“Why didn’t they take the chopper out while we were on it?” Rapp shouted over the sound of gunfire starting to pound the walls around the window Coleman was beneath.
“Maybe we caught them by surprise.”
“You mean the force dug in around a burned-out village in the middle of nowhere?”
Coleman looked back at him through his face mask as chunks of shattered wood and rock rained down on him. “It does seem a little far-fetched.”
“But they forgot to put men to the west.”
“You’re thinking ambush? That they’re driving us there? Why? If they want us dead, why not just surround us and do it?”
The answer was pretty clear: Sayid Halabi. The son of a bitch was holding a grudge. He didn’t want to kill Rapp, he wanted to capture him. He wanted to throw him in a hole and spend the next five years working him over with a set of pliers and a blowtorch.
And if that was true, it was their ticket out of there.
“We’re going east,” Rapp said into his throat mike.
Not surprisingly, Joe Maslick’s voice came on the comm a moment later. “Did you mean west, Mitch? The heaviest fire is coming from the east and it’d leave us climbing toward shooters controlling the high ground.”
“You heard me. East. Come right up the middle of the main street on Scott’s orders. Leave your hazmat suits and face masks on. I repeat, biohazard protocols are still in effect. Understood?”
The response sounded hesitant but there was no question that Maslick, Wicker, and McGraw would follow his orders to the letter.
“What are you thinking?” Coleman said as Rapp slipped up next to him and took a quick look outside. The flames had managed to find fuel and the smoke was combining with the condensation on his face mask to make it hard to see.
“Halabi figured I’d come and he left men with orders to capture me. But they don’t know which one of us I am because of the suits.”
“So we’re going to charge a bunch of guys dug in above us because you think he ordered them not to kill you?”
“You got it.”
Coleman looked up at the missing roof and the flames starting to lap over it. “That’s a lot to hang on a hunch.”
Rapp nodded and moved to the door. “I’m going. If I’m still alive in fifty yards, follow me.”
Before Coleman could answer, Rapp slipped out and started sprinting along the edge of the street. Incoming fire was intermittent and, as he’d hoped, always led him by a few yards, trying to drive him back. Another rocket was fired and he was forced to drop, but it struck a building well ahead. Halabi’s men were playing it safe. None of them wanted to go back and give their dear leader a bucket containing what was left of the prize he so desperately wanted.
Rapp leapt back to his feet, charging through the scattered flames left by the RPG and starting up the slope on the east side of the village. He could make out five separate guns all sparking in the darkness ahead of him. Despite that, he fought his natural instinct to zigzag and vary his pace. Unpredictability was a good strategy when faced with an enemy that wanted to kill you, but counterproductive when facing an enemy dedicated to near misses.
He heard gunfire erupt from behind him and looked back to see four figures in hazmat suits falling in with him. The guns in front went dark, as did the sniper going for long shots from the south. Halabi’s men had finally figured out what was happening and were having to recalibrate.
Rapp put the shooters to the north and south out of his mind for the time being. He could see lights coming on in his peripheral vision and assumed they were headlamps being used by the men as they ran to reinforce their comrades to the east. They were hundreds of yards away, though, crossing moderately difficult terrain. It was unlikely that they would figure in the fight over the short term.
Human figures rose up from the earth about fifty yards ahead, their outlines just visible in the moonlight as they began to charge. Based on the way they were holding their rifles, it appeared that they were planning to use them as clubs.
Completely insane, but pretty much what Rapp was counting on. While these men were a serious step up from the average terrorist psychopath, they were still ISIS. And that meant they’d follow the man they believed to be God’s representative on earth right off a cliff. In fact, they’d be happy to do it. More virgins for them.
The men coming in from the sides started shooting again, but were still making sure not to hit anything. Coleman’s team engaged them while Rapp focused on the men coming at him. Individual rounds from his M4 dropped the first two and left two remaining. They were running crouched now, zigzagging to reduce their chance of being hit. Rapp, still on a collision course with them, fired on the run at the man to the right. It took nearly his full magazine, but he finally spun him around with an impact to the right side of his chest.
Less than a second later, he collided with the last man. They went down locked together, starting to roll back down the slope. Some of the rocks beneath them were sharp and while the chances that Rapp had any deadly germs stuck to his chem suit were low, he wasn’t anxious to puncture it.
He managed to arrest their momentum but ended up with Halabi’s man on top. Predictably, he went straight for Rapp’s mask so he could get a look at who he was fighting and thus determine the rules of engagement. While Halabi’s orders would have been to keep Rapp alive, he doubted Coleman and his men would receive the same courtesy.
Rapp grabbed the man’s finger just before it went under his faceplate, wrenching it hard enough to feel it snap. When he jerked back in pain, Rapp scissored a leg up and used it to slam his opponent to the ground. After a brief struggle, the CIA man managed to get hold of one of the rocks he’d been worried about a few seconds before and slam it into the man’s forehead.
He was just getting back to his feet when a man went streaking by—undoubtedly Wick, a fast and light sniper who would be anxious to set up in the high ground before the men approaching from the north and south could close in.
Rapp let Coleman and the rest of his men pass by before he started up, protecting their flank. A few quick bursts in the direction of the headlamps emptied what was left of his mag. There wasn’t much chance of hitting anything, but he might be able to persuade them to slow down.
By the time Rapp made it to the top of the slope, Wick already had his McMillan TAC-338 rifle set up on a bipod and was sighting through the thermal scope. He pulled the trigger and a single round exited the barrel.
“Hit.”
A second shot followed three seconds later.
“Hit. They’re taking cover.”
Rapp lay down among Coleman and his men, glancing behind him and seeing a barely perceptible band of light on the horizon.
• • •
Rapp wiped the dust from his faceplate and watched the jet’s angle of descent steepen. Contrails appeared, followed by a massive wall of fire rising from the earth. Another jet dropped a similar payload, spreading the firestorm.
Unfortunately, the air support had nothing to do with him. The Saudis had finally gotten around to incinerating the village, which was about four miles back now. The sun was still low on the horizon, but the heat was already starting to climb. In another hour, running in the chem suits they were still wearing would no longer be doable.