'What's that, sir?' Dave Leibowitz asked.
'Watch out for snakes.'
.
15 JUNE 0900 HOURS
THE SEAL patrol had good cover and concealment from their position overlooking the narrow valley, but there was no shade overhead. Bruno Puglisi, with a fresh magazine in the receiver of his AS-50 and half a dozen others lying out within reach, was uncomfortably warm. Each man had brought along a couple of two-quart canteens, and there was that jerry can of water being lugged around by Matty Matsuno. However, the patrol drank sparingly because of potential SNAFUs. Unexpected things happened continually in warfare, and the enemy reinforcements could be delayed by a glitch in their transportation arrangements, ammo issue, or dozens of other things. The Brigands could end up spending two or three days at the location.
.
1015 HOURS
THE leading Arab showed up around the bend in the gully so quickly that Puglisi instinctively twitched. 'Here they come,' he whispered, recovering from the surprise. 'They're kind of close together, so we don't have to stretch the ambush out any farther.'
As the column came into view, the sight of the Arabs was impressive. All were well equipped, with the latest in assault rifles, rucksacks, canteens, bandoliers, and web gear. Their uniforms were in good shape, with excellent footwear, and they also sported the keffiyeh head coverings their people preferred. They were the red-checked style the SEALs had seen before.
Joe Miskoski, with his AS-50 locked and loaded, waited patiently, his eyes glued to the front man in the formation. The guy's face in the telescopic sight was that of a young and determined soldier, his beard and mustache well trimmed, as would be expected of someone just out of an elite training camp where the discipline was harsh and demanding. When he was in the right position, Miskoski's trigger finger tightened just enough to fire the powerful rifle.
The fifty-caliber round exploded the man's head, blowing it off in pieces.
The Arab just behind him stood still for an instant before a couple of .556 rounds from an M-16 kicked him sideways before he collapsed to the ground. Back on the other end of the line, Puglisi had already taken out the Tail-End Charlie a millisecond after he heard Miskoski's weapon fire. In ten seconds, the bursts of blazing M-16s suddenly quit. Seventeen men were down, and three stood with their hands up.
'Assad,' Brannigan said. 'Warn those guys not to move and do what you tell 'em.'
'Indak!' Assad yelled. 'Isma minni!'
'Redhawk and Matsuno!' Brannigan said. 'Move down and take charge of those EPWs. Walk 'em down to where that slope is and bring 'em up on the far side toward the LZ. We'll meet you there. Ensign Taylor and Petty Officer Concord, go search the dead for documents or any other intelligence you find. Let's go, people!'
The four men assigned to go into the gully slid carefully down the steep sides until they reached the bottom. Redhawk and Matsuno moved over to the trio of men who still stood with their hands up. The SEALs used gestures to indicate the direction they were to go. Taylor looked at Connie Concord. 'You go down to the end and start checking. I'll go up where the first guy is.'
'Aye, sir.'
Taylor had fired only one round during the short, violent action. He'd taken aim at an Arab directly to his front and squeezed the trigger. The guy had taken a jerky step, then fell to the ground. The young ensign stared at him in horrid fascination. He had killed a man. The shooting during the attack three nights before had been into vegetation in a reconnaissance-by-fire trying to locate the enemy. If he hit anyone, it was by sheer chance, and he didn't know about it. But this time he had deliberately shot another human being. He walked up toward the first man to die, doing his best not to look at the one he personally shot.
The Arab hit by Joe Miskoski was a mess. The entire top of his cranium from just below the ears and up was a splayed mass of brains and bloody meat. His eyes and nose were gone, leaving only the lower jaw. Taylor noticed the guy must have been seeing his dentist regularly; the teeth were white and even, without a cavity showing. The SEAL searched the pockets, finding nothing; not even an ID card. He supposed that was to be expected, since the dead man hadn't been a member of a regularly enlisted army.
After examining two more corpses, he came to the guy he had killed. He was a skinny kid, maybe eighteen or nineteen. His eyes were open, and his lips were in a sort of combination sneer and grin. Taylor suddenly looked directly at the dead face, almost stepping back when he noticed the victim seemed to be gazing at him. A quick search revealed empty pockets.
When Taylor and Concord met in the middle, they had nothing to show for their efforts. 'I'm not surprised,' Connie said. 'These guys are not the usual raghead mujahideen. They're equipped good, carry them French rifles, got plenty of ammo, and are nourished good. This is gonna be a tough fight before it's all said and done, sir.'
Taylor noted that if Petty Officer Concord had killed anybody--and there was no doubt he had--he wasn't going to lose any sleep over it. Taylor affected a grin. 'Well, let's get back with the others. Good job, huh?'
'Yes, sir,' Connie said. 'We done good, alright.'
.
THE LZ
1045 HOURS
GARTH Redhawk had turned on the homing beacon of the AN/PRC-112 to bring back the chopper, and the patrol was out in a loose defensive perimeter. Brannigan was inside the formation with Mike Assad, who guarded the three EPWs. The captives squatted unhappily on the ground, still stunned by the suddenness of the attack that had destroyed their unit. Assad had exchanged a few words with them, learning nothing new. They told him they were on their way from Iran to join the small force in the mountains.
Suddenly one of the Arabs leaped to his feet and dashed toward the perimeter, leaping over Bruno Puglisi. He ran wildly across the open ground, heading for the stand of boulders.
'I'll get him, sir!' Puglisi yelled, getting to his feet and going after the guy.
The Arab was fifteen meters ahead of the SEAL, not looking back as he instinctively sought the shelter of the rocky area. When he reached it, he went in between a couple of boulders. Then he shrieked and backed out, holding his hand.
When Puglisi arrived he saw what the trouble was. The cobra, still weaving back and forth in its attack stance, was ready to strike again. The Arab turned around, his hand and forearm black and swelling from the venom. Puglisi winced. 'Jesus! You poor dumb bastard!'
The Arab knew the potency of the serpent's venom and realized that he was dying. He sank to his knees and began calling out in Arabic. Now Mike Assad joined them, having left the other two with the Skipper. Mike looked at the guy. 'What the fuck happened to him?'
Puglisi answered by pointing over to the cobra.
Assad shook his head slowly. 'We got nothing to give him for that.'
'I know,' Puglisi said. 'He'll be dead before the chopper gets here.'
'Shit, Bruno,' Mike said, 'he's only got another five minutes at the most to breathe.'
Now the Arab was on the ground, almost delirious as he kept babbling.
'What's he saying, Mike?'
'He's praying for himself.'
'We should shoot him and put him out of his misery, man!' Puglisi said.
'I'm not shooting him,' Mike said. He turned and began walking back to the perimeter. He'd gone ten meters when he heard Bruno's AS-50 fire. Then the sniper caught up with him.
Neither SEAL spoke as they returned to the unit.
CHAPTER 8
USS COMBS
17 JUNE
IT had been a bad week for the two Arab EPWs brought back from the ambush site by Brannigan's Brigands. When they left their Iranian SF training camp, the fledgling insurgents thought they were on their way to their big opportunity to be conquerors in the name of Allah's glory. But they were only halfway to their first battle site when
