by Mack Maloney
But where was the enemy fire coming from?
Fox went down on his stomach, crawled to the edge of the building and for the first time realized the enemy fire was coming from the almost identical tower next to the one he was on. This building looked like it was full of the city’s defenders. These were the people who were shooting at them.
There was only a about a 10 foot separation between the two towers. As Fox and the others watched in horror, two mooks firing at them from the roof of the second tower began running towards them, as if to leap across the distance and land on the roof they currently occupied.
This was insanity, and Fox knew it. Why would these two want to jump over to their roof where they would be killed immediately… unless.
Fox instantly opened up on the two gunmen — everyone around him did too, as if they all figured it out at the same time. The two mooks both jumped off the first tower together. The American fusillade caught them in mid-air. Suddenly both mooks blew up in twin balls of flame and dust.
Then everything got quiet again. Fox felt all the air go out of him. These guys hadn’t just been gunmen, they were suicide bombers.
And that was not good.
* * *
Somehow the crews of the other two Blackhawks figured out what was going on. They returned with a vengeance, strafing the second tower mercilessly, this as Fox and the others on the roof of the first building traded intense gunfire with enemy fighters in the other.
It went on like this for what seemed to be the longest time. It was almost like to great man of wars ships battling each other at close quarters on the open sea. Meanwhile, Fox could see other enemy fighters in what looked like full retreat, running through the city square, heading for the river and what they hoped would be sanctuary in Iran beyond.
Why then were the mooks defending the first Holy Tower so ferociously? Was it simply because they housed the headquarters of the religious police? Or that the big American flag was now flying up here? Or was it something else?
He had to find out.
Something told him the answer lay at the bottom of the building. He gathered eight of the Delta guys with him, plus the Marine mechanics and down they went.
It turned out to be almost a replay of the assault on the prison at Loki Sato in West Africa. With Fox taking the lead, he and the other troopers burst through the top door of the building and started making their way down. They made a head long dash down the stairs, cluttered by refuse, garbage and dead or dying Islamic fighters.
Meanwhile the Scramble copter took off, and began circling the building, firing at any enemy gunmen its could see. As it turned out, this first tower was virtually empty. Fox and his squad met only a few mooks on the way down and they looked to be so high on qat, they offered only token resistance before fleeing or dying.
It only took a couple minutes before Fox and company arrived on the ground floor. Sure enough here was the headquarters of the city’s religious police. The place was empty and appeared ransacked. Enemy fighters were running right by the window, some armed, some not. But they weren’t bothering to stop or do anything about the Americans suddenly in their midst.
It was at that moment that Fox and the others realized why. A commotion was happening about a block away. Fox dared to stick his head out the door and saw a truly beautiful sight: it was Kennedy’s 2nd Delta squad and the two Zabul tanks.
They had finally reached the center of Khrash.
Yet even as these reinforcements flooded into the city square firing and chasing the still retreating mooks, enemy gunmen in the second tower were still firing down at them.
Why would they be doing this? Fox wondered again. There was something else here; he knew it. But what?
Or who?
Once he was sure that Kennedy and his men had secured the front of the building, Fox turned to the Delta guys and asked: “Do you think this place has a basement?”
* * *
It took them five minutes to find the door to the lower level — it was hiding behind a false wall in the police chief’s office — and another five minutes to actually get it open, but Fox and his squad finally gained entrance to the Tower’s basement.
The first thing that hit them when they got the door open was the smell. It was horrendous. Body sweat, urine, death or near death.
They rushed down the stairs into a dark hallway. That’s when they heard moaning, groaning, crying. The hallway was lined with plain white doors. Fox shot the lock off the first one and kicked it in. Within, they found two men, chained to the wall. Both were emaciated. Both showed signs of having been beaten and tortured. Both were wearing U.S. Air Force flight uniforms.
Next door down the Delta guys found two Afghani Army officers, one dead, the other dying. In the room next to that, two Filipino women. On and on, 22 people in all. Hostages. POWs. Kidnap victims. All of them awaiting execution. An incredible discovery.
As one of the Delta guys said to Fox: “Everyone’s here except Judge Crater and Jimmy Hoffa.”
Fox just nodded.
“And Li…,” he whispered.
* * *
The Farāh River ran swiftly from north to south. Flowing out of the mountains in Afghanistan, it bordered Khrash on the west, at points defining the border with Iran.
The river had been a lifeline to Khrash for centuries. Where the river cargo years ago had been such exotic things as fresh fruit, figs, and cooking oil, these days it was almost always guns, ammunition, and explosives, along with some luxury items such as C-size batteries, Bic lighters, and blank cassette tapes, including videotapes.
The river caravan of seven boats had left the Iranian city fifty miles downstream just after sundown the day before. Because they had to sail against the current and the 30-foot boats were powered by small diesel engines, those fifty miles upstream could take as long as 10 hours.
But because the smugglers, who were actually members of the Iranian military police, knew there was a sudden desperate situation in Khrash, they’d traveled the night full out, in an effort to get the much-needed arms and ammunition to their Islamic brothers.
That’s why they were now just a mile from Khrash, hidden under the overhanging trees on the Iranian side, looking into this city where nothing ever really happened and wondering whether World War Three had suddenly broken out there.
On the seven boats were tons of military supplies, especially guns and ammunition, a cargo too expensive by weight and too dangerous by origin to be driven over the mountains to Khrash. Usually these deliveries would be made with no muss, no fuss, on one of the many docking areas that could be found up near the Habeeb Bridge. But at the moment the Habeeb Bridge seemed to be on fire. The smuggled weapons would have to be dropped off at a more secure location farther downstream.
There were 21 Iranian military police scattered along the seven boats. The boats themselves were simple wooden carry-alls, long, flat rowboats that were supplemented by diesel engines. All of the cargo was stored up top. Wooden boxes carried the AK-47s and RPG rounds. Waterproofed plastic tubs held the ammunition, plus the batteries, the lighters, and the tape cassettes. The seven boats were lashed together to prevent their getting lost in the dark. They had no running lights and there was no radio communication among them. Wherever the first boat went, the others had to follow.
A man named Zbeg Kamani was riding in the last boat. He was an officer cadet in the regular Iranian Army, assigned to the military police’s smuggling operations. This was his first ride up the Farāh River.
He’d been as surprised as anybody when they turned a bend and saw the unmistakable glow of combat coming from Khrash. He’d been expecting nothing more than a simple drop-off of the smuggled items and a guarantee that they would get into the hands of the right people. Now he could see helicopters firing on the buildings in the city and jet fighters diving on targets near the Habeeb Bridge and dangerously close to the south end of town. Above it all the strangest airplane he’d ever seen was circling like s
ome mechanic bird, looking for a meal.
Praise Allah, he thought. What have I gotten myself into?
There were two other men on the boat with him. They, too, were cadets in the regular Iranian Army. This was their first trip as well.
Zbeg was riding down near the end of the boat. As soon as it was apparent something unusual was happening in Khrash, he started making his way up to the front of the craft; he wanted to talk to his two crewmates, to see if they had any idea what was going on.
They were standing at the front of the boat, looking at the glow of the burning city now just about three-quarters of a mile away. Before Zbeg could say anything, though, incredibly, two figures shot up out of the water and landed on their feet right in front of his two comrades. Zbeg couldn’t believe it. These two beings were like something from a horror movie. They were slimy and had things sticking out of their ears and noses and mouths. Zbeg was frozen to the spot. He couldn’t move; he couldn’t speak. He watched helplessly as his two comrades, paralyzed themselves by the sudden appearance of these two creatures, offered no resistance as the monsters grabbed them around the shoulders and brutally slit their throats.
At just about the same moment, the boat in front of them suddenly blew up, as did the boat in front of that. These particular vessels were carrying the majority of the high explosives in the shipment, so the twin blasts were incredible. Zbeg found himself being thrown through the air and the air was suddenly filled with fire and smoke. Even before he hit the water, he saw other water creatures moving quickly around the boats at the head of the column. They were killing the people on those boats as well and apparently blowing the boats up, too.
Zbeg hit the water an instant later, this as the first five boats of the caravan went up in a string of explosions. He went deep under but somehow managed to fight his way to the surface again. He came up gasping for air and realizing that half his clothes had been burned away in the blast.
Strangely, he saw some of the other people who’d been in the caravan were in the water nearby. This made his absolute panic die down a bit. At least he was not alone! But as he started moving toward them he saw the river creatures again, popping up like from a nightmare, grabbing them, stabbing them repeatedly in their necks and throats, only to disappear back into the black water once their deed was done.
Zbeg was extremely frightened now. He started paddling away from the horror, but he was not a good swimmer and the current was running very fast. To his surprise, he saw one of the cargo loads floating right up to him. It was one of the plastic tubs. Zbeg grabbed onto it for dear life, and it alone prevented him from drowning.
He rode the plastic tub all the way to shore, blocking his ears when he could so he wouldn’t have to hear the terrified screams of his colleagues being killed by the water monsters.
The horror seemed unending. But finally Zbeg was able to push himself up onto dry land, the only survivor of the disaster in the river.
But a bigger surprise was yet to come, because no sooner did he get his wits about him when he heard a voice above him. He looked up to see two men in uniforms with rifles staring down at him. Their faces were highlighted by both twin glows of the riverboats still burning out on the water and the flames coming from Khrash itself not far away.
Zbeg remained frozen with fear as one of the men literally stepped on him to get to the plastic tub that had held just enough buoyancy to save his life. They seemed unconcerned about the seven boats in flames farther out on the river. The soldier ripped the top off the tub and reached inside. But instead of coming out with gobs of ammunition, he had a bunch of batteries and video cassettes in his hand.
“We’ve been waiting for you, pasha,” one of the soldiers said to him. “And you have brought us just what we needed.”
Only then did Zbeg realize these people weren’t Americans — he recognized their uniforms. They were Iranian military, just as he was.
But what were they doing on this side of the river?
* * *
Captain Dow put the big EC-130 plane into a sharp bank and flew over the Farāh River. He and his crew had spotted the series of explosions about a mile south of Khrash and thought it was best that they take a look. Flying low, just above the flames, they saw the Ghost Team’s SEAL contingent moving about the flaming bits of wreckage making sure they’d killed as many of the caravan’s crew as possible.
Dow asked one of the DJs to briefly shine the plane’s searchlight down on the SEALs. This was done and they clearly could see some of the SEALs giving them the thumbs-up. Their business had been done here — that, too, was clear by the number of bodies swiftly moving down the river, back toward Iran.
Turning the big plane around again, Dow steered back over Khrash, returning to his orbit station just a minute later. He asked the DJs tostart broadcasting a sound disk known simply as More Confusing Sounds of War. This done, they started circling the city once again.
It had been quite a night for the EC-130 crew. Never did they think they’d be putting their aerial psych-out machine to work like this. Their role in all this was to create confusion, something they were well equipped to do and something they’d been doing nonstop since taking off from Obo. But they had also caught glimpses every once in a while of the Ghosts’ attack teams on the ground. It was like looking down on a war movie, something real but not, unfolding before their eyes. The damage that the Ghost Team had caused to the old city so far was just astonishing. But the chaos they’d created, with major help from the Psyclops crew, was the incredible part.
They could still see streams of Islamic fighters rushing toward the river and the Habeeb Bridge, at the same time they watched as Curry’s F-14 continually strafing anything that went over the span, be it a truck, a car, or someone on a motorbike or on foot. It was almost too horrible for the Psyclops crew to watch. The bridge and the road beyond were literally soaked with blood. The carnage was sickening. The Ghosts were used to doing things like this. Not so much the civilian soldiers from Pennsylvania.
As Dow completed yet another loop around the city, the godlike speakers blaring the sound of tanks and big guns and explosions and gunfire, one of the DJs who doubled as an image analyst brought a bunch of photos up to the flight compartment. They showed a panorama of the city, and without a doubt, they could see the battle lines moving east to west, just the way the Ghosts’ plan was supposed to go. The smoke and fire were intense — all except in the south end of the city.
This had been a mystery from the beginning. The city of Khrash was literally crawling with Islamic trash, terrorists, hardened fighters, suicide bombers. Yet why would none of them bother to venture to the southern end of the city? If even to hide from the shoestring American assault?
A thought came to Dow as they skirted the edge of the darkened part of the city. Maybe no one was going there because they’d been ordered not to…
Suddenly a bright flash went through the cabin of the airplane. For a split second Dow thought they’d been hit by a SAM. But no warnings sounded, and the plane was still under their control. He looked over at Clancy, who just pointed to their control panel. An amber light right in the middle was blinking.
The White Screen. It had just snapped on. That’s what had caused the bright flash.
Dow was out of his seat in a second, quickly making his way back to the rear of the plane.
Murphy was already on the screen when Dow arrived.
Murphy looked both happy and devastated at the same time. “Captain, you have to somehow find Colonel Long immediately,” he said. “We have some very important news about Li… ”
* * *
It took a very long time for the heavily armed trucks surrounding the battered hotel to leave. Ozzi had spent the time looking down at them, counting them, trying to learn more about them, at the same time painfully aware of what would happen if they ever found him up here alone, with just a few bullets left in his magazine.
This was not a good place to be and he knew it.
Whether he and his Zabul squad had moved a lot faster than anyone could have anticipated or they’d simply become lost and didn’t know about it, something had gone wrong and now he was alone, in enemy territory, with no idea where he was or how he was going to get out.
Finally the technicals did drive away. He didn’t see in which direction — and they could have just moved a bit farther down the street. The heavily armed Al Qaeda types drifted away as well. Ozzi knew this was his chance. Maybe the only one. He had to get off this roof. And he had to find someone friendly, and soon.
He slowly made his way back down to the third level. He looked around and saw nothing but dead mooks everywhere. He peered over the railing to the next two levels below. They, too, were clear. The hotel lobby was dark, another thing going in his favor. At least he could get out of the building without being seen.
He started down the stairs but suddenly felt a sharppain in his leg. He looked down at his right thigh and saw his pants leg was drenched in blood. He couldn’t believe it. He’d been wounded all this time — without even knowing it. And this was no paper cut, either.
He hobbled down the stairs and made the lobby but was out of breath and suddenly very thirsty. He looked out onto the street. All of the lights had gone out by this time. The street was covered with bodies. Dead mooks and the dead women and children they’d first spotted when they got here. The building across the street, the one that Ryder had put a five-hundred-pound bomb into, was still aflame, and this provided the only illumination.
Ozzi checked his rifle once more — again just three bullets left. Then he left the hotel, stepping over the bodies, and began walking in the shadows, not really knowing which direction to go.
He stumbled along for a few blocks, realizing that he was losing blood and losing strength. Every once in a while the EC-130 would fly over, almost directly over his head. But it was flying too high and too fast to spot him. Sometimes he also heard the helicopters close by, but again, they didn’t come close enough for him to signal them. And somewhere up there he could hear the F-14s, too.
