The Panther

She nodded.

I turned back toward the front and Mike said, “Three fucking weeks.”

“Right.” In fact, time is relative. The ambush seemed to last forever, but it was probably less than two minutes since the first Hellfire hit.

Mike had the windshield washers on now, and the wiper blades were smearing a red goo across the glass.

The hand-helds crackled and Brenner’s voice, still calm and cool, came over the radios. “Sit-rep. Vehicle One okay.”

Buck said, “Two is… fine.” He sounded surprised.

Mike had a death grip on the steering wheel, so I transmitted, “Three okay.”

I waited for V-4 to transmit, and I was getting concerned, but then Kate’s voice, almost upbeat, said, “Four okay.”

The Bondmobile reported, “Trail okay… but Z has a graze wound.”

I said to Clare, “One customer for you.”

The mountains were receding off to the left and right now, and the terrain started to flatten on both sides of the road. Brenner increased the speed and we were flying down the middle of the crumbling blacktop. The color had returned to Mike’s face, but his knuckles were still white.

Brenner transmitted, “Predators see nothing ahead.”

Everyone acknowledged the good news.

Mike found his voice and said, “Predators usually operate in pairs… two Hellfires each… so we’re out of missiles.”

“Right. But the bad guys don’t know that.”

“Yeah… and they don’t want to find out.”

I hope.

Clare was sitting low in the rear seat, and she had her radio in her hand. She transmitted, “V-5, M.D. here. How’s Z?”

Z himself replied, “Don’t need you.”

Then the other DSS agent transmitted, “Bullet passed through his brain. No damage.”

Everyone was on an adrenaline high now, happy to be alive and very happy to joke about death.

Someone else transmitted, “I feel bad about the donkey.”

Another guy said, “Legat, legat. Permission to return fire.”

Howard replied, “I’m checking.”

Brenner said, “Can the chatter.”

So we continued on in radio silence.

Clare confessed, “I’ve never been so frightened in my life.”

Mike replied, “Welcome to the club.”

I focused my binoculars on Buck’s SUV, then Brenner’s. I could see some raw metal where they’d taken hits. Also, Brenner’s back windshield had been hit. I wondered what the new ambassador would say when he was picked up at Sana’a Airport with these vehicles.

The road was straightening out, and we were definitely on the downslope. I began seeing more mud and stone huts, livestock, and people, plus a few motor scooters raising dust on the mountain trails.

We increased our speed, and as we crested a hill I could see flatlands in the distance.

Mike’s knuckles were pink again.

Mike had his sat-phone plugged into the antenna jack, and I speed-dialed the DSS driver in Vehicle Four. The driver answered, “Steve.”

“Is Ms. Mayfield awake?”

“Yeah… hold on.”

Kate’s voice came on the line. “Who is this?”

“Just called to see how you’re doing.”

“I’m doing fine. How about you?”

“Good.” I asked, “How’s Howard?”

“Fine… a little concerned that there may have been ICs back there.”

“Only the donkey was an IC.” I added, “And by the way, I told you this place was dangerous.” Finally, I got to say it.

Kate replied, “You may be right for a change.”

“See you later.”

I hung up and Mike said to me, “As we used to say in Iraq and Afghanistan, we can’t tell the ICs from the jihadists, so kill them all and let Saint Peter sort them out.”

“They’re Muslims,” I pointed out.

“Right. So the innocent Muslims get the seventy-two virgins, and the jihadists get to jerk off for eternity.”

Interesting theology. More importantly, Mike Cassidy, who seemed like a regular guy from Daytona Beach, had apparently become a little callous, maybe numbed by years of this stuff. Well… maybe it was happening to all of us, by small degrees, and we didn’t see it.

We were onto the plateau now, and there were farms, people, and vehicles around. I’d say we were back in civilization, but that would be stretching the definition of civilization.

The radio crackled and Brenner said, “Fuel status.”

Mike looked at the computer display: 96 kilometers left to empty.

Everyone reported about the same, and Brenner said, “Refuel in Ta’iz. Details to follow.”

Mike let us know, “Ta’iz is a big town-maybe three hundred thousand people, and a dozen gas stations. But sometimes they’re out of gas.”

I thought they produced oil here. The only thing this place was never out of was ammunition.

The radios crackled and Brenner said, “We’re not out of the woods yet, so stay alert.” He added, “Everyone did a good job back there.”

Thanks, Paul. The drivers actually did a great job, and so did Zamo and the other DSS guy who literally stuck their necks out to return fire. The rest of us didn’t do much except keep our sphincters tight and our bladders full.

The best job was done by the Predator ground pilots, and if I ever met them, I’d give them a big hug. But I’d never meet them. I didn’t even know what continent they were on.

I said to Mike, “Good driving.”

“Thanks.”

Clare seconded that and added, “I thought we were dead.”

Mike admitted, “It was a little close.”

Clare offered brown-bag lunches, but all anyone wanted was water.

We continued toward Ta’iz, then Aden, then maybe Marib. The Panther, apparently, had found us. And now we had to find him. And kill him, before he killed us. This was simple. I like simple.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

We didn’t want to go into Ta’iz with shot-up vehicles, and Mike also explained that Ta’iz was a hotbed of Al Qaeda and anti-government activity, and that the Commies were still strong there.

Sounded like the San Francisco of Yemen.

The good news was that the Predators had spotted an open gas station outside of town. The Predators are better than GPS-they shoot missiles.

Anyway, we followed Brenner’s vehicle and up ahead we saw the gas station.

Brenner got on the radio and said, “Vehicles One and Five, fill up. Everyone else take up positions.”

Mike parked on the side of the road with the engine running, as did Buck’s and Kate’s SUVs, while the lead