SEAL Team Six Hunt the Scorpion(59)
They huddled together, clutching the bottles. Crocker whispered, “See that Toyota facing us?”
Davis nodded.
“There’s a soldier sleeping on the front seat. I’ll circle around the other side. When you hear me jump the bastard and smash him with this rock, you come up from this side and grab his weapon.”
“What about the bottles?”
“Leave ’em here.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Let’s go.”
Crocker ran like a Mohawk—on his toes, as close as possible to the ground. Reaching the front of the Toyota, he ducked below the grille and slowly slithered around the bumper to the passenger side. But when he peeked in the window, the soldier was gone.
Fuck!
Standing halfway up, he signaled to Davis to go back and was about to leave when he heard someone mumbling behind him. He froze, took a deep breath, and pivoted slowly. Looking past his shoulder into the trapezoidal space created by the parked trucks, he saw a soldier with his back to him, kneeling on a blanket, praying. An old submachine gun with a perforated barrel lay beside him.
Without a moment’s hesitation he crossed the four feet between them on his toes, reached over the soldier’s head with both hands, and covered his mouth. He pushed the soldier’s head down and then, pressing his knees against his shoulders, pulled the man’s head back with all his might until he heard vertebrae snap. Instant death.
“Go with God,” he whispered as the soldier’s body twitched one last time and relaxed. Crocker set him down gently, then grabbed the submachine gun.
He ran back to Davis, who asked, “What happened?”
“No time to explain.”
“Where’d you find the weapon?”
“This is what we’re going to do. You’re going to give me two minutes to run around back and climb up the fire escape.”
“Two minutes.”
“We’ll both count off our watches. When you reach two minutes, you’re going to light two of the Molotov cocktails and throw them at the pickups in front of us. Set those babies on fire.”
“Got it.”
“Then you’re going to follow my route, but stop at the front side of the barracks, over there. Wait at the corner. If you hear firing on the second floor of the farthest section, that’s me.”
“You’re taking the weapon with you?”
“That’s correct.”
“It looks ancient. What is it?”
“I believe it’s a PPSh-41. The Soviets manufactured millions of these suckers during World War Two.”
“Will it fire?”
“I hope so.”
“Boss—”
“Listen! If you get an opportunity to surprise a soldier and grab a weapon, do it. Then enter through the front door of the section on our right. You’ll find me on the second floor. When you get close, shout ‘Delta Bravo’ so I know it’s you.”
“And if I’m not able to get a weapon?”
“Wait at the corner of the building, like I told you before. You’ll still have one more cocktail. Use it at your discretion.”
“Roger.”
“Improvise, but figure that there are at least a dozen enemy.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“One other thing.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m gonna need that saw blade.”
Davis reached into his back pocket and handed it over. “Good luck.”
“Two minutes. Start your timer…”
“It’s engaged.”
“See ya in a few.”
He was running.
Looking up, Crocker saw a shooting star flash across the sky. His mother had told him they were good luck. He hoped so.
Glancing at the timer of his watch, he saw that fifty seconds had passed. At sixty, he was rounding the end of the barracks. At seventy-nine, he reached for the ladder. Ninety, he was on the metal fire escape. At a hundred and five, he knelt under the second-floor window.
Light spilled out. Looking down at the PPSh-41 and its drum magazine, he took a deep breath. Inside, the same man was still shouting questions. His voice sounded angrier this time.
At 119 seconds, Crocker took the weapon off safety, checked to be sure that a round was chambered, put it on full auto, and got ready to throw himself through the window.
He heard an explosion. Soldiers shouted in Arabic from the front of the building. A gun discharged.
He waited ten more seconds, praying that Davis was safe, then threw himself through the window back first. Hitting the floor, he somersaulted and started looking for targets. Two soldiers near the back wall were reaching for their weapons. He squeezed the trigger and ripped them with one long stream of bullets. Tore one soldier’s leg in half at the knee. Caught the other in the groin. The PPSh-41 made a loud clanging sound and felt like it was going to come apart in his hands.