The Chosen One

The large King Stallion transport helicopters appeared in the hazy sky behind them.

“All right, Sam, resupply’s here. Halt your platoon and let’s get set for the attack.”

“Yes, sir. Platoon Sergeant, stop the men and send out scouts to defend the perimeter. It’s time to get serious.”

* * *

—

The lead elements crested the final rise. The swarming desert unfolded in front of them. Two Pan-Arab divisions, nearly fourteen hundred armored vehicles and thirty thousand men, were waiting.

The reconnaissance drones had been right. Mourad’s armor was heavily dug in, attempting to hide their weaknesses and equalize their chances against the more mobile Challengers. Their defensive strategy was sound. With only their turrets rising above the sands, the waiting tanks and personnel carriers were going to make for difficult targets.

Erickson looked to his left. The platoon leader watched as a dozen Hinds rose from the Nile’s bountiful grasses and headed toward the battlefield.

The Allied forces spread out along the small rise. Three miles away, the enemy’s positions began. The time for the first of the great clashes to determine the outcome of the war had appeared. The cruel vista would soon run deep in the blood of vanquished and victor alike. When the carnage would end was anybody’s guess.

Armageddon was upon them.

The Allies were outnumbered in armored vehicles forty to one. And in men by nearly one hundred to one. But with stout reinforcements approaching and their significant air superiority, they were a heavy favorite to prevail.

Erickson turned to see the menacing Cobras approaching. When the Hinds arrived, they’d find the ruinous Marine helicopters waiting with fangs bared. A first set of Hornets appeared above the battleground. Staying above the three-mile limit of the Pan-Arabs’ older Stinger missiles, they lined up their spirit-rendering runs. It didn’t take long for the pilots to identify inviting targets. The leading fighter dropped a long string of five-hundred-pound bombs toward the waiting T-72s.

The second Hornet soon followed. The death-filled loads dropped toward their fanatical foe. A section in the center of the Pan-Arab defenses erupted in thunderous sound. For thousands, their austere death’s discordant lyric was poised to begin.

A dozen Pan-Arab tanks responded with a volley from their T-72s’ mammoth cannons. The huge shells screamed toward the surging Marines. Scores of artillery soon joined in.

The battle was joined.

53

3:22 P.M., OCTOBER 29

ODA 6333, CHARLIE COMPANY, 3RD BATTALION, 6TH SPECIAL FORCES GROUP (AIRBORNE)

IN THE WINE CELLAR, THE HOTEL LOURAINE

CAIRO

Next to him, Sanders felt Reena stir. He relit the candle. For two days, he’d lain in the basement with heaven in his arms. Since she’d come to his side of the cellar, she’d seldom left his sheltering embrace. Her strength was much improved. Her wounds were healing nicely. She could get up without assistance. And could walk across the room with comparative ease. She appeared immeasurably more comfortable with her situation. For someone who hadn’t eaten in almost a week, the boyish sergeant couldn’t have been happier. He’d gotten his wish. Despite the obstacles standing in the way of his wildest fantasies, the woman he wished to spend his life with had come around.

She opened her dark eyes.

“Reena, after two days without food I’ll bet you’re real hungry. Probably hungry enough for me to start catching the dinner waiting in the kitchen. In four hours it’ll be dark. Then I’ll sneak up these stairs and get us something to eat. Even uncooked rat meat sounds real good right now.”

She looked at him, unable to understand a word he was saying. Even so, her eyes said it all. There was something magical in those dark eyes of hers. Her look showed a sincere appreciation on her behalf. He recognized Reena’s expression couldn’t be called love. Not yet anyway. Her stunning eyes, however, were filled with affection. And for now, he was willing to settle for that. He was certain the rest would come. As far as he was concerned, food or no food, these wonderful days could go on forever.

He held her tight. She snuggled even closer.

“We’re about out of candles, Reena. So we’d better not waste any more of this one.”

Sanders blew it out. The darkness returned to swallow them.

An hour passed. Another ticked by. She fell asleep once again. The artful Green Beret continued planning his attack to catch tonight’s dinner. There was nothing else to do but wait for evening to arrive. Boredom overcame him. His head slowly drooped. Despite his best efforts, his tired eyes closed. He was soon deep within his wayward dreams.

He’d never be certain how long he’d been unconscious before it happened. It could have been as little as a handful of minutes or as long as sixty. Yet suddenly the idyllic afternoon’s peace was shattered. He awoke with a start. Reena had roused a brief moment earlier. Above him, he could hear the squealing rodents scampering in every direction. For the moment, his muddled mind couldn’t comprehend why.

The answer soon came. Without warning, there were footsteps. Muffled voices accompanied the telling sounds. There were people overhead. But the conversation was much too suppressed for Sanders to determine what was being said or how many were present.

Reena hesitated, trying to decide what to do. Her hatred for the American had greatly lessened in the past days. Because of his kindness, she’d actually begun to care for him. Nevertheless, at her core she was still a Pan-Arab soldier, and the infidel next to her remained a sworn enemy. It was her responsibility to her God, and to the Mahdi, that came before all else. And her august duty called for her to alert those above of the rival soldier’s presence.

She pulled away, leaping to her feet. The girl yelled something in Arabic.

“Reena, don’t!”

He attempted to grab her leg. In the absolute darkness his aim was off ever so slightly. She broke free and ran toward the stairs. As she did she screamed again, long and loud. If she continued, there was no way those in the kitchen wouldn’t hear her.

Sanders scrambled to his feet. He hurried toward the sound of her plaintive voice. “Reena, stop,” he whispered.

She shouted something in Arabic once more. He blindly swung a powerful arm, knocking her to the floor. He leaped upon her, desperate to keep her from calling out. She struggled beneath him, striving to set herself free. While she fought, she continued to shriek. Sanders placed his hand over her mouth. She bit him as violently as she could. He instinctively pulled back. He could feel the warm, sticky liquid oozing from the nasty wound she’d opened beneath his thumb. The frantic girl furiously kicked and punched her captor. This time, she wasn’t going to be denied.

“Reena, stop!” he whispered again. “You’re going to give us away.”

She screamed over and over. She wouldn’t relent until those above came to kill the interloper and rescue her from this prison.

Sanders’s survival was on the line. He knew he had to silence her. Without realizing he’d done so, he instinctively felt for his knife. The lethal weapon was soon in his hand. She continued to strain against his actions.

“Reena, you’ve got to stop! Please, Reena, I’m begging you.”

She sensed the long knife inches from her throat. Still, that wasn’t going to keep her from completing her reverent task. She was going to alert her compatriots of the heathen’s presence or die trying. She raked her fingernails across his face, tearing chunks of flesh from beneath his left eye. A trail of red ran down his cheek. She cried out, an endless stream of indecipherable words escaping her mouth.

He couldn’t let her continue. It was his life or hers. He was out of options. Without conscious thought, he slit her throat.

Reena’s screams stopped in mid-sentence. Her head slumped to the side, blood gushing from the wound. Sanders drew back. In stunned si

lence he knelt over her, unwilling to accept the despicable act she’d forced upon him. In one startling moment, his idyllic dreams were forever lost. Her life had ended. And he’d soon be joining her if he didn’t move quickly.

He raced over, scooped up his rifle, and ducked behind the wine rack farthest from the slender door. Covered in Reena’s blood, he crouched in the dirt, waiting and praying those above hadn’t heard her pleas.

The doorway opened. A flashlight’s seeking beam shined into the foul-smelling basement. Whoever was behind the shimmering glare was being extremely cautious. The light pierced the blackness, exploring the cramped room without placing its holder in a position where he’d be exposed to anyone within the space. The person at the top of the stairs knew what he was doing.

Sanders raised his rifle. He’d no idea how many there were, but he wouldn’t go down without a fight.

“I’m telling you, Sarge,” an American murmured, “this is the place. There’s a body lying on the floor. And I’m certain the yelling we heard was coming from here.”

Sanders knew that voice. It was one he would’ve recognized anywhere. “Porter? Is that you?” he called out.

“Charlie?” Porter said. “You down there, man?”

“Hell yes, I’m here.”

Porter turned to the figure standing behind him in the kitchen. “You’re not going to believe this, but it’s Sanders.”

Porter and Abernathy started down the short steps. At the bottom of the rotting stairs, they stepped over the lifeless girl.

“Man, Charlie, you’re one lucky son of a bitch,” Porter said. “All this time stuck in this hole and you’re still alive.”