Fog of War (Justin Hall # 3) (24 page)

“The house,” Justin said. “We’ll take it, then make our way to the warehouse.” He pointed in that direction, one hundred feet to his right, then returned his gaze to the house.

Yuliya peered through the thinning dust veil. “Justin, look.”

A group of four men were running away from the warehouse. They were carrying large weapons on their shoulders. Long green tubes.

“Those are probably SA-24s. Heat-seeking missiles,” Justin said in a tense voice.

“One of those will bring the chopper down.”

“We still need the choppers’ cover.”

The helicopter crew also must have also spotted the men with the missiles. A steady barrage from above stopped their advancement, albeit for a few seconds. Two of the men kept crawling forward. Bullets kicked up dirt around them, but they were very determined to complete their task.

Justin pointed his AK and let off a quick burst. One of the men toppled, along with his missile. Yuliya fired at the second one, and he fell face first to the ground.

Their shots gave away their position. The return fire from the closest house was vicious and intense. Justin and Yuliya stayed down, behind the rubble. Chunks of concrete and clods of dirt rained over their bodies. An explosion shook the area in front of them, blasting rocks and sand over their heads.

Justin peered through a small opening in the wrecked wall serving as their cover. He saw a man in front of the house preparing to throw a grenade at them. He aimed his AK and put a bullet in the man’s chest. He collapsed just as the grenade exploded by his feet.

The fighters on the roof turned their machine gun toward Justin’s position. Before they could open fire, a missile from the first Apache slammed into the house. A second one struck the roof, the smoke and the dust covering everything.

“The choppers have noticed us, and that we’re on their side,” Justin shouted over the continuous gunfire.

Yuliya nodded. She fired at an insurgent setting up his position along the opposite wall, about a hundred feet away. The man fell on his back, his last act on earth.

“Back to our old plan,” Justin said. “First, we clear the house.” He replaced his empty magazine with a new one. “Then, we attack the warehouse.”

Chapter Seventeen

Twenty-five miles northeast of Sa’dah, Yemen

September 27, 4:55 p.m. local time

McClain reluctantly authorized Carrie and Nathan to engage in the firefight only for the purpose of rescuing Justin and to avoid a diplomatic nightmare if Mossad helicopters were shot down by Canadians. Carrie understood the order to mean she could use all necessary force to save Justin’s life. If all insurgents were killed in the process, that would be an unexpected bonus.

Carrie and Nathan abandoned their jeep about a mile away from the walls of the insurgents’ camp. Most of the fighters were engaged in the all-out battle against the helicopter gunships, so their advancement through the scrubland drew only sporadic fire. They saved their ammunition until they got closer, to make every shot count.

Bullets rang dangerously close when they crossed into the two hundred yards barren strip next to the wall. Carrie responded with quick bursts. She ran to secure a position next to a couple of rocks sticking out of the uneven ground, one of the few bits of natural cover. Nathan slid next to her.

“All good?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

A volley of five missiles ripped the sky. Moments later, they slammed into the walls and turrets. A shower of cement chunks rained over the men defending those areas. The gunfire hammering Carrie’s position ceased.

“Go, go, go,” she shouted.

They both ran toward the smoldering ruins, Carrie leading the way. A grenade exploded, raising a geyser of sand that barely reached her feet. Bullets flew over her head. She responded by firing blindly through the cloak of smoke and dust.

An RPG slammed a few yards away, blasting rock and debris shrapnel behind them.

Carrie stopped, crouched.

“Nathan,” she yelled over the deafening battle noises.

“I’m OK,” he replied.

Carrie resumed running. She fired quick bursts, peering through the clearing smoke at moving silhouettes. A few more steps. The walls appeared. The explosions had caused a large part, causing a huge gap. Carrie lay flat by a heap of debris and reloaded her AK. A step behind her, Nathan did the same.

One of the helicopters banked toward the hill. A half a dozen RPGs gave chase. They were close behind, but all exploded without hitting it. The other helicopter completed a full circle and began to drop over the camp.

Then a missile pierced the sky. It was flying fast. Very fast. Screaming toward its target, the second Apache. Carrie could hardly track its trajectory of gray smoke. The helicopter dove, then swerved hard to the left. The missile followed the pilot’s maneuvers.

“Heat-seeking,” Carrie muttered.

The helicopter swung to the right, then flew straight for a second or two, the missile closing in.

“Drop, drop, now!” Carrie shouted.

Two more seconds, then the Apache suddenly took a swift nosedive. The missile continued in a straight line and exploded a moment later. It was too far away for its shrapnel to cause any damage to the helicopter.

Carrie turned to Nathan when two more heat-seeking missiles streaked toward the second helicopter. The pilot noticed them a second too late, but he still dodged the first by arrowing upward. He pulled fast to the left, escaping the second missile, then dove toward the ground. The missiles were still right behind him. The helicopter came close, very close to the ground, in a vertical fall.

The first missile smashed into the ground, exploding by the Apache’s tail rotor. The helicopter soared a few dozen feet as the second missile tore through the middle of the flying debris and exploded a moment later.

“That guy’s excellent,” Carrie said.

A bullet hit inches away from her face. The small burst of dirt smacked against the right side of her face. She dipped further below, behind the broken cinder blocks covered with sand and dirt.

Nathan fired a long barrage, then stopped to reload. Carrie crawled to her left and peered over the debris. Three insurgents were positioned next to the back wall of the warehouse, behind a jeep. Two others were shooting from around the corner.

Carrie raised her AK. She put an insurgent in her sight and fired a single shot. The man’s head exploded. She dropped her sight to the left, firing a two-round burst. The second insurgent took two bullets in his chest. The third one disappeared at the rear of the jeep.

She withdrew behind the debris pile. An RPG crashed into the wall to her left. Cinder blocks fell down, rolling close to her feet. She spun around fast to avoid getting crushed.

Nathan dropped to his left knee and squeezed off a few rounds. “Clear,” he shouted.

Carrie climbed over the debris, and ran to the left, entering the camp through a gap in the wall. “The shed.” She pointed at the small structure about ten feet ahead.

Nathan fired again while Carrie crawled over the sand and the debris. Once she put her back against the shed, she fired a few more rounds to cover Nathan. “I’m out,” she said when Nathan joined her.

“Here.” Nathan handed her one of his fresh magazines.

“Thanks.” Carrie slammed it in into her AK.

Three missiles streaked into the sky toward one of the helicopters. Its pilot dropped to the left, then veered sharply to the right, but the missiles were still closing in. A cluster of decoy flares burst out from the helicopter, painting the sky bright with their yellow sparks. The flares—designed to evade heat-seeking missiles by giving them another target with a higher heat signature—tricked the first two missiles. They exploded yards away from the helicopter’s tail.

The third missile made it through the flares, its gray trail following the Apache. The helicopter plunged to the left, then released another cluster of flares. They did their job, and the missile struck them, blowing into millions of fiery shards.

Someone fired an RPG toward the same helicopter from the opposite direction. The pilot swerved around, but not fast enough. The RPG struck its tail boom. The Apache jerked upward, then dove a dozen or so feet. It was not a solid hit, as the tail seemed intact. Its rotor blades were spinning. Black smoke billowed around it. Carrie thought she saw flames leaping from the helicopter’s tail.

“Chopper’s hit,” she told Nathan.

He was covering the opposite corner and could not see the firefight in the sky.

“Is it going down?”

“No, I don’t think so. Well . . .”

“What?”

“Chopper’s going down.”

The Apache spun around, slow at first, then faster, losing attitude at a rapid pace. The black smoke had grown thicker. The pilot seemed to steady the helicopter, but just for a moment. It resumed its nosedive under gravity’s pull. The tail rotor stopped working, then broke off. The helicopter dropped over the camp, twirling toward the clearing. Its main rotor blades slowed down. Then the helicopter touched down.

It turned over and rolled on its side. The rotor blades snapped like twigs, fragments flying around like arrows. The crash stirred up a storm of sand and debris, hiding the scene from Carrie’s view.

The other helicopter circled the camp and fired a series of missiles. One ripped through one of the houses. Its blast wave shattered the windows of the a few truck parked next to it. The man hiding behind the jeep jumped to his feet and began to run. Carrie aimed her AK and shot him in the leg. Her second bullet tore through his body. He was dead before he hit the ground.

Another missile blew up a crater around the corner of the warehouse. Two bodies flew through the air, crashing against the jeep. One of them stayed still. The other struggled to get to his knees, but Carrie knocked him cold with a bullet to his head.

She waited, huddled behind the wall. No shots came toward their positions. The helicopter was descending over the clearing.

“The chopper’s rescuing the crew,” Carrie said. “We’ve got to move in now.”

Nathan nodded. “Yeah. I hope we’ll find Justin soon.”

“So do I.”

* * *

Justin saw the RPG hitting the first helicopter and the billowing smoke, then both helicopters disappeared from his view. After a few moments, he realized one of the Apaches had crashed, and the other was providing cover for the survivors.
If there are any survivors.

“We’ve lost our air support,” he said to Yuliya.

They were hunkered down behind a small truck parked in between the houses. Intense fire from the second house had slowed their progress until a missile from one of the helicopters almost leveled the entire structure. All the machine guns fell silent. The only gun reports were AKs, firing a constant torrent of bullets from the warehouse.

“I don’t think the gunmen know about the crashed helicopter,” Yuliya replied. “But they’ll figure it out soon.”

“We can’t wait.”

Justin reloaded his AK, then secured four magazines in his chest rig and a small pistol in his shoulder holster over his bulletproof vest, a new Russian model Yuliya had given him. He cleaned sweat and dirt from his face, then gave Yuliya a couple of grenades. They had secured their new arsenal from the dead insurgents.

“Cover me,” he said.

He removed the pin from a grenade and tossed it as far as he could toward the warehouse. The explosion came, then Yuliya threw a grenade. Justin ran toward the warehouse, firing his AK in full automatic mode. A third grenade exploded at the warehouse entrance. Someone began to slide the door, trying to close it. Justin squeezed off a couple of shots. He was sure he hit the man, but the door closed with a loud bang.

Two more grenade explosions covered the warehouse with another dust cloud. Justin stopped near one of the side entrances, then threw himself against the warehouse wall. He peered through the smoke and the dust.
What? It can’t be.
Carrie was pressing forward toward the other end of the warehouse. Nathan was providing suppressive fire.
Are my eyes playing tricks on me? Carrie and Nathan are here?

Two bullets struck the wall next to his feet. Justin spun around and raised his AK. A barrage coming from Yuliya’s position cut through the van where the shots had come from. Justin also fired a few rounds at the van, while Yuliya raced to the warehouse.

“I think we have friendlies on the other side of the warehouse,” Justin said.

“Who? The helo crews?” Yuliya reloaded her AK.

“Negative. Carrie and Nathan. My partners.”

“Your partners? You’re sure?”

Justin hesitated. “No, not sure. Maybe I’m seeing things, wishing they were here.”

Gunshots rang from inside the warehouse. They ducked down as the glass from one of the windows exploded to their left.

“No time to think about it,” Yuliya said.

“Let’s just . . . let’s just keep our eyes open for friendlies.”

She shot him a sideways glance. “Fine.”

“Left side door. Grenades, then we hide behind the wall.” He pointed to a large opening in the wall surrounding the camp.

Yuliya nodded.

They walked with their backs flat against the wall, Justin two steps ahead of Yuliya. About thirty feet away from the door, he pulled out a grenade and let it fly toward the door. They dashed toward the wall opposite to the door, maybe ten feet away from them.

The explosion sounded much closer than it really was. Steel fragments and shrapnel pinged against the cinder block wall. One or two found their way through the opening, flying over their heads. Loud shouts and curses came from inside the warehouse, followed by gunshots. Justin waited a few moments, then pulled the safety pin of his next grenade. He heaved it overhead at the door. This blast was stronger than the first, judging by the wave of shrapnel whining of/off the wall. This time, there was no return fire.

“All clear?” Yuliya asked.

Justin crawled to his right and fired the rest of his magazine at the gaping door. A low growl confirmed he hit his mark. “Door’s clear.”