“Good luck, Colonel. They have an RPG launcher.”
“I know. I saw it hit. You were very lucky, Captain.”
Duncan peeked around the corner. “Come on, Beau. Good luck, Colonel.”
“Captain.” Yosef grabbed Duncan’s arm. “Did you find any food or water?”
“No, just a bunch of pissed-off Arabs. See you at the truck. Don’t be late, Colonel.”
“We won’t, but don’t leave us,” Yosef said, a hint of menace in his voice.
Duncan touched Yosef’s shoulder. “SEALs don’t leave anyone, Colonel.”
Duncan and Beau dodged into the street, keeping close to the front of the nearby houses as they ran. Once in the alley, they straightened and began a wild dash down the four-foot wide passage.
A minute later they reached the end. Sounds of shooting and a minor explosion told them Yosef and the Guardsmen had engaged the rebels.
“Let’s hope they hold them long enough,” Duncan said.
The two men leaned against the walls. They peered around the corners.
Dead bodies swayed from each lamppost to disturb the stillness of the empty street. The hot sun created shifting heat waves above the rough pavement.
The two men dashed across the street. Disturbed from their feeding, hundreds of crows rose from the day-old bodies, filling the afternoon sky with their displeasure. The ripe, sweet smell of sun-rotted flesh assaulted the two men as they ran past more streetlights — a decaying body swinging from each created a macabre gauntlet along their path.
The sound of combat from Yosef’s direction increased in intensity as they crested the hill. Below, the truck was parked under the small green awning of a deserted petrol station.
“Captain!” Lieutenant H.J. Mcdaniels shouted, startling the two. She crouched behind a small garden wall.
Ensign Bud Helliwell waved from the next garden. Across the street from H.J. and Bud, Chief Judiah and Gibbons held a cross-fire position.
Duncan and Beau jumped the low stucco and rock fence to land in a crouch beside H.J.
“What’s going on, Captain?” she asked.
“I think we stumbled on the people who did this slaughter. Colonel Yosef intends to hold them for at least ten minutes, then they’ll be coming the same way we did. We’ve got major problems and need to get the hell out of here. How much longer until they’ve got the truck refueled?”
“I don’t know, sir. I followed your instructions and deployed the team as soon as we heard the firing. Colonel Yosef and his men raced ahead.
Monkey and Mcdonald are down the hill in position with their MGs, guarding each end of the street.”
“Good thinking, H.J. We’re going down and try to hurry everything along. Colonel Yosef and his Guardsmen should be the next bunch to come this way. Don’t shoot them. Give them cover.
“Come on, Beau,” Duncan said, then shouted to the two men across the street. “Chief, you and Gibbons hightail it down to the truck and warn them!” In his haste to get everyone out of the village and escape the rebels coming their way, Duncan failed to consider that without the Chief and Gibbons, H.J. and Bud were left with no immediate backup and in an untenable position if the enemy attacked.
“H. J.” Bud,” Duncan said to the two. “As soon as Colonel Yosef and his men pass, give them one minute and follow. We’ll provide cover from below.”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” the two replied simultaneously.
HJ.‘s hands tightened on the CAR-15.
Duncan and Beau leaped over the four-foot wall and ran down the hill to where the truck was parked. Chief Judiah and Gibbons followed. They swung their weapons to point down an empty side street that separated the petrol station from H.J. and Bud. The narrow street ran toward a small residential area leading to the outskirts of the village. A hundred feet further on, the SEALs passed Monkey at the base of the hill, his MG60 pointed toward the crest where H.J. and Bud waited nervously on point.
H.J. wiped her palm on her cammie pants.
“Sweaty palms?” Bud asked.
“Better than hairy ones.” She grinned.
The Volvo truck was a scene of scurrying activity. The metal cover of the petrol tank lay to one side. A hose snaked into the gasoline. The other end of the hose ran to a small five gallon can. A Bashir relative, with a second red five-gallon container at the truck, poured the contents into the fuel tank. Bashir milled around the area, shouting directions and encouragement as the obedient relatives ran between the truck and the fuel tank.
Mcdonald squatted on his haunches at the opposite side of the petrol station, barely visible from behind a garden wall, watching the street from that direction.
Gibbons joined two Guardsmen near President Alneuf. Al neuf had his handkerchief to his nose in a futile gesture to block the sickening smell of decomposing bodies that permeated the atmosphere of this small Algerian village. The lack of wind trapped the stench within the village. A small park across from the petrol station had been used as an execution field. About sixty bodies lay haphazardly on top of each other against a ten-foot-high white wall. The wall was pockmarked with gray holes where shots had hit and ricocheted.
Petrol, food, and the necessity of leaving the highway before dawn had driven them into the interior of the country. They’d stumbled on this small village in the afternoon. The scope of the carnage had only become apparent when they were several blocks inside it. If fuel and provisions had been less critical, they would have continued their journey without stopping, but the silence of the village had given a false sense of abandonment.
Duncan and Beau ran up to Bashir.
“There are no young women,” Bashir said, an ominous tone in his deep bass voice. His triple chin bounced to the rhythm of his words.
“What do you mean?” Duncan asked, catching his breath. He rubbed his knee. His hand could barely feel the kneecap through the swollen joint. Water around the knee.
“The young women. All the dead that you see”—he waved his hand at the park across the road—“are men, old women, and children. The rebels take the young women for temporary marriages,” Bashir said caustically.
“And after they have raped and shared them, they cut their throats.
Sometimes, for entertainment, they cut this way”—he made a slashing gesture along each side of his neck—“so that they are not killed outright. Then they are hung by their heels to bleed slowly to death.
Sometimes they are mated with dogs and donkeys for the men’s entertainment. When they become bored, they kill them.”
“That’s disgusting!” Beau said.
“No, that’s the new Algeria, man capitaine,” Bashir said angrily. “It is the Algeria that President Alneuf fought against. I doubt the new government will allow this conduct to continue, but until stability returns to Algeria, this will be one of the hazards of the people.”
“How much longer until the truck is fueled, Mr. Bashir?” Duncan asked. They’d come here to rescue Alneuf, and instead found themselves fighting for their lives in the middle of revolutionary massacres.
Bashir shrugged. “Ten, maybe fifteen minutes. We have put five cans into the truck. We need another five to top off.”
“You have five minutes. Colonel Yosef is outnumbered and fighting a holding position against the Algerian rebels, so do what you can. We don’t have much time. Fill extra cans, but start getting everyone on board. You’re not going to have time to top off.”
The sound of an automotive engine drew their attention. A military truck careened out of the side street that separated them from H.J. and Helliwell. Monkey opened fire. The front tires exploded. Out of control, the truck crossed the street and crashed through the low wall, coming to an abrupt stop as it rammed the house a few feet beyond.
Rebels jumped from the back, firing as they ran uphill toward H.J. and Helliwell. The driver lay slumped over the steering wheel.
“Keep filling the truck, Bashir!” Duncan yelled as he and Beau raced up the hill toward the e
nemy vehicle.
H.J. and Helliwell surprised the rebels by opening fire. The return fire sent both of them diving for cover. Protected by the low garden wall, H.J. and Bud scurried along the wall, shifting their position to open up a better field of fire, but the volume of rebel return fire kept driving them down. They were pinned. The attackers split into two groups. One focused its attack against H.J. and Bud, while the other forced their way into the house across the street. Automatic fire tore up the street, narrowly missing Duncan and the others as they ran uphill.
Several rebels crouched behind the smoking truck, shooting at those in the petrol station. A volley of shots bracketed Monkey, sending his language back into the “streets of Newark” vernacular. He stood quickly with the MG-60 braced on his hip and raked the vehicle from bumper to bumper. Four rebels hiding in the bed jerked as bullets riddled them.
Mcdonald raced from his position at the other end of the petrol station to the opposite side of the street from Monkey.
He opened fire as he ran, blowing the dead driver off the steering wheel and hitting two attackers who were attempting to escape up the near side of the street. The remaining Algerian rebels kept the truck between them and the machine gunners as they fled uphill to where their comrades were attacking the two trapped SEALs.
H.J. and Bud fought a mismatched battle as the attackers reached the top of the hill. Rebels screamed as they assaulted the low garden fence.
Several Guardsmen from the petrol station joined Duncan and Beau. In leapfrog action they fought their way up the hill toward the battle surrounding H.J. and Helliwell. A barrage of gunfire from the occupied house across the street from H.J. and Bud sent Duncan and his group rolling for cover. Monkey and Mcdonald peppered the house with return fire, effectively stopping the rebels.
Duncan ran his hand through his close-cropped hair. So close, but so far away. If H.J. and Bud can hold out for another minute … Shit! Algerian rebels dove over the wall where H.J. and Bud were hiding. H.J. shot two of the rebels as they came over the top. Duncan and Beau stood simultaneously. Two rebels at the rear jerked as the duo’s bullets sent them, like maladroit puppets with tangled strings, dancing backward before they fell in the street. Duncan started running, ignoring the excruciating pain in his right knee. He could always get an artificial knee. Bullets kicked up the pavement around him, the shards stinging his legs. A fierce battle raged out of sight behind the wall. Duncan dove behind a nearby garden wall as a sniper bullet barely missed him. He waited a few seconds before sprinting toward the empty rebel truck, about fifty feet away.
He looked up in time to see a rebel hit H.J. from behind with his rifle butt as another grabbed her rifle. She spun and kneed the man behind her in the crotch, with as much force as possible. Duncan grimaced.
The Algerian rebel fell forward, his weapon hitting the ground as both hands flew in protection over his nuts. H.J. whipped out her knife from its leg scabbard and slit his throat, shoving him to one side. A rebel fired point-blank at the female SEAL. H.J. grabbed her shoulder.
The force of the impact spun her around before she disappeared behind the wall with rebels jumping on top of her. Duncan leaped up and, in a quick sprint, made it to the wrecked truck.
Bud Helliwell was in his own battle and unable to help his partner. A rebel ran toward the mustang officer and tossed a grenade. Helliwell blew him into paradise. The grenade landed a few feet from him.
Bud dove over the wall as the grenade exploded. He hit the road hard, rolling left downhill. Shrapnel caught him in the left arm.
Beau snapped his gun to his shoulder and shot a rebel who had swung his gun toward the wounded SEAL, expecting an easy kill. He shot two others who had stood to shoot Helliwell. Bud began to crawl as fast as he could downhill, dragging his left arm beside him. Blood from the wounds made a red streak along the paved road. Shots from the rebels disturbed the ground around the wounded officer. Bits of gravel and dirt ricocheted over Bud, but miraculously failed to score.
Enemy fire from across the street sent Duncan ducking back behind the smoking rebel truck. Beau crouched across the street opposite Duncan.
Duncan waved at Beau and motioned toward Helliwell. Beau gave a curt nod. Gibbons rolled into the area behind the truck, crowding Duncan from behind.
Suddenly Mcdonald sprinted past Duncan and Beau, heading uphill. Duncan whistled and waved for Mcdonald to stop and take position where he was.
Mcdonald rolled behind a nearby fence.
Duncan motioned Monkey to move across the street, and with the two machine-gunners on opposite sides of the street, he had them in overlapping fire position.
Small bursts of pavement erupted as Chief Judiah ran up the middle of the road toward the wounded SEAL.
“Give him cover!” Duncan shouted.
“Yeah, give me cover!” the chief yelled as he bobbed and weaved, trying to make himself a harder target.
Beau leaned around the corner and fired several short, rapid bursts at the enemy. Monkey released a tattoo of MG-60 bullets along the doorways of the buildings, while Mcdonald blew out the remaining windows on both sides of the street.
Duncan and Gibbons gave the roofs their full attention. The SEALs effectively silenced the enemy fire long enough for Chief Judiah to reach Helliwell.
The chief jerked Helliwell to his feet and threw him over his shoulder.
He half-dragged, half-carried the wounded ensign to a nearby wall, where they took cover.
“You okay?” Judiah asked.
“Sure,” Bud replied, his right hand under his left armpit pressing against a pressure point. “It’s only a scratch.”
Chief Judiah pulled his belt off and handed it to the wounded officer.
“Here, let’s put a tourniquet on that scratch before you bleed to death.”
“It ain’t as bad as it looks, Chief. Give me a few minutes and the bleeding will stop.” Bud grimaced as Judiah slipped the makeshift tourniquet up the arm. No, it wasn’t the wound that hurt. Bud could tell the arm was broken, but it was easier to set a break than shove blood back into the body. The blood just made the wound look worse than it truly was.
“Go, Chief. I’ll be fine here. Hand me my piece.”
As the SEAL fire slacked, four rebels jumped up and ran across the street toward HJ.‘s position. Two rolled over the wall. Machine-gun fire from Monkey sent the last two pitching forward, hands outspread, to land motionless on the street. Their weapons bounced off the cobblestones.
Duncan waved at Beau and pointed to himself. Beau pointed uphill.
Duncan nodded. Duncan crawled around the tail of the truck. Above him a frightened Algerian leaned over the tailgate with his rifle aimed at the back of Duncan’s head. Gibbons shot him. The attacker fell, landing on top of the startled Duncan, who pushed the body off him and under the truck.
Taking a deep breath, Duncan jumped up and began a zigzag run uphill for thirty feet. He hurled himself over the garden wall of a nearby house. Gunfire from the house stitched a neat series of holes along the wall above him. Bits of plaster peppered his back, bringing up small stinging blisters.
Beau’s return fire silenced the guns from across the street. Duncan crawled several feet forward and peered around the corner of a cast-iron gate. Chief Judiah tumbled over the wall and, crouching, ran toward Duncan’s position. The chief unlimbered a stun grenade and tossed it over a wall two houses up before he dove for cover one house down from Duncan. Duncan drew back as the explosion went off.
Dust from the explosion obscured the area. Duncan jumped up, rolled over the wall, and came up running as he crossed the street to where H.J. had gone down. As he passed, Chief Judiah joined him.
Covering fire against the rebels in the house across the street pinned them as he and Chief Judiah leaped the wall where the chief’s grenade had exploded. Chief Judiah hit the other side, his CAR-15 blasting away to dispatch a stunned fundamentalist to whatever paradise fanatics rush to go to.
“How’s En
sign Helliwell?” Duncan asked. The two crouched side by side, their eyes searching the area.
“He’ll live, Captain.”
“Serious wound?”
“Another Purple Heart, but he’ll be standing to get it.”
“I saw you carrying him.”
“Yes, sir, and he bitched the entire time.”
“Good. Sounds as if he’ll live.”
Duncan had counted at least six rebels where H.J. had been shot, but no return fire came from that direction, much to the surprise of the two SEALs. Why would a woman want to do this line of work? Didn’t they realize what happened when they were captured? But his was not to reason why. That was the province of the politicians who had Duncan stood up slowly behind a wide telephone pole. The enemy fire had slacked for some unknown reason. He motioned Beau and Gibbons forward.
Mcdonald repositioned to provide better cross fire.
Duncan and Chief Judiah watched the hill, firing once at a sniper who had reached the second floor of the house across the street and recklessly leaned out the window to take aim at Beau and Gibbons. Their bullets hit the sniper simultaneously, catapulting the dying rebel head over heels off the balcony to land with a sickening thump on the road below. His screams stopped when he hit. The rifle clanked several times as it bounced on the pavement.
Chief Judiah crawled over the end of the wall. Duncan followed.
Moving quickly, they eased over the next wall into another walled garden. The one after this was H. J.“s.
Surprised, but thankful that no return fire came from the garden, Duncan and Judiah still approached carefully.
Across the street Beau and Gibbons cautiously worked their way to where they were directly opposite Duncan and Chief Judiah. Their eyes scanned constantly, working their way along the doorways and windows and roofs. Watching for a warning when the next attack would start.
“We’re going in,” Duncan mouthed as he motioned to the next building.
Beau nodded.
Duncan and Chief Judiah crouched against the wall. On the other side should be more Algerian rebels. Duncan moved to the far side, while Chief Judiah braced his back against the side of the house. Chief Judiah pulled another grenade. Dun can nodded.
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