Buddy saw the enemy's strategy, and pushed the HE grenades to the side and concentrated on firing only frag- 216.

mentation grenades, spreading them out among the advancing troops to do maximal damage.

Harley watched the soldiers through his night-vision goggles until he saw they were within range of his M-60. He elevated the barrel to forty-five degrees for maximum range, jerked the loading lever back to insert a sh.e.l.l into the chamber, and gently squeezed the trigger. The troops were too far away for him to concern himself with individual targets, so he merely swung the barrel back and forth, sending a devastating stream of bullets into the ma.s.s of soldiers walking toward them.

The troops, though inexperienced in combat of this magnitude, had been thoroughly indoctrinated that if they were killed in battle, Allah would welcome them into heaven and each would have seventy virgins for all eternity. No one bothered to explain where Allah would find so many virgins, but then the men so indoctrinated were not the brightest to begin with.

As the number of soldiers killed and wounded mounted, the terrorist troops finally realized they should spread out and not make such easy targets of themselves. The screaming and crying of the wounded and dying became loud enough to be heard even over the howling of the wind and the booming of the guns arrayed against them.

Soon, the troops were in range of the a.s.sault rifles of the Scouts defending the oil fields, and the hoa.r.s.e chatter of the M-60 was replaced by the higher-pitched rattle of the H&K MP-10's and the Uzis of the rest of the Scouts. The silencers had been removed from Buddy's troops' weapons, and the din of the firing on all sides was deafening.

The terrorist troops, their numbers depleted by ten percent, finally got within range of their Kalashnikovs and 217.

217Army-surplus M-16's and M-14's. They began to return fire. Since they couldn't see in the dark and the sandstorm, they just aimed ahead of them and fired until their magazines were empty, and then they reloaded to fire again and again.

When Harley's M-60 finally jammed, its barrel glowing a dull red it was so hot, he put it down and picked up an Mp-10 and began firing it as fast as he could.

Soon, the enemy troops were too close for Buddy to use his grenade launcher, and he jumped down off the roof to join his comrades behind the buildings, firing his MP-10 with the rest of them.

Soon it became evident the terrorist troops could not be stopped. For every one they shot down, two more seemed to take their place.

Buddy emptied his magazine, and then squatted down next to Corrie. He put his lips close to her ear so he could be heard over the noise of the firefight. "Radio squad leaders and tell them it's time to retreat!" he said.

Corrie put her rifle down and began to speak into her microphone.

Buddy ran from one to the other of his team, and told them it was time to get the h.e.l.l out of Dodge.

Buddy took what was left of his crate of grenades and placed a brick of C-4 plastique in it. He turned the dial on a timer to ten minutes, and then signaled the team to follow him.

The team began to trot backward, firing behind them until they had the buildings between them and the enemy troops, and then they sprinted into the desert as fast as they could.

Coop, bringing up the rear, slipped and fell when his foot snagged on an electrical line lying on the ground.

He dropped his rifle and sprawled facedown on the 218.

gravel and sand. Jersey, running a few feet ahead of him, heard his grunt as he hit the ground.

She whirled around, and saw him struggling to get to his feet just as three enemy soldiers ran around the side of the building behind him.

"Coop, down!" she screamed as she leveled her MP-10 and fired from the hip.

Coop didn't hesitate when he heard Jersey's command. He hit the deck and covered his head with his arms.

He could hear the 9mm slugs whining inches from his head as they plowed into the enemy soldiers mere feet behind him.

Jersey was back next to Coop and grabbing him by the arm before the men she'd shot were dead. Once he was on his feet, she took Coop's right arm and draped it over her shoulders, leaving her right arm free to handle her rifle.As they hobbled along, Coop bouncing on his good foot and trying to keep up, they began to fall further behind the team.

Coop jerked his arm off Jersey and pushed her ahead. "Go on, Jerse," he shouted.

"I'm not leaving you," she shouted back.

He shook his head. "Go! No need of both of us buyin' it!"

Suddenly, Harley Reno materialized out of the blowing sand. Without a word, he handed his MP-10 to Jersey and bent, grabbed Coop by the thighs, and lifted him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry.

"Cover me!" he shouted to Jersey, and began to trot off into the night after the team.

Jersey held the two MP-10's at waist level, one in each hand, and began firing into the enemy troops as she backed quickly after Harley and Coop.

219.

219.

A slug tore into her left shoulder, burning a crease in the muscle as it ripped through her field jacket and making her drop one of the machine guns.

The next thing she knew, Anna and Buddy were beside her, firing their weapons into the group of enemy soldiers that kept coming.

As the last of the soldiers went down under their fire, Buddy grunted loudly and doubled over. When Anna grabbed his arm, he straightened up and yelled, "Let's go. I'm all right!"

Thirty minutes later, the team was a.s.sembled a couple of miles out in the desert behind a small rising in the desert floor.

"Is everyone here?" Buddy asked, his voice harsh as he flopped down on the sand.

Harley nodded. "Yeah, Boss. We all made it out."

"Good," Buddy said, his head nodding and his eyes half-shut. "Harley, take over for me, will ya?"

Harley squatted next to where Buddy was half-lying. He noticed a bright red splotch of blood on Buddy's stomach.

"Beth," Harley said urgently. "Bring me your field pack! Buddy's been hit."

Beth, who acted as the team's medic when in the field, rushed over and jerked Buddy's shirt and jacket open.

A small, neat hole was slowly oozing blood from his left abdomen. She rolled him to the side, and saw a much larger hole in the rear flank.

Jerking her pack open, she pulled a pair of field-dressings from it. "He took a through-and-through hit," she explained as she slapped the two dressings on the wound and began to circle his body with tape.220 "Pop one of those morphine ampoules open, would you, Anna?" she asked.

Minutes later, with Buddy's wound dressed and the morphine dulling his pain, Harley asked if he was going to be okay.

Beth shrugged. "If the slug missed his colon and his kidney, he should do all right. If he makes it through the next hour, it'll mean he's probably safe."

"Okay," Harley said. He reached down, took the GPS receiver from Buddy's jacket pocket, and took a reading on the location of the scheduled rendezvous with the other Scouts. He then addressed the rest of the team. "We've got a couple of hours to make the rendezvous point. Let's see if we can fashion a stretcher out of a couple of rifles and a field jacket. We'll take turns carrying Buddy."

221 While most of Bartholomew Wiley-Smeyth's troops were busy attacking the convoy from Dhahran to Riyadh to slow them down, a handful of men with explosives training were left behind to arrange a suitable surprise for the terrorists when they finally made it to the oil fields.

These SAS troops took all of the C-4 plastique and Semtex plastique they'd captured when they took the oil fields from the terrorists, and began to fashion makeshift mines from the small bricks of explosives.

The same radio-control switches the terrorists had used to make the plutonium bombs were used in the mines.

The only problem with this arrangement was that the controls were all on the same frequency, so the mines wouldn't be able to be detonated individually, but would have to be set off all at the same time.

George Rearden, the sergeant in charge of the mining, decided to arrange the mines in a huge semicircle in front of the oil fields. Once the terrorists entered the circle, mines would surround them and the effects of the shrapnel would be devastating. The plastique bricks were buried a couple of feet deep in the sand and gravel of the desert and covered with nuts, bolts, screws, and nails his men had found in the supply sheds of the oil field.

222.

Small flags were set in the ground at each end of the semicircle so the men responsible for detonating the mines would know when the terrorists were fully in the trap.

Private Bill Blakely met with Sergeant Rearden after the last mine was buried. "Sarge, I think we're about ready for the b.u.g.g.e.rs now," Blakely said, dusting sand off his SAS fatigues.

Rearden took two of the controls, one to be used as a backup in case the first one didn't work, and placed them on a wooden table in one of the supply sheds, next to the SOHFRAD radio receiver they were using for communications with Wiley-Smeyth.

"Excellent, Bill," Rearden said. "Now, your job, your only job, is to guard this remote control with your very life."

"Sir!" Blakely said, snapping off a salute.Rearden smiled at the very young man, who was still full of p.i.s.s and vinegar. "No need to be so formal, soldier," he said. "There aren't any officers present."

Blakely blushed. "Yes, sir."

"And don't call me sir," Rearden said with mock anger in his voice. "I'm not an officer ... I work for a living!"

Even Blakely laughed at this old enlisted man's joke. "All right, Sergeant," he said.

Rearden glanced at the radioman standing nearby next to the SOHFRAD.

"Stephen, would you ring up Commander Wiley-Smeyth on that contraption and tell him we're ready for him to return?"

Stephen Bales nodded and began to twist dials, and after a moment gave the message to Bart.

Rearden could hear the sounds of gunfire and explosions in the background as Bart said, "Thanks, son. I'm a mite busy here at the moment, so would you mind call- 223.

223.

ing the other squad leaders and telling them to call off the attack and return to base?"

"Certainly, sir," Bales said, and he began to call the other frequencies of the various squad leaders to tell them what Bart had said.

Rearden picked up his a.s.sault rifle and walked to the door of the shed.

Before exiting, he looked back over his shoulder. "I'll be outside getting the men to their stations," he said. "Give me a shout if there's any news I need to hear."

"Certainly, Sarge," Bales said.

"And remember, Private," Rearden added, "we're counting on you to keep that remote safe until it's needed."

"Right-o, Sarge," Blakely answered, and barely stopped himself from saluting again.

Bart tapped his driver, Alphonse Green, on the shoulder and jerked his head to the side after he put the microphone down. "They're ready back at base," he shouted to be heard over the roar of automatic weapons from the two men in the rear of the jeep. "Let's head home."

The driver jerked the wheel to the side, and the jeep skidded sideways as it made a sharp turn and began to head back toward the oil fields.

Four slugs from the soldiers they'd been shooting at slammed into the side of the jeep, but did no real damage. Seconds later, the jeep was out of sight in the blowing sand and headed for the oil fields to take up the fight there.As they raced down the road, Bart picked up the microphone again and punched in the frequency of Major Walter O'Reilly, the man he'd left in charge of the forces 224.

in Riyadh. He'd tried to order Hugh Holmsby to stay there in charge, but Hugh had threatened to disobey the order. He'd wanted to join Bart in the a.s.sault on the convoy. Knowing he'd need his most experienced men on the a.s.sault, Bart had given in and appointed O'Reilly instead.

"Sir?" O'Reilly said.

"Bart here. The surprise package at the oil field is ready to be delivered, and so I'm calling off the attack and sending everyone back there. I don't know if the enemy will elect to try and take back the oil field first, or head directly into town, so keep your guard up."

"Aye, sir," O'Reilly said. "The men are spread out all over the town. We intend to give the camel jockeys a warm welcome ourselves if it comes to that."

"I'll meet you for a pint when this is over, Walter," Bart said.

"I'll look forward to it, sir. Are you buying?"

"Of course," Bart replied, with a laugh at the cheek of the man.

By the time Bart and his men had a.s.sembled on the edge of the oil field, it was nearing dusk. The SAS a.s.sault teams had managed to delay the convoy and make a four-hour trip into almost eight hours.

When taking stock, Bart found they'd lost six men in the a.s.sault, almost a tenth of his total forces. Three others were wounded, though not so badly they couldn't still fight. The men got a kick out of Hugh and the Davidson brothers arriving in an enemy jeep, but Hugh refused to explain how it'd happened.

Sergeant Rearden pointed out the locations of the mines to Bart. "Good job, Sergeant," Bart said. "The 225.

225.

way you've positioned the mines, the enemy forces will have to enter the trap if they come straight at us."

Rearden nodded. "Yes, sir. I only hope they're not smart enough to try a flanking maneuver first."

Bart shook his head. "I doubt they'll bother with that, George. They know they've got us seriously outnumbered, and their commander will be under some pressure not to lose the daylight, so I think he'll come straight in from the road over there," he said, pointing at the opening to the trap. "A lot of his heavy equipment won't do too well in the sand, so I figure he'll try to keep them on solid ground."

"I don't know how much damage the plastique will do to tanks and things, sir, but it'll d.a.m.n sure make mincemeat of the ground forces," Rearden said.Bart laughed. "Equipment's not worth spit without men to run it, Sergeant," he said, slapping Rearden on the back.

Once the men had eaten some field rations, Bart began to deploy them around the various oil derricks in the oil field, stationing them near derricks that had outbuildings or other large structures that would give them some cover in the upcoming battle.

He put Rearden on top of the supply shed with a pair of night-vision goggles, and told him to give the signal when the majority of the enemy forces were within his trap. Then Bart moved to take up his own position next to an oil derrick in the very front of the field. Hugh Holmsby and the Davidson brothers stationed themselves on either side of him, along with Staff Sergeant Alphonse Green. The terrorists were going to have to go through them to get at their commander.

226.

William W. Johnstone Jamal Ahmed couldn't understand why the multiple attacks on his convoy had suddenly ceased, and things he couldn't understand made Ahmed nervous.

Lieutenant Sohail Shaeen pulled up next to Ahmed's HumVee in his smaller jeep. "I've gotten all of the men transferred from damaged vehicles into those that are still running, Commander," Shaeen said. "Do you want us to proceed toward the oil fields now?"

"Lieutenant," Ahmed asked, his eyes thoughtful and focused on the road leading toward Riyadh and the oil fields, "why do you suppose the enemy troops broke off their attack on the convoy?"

Shaeen shook his head. "I don't know, sir. Maybe they were losing too many men. Remember, our intelligence sources say they are very shorthanded here."

Ahmed glanced at the junior officer, hoping he was correct in his a.s.sessment of the situation. "How many confirmed kills do we have?"

Shaeen shrugged. "Only six confirmed, sir, but there may have been many more than that."