Slaton led Sarah down a narrow street. He knew where the square was, having studied the town’s layout in preparation, and was sure he could find it without referencing the map. Bursts of gunfire sounded behind them, north of town, punctuated by the occasional explosion. The sporadic nature of the exchanges suggested that Aaron and the others were so far having success keeping the Hezbollah fighters, and any government troops who’d joined them, tactically off balance.
Sarah was doing well, moving quickly but not in a way that would draw attention. A learned skill, he supposed, for a Christian girl growing up in the Islamic State. Rounding a corner, he saw a pair of men in the distance; both were armed and running north. Slaton kept Sarah, who was dressed conveniently as a local, between him and the two soldiers. One of them might have glanced their way, but soon both disappeared behind a building.
The square came into view, and Slaton guided Sarah into a shadowed corner. “Is this the place?” he asked.
“Yes. There, at the far end—the low wall.”
Slaton looked and saw the wall at the far end of a wide open square. He also saw a new problem—ten or twelve civilians milling about precisely where she’d pointed. He saw two rifles, but it wasn’t a military unit in any sense of the word.
“Who are they?” she asked.
“Probably locals. They heard the gunfire and they’re wondering what’s going on.”
Slaton lifted his weapon and sighted it on the group.
“You can’t just shoot them!” Sarah protested.
“I’m only looking.” Slaton stepped his reticle through the crowd one by one. He saw two AKs, and an old man carrying what looked like a scimitar. Great, he thought, we successfully engage Hezbollah, only to get beat down by a freaking neighborhood watch.
He said, “Could you find it quickly?”
“Yes, I think I know the exact place.”
“So if I fire a few rounds in that direction, get them to scatter for a minute or two … could you retrieve it?”
“But you might hit someone by accident.”
Slaton took his eye away from the scope, and said in a level tone, “I don’t hit things by accident.”
“You can’t know that—there are children out there.”
Slaton tried not to roll his eyes. “Look, I really am a pretty good shot. Now get ready to—”
“No, there is a better way!”
Before Slaton could respond, Sarah turned and dashed into the square.
He backed into the shadows, cursed, and trained his gun on one of the men who was holding an AK. His finger poised on the trigger.
Halfway to the crowd, Sarah began shouting as she ran. Whatever she said, it was in Arabic, a rudimentary language for Slaton. He caught a few words, but missed the meaning. Soon every set of eyes in the crowd was on her. Slaton watched a mother grab a young teen and haul him off by the wrist. A young woman was next, and soon it became a stampede. Twenty seconds later the square was completely empty. He watched Sarah kneel near the base of the wall, and used his scope to scan for threats as she ran back toward him.
She skidded to a stop in front of him no more than a minute after she’d gone. Sarah held out her open hand, and in it was a white memory stick.
“Okay,” he said, “that was good.” Slaton took the stick and pocketed it. When Sarah turned to go, he said, “What did you say to them?”
She smiled. “Only the truth. I shouted that the Israelis were invading.”
* * *
The rendezvous west of town almost went well. Using his NVGs, Slaton spotted Aaron and the others in the shallow wadi. Uday had apparently been given a short course in driving an ATV, because the fourth vehicle, the one Slaton had been driving, was parked with the others in a stand of brush fifty yards away. They gathered in the wadi’s natural recess, and Slaton told everyone they’d recovered the data. Aaron briefed the egress plan. It all took no more than thirty seconds—but that was thirty seconds too long.
The first burst sent everyone to their bellies in the natural trench, and soon heavy fire was raining in all around. Slaton pushed Sarah’s head low. The incoming barrage was coming from their left flank. Aaron ventured a look with his goggles, and had no trouble identifying the source.
“There’s a Hilux stopped on the road,” he said, referring to the Toyota truck that was a favorite of militias and warlords across the world. “Looks like it’s mounted with a fifty-cal.”
“Range?” Slaton asked.
“Twelve hundred, maybe a little less.”
Rounds pinged off nearby rocks. “The gunner’s not bad.”
“Unfortunately.”
Both men looked at the ATVs. It would take thirty seconds to reach them over open ground, twice that to mount up and get clear.
“Do you think he’s seen them?” Slaton asked.
Before Aaron could answer, one of the ATVs rocked under a hit, the seat bursting in a cloud of fabric and foam.
“Yeah, maybe so,” said Aaron. “I’m not sure where this guy came from. We pulled the bulk of the force north of town.”
“I expect they’re all headed our way now.” Slaton peered up over the ledge and spotted the technical. “The driver was smart to park so far away. At a thousand-plus meters our MPs are worthless. All they have to do is keep us pinned down and wait for help.”
“We brought one long gun,” Aaron said.
Slaton looked at Matai’s ATV where an HTR 2000 Barak was mounted. He exchanged a look with Aaron, who said, “You’re the shooter.”
“Right.”
Slaton began moving. He crawled the first ten yards, but the ATVs were on relatively high ground. He jumped up and made a dash for the weapon. There was a brief lull as the gunner adjusted his aim; then rounds began pounding the desert all around. Tiny explosions of dirt and stone filled the air, and stands of brush got shredded. Slaton lunged for the rifle, pulled it free, then sprinted back and literally dove into the wadi. Back in cover, he instantly began moving perpendicularly, away from the others. The best shooting platform he could find was a flat stone shelf at the edge of a rise. The telescopic sight was made for night work, and he had no trouble acquiring the gunman on the Toyota’s high bed. The man was partially masked by an armor plate, but his head was clearly visible. That was all Slaton needed.
The earth was still exploding to his right, but Slaton tuned it out. He felt the familiar calm settle. His breathing slowed, his muscles relaxed. In the green glow of the scope he registered smoke coming from hot-barreled .50-cal. Slaton used it to estimate windage. Old equations came into play, bullet drop and crosswind corrections. Tried-and-tested rules he’d used countless times before.
In places like Gaza.
On targets like Ali Samir.
He began the slow pressure on the trigger, not squeezing for an instantaneous shot, but giving the rifle a say in the matter, a steady window in which it could do its work. The gun kicked, and Slaton quickly reestablished his target in the scope. He found the Hilux, then the .50-cal. There was no longer anyone behind it. A hit, most likely, but he really didn’t care. The incoming fire had stopped, and no one else was taking up the gun mount. For the next two minutes that was all that mattered.
He pulled away from the sight, and with his naked eye he saw two trucks coming up the road behind the Hilux. They roared right past the Toyota, never hesitating.
“Go, go, go!” Slaton shouted.
Aaron was already prodding their charges toward the ATVs, while Tal and Matai covered the rear. Small-arms fire began crackling in the distance. Suddenly a grenade exploded fifty yards away, on an angle toward town. Slaton reckoned it had been delivered by either Tal or Matai—not a strike against the enemy, who were well out of range, but an effort to confuse them and avert their eyes. A little fog of war.
The trucks were getting closer, and all at once they stopped and men began pouring out of each. Whether they were Hezbollah militants or government troops was immaterial. Within seconds they all began shooting from a range of two hundred yards.
Slaton and the others had covered barely half the distance to the ATVs when the fusillade began. At first there were only stray rounds, hunting and ranging, but soon the barrage began to thicken and gain focus. Something slapped Slaton hard on the back, and he realized there was no one around him—he’d taken a round in his vest. He regained his balance and ran directly behind Sarah, hoping to shield her. A scream from behind caused him to stop and look back. He saw Tal rolling on the ground. Slaton reversed and helped him to his feet. Tal was bloodied and grimacing, but his legs started churning again. By the time they reached the ATVs, Slaton was dragging Tal along, a strong hand under his armpit. The first RPG hit, erupting a shower of dirt.
Aaron had already done a damage assessment on their vehicles. “One bike took a hit! The others look operable!”
The very contingency they’d considered ahead of time.
Everyone mounted up, Aaron and Matai each with one of their subjects, and the injured Tal quite literally riding shotgun next to Slaton. In a loose line they rocketed out into open desert, drawing a fresh hail of gunfire. Soon the barrage began to lessen as magazines ran empty. Two minutes later they were out of range.
Aaron throttled up and took a straight-line course back to Israel.
Speed was life.