Coming In Hot #2
With a deafening crash, the Cadillac sideswiped the BMW, crushing all three shocked shooters.
Simo gunned the damaged SUV, grinding against the side of the BMW, ripping the dead bodies to pieces between both vehicles.
Simo gunned the Cadillac around the BMW and raced toward Booker’s wrecked Tahoe.
As Simo approached, he yelled to the airman, “DOWN!” and ducked down as the windshield was suddenly riddled with automatic fire.
Hitting the brakes hard, he skidded near Booker’s bullet-ridden vehicle that was halfway into the culvert.
Simo opened his door, rolled out onto the hot, sandy road, and called out as he raced to the Tahoe’s door, “Mike Booker?”
“Here!”
Simo crouched and dove into the culvert next to a Marine, who was firing his Colt Commando toward the remaining shooters. “Booker! You’re hit!”
“No shit! Get Iravani out of here before they decide to kill him rather than try and take him!”
“Fuck that!” Simo turned to the airman who was still in the Cadillac and gestured him over.
“I said get Iravani out of here! That’s an order!” Mike barked.
Simo laughed. “I don’t take my orders from you. Now shut the fuck up and keep covering the rear.”
As the airman dove into the culvert, the Cadillac suddenly exploded in a ball of fire. “DOWN!” Simo yelled as the roar of the blast and heat washed over them all.
Simo wiped the soot and dirt from his eyes.
His ears were buzzing as if a hundred bees had taken residence in his head.
He shook his head to clear his mind and saw that a Marine was lying unconscious in the direct line of fire.
Without a second thought, Simo grabbed the Marine’s boot and in one heave hauled him back under cover.
Simo grabbed the Marine’s weapon, relieved the Marine of his last magazine, and turned to the airman.
“You ok?” The airman nodded as he put his fingers into his ears to try and stem the ringing. Simo pulled the now-unconscious Booker off of Iravani. “Iravani! Can you run?”
With eyes wide with fear, Amir Iravani nodded.
Simo grabbed the airman and stared hard into his blue eyes.
“Get this man down the road to where the shooters' rear vehicle was. Find any weapons and keep this man alive. Do you understand me?” The airman nodded and grabbed Iravani’s arm.
“Keep low in the culvert and go when I begin firing,” Simo ordered.
Simo turned his attention to the passenger-side front fender of the Tahoe.
He scooted past the sprawled-out Marine and peered around the corner of the bumper that was partly buried in the sand.
He saw two black-masked heads peering up behind a white Mercedes in the distance.
“Malakas…” Simo muttered. He shoved the still-unconscious Marine toward Booker, who was beginning to groan in pain.
Simo quickly checked behind him and saw that Iravani and the airman were crawling back toward the sideswiped BMW.
Checking the back end of the Tahoe, Simo suddenly heard boots shuffling softly on the sandy asphalt.
Simo popped up and fired through the broken-out windows of the Tahoe.
A split second later, shots burst forth from the Mercedes, pinging and ricocheting off the Tahoe’s engine.
Simo ducked, rolled over Booker, and found a tight space under the back wheels.
He fired off a short burst. An excruciating scream in Farsi erupted from the opposite side of the Tahoe as bullets began tearing through the Tahoe.
Simo dove toward Booker, hoping the big engine block and wheel of the SUV would continue to protect them from the rush of angry 7. 62mm AK-47 rounds.
Simo waited. Then there was a moment of silence as the Mercedes shooters reloaded.
Simo popped up and fired a short burst into the front fender of the Mercedes.
He dropped back down and, before the AKs began lighting up the Tahoe again, he heard the sound of rotors rapidly beating against the hot desert air in the far distance.
Simo pulled out the airman’s walkie-talkie as more bullets continued to rip into the Tahoe.
“This is Captain Simo Petras! We are pinned down behind the black ditched Tahoe by two or more shooters from a white Mercedes east of our position! I have an Airman Hayward making his way west with a civilian VIP. Over!”
A voice with a heavy Arabic accent erupted from his radio. “This is base command. Who is this and where is Commander Booker?”
“Booker is down and we are under fire. Get your asses over here now!” Simo demanded.
Then there was a pause from the AK-47s again.
Without another thought, Simo swiftly slung the small Colt Commando submachine gun over his shoulder, grabbed Booker's foot along with the Marine’s boot, crouched, and began rapidly dragging the two men behind him down the culvert toward the airman and Iravani.
A roar deafened Simo as a wave of heat and pressure blew him down face-first into the dry, hot sand. More bees were buzzing in his head as he fought to breathe and remain conscious.