The Team (13 page)

Chapter 38

Zero Hour

Abdul’s men traveled to the stadium a few at a time to report for work at the food concession. They smiled as they were frisked and checked with metal detectors on their way in. Military and police presence was heavy, and completely worthless. The men picked up their metal boxes, now full of popcorn, peanuts, soft drinks, and Sarin bombs attached to explosives, and headed out to their assigned sections. If they were afraid, they hid it well.

It was after six pm, and the temperature outside of the stadium was almost a hundred degrees. Inside the state-of-the art stadium, giant chillers and misters sprayed cool water vapor into the air keeping it closer to seventy for the fans and the players. Only in the Middle East would you find air-conditioning outdoors. It was a beautiful night for soccer.

The energy in the stadium was palpable, with tens of thousands of fans waving team banners and cheering. The stadium was sold out as expected for two premier teams. Television crews on elevated mobile platforms moved around the field, filming the game live in high definition and broadcasting it around the globe.

Abdul Aziz checked his watch from his seat in the lower level. He had worn traditional clothing and
keffiyeh
, and watched with loathing as young women in soccer shirts jumped around flaunting their bodies. Their boyfriends seemed oblivious to the shamelessness of their women, and some even laughed and appeared to enjoy seeing them showoff in public. Abdul glanced around the stadium and saw his men moving around through the crowds. Any moment, Rasheed would be detonating the Sarin in Al Udeid.

He smiled and stood, scanning the huge crowd. Forty thousand perhaps? Fifty? How many would be choking to death as their skin blistered and their bodies twitched in their last agonizing minutes? He headed for the exit, his hand wrapped around the cell phone in his pocket.

With the increase in security at Al Udeid, the concrete jersey barriers at the entrance roadways had been shifted from straight roadways to zigzagged paths that prevented vehicles from picking up too much speed. At the end of the zig-zag alley, two young Marines stood post behind some sandbags under a tarp to stay out of the brutal sun. In full combat gear, standing on asphalt in a hundred degree weather wasn’t very enjoyable. Their platoon sergeant had been by an hour earlier delivering water and checking in on them. His parting words were spit out harshly, “
No unauthorized personnel or vehicles get past you, clear?”

The pair responded in unison with, “Yes, Sergeant.”

As soon as the sergeant’s jeep took off, Jonathan, a country boy from rural Virginia and the platoon comedian, looked at his friend Jordan and barked, “
You clear?”
in his best Sergeant Rawlings voice. Jordan, a lance corporal, laughed and said, “
Crystal
!” in his best
Top Gun
impersonation.

They sat in the heat for another ten minutes, arguing over whether the Ford F-150 or Dodge Ram was the better pickup truck. Jonathan, a corporal, was due to head home in another month and was deciding on his new truck. He had been “showing Jordan the ropes” when Jordan’s head swiveled to the road. “Yo, yo! D-Man! Vehicles coming down the road, way too fast, bro!” Jordan was a Long Islander, and his accent and expressions were a strong contrast to the country boy. He was a little younger than Jonathan at nineteen, but already had his pilot’s license. He was a smart, detail-oriented kid who was rapidly becoming a favorite grunt to his platoon leaders.

The two of them immediately jumped up and got behind their two machine guns. On auto-pilot, the two corporals went safeties-off and leaned into their SAWs.

“They ain’t slowing down,” Jonathan shouted.

“Son of a bitch, there’s four of ‘em! This is the real deal! I’m sending a warning downrange!”

Jonathan grabbed his radio and reported back to base security. “Echo George to base! Unauthorized vehicles inbound!”

The thought of actually firing a few rounds at vehicles on base was almost as scary as the potential threat. What if they weren’t bad guys attacking the base, but rather some VIPs coming in unannounced? Still—they were driving fast and erratically while the base was on high alert. They had over ten thousand brothers behind them, along with a few billion dollars in aircraft. There was no way anyone was getting past them as long as they were breathing. The three vehicles behind the lead SUV stopped. The SUV in front revved and picked up speed. It was now obvious that this was an attack—a suicide bomber, no doubt. They could run for cover and save themselves or do everything possible to stop the vehicles, no matter what. Their decision to stand and fight was instantaneous.

A short burst of heavy machinegun fire over the SUV did nothing to slow it down.

“Jordan! He’s still coming!” Screamed Jonathan as he threw his radio and put his hand back on his weapon.

“Fuck this! Unload!” Shouted Jordan, his finger now squeezing controlled bursts at the cab of the lead vehicle, a dark SUV.

Jonathan began firing his weapon as well, aiming for the cab and engine block behind the grill. The SUV’s driver floored it, swerving and side swiping the concrete barriers as he closed the distance on the guards.

Jonathan and Jordan were no longer speaking. The two young corporals focused every ounce of their being on stopping the lead vehicle. They knew how these attacks went down. They’d seen them before. They also knew they were the only thing between the attackers and the barracks behind them. They held their triggers down and sent hundreds of rounds into the SUV. The driver was hit several times and was dying, but not before he managed to push his foot to the floor and release the trigger mechanism in his hand.

Jordan’s last seconds were spent watching his rounds impact the driver, thinking he had stopped the man in time. The flash of light ended the lives of the two young corporals instantly, sending the guardhouse and pieces of the barriers for hundreds of feet. Seventy yards behind the lead vehicle that had disappeared in the explosion, three cars now sped up through the zigzag path. Rasheed had seen Imad disappear and said a prayer for him. The amount of explosives had created a deep crater, and Rasheed now had to push through the wreckage and move past the barriers without falling into the smoking black hole. This was going to take much longer than he anticipated. He used his car to push the remaining wreckage out of his way and move around the remnants of the guardhouse while the two cars behind him also tried to maneuver around huge obstacles of burning wreckage and chunks of concrete and asphalt.

He was praying out loud, very quickly, without even realizing he was doing it. Sweat dripped off his face as he got past the wreckage and floored the gas pedal towards the buildings down the road. He checked his rearview mirror and saw the two cars trying to follow him.

“God is great,” he repeated, gripping the wheel and diving as fast as his car would go.

Chapter 39

Assault on Al Udeid

Eric was walking Earl back to the infirmary for a quick bandage change and wound check. The previous meeting had frustrated the team members, who weren’t used to sitting on the sidelines when there was something big going down.

“You saved my ass, E,” said Earl from out of nowhere as they walked. His mind had been churning a hundred miles an hour since his conversation with Cascaes.

Eric didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. They continued walking.

“I froze, man,” he said quietly.

“It was dark. You and the hajji almost walked into each other, man.”

Earl stopped walking and looked at Eric. “I froze, plain and simple. We don’t
hesitate
. We’re trained to react instantly. I saw the guy’s face…saw how young he was…I just stared at him.”

Eric had stopped walking, too. “Look, man. I had your back. It’s over. I know the ambush messed with your head. I was lucky—I didn’t have to see it up close. But I put a round through the driver, and a second one through one of those kids. It’s fucked up, Earl. But this is the sandbox.
Everything
out here is fucked up.”

Earl looked down at his feet.

“You always talk about how bad your neighborhood was growing up. Did the kids in your neighborhood all walk around with AK47s chanting ‘death to somebody’ while their parents encouraged them? I don’t think so. I’ve been in Iraq, A-Stan, and now here. For every kid I see that reminds me of the kids at home, I see another one that would ghost me in
two
seconds
. You gotta stay frosty, man.”

An explosion in the distance stopped Earl before he could respond. They both looked towards the direction of the explosion, looked back at each other, and then started sprinting towards their barracks where their weapons were stowed and the rest of the team was lounging.

“That’s the east gate!” yelled Eric as they ran.

Earl ripped off the sling as he ran, whipping it to the ground as they sprinted. By the time they got to the barracks, some of the other men inside were starting to run out, most with weapons.

“East gate!” yelled Earl as he pushed past a few men and bounded up the stairs. Eric was right behind him. They made it to their wing of the building in less than three minutes, passing other Marines who were now heading outside. A few were on their phones, trying to reach their superiors.

Mackey and Cascaes were already coming out of the door with their weapons when Earl and Eric got there.

“East gate got hit!” yelled Eric as he raced to his weapons locker to retrieve his sniper rifle. Earl grabbed his M4 and stumbled out of the room into the hallway where the rest of the team was now racing towards the stairs as they snapped magazines into their weapons.

By the time they got downstairs, the base sirens were going off and they could hear gunfire.

“If they have Sarin we’re fucked,” screamed Mackey as he and Cascaes sprinted towards the noise. They were both in civilian clothes and carried M4 carbines. The air base was huge, but their barracks were only a short run from the gate.

A couple of Marines had hopped into trucks and were roaring off towards the sound of the explosion. Mackey and Cascaes ran in the street behind the truck, which quickly distanced itself from them. The rest of the team was catching up to the two Chrises, with Earl and Eric only a little behind. A Marine Cobra gunship roared over their heads towards the attack.

“That’s it!” screamed Mackey to the assault copter. “Go!”

* * *

It had taken Rasheed almost six minutes to maneuver around the wreckage. He was driving through the base looking for the large barracks he had studied in the picture of the base that Abdul had given him; but now that he was actually driving, he was a little confused. There were buildings and tents and airplane hangars in every direction. To detonate at the wrong place would be a waste of his life. He needed to find the barracks or the mess hall and prayed that Allah would guide him to the enemy. Behind him, the other two drivers sped and swerved through the narrow streets. A few Marines and airmen ran out of the way of the vehicles as they realized something was wrong. Most of them weren’t armed while walking around on base and could do nothing but run and try and call base security on their cell phones.

Rasheed came to a crossroads. He hesitated for a moment and looked around. A left turn—it was a left turn. As he began to accelerate, he heard it before he saw it. He looked up and saw what looked like a very small plane—no, not a plane, a helicopter. Rasheed pushed the gas pedal to the floor and cut his wheel left. He began praying loudly and racing towards where he thought the large barracks were.

The Cobra pilot pressed the trigger and unleashed a fifty round burst from his M197 .20 mm electric cannon. The lead car vibrated in a cloud of sand and dust as the rounds impacted the passenger compartment. With a quick flick of his thumb, the pilot fired a hellfire missile into the vehicle and watched it explode in a huge fireball.

* * *

The team was still racing towards the gate when they heard the explosion.

“Cobra got him!” screamed Mackey triumphantly.

“What about the Sarin?” screamed Cascaes as they ran.

“We have to warn everyone! They have to clear out of there!”

They turned the corner and saw the burning car at the end of a long road, maybe a half a mile away. A few Marines and MPs were ahead of them running towards the wreckage.

“Stay back! Stay back!” yelled Cascaes.

“Sarin! They’re loaded with Sarin!” screamed Mackey. It was useless, the Cobra was firing it’s mini-gun at another vehicle that had taken off down a side road and was racing towards the rows of tents the Marines used as living quarters. The second car was being hit by the gunfire but kept speeding towards the tents. The third car swerved around the wreck of Rasheed’s car and raced straight towards the team.

Eric dropped to a knee and pulled the caps off of his sniper rifle. He glanced quickly at the American flag hanging limp on the pole—no wind. Moving faster than normal, he chambered a round and put the scope to his eye. Everyone on the street with a weapon began firing at the car, but it was still too far away and moving erratically at high speed.

Eric looked through his scope and could see the face of the driver. He inhaled, exhaled, and put the crosshairs on the driver’s face.

Chapter 40

Abdul Aziz pushed his way through the crowd and headed for the exit. There were uniformed police and soldiers with MP5s everywhere. He kept his
Keffiyeh
close to his face and avoided eye contact. When he reached the top of the stairs, he looked back out into the stadium. The match was in full-swing, and the crowd was loud and excited. Abdul began scanning for his men. He could see them mixed with the other hawkers all over the stadium. They were spread out for maximum damage. The world would not have seen an attack of this magnitude since 9-11. Abdul smiled and began quickly walking towards the escalator that would bring him outside. He would go to his car, dial the number that would detonate the boxes, and drive back to Saudi Arabia where he would assemble another group of followers for the next attack.

* * *

Hodges was on one knee, blocking out the chaos around him. All he heard was his own heartbeat and breathing, which he was trying to control. He exhaled, inhaled, held his breath, and ever-so-slowly squeezed the trigger as he held the drivers face in his cross-hairs. The car was less than a half mile away and headed straight towards them.

The rifle let out a loud blast, recoiled slightly, and then Hodges held it steady, staring through the scope again. The man’s face had exploded inside the spider-webbed windshield, and the car veered sharply to its right where it struck a concrete barrier and stopped. Eric was sure the driver was dead, but with a possible finger on a trigger, he was taking no chances. He fired a second round that removed a good portion of the man’s head, and then put three rounds into the engine block to make sure the car wouldn’t move again.

The other members of the team were still running towards the gunfire when the Cobra fired off another missile. It struck the last remaining vehicle, which exploded and flipped on to its roof. The gunship fired several mini-gun bursts, and the car began burning.

Cascaes yelled to Mackey. “What about the Sarin?”

“We just have to keep everyone clear. There’s no breeze and the fire will help destroy the chemical. Tell the team—keep everyone back!” Mackey handed Cascaes his encrypted satellite phone and began running towards a jeep.

“Where are you going?” asked Cascaes.

“Airfield!” he screamed back, never breaking stride. “Call Dex and have him call this base! I need emergency authorization to run an op
now
!”

Cascaes ran to Moose and Ripper who were standing nearby watching the vehicles burn in stunned silence. “We need to keep everyone back! Spread the team out and tell everyone it’s Sarin. They need to keep away and get EOD over to the car Hodges took out. It can still go off.
Go
!” As soon as the team moved into action, Cascaes hit redial and called Dex Murphy in Langley.

Moose relayed the orders to the team and the men began racing through the streets screaming at everyone they saw to stay back because of the Sarin. It didn’t take much convincing—when the word Sarin was heard, everyone began hustling away from the wreckage. Everyone, that is, except for a Marine sergeant who raced past Moose towards the destroyed gate.

“Hey!” Yelled Moose. “You hear me? That’s Sarin gas! Stop!”

The sergeant ignored him and kept running. Moose and Ripper hauled ass after him.
“Hey! Stop!”

The sergeant was heading for the two men at the front gate—his two corporals he had posted a few hours earlier. He heard Moose and Ripper yelling at him to stop, but ran as fast as he could, anyway. He was getting close to the vehicle that Hodges had stopped when Moose tackled his legs and took him down.

“What the fuck?” screamed the surprised Marine.

“I said
stop
! There’s Sarin gas all over the place!”

“I’ve got two men at the gate!” screamed the sergeant.

“They’re
dead
!” yelled Moose. “And if you get any closer, you’ll be dead, too! It’s too late!”

The sergeant struggled to get up, but Moose was too strong. Moose ended up giving the stranger a bear hug and saying, “I’m sorry, Sergeant. They’re gone, brother.” The stranger began sobbing, and Moose just sat on the ground with him holding him close.