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“Figured you’d be here, Sam,” the captain said as he neared.
“Yes, sir, I came to find Lauren.”
“That’s the reason I was looking for you. She’s not here.”
“What do you mean she’s not here? Where is she? Did she get another assignment?”
Richards hesitated. “Not exactly, Sam. I don’t have all the details, but it seems nearly a week ago she stole a Humvee and took off with her cameraman for the front lines.”
Erickson’s heart sank. “I warned her not to try anything so stupid.”
“Well, obviously she didn’t listen.”
“Is she all right?” Erickson asked. “Was she wounded?”
“Nobody knows. Three days ago, our guys overran a Pan-Arab outpost sixty miles north of here. They found the Humvee she’d taken. It was out of gas.”
“Was there any sign of her, sir?”
“Not exactly. They spotted women’s clothing scattered about near the abandoned vehicle. And a watch and wedding band the outpost’s dead political officer was wearing were identified as belonging to her cameraman. But there was no sign of either of them.”
Erickson stared at Richards in disbelief. His mind was racing as the implications set in. He couldn’t form the words to respond.
* * *
—
It was late afternoon. Erickson sat on the shoreline staring at the swelling tide. He’d been there for hours, alone and motionless. The emptiness within him wouldn’t abate. His grief was all-consuming. He’d only known her for a handful of days. Even so, he felt her loss more deeply than anything he’d ever experienced. In a passing moment, the woman he loved had been taken from him. The irony was overwhelming. He felt cheated by life’s cruelties. A torment was growing that couldn’t be put into words.
Her death had served no purpose. Once this was over, he wouldn’t rest until he found her remains. If he didn’t, he’d never find peace. He continued staring through unfocused eyes at the mocking waters. That’s where Richards and Fife found him as night fell. They walked up to where he was sitting. There was a bizarre sort of smirk on both their faces. He looked at them, his pain immeasurable.
“I know we thought we were out of this, but if the opportunity arises, do you think you’re up for another mission?” Richards asked.
Erickson knew revenge wouldn’t bring Lauren back. But it no longer mattered. “Sir, if it gives me a chance to kill a few more Pan-Arabs, I’m definitely up for it. The more of those sons-a-bitches we eliminate the better off this world’s going to be.”
“Like a chance to go after the biggest son of a bitch of them all?”
“What are you talking about, sir?” There was confusion in his response.
“Ever seen the pyramids, Sam?”
The question struck him as strange, even in this rather peculiar conversation. Still it was obvious Richards was waiting for an answer. “No, sir, only on television and in pictures.”
“Well, in thirty hours you’ll see them firsthand.”
“What? I still don’t understand. What are you talking about?”
“What I’m talking about is the killing’s not over for us yet. They located the Chosen One hiding in the pyramids. We’re going to support an attack on the Giza Plateau to eliminate the sorry bastard. We’re going to take out Muhammad Mourad. Battalion commander’s at division right now getting the details.”
66
6:54 P.M., NOVEMBER 5
ODA 6333, CHARLIE COMPANY, 3RD BATTALION, 6TH SPECIAL FORCES GROUP (AIRBORNE)
RHODA ISLAND
CAIRO
Night was settling around them. Sanders, Porter, and Abernathy hid in the sheltering rubble near the isle’s southern tip as they observed the final piece of another lengthy crossing being bolted into place. In days past, the deadly trio had rushed forward at precisely this moment to destroy each nearly finished span. This time, however, they stayed where they were, watching their adversaries work. They made no effort to eliminate the enemy structure. Within the hour, their orders to do so had changed.
“Okay, Sanders,” Abernathy said, “couple minutes and the bridge will be ready. Tell Captain Morrow to have the French bring their tanks forward. As soon as Porter and I get on the other side and secure the far end, the Leclercs can start across.”
“All right, Sarge, I’m on my way.”
Sanders scrambled to his feet and headed across the tumbled landscape. He soon disappeared.
Four of the Mahdi’s engineers rushed about, finishing the final portion of the hazardous task. A pontoon bridge soon floated uninterrupted from the Nile’s western bank to Rhoda Island.
“Okay,” Abernathy said, “it’s our turn.”
The duo attached silencers to their sniper rifles. Each raised his malignant weapon and took aim. Both squeezed the trigger. Two of the Pan-Arabs went down. They tumbled into the waters on the northern side of the bridge. Their bodies slowly floated away. The kills had been so exact neither victim uttered a sound. Their startled companions searched the island, trying without success to locate the aggressors’ position. The surviving Pan-Arabs turned and ran toward the distant shore. A new round loaded, the long rifles appeared on the Green Berets’ shoulders. They had the running figures in their sights. A second squeeze and the last of the engineers fell from the structure.
The time had come for Abernathy and Porter to complete the harrowing assignment. It was a mission neither was anxious to initiate. But if the counterattack was to commence, someone had to cross and establish a defensive position on the western bank. Abernathy signaled the 82nd Airborne squad lurking nearby to provide covering fire. Both Americans got to their feet and edged toward the Nile. After a careful look around, they started running across the endless expanse. Five hundred yards away waited Giza’s shore. They’d be exposed and vulnerable the entire time. Fortunately, after six days of fighting with nothing gained and far too many lives lost, their antagonist was confused and dispirited. And the 82nd’s burgundy-bereted soldiers did a masterful job of pinning their scattered foes’ noses in the dirt. No real resistance rose up to meet the sprinting team. Only a handful of haphazard shots were fired in their direction.
Despite the Mahdi’s orders to fight on, the intensity of the Pan-Arab assault had dissipated hours earlier. By a sweltering midafternoon’s arrival, all of the grappling rafts had vanished or been destroyed. For the first time since the siege began, the Nile’s vivid red was beginning to fade. Nothing more than an occasional mortar round screamed toward the battered island. Only scattered gunfire continued from the distant shore. To a man, the Chosen One’s followers recognized they were beaten. Throughout the day, uncountable thousands had walked away without giving it a second thought. More were doing so each hour.
They’d survived the battlefield, but considerable numbers wouldn’t live through the undertaking they now faced. The cruel desert stretched for hundreds of miles before the demoralized deserters. Yet it no longer mattered. Most were willing to take their chances with the blinding Sahara. At least they no longer f
eared the political officers’ swords. With Mourad’s edict, the mullahs were making no attempt to dissuade the deserters from leaving.
It would be a difficult journey filled with misery and suffering. The wounded especially stood scant prospects of success. Still, despite what they’d face, all were determined to endure the steadfast exodus.
Those who stayed did so reluctantly. With the outcome certain, none was anxious to forfeit his life in the waning struggle. To die now seemed almost senseless. Their agony-filled passing needed to serve a greater purpose if they were going to serve their God. Paradise could wait until their death would contain notable meaning in Islam’s future conquests of the nonbelievers.
Even with his army crumbling, their leader continued to cling to the hope that an all-powerful deity would intercede and grant the pious a miraculous result. As Allah had accomplished untold times throughout history’s annals, he would smite Satan’s followers and show his chosen the way.
Still unwilling to accept defeat, Mourad continued to insist upon building the bridges for a fanciful conquest that would never arrive. It was a huge mistake. One the Allies would use to their advantage.
With the day’s end near, the Americans allowed the Pan-Arabs to complete a dozen bridges across the wide river. It was a gamble they were willing to take. Even if their counterattack into Giza failed, they suspected the enemy was too weak to take advantage of the opportunity.
The first of the Leclercs started over the troubled waters. Others moved forward along the Nile. Across the wide river the Allies poured.
The determined advance had been timed to coincide with major pushes in the north and south. They would close in on the laboring defenders from three sides at once. Thirty miles from the Egyptian coastline, Hornets roared from the carriers to bolster the attacks. At the same moment, the British Challengers and their Marine supporters struck with renewed fury.
