“Ah, be advised. We had some tangos but one idiot just had a November Delta here. We’re moving. Over.”
Furr indulged in some heartfelt blasphemy, angry at missing an opportunity. He forced himself to concentrate. “Roger, Scope. We’ll stay put for a while in case something comes this way. Out.”
The sniper turned to Ashcroft and the English-speaking militiamen. “One of Josh’s people just had a negligent discharge. They’re moving to the fallback position.”
Rezvani heard the carrier wave and concentrated on the cryptic message. Then he looked at Tawfiq. “There was a shot somewhere near the observer position. My men are taking a circular route back. We will fire a few bombs on the approximate azimuth and displace.”
Before Tawfiq could reply, Rezvani was hissing orders to the mortar team. The gunner spun the traverse wheel, checked the elevation, and nodded. The A-gunner had prepped three rounds and had them close at hand. All three went down the tube in less than five seconds. Before the last one had landed, the tube was being dismounted from the base plate. Thirty seconds later the bipod was disconnected and being carried to the vehicle.
Rezvani grasped Tawfiq’s arm. “I will take one security man to help guard the weapon. You take the other and meet the observers at the alternate point. They do not know the terrain like you do. We will drive there and return you to the base.”
Tawfiq was unconvinced of the wisdom of separating the team in the darkness, let alone possibly near an alerted enemy, but there was no time to argue. Rezvani was on his way, leaving Hazim with Tawfiq. The commander and his lead sniper set out cross-country.
Josh Wallender had the point with the best night-vision optic. He moved steadily but cautiously, stopping occasionally to allow the rest of the team to keep up with him and maintain proper interval. Fares was next in line, better to communicate with the Arabic speakers. Since he could not read a compass with the NVG in place, he navigated by guesstimate.
Without realizing it, en route to the alternate position, Wallender took a wrong turn. He moved more northerly than intended, owing to a stony crag that blocked the direct line. Though he intended to resume his previous route, the erratic outline of the crag conspired with darkness and poor footing to put him thirty degrees off track.
Salah-Hassan Fares knew the area far better than the American but had seldom ventured out at night. Using a red-lensed penlight, he took occasional compass readings to their direction but could not consult his topographic map on the move. He made a mental note to bring Wallender back on course once the terrain evened out.
Half an hour later there occurred what military professionals call a meeting engagement.
Essam Tawfiq never would have admitted that he was lost. But beneath a quarter moon, the ambient light was insufficient to find his way visually, and the often rough terrain had forced several detours. When he realized that he could not recognize any landmarks, enough time had passed that he knew he had missed the forward observer team.
Tawfiq stopped, gesturing Hazim to keep back. The leader then knelt behind a tree and pressed the transmit button. “Jinn, this is Tawfiq. Reply.”
When two other attempts produced no response, he switched frequencies and made the call he did not want to make. “Dancer, this is Tawfiq. Reply.”
The response came through muted but legible. “This is Dancer. Where are you? Reply.”
“I am looking for Jinn.”
“He called ten minutes ago, looking for you!” There was an insistent pause. “Reply!”
Tawfiq considered his response before keying the mike. “I am…”
“Tangos! Left front!”
Wallender saw one human form in his goggles and another heat source behind it. It was usually difficult to estimate distance with NVGs, but surely the strangers were within the two-hundred-meter zero of his sights. He went to kneeling, aware that Fares and Ashcroft had deployed either side of him.
“No joy,” Ashcroft said.
“I’m on ‘em.” Furr assumed a braced standing position, leveling his Robar custom rifle in the notch of a tree. The night scope’s reticle settled on the nearer form.
Wallender’s mind raced. The odds that two or more friendlies would be somewhere ahead of his group approached absolute zero but he could not afford to take chances. He spoke into his headset. “Slim, this is Josh, over.”
Phil Green replied. “Slim Six actual is nearby. You need him?”
“Negative, Phil. I need to know your posit, definitely. Over.”
“We’re still at our briefed position. No joy here.”
“Roger that. We got bogies in front of us. Over.”
Seconds ticked past. “You need help?”
Wallender shook his head, as if Green could see him. “Negative. Will advise, out.”
He turned to either side. “Tangos are hostile. Repeat, tangos are considered hostile.”
Ashcroft asked, “Shall we flank ‘em?”
“No, keep everybody together. It’s bad enough in the dark.”
Hazim scanned the area while Tawfiq talked on the radio. On the second sweep his captured Galil with the night sight picked up two or three human forms. He rode the adrenaline spike, then relaxed slightly.
The youngster took several steps forward, tapped Tawfiq on the shoulder, and pointed into the dark. “I believe the observers are less than seventy meters ahead.” He assumed a sitting position.
“What? Where?”
Hazim was tempted to hand the Galil to his superior so Tawfiq could look for himself but thought better of it. “Call them, brother.”
It was the best news Tawfiq had heard all night. He stood up and keyed the mike. “Jinn, I think we see you. Reply. Now!”
When no response came, Tawfiq began feeling more anger than caution. He took several steps forward, raising his voice. “Jinn! Reply!”
The first round from Furr’s rifle took the leading Hezbollah man almost on the notch of the sternum. The impact drove him to the ground, where he rolled over and muttered liquid syllables.
Hazim immediately put his scope on the most prominent target, remembered to control his breath, and pressed the trigger. He repeated the process five times, each aimed at a different shape.
Rob Furr was an expert rifleman; he could cycle his bolt-action weapon almost as fast as he could produce aimed fire from a semi-auto. But the volume of incoming Dragunov rounds provided a temporary advantage to the Hezbollah sniper.
Hazim’s first round had missed its mark but struck the disarmed militiaman several meters behind its intended target. The youngster cried aloud, grasped his shoulder, and fell to one side. The second round destroyed Josh Wallender’s night-vision device, sending metal fragments into his face. The third and fourth rounds struck Furr’s tree, forcing him to seek cover.
The fifth round killed Salah-Hassan Fares. The sixth went somewhere into the Nabatiyeh darkness.
With a last wide-eyed look at Tawfiq’s body; Hazim scrambled across the rocky ground, fleeing that dreadful place.
28
