The Chosen One

Sanders attached the explosive charges to yet another pontoon and ran for cover.

Forty-five seconds later, the floating bridge exploded. It collapsed into the riotous currents.

The day of reckoning droned on. With a long night nearing, and neither side gaining a significant advantage, the relentless attack continued.

With each fleeting hour, Mourad’s chances of winning were slipping away.

59

6:04 P.M., OCTOBER 31

PRESS CITY

ON THE BEACH

NORTHERN EGYPT

Like Sam Erickson, Lauren Wells had felt a growing confidence on the day the Marines departed to support the British tanks. Conquest was close at hand, of that she was certain. She’d surrounded herself in that positive glow as she watched Sam disappearing in the distance. She was unequivocal. They’d quickly be reunited to celebrate the Allied victory.

Yet within the hour, her resolve began to fade. With him gone, his handsome face little more than a memory, the first doubts appeared. She tried to shake those loathsome emotions, but they overcame her. She longed to touch the man she adored. She craved the comfort of his enveloping presence. She needed reassurance that things were going to turn out exactly as they’d planned. In painful silence as the hours passed, she’d stood on the dust-choked spot where she’d last seen him, clinging to his dwindling essence.

Throughout the sweltering afternoon she’d remained where she was, observing one unit after another head into the unyielding desert in support of the Challengers. As sunset approached, and the final elements of the second British armored division departed, she’d little choice but to return to Press City. As she walked between the rows of tents, she felt totally alone.

The moment Wells lifted the flap and saw the wondrous place where life’s love had found her, the day’s events rose to consume her. Teardrops trickled down her cheeks for well into the night. Her anguish flowed until she could cry no more. Having rested little in the past days, she lay down and was soon fast asleep. Shortly before dawn she awoke with a start and was forced back into the here and now.

In the days that followed, the agonizing time without him refused to pass. At first, she’d nothing to do but wait. And then the medevacs started arriving. In the beginning, they were only a trickle. Every few hours a handful of wounded would reach the beach. At unpredictable moments, the dead’s spectral images were solemnly unloaded and placed in body bags for the journey home. Wells met each arriving helicopter. Her heart in her throat, she searched the wounded’s bloody faces. She forced herself to examine the staid dead, hoping against hope not to find her love. And her pleas had been answered. Sam hadn’t been among them. Yet she understood the next flight could forever change that. Her life became an appalling routine of endless hours of boredom punctuated by stark panic at the sound of a nearing medevac.

At least that was the way her wayward reality had been until two days earlier. Quite unexpectedly, everything changed. In a matter of hours, the unmerciful arrivals exploded. The King Stallions’ and Ospreys’ appearances increased tenfold. So did Wells’s torment. She watched as one after another reached the beach, unloaded its human cargo, and took to the air to pluck additional casualties from the distant field. She’d seen the hospital tents fill to overflowing. She’d viewed the constant jaunts of the landing craft as they ferried the most difficult cases to the hospital ship anchored offshore. She’d witnessed the terrifying helicopters filled beyond capacity with American and British dead. And by the hour, her misery swelled.

No one in the press corps could coax a word out of the command element. Nevertheless, something of grave consequence was evolving in the distant deserts. Try as she might, she couldn’t get confirmation from any official source. Even so, there was no denying the truth. A battle of immense proportions was occurring somewhere between here and Cairo. A demanding conflict taking many lives. She found a handful of wounded Marines willing to tell their tale in exchange for a few minutes with a pretty face and comforting smile. They confirmed her worst fears. Sam’s battalion had been the first to enter the horrific fray. And casualties on both sides were severe.

The lethargic early days without him had been anguished. Yet she’d gladly have returned to those monotonous hours in exchange for what she now faced. Her heart stopped with every arriving medevac. The landings became so frequent she couldn’t keep up. Afraid to ask, and then afraid not to, she checked with the hospital incessantly. She roamed the beach like a specter, examining the remains of those who’d fallen. Sam, however, was nowhere to be found. In stark terror, a prayer poised on her lips, she’d gone over the rolls of American dead and wounded. She’d wondered if she’d ever again see her splendid lieutenant.

Wells was beside herself as the body bags mounted on the Mediterranean’s sands. With every quarter hour, more dead and wounded appeared. Day and night, dread filled her heart as the whirling blades neared.

She searched the tents of the swelling hospital complex in hopes of finding an answer to his whereabouts. Maybe, just maybe, she’d find someone who could tell her about Sam.

Her fruitless investigation dragged on for hours. Her inquiries entered a second frantic day.

And the exacting toll kept coming. It was nearing noon. Even though she hadn’t eaten in twenty hours, she never considered stopping her decided mission.

Wells slowly walked through one of the hospital’s many tents examining the wounded. Suddenly she stopped. One of the faces looked vaguely familiar. She hesitated in front of a small cot holding a badly injured Marine. His chest and stomach were covered in bandages. His left arm was in a sling. Tubes ran into his stomach and down his shattered arm. The anguished Marine looked at her and attempted a feeble smile.

“Haven’t I seen you before?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” the Marine, his pain evident, answered. “We spoke just over a week ago in this very tent.”

An all-consuming joy came to her face. “You’re one of Sam’s men, aren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m Brian Merker, one of Lieutenant Erickson’s squad leaders. Or at least I was until last night.”

“Looks like you’re badly hurt. If you don’t mind my asking, what happened to you? Where’s Sam’s platoon? I’ve got to know what’s going on. I’ve got to know everything.”

After her conversation with the struggling sergeant, Wells knew what she had to do.

The time for decisive action had come. She couldn’t take the waiting any longer. She had to see for herself what was occurring on the Sahara’s stained sands. She had to find Sam.

* * *

—

Once again, her request to leave the beach had been denied. For a moment, rage filled her, storming into her worried eyes. Her anger was soon replaced with overwhelming frustration. Despite everything she’d tried, she couldn’t find a way off the beach. She couldn’t figure out how to do her job. And she hadn’t discovered an approach that would allow her to reach Sam.

In her mind’s ever-expanding fog, she walked toward Press City. Darkness was about to fall.

Another dissolving sunset had arrived without her being allowed to re

port on the greatest story of the millennium. Another day had passed without her knowing Sam was okay. Head bowed, she moved down the beach.

That’s when, to her surprise, she found it.

The answer to her prayers had appeared. In disbelief, she stared at her salvation. Sitting twenty yards from the central mess tent was an unguarded Humvee. Its engine was idling. From where it had come and to whom it belonged, she hadn’t a clue. She looked around. There wasn’t a soul in sight. Obviously, a Marine had left the vehicle and hurried inside to grab some hot food for the men in his unit.

A smile came to her face. The solution had presented itself.

They could lock her away for a long time for what she was about to do. Yet she no longer cared. She jumped into the front seat and put the Humvee into gear.

* * *

—

The vehicle screeched to a stop in front of her tent. Wells left the engine running. She had to hurry if she was going to make her escape. She leaped out and raced inside. Grabbing anything and everything, she shoved articles of clothing into an oversize bag. She was soon back behind the wheel. One more stop and she’d be on her way.

The stolen Humvee pulled up in front of a tent farther down the lengthy row. The flap was open. She peered inside. To her relief, her cameraman was sitting there cleaning his equipment.