“Concur.”
“Roger. Break, Grommett Niner Six, you’re cleared in. Call when 1 mile out.”
The Captain of the lead Pave Low heard all he needed. “Grommett Niner Six is in. Wilco,” he called. They were two miles away. He started the dark gray ship up the hill toward the Americans.
The gunfire had increased. Those Assassins who had survived the onslaught of the 25-millimeter gun from the dark sky had found safe spots from which to shoot. They were firing their AKs on automatic now, knowing this was their one and only chance. They wanted to do it for the Sheikh.
The Fire Control Officer in the Spooky could see the muzzle blasts from their AKs with his IR and TV. The ZSU was dead. He turned the 105- and the 40-millimeter guns on the intruders. “Bringing all to bear,” he announced. Everyone in the Spooky, all on the same ICS, nodded as the three guns began firing at their maximum rate of fire at the twenty or so remaining Assassins.
Woods couldn’t believe his ears. The noise of the shells hitting the mountain and the boulders was like the Indy car wreck now joined by two or three train collisions. Shells slammed into the rocks all around the Assassins, shattering the boulders and anything near them. Jagged splinters of rock flew out for hundreds of feet as the shells hit again and again, without stopping: no pause, no mercy, just an unrelenting, unceasing rain of steel and terror.
“One mile out,” the Captain declared as the Pave Low climbed up the backside of the mountain, his wingman one mile behind him. He called Woods on the radio. “Watchmaker, Grommett Niner Six coming up your backside. Are you armed?”
The men on the Spookies stopped shooting when they saw the Pave Low approach the top of the hill. They began a new pylon turn, keeping the remaining Assassins on their scopes, ready to shoot again as soon as the Pave Lows were out of harm’s way.
“Affirmative!” Woods cried through the din.
“Put down all your weapons, now,” the Captain ordered.
Woods couldn’t believe his ears. A few Assassins were now only two hundred yards away. “Say again?”
“Put down all weapons — “
“They’re shooting at us!”
“Roger, sir, we’ll be doing the shooting for you.”
Suddenly the Pave Low screamed up over the backside of the hill and hovered directly over Woods, Zev, and Wink at twenty feet. The two gunners from the Pave Low leaned out the doors on either side of the Pave Low and began firing 7.62-millimeter Gatling guns in the direction of the hidden Assassins.
Woods, on one knee, put his Beretta back in his survival vest. “Put your gun down!” he yelled at Zev, who hesitated.
Suddenly four large, thick ropes toppled out of the helicopter hovering above their heads and the commandos, wearing helmets and night-vision goggles, zipped down the ropes and hit the ground. The first ones to touch down began shooting from automatic weapons as they charged toward the remaining Assassins to set up a perimeter around Woods and the others.
The commando leader went directly to Zev and threw him to the ground. Zev resisted and reached for his rifle. Another soldier picked up the sniper rifle and held it away.
Woods was suddenly thrown to the ground from behind, his helmet pivoting slightly as his head hit the dirt. He felt himself being turned onto his stomach, the roar of the helicopter lessening as it pulled away. The gunfight was now just men against other men. Wink was tackled next, and Woods heard him cry out, “Shit! My knee!” One of the men muttered “Sorry, sir.”
“You Lieutenant Woods?” someone asked Woods.
“Yeah, what are you holding me down for—”
“Should have been two people here. When we have too many people we sort it out later.”
“There’s no need for this—”
“Give me your hands, please,” the commando leader said. He pulled plastic handcuffs out of a hidden pocket and expertly cuffed Woods’s hands together behind his back.
“Who are you?” Woods asked.
“We’re here to get you out.” The leader glanced over at his men who were giving Wink and Zev the same treatment. They nodded at him. He spoke to Woods. “I’m gonna go find a place to get the helicopter back in here to get us out. Stay here.”
Woods tried to sit up, but it was difficult and awkward. He could hear the Assassins’ bullets ripping over their heads, the commandos returning fire furiously at the remaining men.
The commando leader returned to where Woods, Zev, and Wink lay on the dirt near the top of the hill. He spoke into a lip mike. “Let’s go!” Two commandos each grabbed the bound men and headed quickly toward the top of the hill on the other side, in view of the flaming ZSU. The Pave Low came in low and fast, stopped in mid-air in a thundering nose-high maneuver. The enormous helicopter settled down toward the ground slowly as the Assassins suddenly realized what was happening and turned their attention to the chopper. Their AK-47 bullets banged harmlessly into the armor plating on the side of the plane as the commandos hurried toward it, their three captives in tow.
The Captain touched his landing gear down on the uneven hill but kept the helicopter in a hover so the gear wasn’t called on to absorb the weight of the ship. He lowered the ramp. The commando captain ran the last few feet to the chopper and handed Woods over to the commandos waiting inside. They grabbed him by the arms and pulled him hard up the ramp into the belly of the screaming helicopter. Zev was next and was hustled inside unceremoniously.
Inside the helicopter the waiting commandos yelled at Woods. “We need you on the deck, sir,” pushing him down to the hard steel floor of the chopper covered only with a Kevlar blanket. Woods went down reluctantly but quickly, and the commando put a plastic tie around his ankles. He then lashed Woods to the deck through several hard points in the helicopter. Woods couldn’t move at all. He could see Zev across from him receiving the same treatment. “I’m sure glad I invited you!” Woods yelled.
Farouk refused to give up and let them get away. He was tired of firing from his protected position while the Americans were near success. He knew he must be courageous. He stood up and aimed at the helicopter a hundred yards away, firing continuously.
The commandos pulling Wink had moved more slowly out of concern for his tender knee. They’d reached the ramp and were handing him over to the men inside when the commando on Wink’s left was thrown to the ground by the force of several of Farouk’s AK-47 bullets hitting him in the back. He cried out as he fell. Wink’s body jerked as he was hit and he lurched forward. The waiting commandos quickly pulled him up into the helicopter and shouted for the medic.
The gunner in the Pave Low saw Farouk clearly through his night-vision devices and turned his 7.62-millimeter Gatling gun on him. He pulled the trigger and walked the angry fire hose of red tracers into Farouk’s body, watching as the bullets tore into him. He then turned his gun on the handful of remaining Assassins, who stayed hidden and fired occasionally by extending a weapon from behind a boulder.
Thankful for his bulletproof flak jacket, the commando who had been hit by Farouk’s bullets stood up and climbed aboard the helicopter, “You okay?” the commando leader yelled. The man nodded.
Zev looked at Woods and pointed with his head toward Wink. Woods saw them working on Wink, trying to stop the bleeding from his back. “Wink!” Woods shouted, trying to move across the deck to get closer to his friend. “Wink!” He strained against the lines holding him down and tried to get free. “Get these lines off me!” he yelled furiously.
The helicopter lifted up from the landing zone as the bullets continued to plink off the side of the behemoth and its armor plating, moving quickly to its left and heading down the side of the mountain ten feet above the boulders. Wink wasn’t moving.