Chapter Twenty-eight
Rutbah, Iraq
The impact knocked Justin off his feet. He dropped to the ground, struggling for breath, groping for his rifle. He felt as if someone had punched the air out of his lungs. The bulletproof vest took the brunt of the impact, but he still felt the pain. No matter how many times he got shot, he could never get used to the feeling.
His right hand found the rifle, and he tried to get up.
“Stay down, down,” Carrie shouted at him.
Then she fired quick bursts.
Justin glanced at the boy. He was gone, but the rifle was on the ground, next to the dead man. The boy’s mother had also disappeared. Justin remembered the boy had not fired the shot. But who did?
Carrie squeezed off a few more rounds, then zipped toward Justin. “How are you?”
“Good. Who shot me?”
Carrie gestured toward the nearest house. “Second window. Anything broken?”
“Don’t think so.”
“Good to go?”
“Yes.”
Carrie motioned to her left.
A fighter ran from the corner and darted ahead of them.
Carrie stood up and glanced around.
“Two o’clock,” Justin said and pointed to his right.
Carrie fired a three-round burst at the muzzle flash. “Sharp eye. You’re back already.”
“I was never gone.”
She wrapped her arm around Justin and helped him to his feet. “You’re good?”
“Yes, I only got shot.”
“Must have been small cal.”
Justin touched the right side of his chest. The bullet had torn a small piece of the vest but had missed the Maglite in the chest rig pouch. He nodded, then he glanced at the window from where the shooter had fired his pistol.
Carrie’s eyes met Justin’s. “I took care of him. Let’s hurry.”
She stepped in front of him, and they ran through the alley. “What happened to the boy?”
“His mother dragged him home. Were you going to shoot him?”
Justin did not answer right away. “I’m glad I didn’t have to.”
Bright headlights lit up the alley in front of them. A couple of gunmen fired from positions they had taken along the walls of one of the houses.
Bullets kicked up dirt around Justin’s feet. Others whizzed overhead.
Carrie returned fire, planting three bullets into the first gunman.
Justin pulled the trigger of the 40mm M320 grenade launcher mounted underneath his rifle. The round struck near the truck, shattering the headlights. Some of the shrapnel must have struck the second gunman, because his gunfire ceased.
Justin caught up to Carrie. They advanced toward the next house and reached it without exchanging gunfire with anyone. When Justin leaned against the wall and neared the house’s gate, the earpiece rang with an inaudible sound. He tapped it, trying to see if the wire had been damaged. As he wiggled it, he heard the voice of one of the teammates: “Help, we’re—”
Two gunshots cut off his words.
“Who was that?” Carrie asked.
“Don’t know. It sounded like one of the rearguards. Ying? Ying? Come in.”
No answer.
“Ying? Ying? Can you hear me?”
Still no answer.
Isaac’s voice rang with some background crackle. “Has anyone seen Ying?”
A couple of negative answers.
“Justin, we’re at the house. Bad news: No Chinese here.”
“You’re sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. We’ve torn up the place.”
“No hiding places? Tunnels? Holes in the yard?”
“Nothing, but Hadi and Stephan are searching. Now for good news...”
A screech of static muted Isaac’s words. Then an explosion came from up ahead. The blast came into Justin’s earpiece, while bright orange flames shot up just outside the target house about fifty yards ahead. A truck turned into a large fireball and fragments rained over the area. “Isaac, Isaac, come in?”
“Yes ... we’re...” More static, then the line went dead.
“Go, go, go,” Justin shouted.
He scurried along the wall, ignoring bullets whizzing overhead and all around him. He was running too fast to see any targets or to return effective fire. So he slowed down just for a moment when he reached the next gate. He aimed at a gunman who had popped up over a rooftop parapet and squeezed off a quick burst. The gunman fell over the parapet, crashing to the ground about ten yards to Justin’s left.
He then turned his rifle to the right and studied the one-story house. The windows were dark, and no silhouettes were visible along the rooftop, atop the walls, or at the gate. “Cover me,” he whispered at Carrie.
“Copy that,” she said.
Justin dashed for the last section. After he covered about fifteen yards, a slender silhouette appeared near the burning truck. It was a woman or a skinny man dressed in dark clothes, shouldering a rocket-propelled grenade launcher. The silhouette turned the launcher in Justin’s direction.
“RPG, RPG.” Justin jumped toward the nearest gate.
Justin kicked the gate, but it remained in place. He kicked it harder, throwing all the weight of his body into the action that could save his life.
The gate swung open.
Justin rolled inside the yard as the grenade exploded on the other side of the wall. It punched a man-sized hole through the wall, and cinderblock fragments, shrapnel, and dust covered him. Justin’s head was protected, but some of the pieces struck against his legs. One more second. One extra second, and this could have been the end. One of these days, I’ll run out of extra seconds.
He sighed and crawled away from the gate. He aimed his rifle at the gap. The silhouette was gone. Where did she go?
Justin stepped closer to the gate and into the alley. Carrie gestured at him from about twenty yards away, then her voice whispered into his ear, “She’s inside the target house.”
“Cover me.”
“No, I’ve got this. I’m closer. Cover.”
“Roger.”
Justin swung his rifle, covering all directions as he rushed behind Carrie. A couple of bodies were sprawled further up the alley. One of them was the fighter who had lit up the sedan with the rocket-propelled grenade launcher.
Carrie slipped past the burning truck and stopped as she neared the gate of the target house. Then she took a quick peek.
Someone must have fired from inside the yard, as Carrie dove for cover along the wall. She ran toward Justin as the wall behind her erupted in a geyser of cinderblocks and shrapnel. The force of the explosion threw Carrie to the ground.
She remained there for a moment, without moving, as a dust cloud began to cover her.
“Carrie, Carrie,” Justin shouted.
He dashed toward her.
“I ... I’m all right,” Carrie said and coughed. “It’s all ... all this dust.” She coughed again.
Justin nodded and helped Carrie up. They walked toward the gate, then Justin fired through the gap.
No return fire.
He crouched and looked inside the yard.
Empty.
“Isaac, we’re just outside the gate. What’s your position?”
“Stop talking, Justin. No more coms,” Isaac’s shout pierced Justin’s ear.
“What?”
“Ying can hear us. Don’t talk.”
“Ying? It’s okay if she—”
“No, she’s the shooter. The one firing those RPGs.”