Arabian Storm (The Hunter Killer Series Book 5) by George Wallace (different ereaders .txt) 📕

“Yeah, Master Chief,” Ward answered. “Get the guys up and ready. We’re going to take ourselves a little late evening stroll through the desert.”

The scrub brush flashed by on either side as the CV-22 followed the serpentine wadi, down so low that the huge prop-rotors threw up a thick cloud of dust behind them. The steep walls of the ravine towered high on either side above the fast-moving aircraft, offering the best cover they could hope for out here. With one final hard jink to the left, the Osprey transitioned into a hover, then gently landed on the stony, sandy ground at the wadi’s floor. Ward’s team barely had time to bail out into the dust cloud before the bird lifted off, rotated, and headed back up the valley.

“Guess they’re in a hurry to get back to their nice warm bunkies,” Tony Martinelli whispered as he watched their ride disappear in the dust and the dark.

“Martinelli, why don’t you pick up that Barrett and be headin’ up that ridge over there,” Master Chief Johnston told him, pointing to a narrow goat trail that wound up the steep slope to the west.

The rest of the team, as instructed, started off at a quick pace, following him. Their night-vision goggles made trekking through the pitch blackness relatively easy. It was a good thing. The terrain was big-time rugged.

Jason Hall took the point while Skip Cantrell, Doug Broughton, Joe Dumkowski, and Martinelli spread out about ten yards apart. Johnston walked beside Ward for a few paces.

“Skipper, what’s the play here? I don’t like not having a chance to plan a mission a little better than just jumping off a perfectly good plane and running up a hill. That sounds more like Marine planning to me.”

“Master Chief, sometimes Marine planning is all you have time for,” Ward answered with a grin. “Home base is under attack again. JSOTF says the missiles are coming from just over that ridge. Our good luck we were in the neighborhood. We need to get there in time to put a stop to this shit.”

It took the SEALs ten minutes to climb to the ridgetop. On their bellies, peeking through the scrub brush, Ward and his men had a clear view across the flat plateau to where a few rude huts sat, dark against the horizon. He estimated they were about a mile away.

Just then, a brilliant streak of light flashed up from near the huts, briefly illuminating the scene. The flash had come from the back of a pickup truck and then arced off to the north, burning a line across the night sky.

Ward could also see a half dozen more trucks, also with launchers in their beds. Some had birds ready to fly. Men were hustling to reload a couple more.

“Martinelli, get that Barrett in action right now,” Ward ordered. “Take out as many of those launchers as you can. Every bird they get off is another shot they gotta dodge back at home base.” He slid over near another member of the SEAL team. “Hall, get on the horn and check on our air support. See if those F-15s are anywhere close by yet.”

Ward had barely finished when the fifty-caliber sniper rifle roared out its first shot. Two seconds later, one of the trucks disappeared in a roaring, rolling explosion that lit up the plateau like daylight and echoed down the wadi behind the SEAL team. Martinelli shifted his aim point ever so slightly and fired again. Another two-second pause and then a second rumbling blast.

While Martinelli was busy picking off missiles, Master Chief Johnston moved Broughton, Cantrell, and Dumkowski into a defensive cordon.

The Barrett fifty caliber roared again. And another missile with its launcher disappeared in a brilliant explosion.

“Skipper,” Hall called out, “Eagle two is rolling in hot. He holds us on his geo screen. Five seconds out.”

“Our pizzas are here, guys,” Ward reported.

Suddenly, the entire hilltop where the trucks had been hurling missiles disappeared in a blinding blast of light and thunder. Only then did the SEALs see the F-15 fly directly overhead at two thousand feet, doing a victory roll, and then head with a roar toward the horizon.

“Eagle two’s clear,” Hall reported. “He’s heading home. Eagle four is standing by at angels twenty-five.”

The second F-15 was hanging around far above their position, just in case they needed more help.

Ward watched the hilltop burn for a few moments. No sign of life over there anymore. Now it would be their task to go over and look around what was left, to see if there was anything to mop up.

“Martinelli, you and Hall stay here and cover us. Master Chief, let’s head over there and see if we can find some Easter eggs.”

It took the SEALs almost half an hour to cross the mile of scrub brush. They still had to be vigilant, aware of any possible ambush or booby traps. Once they were at the edge of the burned-out piles of debris, they still watched and waited for another thirty minutes, partly to make sure nobody else might have been attracted to all the fireworks and partly to let the flames die back enough so they could get close. By the time the eastern sky was glimmering pink and gold, Ward was comfortable that no one else was around to give them a rude welcome. He alerted Martinelli and Hall that they would be moving to the destruction zone.

The team spent the next couple of hours searching the wreckage for anything of intelligence value. Nothing. Just charred metal, bloody body parts, and bits of what had most recently been several goatherder shacks.

Then Doug Broughton found the body off in the brush. The only body intact enough to tell it had once been human.

“Skipper, got something,” he tersely reported.

Ward started his way. “What you got?”

“A body. Looks like he dragged himself off into the brush before he bought it.”

“Don’t touch him. Never know.”

The two SEALs examined