* * *
Ali heard yelling, but paid no attention. The exertion brought the coppery taste of blood to his mouth. Then the pin was out, and he knew he was safe. "There is no God but Allah," he whispered into the ground, "and Mohammad is the Prophet of Allah." With the last of his strength, Ali rolled over on his back.
Welsh couldn't fire; the Secret Service guards were in his way. He dived behind the tree.
Both of the guards fired into Ali's body. The woman took a few steps toward him. Something twitched on the ground, and she went closer to look. It was green, and she was furious with herself when she realized what it was. But all she could say was, "Oh, shit." Then the grenade exploded.
Captain Hasford came through the trees with several of his SEALs as Welsh was trying to stuff pieces of the woman's uniform into the largest wounds to stop the bleeding. Her partner was dead. Though he'd been farther away, he'd taken a fragment right through the heart.
Welsh was shaking her, pleading, promising. "You've got to stay awake," he told her. "If you stay awake you're going to be all right."
"I'm trying," she said dreamily. "But it's so hard." The SEALs applied battle dressings to her wounds, but she died before a Corpsman could arrive. Welsh closed her eyes.
Captain Hasford was standing over Ali's body. Welsh got up and walked over to him, wiping the blood from his hands onto his flight suit. "Did the President get out all right?" Welsh asked. "I didn't hear the helicopter."
"Yes, he did," said Hasford. "Van Brocklin was screaming at us not to bring him up, but some idiot on the radio net had his finger down on his transmit button. The helo couldn't get through to us, and we couldn't talk to them."
Welsh shook his head. He was suddenly exhausted.
"You did just fine," the Captain told him.
"He was one hard-core motherfucker," said Welsh, looking down at Ali's body. There was a hole in the abdomen the size of a basketball. Pinkish white viscera were spread over the ground and nearby bushes.
As they stood there, another uniformed Secret Service guard came through the bushes from the South Lawn. He took one look at the body and threw up. Welsh and Hasford politely looked away. Welsh saw the black smoke pouring from the windows of the White House and all he could think of was that he'd never been inside.
The guard had wiped his mouth, but he was still staring at Ali's corpse. He wanted to know what had happened, so Hasford told him.
"How can anyone do that with his life?" the guard asked.
Welsh, tired of explaining things to people who would never understand, simply said, "Beats the shit out of me."
EPILOGUE
Since at the time there was no way to know the full scope of the terrorist attacks, the President of the United States was immediately flown to the emergency national command center known as Mount Weather, a huge underground Cold War-era complex dug deeply into the solid rock hills near Berryville, Virginia.
Fifteen members of Congress and the Cabinet had been killed in the attack, and many others seriously wounded. Few of the White House staff who had been in the West Wing that morning survived. Fifteen Secret Service agents and two SEALs of Team 6 also died. The West Wing Was nearly gutted before the fire department could make its way into the compound, and the lower floor of the main White House was severely damaged.
None of the terrorists survived to be interrogated. For its part, the Iranian government heatedly denied any involvement in the attack, calling the U.S. accusations yet another attempt to provoke war. A month later Iran detonated its first nuclear device in its eastern desert.
Corporal Brian Hawkins recovered fully from his wounds and was awarded the Navy Cross, the nation’s second-highest award for valor, along with yet another Purple Heart. He was meritoriously promoted to the rank of sergeant and assigned, again without his consultation, to the Marine Corps Recruit Depot at Parris Island, South Carolina, for duty as a drill instructor.
Welsh’s boss, the Assistant Secretary of Defense for Special Operations/Low Intensity Conflict, basked in the general acclaim that resulted from the successful rescue. Given time, Welsh had no doubt that he’d find a way to take credit for the whole thing.
Although publicly complimentary, both the Secretary of Defense and the Army leadership were privately furious with Welsh. The story of his usurpation of command had found its way into the press, forcing them to send Major General Clark into immediate retirement. They were not men who accepted embarrassment with good grace, and the inevitable editorial cartoons of Army generals fiddling while the White House burned did not improve their mood.
Rich Welsh knew they would eventually find a way to ambush him through the bureaucracy. Fed up anyway, he resigned.
Then, on the verge of entering business school, he was offered another job. But that is another story.
THE END
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1992, 2011 by William Christie
Cover design by Open Road Integrated Media
ISBN 978-1-4976-2146-6
This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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Warriors of God Page 27
