A Cold Day In Mosul (11 page)

The two men at the entrance were shielded from the rooftop and second floor by the fern-like leaves of date palms that grew along the service road inside the wall. The pair
were
visible to the ground patrol, however, though only for a short span of time. Ethan and the others had timed that patrol: the mujahadeen made a complete circuit of the grounds every seven minutes. The trick was to attack shortly after the guards had passed by.

The phone gently vibrated in his pocket as the countdown went off.

"Clear," Doug sent from his position on the rooftop.

Without conscious thought, Ethan extended his free hand, drew back his weapon arm, took aim, and launched the knife. The throw was spot-on, and the pure black, six and half inch long blade buried itself to the hilt in the closest militant's throat.

The man grabbed at his neck, gargling sickly.

The second guard spun toward his comrade; a soft thud, like a dart hitting a cork board, floated through the night. The second guard staggered, falling to his knees, the dark hilt of another Voron protruding from the back of his neck, courtesy of William.

Ethan emerged from the shadows; William did as well, from the other direction. The two of them caught their respective militants before the men hit the ground and dragged the bodies away into the darkness, to opposite sides of the entrance.

Doug raced past. "Let's go."

Ethan lowered the body to the ground and removed the knife from the militant's neck. He wiped the blade in the grass and hurried to the entrance. Concertina razor wire had blocked the inner path, but it had been dragged aside.

Within, Ethan found Doug and William waiting in the darkness beside three black-clad members of the resistance.

Ethan nodded to them and, alone, moved deeper into the compound. Under the moonlight he approached the three Iraqi Army Humvees that had been parked in the courtyard; he remained crouched, well aware of the eyes potentially watching from above. Moving between vehicles, he reached up under the dashboards and yanked the wires off the ignition switches in turn.

He joined up with the rest of the team on the west side of the building; the others had eliminated the two grounds patrolmen, leaving the bodies stacked in a neat pile beside a date palm. That left only the pair on the second floor walkway and the two on the rooftop.

Together the group approached the outdoor staircase to the second floor. Once more Ethan split from the others, and silently padded up the steps. He crouched beside the corner where the stairs joined the walkway and then waited.

"Clear," Doug said over the encrypted comm.

Ethan peered past the edge: in the dim moonlight he spotted the two guards moving away from him along the walkway. He unsheathed his second blade so that he gripped a Voron in either hand. Then he left his cover and started after the men. In that moment he favored speed over stealth; he used the militants' footfalls to conceal the noise of his own steps.

When he was two meters away, one of the guards unfortunately decided to look back.

Ethan was forced to close the distance early. He plunged the first knife into the carotid sinus of the man's neck, dropping him instantly. The second guard spun as Ethan launched his next blow. The act saved the man's life because Ethan missed the mark: the blade sunk into the meaty mass of the enemy's opposite shoulder. The guard screamed, managing to shove Ethan away.

Ethan withdrew his Glock but in the dim light he stumbled over the body of the first man and started to fall.

The militant, still shouting, swung his assault rifle to bear.

As Ethan toppled, he released two nine-millimeter shots at the biggest target he could see in the dark: the militant's chest. The pistol's report sounded all too loud in his ears.

Ethan slammed into the walkway. Even with the adrenaline pumping through his veins he felt the pain in his back from the fall. That would hurt later.

The militant toppled beside him.

He heard a commotion on the rooftop and knew the two guards there were rushing forward.

So much for the advantage of stealth.

The mortally wounded militant was shaking violently in the dim light. Ethan dealt a final headshot.

Gunfire came from the rooftop. He forced himself to get up and then carefully leaned past the edge of the walkway, aiming upward with the Glock; assault rifle bursts sounded from the courtyard below before he sighted anyone, and two bodies dropped from the rooftop, landing with a thud on the pavement three stories down.

Looking over the railing, he saw Doug and William rushing toward the entrance, three resistance members in tow.

Ethan tried a door. It opened. He entered, crouching. He stood on a long balcony that circled the main floor of the dye house. He took a moment to orient himself to the directions of the compass, then peered through his NV scope. In the green illumination he saw several large, open-top metal cages below, holding what appeared to be large bundles of yarn. Those cages took up the majority of the space. Beyond them, he spotted the various machines involved in the dying process, including spindles, separators, and vats.

Several windows allowed rays of moonlight into the interior. Thanks to that light, the night vision picked up two green, humanlike blobs perched behind one of the machines.

"Two potential tangos on the northeast," Ethan said quietly. He wanted to check his phone to see where Doug and William were at, but was worried the light from the display would reveal him to the enemy. "Confirm your positions."

The tangos opened fire the moment the words left Ethan's mouth, and he ducked behind the balustrade, thinking the bullets were meant for him. But when no impacts or ricochets struck the metal rail, he realized the tangos targeted something else.

"We're on the southwest," Doug's voice came over the line. "Got two more tangos, westside."

Ethan aimed between the balustrade at the original two targets. He lined up his reticule and let off a burst, sliding his weapon over the second target as he did so. He ducked immediately, knowing that the muzzle flash would reveal his position to the other group of attackers. Sure enough, bullets strafed the metal above his head an instant later.

He heard more shooting below; he low-crawled along the walkway to a different spot, hoping to throw off his opponents.

The exchange of gunfire momentarily subsided; Ethan approached the rail and swept the room with his scope again. The original two tangos were down. He advanced further along the balcony, keeping his eye to the scope, continually sweeping the first floor. He concentrated on the west side.

There.

Another tango, crouched behind a machine containing several horizontal spindles.

Ethan lined up his reticule and squeezed the trigger.

The man dropped.

"Clear?" Doug said over the comm.

Ethan swept the room one last time, and then the balcony across from him. He spotted a group on the southwest.

"Confirm your position," Ethan said.

"The four of us are on the southwest," Doug sent. "Behind the machine closest to the wall."

"I see you," Ethan said. "Everything else looks clear. But there are a lot of doors and hallways down there where muj could be hiding."

"Get down here," Doug sent.

"Make sure your resistance friends don't fire on me," Ethan said.

He made his way along the walkway at a crouch, pausing occasionally to sweep his rear vector and to peer over the rail. He took the steps to the ground floor and approached the four figures that were crouched behind one of the machines.

"Coming in from your two o'clock," Ethan whispered.

In moments he'd joined up with William, Doug, and two of the resistance members. He was relieved that the latter pair hadn't opened fire on him. He didn't have to ask where the third man was—obviously one of the bodies lying on the stone floor belonged to him.

The group made its way between the machines. Ethan took the lead, followed by Doug and the two resistance fighters, with William bringing up the rear. The moonlight didn't penetrate the shadows there, so they used the infrared lights mounted on their Picatinny rails to illuminate the darkness.

Ethan did his best to follow the route the doctor had laid out for them. He approached the open doorway that was supposed to lead to the mechanical room.

He sensed motion inside it. "Take cover!"

He ducked behind a large machine.

Gunfire erupted from the doorway; bullets dinged off the two horizontal spindles at the front of the apparatus.

Ethan leaned past the edge and tossed one of the M84 flashbangs Doug had procured for them. It landed inside the entryway.

"Bang!" he told his companions. He looked down and away.

The pyrotechnic charge detonated. He hardly noticed the hundred and seventy decibel bang, which sounded more like a pop to his ears by that point in the gunfight. The flash faded almost instantly, but the grit kicked up by the grenade whipped at his cheek.

Ethan leaned past the edge of the machine, scanning the doorway through his scope. One man stood stunned and blinded in plain sight just inside. Ethan took him down.

Ethan hurried forward and pressed himself against the wall that bordered the doorway. William did the same on the opposite side.

Ethan rolled another flashbang inside. "Bang!"

He averted his gaze and exhaled slowly. When the pyrotechnic detonated, he swung his torso to aim the A4 into the mechanical room. He went high, William low.

He spotted another militant running deeper into the room, and opened fire. The man fell with a soft thud.

"Tangos down," Ethan said softly. However there were several more machines in that room where enemies could be hiding. Boilers. Heat exchangers. Water tanks and pumps. Air handlers. 

The group cautiously proceeded forward; Doug and Ethan searched behind each machine and cleared them in turn while the others provided cover. The operatives encountered no one else.

As he passed the bodies of the two he had taken down, Ethan noted that these latest men possessed thick jihadi-style beards. Ordinary mujahadeen after all. William was right.

They reached the doorway leading to the office area.

Once more Ethan and William took up positions on either side. Ethan took out a flashbang and met William's eye.

The other operative nodded.

Ethan threw the grenade. When it detonated, together the two of them aimed their rifles into the office section. Ethan went high, William low.

No obvious tangos.

Ethan waved for the others to join them. Doug had one resistance fighter remain at the entrance to the mechanical room, and left another at the entrance to the office section. Ethan turned up the volume of his Hytera radio slightly—if one of those fighters had something to say, he wanted to hear it.

He advanced. There was little light there, save for a subtle glow coming from underneath a door on the left side. He swept the remaining area using the infrared light from the PEQ-2 mounted to his A4.

Doorways lined the hall. The closer ones had small vision panels built into the upper portions of the closed doors. The more distant ones were fronted by metallic bars. The furniture had been removed from those latter rooms so that they appeared utterly empty. At the far side, the corridor branched off in two directions, leading to other offices.

The woman treated by the doctor was supposedly in the second room on the left. Beyond the door with the glow underneath it.

Ethan slid the vision panel open and looked inside. There was a figure slumped within: it took a moment for him to realize he was staring at a bald head. He couldn't tell if it belonged to a man or a woman.

Ethan kicked open the wooden door and approached the figure, who was seated at a table. It was a woman after all. Her hands were roped to the surface. An oil lamp burned brightly in the middle of the table, as if someone had been interrogating her only moments before.

"Sam?" Ethan said uncertainly.

The woman slowly looked up; her eyes were all sclera, the pupils rolled to the back of her head. It was Sam, though she was almost unrecognizable. Her sockets had sunk, her cheeks hollowed. Bruises marred her otherwise ghostly-pale features. Her fingers were raw where the nails had been removed.

Ethan rushed forward.

"We're going to get you out of here," Ethan told her.

She mouthed something in return, though no sound issued from her throat.

William joined Ethan, leaving Doug to guard the entrance; together they cut away the cords that bound her hands to the table and her feet to the chair.

Ethan started to lift her. She felt so light. So fragile. Her mouth was still moving, and when her lips brushed his ear, he finally heard what she was whispering. "They will come for you. Do not let them take you. They will come for you..."

Doug glanced over his shoulder. "Are you sure it's her?" His attention abruptly returned outside. "Shit, man down! Tangos incoming."

Doug released a rifle burst.

Her eyes rolled back down in their sockets and Sam blinked; she stared into Ethan's face with a raw fear he had rarely seen in any living being.

"They will come for you!" she said, slurring her words. "Do not let them take you!" She shoved him away with surprising strength and fell back into the chair. She turned away slightly.

"Sam, calm down," Ethan said. "It's us. Sam."

Doug released another frantic rifle burst, momentarily distracting Ethan.

"She's reaching for something!" William said.

Before Ethan could react, Sam sprayed him in the face with a small canister.

He went blind instantly, mostly because he just couldn't open his eyes. He'd never experienced such brutal pain in all his life. It was as if someone had taken a flamethrower to his face and poured sand and vinegar into his eyes, repeatedly pressing thumbtacks through the lids. His features pulsed in agony, keeping time with his pounding heart. He was choking, too.
More
than choking. Dying. Like he'd vomited and some of that caustic fluid had gotten lodged in his lungs.