Cross and Rosemont dived to the ground. The gunship roared over the shore, then vanished into the blackness once again. Kalashnikovs crackled after it in futile rage.
Rosemont raised his head. ‘Jesus Christ!’ He felt Cross bristle at the blasphemy, but had no time or inclination to consider anyone’s religious sensitivities. ‘We’ve got to get those LAWs before these bastards cut us to pieces.’
They ran again, men racing past them in the other direction; fear of whatever haunted the temple had been overpowered by an instinctive urge to seek cover behind solid stone. The two agents vaulted the torn remains of several Ma’dan. ‘There!’ said Cross, spotting the campfire’s still-glowing embers.
Rosemont picked out the two crates in the moonlight. ‘We only get one chance at this.’
‘We’ll do it.’ Cross snatched up the LAW from the open case as Rosemont retrieved the second weapon from the other. Both tugged out the pins to release their launchers’ rear covers, then pulled hard to extend the firing tubes—
‘Incoming!’ Arnold cried.
The agents dropped again as the Hind swept in along the lake’s edge. Rockets lanced from its wing pods, explosions ripping down the shore. More screams, some abruptly cut off as another fusillade scattered mangled bodies.
‘No!’ Cross cried as the line of detonations reached the ruins—
The saw-toothed pillar disintegrated in a flash of flame. More rockets hammered what remained of the temple into rubble, then the Mi-24 veered back out over the lake.
Rosemont jumped up, raising the LAW to his shoulder. He peered through the sight, fingers resting on the rubber trigger bar. ‘Cross! It’s coming back around — get ready!’
But the other man was staring in horror towards the ruins. ‘No,’ he whispered. ‘The angel can’t have been destroyed. It can’t!’
‘Worry about your damn angel later. We’ve got—’ Rosemont broke off as a new sight was picked out by the flickering light of burning reeds.
Something was swelling on the shore, a dirty mustard-yellow mass. It took a moment for the CIA leader to realise that it was a cloud, some sort of gas boiling up from the edge of the ruins. But it was like nothing he had ever seen before; far thicker and heavier than the smoke from the vegetation, almost like a liquid as it churned and spread outwards.
It reached a dazed Ma’dan, roiled around him — and the man screamed. Clutching at his face, he tried to run, but could only manage a drunken stagger before collapsing. The still-expanding cloud swallowed him, and his cries became a gurgling wail of agony before abruptly falling silent. Other men nearby joined the terrifying chorus as the gas reached them.
Rosemont’s eyes widened in fear. ‘Holy shit, they’re using chemical weapons! MOPP gear — suit up! Suit up!’
The United States had long accused Saddam’s regime of possessing weapons of mass destruction, and now it appeared that the proof was rolling towards them as the deadly cloud kept growing. The CIA agents had come prepared, their webbing holding a pack containing Mission-Oriented Protective Posture clothing — an oversuit, gloves and mask to protect against nuclear, chemical and biological agents — but they had not expected to need them.
Panic rose in both men as they dropped the LAWs, shrugged off their gear and tore open the pouches. More sounds of terror and death reached them as the sulphurous fog spread, swamping the fleeing tribesmen. Cross worked his arms into the thick nylon overalls and tugged them up over his shoulders, then hurriedly pulled on the gas mask before zipping up the garment and drawing the hood over his head. Rosemont sealed his own outer covering a few seconds later, closing the hood tightly around his mask before starting to don his gloves. He looked back down the shore— ‘Gabe!’ he cried, seeing a familiar figure in the firelight.
Arnold was thirty metres away, desperately trying to secure his gas mask as he ran. Its straps were twisted, costing valuable seconds as he attempted to straighten them. At last he managed it and raised the hood, but his hands were still uncovered.
He pulled on one glove, fumbling with the other as the cloud reached him—
Contact with exposed skin was enough to kill, Rosemont saw with horror. Arnold suddenly grabbed at his unprotected hand, clawing it as if being bitten by a million insects. His shriek was clearly audible even through the mask. Then he dropped, writhing in the sand before the yellow haze consumed him.
The Marsh Arabs all suffered the same fate as the wind carried the cloud along the lake’s edge. Kerim was among the last to fall, firing his AK-47 into the malevolent yellow mass in a final act of defiance before he too succumbed.
His second glove secured, Rosemont was about to run from the approaching miasma when he remembered that there were still other threats to deal with. The Hind’s roar grew louder. ‘The rockets!’ he yelled to the fully suited Cross. ‘Get the rockets!’
They retrieved the LAWs. There was nothing to aim at in the black sky, and with their thickly lined hoods up, it was hard to pinpoint the source of the noise. Rosemont took his best guess and stared down the sights, the mask’s eyepiece smearing his vision. ‘Wait for it,’ he told his companion. ‘Wait…’
Staccato bursts of flame as the Mil’s cannon fired—
‘Now!’
Rosemont squeezed the trigger bar. The rocket shot from the launcher with a loud bang, the back-blast smacking up a rooster tail of dust behind him.
But Cross hadn’t moved. ‘Fire, now!’ Rosemont shouted, watching the orange spot of the rocket’s motor race towards the gunship—
The Hind suddenly banked hard. The pilot had seen the incoming missile and was taking evasive action. Rosemont cursed as he realised his shot was going to miss…
Cross finally fired — and Rosemont realised why he had hesitated for a crucial moment. The Hind had swerved away from the first missile… but would fly right into the path of the second.
The cannon fire ceased, the Hind disappearing against the black sky. The first rocket continued pointlessly along its course, but the second was still angling to meet the aircraft. The engine note changed, the pilot applying full power as he tried to climb away from the incoming missile—
A flash — and for a split-second the Hind was fully illuminated as the LAW struck home.
It exploded against the helicopter’s tail boom. The Mil’s heaviest armour was concentrated around the cockpit and engines, but even if it had covered the entire fuselage it would not have been enough to stop a dedicated anti-tank round. The warhead ripped a jagged hole through the chopper’s flank, severing the mechanical linkage to the tail rotor.
The result was instantaneous.
Without the smaller rotor to counteract the enormous torque of the main blades, the Hind was hurled into an uncontrollable spin. Engines screaming, the helicopter cartwheeled overhead, Cross and Rosemont both ducking as it hurtled past. It smashed into the ground barely fifty metres beyond them, the mangled remains tumbling through the sand in a searing ball of flaming aviation fuel.
Rosemont lifted his head, heart pounding at the close call — only to freeze in fear as the yellow cloud rolled over the two men.
Everything went dark. He didn’t dare move, or even breathe, terrified that doing so would open up a gap in his hastily donned protective gear and let in the poisonous fog…
Seconds passed. No pain. He risked a breath. The mysterious chemical agent had not found a way to his lungs. ‘Cross!’ he gasped. ‘Are you okay?’
No reply. Worry rose at the thought of being trapped far behind enemy lines, alone — then he heard a voice. ‘Yeah. I’m fine.’