joined them, but as he reached for his first aid kit, the far side of the road erupted with gunfire, tracers converging on the truck. The machine gun to the right of the road also laced the area. A moment later, a pair of explosions ripped the ground a dozen yards away. “Well, they know we’re still alive,” Jerry said.
They all understood what was happening. “Get away from the truck!” Ramey shouted. “Head toward the beach!” he ordered. “Philly, XO, help the Iranians.”
Jerry headed behind the fleeting cover of the truck to find Shirin and Yousef huddled against the canvas top. “We’ve got to get away,” Jerry urged, and pointed down the hill.
The couple stood and hurried down the slope, with Jerry in front and Phillips covering their rear. Tracers flew over their heads. Another pair of mortar shells landed closer to the truck. They could hear fragments ripping through the metal body. Behind him, Jerry could hear Lapointe trying to stay quiet as Ramey and Fazel carried him, his wound still untreated.
Jerry heard a different-sounding explosion, and had just enough time to register the whoosh preceding it when the truck fireballed, briefly highlighting them in orange-red light as they struggled down the slope.
Jerry almost fell into a fold in the ground that appeared as a dark chasm in front of them. It was deep enough to kneel behind, but he found that out by landing badly on the bottom. He helped Shirin down and then called to Ramey and Fazel. Carrying Lapointe, they turned toward Jerry and the others, and sped up as much as they could, given the uneven terrain.
The instant they put Lapointe down, Harry opened his first aid kit and started to work. Jerry quickly crawled over and began taking off Lapointe’s backpack. “Leave it,” the corpsman said tersely. “It’s not in my way.”
“I want the radio,” Jerry insisted. “Gotta make a call.” He fumbled first with the pack, then with the radio. He’d seen Lapointe set it up plenty of times, but it was dark, and the edges kept getting caught on the fabric of the backpack.
Jerry said, “I’ll get us some help. Just keep us alive for ten minutes,” he told Ramey.
The lieutenant set about organizing their defense.
Lieutenant Sistani had taken a position on the rise, next to Private Alizadeh. His night sight was proving vital, both for spotting the enemy and guiding the mortar. The sight had a built-in laser rangefinder, and he’d fed range data to the 60mm mortar Corporal Afshar and Private Kiani were firing.
The second volley of fire had driven the fugitives down the hill, which was good, but where were they now? “What can you see?” Sistani demanded.
“I saw motion down the hill, sir, but nothing now. I think they’ve gone to ground.”
“Give me a range to where you last saw them.”
The private checked his sight. “Three hundred and sixty-five meters.”
Sistani hurried down the hill to the mortar position. “Afshar, get ready to put six rounds down at three seven zero meters, in line with the truck.” As the corporal nodded, Sistani called to the nearest private. “Ostovar, tell Jahveri to put machine gun fire down wherever he sees mortar shells exploding. Stay there and be ready to advance when I give the word. Go.” The lieutenant watched him trot out of sight, counted another thirty seconds, then told Afshar, “Now.”
Guthrie’s voice boomed out of the intercom. “BMC, Conn. We’ll be ready to launch in a minute or two. Any updates?”
Frederickson answered, “They’re still getting mortar fire. Lapointe is stable.”
A new voice came over the intercom. “Control, Launcher. Missile compartment manned and ready.” Doolan’s voice was almost breathless. “Were making the final checks now.”
“No shortcuts, Mr. Doolan,” Guthrie cautioned.
“We’re good, sir. I double-checked the seals myself.” There was a short pause, and he reported, “Tube two four is ready.”
The SEAL lieutenant keyed the radio. “Launch in two minutes, XO.” He heard two clicks in response.
Jerry wasn’t getting a lot of help from Lapointe. The petty officer had refused to take any painkillers so he could stay awake, but he’d lost a lot of blood, and half the time Jerry couldn’t hear his answers, especially in the middle of a firefight.
With Lapointe treated, Fazel had gone into sniper mode, concentrating on the PKM machine gun that flanked them. He’d hit the gunner at least once, but after a short pause, it had started up again. The SEALs picked their shots carefully, no more than two rounds at a time, both for maximum effect and to avoid revealing their location.
In between mortar bursts, Phillips had spotted movement along the highway, then the others saw it as well — soldiers lining up along the road. “They’re positioning themselves for a charge, once the mortars have softened us up.” Ramey and the others picked off a few who didn’t stay low enough, and tried to keep the others’ heads down in between mortar bursts.
Jerry held the controller so Lapointe could operate it, and followed the petty officer’s hands as he powered up the device and tested the controls. It was designed for use in the field, but Jerry had never trained on it. Lapointe was breathing hard, but ran Jerry through the procedure.
As Jerry started to ask a question, the controller beeped twice, and Lapointe said, “Time’s up. Take it, XO.”
Jerry fitted the visor over his eyes and adjusted the strap. The visor was size of a pair of safety goggles, but heavier. Inside Jerry saw bright symbols and numbers surrounding a black rectangle. In the center of the display, the word “Signal” blinked, and Jerry could feel Lapointe guiding his fingers on the hand controller. Lapointe placed his index finger on a switch, and the image came alive.
He was flying over a dark, featureless surface. A bright, irregular landscape lay in the distance, but he was closing in at high speed. The numbers and symbols started to change, and he recognized readouts for airspeed and altitude. “I’ve got the signal,” Jerry reported. He was over the water, approaching the coast.
Guided by Lapointe, Jerry’s finger pressed another switch. “You’ve got it,” the petty officer told him.
Jerry gingerly moved the controller, and saw the landscape fall away as the UAV climbed. That suited him fine. Aviators get nervous too close to the ground, especially in an unfamiliar aircraft.
“I’m slowing down,” Jerry stated. The speed readout was over five hundred knots.
“Stalling speed is one twenty,” Lapointe told him, “but you’re loaded, so try not to drop below one forty.”
“Understood, bringing it down slowly,” Jerry replied. “Five hundred, four fifty…”
The vehicle slowed quickly, and Jerry experimented with a left, and then a right turn. He quickly brought the UAV back on base course, though. A cursor at the top of the display indicated the direction to the controller, bringing it straight toward him.
Jerry brought the Cormorant in overhead at five hundred feet and two hundred and fifty knots. On the thermal imager, he could see the bright flare of the burning truck, and the line of soldiers lying prone along the highway. “I’ve got them!” he announced.
“Find that goddamned mortar!” Ramey ordered impatiently, and Jerry, already past the battle, turned the Cormorant to the right, trying to time the turn so he ended up over the highway. He was off, with the highway to the left of center, but as he flew overhead, he saw two human figures well back from the highway, working with something even brighter and hotter than they were.
“Got it,” Jerry reported. He was past the target by that time, but he risked slowing a little more to focus on making a crisp one-eighty. This time, as the Cormorant passed over the mortar’s position, he used the hand controller to mark its precise location. Increasing power, he said, “Climbing.” He was getting the hang of this thing. He was sure a pilot had a hand in designing the visor. The readouts looked just like his Hornet’s heads-up display.
At a thousand feet, he made a wide circle, constantly informing the impatient SEAL lieutenant of his progress. “I’m ready,” he told Lapointe, and felt his hand guided to another pair of buttons. “Left to lock them up, right to fire,” Lapointe reminded him.
