David Bruns - Weapons of Mass Deception

Ringo clapped Brendan on the shoulder. “Wonderful. I’ll leave you two girls to get acquainted.” He pointed to a stack of assault gear on the side of the tent. “You can gear up over there, sir. You need anything, ask Coyote. Best step on it, we’re outta here in fifteen.”

Brendan sorted through the gear for battle armor, knee pads, and a helmet, wishing all the time that he had his own gear. Coyote watched him silently, his dark eyes following Brendan’s movement, his mouth pressed in a thin line. Brendan finally stopped what he was doing and faced the man. “Is there a problem, Petty Officer Wiley?” He pitched his voice low, so that the men at the table wouldn’t hear him.

Coyote’s head swiveled in the direction of the briefing, then back to Brendan. He stepped forward and reached for a strap on Brendan’s body armor as if he was helping to adjust the fit.

“I know about you, sir.” He nudged Brendan’s injured leg with his knee. “I know how this happened. A stunt like that gets people hurt or killed. We will not be turning our backs on any prisoners today. Clear?”

He was so close Brendan could smell coffee on the man’s breath. A hot flush crept up Brendan’s neck, and he choked back a desire to smash his fist into Coyote’s tight-lipped mouth. Over the man’s shoulder, he could see Ringo watching them.

Brendan jerked his body armor away from Coyote.

“Crystal.”

Hashem chewed what was left of his fingernails as he watched Yusef and Valerie put the access panel back on the missile. In the end, it had all come down to quality control: the gyros they had stolen from the Iranian assembly line were defective, causing the failed launch. Hashem grimaced at the irony that the gyros, which he’d been able to steal because they “failed” quality inspection, actually had failed the quality inspection.

Yusef jumped down to the ground next to Hashem. Valerie followed, moving his ponderous bulk carefully as he stepped down from the top of the TEL. “It will work now. I guarantee it,” Yusef said.

Hashem ignored him, directing his questions to Valerie. “How long before the third missile is ready?”

Valerie shrugged. “We know what we are looking for, so we can have it done before sunrise.” His hand shook; Hashem knew he wanted a drink.

“Do it,” Hashem barked at them. “And hurry!”

He looked at his watch, trying to think. Maybe the Americans had missed the failed launch. He was so used to thinking of their technology as being invincible. Even if they saw the launch, what would they do? Counterattack? Tell the Israelis? If the Israelis knew, they would have ended the nuclear talks immediately. According to Al Jazeera, which he was checking every half hour, the two sides had entered a marathon negotiating session with the goal of reaching an accord this very night.

Not if he had anything to say about it. He could feel his chest swelling with pride at the actions he was about to take on behalf of his brother and his country.

“Colonel!” The interrupting voice was insistent. “Colonel, sir.”

Hashem broke out of his reverie with a jolt. “What?” He had gone so long without sleep he was starting to daydream.

The security guard held up his phone. “The check-ins are one minute overdue. I know it’s only one minute but you said to—”

Hashem held up his hand to stop the man as he pulled his own phone from his pocket and shifted it to all-call. One of his first actions while they were building the bunker was to install a local cell network repeater so that he had perfect connectivity within the bunker and with the external security personnel.

“All stations, report.”

No response. He frowned. Either the network had chosen this most inopportune moment to go down or… they were being jammed .

“Shut the outer doors! Do it now!” The uniformed soldier by the door slammed the lever down and the heavy gray doors began to move inward.

The ground outside the bunker erupted under the impact of heavy-caliber gunfire. The soldier next to the door disappeared in a wave of shrapnel. One moment the security captain was speaking to him about check-ins, and the next he fell against Hashem, his body riddled with bloody puncture wounds.

Using the body as a shield, Hashem wriggled behind one of the massive tires on the TEL. The heavy-caliber bombardment ceased as suddenly as it had begun. The doors had stopped in their tracks halfway closed. Hashem cautiously peeked out from behind the now-deflated tire just in time to see two helicopters descend to the valley floor and unleash a barrage of machine gun fire directly into the cavern entrance.

The lights died out, dousing the cavernous space in darkness. Hashem pressed his back hard against the tire until the lug nuts, each as big as his fist, cut into his back. His breath came ragged and fast, loud in the darkness.

His eyes slowly adjusted to the gloom, his ears ringing in the silence. He risked another peek toward the entrance. The half-open doors framed a gray landscape of predawn desert and mountains. He could hear the beat of helicopter rotors outside. Two, maybe three. The next wave would be ground assault forces.

Hashem pushed himself up, a sharp pain lancing into his side. He had been hit after all. No matter, he would still be able to get away. No one knew these tunnels like he did. He just needed to get away from the entrance.

He took a step and nearly fainted from the pain.

The golf cart. It stood on the other side of the doors, pointed toward the depths of the cave. And lights, it had lights and a first aid kit. He just needed to get there.

Hashem steeled himself and ran for the cart. His legs felt weighted, as if he were running in thick mud. He tripped over something in the dark, crashing face-first into the floor. Something soft and wet — a body, or what was left of one. Hashem could taste the dirt in his mouth as he crawled the rest of the distance. His fingers found the running board of the golf cart; he pulled himself up. The vinyl seat, the plastic steering wheel. His fingers fumbled for the keys.

From the corner of his eye he sensed movement near the open doors, a shifting of shadows against the sharp edges of the steel frame. They would have night vision goggles on…

His fingers found the keys and he wrenched them into the ON position. There was an audible click, and he threw the switch to turn on the lights.

Two soldiers were framed in the intense beams of the headlights. They both dropped to the ground, flipping the night vision gear away from their eyes, their weapons sweeping in Hashem’s direction, already firing.

Hashem dove for the safety of the rock wall.

Brendan was able to see the whole assault through the front windshield of the MH-47 Chinook. The AC-130 Spectre gunship started the high-altitude assault using 105mm rounds to soften the steel front doors. The gunship flew in a tight circle at 10,000 feet using infrared spotting to ensure hyper-accurate firing while the rest of the assault team moved into place. The Spectre’s job was to hammer open the front doors for SEAL Team Six to gain entrance.

The assault force commander had already released the MH-6 helos. These Little Birds, sniper platforms for the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment (SOAR), swept over the surrounding terrain, clearing the remaining external guards off the hillsides.

The pounding from the AC-130 ended as abruptly as it began, and a pair of Little Birds armed with side-mounted mini-guns dropped to the valley floor, hosing down the entrance to the bunker with thousands of 7.62mm rounds.