Chapter Two #2
Wilde continued firing, methodically scanning left to right, moving farther and farther away as he spotted targets and engaged them, knowing McBride was doing the same in his sector.
He put three more of the attackers down before he noticed a flash that registered brighter than those from the rifle fire.
Glancing to the periphery of his right line of sight, he saw a rocket-propelled grenade screaming toward him.
He ducked, and his Yemeni partner in crime turned and leapt from the tower into the compound, landing five meters below with a thud and a yelp.
The rocket soared wide and to the left over the camp and into the city.
Popping up immediately so as not to lose sight of the triggerman, Wilde acquired the RPG and its owner, moved his laser to him, and fired the remainder of his magazine.
The man dropped, and Wilde depressed the M4’s magazine release with his trigger finger while simultaneously pulling a fresh mag from the chest rig on his kit.
He jammed the new magazine in, slapped the bolt release to chamber a round, and tapped the forward assist to ensure the round was properly seated on the bolt face.
The wave of attackers appeared to have died down.
He moved to key up his radio to ask McBride if he saw any squirters, when Kendall’s voice came over the net.
“We’ve got a possible VBIED here,” he said calmly, though the concern in his voice was evident.
“Heavily armored!” The sound of gunfire was heavy in the background of the transmission and notably increased across the camp.
Vehicle-borne improvised explosive device was just a fancy way of saying car bomb, and they were extremely dangerous.
Wilde raced down the tower stairs. The Yemeni soldier who had jumped was at the bottom limping around. He grabbed the man by the collar, pointed up at the tower, and yelled in Arabic, “Get back up there and pull security!” Wilde released him and turned to head toward the main gate.
At that moment, an area approximately two hundred meters in front of him, where the main gate was situated, erupted into an enormous fireball.
Wilde barely heard the explosion as the concussive blast knocked him off his feet and threw him to the ground, his face flushing from the intense heat.
He lay there dazed for several seconds as his brain took time to comprehend what had just occurred.
He stared at the area where the main gate used to be, but all he saw was fire and a plume of dark smoke funneling up into the night sky, blotting out the stars.
Wilde took a moment to compose himself as fire and debris rained down, forcing him to cover his face with his hands.
When it stopped, he took stock of his situation.
He wiggled his fingers and toes and checked himself briefly for bleeding.
While the concussive blast had knocked the wind out of him, he didn’t appear to be injured.
The Green Beret slowly climbed to his feet, shaking the cobwebs from his head.
He recovered his carbine, which had been flung from his grasp, throwing the VTAC sling over his head and inserting a fresh magazine to replace the one that had been knocked out by the explosion and the ensuing fall.
He took one step forward, steadied himself as he still felt slightly off balance, then took off running for the main gate.
Turning a corner around a tent he nearly ran into McBride and had to stop suddenly to keep from colliding with him.
They looked at each other but said nothing.
Several of their team members had been at the gate and they both knew their friends were most likely dead.
Neither man was anxious to arrive at the carnage, and yet they had to look for survivors and fight off the ground attack that was sure to follow the breach of the perimeter created by the blast. Wilde nodded subtly and McBride returned it, both men sharing an unspoken understanding as they moved out toward the gate.
As they approached the area, they encountered several of the British and Arab soldiers situated behind cover and returning fire into the smoke.
There were bodies strewn about, as well as pieces of bodies that moments earlier had been whole men, splayed out among the wreckage of metal that used to be a large vehicle.
As the two Americans joined their counterparts, a Saudi soldier turned around and Wilde immediately recognized the face of Ahmed.
He seemed to brighten at the unexpected arrival of the two Americans.
“My friends,” he said, “the situation is not good. Many enemies at the gates. The Yemeni forces are mostly dead or have run off.”
The implication was clear. They were on their own. There would be no local support.
“Fucking hell,” Wilde swore under his breath as he peered into the smoke that was wafting in their direction, stinging his eyes.
He could make out silhouettes in the distance and intermittent muzzle flashes.
The situation appeared to be grave, but it didn’t matter.
If there was even a chance that their teammates were still alive then they had to get them out.
Wilde keyed his mic. “Net call, this is Fox. All elements respond with an up.” He waited. They should have reported in order, meaning the team leadership should have called in to confirm their status. After hearing nothing for several seconds, he stated, “Fox, up.”
McBride spoke into his radio. “Bravo One, up.”
“Bravo Two, up,” came the voice of Sales from the mortar pit.
“Charlie One, up.” The voice wasn’t on the radio.
Price stumbled toward them through the smoke, coughing.
He was covered head to toe in black soot, and somehow the bullets that were still cracking through the air were missing him.
McBride popped up from behind cover and grabbed him, dragging the engineer sergeant behind a barrier.
“Holy shit, brother,” McBride said. “Where the hell were you?” He began conducting a medical assessment, looking for wounds.
The process was always the same. Check for massive hemorrhaging, a clear airway, normal respiration and circulation, any head injuries, and hypothermia.
The acronym MARCH was easy to remember and addressed the sequence through which to render lifesaving treatment to maximize the chances of survival in a combat situation.
Price jerked a thumb behind him. “Tower,” he coughed. He had been in the tower by the main gate. Wilde glanced past him and couldn’t make out anything that remotely resembled a tower.
“It’s a miracle you’re still alive!” he said.
“It’s more than that,” McBride added in disbelief. “There’s not a fucking scratch on him!”
“Born lucky,” Price said through gritted teeth, obviously rocked by the explosion.
“Better lucky than smart,” McBride joked. Price stuck up his middle finger in response.
“Deltas One and Two up,” the message came delayed from the medics. “We have our hands full in the med shed.”
Wilde waited. Echoes One and Two should have been the last to report in, but once again there was silence. He turned to Ahmed, who was returning fire with his H&K G3 rifle.
“Do you think you could take him to the med shed?” Wilde nodded toward Price, concerned that he could have internal injuries that weren’t visible.
Ahmed stopped firing. “Of course, my friend. It would be my pleasure.” He moved behind a concrete Jersey barrier toward his charge.
“Let me hang and provide cover,” Price argued. “I’m good for it. Still in the fight.”
Wilde looked him over, then nodded. “Fair enough.”
Price ejected the magazine from his rifle and checked to ensure it was full before returning it to the magazine well and then making sure a round was loaded in the chamber. He looked up and nodded, signaling that he was ready to lay down cover fire.
Wilde yelled over to McBride, “Tim, you ready to do this?”
He didn’t have to explain that they were going to bound to cover while pressing directly into the direction of contact to end the attack by gaining the initiative while simultaneously searching for their teammates.
The two men had worked together long enough.
This was not their first rodeo, nor was it their first mass-casualty event together.
“Fuck yeah, man,” Tim responded. “Let’s go get our boys.”
Wilde nodded and yelled to Price. “We’re going in. Cover us!”
Price nodded, sighted in the closest enemy position, and started laying down suppressive fire.
McBride fired off a few shots before jumping up and sprinting several meters to a new position of cover. “Set!” he yelled as he began engaging the enemy. Wilde got to his feet and sprinted, bounding past McBride’s position to a spot where he could appropriately cover his friend.
“Good to go!” he shouted, and McBride moved up. The two continued the maneuver for several iterations, closing the distance with the enemy while at the same time reducing their numbers. Finally, they made it to a recognizable casualty.
Bobby Long, the junior engineer sergeant, lay on the ground behind cover.
His kit and helmet were still on, and his rifle was slung across his chest. The neatness of his gear was in strange contrast to his right leg, which was missing below the knee, and his left leg, which had a visible gash from a thigh wound.
His left arm was attached, but somewhat mangled, as if it had been momentarily caught in a woodchipper.
His right arm was perfectly intact, his still-working hand tightly clutching his pistol to his chest. To his credit, Long had managed to apply a tourniquet to both legs but not his arm.
Wilde keyed his mic and shouted, “We need a medic up here now! I have Charlie Two in need of immediate medical assistance!” McBride sprinted over to them.