Still work to do.
“What now, boss? Wanna set something else on fire?” Akil asked, grinning.
“Let’s take out the fuckers in back first.”
“Works for me,” Davis offered.
Akil: “Can’t buy entertainment like this.”
“You guys engage them from behind the tank. I’ll circle around the other side.”
“Now?”
“No, tomorrow!”
He took off at a gallop. Forty seconds later he reached the other side of the building, peeked around, and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark.
Three-quarters of the way down, approximately a hundred feet away, he saw two dark figures hugging the side of the building. One of them knelt and fired an RPG into the side of the tank.
Davis and Akil returned fire.
During the ferocious exchange, Crocker snuck up behind them. When he got within thirty feet, one of the soldiers turned, and Crocker squeezed a volley of bullets into the man’s chest. Watched him fall back and stumble into the second man, who dropped the RPG and reached for his rifle. Crocker cut him down, too. He imagined the bones in his legs shattering. Heard the man mouth a last plea for help.
He watched the two of them bleed out. Then he whistled to his men, gathered the RPG, three unfired rockets, a Russian PKM machine gun, and a pistol, and distributed them to Davis and Akil, who had arrived still out of breath.
“More toys to play with,” Akil wisecracked.
Sucking wind, Crocker said, “Now let’s attack the barracks from the front.”
“No fucking rest?” Akil asked.
Davis: “Hell, no!”
“You feeling better?” Crocker asked Akil.
“Aces, boss. I’m juiced on adrenaline. The hand is numb.”
“Let’s hit the rest of those fuckers. Hard!”
They stepped around some debris in front and entered through the door—Akil with the RPG-2, Davis cradling the heavy PKM, Crocker leading the way with the AK with the green flag painted on it and a 9-millimeter pistol—all of them covered with sweat, dirt, and blood.
They took the steps two at a time to the second floor. From the second-story landing they saw three of the enemy halfway down the hall, trying to fight their way into the room holding the other four men.
Akil loaded a rocket into the RPG and lifted it onto his shoulder. Crocker held up his arm and shook his head no.
He waited for Davis to set up the PKM on the floor and open fire. A tremendous noise filled the narrow hall. Bullets flew and ricocheted off the concrete floor and walls, sending up sparks and dust. Davis kept up the barrage for a full forty seconds, until Crocker held up his hand and crunched it into a fist.
The three SEALs waited for a response from the enemy soldiers. None came. When the dust and smoke cleared, they found them all dead, perforated with bullet holes.
Crocker to Davis: “Nice work.”
Chapter Twelve
They got to live before they can afford to die.
—John Steinbeck
The sun was just starting to rise by the time they limped back to the Sebha airport. Thankfully, the CC-130 was still waiting, along with its Canadian pilot and copilot, who looked at the bloodied, exhausted men and asked, “What the hell happened to you fellows?”
“Get us the fuck out of here,” Crocker answered. “I’ll tell you when we’re in the air.”
Ritchie and Akil stood guard as the others loaded Jabril, Lasher, and the aluminum canister containing the UF6 wrapped in the lead sheet. Crocker didn’t care that it was probably leaking radiation. He said to the pilot, “Radio ahead. Tell them we’re bringing back two badly injured men who are in need of emergency medical care.”
“Got it.”
He buckled in and breathed a sigh of relief as the plane tore into the early morning sky.
“Fuck that hellhole,” Ritchie muttered, setting down the AK and looking down at the city roofs that had turned gold in the sunlight.
Davis crossed himself and said a quick prayer of thanks.
Mancini asked, “Don’t think you’ll be going back, huh? We can rent a couple of camels. Explore the desert.”
“Un-fucking-likely.”
Mancini: “Come on, Ritchie, it’s a fun place. Great scenery. Spirited locals.”
Ritchie: “Hey. Who were those assholes? Where the hell were the NTC and NATO?”
“Good question,” Crocker said. “I was under the impression that the city was safe.”
“Safe, my ass.”
Mancini had collapsed into an aircraft seat and started snoring. Akil sat back and closed his eyes.
“Unlikely I’m going to sleep in the next day or two,” Davis offered. “My body’s so pumped.”
Ritchie: “I’m staying wide awake ’til we leave this fucking country.”