Sunrise: Wrath & Righteousness: Episode Ten (12 page)

Azadeh would be dressed in local garb. Bono and Sam were dressed as Saudi guards. They were to always stay beside her as they dragged her to the king. They’d never told her what she was to say to him, and Sam couldn’t have been more proud when she had come up with what she had said about the prince.

The entire operation had only one goal in mind; to confuse the king long enough for them to get close to him without getting shot. Once they were beside him, the hidden U.S. soldiers would attack. Confusion, death and fear would follow. The king would, of course, be evacuated to his waiting helicopter. The three of them would go with him. Once inside the helicopter, well, they didn’t know. One problem at a time, Bono had told them after explaining the unfinished plan.

*******

King al-Rahman stepped away from Sam and lifted his handgun, pointing the shiny muzzle right at his forehead. Sam backed up, lifting his hands in surrender while bowing in subjection, still in role. Al-Rahman kept the gun on him. The bullets continued flying all around him, explosions on every side.

“Who are you?” Al-Rahman demanded in a deadly voice. “I want to know before you die!”

A burst of Saudi machine gun fire erupted from the wall. The American soldiers’ position in the village home had finally been identified. A hail of bullets were fired into the house from no less than twenty-five positions, destroying the home in a burst of dust and metal. The king hesitated while the rain of bullets blew the home to pieces. Seeing the destruction out of the corner of his eye, Sam felt sick, knowing the first member of his team had been killed. “No Slapper!” he almost cried, the young soldier’s face bursting into his mind. The king followed his eyes, reading the pain on his face.

In that moment’s hesitation, Sam reached out for the king’s gun. Grabbing al-Rahman’s wrist, Sam snapped it. The bone almost cracked in two. Screaming, al-Rahman dropped to his knees in pain and shock, his hand flopping worthlessly beside him. Sam grabbed the handgun and twisted it from al-Rahman’s fingers.

Turning, he screamed to Bono. “LET’S GO!”

*******

Bono ran toward the prince. Falling into the mud beside him, he commanded “Come with me!”

The prince looked at him, his eyes wild, his hands still trembling in the mud.

“Come with me!” Bono repeated.

The prince didn’t understand. Why didn’t the guard speak in Arabic? What was he saying? Was he threatening to kill him! What was he to do?

“Come with me!” Bono repeated, wishing frantically he could think of the right words to speak in Arabic. “We’ve only got a few seconds. A few seconds! Come! Come with me!”

The prince pushed against the wall and hid his face.

“
Tamanina
,” Bono shouted. No, no, that was wrong. That meant
don’t move
.

He tried again. It didn’t matter. Unlike Sam, he’d never picked up Arabic. He started gesturing with his hands.

The prince watched and listened. He realized the soldier was speaking English but he didn’t know what he meant. From his gestures, he understood the soldier wanted him to go with him into al-Rahman’s helicopter, which seemed like a stupid thing to do!

Pushing himself to his feet, he threw a fistful of mud into Bono’s face and turned and ran.

*******

The king was crying to his guards now. “Help me! This guard is an American! KILL HIM NOW, YOU FOOLS!” Most of his words were lost in the roar of the helicopter’s engines and the constant snap of machinegun fire. Another missile explosion rocked the village from the American positions in the hills. The king flinched from the exploding rocks around him.

Sam grabbed the king by the arm and started pulling, feeling the broken wrist giving way inside his grip. Reaching for his other hand, he dragged the king again.

Al-Rahman fought and kicked him, screaming all the time. Sam tucked the king’s handgun in his pants. They were almost to the helicopter. Al-Rahman cried in fear and rage again.

The last surviving member of the RSF heard his king’s cries. He turned from the battle to see a fellow soldier dragging the king toward the helicopter. It was the obvious thing to do. Get the king to safety and get the helicopter in the air. He watched a second, then turned back to the fight.

The king struggled to get away from Sam, using his weight to pull away from him. “KILL HIM! HE’S AN AMERICAN!” he cried again.

Having lost his primary weapon, al-Rahman reached for his ankle gun.

Sam saw him moving for the hidden weapon. He saw the glint of metal, sensing the flash of a weapon in al-Rahman’s hand. Slamming his fist into the king’s face, he felt al-Rahman’s cheek and eye socket crunch under the raw force of his fist. Al-Rahman’s breath huffed out of him and he rolled over. His eyes rolled back. His tongue extended. He body went completely limp.  

The RSF commander saw his king go down and turned in time to see the soldier slam his fist into his king’s face. For a moment, he didn’t move, too stunned to react. One of his soldiers hit the king? Impossible!
The king! The Royal family.
Men had been killed for looking at him wrong, for whispering in his presence, for stammering as they talked.

And this soldier had just hit him!

It was unthinkable!

It was impossible!

No Saudi would ever, under any circumstances, even think of touching the king!

Which meant the soldier wasn’t Saudi.

The soldier turned his gun on Sam.

*******

Bono raced after the prince, sweeping him up in his arms. The child beat upon him, slamming his fists into Bono’s face and neck with every ounce of his strength he had. Bono ducked his head and started running toward the waiting helicopter.

“
Áwqafa! Áwqafa
!” the young boy screamed but Bono didn’t understand.

They were almost to the helicopter. Azadeh was sprawled out on the ground. “You’re clear!” he screamed to her as he rushed by. “GET IN THE HELICOPTER!”

Azadeh opened her eyes and looked around. After giving the signal, she had jerked back and screamed while throwing her hands to her chest, bursting the red paint capsule sown into her robe. After falling, with the gunfire all around her, she’d done exactly what they had told her: pretend that she was dead.

Hearing Bono calling to her, she lifted her head to see him rush toward the waiting helicopter, the young prince in his arms.

Dead men, smoke and blood were all around her. Bullets were smashing into the mud. Howls of pain filled the air like crying demons.

Crawling to her knees, she looked for Sam.

*******

On the other side of the enormous helicopter, Sam watched the Saudi RSF guard turn and point his machinegun at him. Sam also turned his weapon, matching the Saudi’s movements almost exactly. In that instant, time stood still. Their weapons pointed at each other, the two men stared. The Saudi fired first, holding onto the trigger, the weapon in automatic mode, sending a hail of piercing lead. Sam could actually
feel
the bullets coming at him. He fired his own weapon, sensing his gun recoil from the discharge of the empty shell, then pulled again, a two-shot burst. The Saudi bullets tore into his body, cutting through muscle and bone. The Saudi’s neck snapped back and he fell over, having been shot twice in the head. Another RSF soldier appeared beside the first one. Sam moved his gun and fired again, blowing the guard’s chest apart. His eyes darted left and right in horror—no more guards were close enough for him to shoot—then he dropped to his knees beside the unconscious king, feeling a spring of blood flowing down his chest. For a moment he felt nothing but the flowing blood, then a burning pain spread across his back and neck. His right leg was on fire, the second bullet having passed very near the femur. He tried to breathe, but couldn’t. He had no more strength to stand. He rolled on the ground to his good shoulder and looked up at the sky. The day grew dark around him and he slowly closed his eyes.

*******

Neil Brighton dropped into the mud beside his son and took him in his arms. He held his head in his lap and brushed his hair back, wiping the mud out of his eyes. In desperation, he turned to Saint Michael. “What am I supposed to do?!” he cried.

Saint Michael took Neil’s hand in his. “It’s going to be OK,” he said. Reaching out, he touched the mortal lightly, putting his hands across the unconscious soldier’s brow then looked up at his father. “Keep your faith. He needs that more than anything.”

Neil Brighton started crying. Cradling his son, he held his head against his chest. “Not now, Sam. Not yet. It’s not your time. You have to take care of your mother. She still needs you. You have to be there for your brothers. You’ve got to fight to stay here, son. You’ve got to fight to stay here in this mortal world.”

Neil felt another man standing there beside him. Lifting his head, he looked up at Sam.

His son knelt down beside him. “It’s OK, Dad,” he said.

*******

Gunshots splattered around the helicopter. The young prince kept beating on Bono’s face and chest, crying to be let go.

Bono was almost to the helicopter when he stopped running in his tracks. It was as if someone had grabbed him by the throat and screamed, “
STOP AND TURN AROUND!
”

He turned in time to see Sam roll over onto the mud, the king beside him.

Bono almost dropped the child. He stood there, frozen in his tracks, paralyzed with indecision. The prince still screaming in his arms, he took two steps toward Sam, then stopped again. To help Sam, he had to let the prince down. But if he let him down, the prince would run. If he ran, he would be killed. The prince’s only chance of survival depended on staying next to him.

The little boy didn’t understand that he was there to help him. He had to do what he was told! 

Bono
had
to find a way to communicate with him. If he could just speak to him, the boy would know.

But he couldn’t speak in Arabic.

How could he communicate with the child?

*******

Saint Michael moved toward him, his face peaceful and full of light. In an instant, he was beside the soldier. “You have the Spirit,” he whispered in Bono’s ear. “You have the gift of attending angels. You have the gift of tongues. Have faith and let me help you.”

Bono seemed to turn and look at him.

*******

Without any further thought, Bono began speaking to the child in Arabic, a language he didn’t know. “
American jundi,
” Bono told the prince in perfect Arabic.
“I’m an American soldier sent to save you. You have to trust me! I’m here to help you. Now run and get inside the helicopter. It is safe there. I will follow. Listen to me or both of us will die here. Do you understand?”

The prince looked at him in amazement.

“I’m an American soldier. I’m here to help you. Do you understand?”

The prince nodded hesitantly. “
I understand
,” he said in Arabic.

“Go. Get in the chopper!”

The prince nodded once again.

Bono put the boy down and he ran toward the helicopter’s steps. Azadeh was in the helicopter now and she reached out for the prince. Grabbing his hand, she pulled him up the steps, the blades spinning furiously over their heads.

Bono ran to Sam and dropped beside him. The muddy field beneath him was soaked in blood. To his left, the king lay completely motionless though he sometimes moaned in pain.

Bono looked around in a panic. They were running out of time! No less than forty soldiers were gathering around him. Once they saw him, they would know. He couldn’t hide his intentions any longer. He had to get Sam inside the helicopter. He had to get al-Rahman inside the helicopter, too.

But there was no time.

The plan was falling apart.

Dallas Houston had been right.

Neil Brighton stood and looked down at his son. Sam reached out to touch him, but Neil pulled quickly back.

“Dad . . . ?” Sam questioned.

Neil smiled at him. “Do you want to stay?” he asked.

Sam thought for a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t think I’m finished yet.”

Neil smiled at him proudly. “No, I don’t think that you are.”

Sam looked at the blood and carnage all around him. Smoke and spouts of mud, even passing bullets, hung suspended in the air. Time was irrelevant to them. Sam looked down at Bono who was crying over him.

His dad followed his eyes. “He’s a good friend,” he said.

“He is, Dad.”

“If you have but a few good friends in this life, then you are lucky.”

Sam reached down as if to touch Bono’s head, then looked up at his dad. “All of us are lucky. We have each other. We have the Gospel. I figure that’s all we could ever ask for.”

The two were quiet for a moment until Neil Brighton said, “Will you tell Sara that I love her? And tell Luke and Ammon, too? They’ve got so much to look forward to. Their lives are just beginning. So many reasons to be happy and to feel joy. And if they do it right, life gets better. Will you tell them that for me?”

Sam closed his eyes and seemed to lift his head toward the sun. “It feels so good to be here with you, Dad. There’s so much I want to ask you. So much I want to talk about. You were taken from us too early. We didn’t have enough time together.”

Neil Brighton nodded slowly. “There’ll be more of that,” he said. “I promise you, son, there’s plenty time ahead.”

Sam looked down and watched Bono place his hands upon his body.

“I’ll see you soon,” his father told him.