46

 

NABATIYEH GOVERNATE

 

 

“Are you sure they had a backpack?” Langevin wanted to be certain before he committed either team to action.

 

“There’s four or five,” Green replied, pointing to the isolated house. “I just got a glimpse but yes, two had backpacks.” He bit his lip. “Of course, they might have been ordinary packs.”

 

The physicist mulled that over for three seconds. “I don’t see any option, gentlemen. We must assume they’re carrying a weapon.” He retraced his steps deeper into the copse of trees and pressed the transmit button. “Alpha, this is Bravo, over.”

 

Seconds later Omar Mohammed’s cultured tones responded. “Bravo, Alpha here. Over.”

 

“Omar, we have a sighting. Recommend you join us at these coordinates.” He handed the set to Barrkman, who was navigating with a map and GPS.

 

Fifteen minutes later the two teams were united. They wasted no time.

 

“All right,” Mohammed began. “Bernie stays here of course. I’ll provide perimeter security with Barrkman and Furr. Ashcroft, Brezyinski, Pitney, and Green are the entry team.” He glanced around. “Questions?”

 

There were none.

 

Approaching the house from the blind side, Robert Pitney willed himself to control his pulse, much as he did before a stage in a major match. He had visually checked his Springfield XD. He had a full magazine of .40 caliber Black Talons and one in the chamber. Thirteen rounds to get him through the door and across the room before a reload. A LaserMax sighting system had replaced the normal recoil spring assembly, affording an optical sighting plane nearly identical to the bore.

 

He thought deeply about what he was going to do. Then he nodded to Phil Green.

 

The shotgunner stepped back and shouldered the Benelli entry gun. He aimed at the lower door hinge and fired. The ounce and a quarter slug splintered the wood, separating the hinge from the door. Green rode the recoil upward, instantly shooting the middle and top hinges as well. Then he put the last two rounds either side of the doorknob, raised his right foot, and kicked hard.

 

The door collapsed inward, slightly askew. Breezy was first through the breach, closely followed by Pitney and Ashcroft.

 

Shooting erupted inside.

 

As his partners began the dash into the room, Green thumbed three buckshot shells into the tube magazine and followed the other operators.

 

Breezy was quick on the trigger but his MP-5 had only stuttered when he was knocked off his feet. His ballistic vest stopped a 7.62x39 round fired five meters away. He thought: Fight your way to your feet. He was forcing himself into a sitting position, raising his MP-5, when Robert Pitney opened fire.

 

Standing to Breezy’s right, slightly in front of him, Pitney activated his pistol’s laser and swept the room, left to right. Even through the Dillon electronic hearing protectors, the short-barreled, compensated pistol barked out a succession of rapid-fire rounds. Breezy heard the cadence almost as a submachine gun: pop-pop-pop-pop-pop. The muzzle flash was impressive.

 

Behind the sights, Pitney’s sensation was different. He was aware of gunfire in the room, incoming and outgoing, but he ignored it. He had microseconds to discern the hostiles, place the orange-red dot above the eyebrows, and stroke the trigger. The first man—the one who shot Breezy—was kneeling behind a table. The third fighter was shorter than those on either side, requiring a fast adjustment of the dot’s placement. When the muzzle aligned on the fourth man, Pitney double-tapped him before swinging back to where the first had stood. Nobody was there.

 

Move!

 

Pitney remembered to lateral away from his firing position in case somebody had time to draw a bead on him. Now he was aware of Ashcroft’s FAL barking once, twice. Green appeared between them, shotgun at low ready.

 

“Clear!” Ashcroft called. He and Green advanced on the prostrate forms, kicking weapons away.

 

Breezy finally found his feet. Swearing fervently, he hoisted himself off the floor and leaned against the wall. He was breathing heavily but recovered his poise to scan the room, looking for somebody to shoot.

 

“Breezy, you okay?” It was Pitney.

 

“Yeah, I think so. This vest. . .” He fingered the hole in the nylon covering.

 

Pitney turned toward the others. “Bob, what’d you shoot?”

 

Ashcroft rolled a body over with his right foot. “This one was still moving.”

 

Pitney exchanged magazines and took two steps toward the four corpses. He uttered something unintelligible.

 

“Man, that was fast!” Breezy exclaimed. He regarded the speed shooter. “You saved my ass, amigo.”

 

Pitney looked at the cadavers on the floor, nodded, and holstered his pistol. Then he turned and walked outside.

 

Green opened a shaded window, admitting more sunlight. The three SSI men began a professionally detached postmortem on their opponents.

 

“Lookit,” Breezy said. “The first three all checked into a round almost between the eyes.”

 

Ashcroft leaned over the fourth Hezbollah man. “This one took a hit alongside the nose. He was still twitching so I finished him off.”

 

“Well, that settles it,” said Green. “Pitney can join my army anytime.”

 

The ex-cop looked around. “Hey, where’d he go?”

 

Breezy stuck his head through the doorway. “Oh, he’s outside having the dry heaves.”

 

Green looked for the packs and found them leaning against the wall. He thought they were the right size for an RA-115 but they were mostly empty. “Guys, I think we’ve been suckered.”

 

* * * *

 

NABATIYEH GOVERNATE

 

It was time for a decision.

 

Esmaili waited until the group approached a small hill, then called a halt. He noted that the grass was beginning to resemble exposure to prolonged drought, and read the signs accurately.

 

Addressing Jannati, he said, “We are approaching the edge of the blast zone. I agree that we will probably meet no one ahead of us but we should beware of those who may chase us.”

 

Jannati had allowed Ka’bi to resume carrying the weapon, freeing himself until the final push. The nuke-qualified leader turned and surveyed the terrain behind them. “We can see for two kilometers or more, brother. There is no need for concern as long as we keep watch.”

 

Esmaili nodded, as if sagely. “I agree, Commander.” He made a point of appearing deferential to the Tehran expert. “But why not post a man to guard our rear? He can catch up to warn us or he can delay them if necessary.”

 

Jannati obviously cared little for the welfare of any of his jihadists. Which was to say, nothing. But without appearing indifferent, he accepted the Hezbollah veteran’s advice. “Very well. Select one of the escorts.” With that he motioned for Ka’bi to continue westward, deeper into the beaten zone.

 

Esmaili turned to Hazim. “Take a position partway up this hill to avoid exposing yourself on the skyline. Watch for anyone following us. If no one appears in an hour, follow our trail.”

 

Hazim shifted his feet, apparently ambivalent. He seemed honored at the responsibility but nervous about being separated from the group. Finally he said, “I will, Teacher.” He hefted the scoped Galil and selected a position behind a rock.

 

Esmaili merely nodded, It’s the most I can do for you, boy. Then he topped the hill, seeking the place he knew must exist nearby.

 

* * * *

 

NORTHERN ISRAEL

 

Yakov Livni knew there was no point trying to talk to Brigadier General Nadel for a while. The brigade’s maneuver elements were spooled up, dispersing to avoid presenting a concentrated target for whatever was coming next.

 

As a Merkava raced past, Livni pulled a handkerchief and covered his mouth. His aide wondered why the special operations officer was standing in the open, watching the traffic. “Colonel, shouldn’t we stay in the command center? There’s bound to be intelligence updates.”

 

“Until I can see something like satellite coverage, the rest is just gossip.” He shot a quick look at the captain. “You’re old enough to know that.”

 

“But, Colonel. . .”

 

Livni cut him off with a raised hand. “I’m too old a bunny to believe every report that comes after something like this. There will be ten wrong reports for every accurate one, and later on nobody will be able to say how the ten got started.” He shook his head. “No, I’m going for a walk while I still can. You tell the on-duty staff to sort out what seems to make sense. I’ll look at those reports when I get back, then the others later on.”

 

Without awaiting a reply, Yakov Livni stepped off in the direction he happened to be facing. He ignored the vehicles speeding past, unconcerned that he might not be seen in the swirling dust.

 

Teams Gimel and Daleth were likely just dust themselves.

 

* * * *