Chapter Twenty-four

 

 

Two miles south of the sheikh’s compound

Thirty miles northeast of Sanaa, Yemen

August 14, 7:05 p.m.

 

The first bombs from the F-15s struck in the middle of the compound. Four gigantic explosions, massive blue and orange flames, and black mushroom clouds rose above them. Even from a distance, huge chunks of debris and shrapnel were visible against the fiery background. Justin could only imagine the panic among the residents.

The fighter jets pounded the northern edge of the compound with another series of bombs. The exact location was hidden from Justin’s line of sight. He thought the pilots might have noticed convoy movements and had decided to strike them.

Seconds later, the F-15s disappeared into the clouds. Justin did not try to locate them. He hoped they would return for another assault of the southern part of the compound. As he returned his attention to the battleground on the dirt trail and looked for more targets, a third convoy began to snake out of the compound.

Justin put the leading truck into his crosshairs and fired a quick barrage. His bullets stitched a ribbon pattern through the windshield. The driver was either killed or gravely wounded. He lost control of the truck, which swung into a stretch of shrubs and trees on the left side of the trail.

Gunmen jumped out of the second and the third truck and the following convoy vehicles: an array of SUVs, sedans, and even a van. They began to scatter along the road, dashing toward safer positions.

A series of loud explosions burst open the area. Carrie was detonating the explosive charges on both sides of the road. The shockwave tore through the convoy and the gunmen. Whoever was not killed right away had to survive the onslaught of shrapnel and debris, as rocks and tree branches showered them. One of the trucks caught fire and erupted in a fiery blast.

Justin peppered the convoy with a long volley. He reloaded his rifle and fired another quick barrage, spreading his bullets over a wide area. He targeted all the gunmen he could see, before the thick curtain of smoke and dust swallowed up the area.

Weak fire came from the trail. Justin’s position was safe, as jihadists’ rounds landed a few yards away. He crawled along a strip of shrubs and sand mounds, keeping his head low, just a couple of inches above the ground.

Justin had arrived at his next position, about twelve feet up ahead and to the right, when he saw slivers flying around a couple of trees. They were about ten yards away, and Scot had dug his heels in at that position. A grin was stamped on his face, and he seemed to be enjoying himself and the battle. He was waiting for a pause in the volley, so he could return fire.

“Laying down suppressive fire, Scot,” Justin said into his mike.

“Roger that. Would be very handy,” came Scot’s reply.

Justin’s eye found three gunmen shooting from behind the Mercedes. Two of them were firing AK assault rifles; the third was using a PKM machine gun. He was the greatest threat to Scot and the rest of the teams spread out on both sides of the trail. And he was the one Justin placed in his crosshair.

The agent fired a single round that slammed into the gunman’s right shoulder. The gunman dropped the machine gun and tried to roll behind the sedan. Justin fired again and planted his bullet in the gunman’s head.

Justin’s shots had caught the attention of the other two gunmen. One of them poured forth a barrage that sprinkled bullets around Justin. One round ricocheted off a rock jutting out of the ground a few feet away from his head. It struck Justin’s bulletproof vest, tearing a huge chunk out of his robe.

He rolled to the side, away from the following volley. He checked his vest and thanked God the bullet had not gone through. The rebound had taken most of the brunt, and very little punch was left in the bullet when it thumped on his vest. Next time, he might not be that lucky.

Justin took a deep breath and slowly raised his head. The F-15s’ ear-splitting thunder returned. A moment later, the entire dirt trail erupted in fiery explosions. The detonations were powerful, loud and deadly. Giant blue and yellow flames leaped at the sky, along with billowing black smoke. Then, as suddenly as they’d appeared, the F-15s disappeared behind one of the southern hills.

Justin observed the trail for a moment. It was blanketed by a thick curtain of dust and smoke. “All units. Advance to new positions closer to the trail. And shoot at everything that moves.”

“Roger that,” Carrie was the first to reply.

Then a chorus of acknowledgments followed.

Justin reloaded his rifle and waited for a moment for any gunman to appear out of the dust veil. They were acting smart and staying put. But the soft wind gusts were against them; they were dispersing the thinning dust.

He seized the moment and rushed forward and down the hill. He had gained about twenty yards when a series of rounds bounced near his feet. Justin dove to his left, into a sand dune, and rolled behind it. More bullets whacked the ground around him, one or two whizzing dangerously close to his head.

Justin swung to his left and glanced at the trail. Two gunmen appeared near one of the trucks. He fired a long burst that mowed them down. Then he bolted down the slope in a crisscross pattern.

Sporadic gunfire came from a few spots along the trail. Justin ducked and rolled to the side, seeking cover behind a cluster of small acacia trees and camphor bushes. He fired into the thinning dust cloud, then got into a high crawl and made his way forward.

He reached the trail and glanced at the head of the first convoy. Bodies of gunmen were strewn about the gray SUV resting on its roof. Justin dashed to the SUV and quickly double-checked the bodies. They were all dead.

He circled the SUV and focused his attention on the yellow Mercedes. All of its doors were wide open. Justin thought he saw movement coming from the backseat. It was a black-and-white headdress.

Justin pointed his rifle at the Mercedes sedan and took a few wary steps. His eyes darted left and right, as he scanned both sides of the trail for any survivors. When he was about five yards away from the sedan, he shouted in Arabic, “Come out with your hands up!”

No answer.

He took another step, then said again, even louder, “Get out of the car!”

Justin heard the gunshots at the same time he felt the bullets punch him in the back. The rounds had struck through his rucksack and had thumped against his bulletproof vest, but the heavy blows still knocked him down to his knees. He fought to catch his breath and hold his rifle in his hands.

A man slid out of the Mercedes.

Justin recognized him as the sheikh. He pointed a pistol at Justin’s head.

Before the sheikh could pull his trigger, Justin fired his rifle. He double-tapped the sheikh’s chest.

The sheikh also squeezed off a round. It cut through Justin’s left arm, a few inches above the elbow. He winced and rolled on the ground, crawling behind the Mercedes.

More bullets poured forth from the sheikh’s pistol.

Then a long barrage echoed from behind Justin. He recognized the familiar sound of a C8SFW assault rifle. Carrie.

“Justin, you’re okay?” she shouted.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine. Only a flesh wound. Is the sheikh dead?”

“Yes, I finished him and the bastard who shot you in the back.”

Justin sighed. He climbed to his knees and rested against the side of the sedan. He glanced to his left, and his eyes found Carrie crouched near the back of the SUV. “You saw it?”

“Yes. Tried to gun him down and warn you.”

“I didn’t hear you.”

He tapped his earpiece and checked his throat mike. It seemed to be working properly. Perhaps the battle noises and his concentration on the gunmen had caused him to miss Carrie’s warning. “Sorry.” He shrugged. “I don’t know what happened.”

“No worries. We got our man.”

Justin nodded. “The sheikh’s dead,” he said into his throat mike. “I repeat, the sheikh is dead. Pull out. Mission accomplished.”

“Roger that,” Scot said.

His voice was followed by a series of replies, all of the team members acknowledging the order.

Justin rummaged in his rucksack and found his cellphone. He crawled to the other side of the Mercedes and took a few pictures of the sheikh. It was the evidence for Al-Assam. Justin glanced inside the sedan, but saw nothing useful in terms of intelligence gathering. He reached the sheikh’s body and went through the dead man’s pockets. He found a smartphone and a small notebook. Justin took everything, then called out, “Cover fire, Carrie.”

She replied with a long barrage, allowing Justin to rush toward her position. She only stopped firing when he dropped to safety behind the SUV. Carrie’s face was scraped and bruised, but she still gave him a reassuring nod and a warm smile. “We did it, Justin. The sheikh’s dead.” She leaned forward and cleaned a few grains of sand and specks of dirt from his banged-up face.

Justin nodded. “Yes. Unless Al-Assam breaks his word, we’ll have the details of the terrorist plot as well.”

Carrie’s eyes fell on Justin’s wound. He looked down at his arm. The bullet had torn a large chunk of the flesh, skin, and muscle, but had spared the bone. Justin suddenly felt drained of all energy, and his shoulder throbbed with pain.

“Let me take care of the wound,” Carrie said.

“We should roll out first. We’ll stop when we get to the Rovers.”

Carrie frowned. “It’s going to take but a minute. Why lose more blood?”

Justin cast a sweeping gaze around the area. “I don’t want to slow down our retreat. The compound is crawling with the sheikh’s supporters.”

Carrie had already pulled out a large wad of dressing from her rucksack. “All right. Hold this tight over the wound.”

Justin reloaded his rifle with a fresh magazine from his chest rig, swung his rifle over his shoulder, then picked up the dressing.

Carrie also fed a new clip to her rifle, then tipped her head toward the south. “I’ll cover our retreat.”

Justin hurried toward the teams’ assembly point, which was about a mile behind the nearest hill. He stuck to the dirt trail for the first hundred yards or so and was quickly joined by Nathan and Frank. Other men from Reza’s team began their retreat from the hill slopes. As the trail wound around the hill, they were beyond the line of fire.

“I’m going to bring around one of the Rovers,” Carrie said.

“You’ll need some help,” Nathan said.

“All right,” Justin said and slowed down his pace.

He gazed around, but his eyes still did not find Scot or Reza.

“Scot? Reza? Where are you guys?” He tried to stifle the concern creeping into his voice.

“I’m right here. Four o’clock,” Scot said.

Justin glanced to his right and found Scot hobbling alongside the trail and leaning against another teammate. A third man was shuffling behind, holding a rifle in one arm and dragging a man in a half-Hawes carry with the other.

“Reza? Reza?” Justin turned his head to the other hillside.

“Over here,” Reza replied in a loud shout. “I’m good.”

Justin’s eyes struggled to find Reza among the scraggly bushes. He was lumbering under the weight of a man he had thrown over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. A few steps behind Reza, two men were carrying two more wounded teammates by means of a cradle drop drag method.

Justin frowned and bit his lip. When Reza and his men were a few steps away from Justin, he looked at the wounded. They were unconscious and had large bullet wounds to their necks and lower abdomens, all areas unprotected by their bulletproof vests.

Reza sighed as he placed the man he was carrying on the ground.

“I’m sorry about your men.” Justin placed his hand on Reza’s shoulder.

Reza shrugged, then heaved a deep sigh. Blood was oozing from a large gash on the left side of his face. He wiped it with the back of his hand, and Justin noticed Reza had another deep cut on his forearm. Reza said, “It’s war. Death is a part of life, especially in these lands. At least, they didn’t die in vain.”

“No, they did not.”

“I took a few shots of the dead sheikh.” Reza waved his cellphone. “I’ll call Al-Assam and send them to him.” Reza stepped to the side.

“What happened to you?” Justin turned to Scot and his men.

Scot shrugged and blinked. Then he rubbed away dirt from the corners of his eyes. “I have no idea. One moment, I’m zipping down the slope, the next, my knees buckle under my body. I go down, and I notice I’m hit on my thigh. Never saw the shooter.” Scot shook his head, and his face registered an expression of incredulity, as if he’d believed himself bulletproof.

“Carrie will patch you up, patch both of us up.” Justin winced as he showed Scot his wounded arm. “And you lost one of your men,” he said in a low hesitant voice.

Scot nodded and a frown darkened his battered face. “Jimmy. The youngest in my team. Would have turned 23 in two weeks.” He glanced at the young man, and then away in the distance. “But he fought well, he fought extremely well.”

Justin remained silent. He muttered a silent prayer for Jimmy’s soul and his family. He closed his eyes, feeling the pain for the many deaths around him overwhelm his entire being.

“Reza still has three men on the other side of the compound,” Scot said. “They should soon join us at the vehicles.”

Justin nodded. “Yes, we should go.”

He looked toward Reza, who was shouting on the phone. He spat, then cursed, then ended the phone call. “You have your target.” He ran toward Justin. “Al-Assam’s man confirmed it is the Canadian Tire Center in Ottawa.”

Justin clenched his teeth. “The date and the time?”

“Evening of August 15. In three days.”

“We can still stop the attack. Great job, Reza.” Justin tapped him on the shoulders.

“We did this together, all of us.” Reza nodded at his men, then at Scot and his team, and finally at Justin and Frank.

Scot nodded.

Two Rovers and one GMC zoomed toward them, leaving behind a long trail of dust.

Reza pointed up the hill at the silhouettes of three men running as fast as they could through the sand dunes and the scrubland. “We’re all here now. We’re good to go.”

Justin gestured toward the vehicles. “Yes, our job in Yemen is done.”