Charlie yelled, “Grenade!”
The others went out the door, diving into the courtyard, but Charlie went headfirst into the room where the grenade was thrown from. This caught Davood completely off-guard. He was not expecting such a bold action by anybody. The grenade went off and he went into the next room and spun around, AK-47 in his hands ready to open up. The others came into the room Charlie was in, and all had been untouched by the grenade.
Charlie worked his way over to the door and looked in. He gave the medic a hand signal for a flash bang grenade. The man reached in his tactical vest and pulled one out, tossing it to Charlie. Charlie caught it, as the group tightened up behind him. He pulled the pin, mouthed the words, “One, two, three,” and tossed it in the other room.
The army describes the XM84 stun grenade in this way:
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The XM84 Stun Grenade is a non-fragmentation, non-lethal “Flash and Bang” stun grenade that is intended to provide a reliable, effective non-lethal means of neutralizing & disorienting enemy personnel.
The M84 non-lethal Stun Grenade is a non-lethal, low hazard, non-shrapnel-producing explosive device intended to confuse, disorient or momentarily distract potential threat personnel. The device produces a temporary incapacitation to threat personnel or innocent bystanders. This device will be used by military personnel in hostage rescue situations and in the capture of criminals, terrorists or other adversaries. It provides commanders a non-lethal capability to increase the flexibility in the application of force during military operations.
Detonating the M84 Stun Grenade in the presence of natural gas, gasoline, or other highly flammable fumes or materials may cause a serious secondary explosion or fire, resulting in death or severe injury to friendly forces or unintended victims, as well as serious property damage. The operator must wear proper hearing protection when employing the M84. Injury to personnel could result if the grenade functions prior to being deployed.
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Davood Faraz Dabdeh had stopped long enough in the next room to kick over the can of gas and drag the box of blasting caps next to it. He was hoping they would use a hand grenade, or even a tracer round that might ignite the gas. The explosion sent all flying backward, totally stunned as part of the walls around them collapsed and the group was covered with debris. Charlie got the concussion the worst, because he was the only one not wearing a Kevlar vest. Fortunately, he had put on his K-pot, or Kevlar helmet, preventing him from worsening his concussion and fractured eye socket and cheekbone. Blood did pour from his bandage again. All were stunned and their guns had gone flying.
Davood Faraz Dabdeh limped forward. Fila had broken his right foot and cracked his shinbone with the car. He also had bruised ribs from landing on his rifle stock. He was amazed and amused as he walked forward slowly that this stupid infidel in the suit was reaching into his pants to grab his manhood at a time like this. He walked forward menacingly, slowly relishing the moment. He felt he was going to get away. He always had, his whole life, so he was not filled with wide-eyed panic like all his trainees. He was now ten feet away and felt that would be close enough to start shooting this infidel in various limbs so he could watch him scream. The man still was playing or protecting his manhood. Davood grinned, and that was when Charlie's hand came out of his boxer shorts and suit pants, and the switchblade whipped open with a click that could be heard above the outside gunfire and explosions. It flew from Charlie's underhand throw and stuck deeply into Dabdeh's right shoulder, and he dropped his AK-47, gritting his teeth in pain. He bent to grab it, and this was the split second Fila was hoping for. She lunged for the Colt M1911 .45 pistol lying five feet out of her reach and opened fire on Dabdeh, who took a round in the same spot as the switchblade. Charlie got to his feet swaying and picked up his M4A1 and his Glock.
He said, “Tend to them and their wounds, Fila.”
He headed toward the door.
She said, “No, you need backup.”
Charlie cut her off and said, “That was not a request, Sergeant.”
She said, “Sorry,” and moved immediately over to Doc to check on him so hopefully he could help give aid to the rest.
Charlie did not even look back. He felt bad about snapping at Fila, but this was combat, and he was the commander on the ground. He was doing exactly what he would have done with a team of men who were working with him for the first time. Two were functioning and the others were all wounded and needed care immediately. He had to chase his target and take him down. That was his mission, but he also wanted his men taken care of, especially if they could get up and keep fighting and rejoin him. That would be his best force-multiplier. If Fila could not handle what he had done, she would have to transfer out to another unit. He knew he was correct.
Fila was treating Doc, who was thankfully just stunned, and he and she worked on Custer, who had a concussion himself now and a fractured collarbone. Doc lifted his arm and had Fila hold it against Custer's tactical vest. Doc then produced a roll of adhesive tape and started wrapping it around Custer's chest and upper arm, immobilizing the arm up against the chest, his palm facing in. Custer was in a daze looking around, a blank stare on his face.
Fila took Custer's headset and radio and put it on. She asked about the other half of the team as the withering fire was now just occasional bursts. The other team member was unconscious. Fila told them their situation and said they could use help when they could spare it.
Charlie was quickly and none too carefully breaching each room looking for Davood Faraz Dabdeh, his target. Dabdeh was losing blood and knew it. He started thinking about how he could get excellent medical treatment if he simply surrendered. There was a noise, and he looked up and there was Charlie with an M4 pointed at him. Dabdeh was caught flat-footed and stared into Charlie's cold eyes.
He said, “I surrender, American. I need medical care,” and he dropped his AK-47 and raised his one working arm.
Charlie had forgotten that Dabdeh could speak a little English and even had a little bit of a British accent.
Charlie raised the M4 up to look through the holographic sight. He put the red dot on the center of Dabdeh's chest.
Davood gulped nervously, “I surrender. You do not want your CNN to say you are a murderer, now, do you?”
The President, Pops, and Kerri all listened, as did the remaining translator Samireh.
Charlie said, “I am Master Sergeant Charlie Strongheart, a dog soldier of the Lakota Nation, descendant of Chief Sitting Bull and great-nephew of White Bull. I am with the 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment-Delta, and we do not perform for the news media. We operate in the shadows. I am a warrior, not a murderer, and I am here to kill you. I am not here on a mercy mission. You know the rules of the game. Now die.”
He squeezed the trigger, and Davood Faraz Dabdeh stopped smiling, as his heart exploded from all the bullets that tore into it. He slammed against the wall and slid into a sitting position, eyes opened wide in horror at death. Charlie took out his cell phone and started snapping pictures.
The President of the United States called Pops, and the colonel answered.
The President identified himself and said, “Are you on a secure line?”
Pops said, “Yes, Mr. President.”
The commander in chief said, “We will have to do a citation about her carrying troops to safety and giving them medical care under fire in Afghanistan or Iraq. Americans don't want their pretty young daughters getting shot and killing bad guys. We will have to make up a fake battle in one of those countries, but if I do not get anything else through Congress before I leave office, those two are going to be awarded the Medal of Honor. Everybody else on that mission better be getting nothing lower than the Silver Star. We will have a talk with the translators. Now I have something else to attend to right away. Get them home safe, pal.”
“We will, Mr. President.”
The three Little Birds buzzed back toward the desert base camp and soon spotted an Iranian Elite Republican Guard patrol on Highway 5 around the BMW. They were checking it out and had picked up the body of the terrorist Fila had shot dead. Charlie pulled out a small box, waited until a civilian car had driven safely past and beyond it, and pushed the enter button. The car exploded just as some of the soldiers noticed the Little Birds skimming over the desert floor.
The Detachment-Delta team had no deaths but a number of wounded. They still had to get out of Iran, though. The president of Iran was being rushed to an underground bunker, as were several high ayatollahs, imams, and government officials. The official alarm had just gone off that Tehran was under attack by Israel and the United States. Jet fighters had been scrambled, but several of them hearing the alert suddenly had trouble getting their jets started.
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President turned to Kerri Rhodes. “Kerri, I want you to personally go to the CIA and speak to those translators.”
She left and the President stood in front of his desk.
He called for his secretary, and he said, “Send in that reporter, please.”
The young man entered the room, and they introduced themselves.
The President said, “Have a seat, Alan. Please.”
They sat down, the President in a chair and Alan in a small love seat right in front of the center rug, individually designed by each new president.
The chief executive said, “Well, Alan, I promised you an exclusive interview, and you are going to get it. But first, off the record, why did you come to us instead of your editor with this outlandish story by this Major General Rozanski? I would think, even though it was not true, it could have gotten you plenty of accolades and awards for your paper.”
“Well,” Alan said, “Mr. President, I did not like the general when we met, but I do not allow that to interfere with how I write a news story. But I wondered how a man could make a living fighting for this country and wearing a uniform and then betray his chain of command. My father earned a Silver Star in Vietnam in the U.S. Navy. He was a Seabee, and I saw how the press treated him and other Vietnam veterans.”
“Good for your father,” the commander in chief said.
Alan went on. “Then during the course of the interview, the major kept getting angry, sir, and he called you a damned queer.”
The President laughed and said, “I certainly have been called a lot worse, young man.”
“That was not it, Mr. President,” Alan said. “I am gay, sir, and my boyfriend, who I loved very much, was a New York City firefighter. He gave his life saving others in World Trade Center Building Number One on September 11, 2001. It is more important to me to preserve truth, and Thomas's legacy, than to build my journalism career on some self-centered egomaniac's political ambitions.”
The President said, “Why aren't there more journalists like you around? I thought they all died.”
He went to his desk and got a notebook, and returned, and started looking at his notes.
First, he looked at the reporter and said, “Alan, first of all, I want to express my deepest condolences on your loss of Thomas. You should always be very proud of him. Secondly, I did some checking on the names Major General Rozanski accused of this. Master Sergeant Charlie Strongheart is not in Delta Force. He is a Green Beret serving at Fort Bragg. That Sergeant First Class Fila Jannat he mentioned is an intelligence specialist and is a member of an intelligence group that is attached to Special Forces at Fort Bragg, also. She has a desk job and this loon tries to claim there are women in Delta Force? Working closely at Bragg is where I am told that she and Sergeant Strongheart met and fell in love. His group is deployed to Afghanistan, and she has been deployed there, too. We just got word today that their complex was attacked and both of them and many others were severely wounded, but from the report I got they were in the mountainous area along the Pakistani border and came under attack because they were developing solid leads about al Qaeda leadership hiding in that area just across the border. They are both in a hospital in Germany, and Sergeant Strongheart is undergoing surgery right now.
“The report I got was that either al Qaeda or Taliban or both attacked their compound and both of them were wounded, and Sergeant Jannat continuously exposed herself to enemy fire to save wounded soldiers from her office and dragged and carried some to safety under fire, and Sergeant Strongheart also distinguished himself by leading repeated attacks against the enemy, killing many, despite his own wounds. I will give you the exclusive news break on it as soon as our Public Affairs Office gives us the release. I will tell you this. I spoke to the overall task force commander there and both his and her commanding officers, and both of them have been submitted for the Medal of Honor, our nation's highest honor, and this trash-talking desk jockey general wants to slander two of our nation's bravest and finest. Rozanski knows about the investigations going on about his own moral character and shady dealings, so he is simply trying to divert attention.”
“He is being investigated?” Alan said.
The President said, “You didn't know that? I'll have to ask the FBI director and secretary of the army what I can tell you, but we will definitely give you the exclusive on Major General Damien Rozanski. Give me a few days to talk to those people and find out what we can say right now, but you can be there when he is arrested if you want.”
The President asked Alan if he wanted tea or coffee and started thinking about how he would teach Damien Percy Rozanski about playing politics with the big boys.