Direct Action

27

The Syrians were responding a hell of a lot faster than Murdock had expected them to. He’d been counting on it taking at least a day to get their shit together. Perhaps the firefight with the smugglers had attracted even more attention than he’d thought.

Murdock couldn’t see what the trucks did when they reached Bteday; a ridgeline was in his way. Several light observation helicopters that looked like the French Gazelles flown by the Syrians were buzzing up and down the valley. Confident of the SEALs’ camouflage, Murdock wasn’t worried about the helicopters.

Finally, the strain on his eyes from the scope was too much. Sitting still made him aware of the twenty-four hours worth of stress and fatigue he’d been fighting. He turned the rifle over to Jaybird and dug in his pockets for the mocha energy bar he knew was there somewhere.

The sun was warming up the ground wonderfully. Murdock was even enjoying the smell of the brush Jaybird had cut to cover them. It was like rosemary.

Then he was in the midst of a dream about being chased; he ran and ran and couldn’t make any progress no matter how hard he tried. Then he shot awake. Jaybird was shaking him.

“Sorry to wake you up, sir.”

“Why did you let me sleep?” Murdock grumbled, furious with himself for giving in to it. Doubly furious for sleeping while one of his men had to stay awake.

“Thought you ought to see this,” said Jaybird, scooting out from behind the rifle.

Murdock locked the stock against his shoulder and followed where Jaybird’s finger was pointing. It was the secondary road Ed DeWitt had had so much trouble crossing. A long line of troops was crossing the road, along what seemed like its entire length.

“Looked to me like at least a battalion, maybe two,” said Jaybird. “And check this out.”

All the villages within view and most of the road intersections were occupied by at least a couple of military vehicles and milling troops. They were on every road that came off the Bekaa highway, every road that led into the mountains, from Bteday all the way up to a secondary road that passed far north of their hill. The box of roads, Murdock thought. How fitting he’d called it that. Because they were in the damn box.

Jaybird gestured around. “There’s the cordon, to hold us in,” he said. Then he pointed back to the troops, who had by now crossed the road and disappeared into the trees. “And there’s the sweep.”

“Sweeping toward us,” said Murdock. “To flush us into the cordon.”

“Yup,” Jaybird agreed. “From Baalbek to the checkpoint we busted, the Mercedes, and then on to the smugglers, Pretty soon to Kos’s body. The sons of bitches are just connecting the dots.”