The off-going squad emerged from the underbrush and headed back toward the compound as the on-coming squad entered the underbrush. Amazingly, the whole exchange had occurred within inches of the two scout’s hiding places, but they were never noticed. The squads of terrorists would never know how close they had come to death that hot fetid morning.
The two SEAL scouts slid through the underbrush a few yards, only to find a lava cave hidden behind it. Just inside the mouth of the cave, the soldiers had built a comfortable campsite. Beyond this, further into the cavern, was a group dressed in civilian clothes, separated by steel bars set into the cave floor and ceiling. Observing the activities inside the cave, the SEALs counted all thirty of the hostages and ten guards. A line of fire for the snipers to control inside the cave was all but impossible without endangering the hostages. The only way to handle this was up close and personal.
Just as silently as they had approached, the two disappeared and made their way back to their teammates. Meeting up with their two companions, they moved higher up the hill and made a temporary bivouac.
Stuart radioed back that the hostages had been located. The four settled in to wait and watch.
21 Jun 2000, 2000LT (22 Jun, 0700Z)
Ashad led the young girl down the stairs and out onto the small front porch. There he stood, framed in the doorway with her, still in her nightclothes, standing in front.
With theatrically slow movements, Ashad raised the Tec-9 to the side of her head. Maggie stood absolutely still, frozen by the terror of the moment.
The silenced round found its mark with a barely audible “phfutt”. The little girl fell forward as the blood splattered her nightdress.
Ashad hurtled backward into the living room as the silenced .308 caliber match grade bullet smashed through his nasal cavity into the frontal lobe of his brain. Death was nearly instantaneous. A sudden, blinding flash and then nothingness.
It happened so quickly and so unexpectedly that his mind never sent the order to his finger to squeeze the trigger. His blood splattered widely as the hydrostatic pressure from the bullet impact caused his head to explode. The Tec-9 clattered uselessly to the ground, landing beside the prone girl.
Maggie rolled over and started to stand. Her hand accidentally fell on the Tec-9. Picking it up was an automatic reaction. The terror and the rage of the day welled up inside her and took control.
The downstairs guard ran to the stairs and started to climb.
He's going to kill Mom and Megan! Her mind screamed.
She raised the weapon and, from the classic kneeling position, emptied a full clip into the fleeing terrorist. He fell down the stairs as the slugs stitched across his back. She dropped the gun and ran, crying, into the waiting arms of the Marine sniper who had shot Ashad.
In the master bedroom, the remaining two terrorists were confused. The gunfire sounded as if it came from the leader’s weapon. They expected that. But they did not expect to hear a long burst of automatic fire. Ashad would have used three rounds. More was a waste. Possibly his gun malfunctioned. That was not uncommon with these shoddy American weapons.
Still, all did not seem right. Ashad had not come back upstairs. There were no sounds from downstairs, either. They were on edge; every nerve tuned to the slightest hint of danger. Their instructions had been simple. Guard the hostages and prevent their rescue. They understood that the success of their mission depended on keeping the hostages alive until Ashad said otherwise.
21 Jun 2000, 2005LT (22 Jun, 0705Z)
Colonel Johnson was frantic. The shooting had been totally unexpected. Preliminary reports were that the youngest daughter was safe, although badly shaken. At least two of the terrorists were down.
“Get the gas in there. NOW! NOW! NOW!” he roared over the command circuit.
His team had a small store of a special, newly developed and very secret, crowd control agent that was designed especially for these kinds of situations. A colorless and odorless gas, it rendered anyone exposed to it unconscious in seconds. Better still, it was absorbed through the skin almost as quickly as by inhaling, so gas masks were only of limited usefulness. The effects wore off a few minutes after the exposure ended, but it should give Col. Johnson’s team a few critical minutes to act.
They had not used it until this time since it could have some very nasty side effects, particularly if the exposed victim had allergies or was asthmatic. Maggie Hunter had both problems, but she was no longer a hostage. If Peg or Megan suffered an allergic reaction, at this juncture, that was better than the alternative.
Two small, black canisters rolled in through the open front door. The gas spewing from the open valves wafted silently up the stairs. Two more canisters were lowered from the roof so that they were hanging from strings by the inlet of the window air conditioning unit that was laboring to keep the upstairs cool in evening’s heat.
Within seconds, all four occupants of the house were unconscious. They lay slumped over where they had sat. A dozen heavily armed figures outfitted in whole-body NBC suits raced up the stairs. Two bodies were unceremoniously hauled off to an interrogation facility. The two women were treated much more courteously. They were tenderly placed on stretchers and lowered
