The Chosen One

There’d be no chance for an orderly withdrawal. The Marines staggered from their foxholes. A volley of grenades leaped from their hands and arched toward the enemy. The Americans didn’t pause to watch their final efforts. The instant the plummeting killers were released, the platoon’s survivors turned and ran toward the second line.

As the platoon retreated, a trio of Reaper drones appeared. Each carried four tank-killing Hellfire missiles. From their monitors in Nevada, the drone operators unleashed one after another of the armor-slaying ordnance. Once again, the attackers’ leading edge was ripped to shreds. Explosion after explosion rocked the contested sands.

Moments later, the first of the buzzing drones went down. With no defenses against Stingers, it was easy prey. A second soon followed. The third, at least for the moment, continued its assault.

The retreating Marines had one hundred yards of open ground to traverse to reach the protection of the next row. For many it would be forever. Even with the Humvees and surviving drone covering their retreat, many would never make it.

Dragging their equipment with them, the fleeing men ran, dove, hobbled, and crawled toward the waiting row of sandbags.

With their compatriots in the way, the stalwart Marines of the second line could do little to help. There was far too great a chance of hitting one of the retreating Americans. From the safety of their defenses, they encouraged their countrymen’s progress. They fired at the rabid enemy wherever the situation allowed for a clear shot. And they steadied themselves for the depraved tidal wave reaching out to engulf them.

The worn platoon ran as fast as they could toward the illusory protection of the next row of rifles. The incensed rabble was right behind. On foot, or in armored vehicles, they nipped at the withdrawing lines’ heels. Steel and flesh chased Erickson’s men.

On the left of the lurching Marines, an American fell beneath the persistent rifle fire. He stumbled to his feet, dragging himself on a shattered leg across the heavy sands. His pitiful journey was slow and tortured. A trail of bright red marked his labored movements. Three eager attackers pounced. The wounded figure used every hand-to-hand skill he knew. But it was no use. The Pan-Arabs overwhelmed him. A glistening sword, long and terrifying, rose into the air. The wicked result was ruthless and certain.

With the defeated Marine no longer in the way, his obsessed killers were out in the open. An M-16 muzzle flashed from behind the second row of sand. From fifty yards away, the skilled marksman wouldn’t miss. The exposed executioners fell to earth and stirred no more.

On the right, another Marine dropped in a hail of gunfire.

In the center, a Humvee exploded. The withdrawing Americans’ losses continued to soar. Erickson turned and fired a full burst at the solid wall of marauding warriors. A handful fell. Thousands came on.

The spent platoon leader ran down the sticky pavement as fast as his weary legs would carry him. The instant he reached the second line, he dove into the foxhole of a pair of encouraging Marines.

Joyce’s Humvee roared past. The moment he reached his own defenses, he turned to meet the attackers. The desert in front of this level of sandbags was finally clear. Once more, armor-destroying Javelins and TOWs ripped through the frightful afternoon. Once again, rifle fire and LAW missiles struck down the enemy. And still the Chosen One’s masses came on.

Erickson had scarcely controlled his breathing before the second layer was overcome. This time there’d be no need to tell the hopelessly outnumbered force to withdraw.

The Marines turned and ran toward the third array.

23

4:24 P.M., OCTOBER 18

3RD PLATOON, BRAVO COMPANY, 2ND RECONNAISSANCE BATTALION, 2ND MARINE DIVISION

THE CAIRO–ALEXANDRIA HIGHWAY

Mourad’s faithful could sense the noose tightening around the exposed Americans’ necks. It spurred his rapturous followers. Their lust for blood knew no bounds. They would annihilate the invaders. Not one of the nonbelievers would still be breathing when sundown came.

There was no longer any doubt. This would be the moment for which all had waited. This would be the time of conquest over the hated infidels. Satan’s unholy servants would be destroyed. Theirs would be the victory that would turn the tide of battle back toward Allah’s chosen. They’d drive their contemptible adversary into the sea and reclaim northern Egypt before night fell.

Once they wiped the heretics from the face of the earth, the Mahdi’s followers would return to capturing Cairo. With the destruction of the great city complete, they’d make a headlong dash across the Sinai to face the one true curse upon the Arab world. The sainted battle with Israel would begin. Revenge for decades of indignities, real and imagined, would be theirs for the taking. After today’s unqualified mastery, nothing would stand in their way. The Chosen One’s tanks would be rolling into Jerusalem within the week. Islam’s triumph over the world of the faithless was taking shape.

With unbound fury, the Pan-Arabs chased the struggling Marines. Victory was within their grasp. Another one hundred yards of fallow ground was lost as the stumbling Americans ran before the pillaging armored division. Another round of agony and death reached out to claim the defiling Americans. The narrow third line held their positions and waited for their comrades to clear the field. Their weapons were locked on the unending targets.

The last of the faltering figures was soon out of the way. The instant they were clear, the anxious defenders unleashed everything they had. Missiles and machine-gun fire stung the immense attackers. And as before, scores of fierce eruptions rocked the desert air.

But Mourad’s army wasn’t going to be denied. The assured aggressors barely slowed. The third line rapidly consumed their insignificant reserves. Yet their unbending antagonists were still coming. What remained of the first three orders was soon struggling toward the final defensive positions.

For a fourth time, the maligned scene would be repeated. Dea

th, turmoil, and destruction ruled the day. There was nothing the halting Americans could do except use the limited supply of weapons in the remaining row’s arsenal. To slow the Pan-Arabs, the Marines fired everything they had. The last of the battalion’s antitank missiles were unleashed. More burning intruders were added to the perverse display.

Still the suicidal attackers didn’t stop.

The resigned Marines were out of options. There was nowhere left to run. And nothing remaining to slow the lusting tanks. Even so, the Americans would stand their ground.

Thousands of Pan-Arab soldiers and hundreds of weapons of war surged forward, determined to claim a share of the hallowed conquest. Mourad’s armor crowded together in a mad dash to vanquish their debased opponent. The Chosen One’s victorious infantry rushed shoulder to shoulder toward what remained of the disappearing defenses. The onerous battle was at its end.

The lethal blow would be swift and certain.

* * *

—

Side by side, eighteen Cobras roared over the shifting landscape. The instant the overpowering executioners reached the scene, they released a barrage of Hellfire and TOW missiles so mighty nothing could withstand its concussive force. It was a supremely powerful blow. Four hundred yards of desert erupted in a frightful no-man’s-land of blistering fires and searing infernos. A sizable portion of the Pan-Arab armored division disappeared in one swift strike. The earth shuddered and collapsed beneath the Mahdi’s fanatics.

On the ground, the startled Marines watched as fiery figures emerged from the unspeakable holocaust. Fully ablaze, the sightless forms staggered a short distance into the desert before their suffering mercifully ended.

Even the most hardened of the Americans turned away in abject revulsion at the lurid sight. The anguished wails of those who’d been caught in the furious attack would never be forgotten by the horrified men of the Marine battalion. The endless streams of tormented cries would shatter their fitful dreams for the rest of their days.