۞۞۞۞
Hawk dropped face-first on the roof as the hail of gunfire missed him by mere inches. “Quake, I’m pinned. A little assistance needed, bro!”
Quake looked out at the guards moving into the street, setting up their defensive line. One of them manned a belt fed gun and was unloading on Hawk’s position. “Damn, he’s the marksman, not me,” Quake commented through gritted teeth. His ability to survey the battleground was quickly halted as bullets whizzed by his head.
“Quake, I still have bullets grazing my ass!” Hawk prodded.
“Working on it,” Quake replied as he came up with a Hail Mary idea. He pulled out his last two hand grenades and yanked the pins as he crawled to the front doorway. Looking out he saw the opportunity he needed. Quake let the grenades fly one after the other. The first, unfortunately, landed near the gunner, but behind a truck which shielded the shooter. The second grenade landed ten feet in front the gunner. Seconds after they landed both grenades exploded, sending dirt and shrapnel in all directions, forcing the gunner to drop for cover.
“Hawk, get your ass out of there,” Quake yelled over the gunfire.
Hawk slid behind cover and breathed a heavy sigh of relief, followed by a burning sensation in his left shoulder blade. With a quick check using his hand, he realized that a bullet had grazed him. At least, the pain is worse than the bite.
“Thanks, man. I owe you,” Hawk chimed over his headset.
“No problem. Remember: every problem can be solved with high explosives,” Quake replied with a chuckle.
Then something caught his eye. Quake switched comms and said, “Edge, the target is moving: three vehicles, cannot identify which has the target. Remaining guards are pulling out Tangos increasing our side.”
The team knew that Wafeeq’s escape route was out the west side of the compound and then north via side streets. Wafeeq’s men were no fools, and they had chosen streets that made it difficult to set traps. Having planned for this, the Delta Team had devised means to force the target down a road that was more favorable to them. It took Doom, Trident, and Pitch only a few minutes to hot wire a few cars and move them into a blockade.
“Roger that,” Edge replied, switching comms. “Doom, ETA of target: five minutes.”
“Ready and waiting,” Doom replied before asking, “Which car am I hitting?” He sat patiently on top of a building away from the building the rest of the team had invaded.
“Left the crystal ball at home. Sorry, boss.” Quake said as he ducked to avoid bullets flying overhead.
“Don’t shoot the wrong guy,” Trident interrupted as he waited one block south of Doom’s position. Pitch, standing next to him, chuckled.
“If I do, I blame you, Trident” Doom replied. Then he confidently addressed his leader. “We got this, Edge.”
As the three cars sped away from the building, the remainder of Wafeeq’s forces became more aggressive, knowing their leader was out, and they started pressing on the deltas. The guards progressed forward inch by inch, a move which the team had anticipated; they had brought some toys with them to help level the playing field. Quake and Hawk switched out their M-16’s for its big brother, the M249 Squad Automatic Weapon. The belt-fed SAW fired seven hundred and fifty .45mm rounds per minute with a muzzle velocity that would cut anyone in two.
A group of guards began moving on Quake’s position. Quake pulled the hammer on his SAW and gave a sly grin. Say hello to my little pet! The enemy soldiers charged full speed, firing at as they approached. Quake squeezed the trigger and flames emerged from the barrel like fire from a dragon’s mouth. The first guard saw only a flash before his life exited out his back, along with several projectiles. Seeing a group of guards attempt to slide to cover, Quake pivoted the gun to the left; their attempt proved futile as well. One was too slow and lost half of his head. The remaining guards hunkered down behind any cover available, yielding to their foe’s new-found firepower. Hiding did them little good. Watching from above, Hawk aimed at them with his own SAW. Catching them in a cross-fire, he rained a shower of death upon the guards.
۞۞۞۞
North of the action, Doom waited on the roof, concerned that they didn’t know which car the target was in. It was essential that the target is captured alive, so they were going to have to check each car until they identified Wafeeq. Even with Pitch keeping an eye out at street level, there would be only split-seconds to make the determination. The risk was high, both of mission failure and of injury or death to the team.
Countering the escape required two teams: a small group to ambush the cars, and the remainder to eliminate as much enemy support as possible.
Trident knelt next to Pitch behind a dumpster, his fingers steadily tapping his gun’s magazine. “Easy man. You’ll get to join the action soon,” Pitch said, turning to look at him.
“Actually, I was a drummer in High School. It eases the mind,” Trident responded as he continued tapping rhythmically.
“Whatever floats your boat,” Pitch replied.
Hearing the sounds of rapidly moving vehicles approaching, Trident flicked off his safety. “Time to change the beat.”
Doom looked through his scope, scanning each car for Wafeeq. Even in the barely lit street, his night vision goggles gave a detailed enough view of each occupant to enable identification. He had burned the image of Wafeeq into his mind at the briefing and, looking through the windshield of the first car, only two people were in it, neither of whom matched the target.
“Negative on the first car,” Doom reported.
Hearing Doom, Pitch and Trident readied the small M72 LAW anti–tank rocket launcher. The weapon resembled a simple three-foot pipe with a back end that extended out when pulled, increasing the launcher’s length and allowing two sights to pop up. Though simple in design, it packed a big punch. The two were waiting for the cars to come into view before they let the fireworks begin.
Doom scanned the second car and got the breakthrough they were waiting for. “Target, passenger seat, second car,” he reported. “Trident, take out the last car now!” Trident popped up from behind the dumpster and let the launcher roar to life. The rocket flew out of the tube, leaving a gray streak of smoke in its wake as it hit the trunk of the last car, causing it to lift onto its front wheels and erupting in flames. Seeing the explosion behind him, the driver of the first car sped up, trying to lead the way out.
Doom, with his rifle aimed at the engine of the second car, fired three shots. The bullets hit the hood and the car immediately slowed to a crawl smoke beginning to waft out. The lead car failed to notice the loss of the second car and continued speeding down the narrow street.
As the first car screeched around the bend, Pitch realized that he did not have the luxury to aim. After some quick guessing, Pitch pressed the trigger and engaged the weapon. The rocket slammed into the passenger’s side causing the car to roll multiple times and crash into the front window of the restaurant it had been next to.
Gives a whole new meaning to ‘drive through’, Pitch thought before he spoke into his communication device. “Cars down.”
“Three armed tangos exiting the car,” Doom reported from the roof, before taking aim and shooting one in the head. “Make that two.”
Trident grabbed his rifle and peeked around the corner. “OH SHIT,” he shouted as a guard with an AK-47 fired at him, the bullets bashing his cover. He fell flat on his back, and he drew his pistol. He looked through his scope from beneath the dumpster and located the guard’s foot. He fired one round, hitting the guard in the heel like Paris’ arrow into Achilles. The guard crumpled, screaming in pain and grabbing at his wounded ankle. Three successful shots followed the first, hitting the guard in the chest, causing his body to promptly go limp.
Wafeeq still sat in the passenger’s seat, unsure of where he could flee to. His initial fear has left him as he realized the tactical nature of this attack. They wanted him alive. That meant they were probably American. Better than some p
ossibilities, he thought.
As the last soldier protecting him dropped, Wafeeq looked to his right and found a rifle pointed at his window. The soldier wielding the gun spoke near perfect Arabic at him, ordering him to put his hands on the dashboard. With no other choice, he looked at the soldier, sighed and complied. The moment his hands touched the dashboard, Pitch yanked the car door open, pulled him out of the car, slammed him to the ground, and handcuffed him.
“Move and I blow your head off,” Pitch continued in Arabic.
Wafeeq chuckled and responded back in English. “Silly American, you have been ordered to take me alive. Your threats are meaningless.”
“I personally don’t need you alive. Light is bad here. I tell my sniper you’re an imposter whose armed and you get a bullet in the head,” Pitch replied. Wafeeq sighed in reluctant understanding.
Meanwhile, Trident was busy checking and ensuring that all the guards were confirmed kills. From his stationary position on the roof, Doom scanned the cars hit by the rockets, confirming that there was no movement.
“Time to check out, gentlemen,” Pitch announced to the team through his headset.
Trident immediately ran to the largest vehicle he could find nearby and hotwired it to provide transportation to the extraction zone, often referred to as the ‘E.Z.’
Doom made his way off the roof and went to meet up with Pitch. “I got this scumbag,” Doom said as he grabbed Wafeeq by the back of the neck and leading him to a rather decrepit SUV. “Really, Trident?” Doom asked, gesturing to the ragged vehicle while opening the back seat door and shoving their captive in.
“What?” Trident responded, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s not like we’re in Beverly Hills and I can grab the nearest Lamborghini?”
“Well, at least now I know your choice in women.”
“What does that suppose to mean?” he asked.
Pitch took a moment to grab one of the guard’s radios and listen to the orders being yelled over it in Arabic. The shouting declared that the convoy was under attack and for the troops to grab whatever vehicles were still in operation and got to the ambush site. “Holy shit, I can’t believe this worked,” Pitch said to Doom with a satisfied smile.
۞۞۞۞
“Quake, Hawk, make for the EZ,” Edge ordered as he and Dust prepared to make their break.
“Roger,” they both replied while firing full auto into the enemy’s position, giving them the window of opportunity to escape. After a few seconds, Quake peeled to the right and ran out the back of the store. Hawk also reached the back of the building, slid down from the roof using the rubble to bounce off.
“They will be on us in a minute,” Hawk said going into a full sprint.
“Longer,” Quake replied confidently.
Seconds later an explosion rocked the building as an unfortunate guard found the claymores that Quake had planted in the doorway. They would be finding pieces of him for months.
At the other end of the building, Dust and Edge found their escape more difficult. They were out of the building, but the enemy soldiers pursued unrelentingly, forcing Dust and Edge to leap frog down the street. Edge continued to fire at anything that moved as Dust slid into firing position. Then he yelled at Edge to move while he provided covering fire. Edge, running full speed, leg muscles burning with exhaustion passed Dust and slid into cover, bullets coming within inches. He grabbed his smoke grenade and tossed it into the street. Bouncing on the concrete, the smoke grenade popped and hissed as smoke obscured everything.
Out of view of the Deltas, the sniper, having survived Edge’s fire, crawled along the rubble on the street. The scope on his previous rifle had been shattered by Edge’s bullets and blood ran down his face from wounds caused by the shrapnel. He had found another sniper rifle and was out to complete his kill. The lack of visibility through the smoke worked both ways, and he was using it to his advantage. Crouching as he crossed the street, he broke through the smoke, his gun up and already at the target.
Dust high-tailed down the street. He was a natural runner with a stride that effortlessly propelled his body regardless of speed or distance. As he passed by Edge, he felt a stabbing pain as something penetrated his left leg and he began to left leg falter. Unable to bear the pain he fell, rolling along the concrete from his momentum.
Edge saw the sniper emerge from the smoke too late to warn Dust. “That asshole does not learn,” he whispered to himself. He lined up his sights and fired, missing the sniper by a foot, but drawing his attention. He and the sniper then found themselves in a western movie style shoot-out. Edge fired again, missing by inches but causing the sniper to flinch as he fired back. The bullet whizzed past Edge’s head and made a crater in the collapsed wall behind him. Edge fired again, this time hitting home. The sniper dropped his gun as he clutched his neck, blood pouring from the wound Edge had inflicted. Falling backward, he thrashed on the ground for a few seconds until death finally took him.
“Damn right,” Edge said turning and running to Dust’s aid.
“You had to say something about me getting shot, didn’t you?” Dust said through gritted teeth.
“Quit your whining. It’s not like I want to carry your ass!”
“Hey man, the girls love my ass,” Dust grinned.
Edge helped Dust stand and positioned himself under Dust’s left arm to half walk, half carry him down a narrow side street. Edge decided it was time to catch a ride out.
“Pitch, we need a cab. What’s your location?”
“THESE STREETS SUCK!” came the initial response. “We are at least a minute late and coming down route Echo. We can meet to you in….FUCK!”
“Your cursing is not helping,” Doom said as he looked out the window calmly.
“Edge, we’re blocked again, have to go around to get back to this street. We will pick you up in four minutes.”
“Ok, we are moving from road Delta to Echo. Tangos in pursuit. I repeat tangos are in pursuit,” Edge said.
The side street they were on came to an end and branched in two directions. They made a right and found the road where they would meet Pitch. They heard the footsteps and yelling of approaching troops but knew they had to remain where they were; they couldn’t run, and they had to secure the area for their transportation to come and get them. With no other options, Edge had to make a stand. He released Dust and instructed him to make his way to the end of the street and to keep a look out for Pitch.
“What is he driving?” Dust asked
“I don’t know. If you see a car, stand up and wave; if they don’t kill you, then it’s them.”
“Oh we’re so working on your sense of humor when we get home,” Dust promised as he limped his way around the corner and down the alley.
Edge checked his weapon and found that over half the clip was full. He flattened himself against the wall; with the shadows and his camouflage, he knew it would give him the drop on the incoming troops. It sounded like a small group, maybe four or five, and maybe twenty feet from the corner.
Suddenly, Edge heard another sound and saw movement in the alley. It was a child, maybe four or five. He ran to the child and pushed him back into the house and into the arms of his mother. She was already upset that her child had gone outside when there had been gunfire and was terrified at the sight of Edge and his rifle. Edge’s Arabic was not perfect, but he knew enough to give alerts. In Arabic, he whispered urgently, “Get down,” or so he hoped.
Edge ran with all he had to beat the enemy to the street corner. As he approached the end of the wall, the first guard had already begun to round the corner, gun poised. Edge deflected the gun and grabbed the guard by the throat shoving him back. The guard felt as though he had been hit by a freight train as a vice gripped his throat. The guard pushed back against Edge without being able to put up any real resistance. He had been caught totally off guard, as were the other three soldiers that rounded the corner behind him.
With his captive in tow, Edge moved himself t
o the center of the group making it less likely that they would use their weapons. His position limited the space his foes had, pushing the walls against them in the narrow space; since they carried such large guns, Edge had taken away their ability to maneuver them.
Edge took a large step forward and his shoved captive soldier away, into a pair soldiers that were closing in, throwing all three of the soldiers off balance. Edge proceeded to spin to his left and lowered himself as he did so, dropping below the swing of the remaining soldier.
Hand to hand combat had been Edge’s specialty.
Edge brought his arm up to the side of his head, and elbow struck the guard in the chin, sending his head reeling back into the wall with a solid thunk. Edge figured the soldier was either dead or out cold.
Out the corner of his eye, Edge saw the guard next to him, having regained his balance first, draw a knife to attempt to stab him in the back. Edge spun toward the guard and dropped his hand, parrying the knife in a downward stroke. Edge shuffled forward and slid his arm up the guard’s arm to the throat like a clothesline as his other hand strikes the hip. The guard’s feet flew into the air, and he fell to the ground, landing on his head and giving a satisfying crunch as his neck broke. Edge continued his momentum towards the two guards still standing.
One of the remaining guards tried to butt Edge in the head with his gun. Not a chance, he thought as he stopped his forward movement and dashed sideways under the blow to come up behind a second guard who was taken aback by the move and sent backward as Edge’s boot caught him square in the chest. He slammed into the wall and fell to the ground, conscious but winded. The first guard tried to employ a spin attack, but Edge hooked an arm around the guard’s head and arm. Edge spun, whipping the entangled guard with him, snapping his neck.
The second guard regained his breath and pushed off the wall with a yell at Edge. Edge lowered into a judo throw stance, grabbed the guard, and sent the guard catapulting over him. As the guard was about to hit the ground, Edge dropped to his knees and drove his hands into the ground as if striking it, causing the guard to hit head first. The guard’s yell was silenced by the crunch of his landing.
Rise of the Phoenix Page 10
