TOP OF THE HADITHA DAM
Captain Barnett had lost contact with the COC at the first sounds of the intense firefight below. He knew something had obviously gone wrong, but Colonel Walker’s orders had been specific.
“If something happens and this goes sideways, it’s your job to make sure none of the bastards get away. You understand, Jack?”
Captain Barnett understood. Other than the sergeant major (who didn’t really count since he was the colonel’s right hand and wielded more power than any captain in the Marine Corps), he was the lowest-ranking officer to be fully briefed on Cain Frost and his sociopathic intentions. There was no way in hell he would let Frost get away with this madness if he had anything to say about it. He’d seen enough death and mayhem—hell, been responsible for plenty of it himself—to last several lifetimes. Another war would only lead to more of the same.
The explosions rattled the concrete roof where he sat atop two large olive-green boxes. He fought the urge to climb down into the heart of the dam. As much as his instincts and training urged him to run toward the fight, he knew that for right now, for this moment, his job was up here. So he silently prayed for the Marines below and waited as the battle raged on. It was one of the hardest things he’d ever done.
The gunfire picked up in intensity, and he would’ve sworn he heard several .50-caliber machine guns firing simultaneously.
That’s not good for someone.
Then the firing stopped as abruptly as it started, the silence followed moments later by two thunderous explosions, the second one coming from his left.
He spoke into the handset on the AN/PRC-117 VHF manpack radio at his feet. “FSC, this is Black Sky. Anything from the COC yet?”
The Fire Support Center responded, “Not yet. Sounds like things are getting crazy up there.”
“No kidding, FSC, I’m about—” was all he had time to say before he heard a splash in the river below. A second dramatic splash followed moments later.
“FSC, wait one.” He dropped the handset, slid off the olive-green containers, carefully avoiding the large weapon lying on the roof, and ran over to the edge of the dam.
Good Christ almighty. One of HRI’s Cougars was slowly sinking below the surface of the water. Then he saw the truck. Is that a seven-ton?
Captain Barnett knew it was. He just hoped the crazy driver had escaped before plummeting over the edge. He saw movement in the water, but his attention shifted as he heard the roar of powerful engines to his left.
Four Cougars sped down the dirt road away from the dam, weaving in and out of the tactically positioned Jersey barriers. Marines manning the checkpoints along the half-mile road to the main gate opened fire. The assault rifles and 7.62-caliber machine guns had no effect on the powerful antimine vehicles. The rounds ricocheted off the bulletproof glass and armor.
That former captain must’ve known something like this would happen. The colonel had told Barnett that it had been Logan’s idea to place him on overwatch.
Here was the moment he’d trained for, happening right before his very eyes. The bastards were trying to get away.
Captain Barnett sprinted back to his position, leaned down, and picked up the heavy FGM-148 Javelin missile he’d prestaged on the roof of the dam. He jogged as quickly as he could to the edge of the roof, the nearly fifty-pound weapon slowing him down slightly.
He was proficient in the use of the Javelin. Normally, a two-man crew was required to operate it, more for stability than anything else. Fortunately, his two-hundred-pound frame was all muscle, and he’d trained to fire solo on multiple occasions. Now he was going to get the chance to see if that training paid off.
He crouched and sat down on the roof, bending his knees in front of him. He raised the command launch unit—the CLU—over his right shoulder, balancing the weight of the missile tube carefully.
He looked through the viewfinder and found the four Cougars outside the camp. They were already more than six hundred meters away. The small convoy had somehow blasted its way through the main gate on the side of the dam.
The CLU’s infrared mode searched for the heat signatures of the fleeing vehicles. Captain Barnett flipped a switch, and a box appeared in the viewfinder. Seconds later, he was rewarded with a steady tone as the CLU locked on to the lead Cougar. Bingo. He pulled the trigger.
WHOOSH!
The warhead shot out of the missile tube toward the Cougars, and the missile’s main ignition system ignited. The warhead streaked upward into the sky at a steep angle, the sophisticated tracking system choosing the best angle of attack.
Captain Barnett’s part of the job complete, he dropped the heavy CLU and watched as the missile reached its zenith, seemed to stop in midair, and then rocketed earthward in a direct line at the lead Cougar now eight hundred meters away.
Even after seeing the Javelin used several times in combat, the technology of the weapon never ceased to amaze him. It’d been designed to maximize a top-attack angle in order to defeat heavily armored vehicles, including tanks and armored personnel carriers.
The Cougar never had a chance.
In an instant, the high-explosive antitank warhead slammed through the top of the armored vehicle. The first explosive-shaped charge cleared a pathway through the armor, allowing the main warhead to detonate inside the confines of the Cougar.
The result was spectacular—and horrific for the men inside.
The vehicle exploded outward as if trying to expand on its frame. The lumbering behemoth rolled onto its side and flipped several times down the road before grinding to a halt.
The first two vehicles behind it had been following too closely. The second Cougar tried to stop as the driver slammed on its brakes. His reflexes were too slow. The personnel carrier smashed into the burning hulk of the first and was launched into the air as it broke through the other vehicle’s remains. It tilted in midair and then fell over, almost in slow motion, as it landed on its right side.
The third Cougar’s driver had more time to react, but not much more. The driver avoided the wreckage and veered to the left but quickly lost control as a result of the high speed. The Cougar fishtailed wildly down the road and went right over the edge. Captain Barnett watched as the Cougar rolled onto its left side and suddenly dropped out of sight.
One shot, three kills—not too shabby. One more to go . . .
The fourth vehicle swerved around the wreckage, and its driver accelerated past the carnage, obviously hoping to place as much distance as possible between him and the dam.
Captain Barnett reached down and grabbed the spare warhead he’d brought. He detached the spent tube and connected the new missile, assuming a sitting position once again. Looking through the viewfinder, he saw that the surviving Cougar was already almost a thousand meters away.
You may as well just park it, buddy. There’s nowhere to go, he thought with a wry smile.
Seconds later, the beeps transitioned to a steady tone as the CLU locked on to the remaining vehicle. He pressed the trigger once again, and the second missile launched into the air, quickly covering the distance as it greedily streaked toward its prey.
He put the CLU down and stood up. There was no doubt it would be a direct hit. Nothing could stop the warhead now.
Moments later, the missile impacted the rear of the Cougar, tunneling through the armor and striking the gas tank. The detonation of the warhead and the gas tank’s explosion were nearly simultaneous.
B-BOOM!
The vehicle flipped forward onto its roof, flames pouring out of it as it skidded down the dirt road. It finally ground to a halt, a burning cauldron of death.
Barnett saw no movement on the road from his vantage point, which was fine with him. He turned around to radio the COC once again only to find one bloody Logan West covered in dirt and grime smiling at him.
“Nice shot, Captain. They got what they deserved.”
Captain Barnett opened his mouth to ask what had happened below, but he never got the chance. A loud vibration suddenly shook the roof of the dam.
He looked past Logan West and saw the FBI agent and the retired gunnery sergeant standing behind him. They turned around to face the back of the dam, toward the lake.
The thrumming sound grew louder, filling the air around them.
“Get downstairs and see the sergeant major!” Logan shouted. “That’s our ride!”
Like a specter emerging from the darkness, a Bell UH-1Y Venom helicopter rose into view, a 7.62mm Gatling minigun mounted on each side.
The Super Huey hovered for a moment and then touched down on the concrete roof fifty feet away.
Captain Barnett stared as Logan West, John Quick, and Mike Benson raced to the open compartment in the middle of the helicopter and jumped aboard, sliding onto the two leather benches that faced each other.
He saw the men pull on headsets and watched as the pilot lifted off. Captain Barnett said to no one in particular, “Nice ride,” as the pilot angled the nose forward toward the front of the dam. The Super Huey shot forward, leaving Captain Jack Barnett alone once again on the roof of the Haditha Dam, wondering how in the hell this day was going to end.