"You simply didn't get them all. There's no room for argument or excuses. You didn't finish the job."
"But Skipper, Intel said we got them all. We blew that building off its foundation. Who says we didn't get them, and why has it taken so long for them to come up with this. That was a year-and-a-half ago."
"Intel found a new store of the Stingers in an old building half way across Beirut last week. Seems Al Shudadah hedged their bet after all. It's taken them this long to get their organization back together since your team took out Ben Shaheed. Everything else in Beirut's calming down these days, but Al Shudadah seems to be trying to come out of hiding. Your team got the first stash, Lieutenant Curran, and paid the price. I thought you'd like the chance to finish the job."
"Damn right!! Ah, certainly, sir. When do we go?"
"Meet for briefing at eighteen-hundred tonight, be packed and ready for departure to Cyprus by sixteen-hundred tomorrow, deploy tomorrow night. I'll have everyone paged to be there."
"Aye-aye, Skipper."
At eighteen-hundred hours, the seven-man team was listening to their latest assignment at the command center in Norfolk, Virginia. The Skipper, Captain Daniel Dunne, was the only one talking, for now.
"There's very little intelligence about the missiles. They've gotten reports that there are as few as six or as many as sixty in an old building in Beirut. If it's six, bring them back... one per man... seventy five pounds each... shouldn't be that hard. If there are sixty, blew the place to hell and run."
"Where's this building located, sir?"
"Somewhere in the Ouazzi section of the city."
"Ouazzi?"
"Don't ask me where it is. I asked too. No real information on the area, except that it's not in too bad a condition. You're not as apt to get shot, but city lights are better, there are more people out all over Beirut. This area shouldn't be any different. With Al Shudadah starting up again, you'd better keep a sharp watch. Set up is pretty much like last time. Someone who'll lead you to the site'll meet you on the beach. You'll go in just like before... parachute in, two hour swim, forty-five minutes to secure your gear and make contact at the beach, finish the job, then be back in the water by dawn for submarine extraction."
"Same captain... same sub? The Nyack?"
"Yeah... so?"
"Tell that son-of-a-bitch captain to give us a few more minutes, especially if we've got ten guerillas on our tail. If you hadn't chewed his ass, we would have all died out there."
"I don't know that even a threat of physical harm will turn that sub around this time. I suggest you men be on time for a change."
"Aye-aye, sir."
Chapter 2
The amphibious assault team was scheduled to land at twenty-one hundred hours. The seven men had parachuted into the Mediterranean at approximately eighteen-hundred hours and spent a little more than two hours in heavy chop getting their craft onto the beach at Beirut. It took another hour to hide the equipment and meet their contact. In other words, they were already a half hour late, and the mission had barely started. Most of the team had been here before. They had approximately eight hours left to do the deed and make it back to the sea for extraction. This time, Curran decided to leave room for unforeseen delays.
Eighteen months ago, the leader and three others of his then six man team had finally escaped the hell of Beirut They had left two of their friends and team members behind... Dane, the sharpshooter, and Rexer, their best explosives man... dead in the effort to destroy Stinger missiles controlled by Al Shudadah, the radical terrorist group splintered from Hizballah. The ones who had escaped had done so under heavy fire, chased by Al Shudadah's guerilla leader, Ben Shaheed himself.
They had been late, fifteen precious minutes late, and the sub captain would not wait and risk his boat or his crew. Curran, seriously wounded; Hawkins, their second in command; Rick Leary, the medic; and Paul Ramos, the radio man were all that were left at the end. They had fought to stay alive, killing Ben Shaheed and three of his soldiers in a kill-or-be-killed battled while they awaited extraction.
When that was over, they were left exhausted and adrift in the Mediterranean. Hawkins had been the one to say "Well, how long do you guys want to wait?" And then they had laughed like fools.
In the submarine, their Skipper, Captain Dunne, the man who had sent them on their mission, stood listening intently for any sign that his SEALs were still alive. He had finally heard something: hundreds of tracer reports as machine gun fire peppered the surface of the sea; a big underwater explosion; then an even more faint explosion as if something top side was blown into oblivion. A SEAL captain and not a timid man, he had angrily coerced the sub's captain into literally turning his boat around 'on a dime'. "Those are my SEALs out there making that commotion, and I want them picked up NOW!".
The remaining team members weren't even sure Curran was still alive by the time the submarine broke surface. He had tried to stay with them, to keep up hope, to help make an alternate plan for escape, but loss of blood had drained his energy. "Hawkins, get them home..." Then he slipped into unconsciousness. The others refused to let go of him, just in case. They had all been afraid they were going to finish this mission with only three... or even with none of them alive.
Now, eighteen months later, they had to do it all again... take on this city and Al Shudadah too. Curran was mostly just glad to be alive and still able to 'do the deed' as a SEAL. He had spent a month in hospital. Then came four months of rehabilitation, proving he was neither too damaged nor too old to belong. As part of rehabilitation, Captain Dunne had cut him loose for two full months. If the other three hadn't kept an eye on him, the enforced rest probably would have killed him.
The following four months of team reorganization and retraining, including doing hell-week all over again, proved the rebuilt team would work as a cohesive group just like before. He had made an impassioned plea to Dunne to give him back his remaining three. "Look, Skipper... the four of us need this. Did we do the deed or didn't we? If we did, then nobody ought to try to break us up. Don't let them separate us... give us some new blood, fine... but put the rest of us back together... we're a team."
His teammates assured him he was back, strong... no problems. Yet, after nine months on duty, taking part in nearly weekly Warning Orders, he still felt he needed to prove himself every single time they went out. What a man wouldn't do to be part of the teams.
"Hey, kid!! So you're still alive." Now Curran found himself and his group standing on almost the identical spot where they had met the boy before. Still too young for such a deadly game, he was bigger, seemingly tougher, than he had been before. The jacket, cap, cigarette, machine gun... in those respects, he was just the same, blending into the sand, waiting to lead the team in.
"As are you, but you are late again... no matter, we go."
"Who's this kid?" Martinez, the team's new sharp shooter/high ground man, hadn't been here the last time. He was amazed that such a young one was their contact for all of Beirut.
"Kid? Not hardly. Been a soldier for years. At least he's stayed alive long enough to get himself a new jacket." Leary remembered the last, and first, time he had encountered the ruffian. Machine gun in hand, cigarette in mouth, the kid had led them on a late night scramble through the city. He was a wealth of information, pinpointing faction locations, finding the route amidst chaos to lead them to the missiles. Without him, they would have failed miserably.
"All right, you little Rag... where do we go?" Hawkins, the man with the mouth that would one day get him seriously maimed or even killed, took second position, fondly clapping the kid on the shoulder.
"We go near the sports complex."
"Wait, kid," Curran stopped their forward progress before it got started. "Give me some background. Why the sports complex? I thought our target was an old building in Ouazzi."
"Al Shudadah. They have moved the Stingers they had hidden away from the school in a building near the sports complex, Ouazzi still... only more inland. You are here to take the Stingers away or destroy them?"
"That's what they tell me. How many of the Al Shudadah are there around there?"
"Not many, at least at last count."
"When was the last count?"
"Three months ago, maybe more, maybe slightly less."
"Jesus. How will you get us there?"
"We go north, a slight distance only... maybe ten kilometers. Travel fast. One hour, maybe... depends on detours we must take. The LAF believes your government is responsible for the missiles being here, and that you are sent to rid us of their presence."
"That's our government's idea too, but your boys are supposed to tell us how to get into them. We could only get a sketchy Intel report on what's around that area."
"The building is old, very large, no occupants, already unsteady. It has a secret door located in an alley. We enter there, you find missiles, you leave with missiles, or blew up building. I believe this is correct."
"That sounds like the plan we need."
"Well, kid, lead on. Let's just find us some fireworks." With that, Hawkins pushed the young man ahead of him, leading the rest of the team through the streets of Beirut.
Chapter 3
He couldn't even see his hand in front of his face. He didn't know if that meant it was night or if he was underground. He hoped it was just night. He wouldn't mind that quite so much. It had all gone to hell so quickly.
Everything was quiet. Too quiet. Buried alive? "Jesus!!" He had hated the idea of that ever since he was a kid reading Edgar Allen Poe. "Snap out of it! Do the deed" His too-long-still muscles, his badly battered body, protested as he moved.
"Boss? You finally awake?"
Well that was an improvement. It might be dark, he might be buried, he might be sore, but he wasn't alone. "Hawkins?" He turned, putting his legs out to try to stand.
"Whatever you do, don't move around."
"Awh!!!" The thud told Hawkins he should have said that first.
"Exactly where the hell are we?" He had discovered quickly that he had no boots.
"Well, I think we're guests of the Hizballah. If I'm right, this is their compound, or maybe it belongs to that bunch of Rags from Al Shudadah. Didn't have time to take us too far."
"Shit!!! I think I broke my leg."
"Well, you were on the high bunk. It was only sprained before. Leary checked it before they tossed us in here. Did you break it just now?"
"It'll be okay. I think I can stand up."
"Don't move!!!!"
"Shit!!!!!"
"This place isn't tall enough to stand up... barely enough room to trade places... not that we've tried that yet. And I said you were on the high bunk, not the top bunk."
"Can you give me any other useful information?"
"Well, let's see. I'm facing east, how about you?"
"How the hell should I know?"
"Listen to my voice... are you turned like me or not?"
"Think so... sounds about right."
"If you are, you're facing the door of one cell of this fine establishment. Oriented myself to the way out... just in case there's an opportunity. Out was east when the lights went out."
"How long have we been here?"
"They just didn't provide a clock, and they took my damn watch," The remark seemed slightly hostile. "But, there seems to be light down the corridor, probably just a dim bulb. Got here about o-three hundred. Light went out just after we got settled. It's still pitch black out there. If it was a window, we'd know if it was daylight out there yet. Guess it's been about eight hours... must be about ten- or eleven-hundred now... that's just a guess, though."
"Anybody else hurt?"
"Everybody just a little. Not too bad."
"Any idea about where they are?"
"Franklin and Ramos are to the right somewhere. Leary and Abindalla are close by on the left. Ramos has been trying to tap Morse to all of us ever since he plunked down. I told him you were fine."
"Yeah... right. Where's Graham?----I mean, where's the Chief?"
"Jesus, Boss! Graham's been dead almost two years now. The Chief's Hector Abindalla, our latest rag/wetback combo. You don't stop calling that man Graham, pretty soon he's just going to haul off and clean your clock."
"You keep calling him a rag/wetback combo, he's going to clean yours, and I don't blame him."
"SILENCE!!!!"
"What the hell is that?"
"The landlord, I suppose, and WHAT is the correct word." Hawkins' voice dropped quickly to a whisper. "Don't get him riled up. He's a real mean little prick."
"How do you know? You tested him already?"
"Yeah."
"How'd you do?"
"Not so good..."
"How bad?"
"Ribs... real short contest. I'll be okay."
It was then that Curran thought about it. Hawkins hadn't mentioned it. He should have thought of it himself. "Where's Martinez?"
Hell, he had done about a thousand push ups the first night of his first hell week because the trainers said their team didn't remember to make certain all of the team members were present. It was dark, dank, and all hell had broken loose. That didn't matter at all. The trainer had forgiven the rest of the team their push ups because he 'liked' the way Curran had kept his back straight through the first hundred or so, then yelled "Hooyah" when he reached the end. He had earned himself the privilege of doing all the pushups for all of the team all by himself. He had learned one thing that night... to not be a damn show-off.
"SILENCE!!!!"
"Look, Boss. Let's both just shut up a while. He's coming back again. He hates it when somebody's talking when he comes by. If he gets mad, one of us'll just wind up getting taken to the infirmary."
"They take you to the infirmary before? How was it?"
"Let's just put it this way...'infirmary' isn't their word for hospital ward, and their idea of 'intensive care' doesn't have anything to do with getting better, it's just intense."
"SILENCE!!!" Keys rattled in the door.
"Yep... still facing east."
Without seeing, Curran felt the hulk above him, just as a light blinded him, just before a fist connected with his face.
"You will remain silent, or I will return for more. Why do you leave your assigned place?"
"Assigned place?"
"SILENCE!!!" The fist connected again, this time with the pit of his stomach, a boot followed. "You will return to your assigned place, and you will stay there until you are told to move. NOW!" The light went out.
"To the left. Up a few feet somewhere." He heard a blow land on Hawkins' body. From the sound, it was probably his face, too. He heard a quietly muttered "Son of a bitch!"
At least, by now he knew he was securely on the floor. "Any holes?"
"Latrine... eleven hundred."
"Thanks." He began to move... feeling his way until he came in contact with something hard, rising out of the floor. "Concrete?"
"Most likely."
He reached up until he felt a sharp angle where something flattened out into the darkness beyond. He sensed it was long, flat on top. He pulled up and with his hands on the edge pulled himself to the top. He ducked his head, remembering his previous experience. "Awh!!!!" Another thud.
"Forgot. There's another something in front of the 'bunk.' Drops off on the other side."
"Gee, thanks." He got yanked roughly back to where he had started and got punched in the gut again. Hawkins got another round, too
"Move up a little, back to the left... move slow... you should be just about..."
"Awh!! Shit, Hawkins!!! Look... hey... how about just a speck of light here." He talked to the darkness.
A beam of light illuminated the 'bunk', a flat slab of concrete without a mattress, without a blanket. He got to it just as the light went out again. The hulk left, at least the keys rattled in the lock again. He waited several minutes, making sure he didn't sense the presence anymore. He hauled his sore body over the slab, then raised his head cautiously. He had about a three-inch clearance, it he didn't sit up too straight.
"All right. How did we get here without my knowing about it?"
"You were the one who ran! You were the one that put them on all of us. It wasn't any of the rest of us." Hawkins seemed a little peeved about the situation.
"I remember... some assholes came up behind me. Hell, can't those boys at Intel get anything right. Report said that was supposed to be a closed alley, unoccupied building. No way for anyone to get to us in there unless they found the kid's door. We'd just been inside... That place was crawling... I had to try to move to get you guys word."
"Didn't have to move just then!"
"They had me spotted. I had to move or die... I preferred to move... How many of them were there?"
"At least fifty. Must have been ten in the alley, rest of them came out of the building on your tail. Gave you a pretty good going over once they pinned you down."
"Did I at least make a good showing?"
"Held your own. Looked like a regular Joe Lewis, until you tripped over your own feet. Didn't look like much after that."
"Hard on the rest of you?"
"Just a nice little invitation to visit the Ritz here."
"Did Ramos get a message out?"
"Don't know. Didn't get a chance to check."
"You were with them weren't you?" He forgot about silence.
"Well... no, Boss. Not at the last. SH-H-H-H...the Rag's coming."
"I told you to stay put!! To be ready to plant the explosives or get everybody out if it went sour!!! Where were you?"
"Seeing if I could help save your sorry ass!!"
"Then you left position again. When are you going to learn to follow my orders!!?"
"SILENCE!!!" The keys rattled in the lock again. It was several hours before the Lieutenant had the chance or inclination to ask any more questions.
Chapter 4
The lights were on in here. That meant electricity. He didn't doubt what that meant. He was awake, hurting from more blows to his ribs and gut, and he suspected that was just the beginning. Training sessions had long ago introduced him to the concept and basic reality of what torture would feel like and to the rules of the game. Name. Rank. Serial Number. Nothing more. What was going to happen was illegal. Hell, it was an international crime. But who said life in covert operations was fair or legal. The reality of screaming and cursing had become acceptable. Everyone had finally admitted to each other that everyone definitely should scream when pain was applied. The punishment for talking, even if you were lying, hadn't been decided for sure... it depended on the court martial judges and what they thought about exactly what it was you said. Better to not answer or tell them anything that might resemble information. Deny everything and take what came.
"Let the game begin." He whispered it to himself as the man he assumed was 'the rag" from the cellblock put on thick gloves and picked up a large bucket of water. He was soon soaking with its contents. "Would have to be cold, wouldn't it." He knew he would feel more than enough heat in a very few minutes. He had been quickly and efficiently tied to a chair, his arms drawn tightly back, his legs tied widely apart. That was convenient... for 'the rag.' They were obviously very familiar with what they would do.
"What is your name?"
Good, something he could answer. "James Curran." The first thing he noticed was that no matter how wet he was, his mouth was extremely dry.
"What is your rank?"
"Lieutenant, U.S. Navy." Two down.
"What is your serial number?"
"0987612345." It was a lie, but who would know? "Awh!!!!" The rag knew. The shock rod delivered a small, very painful jolt between his legs, just to get his attention.
"What is your true serial number."
"USN578615161." Good. Did he know that was true? How??
"Why are you in Beirut?"
He took a deep breath. ".....AH-H-H-H-H-H!!!" The pain was already getting very old. He told himself that at least it wasn't a stun belt, but it hurt so much.
"Why are you in Beirut?"
"Vacation." He thought he had made it. "AH-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H!!!!!" His head seemed to explode. They obviously weren't going to kill him with this thing, but he wasn't sure that was good. They could hurt him very badly for a very long time.
"You are a SEAL?"
"A what? AH-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H!!!!! His left arm went numb, his chest was in agony.
"How many are there in your team?"
"What team? AH-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H!!" Every sound seemed to retreat to someplace far away.
"What is your mission?"
He set his teeth against what would come. "No------- mission." As he screamed again, he noticed that his voice had already begun to quiver. His muscles contracted violently. His skin was on fire. He had serious problems breathing. "SON----OF----A----BITCH!!!" That didn't help any, but passing out as they hit him with another hellish jolt definitely did... at least for awhile.
Chapter 5
It was dark again... just like before. "Hawkins?" He found he could move, if he did it very slowly, and that he didn't really want to try.
"No, sir. It's Leary." Curran felt the man moving beside him. "Be still, stay quiet, and drink this." A few drops of something moist passed his lips.
"What....?"
"You don't want to know."
"How long have I been out?"
"About three hours."
"Anybody else at the infirmary?"
"Hector got back a few minutes ago. Hawkins... he tried to fight somebody... not in very good shape right now. Hell, I guess we've all had a turn. Not too bad... except you and Hawkins. We could hear you both scream. What was it?"
"You don't want to know. Where are the others?" He forced himself to sit up. He felt for the edge of the bunk and threw up... hoping everything hit the latrine.
"They switched me with Hawkins. Think everybody else is still in the same place."
"Martinez?"
"I don't think they ever got him. I think he's out there somewhere."
"Hawkins said"
"I think he was wrong. Martinez didn't answer when Ramos signaled the first time. He's either somewhere we can't hear him, he's dead, or they never got him. If they'd have killed him, I think somebody would have bragged about it."
"Maybe you're right. Hell, I hope he got word out."
"Ramos tried to hide the gear after he sent that one message. They didn't get to break it up, at least not that any of us saw."
"SILENCE!!!"
He woke again. How long it had been, he didn't know, but he knew he hurt and he was back in the light. "Dear God." He thought he thought it. He wasn't really sure whether he said anything or not. He was so tired his brain wasn't working too well.
Quickly he was soaking wet, then he was without his shirt and pants, this time shoved to the hard cement floor on his hands and knees. First came a few major jolts of electricity to make certain his nerves were raw. He rolled into a tight ball on his side to try to escape the worst. It didn't help. Next, through eyes that no longer wanted to focus, he saw their new weapon of choice... a long thick cord, doubled, then doubled again, encasing thick heavy wire.
There were no questions. There was no conversation at all. "Damn you all to hell!" He hoped he only thought it... but he didn't really care anymore. It wasn't going to make any difference. Working in quick order, they worked in tandem, attacking first his back and his buttocks. His body spasmed time after time, reacting to the blows. They spent a very long time on the soles of his feet, then his shoulders, a few blows struck his head. Forcing him over to the front, they worked his chest, stomach and then even lower. He continued to roll as well as he could, then they hit his knees, his legs, back to his hands. They included a few fists for good measure, then turned him again... his back, his buttocks... he didn't remember any more. He had hurt and screamed for so long, he no longer had any voice at all.
It was dark. He whispered with a strangely silenced voice..."Anybody?"
"Me, Boss." His cellmate sounded like he was panting. He was probably just as tired.
"Hawkins? Can't... move..."
"Me... either... Don't try."
"Water?"
"None today... maybe tomorrow. Try to sleep."
"You okay?"
"Tolerable." But from the quietness of his words, Curran didn't believe him.
"Everybody else?"
"Same as before..."
"Martinez?"
"No word. Rest."
"AH-AH----." He tried to move again, and after a good deal of effort, he finally succeeded. He tried to sit up, but his legs didn't seem to cooperate.
"SH-H-H-H. Be still and real quiet. Rags coming."
The silence in the cell became deafening.
Chapter 6
The lights were on again, but he wasn't alone. He had been brought in last. They were all here, all except Martinez. He could see them. How many times had he entered a room where the captives were all in one place? Countless times. How many times were they all still alive when he was through, or did they remain that way for long? Very seldom.
Curran was on one side of the room, his hands tied together. The rest of the team was about fifteen feet away, each one tied to a chair, from Hawkins through Franklin, arranged in order of rank. How did they know? How had they known from the start? Where the hell was Martinez? As bad as the rest looked, he knew he wasn't looking very good either. Hell of a way to go. If only he hadn't broken cover.
"Hooyah." Hawkins started it... all the others followed... with spirit they couldn't possibly feel.
"Hooyah!" He let his raspy voice join the others. Every one, to the last man, gave a small battered-face smile. He hoped Hawkins would shut up... no need to get this started any earlier than absolutely necessary. He grimaced as Hawkins took a brutal blow to already battered ribs and spat blood onto the floor.
The hulk was in Curran's face. "You will tell me everything I ask. You will tell me quickly. For each question you do not answer, one of your men will suffer. What is your mission? Why are you here"
It was worse watching his men take the punishment than taking it all himself. The questions were fired quicker than he could hope to answer. They knew he wouldn't answer by now... at least not until it got worse... and it was already well past being worse. When he had refused to answer, even though each man had taken two brutal rounds of punishment, the inquisitors threw water in his face. He saw it coming, and in one crazy bit of bravado, he opened his mouth and swallowed as much of the slimy stuff as he could manage. From the other side of the room, "Hooyah" was screamed with wild abandon. He paid the price. The electrical jolts and the beating seemed to go on forever.
When it was over, they put him back in the chair. His head hung limply against his chest until their leader spoke his name. "So, Curran, we will begin again. However, I am most tired of your reluctance to tell me what I wish to know. If you do not answer, whenever you refuse, one of your men will die." He heard the sound of a bullet being chambered. He raised his head and looked at his friends across the room. Could he let them die? Could he simply sit there, stay silent, and watch them, one by one, be blown to bits?
"Hooyah." They understood. They knew what the full measure meant to a SEAL.
"You will tell me what your mission is." The man paced in front of him, tapping the pistol on his open palm. He stopped and, motioning for one of his men to hold the prisoner, slammed the weapon into Curran's mid-section. He knocked the man to the floor again, raining kicks on his sides and at his head.
Then the terrorist, whose name he would never know, walked to the end of the line of Curran's men, attaching a silencer to his weapon as if the sound of violence would bother him. The gun was poised at Franklin's head. The young man closed his eyes, so did the others, and so did Curran.
He heard silenced gunfire in rapid succession. Bodies fell to the floor in sickening thuds. Had they killed more than one? Had they killed them all? He didn't want to look, but he ripped his eyes open. A man was kneeling beside him, a black hood covering his features, a silenced M-60 at his side. He placed a hand over Curran's heart, then checked his neck for a pulse. He removed his hood, a smile lit his face as he saw the injured man's eyes, "Hello, Lieutenant, your man's safe. They're all just fine. We're SEAL Team Eight, and we're here to get you out."
He raised his head imperceptibly, "Can't find Martinez. All others here? Get them out..."
"They're fine. They're all fine. They're moving. Can you move?"
"No... But... let's... move... anyway."
Chapter 7
He finally came to and realized there was light in here. After his first, recently conditioned, response of absolute dread and fear, he realized this was a soft filtered light. The room was cool. The smell had definitely improved. He was amazed, not for the first time in his career, that he could be so instantly content to hurt so damn much.
He forced himself to raise his head, but someone sitting beside him pushed it gently back into the pillow. Pillow? He was covered in soft sheeting, his body eased by cooled gel packs. A long needle came out of his arm and extended upward into a bag of some type of liquid. Without asking, he was offered water, and that wonderful stuff was followed by a taste of a slightly thick and very sweet liquid.
"Welcome back, sir. Good to have you with us."
He looked to the right, ignoring the discomfort of even such a small move. "Leary? Good to see you, too. Where are we? Is everybody here?"
"We're on ship. Everybody's going to be okay."
"Martinez?"
"Him, too."
He closed his eyes for just a moment, speaking a silent prayer of thanks. "Why are you here? You're hurt, too. They put you to work this soon?"
"Just a few bruises for me, really. I'm okay."
Curran looked up at his swollen face, saw the bandages on his head, "Few bruises my ass. Shouldn't you be in a rack someplace?"
"No, sir." Leary never wanted to be in bed. "Supposed to stand down awhile, but there's nothing to do. I just volunteered to help out in here. There're so many of us, we're giving the infirmary guys a fit. I'm okay... I can move... It isn't pretty, but I can get the job done."
The leader smiled a little, "Always could, Leary, you always could. But look, don't call this place 'the infirmary' so soon. Don't like that name so much now. By the way, how 'soon' is this?"
"Came in last night. It's almost dark again. You'll surprise the hell out of the doc. She figured you'd be out a few more days."
"What was that you gave me to drink... besides the water?"
"You sure you want to know?"
"I know it wasn't the last liquid you gave me... this stuff was actually good... can I have some more?"
"Much as you can take... just do it slow. It's something to get some nourishment into you while your stomach decides it can handle something really good."
"Right now, that stuff tastes pretty good to me." He drank another small glass of it, and handed the glass back to Leary, with an obvious sign for more. "How's Hawkins?"
"I'm just fine, Boss." The words were muffled in his facial bandages, but he came into the cubicle on his own two feet. "Glad to say you're looking like shit today."
"Glad to say the same for you." Curran tried to move. He expected nothing about his body to work, but with some concentration and effort, he managed to work his legs over the side. With a little more effort, and an assist from the two beside him, he even managed to sit up. "Damn!"
"Well, if you're moving this much this soon, maybe there's no permanent damage. Ship's crew's got bets going on whether you were down for good. Odds weren't in your favor The team should win big."
"Hope these ship rats loose their shirts. Can you help me stand up?"
"You will not... and that gentlemen is an ORDER!"
Two salutes were crisp and sharp, but the Lieutenant's was left handed and sloppy due to the needle in his right arm. At least Dunne didn't order him to lie down, and he didn't order Hawkins or Leary back to bed. So far, so good, but in his mind, Curran felt sick with defeat.
"Hawkins, Leary, I'd like to speak to the Lieutenant alone. You are dismissed."
"Aye-aye, sir." The two of them disappeared, double time.
"Lieutenant, I don't want you to attempt to leave this bed until the doctor gives you permission. She'll explain everything, but you've got to heal fast if you want to stay on the teams. As bad as everything must have been back there, the damage they did by beating you... especially your feet... that's what's going to put you off the teams if you're not careful."
"You're not saying I'm off the team now, are you. Look, Skipper... I can..."
"I believe you. Right now, you stay put, do exactly what you're told to do. Like I say, you do what you're told, you'll be able to get back on mission fast... and I need you on mission fast. You came back before, and even though this was bad, it wasn't a real long, sustained beating."
"Felt like weeks... how long was it?"
"Would you believe less than forty-eight hours."
"Come on... it had to be longer than that."
"No. We had already called up SEAL 8 and had them prepping for a possible rescue before you were even in the prison compound."
"SEAL 8? Thought they didn't exist."
"They don't. Neither does your team."
"Why did you have them moving?"
"Intel got a report there might be an informant in LAF feeding information to Al Shudadah."
"Who gave us that information?"
"The kid. He got word to us through an Aman contact after your team had already deployed. He went sideways because the informant was his new boss, but he didn't have any proof. He said if there was someone, they'd make a move while you were after the missiles. He didn't anticipate a force that size, though."
"He didn't say a thing to us."
"Wouldn't. He didn't have any proof. Aman was afraid you might abort the mission, and they wanted those Stingers dealt with as much as the LAF did."
"Sir, I'm sorry we failed the mission. I'm sorry I failed the team."
"Failed? What's this about failed? Your team didn't fail. Neither did you."
"We didn't bring back the missiles."
"Blew them to hell... all the same to me... all the same to the guys in Washington."
"I don't remember blowing up anything. All I did was try to get us out of there... but I got us all caught in the process."
"Well, before you got it all done, you were technically down, but your men finished it, just like you told them to."
"I don't think I even know what happened."
"Martinez told me everything."
"Where was he. I thought he was dead."
"No... you don't remember?"
"Remember? Remember what? I remember that horde coming for us, the horde waiting outside... remember running."
"You sent Martinez to high ground."
"What? When?"
"When the kid opened the door to the alley for you to go into the building. You sent the kid with him to keep a lookout for possible hostiles."
"I don't remember."
"When you went down, and Hawkins and the rest got taken, the two of them just hid. Martinez got hold of Ramos' gear. They followed to find out where you were taken, then they gave us the coordinates. After that, they just went back and finished the job. Martinez said that was what you ordered."
"What I ordered?"
"Said the last thing you said that he heard was 'somebody blow this place'. Since he was the only one left, him and the kid, they figured the order fell to them. They did the deed, then met the rescue team at the beach."
"Damn. I don't remember giving the order."
"What?"
"I think I said, let's blow this place... as in let's get out of here... something like that."
"Well... no matter what you said... job well done. I'm putting you all in for commendations on this one. Get some rest. We need to talk over plans before too long, but a little sleep is probably in order for you about now."
Curran just shook his head, and then he laughed, but just a little laugh. His body didn't like it at all. "Damn!"
"Hurt?"
"Yes, he hurts. I told you thirty minutes, Captain Dunne. I expect you to give him to me now so I can see what kind of shape he's really in.
Chapter 8
After the first superficial examination, she put his exhausted body back to sleep for awhile with the help of a little dose of a much welcomed sedative. He drifted off thinking that she was a most sympathetic doctor, gentle in how she punched on all the sore spots, understanding in all she did. He didn't think so at o-four hundred.
"Okay, Lieutenant. I'll tell you what you need. I'll tell you what tests we'll run. I'll tell you when to sleep, when and if you can talk or walk... how far, how fast... I'll tell you what to eat and what to drink, and for now that's absolutely nothing... you're fasting until most of this is done. I'll even tell you when to... Do you get this?" Her name was Dr. Lydia Mercy, and she had absolutely none.
"But I'm fine..." He was sick and he hurt like hell, and she knew it.
"I'll tell you if that's true when the tests are finished. I've dealt with you SEALs for years, and there's not anything you're going to avoid by arguing with me. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"
"But..."
"I have about twelve hours to get you through all these tests, and you and I are going to get them finished. We're starting with myelography... we have to do a lumbar puncture for that, and you have to stay on your back for at least six hours, maybe even eight, when it's done. I know that's real boring, so while I've got you there, we'll get the CT scan on your brain and an MRI for everything possible. Ours is an old unit. You're not claustrophobic are you? With those tests we'll know lots of things, including whether or not they fractured any of your bones. We'll do EMG on muscles, that's got needles involved, and there'll be a NCV for your nerves while we're at it. No needles there. There will be eye exams, ear exams, exploration of just about every organ and orifice I can find, and at the end of it all, I'll probably turn you over to the shrinks for a turn, too. You'll probably come out of it with a hell of a headache, but I'll let you sleep that off. Any questions?"
"Shit!"
"Lieutenant. You will just do it. You will do it every bit, when I say, like I say, or you can just go home and ring the bell."
"You can't do that..."
"You'll do it to yourself. Do you want to try me?"
"No, sir."
"Fine. Your choice. Now, the lab tech and a male nurse will be here in about five. Empty your bladder and anything else you need... but remember you can't leave the bed. I'll send a corpsman along. I suggest you remember to tuck real tight when they get ready to do the puncture. Curl up, tuck your chin to your chest, and for heaven's sake, stay there. Sometimes they're not real clear on instructions for that. They'll scrub the spot with something cold, then when they insert the needle, you're going to feel a lot of pressure and a bit of a burn. That'll be all there is to that. That test will be over in about half an hour. The rest will come easy enough. I'll fill you in on what's coming as we go along."
She turned and left. He let her clear the doorway before he uttered another angry, "Shit!!"
She came back inside just a few steps..."For your information, Lieutenant, at this point in time, displays of anger and irritability might be mistaken for the beginnings of PTSD. That can get you home in a hurry. Want to go for it?"
"No."
"What?"
"No... sir."
"That's better."
He was awake, and it was finally over. "Thank God." He was still flat on his back, but he was on his own bed. He felt like everything in his body had been turned inside out and twisted back into place again, and he had been riddled with holes from every direction. There wasn't an inch she hadn't gone over in minute detail. At the moment, he felt he would almost welcome the rag in place of Dr. Lydia Mercy. Almost.
"You did well, Lieutenant. Very well. Thought we might have a mutiny on our hands at the MRI, but you managed to suck it up well enough."
"Hate dark, tight places. Always have. Always will." He closed his eyes against the small wave of nausea that swept through his stomach.
"How did you survive that cell? Hawkins says it was a real small place."
"Never did know how big it was. Just took it one damn minute at a time. Wasn't long until I hurt so bad, darkness didn't matter at all." He opened his eyes again. For the first and only time, she realized just how green they were.
She did have mercy. She bathed his forehead with something cool, then gave him something to drink through a straw. "You can sit up in about fifteen minutes now. I suggest you only stay up for a little while. I'm sending you something soft to eat. When you've finished with that, try to sleep or rest a bit. Dunne's going to the Captain's conference room at about nineteen-hundred for a briefing. He wants you there with the rest of the team. "
"Does that mean..."
"No. I won't know all the results until tomorrow. I don't want you even walking to the conference room... the corpsman will get you there and bring you back in a nice wheelchair. When you get back, you can visit for a short time with your team... a very short time... then I want you to sleep until tomorrow morning. And you haven't seen the shrinks yet."
"Do I have to do that?" He wanted to mutiny very badly. Enough was enough. He tried extremely hard to maintain a civil attitude.
"You afraid of them?"
"No. Just a damn... darn nuisance. If I made it through what you did to me today, I don't have any PTSD. Shoot... look... we're trained for what they did to me. I knew enough about what was coming. I've seen worse, and that never messed me up. Now, I've just had to take a little of it for myself... it's over and done... fine... and nobody died, not mine anyway... I'll deal with it just fine."
"You're sure?"
"Yes, sir. I'm sure."
"We'll see how it goes, then."
Chapter 9
"Lieutenant Curran, Lieutenant Hawkins, men, it's good to have you here. All of you seem to have come through that trial remarkably well."
"Hooyah!" It was the collective answer, and it pleased Dunne immensely. "See your spirit is unbent and unbroken. Excellent." He looked at his very tired Lieutenant. "Curran, have you had a final report from Dr. Mercy?"
"No, sir. Expected tomorrow morning, I believe."
"Well. I want you to participate in this meeting, regardless of the outcome of the report tomorrow. We'll make plans both ways... with you leading the team, or with you serving as ship's contact and Lieutenant Hawkins taking them in. Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir." It was understood, but it wasn't acceptable. "Sir, what mission is there. I understood that the team, Mr. Martinez, in particular, completed our previous mission."
"We've had one more report on the Stingers."
"Again?!! I can't believe this.. How many more of those damn things can there be... sorry, sir."
"My sentiments exactly, Lieutenant Hawkins. Intel..."
"Intel... my ass... what Intel..?"
"Lieutenant Curran!"
"Sorry, sir."
"Intel has discovered that behind that alley, no more than 500 meters from where you blew up that building, there is another stash of approximately ten missiles. Intel assures Washington, and Washington assures me, that this is the last of these missiles that can possibly be found. You men have done this twice... I am asking if you want the mission to destroy the rest of them. I know you've been through hell, and twice... I'm asking. This time, I'm not making it an order unless you agree."
"There going to be fifty waiting for us?" It was Ramos who asked.
"Intel says no... but then..."
"Shit on intel... sir. Plan on a hundred."
"Damn right, Franklin." Hawkins' eyes told everyone he was ready for the rush of the mission. Sometimes that was good...
Curran was quiet. So quiet, the discussion came to an abrupt halt. Dunne looked at him, wondering if the last few days had finally been too much. "Your thoughts, Lieutenant."
It was then Dunne realized that he wasn't quiet without purpose. Curran was staring at Hawkins. "Sorry, sir. Just taking a minute to think about it. They won't expect us to come back again... at least not now. We can do this. I believe this team is battered, but I know we're also ready. More than ready. We need to do this." He looked at each and every man. "Am I right?"
"Hooyah!"
"Right... Hooyah... and sir..?"
"Yes, Lieutenant?"
"I don't care what Mercy says or the outcome of any damn tests. She can bring me up on charges for disobeying an order when I get back... you can press charges too if you think I'm being insubordinate about this... but sir, there's no way anybody's going to leave me behind."
Dunne left them to their plans. Curran sat in his chair, so tired he could barely think. It had been a hell of a long day. "What do you men think about maybe going in by chopper this time?"
"Shoot, Boss... that's a chicken shit way to start a mission... land insertion makes me want to puke. Who'd go in by chopper when we've got pontoons, a good sea, and a fine moonless night."
"Hawkins, I just wasn't thinking right."
"Let's get it on straight, Boss. Let's get it on straight."
They planned well into the pre-dawn hours. By o-six-hundred the plans were set, and the team was requisitioning supplies from the ship's purser. They were doing it all over again. Leary laughed, "Guess third time's the charm... eh, Boss?"
"I sure as hell hope so." Curran managed a laugh. "You think it'll be the kid again? He's going to get tired of seeing us."
"Shoot, Boss... you going to ever quit talking and let us get some sleep?" The others looked at Hawkins knowingly. If Curran was going to lead, he needed food, and he most definitely needed sleep.
"Okay... we meet again at twelve-hundred."
"Hooyah!"
"Yeah... Yeah... Yeah."
Chapter 10
He woke up. "Hell," that was all he seemed to remember doing anymore. He sat up and cursed. He was late - a full hour late. "Hell!!!" Somebody had cancelled his order for wake up and even turned off his clock. It was easy enough to figure who--"Damn, Mercy!!"
"You're not going anywhere, Lieutenant."
He swung his feet over the bed and stood up. He felt the room sway first, then his feet began to burn, the burning turned into vicious cramps as the pain hit his legs, then his back tried to spasm. He needed to yell, but he didn't. He took a deep breath and just looked at her. "I have work to do." He limped around the cubicle, looking for parts of his gear and uniform.
"I repeat... you are not going anywhere... not today. You're too weak, you're too injured. You'll just put your team at risk."
"No... no, I won't."
"Do you even care how the reports turned out?!"
"If you've got to know... No! You can give it to me when I get back."
"I can make you stay."
"You can try."
"Mister, I can just do it. All I have to do is write a small piece of paper that says 'unfit for duty'... just one little line... and send it up the chain."
He stopped moving and glared at her. "Pull that if you have to, but you'll have to hold on to it for a couple of days, cause I sure as hell won't be here for you to give it to me by the time it's fully approved." He turned his back, yanked open the divider and yelled, "Chief!! Hawkins!!! Where's my gear?!!!"
The chopper lifted off on schedule. He was aboard, his gear stowed, everything right, except his aching body. He hadn't come alone. Mercy sat on the jump seat beside him.
"You're not going to make it. You hear me? You're not up to this!"
"Who put you in charge of hell week?"
"What"
"He asked you who put you in charge of hell. Doc, I suggest you leave him alone. He needs, we all need to get mentally prepared."
"Lieutenant Hawkins, you're willing to go into this with him leading?"
"Damn straight. We all are. Any hour, any day."
"He's not going to make it."
"If you'll just shut up, I will."
"Well, all I've got to say is you've at least agreed to take the extra meds kit in your pouch and one in Leary's. Blue cap needles... stop heaving. Yellow... ease but won't stop pain. Green... might keep you going. Red... if all else fails, it'll get you on your feet for a little while. Save that one for a real emergency... there's only one per kit."
"Better frogs through chemistry? I don't think so."
"Tell me that when you get back. And by the way, here, I saved this one for now." She quickly stood, reaching around, shoving him back into the seat, and rammed a long hypodermic through his fatigues directly into the pit of his stomach.
"What the hell was that for?" Whatever she had given him, his stomach was on fire. He doubled forward with a quick indrawn breath. "What did you do?"
"My own special concoction... a little of everything. Don't worry, tough guy, you'll be okay by the time you deploy. Just sit back and enjoy the ride."
"Damn!"
"And Lieutenant. When you get back, your ass... no, your entire miserable body... is going to be mine."
Chapter 11
About an hour later, on schedule, he helped shove the pontoon into the Mediterranean and jumped from the low-flying helo into heavy chop. He promptly turned and vomited again, this time into the sea. Then just as quickly, he turned back and hoisted himself into the raft.
"Lieutenant... are you okay... need anything?" Curran heard doubt in Leary's voice.
"No... just get me away from here. Beirut's got to be better than being in that thing with her and her needles. Hawkins' boat okay? Everybody clear?"
"Yes, sir."
"How long have we got?"
"Two hours, fifty-eight minutes."
"Well, punch it. For once, we're ahead of schedule."
"Yes, sir."
He hit the beach on wobbly legs, cursing the pain in his feet and back. "Kid! You're still alive!!" He clapped the boy on his shoulder. "Thanks for the rescue last time, but we've got to stop these rendezvous!" He had decided that he pretty well hated this beach.
"You look dead... you are also late... not matter, we go."
"I'm not dead and we aren't late. But you're right... it doesn't matter... let's go."
"How far this time?" Hawkins came to the front, brushing the water from his hair.
"One kilometer further than last time."
"Not any alleys are there?"
"We will visit the same streets you visited during your last stay in our peaceful city. What do you call it when you blow up entire blocks of a city?"
"Urban renewal!"
"Hawkins, shut up. Move out. Let's get it done early this time."
Under normal circumstances, the sixty minute run, even in full battle gear, would have seemed like a casual stroll in a nice grassy field. Tonight, he realized just how much he was going to have to take to just finish what they'd started. If he wasn't really carefully, and very determined, he might get himself and his men killed.
He called a breather before they even reached the alley. Unfortunately, everyone else noticed. "Okay, kid, fill us in." Sweat was running down his face. His breathing was slightly ragged.
"Another old building, unoccupied, three floors plus one underground. Our people say ten missiles are underground."
"They'd have to be." Curran looked at the others.
"Here we go again."
"Shut up, Hawkins."
"Right, Boss."
"Lieutenant, are we expecting any surprise visitors this time?"
"Franklin, how should I know? Kid?"
"I have been promised no -- so probably yes."
"And what about any pre-planned rescues?"
"That, sir, would be a most surprising thing to me."
"In other words, guys, I suggest we not get caught this time."
Chapter 12
They had been on shore a little more than an hour when they finally entered the alley, but the opposite end was no longer closed. They walked through the rubble Martinez had created, then out onto a street to the east of where the previous target had stood.
"I go....I meet you one kilometer north on the west wall of the first three-story building... access to the first floor is in the middle. Tall tower nearby, good for shooting... good for seeing."
"Okay," Curran whispered, "We move to the other building together. Keep a look out for hostiles here and as we move. Franklin, take point. When we get there position yourself just north of the door. Ramos, take right flank in, find a way to cover the south and east sides. Be ready to move in on the building. Hawkins, you've got the left flank in, move up to cover north and back Franklin on the west side if needed. Martinez, go high at the southwest corner. Kid says you can see the whole roof and south and west sides from there... if that's wrong, improvise, but keep me posted... let me know what you see. Leary, Chief, you're south of the door, then move in with me to check the building. Everyone set."
When he had finished giving orders, while they waited for his final signal to go, Curran suddenly grasped his mid-section and heaved into the debris around him. "Okay, move out."
They moved as a well-trained group, as they had practiced and done for real countless times before. It took only a few minutes to cover the extra kilometer to the new target. Curran was the last one in position. His feet cramped, his legs felt like led, and his back was beginning to scream for relief. He slumped against the tower, motioning Martinez into position, sending Ramos to the east along the south wall. He closed his eyes for a few seconds. As he took a deep breath and started to push off, he felt two sharp stabbing pains through his fatigues. "Leary... what the hell?" It was a whispered, but stinging, rebuke.
"Yellow, then green, sir."
"What yellow and green?"
"Pain killer first, then go juice... might not have a chance later... My job, sir. Think it's better if you have less pain and more energy right now."
"Okay. Fine. Thought it was blue that would make me not puke."
"I'd rather you just puke. Blue might put you out."
"Fine, then. But, Leary, a warning would have been nice. Everybody, we're moving!"
It started as before. He met the kid at the entrance and completed his reconnaissance of the west wall quietly and quickly, With the Chief and Leary joining him, they moved into the building, along the stairs, each man taking floor. It was quiet for a few heartbeats. "Hector, clear on three?"
"Clear."
"Leary, how about two?"
"Clear."
"I'm clear on one, meet me at the stairs, we'll check the basement. Franklin, get ready to set the charges. Leary, meet him back at the stairs as soon as we're clear. Hawkins, move up to left of door. Chief, you'll be with me."
Four voices in quick succession whispered, "Set."
"Martinez, anything moving?"
"Nothing moving here. That roof's mighty blind on the northeast edge."
"You on starlight or thermal?"
"Starlight."
"Switch to thermal... better chance of picking up moving bodies, don't you think."
"Right. Switching to thermal."
In the bowels of the old building, unhidden, the missile cases lay against the south wall in a chamber in the center of the structure. Hallways led in every direction circling the room. A quick check showed all the doors along the perimeter were locked. Curran motioned for the Chief to check for inner doors in the chamber. There were two -- the opening they would use and one that was blocked by the stacked missile cases. Massive amounts of debris, unlike anything they had found elsewhere in the building, blocked both the north and east walls of the compartment. "Chief, cover the door, Franklin, Leary, move in." Curran moved into the front hallway, listening, covering for his men.
As he reached the stairway landing, he sensed movement somewhere to the rear of the building. "Hold position. I've got noise down here. Martinez, anything outside?"
"No movement."
"Ramos, move up to south, and west. Stay sharp."
"Moving to southwest corner."
"Franklin, Leary... confirm the target."
"Contents confirmed. We've got ten cases, one confirmed missile. Should we check them all?"
"No. Start laying charges. We're going to double check. Chief, check inside south and east." He moved silently back toward the room where the missiles lay. Then he turned and started moving to the west hallway. He froze when he heard Hawkins voice on his headset.
"Boss, I'm coming down. Hold up."
"No. Hawkins... stay put."
"Moving down."
"No! Cover the door... repeat, cover the door--"
"Hostiles on the roof! Hostiles on the roof! I've got three... no... I've got six."
"Waste em, Martinez. Boss, I'm moving down."
The sounds came from everywhere around him. Above, he heard the sound of Martinez's grenade launcher, working to reduce the number of intruders. Suddenly he was aware of a scratching sound much closer to him. To the left, from deep in the corridor he had checked, somewhere a doorway opened, and heavily booted feet attempted to creep along the old wooden floors. Something creaked.
"I've got four behind us." It was Martinez. "Four behind us from north of the alley... approaching west door. Repeat approaching west door."
"Ramos..? Ramos... are you in position?"
"Yes, sir."
"Intercept hostiles. Martinez, are those six still on the roof?"
"Got one. One left. Five vanished... must be a door up there. Expect incoming from the northeast corner."
"Franklin, Leary... are you set yet?"
"Give us a few."
"We haven't got a few, odds are catching up fast. Chief, how's the south corridor?"
"So far quiet, sir, but east isn't so cooperative."
"Fall back... converge on the chamber. Hector, move!"
"Right!"
"Hey, Boss. Thought you might like some company."
Curran whirled, realizing he was no longer alone. "Jesus, Hawkins... I said to..." He stopped. The noise from the rear of the hallway had stopped.
"Where'd they go?"
"Who?"
"One in the hallway. Move, Hawkins, get to the missiles."
"Where?"
"Right there!!!" He pushed his second into the chamber, following him closely, recognizing that the Chief had reached them too. Inside the room, Leary was standing guard as Franklin placed charges around the missile crates. "Leary, we've got company... seen anything?"
"No. Nothing."
But from the east end of the chamber, the wall behind the piled up debris simply disappeared as two charges exploded. The five SEALs scrambled as four, no, as five men, appeared inside the room, machine guns raised.
They were instantly in a kill house. Moving quickly for cover, they sprayed everything in the room with precision machine gun fire. They took the incoming soldiers in rapid succession. Smoke filled the air. Debris rained back to the ground. It was over in minutes."
"Clear!" Leary started the check.
"Clear." Franklin checked in.
"Clear," came from the Chief and Curran in quick order.
"Hawkins?"
There was no clear.
Curran found him behind an overturned desk near the north wall. "Leary. Hawkins is hit."
"I'm coming."
"Hello, Dale. How you doing?" Curran knelt beside his man, talking as if it were a day at the beach. Hawkins answered much the same.
"Hey, Boss. Little action all of a sudden."
"Not a virgin anymore, I see. How was it?"
"Radical, Boss. You always said it was better to give than to receive." He coughed. Blood oozed from his side, a bubbled of blood-tinted froth gurgled from his mouth."
"Leary!"
"Here... I'm here... let me see."
"How bad is he hit?"
The medic pushed on Hawkin's side where the blood was staining his shirt. Hawkins responded with a sharp, surprised cry. "Side, probably nicked lung. We've got to move... fast Lieutenant."
"Okay, dress it... Franklin, any hostiles left?"
"Not in here!" He was working feverishly along the south wall of the room.
"You finished yet?"
"Just a minute!"
"What you said last time. I suggest you MOVE!"
"Knocked over two containers... need to make sure there's contact or they won't blow. I don't want to have to do this again. Okay... set."
"Okay... Franklin, take point. Chief, Leary... you get Hawkins. I'll follow. Martinez, Ramos, we're moving."
"No!!! We've got hostiles... We've got hostiles." He could hear Martinez's gunfire from outside, and incoming fire as well.
"How many?"
"The horde's back! Lots of company, west and south. Watch yourselves."
Crowded at the chamber door, the four SEALs waited for Curran's orders. All got deathly quiet.
"Hate to say it," Ramos sounded scared, "but I could sure use some help out here."
"How many?"
"See about seven, south."
"Martinez, can you help?"
"Sure... soon as I get through with the four headed to the right of the door. Ramos is going to get pinched pretty soon. There's four more headed left of door" the machine gun sounded..." Make that three more headed left."
Curran took a deep breath, again. "Okay... Chief you go out and south of door. Stay close to the building until you help Ramos and Martinez clear those to the south. Leary, Franklin... see to Hawkins. There's a door out on the north wall... same type of stairs. Leary, here... take my medic kit. Go wide to the west... head back to the alley. "
"Where are you going?"
"Looks like I've got north of door and west. Get my three... I'll come behind you and Franklin. Ramos, Martinez, we're coming out... keep us posted. Everybody, stay low, regroup at the alley. MOVE!"
Hector headed out first. Curran checked again on Hawkins, helping Leary stabilize him as much as possible for the move. Franklin looked back at the explosives strewn across the floor and among the crates. "When do I blow those?"
"When we all are hopefully very clear of here. You do have the detonator don't you?"
"Yeah... got it."
"Keep your ears open."
"Lieutenant?"
"What is it, Leary... trouble with Hawkins?"
"No... what about you?"
"What about me?"
"You okay?"
"Don't worry about me. I'm fine. Worry about Hawkins... worry about keeping your heads down... and get back to the alley fast."
"Don't you need..."
"I need you to move, NOW... that's an ORDER!"
"Aye, sir." They moved out the door and down the corridor, racing to find the stairwell and the way out. When he last glimpsed them, Leary led with Franklin carrying Hawkins to safety.
Chapter 13
He took another deep breath. "Yeah, I'm just fine." He was okay. No problem...there were only three. As soon as he had pushed himself up onto his feet, he felt the room lurch sickeningly. "Where's Leary when you need him." He simply made himself forget it... he could, for at least a while. He climbed the stairs and eased out into the early morning air. He was surprised that he felt the chill of the open ground around him.
Every one of his group was hard at work. The headphones he wore crackled with team communication. He heard Ramos helping Hector orient himself to the positions of incoming targets. But for the moment, his attention was captured by an incoming target of his own... coming around the north end of the building. He never would remember a thing about it, except that the target died without a sound.
He knew without acknowledging it when Leary, Franklin and their bundle made it past the edge of the building. A fourth figure, the kid, moved in their wake... moving backward to cover any possible fire from the north. They all had to cross open territory to get to the concrete lined street heading back to the alley. If they could reach the street, lined as it was with blockades that had been installed during days when car bombs had been more frequent, they would have a better than average chance of making it back to the alley in one piece.
Curran crouched low, moving west, intent on covering their exodus. A low misshapened hedgerow separated him from their path of flight, but as they approached it, he saw his other two targets using the green foliage as a blind. The troops from Al Shudadah had seen the SEALs running. Leary had yet to see their enemies, and Franklin was too busy carrying his baggage to do anything but run. The kid had turned back, engaged by a previously unseen target who had held Curran in his sights.
Afraid a misplaced shot would take the legs or heart from his own, Curran dropped to the ground, lying face down, and aimed at the base of the hedgerow. He found grim satisfaction when he heard at least one strangled cry. Up again, he moved in on the obstacle, watching to see if anything moved to hinder his men. A machine gun projectile missed him narrowly. He dropped again, returning fire, then moving forward and slightly to the north. The best opening lay a short distance ahead. He needed to clear this hurdle at the opening. Jumping the hedgerow, as tired as he was and with the assailant it protected lurking somewhere inside, was not a reasonable objective. Heading north was adding distance to his mission. He had to make the opening before he could hope to turn south and provide cover for the other three and head for the alley.
He had to drop twice more to avoid gunfire. He fired again through the base of the bushes in his path. He got no satisfaction in knowing that the number of assailants had seemingly remained the same. He hoped the number remained at one.
He made the opening, dropping to crawl past it. He eased forward until he got his first glimpse of the three fleeing SEALs. They were making good time. He didn't see the kid. He took a moment to check on the others. From the distant sounds, he could tell it was still business as usual.
"Martinez? Situation?"
"Two down. Two to go, west."
"Ramos?"
"The group split. Chief's got three. Four went further east of me. I've got them in sight, closing."
"Chief?"
"Hold on, Lieutenant. Back in a minute."
Curran cleared the hedgerow, running for the first barricade across the street. Suddenly, rounds danced around his feet, sliding and ricocheting across the pavement. He began to run in pattern to avoid it. He dropped again and fired back in the direction of the muzzle fire. The last known assailant screamed and tumbled out of the brush. From his dead hand, a grenade rolled in Curran's direction. The SEAL heaved himself up from the road and ran... ran until his lungs would take no more, then he dove behind the barricade, slamming to the ground with a strangled cry and a far louder curse. The roar behind him was deafening, and much too close.
Curran heard a barrage of machine gun fire. He was always surprised when he could differentiate the report of the Russian guns used by the terrorist from the Heckler and Koch his own men carried. It sounded like the Chief was doing well. "Chief? Chief?" He was panting from exertion.
"Yes, sir. That was three. Stand in a bunch, you just might die."
"You clear?"
"Clear. Headed your way."
"No! Hold position. Ramos, you clear?"
"Not yet... but it's under control."
"You sure?"
"Sure, sir."
"Chief, back up Martinez. See if you can help him get down from that perch without interference."
"On it. Moving south and west."
"Martinez, while you hold, is there a grenade to maybe make things easier on Ramos?"
"I should be able to handle that."
"Leary... how's it going."
"Almost there. Had to stop. Hawkins doesn't look too good."
"Use the kit. Go for Red."
"That's not meant for Hawkins."
"I don't care. It'll maybe keep him going. Use it."
"There's only two. What if you..?"
"USE IT! I'm fine." He was fine... so fine that when he straightened again, and stopped feeling quite so drunk, he finally realized there was blood dripping down his left leg, quickly beginning a puddle on top of his boot. At least, right now, it didn't seem to hurt.
He moved again, even if his body wanted to stay huddled somewhere safe and warm. Was he really that cold? "Move," he gave his own body an order like he would give any other of his troops. "Move now, damn it." He moved.
There was a roar in the east, followed by more machine gun fire...H&K. The report he had wanted from Ramos came to his ear. "Four down... four down... moving west for Martinez."
"Chief?"
"Moving to Martinez."
"I've got hostiles!! I've got hostiles!!"
"Martinez? Where?"
"Four on the roof. Heading for the trap. Expect incoming in basement quickly, sir."
"Franklin... where are you?"
"I'm here."
"Why haven't you blown that thing?"
"Nobody said to. Are we clear?"
"Shit," he thought to himself. "Martinez, forget the roof. Chief, Ramos, Martinez, get out of there... head for the alley."
He counted to thirty. They had to have a little time. Martinez would rappel down... five may ten seconds. They would all run like hell... twenty more would give a margin for escape... not much but enough. "Franklin... are you in safe position?"
"Yes sir... I'm waiting."
"Well... give it ten secs and blow that thing. Let's get out of here."
He would have said thirty secs, but he wasn't certain how long it would take for four terrorists to reach the chamber and move the explosives. He forced himself up again, and he ran. It wasn't pretty, but he got it done. With only ten extra secs, he was the one who wasn't nearly far enough away. When the blast hit him, he lay dazed and breathing hard.
"Lieutenant? Lieutenant?"
He willed himself to stand up, then willed himself to move. Then he remembered that he was supposed to communicate. "Moving. Reports!"
"Clear!" He heard them all. They were all just fine. Good. He was just fine, too... really he was. Then he slammed onto his hands and knees as a round struck his back and pitched him forward.
He begged himself to rise and move. It was his shoulder. It hurt like hell. He'd had worse before. "Move," was all he said, but his body heard. Somewhere between him and where he needed to be, he heard the Chief, yelling and moving back toward the building that had so recently fallen apart.
When he finally dropped beside Leary, the only thing he could manage to do for a minute was breath. "Where's the Chief?"
"Gone to get the sniper. Martinez went too. They'll be back directly. Be still."
"No... we need to move. What time is it?"
"Plenty of time... they'll be back."
"Call them back... we need to move."
"Not so fast."
"Hawkins? Hawkins okay?"
"Holding his own. Red fixed him pretty good. Now it's your turn."
"I'm fine. I'm fine."
"Fine, my ass. Excuse me sir, but shut up and lay still."
Curran gasped as the medic shoved a field dressing against the left side of his stomach. "Jesus, Leary. What was that..?"
"I've got a left thigh, shoulder, and abdominal here."
"Though you said he had a side and lung."
"Not Hawkins... you."
"What." He gazed down at his blood splattered uniform.
"Leg's deep. Shoulder and abdominal bleeding, but not too bad. Be still... I've got the Red ready."
"No. No. Save that one."
"You need the red, Lieutenant. Man, I'd hate to be you when Mercy gets a hold of all this."
"Wonder what all those reports said last time."
"Won't matter one damn bit... there's lots of new stuff to tempt her... she'll probably just start on you all over again."
"Damn. Leary, any news of the kid?"
"You look more than positively dead... but you are early. No matter... we go."
"You going home with us?"
"I go... tired of beach."
"You'll like my beach. Not so much hardware."
"We're clear sir. Think that was the last one." The Chief and Martinez hunkered down beside him, grinning as if they were at a very good party.
"Good work. We've got to move. Mercy, or no Mercy, I don't want to miss our ride."
"Sir, we do have to move, and fast. Hawkins needs help, but you're hit. It's going to start hurting real quickly. Red would--"
"Stow it, Leary... that's an order. Hawkins might need it. No telling how long before extraction comes. I repeat, that's an order."
"Yes, sir." He finished applying field dressings to the thigh and shoulder and stowed most of his gear. "Can you move?"
"No... but... let's... move... anyway."
"Yes, sir."
"Abindallah. It's your call. Get us the hell out of here."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
"Thanks for what, Chief."
"You finally got my name."
"Wasn't ever an insult, Chief. You just reminded me of one very special SEAL."
"Thank you, sir. Leary, Franklin... you've got Hawkins. Martinez, you and the kid lead out. Ramos, you've got the rear. Lieutenant, sir, you're with me."
"Right." He threw up into the debris in the alley. Then he picked himself up, trying to make ready to move. "Damn it, Leary." He turned to face his medic, rubbing his offended arm. "That was an order. I said to stow that thing."
"Not red sir. You didn't say boo about yellow and green."
"Yellow and green?"
"Yellow and green, sir. Little less pain, lot more energy."
"Sounds like a plan to me. But, Leary... even a little warning would have been nice."
"Yes, sir. I'll try to remember."
"And Leary... talk her out of that damn MRI."
"Yes, sir. Chief, I think we're set."
"SEALs... let's go raise us a sub."
THE END