Counterfire

18

Lieutenant Ed DeWitt, Lam, and Howard lay in the sand and rocks just inside the fence up a half mile from the headquarters building that Ed knew was a target. He worried a little about coming back this way past the HQ once it had been hit by a squad. He was with three Israelis. Corporal Zared led the team. He had briefed them in the car.

They were hitting the small ammo and explosives bunker that was at the north end of camp where terrorists could stop by and pick up weapons, ammo, or explosives on their way to missions. It was restocked from the big ammo bunker that another squad would attack far to the south end of the camp.

“If we have time, we double back about a quarter mile and take out the small motor pool they have. Our reports show ten two-ton trucks for personnel, ten or twelve sedans, six jeeps, and four SUVs.”

DeWitt felt his palms get moist, the way they did sometimes just before a mission. It was a little strange taking orders from a corporal, but he was just another cog in the machine now, doing his job. Get it done and get away without losing a man. That was his purpose.

“We move in five minutes,” Corporal Zared said. “We hit the ammo at exactly 0100 to coordinate with the other strikes. Any questions?”

“Yeah,” Lam said. “Will there be any C-4 in that bunker we can team up with on our bombs?”

“Let’s hope so. We’ll send two men in. It’s a relatively small bunker dug half underground with a concrete base and sides and three feet of dirt on top of the roof. It will be locked, but we’ll shoot the lock off. I have a forty-five automatic I brought along to do just that. Then we put two men inside; the rest of us are security. Lam, you and my man will go in and set the charges. Rig them with one-minute timers, but don’t start them until I give the word on your radios. Okay, time to move.

“The mound is that third blob to the left up there. I’ve been watching it and there aren’t any guards of any kind. I haven’t seen any interior guards anywhere in this camp. Sloppy, and a dangerous way for them to operate. Let’s go, now.”

They worked down the slight slope and into the main camp, past two small buildings and around a streetlight of sorts. Then they came to the ammo bunker. A shadow moved by the sunken door. Ed DeWitt pointed to it, and the Israeli took out a thin-bladed knife and worked up silently.

The guard sat on a chair that leaned back against the bunker door. He was sleeping. One slash with the sharp blade across the man’s throat, severing the left carotid artery and the jugular vein, and the terrorist guard slept forever. Ed dragged the guard to the back of the bunker. Corporal Zared fired twice at the heavy padlock on the door, and it jolted off into the dirt. One Israeli and Lam went inside with their two pounds of C-4 each. They used the radio two minutes later.

“We’ve got the charges set, the timers for thirty seconds, and we’re ready to rock and roll,” Lam said.

Howard, DeWitt, and Corporal Zared moved to one side of the door.

“Push in the timers and get out of there,” Zared said. He pointed in the back toward the brush along the border fence, and when the two came out of the bunker, all six men ran for the brush. They were halfway there when the charges went off. It didn’t blast the roof off the bunker, but smoke and debris gushed out the doorway and blew the door fifty feet across the compound. In one area the roof sagged; then the dirt began to sift into the bunker.

“No way we can look inside,” DeWitt said.

He had just said it when they heard an explosion, a roaring crackling sound far to the south.

“Must be this one’s big brother down at the main ammo dump,” Zared said. “They lit off a big one.”

“Let’s find the motor pool,” DeWitt said. “Which direction?”

It was about a quarter of a mile back the way they had come. On the way they heard rifle fire and what Lam was sure were the twenties sounding off.

“Our buddies are busy too,” Lam said.

It took them five minutes to find the motor pool. Most of the trucks and cars and SUVs were parked outside. They broke their quarter-pound C-5 bars into three pieces and took off gas- and diesel-fuel tank covers. They pressed the C-4 halfway into the filler tank tube and when half of all the rigs were ready, they set the timers for thirty seconds; then the six men pushed down the fourteen timer devices on the detonators and ran for the fence.

The first C-4 went off in a six-by-six truck’s filler tube and blasted the burning gasoline over four other trucks, which caught fire at once. Then the rest of the charges went off in random order, demolishing the rigs bombed and spreading burning fuel on those cars and trucks without any charges on them.

The squad stopped and looked back at the devastation. Every vehicle in the small compound burned fiercely. The motor pool building itself caught fire and began to burn furiously. Barrels of gasoline and diesel heated up inside and exploded, showering parts of the building a hundred feet away; some of the boards were still burning when they landed.

They saw several men rushing around the area where the trucks burned, but it was far too late to salvage anything, even a spare tire.

“You jokers won’t be driving anywhere for some time,” Lam said. The rest of the team nodded, then moved forward toward the fence.

They had run past two small buildings and across a street when a jeep skidded around a building and the headlights bore straight down on them. They didn’t have a chance to move before a machine gun stuttered out three five-round bursts. One of the Israelis went down.

The five other men left jerked up their weapons and zeroed in on the headlights, blasted them out, and riddled the vehicle before it came within thirty yards of them. It veered off to the side and rammed into a building. The squad blasted the wreck with a hundred more rounds.

Corporal Zared knelt in the dirt beside the road. He touched the throat of his buddy. His face took on a sharp expression and he slung his rifle over his back, then picked up the Israeli Mistaravim and walked with the others toward the fence.

The squad took turns carrying the dead man. He had two machine-gun rounds in his chest, one through his heart. He had died instantly.

They used a fireman’s carry, with the body over one shoulder, holding onto arms on one side, the legs on the other.

DeWitt tried to talk to Corporal Zared, but the Israeli waved him off. They met no resistance as they moved along the fence to the spot where they had cut the hole. Their car was in the same place and had not been tampered with.

The third Israeli, Eleazar, drove. It was the longest drive that Lieutenant Ed DeWitt could remember. Nobody said a word. Ten miles from the Army base at Ramallah, they saw a Palestinian Authority police checkpoint ahead. There was no chance to go around it. Eleazar said he could talk them into letting them through without an inspection.

“Everyone just stay calm,” Eleazar said. “It’s late and these cops are tired. Let me handle it.”

There were only two Palestinians on duty when the car came to a stop as the Police Authority man held out his hand. He came up to the window and spoke in Arabic. He carried a submachine gun.

Eleazar, in the driver’s seat, answered him in Arabic. He said they were part of a soccer team returning to Ramallah after a hard game way up north.

The guard was skeptical, and ordered the driver out of the car. He looked at him and patted him down. He found no weapon.

“One of our players took sick. I’d appreciate getting him on to the hospital in Ramallah.”

The Palestinian policeman shook his head. “I want all of you to get out of the car. Right now.”

Corporal Zared had been listening closely. When the policeman ordered them out of the car, he leaned out the window and shot the cop twice in the chest with a pistol, then pushed across the car and fired twice, hitting the second policeman in the chest.

Eleazar jumped back in the sedan, slammed the door, and drove forward with tires squealing on the blacktopped road. Eleazar was grim-faced as they rocketed down the road. He pushed the old sedan as fast as it would go.

Corporal Zared reloaded the magazine in his pistol so it was full, and pushed it back in place.

“It was the only thing to do,” he said to the group. “In another two or three minutes he would have seen our dead body and we’d have been in big trouble. Forget it. We’ll be back in the Rama Army Base before anyone even finds those two.”

“Let’s hope that you’re right, Corporal,” DeWitt said.

They drove for five minutes and saw only two other cars. Then, ahead, the driver spotted a flashing red light.

“Could be trouble,” Eleazar said. “Everybody lock and load. If we have to shoot it out we should far outgun this police car squad.”

The flashing light came closer. Then it loomed right in front of them and rushed past. It was an ambulance.

“Might be going to tend to those cops,” Lam said.

“At least they weren’t looking for us,” the driver said. “We’ll be at the Army gate in five minutes.”

At the gate of the Army base tight security was in effect. All five of the men had to get out of the car and be inspected. The guard stared at the dead man and then let them pass.

Colonel Ben-Ami was there to meet them. He ushered the three SEALs to a temporary barracks.

“You’ll be housed here until tomorrow night, when you will be driven back to Tel Aviv. Your car is the last one to return. I’m sorry about the one man we lost. One dead and three wounded. Good, but we don’t like to lose any on a mission like this. From my reports so far, all twelve of the strikes went well and we enjoyed outstanding success. We’ll get our reports from our man inside the complex later today.”

Murdock welcomed his three SEALs at the door, checked for wounds, and pointed at bunks.

“You’re the last ones back, glad to see you. No injuries, that’s good. We only had one so far, a bullet hole in Franklin’s leg. He’s over at the base hospital getting treated. Lam, how is that leg of yours holding up?”

“Stings a little bit, but it never was that bad. I’m fit for duty.”

“Good. We made it through this one in good shape. Let’s get some sack time and see what we do tomorrow.”

Just before Murdock dropped on his bunk, Colonel Ben-Ami came in. Nobody shouted, “Attention.” He looked like he expected it. He saw Murdock and went over by his bunk.

“We’ve changed some plans. We have our force in place here at Rama. No sense in going back to Tel Aviv. We have some small one-squad projects here in the West Bank that need taken care of. We’ll have a planning session in the morning. No, make that about 1300, Commander.”

“Yes, sir, Colonel. We’ll find it.”

The colonel walked out and Murdock frowned. Some one-squad projects. He wondered what they would be.