6 April 2013
1800 Local Time/1500 Zulu
Highway 96, Between Bustaneh and Mollu
Lieutenant Sistani looked at the map and then pointed to the right. “Here.”
Corporal Afshar pulled the big Zil truck off the highway. Before Sistani could get out of the cab, Sergeant Zahedi was out of the back and shouting, ”We’re here! Everyone out! Start unloading! We’re losing daylight!”
Sistani asked the sergeant, “Who should take the first turn?”
Zahedi looked at the squad and spotted one small soldier struggling with a case of ammunition. “Ostovar. He’s no use to me setting up.”
“Fine, I’ll take him and Corporal Afshar. I want to pick the spot myself.”
Zahedi saluted. “Yes, sir. I’ll keep them busy here.”
“Be sure you get that truck far away from the road, and camouflage it well,” Sistani ordered. Under Zahedi’s direction, the corporal and Private Ostovar shouldered several pieces of red-and-white-striped wood and followed the lieutenant.
The three headed west along the side of the highway while Sistani studied the ground.
Along this part of the coast, Highway 96 was a two-lane asphalt road, pushing through a sandy brown landscape dotted with dark green scrub and trees. Although dry now, the ground showed signs of water and erosion everywhere, with dry streambeds cutting into the earth from north to south as the land sloped gently toward the gulf. A few hundred meters from where the truck had stopped, the lieutenant said, “Here. This is good.”
The two soldiers quickly assembled a wooden barrier, blocking the road. They placed battery-powered lanterns on each side, reflecting brightly off the painted wood. There wasn’t a lot of room on the shoulder, and the ground on both sides was uneven and rutted.
While the soldiers worked, Sistani checked a portable radio and flashlight, then handed them to Ostovar. “Repeat your orders.”
Ostovar came to attention and recited, “Stop all traffic and check identity documents. I’m supposed to watch for two fugitives—” He stopped and pulled a paper from his shirt pocket, “—named Akbari and Naseri. They may have accomplices and are dangerous.”
The private had read the last part off the paper, but Sistani was satisfied. “And if you spot them, or have any trouble?”
“Use the radio,” Ostovar answered.
“And when do you use your rifle?”
“Only if I’m shot at.”
Sistani nodded. “Good. You’ll be relieved in an hour.”
The lieutenant and the corporal walked back to where the rest of the squad was working. Looking back, he could see Ostovar, nearly dwarfed by his KL assault rifle, standing alone with an oversized sawhorse across the highway.
“Sir, shouldn’t we leave two men at the roadblock? He can’t stop anybody by himself.”
“Let me worry about that, Corporal.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sergeant Zahedi had already set up one man on a low hill as a lookout, while others organized equipment or made positions for themselves in scrapes in the rocky ground.
Sistani climbed to the top of the rise. The lookout lay prone, reasonably well concealed, under a camouflage smock that would keep him warm while it masked him from observation. Using his own glasses, the lieutenant could see the highway for several kilometers in either direction. It ran almost straight east and west here, and while the ground was uneven, there was no place that offered a covered approach on his position. Aside from the paved road, there was no human mark on the land — no buildings, not even a power line. Private Ostovar’s checkpoint was as bright as a lighthouse in the darkening landscape.
“Lieutenant, headlights.” Private Peyman was on lookout duty, and he pointed east. The lights resolved into a civilian car, slowing to a stop as it approached the checkpoint. Ostovar, rifle slung, leaned over the driver’s side window for a minute, then stepped back and swung the barrier out of the way. According to headquarters, the fugitives they were watching for would come from the west, but they had ordered all vehicles to be checked, whatever direction they came from.
Sistani walked back down and called to Zahedi. “That’s a good position up there. Take Alizadeh off the rotation and put him up there along with the lookout. Having our best shot on overwatch should make whoever’s on duty at the roadblock happier. And make sure his position is as well camouflaged as the others.”
“Yes, sir,” Zahedi said, then continued by asking, “Sir, how long will we be here?”
“Third squad will relieve us at 0600 tomorrow morning, and first squad will relieve them at 1800 tomorrow night. We’ll take our turn again at 0600 the morning after that.”
“And how long will this last?”
“Until they tell us to stop, Sergeant.” As they talked, the two walked the squad’s positions, pointing out small tasks or praising a soldier’s work. Sistani smiled. “I’ve never seen the major move so fast as when he got that order. We drew this post because we were the squad on duty. Right now the major is mustering the rest of the battalion and passing out the rest of the assignments, all with the colonel gone. I’m glad to be away from that circus.”
“Is it true that these are American assassins? That they’ve wiped out two platoons?”
“More rumors, Sergeant? Don’t repeat them. Whoever the fugitives are, a Basij patrol is missing without a trace. Headquarters said to be ready for anything.”
Sistani looked around. “And tell the squad to get this place organized. What if the major saw this? We’ve been here half an hour and already it looks like we lost a battle.”
South of Baverdan, near Highway 96
1900 Local Time/1600 Zulu
Harry was driving, a pair of night-vision goggles draped over his eyes. Shirin still rode up front, with Yousef on the far side. The windows were open enough to keep the air from getting stuffy, as well as to help Harry stay awake. Yousef was dozing, as much as the bumpy ride allowed.
They’d turned off the highway fifteen minutes earlier, and slowed to a crawl as they felt their way along an unpaved track. Ramey, navigating with Lapointe’s assistance, was taking them around a roadblock south of the town.
At Michigan’s direction, CENTCOM operators were using a UAV to scout ahead of the truck. The UAV’s images were streamed directly to Lapointe through the remote video-receiver function on the laptop. This God’s-eye view gave enough warning to let them avoid the roadblocks.
Unfortunately, that meant using some secondary and a lot of tertiary roads. The UAV had spotted roadblocks near most towns, a sign that the hunt for them had gone to a much higher level.
In the back, while Ramey and Lapointe navigated, Jerry and Phillips cleaned weapons and reorganized their gear. Phillips even drilled Jerry again on the SCAR rifle. With the rough ride, sleep was impossible. Dinner had been cold MREs, Harry and the two Iranians having theirs passed up to the cab.
Shirin, squeezed in between the two men, chewed mechanically on something she hadn’t bothered to identify. It might have tasted better hot, but she didn’t care. Beyond exhaustion, she didn’t dare close her eyes. Even with them open, images from the fight flashed in front of her, as if projected onto the dark windshield. What would her dreams be like?
The first battle had been over in moments. But this time, there’d been enough time to be really afraid. She and Yousef had lived in fear for years, but that had been an abstract thing. This had been immediate. She’d heard bullets snap overhead, felt pieces of rock and dust fall on her.
This was Yousef’s first time in combat, as well. He looked thoughtful, maybe a little sad. “Yousef, I thought you were very brave today.”
“I’m glad we are safe,” he responded in Farsi. “I keep on thinking about the men we killed. They had families. They were doing their duty”
“You can’t do that,” Harry told him. “Whoever they were, when they fired a weapon at us, they had to die. We didn’t want the fight. They could have walked away and we would’ve let them. They got what they deserved, no more, no less.”
“You mean I should ignore my feelings.” Shirin was surprised. Yousef’s tone was thoughtful, certainly not hostile.
“I mean, put them in perspective. If we hadn’t killed them, they would have killed you and your wife, which would have led to many more deaths when the Israelis attack. Taking those soldiers out was necessary to our mission. It’s as simple as that.”
Shirin asked, “Have you killed many men?”
The American paused for a moment before answering. “That’s not how I think of it. I don’t keep count. I’ve been on two other deployments, and both involved combat.”
“How long is a ‘deployment’?” Shirin asked.
“Usually five to six months. It depends. We spend a lot of our time training and on exercises, then deploy for a while.”
“So you’ve seen a lot of fighting,” Shirin said.
“It doesn’t matter how many fights someone’s been in. What matters is being ready for the next one.”
“And the feelings? Do they go away?” Yousef asked.
“They become more familiar. They never go away.”
Memories of those dead Basij soldiers merged with the forms Shirin had seen outside Uncle Seyyed’s house. She was a fugitive, and her uncle had paid the price…Suddenly, a frightful thought burst into her mind.
“Yousef, I have to find out if mother is all right!”
The urgency in her tone shocked her husband. “Yousef, is there any way I can call mother? If they tried to arrest Seyyed, VEVAK will take her, too.” As she spoke, her tone changed from urgency to horror at the thought of her own mother in their hands.
“We can’t use a cell phone, or stop to use one somewhere,” he said flatly. “You know that.”
“There has to be something we can do to find out,” she pleaded.
Yousef shook his head and held her hands gently. “What if we could call? Would you warn her? Tell her to run away? And if they were not interested in her before, that call would only draw their attention to her — give them a reason to question her.”
“I had accepted that I would never see mother again, but I hoped we could find a way to keep in touch. But if they’ve taken her like your brother, Ali…”
Leaning against Yousef, grief swallowed her. “They are destroying my family,” she wept. Eventually, she slept, giving herself over to whatever her dreams would hold.
Second Squad Position, Highway 96
1930 Local Time/1630 Zulu
Lieutenant Sistani had walked out to the roadblock. Binoculars were useless now, but he’d taken Alizadeh’s nightscope and carefully studied the scene. The hills on the left blocked any view of his squad’s position from the road, as he knew it would. He’d banned any fires, and the squad had grumbled but obeyed. All of them were in their positions, but he’d allowed some of them to sleep.
Telling Private Yadegar, now manning the post, to stay alert, he walked the four hundred meters back to the squad. The walk helped wake him up. They’d put in a full day’s work before the alert message had arrived, and now with the rush to get in position over, and the enforced inactivity, fatigue was their enemy.
Sergeant Zahedi’s voice echoed across the empty ground. “Lieutenant, urgent call from battalion!” It didn’t sound like good news, and the young officer double-timed back to the command post.
The two noncoms had dug a circular position well back from the road, building it up in front with the spoil and rocks and covering it with a camouflage net. It wasn’t as deep as Sistani would have liked, but oncoming darkness had limited their digging, and he didn’t expect the fugitives to have artillery.
“Sir, it’s the colonel,” Zahedi reported softly, and the lieutenant took the handset.
“Sistani here.”
“Report, Lieutenant. Has there been any sign of trouble?” the colonel asked, as if he were expecting bad news.
“All quiet here, sir. We’ve seen moderate traffic from both directions. They’ve all stopped and nobody has matched the names or descriptions of the fugitives.”
“Any trucks?”
“Yes, sir. We searched them with no results.”
The signal was clear enough so he could hear the colonel sigh. “There’s been another incident just north of Bandar Charak. Four soldiers and a security agent were killed, and there’s no sign that any of the fugitives were hurt. Headquarters says they may have accomplices, and are heavily armed. And an army truck is missing.” The colonel read off a license number.
Sistani had been holding the handset so that Zahedi, standing next to him, could hear as well. He saw Zahedi’s eyes widen, and knew his expression must be similar. The sergeant pointed to his watch, and Sistani nodded.
“When was this, sir?”
“About 1830, an hour ago.”
“Which means if they’re heading southeast on the highway, they could be here at any time.”
“Exactly,” answered the colonel.
“Do we know they’re heading southeast?”
“Not for certain, but that’s the direction they’ve been going.”
“Understood, sir, I’ll take every precaution.”
Sistani turned to the two noncoms. “You heard?”
Both nodded.
He ordered, “Make sure every man is awake and alert. There are to stay hidden at all times. Zahedi and I will check each position every half hour. Afshar, stay by the radio. If you hear firing, report immediately. Do not wait for my order. I don’t know what’s coming, but they won’t catch us off guard.”
Highway 96, West of Second Squad’s Position
2015 Local Time/1715 Zulu
They’d been back on the highway for ten minutes, just long enough for Jerry to get comfortable. He was dozing when Lapointe called out, “Roadblock ahead. Ten klicks.”
Ramey shook off his fatigue and opened his eyes. He turned to look at the screen, while Jerry leaned forward to see.
A barrier lay across both lanes of the highway. The foreshortened figure of a man stood next to it. Lapointe was noting the coordinates. He switched to an area map and marked the spot.
Ramey checked his watch, then called forward to the cab. “Another roadblock in ten klicks. Pointy’s working on a bypass.”
Fazel responded, “Right, I’ll slow to sixty to give him a little more time.” They’d been traveling at up to eighty kph on the highway when they could.
Lapointe was still fiddling with the map, zooming in and out, shifting to different sections. The light from the screen lit his face from below. His expression showed he wasn’t pleased. “Boss, XO, we got a problem. There’s no bypass this time.”
“What? Nothing?” Ramey said, unbelieving. They’d used dirt roads, even gone overland once to get around checkpoints.
“No roads at all. This is the boonies, even for southern Iran. I even looked at using streambeds, but they don’t run anywhere useful. Here’s the problem.” He pointed to some rough terrain on the map. “A little over a klick to the north of the highway is a bunch of steep hills, real rough country. It completely blocks travel on the north side of the highway.”
“And if we head south, we get wet really fast. The beach isn’t even five hundred meters away. A natural bottleneck… All right. How far do we have to backtrack?” Ramey sounded resigned.
“We’d have to pick up a side road at Baverdan.” He slid the map northwest. “See? Almost all the way back to Charak. Then we go east and north to Lavaran, then Armak. That keeps us on the north side of the hills, but the road net only goes to Berkeh Jangal. We can get to Bandar Lengeh and the airfield from there, but it will be from the north and east. And we’ll lose our UAV coverage if we go that far inland.”
Ramey frowned. “The really long way around. How many roadblocks will we hit while we take the scenic route? And without our advance scout, we’d have to run them blind.” The platoon leader rubbed his jaw; his options were between bad and worse. “Show me the UAV image of the checkpoint again.”
Lapointe brought up the picture, a thermal image in false colors. Jerry could easily make out the bright figure leaning against the barrier. One of the man’s arms was bent as if he was holding a cigarette.
“It’s just the one guy,” Lapointe observed.
“He’s gotta have friends,” Ramey countered. “It makes no sense for him to be alone. What else can you see off the UAV feed?”
Lapointe called up several other images, small-scale ones of the highway on either side and one with a larger field of view. He then transitioned over to the live streaming video, watching a pan of the area around the lonely sentry. “Nothing. It’s only four kilometers from the checkpoint to either of these two small towns. Maybe the garrison there is just sending this one man out.”
“Boss? Any word on when to turn?” Harry’s voice sounded calm, but time was passing, and they were closing on the roadblock at sixty kilometers an hour.
Ramey looked at the image of the roadblock for another few seconds, then answered, “We’re not turning. We have to run this one.”
“That’ll save us some time,” Phillips observed. “Is there room to go around on the shoulder?”
“Some, but the shoulder could be mined. We go right through. They can bill us for it.” Ramey knocked on the partition between the cab and the back. “Harry? Did you get that?”
“Understood, Boss, were crashing the barrier.”
“The airfield is only fifteen klicks away. We’ll be there before they can react.”
“What about the sentry?” Jerry asked.
“Harry will have to take him,” Ramey decided.
“Hey, Boss! I know I’m good, but I’m driving, remember? Yousef is on that side.”
“Yousef,” Ramey called. “Can you take out the sentry?”
Shirin, awakened by the conversation, answered for him. “Yes. He says his rifle is in the cab and it has a folding stock, so he will use that. Harry should tell him when to shoot.”
Ramey said, “Start to slow down, but don’t let your speed get below thirty. When you get about a hundred feet from the barrier, have Yousef shoot, then floor it.”
“Understood, Boss. Slow to thirty, shoot at a hundred feet from the barrier, then punch it.”
Lapointe announced, “We’re five klicks away.”
“Let’s get ready, just in case,” Ramey ordered.
There wasn’t a lot to do, but Jerry made sure his rifle was at hand. They piled everyone’s packs in the back, since any shots would most likely come from that direction.
Shirin had heard the resignation in Yousef’s voice. He had tried to avoid harming his countrymen. Now he had little choice. He’d have to kill so they could live. Yousef prepared his rifle, but held it out of view, in his lap. Harry’s was in back. There was no room for it in the cab.
We are going to shoot the sentry and crash through a roadblock, she thought. After everything else they’d done, this seemed almost pedestrian. And the airfield was close.
The moon wasn’t up, so the only visible parts of the landscape were the pools of illuminated highway that preceded the truck. Everything else was a featureless black. She watched the truck’s odometer, figuring the distance to the roadblock.
Ahead, the horizon could only be seen as an absence of starlight, but a bright spot appeared directly in front of them.
Harry knocked on the back of the cab. “Boss? Tallyho.”
“We’re ready,” came Ramey’s answer. “Do it.”
“Think pure thoughts,” Harry said in Farsi. He held his speed for as long as possible, then gradually slowed from sixty to fifty, then forty, then thirty. Shirin readied herself, but then forced her muscles to relax. All she had to do was duck down when Harry pressed the gas. Simple.
The light became a shape, then expanded into a red-and-white barrier across the road. She hoped it wasn’t made of metal. A soldier was standing to the right, waving a flashlight.
Shirin saw him take a few steps. “He’s walking toward the road.”
“Idiot,” Yousef commented. “You never step in front of a moving vehicle.”
“Never mind that. Shoot.”
Although she should have ducked, she had to watch. Yousef brought the rifle up from his lap, leaned out of the passenger side window, and fired a long burst. Inside the cab, the noise was deafening, and the smell of burnt propellant made her gag. She didn’t see any bullets hit the soldier, but he went down in a crumpled heap.
Harry was shifting gears, although she couldn’t hear the engine until Yousef stopped firing. Lightly loaded, the truck quickly picked up speed and Harry shifted gears again, just as the front bumper hit the barrier. The engine almost howled as he accelerated. It flew up and to one side, and then she felt and heard pieces breaking under the truck’s tires.
Second Squad’s Position
2025 Local Time/1725 Zulu
Alizadeh, on the hill with the squad’s night-vision scope, had seen the truck and called out. “It’s an army truck, approaching from the east!”
Sistani, standing near the base of the rise, didn’t have to sound the alert. After hearing about what happened at Charak, he was more concerned about the squad firing on a real army vehicle. Probably full of officers, with his luck.
Then it crashed the barrier and they heard the gunfire.
“Squad, open fire!”
Shirin saw tracers flying across in front of them, and heard a sound like hail on the left side of the truck. Harry yelled, “Fire from the left!” and floored the accelerator. But even as the truck sped up, explosions sprouted from the pavement a few car lengths in front of them. In the truck’s headlights, some flashed red and gray. Others spat out billows of white smoke.
Yousef called out, “Fire from the right!” and Shirin saw tracers, a lot of them, coming through the smoke, from the right side of the highway. Were they surrounded?
The explosions seemed closer, and Harry shouted, “We’ve got to get off the road!” He jerked the wheel to the right and downshifted. The problem was that the ground sloped away on that side, and was cut by streambeds and gullies.
Only one headlight was working, Shirin noticed, as the truck swerved off the pavement. Harry left it on, needing the light more than the concealment. She saw the driver’s side window crack in a star pattern, then the windshield.
A line of flame, much brighter and thicker than tracers, flashed from behind and to the right, missing them by a foot and disappearing into the darkness. “RPG!” Harry shouted. “I’m going to try to get us into a streambed!”
The truck was rocking violently from side to side, the result of Harry’s driving and the uneven terrain. Shirin gripped Yousef’s left arm with both hands, probably tightly enough to hurt, but she saw him hanging on to the door handle with his right hand so they wouldn’t be thrown around. She wondered if any of the truck’s tires had been hit.
It was hard to make out anything through the damaged windshield. The ground in front of them seemed to heave as the truck lurched and bounced. The tracers didn’t improve the view, either. Shirin hoped the truck’s wild motion would spoil their attacker’s aim.
Harry certainly wasn’t slowing down. It wasn’t clear whether he was still heading for cover or just fighting for control when their wild ride came to a sudden end. A sharp jolt threw them all forward, and then to the right side of the cab. The SEAL’s grip on the wheel was the only thing that kept him from landing on top of her. The truck stopped moving forward, but the right-hand tilt increased until she was sure they were going over. She tried to curl up in a ball, to protect the baby, but there was not much room to move.
They landed with a messy crash. Harry, hanging onto the steering wheel, shouted, “Cover your eyes!” and kicked with both feet. From her viewpoint, each looked as big as the truck itself. On the third kick, the windshield broke and fell away. “Get her out of here!” the American ordered.
Harry took Shirin’s arm and pulled her up and clear. Yousef untangled himself, standing on the side door and then crawling out. While her husband stood up outside, Shirin worked her feet onto the edge of the opening, then let go of Harry’s hand and fell forward into Yousef’s arms. Shouting, “Stay down!” Harry stopped long enough to pass out Yousef’s rifle, and then climbed out himself.
Jerry had heard the gunfire and felt the bullets striking the side of the truck even as he’d heard Harry’s call and felt the truck’s engine rev. Crouching as low as they could on the floor, the four men in back could do nothing but hang on for dear life as the truck sped up, then suddenly slowed, and swerved right.
The truck’s downward progress off the road threw everything into the air or against the sides or ends of the space. Even Jerry became airborne when he lost his grip on the bench, landing heavily on Phillips.
Ramey, sitting near the front, had reacted by grabbing the seats on each side with his hands and extending his legs under the benches, bracing them against the supports. Relatively secure, Jerry could still see him strain to hold his position, and Ramey took hard impacts from several flying objects.
It got worse when the truck tipped over. The sudden deceleration threw everything and everyone to the front, with the lieutenant under it all. It spilled to the right as the bed went vertical, then a little past vertical on the downward-sloping ground.
Jerry coughed, tried to move, and realized his legs were entangled with Phillips, while one arm was pinned under Lapointe and several knapsacks, which now seemed to be loaded with rocks.
“Out! We have to get out!” Lapointe shouted. The petty officer was nearest the open end of truck, and struggled out from under a tangle of gear. He snatched the closest rifle and half-staggered to the opening.
Jerry flexed his liberated arm. Once assured it was working, he pulled himself clear of Phillips and helped him to stand on what had been the truck’s side, now the floor. “Look after the boss,” Phillips shouted as he grabbed a rifle and joined Lapointe by the back.
Ramey was unconscious, and Jerry forced himself to carefully check the lieutenant’s pulse and breathing. He was alive, and moaned as Jerry checked for broken bones or other trauma. “Ow. All right, I’m awake. Ahhhh,” he groaned, as he moved his arms then untangled his legs from the bench seats. Pulling himself to a kneeling position, he called, “Pointy, Philly, somebody tell me what’s going on.”
“Lot of fire from both sides of the road, Boss. It’s died off, now.”
“They probably think we’re dead,” Ramey answered. “Let’s see if they send someone to check out the wreck.”
“We’ll keep out of sight.”
“What about Harry and the Iranians?”
“I’m here,” Harry reported. “No casualties. I need my weapon. The precious cargo is under cover, next to the truck. There’s a machine gun fifty plus meters away on this side of the road, and I saw RPG fire. I had to get off the road because they had a mortar zeroed on it.”
They grabbed weapons and packs. Lapointe handed Harry his rifle, and then passed Jerry the night-vision goggles. “Give these to Yousef.”
Ramey ordered, “Harry, Philly, XO, go up front by the cab. Harry, see what you can do about that machine gun. Pointy and I will stay back here and see if we can put some fire down. They could rush us any time. Move.”
The group had been huddled down, half inside the truck and the others behind. Lapointe and Ramey moved first, turning to lay prone on the sloping ground facing toward the enemy. As they moved into position, Jerry heard several single shots, spaced a few seconds apart.
Dirt and pebbles kicked up near Lapointe, and he cried out. “UGH! I’m hit, my leg!” Another shot quickly followed, but Ramey had already backed down the slope and avoided being struck.
Jerry and Phillips moved Lapointe to safety by the simple expedient of grabbing his feet and pulling. Fazel joined them, but as he reached for his first aid kit, the far side of the road erupted with gunfire, tracers converging on the truck. The machine gun to the right of the road also laced the area. A moment later, a pair of explosions ripped the ground a dozen yards away. “Well, they know we’re still alive,” Jerry said.
They all understood what was happening. “Get away from the truck!” Ramey shouted. “Head toward the beach!” he ordered. “Philly, XO, help the Iranians.”
Jerry headed behind the fleeting cover of the truck to find Shirin and Yousef huddled against the canvas top. “We’ve got to get away,” Jerry urged, and pointed down the hill.
The couple stood and hurried down the slope, with Jerry in front and Phillips covering their rear. Tracers flew over their heads. Another pair of mortar shells landed closer to the truck. They could hear fragments ripping through the metal body. Behind him, Jerry could hear Lapointe trying to stay quiet as Ramey and Fazel carried him, his wound still untreated.
Jerry heard a different-sounding explosion, and had just enough time to register the whoosh preceding it when the truck fireballed, briefly highlighting them in orange-red light as they struggled down the slope.
Jerry almost fell into a fold in the ground that appeared as a dark chasm in front of them. It was deep enough to kneel behind, but he found that out by landing badly on the bottom. He helped Shirin down and then called to Ramey and Fazel. Carrying Lapointe, they turned toward Jerry and the others, and sped up as much as they could, given the uneven terrain.
The instant they put Lapointe down, Harry opened his first aid kit and started to work. Jerry quickly crawled over and began taking off Lapointe’s backpack. “Leave it,” the corpsman said tersely. “It’s not in my way.”
“I want the radio,” Jerry insisted. “Gotta make a call.” He fumbled first with the pack, then with the radio. He’d seen Lapointe set it up plenty of times, but it was dark, and the edges kept getting caught on the fabric of the backpack.
Jerry said, “I’ll get us some help. Just keep us alive for ten minutes,” he told Ramey.
The lieutenant set about organizing their defense.
Lieutenant Sistani had taken a position on the rise, next to Private Alizadeh. His night sight was proving vital, both for spotting the enemy and guiding the mortar. The sight had a built-in laser rangefinder, and he’d fed range data to the 60mm mortar Corporal Afshar and Private Kiani were firing.
The second volley of fire had driven the fugitives down the hill, which was good, but where were they now? “What can you see?” Sistani demanded.
“I saw motion down the hill, sir, but nothing now. I think they’ve gone to ground.”
“Give me a range to where you last saw them.”
The private checked his sight. “Three hundred and sixty-five meters.”
Sistani hurried down the hill to the mortar position. “Afshar, get ready to put six rounds down at three seven zero meters, in line with the truck.” As the corporal nodded, Sistani called to the nearest private. “Ostovar, tell Jahveri to put machine gun fire down wherever he sees mortar shells exploding. Stay there and be ready to advance when I give the word. Go.” The lieutenant watched him trot out of sight, counted another thirty seconds, then told Afshar, “Now.”
USS Michigan, Battle Management Center
2033 Local Time/1733 Zulu
Guthrie’s voice boomed out of the intercom. “BMC, Conn. We’ll be ready to launch in a minute or two. Any updates?”
Frederickson answered, “They’re still getting mortar fire. Lapointe is stable.”
A new voice came over the intercom. “Control, Launcher. Missile compartment manned and ready.” Doolan’s voice was almost breathless. “Were making the final checks now.”
“No shortcuts, Mr. Doolan,” Guthrie cautioned.
“We’re good, sir. I double-checked the seals myself.” There was a short pause, and he reported, “Tube two four is ready.”
The SEAL lieutenant keyed the radio. “Launch in two minutes, XO.” He heard two clicks in response.
Fortress of Solitude
2038 Local Time/1738 Zulu
Jerry wasn’t getting a lot of help from Lapointe. The petty officer had refused to take any painkillers so he could stay awake, but he’d lost a lot of blood, and half the time Jerry couldn’t hear his answers, especially in the middle of a firefight.
With Lapointe treated, Fazel had gone into sniper mode, concentrating on the PKM machine gun that flanked them. He’d hit the gunner at least once, but after a short pause, it had started up again. The SEALs picked their shots carefully, no more than two rounds at a time, both for maximum effect and to avoid revealing their location.
In between mortar bursts, Phillips had spotted movement along the highway, then the others saw it as well — soldiers lining up along the road. “They’re positioning themselves for a charge, once the mortars have softened us up.” Ramey and the others picked off a few who didn’t stay low enough, and tried to keep the others’ heads down in between mortar bursts.
Jerry held the controller so Lapointe could operate it, and followed the petty officer’s hands as he powered up the device and tested the controls. It was designed for use in the field, but Jerry had never trained on it. Lapointe was breathing hard, but ran Jerry through the procedure.
As Jerry started to ask a question, the controller beeped twice, and Lapointe said, “Time’s up. Take it, XO.”
Jerry fitted the visor over his eyes and adjusted the strap. The visor was size of a pair of safety goggles, but heavier. Inside Jerry saw bright symbols and numbers surrounding a black rectangle. In the center of the display, the word “Signal” blinked, and Jerry could feel Lapointe guiding his fingers on the hand controller. Lapointe placed his index finger on a switch, and the image came alive.
He was flying over a dark, featureless surface. A bright, irregular landscape lay in the distance, but he was closing in at high speed. The numbers and symbols started to change, and he recognized readouts for airspeed and altitude. “I’ve got the signal,” Jerry reported. He was over the water, approaching the coast.
Guided by Lapointe, Jerry’s finger pressed another switch. “You’ve got it,” the petty officer told him.
Jerry gingerly moved the controller, and saw the landscape fall away as the UAV climbed. That suited him fine. Aviators get nervous too close to the ground, especially in an unfamiliar aircraft.
“I’m slowing down,” Jerry stated. The speed readout was over five hundred knots.
“Stalling speed is one twenty,” Lapointe told him, “but you’re loaded, so try not to drop below one forty.”
“Understood, bringing it down slowly,” Jerry replied. “Five hundred, four fifty…”
The vehicle slowed quickly, and Jerry experimented with a left, and then a right turn. He quickly brought the UAV back on base course, though. A cursor at the top of the display indicated the direction to the controller, bringing it straight toward him.
Jerry brought the Cormorant in overhead at five hundred feet and two hundred and fifty knots. On the thermal imager, he could see the bright flare of the burning truck, and the line of soldiers lying prone along the highway. “I’ve got them!” he announced.
“Find that goddamned mortar!” Ramey ordered impatiently, and Jerry, already past the battle, turned the Cormorant to the right, trying to time the turn so he ended up over the highway. He was off, with the highway to the left of center, but as he flew overhead, he saw two human figures well back from the highway, working with something even brighter and hotter than they were.
“Got it,” Jerry reported. He was past the target by that time, but he risked slowing a little more to focus on making a crisp one-eighty. This time, as the Cormorant passed over the mortar’s position, he used the hand controller to mark its precise location. Increasing power, he said, “Climbing.” He was getting the hang of this thing. He was sure a pilot had a hand in designing the visor. The readouts looked just like his Hornet’s heads-up display.
At a thousand feet, he made a wide circle, constantly informing the impatient SEAL lieutenant of his progress. “I’m ready,” he told Lapointe, and felt his hand guided to another pair of buttons. “Left to lock them up, right to fire,” Lapointe reminded him.
He pressed the left button, and a bright “L,” for laser, appeared in one corner. Then he pressed the right button twice. The image shook for just a second, and two streaks of light leapt from the foreground toward the two figures and what was hopefully the mortar.
He heard the double explosion at the same time as the screen flared. It was much louder than the mortar shells, and Jerry could see the figures were no longer together, and lay sprawled and unmoving. The laser-guided Hydra rockets had found their target.
“That’s what I’m talkin’ about, XO! Now get that machine gun off our backs.”
Lieutenant Sistani lay with his men along the highway, trying to gauge the enemy’s status. They were pinned down by fire, had at least one casualty if Alizadeh was to be believed, and were virtually surrounded. He had men to the north and east, the ocean was at their adversaries’ backs to the south, and if they tried to break out to the west, he’d cut them down.
He’d been willing to wait and let the mortar work on them when he heard an explosion from behind him. It had come from the direction of the mortar crew. Had there been some sort of accident? He’d almost gotten up to go find out before remembering the enemy in front of him.
He was still low, crawling to a place where he could get up safely when another pair of explosions ripped the landscape near — No, it was at the PKM’s position. It didn’t fire again. He hadn’t seen anything but rifle fire from the enemy. The range was too great and the explosions too large for a grenade launcher. He thought of a helicopter gunship, but there was no noise. Was it a stealth bomber?
Would there be more explosions? He was losing men, and the battle. His only hope was to close with them so that they couldn’t drop any more bombs.
“By opposite numbers, advance!” Sistani’s only thought now was to finish this quickly.
Jerry heard Ramey’s shout just as he was lining up for a shot on the soldiers on the highway. In the display, he saw them moving, and pressed the right button twice, quickly, even though he hadn’t marked their position. He kept the crosshairs centered on the middle of the line and watched explosions knock three men off their feet.
But they were coming now. Lapointe helped him find the autopilot key that would send the Cormorant into a circular orbit at a safe altitude.
“Help me up,” Lapointe asked, and pushing up with his good leg, Jerry got the petty officer faced forward, then handed him his rifle.
Jerry grabbed his own weapon and looked for a place. Ramey motioned for him to go to the far end of the line, near the Iranians, and staying low, Jerry joined Fazel and Yousef, both firing.
The Pasdaran soldiers were advancing in pairs, taking turns firing while the other ran forward for the next bit of cover. Fazel was having the best luck sniping at the shooters, who were stationary at least, even if they were under cover. Kneeling next to Shirin, Yousef used his rifle to give Harry covering fire.
Jerry concentrated on the advancing soldiers, trying to guess when they’d spring up and run forward. He might actually hit one, or at least make him stop sooner than he’d planned. The trick was keeping them from getting too close.
Fazel dropped another one. As Jerry tried to count how many were still out there, he saw the soldiers nearest them raise their arms. He shouted, “Grenades!”
They ducked as the grenades fell short, but Jerry felt the blast on the back of his neck. Knowing the explosions would signal a general charge, Jerry came up firing, holding the trigger on full automatic and emptying the magazine.
Yousef was doing the same. Only the SEALs took the time to squeeze off aimed shots. Three soldiers had charged their position, firing as they came, but they all died. Jerry didn’t know who had hit whom, and he didn’t cared.
He was putting in a fresh magazine when another grenade went off in front of them. Suddenly, he heard Shirin scream and saw Yousef falling. Calling “Harry!” as he leapt over her, Jerry rolled Yousef face up and felt something warm and wet on his hand.
Somebody grabbed the back of his vest and yanked him away from Yousef, and Fazel said, “I’ve got him. You keep firing.”
Jerry quickly turned and brought up his rifle, searching with the night-scope, but didn’t see any movement. The firing had stopped on the other side as well. Several bodies lay sprawled a dozen meters in front of them, but remembering his past experience, Jerry didn’t move forward.
“It’s an artery,” Harry said softly to Shirin, but Jerry was close enough to hear it as well. “Probably a grenade fragment.”
Ramey asked, “Is the Cormorant still up there?”
“We’ve got another fifteen or twenty minutes on station.”
“Can you use it to see if there are any stragglers?”
Jerry reluctantly turned away from Yousef, but knew he was in good hands with Harry. Finding the visor and controller, he took control of the orbiting UAV and had it fly straight overhead. “I see us, I see at least ten bodies, including three by the machine gun and two..
“Wait. I’ve got movement. One figure is running. I can see him heading for a vehicle — a truck.”
“You’ve got to take him out,” Ramey ordered.
“Doing it,” Jerry said. It was eerie. Jerry could see the front of the vehicle grow brighter as the motor started. Before it could start moving, he put the UAV in a shallow dive and fired. The last two laser-guided 2.75-inch rockets hit the truck, and when the display cleared, the vehicle was on its side, burning. Jerry couldn’t feel good about it.
“It’s near bingo fuel,” Jerry reported.
“Then send it home.” Ramey answered. “Can you give a UAV a medal?” he asked, smiling.
As Jerry was telling the autopilot to head for the rendezvous point, Phillips walked up and spoke softly. “Boss, Harry’s been working on Yousef, but it looks bad.”
Jerry’s heart sank. Ramey just said “Shit,” and went over to kneel down by Yousef.
Fazel explained, “I’ve stopped the arterial bleeding, but I think the fragment did more damage internally. He’s sinking, and I’ve run out of things I can do.”
He was so pale, and Shirin did her best to smile and hold his hand, which was cold as ice. “My brave soldier,” she repeated over and over again. She wasn’t sure he could hear her, but he finally smiled, and coughed. He looked at her, then Harry, and said weakly, “Now you will say the Janazah Salah for me.”
Shirin tried to speak, but tears stole her voice. “I promise,” Harry finally said. “If we did it for our enemies, how much more will I do for my own brother?”
“Take care of her, then, brother.” Yousef rasped. As he finished speaking, he exhaled — a long, slow, gurgling breath, and he was gone. Harry reached over and closed Yousef’s lifeless eyes. Shirin began to weep uncontrollably, saying over and over again, “No, Baba, no!”
“We’ve got to get moving,” Ramey ordered.
“I saw a truck, but one of my rocket strikes wrecked it,” Jerry reported.
“Then we walk,” Ramey answered. “Right now. Column formation. It will help hide our numbers.”
Ramey then turned to Fazel and handed him a dead tree branch. “Harry, do what you can to hide our footprints. I don’t want the Iranians to see us heading toward the beach.”
Phillips and Jerry, the designated stretcher-bearers, rigged a litter and carefully moved Lapointe onto it. Once Fazel had dosed the petty officer with much-needed painkillers, and was sure Lapointe was settled, he asked Jerry, “Can you take my pack, XO?”
After Jerry took the backpack, at least as heavy as the fifty pounds he was already carrying, Fazel took a blanket and tied it around Yousef’s body to hold it in place. Hoisting the limp form with Ramey’s help, he balanced Yousef on his shoulders. “I’m ready,” Harry announced. He saw the surprise in Jerry’s expression. “You didn’t think we were going to leave him, did you?”
“We could bury him here,” Jerry suggested. He didn’t say it, but he was a little worried about Harry’s load. He’d traded a fifty-pound pack for two hundred-plus pounds.
“I’m good,” insisted Fazel.
“We don’t have time,” Ramey said firmly. “And we don’t leave our people behind.”
Without another word, Ramey led off on point. Jerry and Phillips followed, carrying Lapointe, then Fazel with his solemn burden, and Shirin walking at his side.