Montgomery looked pleased, though I guessed that he was ready for the group to head back to Washington. As if watching over the lives of more than 100,000 soldiers wasn’t enough, dealing with inquisitive politicians from Congress and the State Department—not to mention the continual diplomacy with the Iraqis—was a tall order for anyone.
As usual, my team had already repositioned our vehicles in the proper order and was waiting in trail behind the Army Humvees. As I ran through my pre-mission checklist, I listened on the internal frequency as Meg gave Wolf, JP, Oliver, and the rest of the team a summary of the sergeant major’s earlier comments.Team Rhino was an experienced group, well aware of the dangers lurking in the shadows here.
My two junior VIPs were already suited up in their protective gear, ready for the return trip. Just like earlier in the day, our convoy began to creep forward toward the gate. We inched along as the vehicles made their way through the security perimeter and onto Route Steelers.
Through my front passenger window, I could see the riverbank along the roadside. The slow flow of the river seemed so peaceful. It could easily have been a scene from rural America along the banks of the James or the Potomac.
But as soon as we passed the first cluster of shacks, I remembered where we were. This was no Shenandoah Valley in Virginia; this was a war zone in Iraq.Get your game face on, asshole.
We made it south down Steelers and turned left on Route Packers. As soon as we made the turn, Oliver in Rhino 1 radioed us all with a reminder about the men we had passed near Yusufiyah. “Keep your eyes peeled, guys,” he said.
Roger that, buddy. Good call, Oliver.
The convoy was moving at a decent speed. Oliver was careful to allow the last Army vehicle ahead of him about thirty meters of space, and gave us all constant updates. We were about a quarter mile from Yusufiyah and approaching the dilapidated old garage where we’d received the stares earlier.
“They’re slowing down ahead—watch your speed,”Oliver commanded.“The trail vehicle has stopped. Break. Not sure why. Okay, the gunner in the turret is standing straight up. Looks like there might be some local traffic mixed in the formation.”
It wasn’t uncommon for local farmers to jump into our formation, anxious not to get stuck behind a long, slow-movingmilitary convoy. Over time the Army had slightly loosened its traffic protocols, usually giving the wayward driver a siren blast or a menacing look to remind them who had the right-of-way.
“Break break break!”Oliver suddenly shouted.“Got a Bongo truck on the north side of Packers. Five military-age males in the back. It’s backed up near the road.”
In theater-of-operations vernacular, any vehicle not clearly a passenger car was dubbed aBongo truck. That label likewise described any vehicle doing something it shouldn’t.
As soon as I heard Oliver’s tone, I knew Chris Miller’s premonition was about to come true. The knot in my stomach tightened. I could feel my heart beating through the body armor. The blood in my temples thumped against the frames of my Oakley sunglasses. It was like watching a car wreck in slow motion.
Then I heard the explosion.
I actually saw it a split second before I heard it. A bright flash from an RPG sent a rocket directly into the side of the last SUV in the convoy, just above the roof and next to the machine-gun turret.
It must have hit at an oblique angle, because I saw the ricochet sail off from the roof toward the north side of the road. The sound was deafening. The side of the turret was mangled. A moment later came the muffled sound of small-arms fire from both sides of the road.
Whoever the bad guys were today, they had trapped an American vehicle in a deadly cross fire.
CHAPTER 15
Yusufiyah, south of Baghdad
Instinctively, we drove our vehicles into a protective formation. Oliver went to the left side of the road; Wolf pulled our SUV in closer on his right while Meg and JP mirrored us from behind. We now had eyes on the entire mini-perimeter of Team Rhino.
I could see exactly what was happening. The Humvee was dead in the water. Five bandits on the north side were peppering the vehicle with AK-47s, while two on the south side about twenty meters away were likewise shooting their weapons at the vehicle.
The soldier in the Humvee’s roof-mounted machine-gun turret had either been shot or had dipped down to protect himself. Either way, the crew was sitting ducks.
I heard another explosion farther ahead of us. Strangely, though we were only about fifty meters away, none of the gunmen were paying any attention to us.
I called the Major on my radio to give him an update. No answer.
Was he hit? Did they get the whole convoy?
I couldn’t see beyond the trapped Humvee. My best guess was that the bad guys had ambushed the last vehicle of the Army convoy, then created some sort of diversion for the vehicles that had already passed through the kill zone.
Time was not on my side. Through the dust and disorder, I could feel the fear, tension, and anxiety emanating from every member of my team.
Though we were technically a part of this military convoy, I was not in command, and I was not receiving any guidance from the commander. Nor were we being engaged by the bad guys, who had still not even looked in our direction. There is a strict protocol for contractors in a combat zone: Fire only when fired upon, or run the risk of creating a serious international incident.
I could hear shots from the AK-47s plinking off the armored vehicle.Fuck.
I tried again to reach the major on the radio. Nothing.
