He eased up to peer into the next yard, ready to drop if spotted.
Gunfire erupted from the building, hitting the wall, sending a shower of dust and pieces of brick into the air. Dun can and the chief stuck their carbines over the top and fired a random burst toward the house.
Judiah lobbed a grenade up an dover the wall. It exploded. The two men rolled over the wall into the yard next door, the smoke from the grenade screening their presence. The door to the house was open.
Duncan’s eyes scrunched as he weighed the situation, trying to see through the cloud of dust. He looked at Chief Judiah and waved the grenade down. Then, he motioned the chief to the right and forward.
Judiah put the grenade away. Crouching, he ran along the side of the house. Gunfire erupted from the top window; the shooter, failing to see them, was firing over their heads at a target in the street. Duncan stood, took two steps back to the left, and shot the rebel in the top window. The rebel tumbled out of the window, screaming in pain until the ground stopped his fall.
Duncan looked at Chief Judiah, lifted his right fist, and began to uncurl his fingers one at a time. When the third finger flipped up, Duncan nodded sharply. The two rushed the doorway. Duncan came up short on the left side, while Judiah braced his back against the front of the house on the right side.
Beau and Gibbons dashed across the street and rolled into the garden behind them. Judiah pulled the stun grenade off his belt again. Duncan shook his head, and with a downward wave of his hand motioned the chief to hold the grenade. Judiah was determined to use that grenade. But Duncan didn’t want to take the chance of injuring H. J. — if she was still alive.
A pause in the gunfire allowed the noise of a fight inside the house to reach them. Then the sound of enemy gunfire from around the far side of the house told Duncan that more rebels were using the downstairs as their position. The SEALs had taken out the rebels in the front, but how long before the others inside realized their flank had been broken?
“Cover me,” he said.
Chief Judiah nodded.
Beau and Gibbons moved forward to join the two.
Duncan drove through the doorway, his trigger finger tense on the carbine. A rebel fired at him from the top of the stairs. Beau shot him from the doorway and rolled to Duncan’s right. The rebel fell over the banister, hitting the floor with a loud clump. Judiah dashed into the house, glanced in the room to the right, and fired a quick burst. A short cry followed Judiah’s shots. Duncan rose and dashed down the hallway. Beau and the others followed. From outside a renewed round of fighting increased in intensity.
* * *
Two rebels had H.J. pinned on the floor. Her shirt was ripped and shredded. Her bra hung by a single strap down her side, exposing both breasts. She twisted to the right, dislodging the rebel holding her feet long enough for her left leg to come around and catch him upside the head, knocking him senseless against a nearby couch. A gaping right shoulder wound bled profusely as H.J. spat at the man holding her arms. Blood ran out of her mouth from bleeding gums where someone had beaten her severely. She pulled her legs up and caught the remaining rebel’s head between her calves. She rolled to the left, pulling him away from her wounded shoulder.
Behind the couch, two other rebels were firing out of the window, ignoring the commotion behind them. They were overconfident in their satisfaction that they had subdued the American female. Their attention was so focused on the battle outside that they failed to notice H.J. had gotten the upper hand. The rebel who H.J. had kicked with her foot shook his head, and looked up. Duncan appeared in the doorway. Seeing Duncan, he dove for his gun.
The burst from Duncan’s CAR-15 catapulted the rebel across the room, the bullets rippling up the torso, blowing away his manhood, abdomen, and chest. The last bullet left a single, well-defined hole in the forehead. Chief Judiah burst into the room, two steps to the left of Duncan. The two rebels at the windows whipped around at the gunfire, one of them shooting as he turned. Judiah and Beau fired, killing the two. A stray shot from one of the rebels at the window hit the rebel who was fighting to free himself from H. J.“s murderous leg grip.
H.J. released the dying man, pushed herself up with her left arm, and struggled to her feet. She stood there, weaving back and forth, like a half-naked goddess. Gibbons ran forward to help, unsure of what to touch or grab. Finally, he took her arm.
“You okay, Lieutenant?” Duncan asked, his gun trained on the bodies of two rebels near the windows. Even though he knew the answer was, “No, I’m not okay.”
She nodded. Her face was bleeding and there was a vacant, moist look in her eyes. Shock, Duncan thought.
Beau stripped a shirt off one of the rebels and handed it to her. She reached up and tore the remaining strap of the bra, letting the useless undergarment drop to the floor.
She took the offered shirt and pulled it halfway over the good shoulder, but was unable to cover the wounded one. Gibbons stopped her. She shifted the survival knife on her belt to one side.
“Ma’am, excuse me,” Gibbons said, “but I need to dress this shoulder and wipe away some of this blood before we put on the shirt.”
H.J. nodded, a slight twitch evident in her right cheek. Gibbons ripped open a medical-dressing package and began to wipe the blood away. Blood trickled downward from a shallow stab wound on the side of H. J.‘s left breast. Her vacant face betrayed no emotion when Gibbons finished a couple of minutes later and then helped her button the shirt. She had yet to speak, but Duncan noticed her hands did not shake.
“Gibbons, make it quick,” Duncan said.
She looked at the dead rebels. A growl, like a cornered mountain lion, erupted from her throat, startling the four men. She pulled the knife from Gibbons’s scabbard, turned, and with a movement too quick for Duncan to stop, slashed the throats of the two dead Algerians nearest her.
From outside came the sound of running feet.
“H. J.” let’s go,” Duncan said.
Gibbons reached up and gingerly took his knife back, wiping it on one of the dead men’s shirts before he slid it back into the scabbard.
“Let’s go, aye, Captain,” she said, her voice a monotonous slur.
Beau led the way as he ran out of the house and turned downhill.
Ahead, two rebels were in a hand-to-hand fight with Monkey. The gorilla like SEAL held one by the neck with his massive right hand. He backhanded the other rebel as the man charged. Monkey freed his knife.
The other rebel regained his feet and leaped onto Monkey’s back. Beau rushed forward and with his butt of his rifle knocked the man off Monkey’s back. The rebel in Monkey’s grip kicked the SEAL. Monkey shoved the razor-sharp weapon, blade up, into the rebel’s stomach and jerked upward. Beau dispatched the other with one shot. Monkey jerked his knife to the right before he pulled it out. He held the man’s face close to his so he could look directly into the man’s eyes as he died.
The glazed shroud of death creeped across the eyes. Monkey, expressionless, pushed the dead rebel off the knife.
“I wonder where they go,” Monkey said.
H.J. walked unsteadily outside behind Duncan and Judiah.
“Down, ma’am!” Gibbons shouted as another attacker appeared on the other side of the wall. He roughly shoved her aside.
A single bullet seemed to miss H.J. as she catapulted off the side of the house from the force of Gibbons’s push. Duncan shot the rebel. Gibbons put two more bullets into the body.
“Let’s move. There’s more rebels here than was in that truck,” Duncan said. Fighting from where he had left Colonel Yosef reached his ears.
At least the colonel and his Guardsmen were still alive.
H.J. slid down the white wall, leaving a trail of blood against it as she came to a sitting position. “You know, Captain, this is not making a good impression for my first time out as a SEAL,” she said weakly before she passed out.
“Beau, you and Chief Judiah bring the lieutenant.” He gestured to
Gibbons. “Stay here and guard the road. As soon as Colonel Yosef and his men come through, you follow them down. We’re going to load the truck!”
“Aye, aye, Captain!” Gibbons shouted.
They moved down the hill. Beau and Judiah held H.J. between them, trying not to further aggravate the bullet wound. Beau pulled the shirt up and over the wounded right shoulder, covering H. J.“s breast, exposed again when she passed out.
“Yo mama!” shouted Gibbons as he shot a rebel coming out of a side street further up.
Mcdonald rolled to the left as a hand grenade landed near him. It exploded harmlessly as the machine-gunner raked the building from where it came.
A single sniper from a window nearer Gibbons’s position began firing at the petrol station. Gibbons scrambled six steps further to the right to line up for a clear shot. He licked his finger, touched the far sight of the carbine, and fired. The rebel’s hands flew up. The gun went twirling out of the window and into the brush below as Gibbons’s bullet tore through the man’s chest. The sniper fell backward into the building.
Duncan leaped the wall and helped Helliwell to his feet.
“Come on, Bud. Enough rest time.”
“Damn, Captain, I was just getting comfortable. I’m okay. I can walk.” He stood, weaved slightly, and pulled himself over the wall.
“Mcdonald!” Duncan shouted. “Help Ensign Helliwell to the truck!”
Helliwell fell.
“Hurry!”
“I’ve got him, Captain,” Mcdonald said. He slung his MG60 across his back and pulled the ensign up.
Draping the good arm around his shoulders, Mcdonald more pulled than helped Helliwell to the truck. Sounds of combat near the crest of the hill reached them.
Duncan began a stiff-legged run back up the hill just as Colonel Yosef and his men poured over the top. He passed Beau and Chief Judiah carrying H.J. between them.
At the crest, Colonel Yosef and his Palace Guard fanned out to fight a rear-guard action as they retreated toward the truck.
Duncan crouched beside Yosef. “I see you brought them with you.”
“Is Bashir ready?” Yosef shouted between gasps for breath.
“They’re loading now. What have we got?”
“At least two companies of revolutionaries. They were enjoying the fruits of temporary marriages when you disturbed them. We have to go before they bring up the armored car.”
“Armored car?”
“Yes, armored car — a Russian BTR-60. It attacked our position on the other side. It can’t get through the narrow alley, so they’ll have to back it out to turn it around. I give us five, maybe seven minutes before we have more company than we can handle.”
“Cannon?”
“No, only a machine gun in a front-mounted turret. Has to turn to fire anywhere other than the front one hundred twenty degrees. Eight wheels for all-terrain.” “Oh, that’s good,” said Duncan, rolling his eyes. “Probably eight-wheel drive, too.”
Yosef gave Duncan a quizzical look. “Good? I don’t think so, Captain!” These SEALs are crazy!
Shots interrupted before Duncan could explain. Yosef rose and fired several bursts at a group of Algerian rebels, who ran back into the alley. Yosef yelled for his men to fall back.
The rapid beeping of Bashir’s truck horn sounded behind them. The truck pointed away from the conflagration. Everyone on board yelled and made rapid motions for the men to hurry. Mcdonald and Monkey crouched at the tail of the truck with their MGs pointed uphill.
Yosef waved frantically to his men. “Hurry!”
“Come on, Gibbons! Let’s haul ass!”
The remaining SEALs and Guardsmen ran down the hill. They leaped at the tailgate of the truck, and Bashir’s relatives pulled them aboard.
Monkey and Mcdonald blanketed the crest with machine-gun fire as a wave of rebels poured down it. With the machine-gun fire, they poured back up it.
Duncan shoved his way to the front. “Let’s go!” he shouted, slapping his hand repeatedly on the cab of the truck.
The truck lurched as Bashir gave it gas, slowly picking up downhill speed away from the attacking force chasing them. Duncan worked his way along the bouncing truck bed to the back. Guardsmen and SEALs fired at the rebel force. The truck wheeled around a corner and headed out of town.
Five minutes later they were bouncing along a dirt road that led into the desert.
“You know, Colonel Yosef, we are driving further and further from the coast and our transportation is out there.” Dun can pointed north toward the ocean. “And unless we get President Alneuf out to sea soon, none of us may leave this place.”
“I know, Captain. Survival sometimes means taking whatever opportunity is available at the time and hope the next choice improves your chances.”
“Well, this one definitely didn’t,” he replied, rubbing his temples.
August, less than forty-five days to retirement, and here he was fighting for his life instead of preparing for a new one. He hoped he lived long enough to enjoy some of the fruits of a military retirement.
And he would prefer not the medical ones.
Duncan worked his way to where H.J. and Bud Helliwell lay side by side.
Gibbons was bent over Ensign Helliwell, redressing his wounds. H. J.“s shoulder wound had been bandaged. Her cammie shirt, partially unbuttoned, exposed a bloody cleavage. Part of the shirt had one side taped up.
Gibbons finished swabbing an antibiotic solution on Ensign Helliwell’s arm wounds. He ripped open a wide-gauge bandage pack and began to wrap it around the shoulder in such a way as to cover the cleansed wound.
H. J.“s eyes were shut. Bud watched Gibbons closely as he finished the bandaging.
“How you doing, Bud?” Duncan asked Helliwell.
“I am getting fed up, Captain. Every time I go on a mission I wind up shot. I don’t like it. It’s beginning to piss me off. I was shot when I was a first class in the Middle East. I was shot as a senior chief in Liberia during the African Wars. And now that I’m an officer, I’m shot again. Shit, Captain, I thought officers didn’t get shot.
Guess I should have read your medals better.” Bud raised his right arm. “One good thing, at least I’m right-handed.” Duncan smiled.
“How’s the lieutenant?” Duncan asked Gibbons.
“Could be a serious wound, Captain. Biggest challenge is to keep it from becoming infected. Other than that, she should pull through.
Bullet went clean through and, from where it hit, I’d say she may have a broken collarbone, but with the swelling, I can’t tell. Luckily, the bullet missed her arteries.” “Okay,” Duncan said. “Button up her shirt when you finish.”
The truck hit a series of holes, tossing everyone around the bed of the truck. H.J. moaned and her eyes opened.
“H. J.” how do you feel?”
“Like shit,” she said softly, her eyes half-open. “So this is combat?
It’s almost as bad as a sale day at Macy’s.”
“It isn’t pleasant, but Bud is a better authority on that than me. You need to rest.” They hit another pothole. “As much as possible. I don’t know how long it’ll be before we’re far enough away so we can slow down. I’ll talk with you later.”
“And I don’t have a broken collarbone. At least, I don’t think so.”
“Good.”
Duncan made his way to where Colonel Yosef squatted on his haunches.
H.J. turned her head toward her wounded companion. “What’s the matter, Ensign. Can’t let a woman get wounded without you copying her?” The truck bounced. She grimaced as a wave of pain sent dots of light dancing across her vision.
“There, sir. That should hold you,” Gibbons said.
The bandage ran from Bud’s shoulder past the elbow to where Gibbons had taped it down by tying it around the wrist. The slight wounds on the back of the hand had stopped bleeding so Gibbons left them uncovered.
“Don’t let the flies settle,” Gibbons warned Helliw
ell, pointing to the arm. “Are you sure it’s not broken?”
“Thanks, Gibbons. I’m okay,” Bud said. Yeah, it was broken, but they had more important things to worry about than a simple fracture. The bandages would hold the arm steady, and besides, he’d been around long enough to know that since he could still move his fingers, the break wasn’t a serious one.
Gibbons grinned. “No sweat, sir. Just in a day’s work.”
When he finished buttoning up H. J.“s shirt and adjusting it so it wouldn’t dislodge the bandages, Gibbons stood and fought the movement of the truck to where Monkey stood watch.
“How many bullets you take?” H.J. asked Helliwell weakly.
“None. I didn’t roll far enough away from a damn grenade.”
“Shit, John. You could have been killed.”
“Yeah. And I would have been, too, if the manager of Kmart hadn’t come out and unplugged that thing.”
She grinned.
Helliwell smiled. “That’s what makes being a SEAL so much fun. You never know when you’re going to leave a lot of creditors upset. Just think, Lieutenant, many SEALs go their entire career without getting shot. You manage it in your first mission. There’s going to be a lot of jealous shipmates when we get back, ma’am.”
“we get back,” she corrected.
“Never ‘if,” ma’am. It’s always ‘when.””
“Quit calling me ma’am, I’m not your mom, John. Call me, H.J. I think that being wounded together gives us something in common.”
Helliwell reached over and squeezed her hand. She weakly returned the gesture. “Don’t think this means we’re engaged or anything,” he said, smiling.
“Not even a casual relationship?” she asked, her voice trailing off.
HJ.‘s eyelids fluttered and then closed.
“Not yet, and besides, only my parents call me John. Call me Bud, like everyone else,” he said. Several seconds passed.
“Get some rest, H.J. You did an excellent job. I’m proud to call you a Navy SEAL.”
“That’s not what you said aboard ship,” she slurred, her eyes closed.
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