The 4th Infantry slammed into Mourad’s personal armored division. They’d use their superior night-fighting capabilities to turn the contest in their favor. They recognized it would be an arduous clash. These were the most fervent of the fanatics. It mattered not that they were losing on all fronts. The elite warriors would fight to their final breath.
* * *
—
The rancorous night had reached its midpoint. The battle for Giza had been fierce as the cornered Pan-Arabs rallied their remaining units in a desperate attempt to hold off the advance. The fighting had been of the nastiest kind—house to house, street by street.
The combatants’ lines were quite fluid. In some places the Pan-Arabs were still within reach of the river. In others they’d lost two or three miles. No portion of Giza was safe. Pockets of resistance remained throughout the stretching suburb.
Near a wide boulevard, five members of Alpha 6333 assumed defensive positions in an abandoned house. They were a mile west of Rhoda Island. Heavy gunfire and life-devouring explosions were everywhere. Like every humble home around it, this one had no doors. The Pan-Arab raft builders had seen to that. His rifle at the ready, Sanders peered out a tiny window whose shattered panes had long ago disappeared.
Ever observant, the detachment’s soldiers waited for their leader to appear. Captain Morrow had been recalled to receive an urgent directive from the 6th Special Forces Group commander. He’d been gone for two hours. It felt far longer.
“Looks like the captain might not be coming back,” Donovan said. “What do you think we should do?”
“We stay right here and wait,” Terry replied. “And we’ll keep waiting until someone tells us otherwise. The captain had to cross a mile of unsettled territory to return to the river, and three miles more to get to group headquarters. That doesn’t count the time he’ll have to spend going over the assignment. He’s only been gone a couple of hours. If he runs into trouble, it’s going to take a hell of a lot longer than that to get back. So we’re staying put and waiting for him to return.”
* * *
—
It would be 3:00 a.m. before Morrow arrived. As he stood in the meager room catching his breath, he didn’t bother putting down his gear. The detachment leader knew they had to hurry.
“All right, guys,” he said, “we’ve no time to lose. We’ve got to cover five miles behind enemy lines before sunrise. Pick up your stuff. We’re moving out.”
Every member of the team looked at him in puzzlement.
It was Sanders who asked the question poised on their lips. “Five miles behind Pan-Arab lines. What in hell’s the assignment, sir?”
“Start getting ready,” Morrow said. “I’ll brief you while you do.” He didn’t speak again until he was satisfied the detachment’s soldiers were gathering their gear. It was obvious from his tone he was pleased with the orders they’d received. “Okay, here’s the deal. This team’s been chosen for the mission of a lifetime. We’re going to infiltrate the Pan-Arab defenses and make our way to the western outskirts of Giza. Once there, we’ll hole up until night. At one a.m. tomorrow, we’re to attack and eliminate the Chosen One. Intelligence has verified his location. Despite how they scoffed at our report, those prisoners we captured were telling the truth. The sorry bastard’s hiding inside the Great Pyramid. But with his forces falling back he won’t be for much longer. We’ve got a day, two at most. It’s our responsibility to get to him before he has a chance to escape. We’re to work our way inside his defenses, go into the pyramid, corner and kill him. Let me be clear about that. We’re to kill him. Under no circumstances will he be allowed to surrender.”
“What kind of defenses are we facing, sir?” Terry asked.
“He’s protected by two hundred bodyguards, some air defense personnel, and a hundred or so support troops.”
“The six of us are expected to take out over three hundred of the enemy and then kill Mourad?” Sanders said. “Sir, you’ve got to be kidding.”
“Sanders, it could be a hell of a lot worse. His finest armored division was guarding the Giza Plateau. But he sent them south in response to the 4th Infantry’s arrival. So we could’ve been facing fifteen thousand of his best soldiers instead of three hundred. And we’re not going in alone. It’ll be a fully coordinated effort. The carriers will provide air support. And the Marines are sending some of their best men. Their job will be to engage the bodyguards while we enter the Great Pyramid. There’s only one way in. So you know what that means—there’s only one way out. With us there, there’ll be no way to escape. I’ll go over the details once we’ve found a safe place near the target to hide until tomorrow night.”
“But why us, sir?” Sanders asked as he loaded a fresh magazine into his M-4.
Morrow smiled. “Sanders, that’s the funny part. Remember the bridge you blew up during that huge Pan-Arab attack the day after we got here? The big one running from Rhoda Island to Giza?”
“Yes, sir. How could I forget?”
“Guess what the name of the road was leading onto that bridge.”
“I’ve no idea, sir.”
“The Pyramids Road. All this time we’ve been fighting on the road leading straight to the pyramids. It’s real easy to figure out why we were chosen. This detachment’s the closest to the pyramids. So we’re the logical unit to draw the assignment.”
Next to Sanders, Porter stood sharpening his knife. He’d likely use it on many an occasion this night. A sadistic grin came to his face. “That and the fact we’re the meanest bastards on the planet.”
* * *
—
Porter and Abernathy took the point. The infiltrators needed to cover significant ground in less than four hours. If they failed to do so, the dawning light would give them away and all would be lost. Yet to traverse so precarious a distance behind enemy lines in so little time would call for a tremendous amount of ability. And more than a bit of luck. The simplest mistake would prove fatal.
Sanders knew if anybody could do this, it was the practiced apparitions at their head.
* * *
—
They reached the eastern edge of the Giza Plateau mere minutes before sunrise. In their wake, the dead ran for five miles.
Every home in the area had long ago been abandoned. They picked one giving them an unrestricted view of the Great Pyramid’s northern face.
There they watched the goings-on during the unending hours of a long and dangerous day. The activity into and out of the opening in Khufu’s monument occurred with regularity. Some who entered were in uniform. Others wore civilian dress. The Chosen One’s mujahideen were everywhere. That alone was enough to assure the Green Berets the Mahdi was still there.
In the north, south, and east, the Americans kept the pressure on throughout the morning and into the afternoon.
At 5:00 p.m. on the 6th of November, the Pan-Arab lines began to collapse. Neither side had expected events to change so rapidly. The end was near. If, however, the Americans couldn’t kill Muhammad Mourad, their triumph would have a hollow ring.
67
5:42 P.M., NOVEMBER 6
PAN-ARAB HEADQUARTERS
INSIDE THE KING’S BURIAL CHAMBER, THE GREAT PYRAMID OF KHUFU
THE GIZA PLATEAU
Why are all of you so glum?” Mourad asked.