Logan headed for their vehicle as the comms squawked.
“Charlie Zero-Four, this is Command, over.”
He frowned. “I think we’re about to get shut down.” He activated his comm. “Go ahead, Command.”
“Zero-Four, the Americans have requested assistance to exfil their team.” Logan’s eyebrows rose in anticipation of what was to come next. He couldn’t imagine them being given the go ahead, not this quickly. “We’re awaiting go-ahead confirmation from HQ as this violates our ROE. Suggest you conduct a training exercise with the locals. This could take some time, over.”
“Roger that, Command. Zero-Four, out.” Logan grinned at St. Denis. “Let’s go do some training!”
39 |
ISIS Held Territory North of Thawrah, Syria
Alia Monroe sat in the back of the beat-up Mercedes, squeezed between two men she was certain hadn’t showered in weeks if not months. Then again, until last night, she hadn’t showered in a week either. She had been told to clean up, put in a room with a large tub of hot water, soap and shampoo, plus everything else a woman would need to make herself presentable.
She had refused at first, but a swift fist to her stomach, followed by several more, had her doubled over in pain, begging for forgiveness, swearing she’d cooperate.
This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be.
She and Nala had come here three months ago to join the cause. At first, everything had been as promised. They were sisters in the Caliphate, members with all the rights and privileges they were entitled to.
Which was almost nothing as a woman.
Though that was what they had agreed to. Allah was a man, the Prophet Mohammad was a man. The Koran was the word of Allah as told to the Prophet, the hadiths were the practices of the Prophet, a man who followed the will of Allah, therefore were to be interpreted as the way all mankind should live.
And the Koran and hadiths were clear. Women were there to serve man, not the other way around.
And that was why she was here, to serve the warriors of Allah in any way she could so that one day the world would live under the unified flag of Islam. There would be peace on Earth, and once unified, Jesus would return to deliver the righteous to paradise. Most of the world’s population would be wiped out in the battle to attain this dream, as it was written, but they would be the infidels. That would be her father’s side of the family, and most of her friends back home, yet that didn’t matter.
They were infidels.
Her own father was involved with the government, and was a cousin of the President responsible for killing so many innocent Muslims.
They would all die, and she’d be part of that culling, guaranteeing her eternal bliss.
Yet it hadn’t turned out that way.
Within weeks, she had been shuffled to another home, the boy she had met online, who had convinced her to come join him, killed in battle. It was the last time she had seen Nala, and she had never had a chance to meet up with Mary, though she may never have arrived, she not firm enough in her new beliefs to come with them.
Mary had made the right decision.
While her first benefactor had been kind and gentle with her, though strict in insisting she adhere to Islamic tradition, her new master was anything but.
And that was what he was.
A master.
He treated her like a slave, and she had lost count of how many times the man had raped her.
Fortunately, she had figured a way out of it.
Pretend to enjoy it.
This, he couldn’t stand. When she resisted, he was turned on, but when she pretended to be into it, he had problems down below usually solved by little blue pills, pills apparently in short supply in the ISIS controlled world.
He had quickly tired of her, putting her up for auction.
Though something had changed.
She had heard an excited phone call last night, one she only heard bits and pieces of, though those were enough to terrify her.
She was wanted in al-Raqqah, the capital.
Did they know who she was?
She had never told them, afraid this very thing might happen. She had come here to fight, not to be a pawn in the war because of who her father was or who he was related to.
An explosion tore apart the road ahead, the driver slamming on the brakes as she screamed. Her head bounced off the seat in front of her, knocking her senseless for a moment, the sounds of panic in the car fading then roaring back with a vengeance, her head pounding as the car surged around the still billowing debris and dust.
“Keep going! Keep going!” shouted someone, who, she didn’t know. All she did know was someone was trying to kill them, and for the first time in weeks, for a split second, hoped she wouldn’t die.
Then she remembered her pitiful reality, and cried, overwhelmed with the disappointment the bomb had missed them.
40 |
ISIS Held Territory South of Thawrah, Syria
Red held up a hand as an update came in from Control, silencing Atlas who was complaining about difficulties removing his burqa.
“Sorry, Zero-Two, no joy on diverting the target south. We can’t risk another strike, over.”
“Copy that, Control. We’ll try to get her out later. Any update on those choppers?”
“Five mikes. You’ve got a lot of personnel coming your way. We recommend you divert off your current route and head due south, over.”
Niner hammered the roof to get Red’s attention, then pointed at the terrain to the south, strewn with rocks and boulders. “We won’t get anywhere in that shit.”
Red agreed. “Negative, Control, the terrain is too rough. What’s ahead of us?”
“Six technicals on an intercept course, ten more will catch up to you from the north within two mikes of your initial engagement, copy?”
Red sighed. “Copy that. Tell those choppers to push it or we’re toast. Zero-Two, out.”
He shoved his head through the window. “Find us a defensible position. There’s a shit-storm of firepower coming down on us.”
Niner nodded. “What else is new?”
41 |
Operations Center 2, CIA Headquarters Langley, Virginia
“Sir, he’s receiving a phone call.”
Leroux looked at Sonya Tong. “From who?”
“Rasheed Hadad.”
“Let’s hear it.”
Tong tapped a few keys, the audio played on the speakers. The conversation was brief, if it could even be called that. Leroux turned toward the translator.
“He said to turn around.”
Leroux’s eyebrows popped. “And did he agree?”
“He wasn’t given a chance to respond.”
Tong motioned toward the screen. “I think he knows who’s boss, sir.”
Leroux turned, watching as the car with Alia Monroe skidded to a halt then executed a 180, its rear tires kicking up dust. Whoever was driving was eager to comply, and probably to offload the passenger that had attracted a missile strike they were assuming had missed them.
“Where’s Hadad?”
Tong pointed at the screen. “About ten klicks separating them.”
“And we’ve got nothing in the area to intercept them?”
“No, all assets are en route to extract the Delta team.”
Leroux gestured at the screen. “Expand that.”
The feed from Bragg appeared and Leroux muttered a curse. “ETA on their evac?”
“Five minutes.”
He shook his head. “I don’t think that’s going to be soon enough.”
42 |
ISIS Held Territory South of Thawrah, Syria
“If I die because some spoiled brat decided to go join a war just to piss off daddy, I’m going to be seriously upset.”
Spock grunted at Niner’s tirade as he jabbed his combat knife into the outside tires, the two technicals wedged against a massive boulder, providing them with cover. “Yeah, he should have kept a tighter lea
sh on her.”
Red gave him a look. “Riiight, and how old is your daughter?”
“Six.”
“Yeah. Well, wait until she’s sixteen, then let’s see how tight that leash is if you don’t want her hating you. And besides, Monroe is twenty-one. She’s old enough to be stupid on her own.”
Atlas frowned. “Have we confirmed she’s a convert, or is she some bleeding heart influenced by tearjerker pictures on the Internet, trying to earn her social media cred by helping refugees?”
Jimmy shook his head. “Nah, that’s her friend. This one was raised Muslim. Her mother’s one.”
Atlas grunted. “Why would anybody convert to a religion—never mind. Ours is not to question why…”
Niner’s eyes narrowed. “What, are we Marines now?”
Atlas grinned at him. “Semper fi, dude!”
Niner shook his head. “Oy vey, if I wanted to be a Marine, I would have taken it easy in Basic.”
Spock cocked an eyebrow. “We went through Basic together, and I seem to remember you taking it pretty easy.”
“Well, I didn’t want to make the rest of you look bad.”
“Uh huh.” Spock pointed. “Here they come.”
Red checked the ammo for the .50 cal, hoping for a miracle. Still only one box. They had good cover behind them, though only until the enemy arrived from that direction, but the choppers should be here by then. With the outside tires of their vehicles flattened, bringing them closer to the ground, the masses of metal might block a stray bullet or two.
It also rendered them useless, though that didn’t matter, the only way they were getting out of here was by chopper.
He checked the others, making sure everyone had the best possible cover. “Okay, conserve your ammo and keep your heads down. We only need to last five minutes.”
Niner cursed. “Umm, hate to interrupt, but you might want to check your three o’clock.”
Red scanned right, not spotting anything beyond the oncoming horde. “What?”
“Are those Stingers?”
Red’s eyes widened as he spotted a vehicle with two men in the back, one sporting a shoulder-launched missile capable of downing their incoming choppers. “For Christ’s sake! This is why you don’t give rebels weapons. They just end up in the other guy’s hands!” Red activated his comm. “Control, Zero-Two. Be advised, we believe the hostiles have Stingers, over.”
“Copy that, Zero-Two. Can you take them out?”
Niner rolled his eyes. “What kind of question is that? Of course we can.”
Red chuckled. “Control, One-One seems confident he can. Stand by.” He motioned toward the technical skidding to a halt a few hundred yards from their position, one idiot standing in the back holding the mobile missile launcher.
Niner gave Red a look. “What? Now?”
“Please.”
Niner took aim with his Glock and squeezed the trigger.
The man dropped.
And several dozen weapons opened up on their position.
43 |
Operations Center 2, CIA Headquarters Langley, Virginia
Chris Leroux’s heart raced as he watched the action unfold from the front of the operations center, his hands on his hips, his head shaking. Director Morrison entered, joining him.
“Did they get her?”
Leroux sighed. “No. They were tipped off by the mole at Bragg. They turned around before they got there, and to top it off, they’ve got the Delta team pinned down outside of town.”
“Shit.” Morrison watched then pointed, several small explosions appearing on the screen, the overhead view giving them the appearance of mushroom caps. “What the hell are those? Grenades?”
“Mortars,” replied Randy Child.
Morrison cursed. “It’s like all of ISIS has shown up. We could just carpet bomb the damned area and win the war.”
Leroux nodded. “And kill the Delta team.”
“It looks like that’s going to happen anyway,” muttered Child.
Leroux looked at him. “Let’s hope you’re wrong.”
44 |
ISIS Held Territory South of Thawrah, Syria
Niner ducked as another mortar sprayed them with desert sand and stone, the impact barely thirty yards away. “Okay, this is turning out to be a very bad day!”
Atlas gave him a quick look. “No shit, Sherlock.”
Red ducked behind the tire of one of the vehicles. “Control, where the hell are those choppers? We’re getting creamed out here!”
“Zero-Two, Apaches should be on your position in one mike, over.”
Niner glanced at him. “Tell Control I want to be cremated and my ashes shoved up the ass of the mother who decided ISIS wasn’t a real threat!”
“Copy that, One-One, I’ll let the President know.”
Niner deactivated his forgotten comm. “Oops.” He popped up and fired two rounds, one of Mohammed’s warriors dropping. Another explosion tore apart the ground in front of the vehicle he was hiding behind, grit blasting at his ballistic glasses.
Red rose and surveyed the area with his binoculars, rapidly scanning from left to right before dropping back down. He turned to Mickey, covering their rear. “Status?”
“We’re screwed, that’s the status! Two dozen hostiles, three technicals with fifty cals, the whole shebang will be on us by the time those choppers get here.”
“Sweet baby Jesus, would you get a load of this?”
Red spun around to see where Atlas was pointing.
Niner’s eyes widened. “Holy shit! I think the damned Jawas are here.”
Red stared at the vehicle lumbering toward them bearing an uncanny resemblance to the sandcrawler from Star Wars, this obviously one of the famous cobbled together armored vehicles he had been briefed on.
“Looks like a bunch of dorks on their way to Comiccon,” said Jimmy. “They must be lost.”
Red ignored the running commentary, instead more concerned with the multiple barrels sticking out the front and sides, likely belonging to large caliber weapons mounted inside.
Where he and his men couldn’t get at them, at least not with the weapons they had with them.
“If that gets here first, this is over.”
“Bravo Zero-Two, this is X-Ray-Sierra Zero-One, I suggest you duck, over.”
Red grinned as he heard the thunder of chopper blades behind them. “Watch yourselves, boys, our saviors have arrived.” Missiles streaked over their heads, four technicals and the Jawas erupting in massive explosions as the 30mm chain guns opened up on the ground forces. Two Apache AH-64Ds thundered past their position, raining death upon the hostiles, most wiped out or retreating within the first ten seconds of the engagement.
“Hooah! Gotta love American firepower!” cried Niner.
A missile streaked from a ground position to their left, Red activating his comm. “Stinger! Stinger! Stinger!”
The pilot of the targeted Apache rolled hard left, chaff deploying just before the missile slammed into the hot tail section, sending the sixty-five million dollar piece of equipment spinning to the ground. Red tensed, preparing for what he hoped would be a soft landing, when the Apache slammed into the ground, a round of cheers erupting from a revitalized enemy.
He paused, but the airframe remained intact, no explosions forthcoming.
“X-Ray-Sierra Flight, provide cover, we’re going after the crew, over.”
“Roger that, Bravo Team.”
The remaining Apache banked away, unleashing hell on those who had dared to return to the fight. Red turned to Jimmy and Mickey. “Cover us!” He leaped over the hood of the Nissan, quickly followed by Atlas, Niner, and Spock. He charged toward the smoldering Apache, both Glocks extended in front of him as he squeezed off disciplined shots at anything that looked his way, the others doing the same behind him as they formed a wedge. The canopy blew, the pilot struggling to get out, there no movement from his co-pilot.
Red didn’t need to see behind him to kn
ow a Black Hawk was setting down, the pilot already screaming in his ear that they had sixty seconds, the landing zone too hot.
No shit.
He slammed into the smoking fuselage, using it as cover, then reached in to check the co-pilot for a pulse.
Joy.
Steady but weak.
A quick check found a piece of shrapnel embedded in his stomach. He turned to the pilot, Atlas unbuckling him. “He’s alive, but wounded.” Niner and Spock squeezed off two rounds each as Atlas hauled the pilot out of the cockpit and to the ground in one swift motion.
“You okay, man?”
The pilot nodded. “Yeah, I’ll live. Check on Donnie.”
Red unbuckled the co-pilot from his seat as Niner called for a mag, Atlas handing him one. “Atlas, give me a hand. Careful, it’s a stomach wound.” Mortars continued to rain down on them as the small arms fire regained its intensity, the Apache forced to engage in high speed passes as the pilot tried to avoid the fate of his partner. Atlas climbed up and lifted Donnie from his seat. The man moaned, but Atlas continued, Red grabbing the wounded man’s legs, both committed to completing the extraction in a single motion. Atlas stepped to the ground as Red handed the legs off to the pilot before hopping down.
“Red, we gotta go, now!”
Red nodded at Niner, who pointed at the tail section. He looked and cursed, flames now licking the black metal. “Okay, let’s move! She could blow at any second!”
Atlas bent over and scooped Donnie up. “Cover me!”
He charged toward the Black Hawk, the others forming a human shield behind the defenseless warrior as mortars continued to tear apart the ground around them, the Apache keeping the closer enemy personnel occupied, the small arms fire mostly shot blindly or at the gunship.
A massive explosion blasted the ground ahead of them, throwing them all off their feet.
Forgotten Page 9
