Fog of War

Chapter Sixteen

Carrie saw the Apaches pounding the camp and the convoy as their jeep climbed the dirt path carved around the top of a steep hill. They were approaching the terrorists’ stronghold from the east, the opposite road Justin had taken. They stopped for a moment to observe the firefight. Then Carrie, the driver, floored the engine, pushing the battered jeep to its limits.

“Call McClain,” she told Nathan, riding in the front passenger’s seat. “He needs to tell Mossad we’ve got people on the ground, friendlies.”

Nathan went for the satellite phone in the knapsack by his feet. “Do we know for sure Justin is out there, and those are Mossad’s choppers?”

Carrie gave him a sideways glance. Her first instinct was to shout at Nathan to follow his orders, but she realized he was just bringing a bit of logic to her emotional response of trying to save Justin at all costs. She took a deep breath and said, “The time and the place match McClain’s intel about a Mossad raid on the terrorist camp. Knowing Justin, I’m positive he’s advancing toward the camp right now, if he’s not already inside it.”

Nathan nodded, although his eyes showed he was still uncertain. His hand was holding the phone, but he had yet to press the buttons.

The jeep got too close to the edge of the road. Carrie stared at the fifty-foot sheer drop as she turned the steering wheel. She tapped her brakes, avoiding a few rocks scattered on the right side of the road. She said to Nathan, “Most people would see this attack as an obstacle; Justin sees it as an opportunity. The terrorists are engaging the helos, while Justin slips in undetected.”

“That’s if the Apaches don’t put him in their sights.”

“He’s counting on the choppers going after the camp and the convoy.”

Nathan began to form the number. “You think Mossad will call off their attack?”

“I don’t think so. But at least they won’t target him and us.”

“Us?” Nathan held the phone by his ear. “Our orders are to stop—”

“And that’s what we’re doing. We’re stopping Justin from getting killed. Or killing Mossad agents.”

“We can’t, we shouldn’t engage in this fight.”

Carrie felt her blood boil, but did not say the first thing that crossed her mind. Instead, she gunned the engine. A moment later, she said, “We didn’t come all the way here to sit and watch, did we?”

Nathan avoided her gaze. He said on the phone,“Yes, sir, it’s Smyth. We’ve got visuals on Mossad choppers.”

A moment of pause, then Nathan said, “Correct, sir. They’re attacking the terrorists’ camp. And a convoy of apparently local fighters. Yes, two Apaches.”

Another few seconds of Nathan listening and nodding. Then he passed the phone to Carrie. “McClain wants to speak with you.”

“Speakerphone,” she said. I’ve got to convince McClain we can’t avoid this fight.

Running and crouching through the scrub at the bottom of the valley gave Justin another view of the battle. Closer. Harsher. Riskier.

During the first minutes they had not drawn the attention of the pilots or the insurgents. One stray RPG had exploded about two dozen yards away from him and Yuliya, but they had not been hit by any shrapnel. Stray bullets had also spared them so far.

The last few hundred yards were the most dangerous. They could not use the cover of the shrubs and trees, which grew scarcer the closer they got to the camp. The Apache pilots would notice their movements and most likely would consider them as reinforcements for insurgents.

Justin stopped under a small tree and behind a hedge of scraggly shrubs, the last before they got to the road. The main entrance to the camp was about three hundred yards away. Three hundred yards of open space, in plain view of all shooters.

He pointed to the area in front of the blown up gate and the breached wall. Thin dust lingered in the air, and silhouettes of people were visible in the distance, deep inside the camp. Some were firing at the Apaches.

Justin began to run bent at the waist, holding his AK in his right hand. Gunfire burst in front of him. He could not see who was shooting and if he was the target. No bullets zipped past him, so he continued sprinting straight ahead. A missile struck a few yards to his left, and a handful of dirt sprayed his face. He threw himself to the ground, but there was nowhere to hide. Bullets lifted sharp rocks and sand, striking closer and closer.

Justin rolled away, then climbed back to his feet and ran. More bullets struck in front of him. He stopped and dashed to the left, then changed direction to the right. Glancing upwards his eyes caught the Apache banking left and turning. Justin cursed as a heavy barrage of gunfire sent him diving to the ground.

His left arm landed on a sharp rock jutting out of the sand. He winced, glancing at his arm. Blood gushed from a deep cut. He rolled on his stomach and tried to flatten himself to the ground. The barrage continued, bullets screaming very close to his body. One bullet struck next to his AK. A second one bounced off the ground and singed his hair. He felt the wave and caught the smell of burning flesh.

An AK cracked right behind him.

“Justin, Justin, you’re OK?”

Yuliya.

He lifted up his head and looked skywards. The Apache was flying away over the hill.

Yuliya slipped next to him, checking his body for wounds.

“I got a cut on my arm, but I’m fine.”

They glanced at the first helicopter turning around. The second one also appeared in the distance.

“Wonderfuckingful,” Justin cursed. “Now it’s both of them.”

Three RPGs screamed toward the helicopters, splitting the sky with their gray streaks. They all missed their targets, but not by much. Loud reports of heavy machine gun fire came from the camp. The insurgents’ aim was improving. Their firepower was intensifying as the choppers drew nearer.

The Apaches responded by each firing a missile. Orange fireballs exploded at the south side wall and somewhere inside the camp.

“It’s our chance,” Justin said. “Run, run, run.”

They both sprang toward the camp, about fifty yards away. A missile exploded in front of them, pelting them with debris. It was followed by a second one further away. Justin stopped for a moment, then jumped forward. Bullets danced around his feet, as the helicopters flew overhead. He rolled on his back and raised his AK. He emptied his magazine in a long volley. Justin slammed in a fresh one and fired again, this time in short, calculated bursts. Unsure of whether his bullets struck the helicopters, he climbed to his feet and started to run again. Yuliya followed right behind.

The insurgents noticed their arrival when they were a few steps away from the entrance to the camp. Machine gun bullets drilled holes and ripped everything around them to shreds. Justin and Yuliya set their backs against the wall remains. At least they had somewhat of a cover.

“They think we’re with the choppers,” she said.

“And the pilots think we’re with the terrorists,” replied Justin.

The Apaches again swooped over the camp. Their appearance took some of the pressure away from Justin and Yuliya, as most insurgents turned their attention toward the larger threat. Still, sporadic shots came in their direction.

“We’ve got to sneak in now,” Justin said.

A series of missiles landed just inside the camp. As the dust veil enveloped the area, Justin sprayed a long barrage against the insurgents’ positions straight across from him, then climbed over the heap of debris. Once on the other side, he reloaded and fired again, providing a cover for Yuliya.

“Shit,” she cursed while dropping to his left.

Justin glanced at her bloodied leg. “Bullet?”

“In and out.” She cursed again.

“Can you walk?”

“Yeah, I can walk.”

Justin looked toward the closest house to his left, about fifty yards away. Two fighters were blasting a machine gun from the roof. Another man was firing his AK from one of the first-story windows. Three or four people were barricaded behind a couple of pickups by the doors.

“The house,” Justin said. “We’ll take it, then make our way to the warehouse.” He pointed in that direction, one hundred feet to his right, then returned his gaze to the house.

Yuliya peered through the thinning dust veil. “Justin, look.”

A group of four men were running away from the warehouse. They were carrying large weapons on their shoulders. Long green tubes.

“Those are probably SA-24s. Heat-seeking missiles,” Justin said in a tense voice.

“One of those will bring the chopper down.”

“We still need the choppers’ cover.”

The helicopter crew also must have also spotted the men with the missiles. A steady barrage from above stopped their advancement, albeit for a few seconds. Two of the men kept crawling forward. Bullets kicked up dirt around them, but they were very determined to complete their task.

Justin pointed his AK and let off a quick burst. One of the men toppled, along with his missile. Yuliya fired at the second one, and he fell face first to the ground.

Their shots gave away their position. The return fire from the closest house was vicious and intense. Justin and Yuliya stayed down, behind the rubble. Chunks of concrete and clods of dirt rained over their bodies. An explosion shook the area in front of them, blasting rocks and sand over their heads.

Justin peered through a small opening in the wrecked wall serving as their cover. He saw a man in front of the house preparing to throw a grenade at them. He aimed his AK and put a bullet in the man’s chest. He collapsed just as the grenade exploded by his feet.

The fighters on the roof turned their machine gun toward Justin’s position. Before they could open fire, a missile from the first Apache slammed into the house. A second one struck the roof, the smoke and the dust covering everything.

“The choppers have noticed us, and that we’re on their side,” Justin shouted over the continuous gunfire.

Yuliya nodded. She fired at an insurgent setting up his position along the opposite wall, about a hundred feet away. The man fell on his back, his last act on earth.

“Back to our old plan,” Justin said. “First, we clear the house.” He replaced his empty magazine with a new one. “Then, we attack the warehouse.”