Arab Summer Page 16

  Tom pursed his lips. “Eight days,” he repeated to himself.

  The pilot opened the door to the hangar. “We’re ready for you,” he said to Tom. Tom stood up and led the team to the door. “We’ll be in the air for over three hours, so you’ll need these,” the pilot said. The other two crewmen handed vests to each of them. “These are Microclimate Cooling Systems,” the pilot said. “They hook up to portable cooling units in the chopper, mini air conditioners that cool the water in the vests.” After they put on the vests, the pilot led them outside to the runway where a US Army helicopter was rumbling on the tarmac. The smell of jet exhaust from its turbines was thick in the air. As she boarded the chopper, Sasha felt oddly detached from the magnitude of what was happening. She wasn’t feeling the significance of her part in stopping a major uprising that could result in the overthrow of the Saudi government, along with the worldwide ramifications of that. Right now, to her, it was only about Saif. Finding him and killing him. For Daniel. She felt for her anger and was disappointed she couldn’t get in touch with it. She wasn’t worried. Once she saw Saif, she knew it would be there.

  Just before Jaworski had poked his head into the hangar to tell them the chopper was ready, Ryan had forwarded Rashid’s latest text to Tom: BROKE CAMP 2 HOURS AGO. COLUMN MOVING TOWARD MECCA. Tom decided not to say anything until they were in the air en route to Mecca, because even though he felt like he’d made an impression on Jaworski, he still believed the crusty old hard-ass needed to be managed. Tom walked out onto the tarmac and stopped in front of the Black Hawk. He waited for the rest of the team to pass him and enter the big side door of the chopper, all the while keeping his head down against the rotor wash. Then he walked around the nose, seeing those nasty 12.7mm GAU-19 Gatling guns sticking out the front of the chopper, afraid of and thankful for them at the same time. When Tom got into the chopper, the copilot was already strapped into his seat, the gunner behind the cockpit in his seat next to one of the side-mounted M240H machine guns. Tom looked back at the team as they buckled into their seats and put on their headphones and microphones. Sasha looked calm, not the tense energy he’d sensed as they walked around outside the hangar. He looked back into the cockpit. The big Sikorsky-made Black Hawk had armor and bulletproof glass that could withstand small weapons fire. After Archer’s last message Tom thought they might need it.

  Jaworski eased the throttles forward and the turbines whined, then their exhaust roared. The Black Hawk lifted off, hesitated about 200 feet off the ground, then the nose dropped and it shot forward like a sprinter. As they passed over the runways of the airport the Black Hawk gained altitude. They were at about 2,000 feet by the time they started passing the western suburbs of Riyadh, concrete commercial buildings in grays and browns below, sand-dusted asphalt roads crisscrossing through the neighborhoods, then quickly, rolling dunes over the tan desert, then nothing but flat sand. Tom felt the Black Hawk accelerate, heard the pitch of the turbines increase as they picked up speed, and he settled back into his seat as they gained altitude on the way to Mecca.

  Three hours later, Tom said into his microphone, “Jaworski, we need a slight change of plans.”

  Tom saw Jaworski turn his head, then saw him ease back on the throttles. Tom felt his stomach lighten as the chopper nosed up and slowed. “There’s a column moving from the camp about ten kilometers outside Mecca toward the city,” Tom said, handing Jaworski a piece of paper with coordinates written on it. “I’d like to do a flyover on the way into Mecca. Get in close enough to see their troop strength and what kind of firepower they’re packing.”

  Tom saw Jaworski nod, then glance down at the paper. He handed it to his copilot, then pressed the throttles all the way forward. Tom felt himself thrust into the back of his seat as the Black Hawk rumbled ahead.

  About five minutes later, dots that looked like a line of black ants appeared on the horizon of the desert. As they closed in, the ants became a column of jeeps and SUVs driving toward Mecca. Moments later, Tom heard the ping of small weapons fire on the fuselage of the Black Hawk. It must have been from some outlying vehicles a half mile or so off the side of the column.

  Damn, too close. Should’ve figured they’d have sentries stationed. Tom looked back to check on Sasha. He felt his chest constrict as he saw her clutching the sides of her seat, her eyes wide. He grunted and turned forward as the chopper banked hard left, Jaworski going into evasive maneuvers. Then the chopper banked hard right, came dead-on two SUVs in the desert a few hundred yards away. “Battle stations,” Jaworski said over the intercom to his crew. He pushed the throttle all the way forward, nosed down at the SUVs and roared toward them. A moment later the Gatlings erupted beneath Tom’s feet. He saw tracers heading at the SUVs, then explosions and smoke as one SUV was obliterated, felt the nose tilt left and saw the other SUV disappear in flames and smoke. The Gatlings went silent, the nose came up, and the big chopper banked hard right and came around.

  Tom heard the copilot telling his Dhahran base they were under attack and returning fire, reporting their coordinates. Tom looked back at Sasha again. She was still clutching her seat but appeared to be in control of herself.

  “Incoming,” he heard over the headphones as the chopper banked left, then dived, seemingly out of control for hundreds of feet. Tom’s stomach felt like it had dropped to the floor, until the chopper leveled briefly and then climbed so harshly that his vision went down to a pinpoint, like a TV screen turning off when he was a kid in the 1960s. “It’s a SAM!” he heard in his headphones, felt the Black Hawk shoot up a few hundred feet, then roll right, then completely over and then right itself again, bank hard left and descend. “Countermeasures!” Jaworski barked. Tom’s stomach now felt like its contents might explode into his mouth, then he heard a series of swishing sounds and pops, and saw trailers that looked like roman candles sparkling out from the sides of the chopper.

  Tom watched the gunner swing his M240H machine gun around and start firing. He saw the trail of the missile heading in at the Black Hawk, then felt the chopper go upside down, roll sideways, then right itself and speed off to the sound of more pops and flares. He heard more bullets hitting the fuselage, louder, from bigger arms, then a grinding sound. The chopper rumbled as if something was damaged, then leveled off, descended quickly and headed straight back across the desert, skimming a few hundred feet off the sand.

  Jaworski came on the intercom. “We evaded the surface-to-air missile but took a hit in one of the engines. They’re combat ruggedized and will keep running for a while even after all the oil drains out of them. But we’re going down. I’m heading back to the highway into Mecca. Hopefully we can make it. Stay buckled in. I’ll let you know before impact.”

  A few minutes later, Tom heard the grinding noise in the engine growing louder. A moment later the chopper started vibrating. “Get ready,” Jaworski said over the intercom. Tom looked back again at Sasha, saw her bracing herself against the back of her seat, hands clutching the harness that crisscrossed her chest, eyes closed. Probably praying. He felt his heart thumping in his chest, wondered if they were gonna make it.

  He didn’t have much more chance to think. It seemed only a moment later that the chopper was vibrating wildly out of control, and he couldn’t tell up from down, then saw the desert racing up at him. They hit and the Black Hawk bounced once, then slammed back down and buried its nose in the sand. Tom must have blacked out, because the next thing he knew, Sasha was pulling him out of his seat.

  Sasha got over her panic at seeing Tom slumped in his seat, motionless, when she was able to pull him upright. He blinked, his eyes glazed. He had a cut and a lump forming on his forehead. “Are you all right?” she asked, supporting him with one arm around his back, another under his armpit. She felt him regain his balance, saw his eyes clear.

  “Yeah. Everyone else okay?”

  “Back there, yes.” She shot a glance into the cockpit where the gunner was tending to the pilot and copilot. “Up there, I’m not sure
.”

  Tom put his hands on her shoulders and eased her back, then crouched and moved forward into the cockpit. She saw him speaking to the gunner. By the time he came back, Seth and Zac were on their haunches in the doorway to the cockpit, waiting. “Looks like Jaworski has two broken legs, Stilton, the copilot, one,” Tom said to them. “They aren’t going anyplace.”

  Tom stepped back into the main cabin while Seth went into the cockpit to help the gunner drag Jaworski and Stilton into the main cabin and prop them against the wall. Zac found a field medical kit and gave Jaworski and Stilton shots of local anesthetic in their legs.

  Jaworski told them the radio was out, took Zac’s cell phone and then huddled all the servicemen, including Seth and Zac, around him, taking command. They talked for a few minutes. Tom and Sasha hung back with Ryan in the rear of the cabin, staying out of the way. Tom called in to Langley. He didn’t think there was much they could do to help them in the short run, but at least they’d be aware of the situation. Ryan called in to the embassy. Between the two calls, Tom figured they might just get some support.

  Jaworski waved them forward. He said, “Okay, here’s the deal. Stilton and I can’t move, so we’re staying here, as is Maloney.” He nodded at the gunner. “I assume that the base in Dhahran knows our coordinates, because Stilton radioed them in just before we crashed. I called for some backup. Dhahran is five hours away, so I’m not sure how much help that will be.”

  Tom said, “But you know this is a covert mission. They won’t send anyone.”

  Jaworski said, “Not possible. If we’re in harm’s way, our guys will show up. And either keep their mouths shut or take the consequences.”

  Tom felt his guts twisting, hoping Jaworski was right.

  “I also called some local Saudi friends in Mecca,” Jaworski said. “A Saudi Airborne Army unit.”

  Tom cocked his head.

  “Don’t look so surprised. We train these guys to fly our Black Hawks. They’re our buddies. I don’t know how fast they can scramble, but they’ll put three or four of them in the air and be here soon as they can. We’ll just have to hold off these desert rats that long. And don’t worry about their fatwa crap. If the shooting starts, our Saudi friends will shoot back and explain later.”

  Tom smiled, not sure if it was from nerves or an appreciation of how this old army jock operated.

  “You all need to head out of here ASAP, because we figure these twerps will be on us in another ten to fifteen minutes.”

  “How far do you figure we are from the highway into Mecca?” Tom asked.

  “Maybe two or three miles.”

  Sasha said, “We’ll be safe there. We can blend in with the pilgrims walking into Mecca.”

  Zac said to Jaworski, “I’ll be staying here, too, sir.”

  Jaworski stared him down. “I understand you’re escorting someone important, soldier.”

  “With all due respect, sir—”

  Jaworski cut him off with a wave of his hand under his chin. He said to Tom, “You said she was a neutron bomb. Authorized by Rusty Baldridge himself, right?”

  “Yeah,” Tom said.

  “A lot at stake?”

  Tom nodded.

  Jaworski nodded back. He said to Zac, “Get going, soldier.”

  Zac said, “Again, with all due respect, sir, I’m on assignment directly from Admiral Raven, via Chairman Baldridge, instructed to take orders only from Mr. Goddard.” Zac looked over at Tom. “And Mr. Goddard insists that I stay.”

  Jaworski glared at Tom. Tom said, “We can handle ourselves.”

  Jaworski said, “Okay. Enough talk. We’ll hold them off as long as we can. Get help. But above all, get your neutron bomb in place.” Jaworski looked at his men, then back at Tom. “Take those coolers with you. Keep them plugged into your vests. They weigh about 13 pounds and they’ll slow you down, but they’ll save your lives out there. The batteries will give you maybe two hours of cooling. Good luck.”

  Jaworski looked away. Zac and Seth stepped to the back of the main cabin and retrieved weapons and ammunition. Seth handed Sasha a Beretta and two clips, then automatic weapons—M4A1s—to Ryan and Tom, shouldered one himself and stepped toward the doorway. He saluted Jaworski, who offered a perfunctory one in return. Seth walked back over to Zac and shook his hand, the two of them looking into each other’s eyes, stonefaced.

  Tom checked to make sure Sasha’s cooling unit was plugged into her vest and functioning properly. He nodded to Jaworski as he moved toward the door of the chopper. Then he stopped, put down his cooling unit and reached out to shake hands with Zac. He grunted, “Good luck.” Then Tom, Sasha, Seth and Ryan stepped out into the sand. As they headed into the desert, Tom wondered if what awaited them was worse than what was behind them. For Sasha, he was pretty sure that was the case.

  Saif was in one of the lead cars, a mile or so from where the helicopter attacked the lookout cars about a half mile to the left of the column. Those were Anwar’s men. Fools, he thought when he learned it was an American helicopter, and that they’d succeeded in shooting it down. Anwar’s men must’ve been trigger-happy and fired first; there was no logical reason for an American helicopter to be in the area, but certainly no reason for it to attack without provocation. By the time he learned that Anwar had authorized 50 vehicles to attack the downed helicopter it was too late for him to intervene. He prayed to Allah that they wouldn’t kill any of the Americans. The last thing they needed was to enrage the Americans to the point of bringing them into the situation, even before their uprising started. He remembered how it had gone for Qaddafi, with the Americans working behind the scenes and pushing NATO into the revolution. What would their chances be if the Americans, righteous over American blood being spilled, threw not only their weight but their military muscle behind the Saudi regime?

  Back in the Black Hawk, Jaworski had Maloney prop him up next to one of the doorways with an M4A1 and extra ammo, then help him into additional Interceptor body armor covering his legs, groin, neck and throat to supplement his protective vest. He had Maloney prepare Stilton the same way and prop him beside the other doorway. Then he called the young soldier named Zac over.

  “What’s your name, soldier?”

  “Zac Fulton, sir. Sergeant First Class, 101st Airborne Special Forces attached to Special Ops.”

  “Proud to serve with you, Sergeant. You know how to shoot one of these things?” Jaworski pointed at one of the two M240H machine guns mounted inside the open window of the Black Hawk.

  “In a pinch, sir.”

  Jaworski nodded. “You man this one, Maloney will man the other. Now go back and help Maloney pull out all the cases of ammo, and get yourself suited up in some body armor. It’s gonna get pretty hot around here shortly.”

  The kid hopped to it. After about five minutes, when Zac and Maloney finished suiting up and sliding the ammo cases in place next to the machine guns, Jaworski heard engines approaching from off in the distance. “Alright, listen up. I figure we’re dealing with some disorganized, untrained rabble of unemployed plumbers and butchers coming at us with a bunch of SUVs and obsolete Russian AK-47s. Even if they’ve got some more shoulder-launched missiles, I’m sure these knuckleheads couldn’t hit the side of a barn from 100 feet away. Worst case we might be dealing with a 12mm cannon mounted on the back of a jeep, but we’ll be able to cut them to pieces with these M240Hs before they can get to us. I don’t plan on dying out here in this desert today, so let’s show these amateurs how the US Army operates.”

  Jaworski heard the engines grow louder, saw dust flying up from behind the dunes. He had the safety off on his M4A1, his finger on the trigger, perspiring in the heat. The engine sounds kept coming, sounding like more vehicles than he’d expected. He realized they were smarter than he’d thought, because they were encircling the Black Hawk, or possibly driving around it on the assumption that some or all of their party had started walking off across the desert toward the highway. After another five minutes h
e figured they were completely surrounded, still with no vehicles in sight. When he saw the first jeep come over a dune, heading straight at them about 400 yards away, he raised his M4A1, sighted it in and exhaled to steady himself. No sense waiting until they’re on top of us. “Fire at will,” he said, and put a burst through the windshield of the jeep. It swerved, turned sideways and coasted to a stop just as automatic weapons fire resonated against the sides of the Black Hawk. He heard Maloney’s M240H erupt from the other side of the cabin, then Zac’s right above him as two SUVs came into view over the dunes. A moment later both SUVs were riddled with hits and one exploded.

  Jaworski’s heart was pumping hard, his eyes scanning the desert, still hearing bullets pinging off the Black Hawk but not seeing any targets.

  “Incoming!” someone yelled from the other side of the cabin, and Jaworski turned to see the trail of a missile heading at them. He closed his eyes and held his breath, heard a whoosh over the top of the Black Hawk, and saw the missile shoot off toward the horizon on his side of the chopper. Then another missile from his side, clearly heading wide behind the chopper, and he heard Zac’s machine gun blasting again and saw the bullets skimming the top of the dunes from where the missile had come. Now two more jeeps came over the dune, then another three, now five or six.

  “They’re coming!” Jaworski yelled, and started firing into the windshields of each of the vehicles. More came over the top. Two of them got within 100 yards before Zac could stop them with his machine gun. Jaworski changed his clip and started firing again, now seeing men get out of the vehicles and take firing position behind ones they’d already stopped.

  His breath was coming in gasps, firing, changing another clip, then he felt the breath go out of him and he was thrown onto his back in the cabin. He groped for his M4A1 and tried to pull himself up, realizing his body armor had stopped the bullets. He leaned forward and kept firing.