Brad Thor - Path Of The Assassin

The northern edge of the Ubari Sand Sea was a combination of flowing sand dunes and rock-strewn gullies known as wadis. The FAV hammered the terrain, racing straight up numerous steep dunes and tearing straight down the opposite sides. After they crested what DeWolfe said was the last major dune on their topo-map, Harvath caught a flash of something in the distance. Engaging his lip mike, he said, “Contact. Eleven o’clock.”

DeWolfe, the FAV’s navigator, pulled a pair of night-vision binoculars out of a bag strapped down next to him. Though the team were all wearing night-vision goggles, the binoculars afforded greater range.

“What do you have?” asked Avigliano.

“Looks like five Land Rovers, each with 7.62s mounted up top. I’d be willing to bet they’re Libyan regulars.”

“Have they seen us?” asked Avigliano.

“Looks like it. They’re changing course right now.”

Upon hearing that piece of good news, Carlson, sitting in the rear, only had one response, “Fuck.”

“What’s going on?” asked Meg.

“Little change of plans,” said Harvath.

“Hold on, everybody,” yelled Avigliano as he pulled the wheel hard to the right and steered the FAV in a new direction.

“We don’t have enough fuel for this Gordo,” said DeWolfe.

“We’re just going to have to set a new rendezvous point with Big John.”

“Big John is already coming deeper into uncle Mu’ammar’s backyard than he wants to.”

“Tough shit. He’s going to have to come in further,” said Avigliano.

“Roger that. Should we tell him we’ve got company?”

“You bet your ass. Tell him it’s going to be a hot exfil.”

DeWolfe picked a location five miles ahead and radioed the coordinates to Big John.

No longer concerned with fuel consumption, Avigliano pinned the accelerator to the floor. An enormous sand dune loomed in front of them, and they took it at full speed.

As they hit the top of the dune, they found themselves in midair. Instead of a gradual descent down the other side, the dune was backed up against the rugged slope of an incredibly steep drop-off leading into a deep wadi. The FAV launched off the dune and hung in the air for what seemed like an eternity, before crashing onto a treacherously inclined hill of loose and shifting rock.

Avigliano strained against the wheel, trying to prevent the FAV from flipping over. Jagged boulders reached out on both sides and attempted to tear the vehicle to pieces. Avigliano finally got control, but only for a few moments. He attempted to steer it toward the floor of the wadi, but something was wrong. He thought for a moment that the problem was due to the unstable scree that they were driving down. He gave the FAV more gas, then more still. It picked up speed, but it had stopped responding to the steering wheel altogether.

A small dune appeared to their left, and almost as if of its own accord, the FAV headed right for it. Avigliano tapped the brakes, but in the wash of loose rocks, that only sent the back end fishtailing out of control as they continued to pound down the hill.

“Brace yourselves!” he yelled. “We’re going in hard!”

Hard was an understatement. Seconds later, they hit the dune at full speed. Shoulder belts dug into flesh and heads snapped forward, then came racing back. The steering wheel saved Avigliano, but DeWolfe was not as lucky. Despite his shoulder harness and helmet, he hit his head hard enough to be knocked unconscious. Carlson slammed his left shoulder against the fifty-caliber machine gun. After the HAHO jump and the beating he had taken at the hands of Adara Nidal’s guards, Harvath was sore all over, but no one area seemed to be any worse now than before the crash. He unbuckled himself from the basket and ran around the FAV to Meg who was already undoing her own straps.

“You okay?” asked Harvath.

“Aside from the fact that my rear end feels like I’ve been on a two-year trail ride, I guess I’m doing okay. My shoulders hurt like hell from that harness, though.”

“But nothing’s broken? You’re not bleeding?”

“No. No breaks. No bleeding.”

“Good. Let’s help the others.”

Harvath and Avigliano removed DeWolfe from the FAV, careful to support his neck and shoulders in case he had suffered any spinal trauma. Carlson got himself out of the FAV while Harvath hopped back in and tried to back the vehicle off of the sand dune.

The tires began to catch, but the right front wheel wasn’t responding. Harvath laid on the pedal a little heavier as Avigliano ran to his side of the vehicle. He signaled Harvath to take his foot off the gas while he examined the wheel.

“We snapped the CV shaft. This thing’s not going anywhere,” said Avigliano as he stood up and dusted the sand from his fatigues. He checked his GPS and continued, “Let’s get some cover, and I’ll call in Big John.”

No sooner had Avigliano spoken than a wall of bullets tore up the ground all around them.

Three of the Libyan Land Rovers had taken up positions above them, and the occupants were firing into the wadi with their 7.62s. Everyone took cover behind the ditched FAV.

“Is this any way to treat visitors to their country?” remarked Carlson.

Avigliano was already calling in Big John to their position.

“Big John is on his way. We just need to hold them until he gets here,” said Avigliano.

Meg, who had been taking a look at Carlson, said, “I think he’s got a broken collarbone.”

“I break bones. I don’t get mine broken,” said Carlson as Harvath slid over to him.

The minute Harvath applied pressure to Carlson’s left collarbone area, the pain was so intense the man almost blacked out.

“Well, bone crusher, this time you’re the breakee,” said Harvath as he instructed Meg on how to make up a sling for Carlson.

With DeWolfe still unconscious, that left only Harvath, Avigliano, and Meg to hold off what would soon be five Land Rovers full of Libyan soldiers.

Harvath swung out from behind the FAV with his Mod Zero and, setting the fire selector to single, took several well-aimed shots. Two Libyans, dumb enough to be standing in front of their Rovers looking down into the small canyon, were hit. Though their wounds might not have been fatal, it showed the rest of the soldiers that Harvath and his team were a force to be reckoned with.

It didn’t take the Libyans long to regroup. Soon, machine-gun fire rained down on them from both sides of the canyon. The other two Land Rovers had arrived and took up positions on the high ground on the other side of the wadi.

During a lull in the firing, Harvath unhinged the 7.62 from the back of the FAV. He would have liked to have taken down the fifty or the Mark 19, but it would have been too difficult. He grabbed as much ammo as he could, and when he let loose with it, all of the Libyans, on both walls of the wadi, ran for cover.

Avigliano called Big John for an ETA, but he was still twenty minutes out. According to an AWAC the U.S. had in the area, the team had bigger problems. Two Libyan helicopter gunships were en route to their position.

“Ah, Scot?” said Avigliano.

“I’m kinda busy, Gordo,” said Harvath as he let loose with another deafening volley from the 7.62 machine gun.

“We’re going to have company real soon,” said Avigliano once Harvath stopped to reload the 7.62.

“Animal, vegetable, or mineral?” asked Harvath as he readied new ammunition.

“Aerial. We’ve got an AWAC monitoring our situation. It looks like two Alouette helicopters.”

“Complete with twenty millimeter cannons, rocket pods, and surface-to-air missiles?” said Harvath as if it were a standard sight in the desert.

“Probably a good chance of that.”