one of Buchanan’s Recon Marines; he had taken up a secure sniping position and had just got settled when the Iranians began firing from the fifth floor. Corporal Lance Roney was lying low and watching the movement. There were a lot of rounds being thrown back and forth, and all the motion of dust and debris inhibited his visual of human movement. On occasion, he would see a man, sight in on him, and then he would tuck back behind the wall. As a matter of chance, he was scoping in on that window when the man pointed his rifle out towards the Marines. Roney pulled the trigger and killed the man.
Buchanan called Roney on the radio and requested he provide overwatch while they entered the building to clear it.
Roney agreed.
Buchanan exited his vehicle and rounded up enough Marines to enter the building and secure it.
“Hold up, sir,” Nathan said. “No more lives risked,” he said, grabbing a can of gasoline from the back of one of the HMMWVs and a pack of matches from one of the Marines. Buchanan knew what he was about to do, and he didn’t stop him. Actually, it made more sense to burn them out, or to death. Nathan ran toward the building while the Marines provided him cover fire.
Nathan entered the building, with two squads of Marines to watch the emergency exits, and began pouring gasoline all over the walls and around the corners. He made sure every last drop of fuel had been dumped.
“You’re upset about your pretty girl, eh?” a familiar voice said.
Nathan whipped around, startled at the sound; it was the Fist, setting his M4 in an upright position against the wall, as if desiring a hand-to-hand brawl. Nathan dropped his gas can and reached for his rifle. The Fist was already engaged in shoulder charging him. His large mass was forced into Nathan, knocking him off his feet and onto the floor. The impact took his breath away.
As soon as he regained his composure, the Fist was on top of him again. He had his massive hands around Nathan’s throat. The strength of the man was inconceivable. Nathan tried to overpower him, but that turned up nonsensical.
With a free hand roaming around the floor, he felt a piece of broken two-by-four. He used it to beat the Fist in the head until he released Nathan’s throat to defend himself. The Fist grabbed the two-by-four and pulled it from Nathan’s grasp while he slid out from beneath him. He grabbed Nathan again and lifted him into the air by the front of his coat. Nathan was punching the Fist in the face, but looking at how little impact that was having, he decided to start kicking him in the groin. When the Fist pulled his legs together, it destabilized him and he lost his leverage on Nathan.
With a moment of clarity, Nathan dipped his fist in the gasoline covering the floor and punched the Fist square in the eyes. The gasoline burned the Fist’s eyes enough to distract him from Nathan reaching into his pocket to pull out the matches. The Fist looked at Nathan and then took off running once he saw the matches. Gunfire was heard coming from the lower level hallway where the Fist had just run. Nathan remembered the Marines that were covering for him.
“Let’s go, double time,” he yelled.
The Marines came running, and they all evacuated out the front door. Nathan remained behind and struck a match to drop on the floor. He was fortunate enough that the fumes on his hand had quickly evaporated. The fire hit the floor and the entire lower level erupted into flames. The Marines stood back to watch the doors and windows as the building burned. From behind the building several dozen Middle Eastern-looking men came walking toward the posse.
“No shoot,” they yelled at the Marines. All the while the Marines were telling them to stop. They kept moving toward the posse until the Marines opened fire on them. Once that happened, they began running toward the Marines and screaming, “Allahu akbar.” As they got closer to the Marines, the men began exploding. The Marines kept firing on them, although a few made it through the wall of ballistics and close enough to cause a few fatalities and other serious injuries.
Nathan sat up, shook the dust off his coat, and caught peripheral movement down the street. When he turned to look, he saw the Fist in full retreat with about ten men. Nathan stood up to give chase, but noticed Denny was missing.
“Denny?” he shouted, but there was no answer. Many of the Marines were shouting; some were giving orders, and some were looking for their friends.
Shots were heard from the east, and the Marines knew it was Roney cleaning up the leftovers. He was sighting in on the fleeing Iranian soldiers and dropping them one by one. He would have been able to stop a few of the suicide attackers if not for his angle of fire. The Marines were in the line of sight, and he just couldn’t get a shot at them.
Nathan gave up on the idea of chasing down the Fist, in hopes that Roney would snipe him from his secret perch. Still looking for Denny, he found him unconscious under the body of a Marine. He grabbed Denny and pulled him up on his lap.
“C’mon, buddy. You can’t check out on me now. We’re not done here.”
Nathan’s eyes were swelling with tears so that he had to wipe them clean to see.
“C’mon, wake up, man,” he said, feeling for a pulse. “He’s alive,” he said, slapping him in the face.
Denny was startled at that. He grabbed his head and moaned. “Wow, I have the biggest migraine.”
A suicide attacker had detonated close enough to kill Denny, but the Marine in front of him had absorbed the shrapnel, allowing only the concussion of the explosion to cause any damage.
Nathan’s decision to burn the building down was hasty, but practical. On the roof there were fallen Marines that wouldn’t get a proper burial. Buchanan realized it too, but it was too late. The building was ablaze.
“Get me a head count,” Buchanan ordered. He wanted to know who was missing. It wasn’t a matter of numbers, although those were important; it was a matter of ethos.<
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“Fifteen missing, sir,” Franks told Buchanan. “We’re getting names now,” he said as a follow-up comment.
“How did this soup sandwich happen, Sergeant?” Buchanan asked Banks.
“Ask Nathan; it was one of his people.”
Buchanan walked over to where Nathan was attending to Denny and asked, “How did this op go south, Marine?”
“I’ll deal with it, sir,” he answered.
“Just tell me what happened so I can be judicial.”
“You’re not a judge or a jury,” Nathan said, standing up to Buchanan. “I said I’ll handle it, and that’s what’ll happen.”
Buchanan walked away, saying, “Gather up what we have of our fallen and mount up. We’ll mourn back at the RP.”
Nathan knew what he had to do, but he was heartbroken to do so. Tori was the reason this whole thing went down the way that it did and the very reason fifteen Marines were now dead.
“Take it easy on her, boss. She’s just being Tori.”
“She’s too reckless to ride with us anymore, Denny. She’s almost cost us several times in the past. Today it caught up with us.”
“Understood,” Denny said, with a heavy heart.
Nathan walked over to Tori. She was sitting in the gunner’s turret of an HMMWV, behind one of the .50 cals.
“We need to talk,” he said to her.
“I guess this is the part where you tell me I’m reckless and I need to slow down and think?”
“You’re out, Tori,” he said firmly without beating around the bush.
She stood up in the turret, planting her tail on top of the HMMWV, lifting her legs up and out of the gunner’s seat. Tori jumped down off the top of the truck and landed right in front of Nathan.
“What do you mean I’m out?”
“My hands are tied, Tori. You can’t ride with us anymore.”
“You don’t mean that, Nathan.”
“I wish I didn’t.”
“Let’s stay together; me, you, and Denny—we can do this.”
Nathan pulled Tori in tight and hugged her. When he was done, he kissed her and said, “I’ll see you back home in Gorham when all this is over.”
Whiskey Black Book Set: The Complete Tyrant Series (Box Set 1) Page 72
