20:15 / 8:15 P.M. IRST
But they didn’t come. And with each minute that passed, the unease in Nir grew.
Five minutes.
Ten minutes.
Then it hit him. “Guys, they’re flanking us. Get to the vehicles now. It’s our only possibility of surprise.”
The whole team sprinted to where the transport truck had burned itself out. Yaron propped his arms on it, then quickly pulled them back. “Tembel,” he said.
Nir looked over to see why Yaron had just called himself an idiot, then saw him blowing on his forearms.
“Burned myself,” Yaron said.
“I guess someone had to do it.”
“Hey, boss, I’ll bet you falafel to fez that this jeep still runs,” Doron said.
Nir looked it over. It was a little scorched from the explosion, but it appeared to be in one piece, and the tires had air. The bright headlights let him know that the battery was still good. Looking in the front seat, he found keys dangling from the ignition.
“Excellent, but you drive like an old Talmudic rabbi. Dima, when we’re ready, I want you behind the wheel. The rest of you in the back seat.”
“Root.”
Gunfire erupted from the other side of the sheep pen as round after round hit right where they’d been taking cover. The screams of wounded and dying sheep cut through the din. The guns of the Kidon team, however, were pointed in the opposite direction, ready for anyone coming over the original rise. Twelve shadows suddenly appeared against the starry sky. The Israelis cut them down before they had a chance to fire their weapons.
“Okay, into the jeep,” Nir said.
The men piled in, and Dima turned the key. Remarkably, the jeep’s engine started. He hit the accelerator, and Nir could hear curses from the back seat as gravity heaped the men together.
“What direction, boss?” Dima asked.
“Away. Can you see without the headlights?”
“I can see enough.” The Russian reached down and the road ahead suddenly went dark.
The terrain was rough, and the men were jostled hard as they hung on to anything bolted down. Then suddenly, the ground disappeared from below them, and they dropped into a dry wadi. Dima managed to keep control and drive along the flat surface.
“We’ve got company behind us,” Imri said.
Nir turned around and in the distance saw the shadows of three jeeps angle into the wadi, followed by one truck, then a second. When the third truck took the embankment, it teetered to the right, then tipped over.
One down, Nir thought. They had a half-kilometer lead, but it was shrinking. It appeared that the IRGC drivers had more experience night driving in this type of terrain.
The wadi suddenly angled to the left. Dima tried to make the turn, but he was going too fast. The jeep ran up the embankment, became airborne, and landed hard. After a loud metallic snap, it abruptly stopped. All the men were thrown forward, and Nir barely missed hitting the windshield face first.
“Everybody out!” he yelled.
They all piled out of the jeep and took a position behind it. The jeeps and trucks came closer and closer. Ten meters out, they hit their brakes in a cloud of dust. To the roar of the diesel engines were added to the shouted orders and the sound of soldier after soldier jumping from the trucks and taking position.
Nir and his men were in a hopeless position. This was it—no way out.
“Blaze of glory, chaveret!” he shouted into his com.
“Blaze of glory!” everyone repeated.
Music began playing through his communication system. Nir was so surprised that he didn’t recognize what it was at first. Then it hit him—“Ride of the Valkyries” by Richard Wagner. That’s when he realized that the commotion he heard wasn’t just coming from the trucks in front of him. Turning around, Nir saw a Huey cresting a ridge. The mini-guns mounted on either side of the chopper opened up, firing at a rate of four thousand rounds per minute. First the bodies began falling, then the vehicles began exploding. Only 45 seconds later, not a single IRGC soldier was left alive.
The Huey angled around and put its skids on the ground. Nir waved his team to the helicopter, and they climbed in. Once he’d counted all five, he jumped in himself. Immediately, the chopper took to the air.
Nir moved to the cockpit and put his hand on Captain Marks’s shoulder.
“If I had external speakers like in the movie,” the captain said, “I would have really made an entrance.”
“No, it was perfect. Duvall had nothing on you.” After a moment, he added, “I heard you guys stopped taking our calls.”
“Had to maintain radio silence. President didn’t want to take a chance of anyone discovering our little Persian soiree.”
Nir was surprised that the decision for their rescue had reached all the way to the Oval Office. “Could have at least let our side know you were coming.”
“What? And spoil the surprise?”
Nir laughed. “Well, thanks. First round is on me back in Erbil.”
“We’ll take you up on that.”
“Oorah,” said First Lieutenant Bader.
Moving back to the cabin, Nir sat down. Imri was checking Doron’s arm. Yaron was cleaning blood off his face. Dima was watching Nir with a stupid grin, and Lahav was sitting and shaking.
“Lahav, secure and holster your weapon,” Nir said.
Lahav looked at his hands as if just now realizing he was still holding his pistol. He obeyed.
Dima leaned forward and put his hand on Nir’s leg. “That’s years of good living right there, my friend.”
“It was years of something.”
But deep down he wondered if any part of their survival had to do with that little talk with God. Who knows? Can’t think about it right now. Nicole will have an answer. I’ll ask her later.
Nir tilted his head back, and despite the fact that the Vietnam-era helicopter was racing at a very unsafe speed at a ridiculously low altitude, he savored the flight.