Chapter Forty-Nine
Tim was pissed. He had started out concerned, grown to anxious, and worked all the way up to angry.
But now he was pissed. He hadn’t talked to Nate in over a year because of a stupid grudge, but in the last week he had remembered that the man was his best friend and brother.
He enjoyed giving Shane shit, but the reality was that he loved him like a brother too.
And he would be damned if he was going to let some shithead terrorists take more of his family away from him.
When they set out on this trip, he had been excited.
It was exhilarating to be doing what he did best. Tim didn’t realize how much he had missed the action until they were back in it.
Like he had explained to Ana, war was in his blood and he enjoyed doing it, though not when his friends’ lives were at stake.
The calculus was different now. The thrill was gone, and the former weapons sergeant was left only with steely determination and a seething rage.
Wally, Ana, and Tim had followed the tracks to Al Kharkhir.
The group stopped north of the city, where they stashed the vehicle along with Ana, and Tim told her to stay put.
They armed her with a rifle and told her to fire on anyone that wasn’t them.
There was no way of knowing if the village was friendly, so if they weren’t back by sunrise she was to get in the vehicle and drive to Oman, and she was not to stop for anyone or anything.
Then Tim and Wally returned to the tire tracks and followed them on foot.
It was now dark, but they could see them easily enough while dismounted.
They turned off the main road a few miles east of the city and headed south across the border into Yemen.
Several miles off in the distance they could see the glow of a fire, and the tracks ran straight toward it, imprinted on a dirt road.
They stopped following the tracks and made their way slowly toward the light source.
It was fortunate that they had been careful, or they would have walked right into a pair of men who were lying nearly a mile away from their intended destination.
Had the men not been undisciplined the duo might have been caught.
It was Wally who first noticed the smell of cigarette smoke, not being a smoker himself.
As they cautiously crept up on the source of the smell, they heard men talking in hushed tones.
Circling around they found two men leaning against an embankment keeping watch in the direction from which Tim and Wally had just come.
Lookouts. Or in military terms, a Listening Post/Observation Post, or LP/OP.
These guys were more organized than expected, and whoever was in charge must have had at least a basic understanding of military tactics.
Tim suddenly wished he had a silencer. Any gunshots here would alert everyone for miles around, and they couldn’t afford to lose the element of surprise.
Tim turned back to look at Wally, who nodded.
The men were out of arm’s reach of their weapons and had their backs to them.
Slowly the two special operators crept up, Tim taking the left side, Wally the right.
They walked as silently as possible, attempting to make no noise.
Other than the men chatting it was deathly quiet, and inevitably Murphy’s Law took hold and Tim’s foot made a crunching noise on the sand.
The men stopped and started to turn, but they were too slow.
Both Tim and Wally lunged at their prey.
Wally wrapped his man up in a choke hold and Tim smashed his man’s head against the ditch before doing the same.
They squeezed, cutting off both blood flow and air supply as the significantly weaker men struggled.
They waited for the movement to stop before putting all their weight behind the action and wrenching the necks at awkward angles.
The men fell to the ground dead, their bodies concealed in the ditch.
There were certain to be more lookouts, but Tim and Wally assumed that after passing this guard position they were likely inside the outer perimeter of the camp.
It was strange and uncharacteristic for terrorists to have guards out this far, and Tim wondered if it had anything to do with their prisoners.
He hoped it meant they were on the right track.
As they approached the fire, Tim could clearly make out several tents.
There was a group of men sitting around the fire, and he saw a guard walk by with a rifle.
They paused and watched as the guard made several rounds through the camp.
It was late, and Tim assumed that most of the fighters would be sleeping by now.
One of the terrorists got up from the fire and walked into the center of the camp.
Tim could barely make out the silhouette of the man as he reared back his leg and kicked something.
He heard a grunt, followed by the sound of the man laughing.
It took a second for Tim to process that he must be staring at Nate or Shane.
“That’s got to be them,” he said. Tim’s blood was boiling.
“Easy, mate.” Wally laid a hand on his arm.
“I’m good,” Tim said, steel in his voice. “I’ve got a plan.”
“I’m all ears.”
“You pull up a little closer and watch from this direction. You’ve got overwatch. If things go south, you unload on that campfire and eliminate those bastards.”
“Right. And you?”
“I’m going to creep around to the east. I’ll take out the sentry and then go free our boys. These fuckers should all be high on khat and nice and dopey by now. Hopefully we can get in and out without being seen. If not, go loud.”
“Good luck,” Wally said.
“I’ve got all the luck I need right here,” he said, pulling Nate’s Yarborough knife from its scabbard.
“You’d better,” Wally said. “If you cock this up and I’ve got to come and rescue you too, I’m gonna be pissed,” he said, with a grin.
“That’s nothing,” Tim said. “Imagine how mad Ana’s gonna be when she has to come rescue all four of us.” The two men bumped fists and Tim set off.
He slowly crept around to the east of the camp, taking fifteen minutes to get in place.
As he did, he used the sling to maneuver the AK-47 onto his back.
He wouldn’t need it unless things went wrong, and then he would need it immediately.
He gripped the knife in his hand. Stealth would be key on this one, and it gave him an advantage.
The terrorists probably never dreamed he would come right into their own camp to kill them.
The other advantage he had was khat. A flowering plant that was common in Africa and the Arabian Peninsula, khat was a drug that, when the leaves were chewed, produced euphoria and hyperalertness.
At least initially, but after a long evening of chewing the stuff, the users would crash and become lethargic.
This was the edge he was counting on. Everyone but the guards would be on the stuff, and perhaps even them.
Tim watched the sentry go around twice more to get a feel for his routine, and then he placed himself in a narrow, dried streambed and covered himself with dirt.
He was certain the man wouldn’t be able to see him anyway, but he took the extra precaution.
Like clockwork, the sentry came back around, lazily doing his rounds.
As soon as he passed his position, Tim slowly got to his feet and silently closed the distance.
From behind he put his hand over the man’s mouth and plunged Nate’s knife deep into his trachea.
The guard began to spasm wildly while his killer twisted the knife and ripped it out to one side, simultaneously dropping with him to the ground.
When the man stopped twitching, Tim dragged his lifeless body over to a ditch and unceremoniously deposited the still-warm corpse in it.
He stopped to listen for signs that the commotion had raised any alarms. It hadn’t, so he continued between two tents toward the dark center of the camp.
As he was passing one of the tents, the flap flew open and a very surprised man came face-to-face with him, dick in hand and ready to urinate.
He must have just awoken and did not seem to fully process the big man with the red beard covered in blood, or otherwise he thought he was having a nightmare.
Either way, he made no movement or sound, he simply stared, eyes wide in shock.
Wasting no time, Tim plunged the knife up and into the man’s jaw, effectively pinning his mouth shut.
The man made a low, guttural moan and sputtered blood in Tim’s face.
Tim jerked him backward toward the exterior of the camp and removed the knife before rapidly plunging it into the terrorist’s throat several times.
He deposited him with his deceased buddy, slightly amused that he was starting his own personal terrorist corpse collection.
This time he paused before passing the tents, once again intent on making sure no one had heard the noise, as well as not wanting to run into any more terrorists with tiny bladders.
He skulked toward the center of the camp and saw a metal pole with two men tied to it.
As he got closer, he recognized the shapes of his friends.
“Nate,” he said in a hushed tone as he ran up, and Nate stirred, his eyes opening. He looked long and hard at his friend and then smiled.
“Took you long enough,” Nate said, though the relief on his face was obvious. Now it was Tim’s turn to smile.
“Sorry, traffic.” He set about cutting their restraints, and the jostling woke up Shane.
“What’s up, man?” he said, groggily coming to. “What brings you out to the desert?”
“The sunrises mostly. Speaking of which, we need to get the fuck out of here before Nate’s girlfriend leaves with our wheels.”
Tim helped both his friends to their feet and led them back the way he had come.
A terrorist exited the tent opposite the one Tim’s second victim had been sleeping in.
He did not appear tired, and seemed to have an air of authority about him.
He looked stunned to see the prisoners escaping with a third man whose face was splattered with blood, but unlike his underling, he didn’t flinch.
He opened his mouth to yell while simultaneously reaching for a pistol in his belt.
He was closest to Shane who, despite his head injury, reached out with lightning-quick reflexes and punched the man square in the jaw, instantly knocking him out.
Nate reached out and caught his slumping body as Shane reached down and picked up the pistol.
Then they moved to deposit him with the other guards.
“Son of a bitch,” Shane said, staring at the pistol as Nate and Tim laid the unconscious man in the ditch.
“What?” Nate asked. In response, Shane held up the pistol.
“Glock 19.”
“Cool,” Tim said. “I’ve seen one before.”
“No, the serial number. I know it.”
“What?” Tim asked. “I think your head injury is getting to you.”
“No, dummy, I was the Charlie, remember?” Aside from building things and blowing them up, the engineers on the team were also responsible for keeping track of all the team property. “This was John’s pistol.”
“Are you sure?” Nate asked. John Kendall had been their team sergeant, and he and Nate had been very close.
“Trust me,” Shane said. “I still have that property book memorized.”
“Motherfucker.” Tim rolled the man over, Nate’s Yarborough knife at the ready.
“That’s Omar,” Nate said, finally getting a clear view of the man’s face. “The leader of this group.”
“Good. It’s a twofer,” Tim responded, throwing the man to the ground.
“Wait.” Nate put a hand on his arm. Tim paused to look, and Nate held out his other hand, palm up. John had been his friend. Tim handed over the knife. Nate looked down at the blade and smiled as he seemed to recognize it. Tim felt that there was a sense of justice about the whole affair.
Nate knelt down, grabbed a fistful of Omar’s hair, and yanked it back while simultaneously slapping him in the face to bring him back around.
The terrorist had unseeing eyes that searched for recognition, typical of someone who had blacked out.
Finally, he recognized his situation and made a motion to yell but Tim clamped a bloody hand over his mouth.
“You killed our friends,” Nate said to the man in Arabic.
“And that,” he nodded toward the gun in Shane’s hand, “belonged to one of them.” Without further ceremony, he took his Yarborough knife and stabbed it up into Omar’s rib cage and into his heart, watching intently as his body spasmed and the life left his widened eyes.
Satisfied, he took his Omega watch off the man’s wrist and dropped the lifeless corpse into the ditch.
Nate said nothing, and Shane silently handed him the pistol.
“For our fallen brothers,” Tim said solemnly, looking down at the dead AQ leader. “Now we need to move.”
They circled the camp back to Wally’s position.
“Fuck me,” Wally said in a low voice when they arrived. “It’s good to see you fellas. Everyone okay?”
Nate grabbed Wally by the shoulder. “We’re good, Wally. Thanks for coming.”
“Anytime,” Wally answered.
After a brief reunion, they all headed north across the border toward the northern end of Al Kharkhir, careful to give the town a wide birth as they skirted around it.
It would be daylight soon, and now that they had the band back together, Tim didn’t want Ana to be caught alone when the sun came up.