Authors: R.D. Power
Not even a genius thinks of everything, but he chastised himself for what could turn out to be a critical oversight.
The two determined that separating was a good idea to maximize their chances of success and needed to make sure they were on the same page. The time was 0-24. They agreed to ask that the helicopter land at the far end of the field next to the settlement at precisely 01-15, which assumed they’d find a phone within a half-hour. They would stay together until they got close to the skirmishes.
Before they could go their separate ways, however, they ran into trouble. Approaching a corner, they heard talking. Owens recognized it as Arabic. They peeked around the corner to see two Republican Guard soldiers going through the pockets of dead Americans. One of the items pilfered was a satellite phone. The Americans looked at each other, each saying with his look, “We need to get that phone!” But, looking south down the block, they saw several more enemy soldiers and a tank about five hundred feet away.
“Where the fuck did they get that?” asked Hendrix.
Owens shook his head. Debris from the destroyed buildings blocked their way east. If they tried to run north, the tank would surely get them before they could get to the next corner. They thought maybe they could dash out, shoot the Iraqis, grab the phone, and run back west before the tank could get a shot off, but just as they were getting ready to go, two more Republican Guard soldiers turned the corner behind them about four hundred feet away. They stopped when they saw Hendrix and Owens and readied their weapons.
Although the Americans were wearing Republican Guard uniforms, there were too many clues they weren’t what they seemed: one could speak thickly-accented Arabic, the other none at all; their uniforms were too small; they had their own guns and boots. Given the gravity of their mission, it was too risky to try to get by them. For all intents and purposes, they were trapped.
Three American bodies lay amidst the smoldering ruins of a small building. Several small fires assisted the moon in lighting the scene. All that was left of the building was the base of the south wall and a large pile of rubble. The Americans had to think quickly. Just crossing the street and shooting the Iraqis would bring their comrades, not to mention the tank, upon them in too short a time to get the message out.
They needed to delay the onslaught for at least a minute, in their estimation. The only way Owens could think of to do that was to place himself between Hendrix and the Iraqis in the hope that they wouldn’t kill what appeared to be their own soldier. It had to be him in between in case he needed to yell to the Iraqis. It was perilous for Owens, but even more so for Hendrix because it was indubitable everyone would be gunning for the man who just shot two of their comrades. But it was either this or failure of their mission.
Owens told his buddy of the plan, and Hendrix agreed. Hendrix would run out, kill the two Iraqis, grab the phone, and take cover behind the mountain of rubble. Owens would follow as if he were chasing Hendrix shooting in his direction and end up on the opposite side of the debris.
Taking a deep breath, Hendrix ran out firing at the Iraqis. Both Iraqis fell dead. Owens ran out seconds later firing at the ruins behind which Hendrix had stationed himself. Hendrix recovered the phone and dialed it. He shot toward Owens, who had knelt on one knee shooting toward Hendrix. The Iraqis trotted up the street from the south.
“Don’t shoot!” Owens yelled to them in Arabic. He hoped screaming short declarations would not betray his accent. He took another two shots toward Hendrix. Hendrix got through to the contact. Owens couldn’t see the soldiers coming from the west from his vantage point, but knew they would be upon them imminently. Once they stepped out from the corner he would have no choice but to shoot them, for Hendrix would be exposed to them. Owens would have to react quickly before they could shoot at Hendrix. Hendrix cited the password. The Iraqis to the south had closed to within three hundred-fifty feet, and the tank was rolling behind them.
“Move!” screamed the commanding officer in Arabic as the tank’s turret wheeled around to take a shot. Owens disregarded the order, hoping they would assume he didn’t hear it. Hendrix started relaying the crucial information. Owens glanced to the north to ensure that coast was clear. It was, but he spotted several bodies burned beyond recognition. Two were young children, judging by their size. He turned away immediately, but not before the gruesome sight was charred into his memory.
As if the threat from the south weren’t bad enough, he expected the two soldiers to attack from the west at any second. He told himself that shooting them could be the last thing he would ever do. Opening fire on them would prove him the enemy of those to the south.
And from the south came another order to “get away from there or die!”
His heart was beating so hard he could feel his ears pulsate. Hoping to delay their assault, Owens yelled in Arabic, “I think I got him!” as peeped over the demolished wall at Hendrix. The Iraqis continued their advance from the south. He was as scared as a human being can get, but there was no way out now. Still, the cover of the building on the corner is a mere fifteen yards away.
We can make that if I take out those two soldiers.
But Hendrix needed to get the vital information out before taking the chance of running.
Hendrix had been on the phone for forty-five seconds by this time, enough, Owens hoped, to get the main message across. Suddenly the two Iraqis appeared from the west with guns leveled at Hendrix. With the enemy approaching from the south, Owens opened fire on the two from the west, killing both instantly with double-taps to the head. Confused, the soldiers moving north stopped about one hundred-fifty feet away. The tank stopped just in front of the enemy soldiers.
“Fire!” shouted the Iraqi officer.
“Time’s out, Hendrix! Run!” Owens said as the Iraqi soldiers started firing, and he took off toward the corner.
“I haven’t quite finished,” Hendrix said. The tank aimed its cannon.
“Get out of there!” Owens shrieked as he ran. Owens got to the corner, stood beside a wall, shot a few rounds at the soldiers moving north to slow them down, and looked back at Hendrix. The last he saw of the brave man was his signal of success: a raised thumb. He vanished in an explosion.
Shock immobilized Owens for a few seconds, but he collected himself, turned west, and ran as hard as could to the next corner, turning it just as the tank was aiming at him. Mourning the loss of the man who’d been his closest companion over the last several months, Owens ran back to the hideout. He could only hope Hendrix had communicated everything, and that action was forthcoming.
By the time Owens got back to the hideout, Republican Guard troops were all over the settlement. Several were approaching the building with the inspectors. He ran undetected to the window, knocked, and was admitted. It was too early to get everyone out and run across the field. The helicopter, assuming it was coming, would be another twenty-three minutes. “Untie him,” Owens directed, pointing to the man who lived there. “Hurry! The Iraqis are just about here.” The Chilean inspector untied the man. “Hendrix is dead,” he sadly whispered to Fernandez. Fernandez, too, was greatly affected. Hendrix had been a first-class guy liked by everybody.
Owens asked Fernandez to “hold your gun to his wife’s head and stand back there out of sight.” The hapless woman was horrified, and tears fell from her eyes. “Now the rest of you—go into the bedroom and keep quiet. Carry him in there,” he instructed pointing to Haziz, “and him, too,” he added referring to Mr. Sinkala.
“He’s dead,” Fernandez said. Owens shook his head in dismay.
“Cover the child’s mouth,” Owens told the inspectors as he closed the door to the bedroom. He turned to his male captive and told him in no uncertain terms that he was to tell the soldiers who were about to knock on his door that there was no one here besides his family, and that they could come in to look if they insisted—hoping, of course, they wouldn’t. “If you tip them off, he’ll shoot your wife, and I’ll shoot you. Understand?” he said in broken Arabic. The scared man nodded.
They waited and waited, anxiety increasing by the moment. They heard the pounding on doors hard by and some screaming.
Finally came the loud knock on their door, accompanied by a demand to open it. The occupant answered the door, and the soldier stepped in. Owens was behind the door ready for a shootout.
The soldier took two steps in and looked around. Seeing nothing, he took another step. He stood there for what seemed like hours. The resident told him he lived alone. Had the soldier turned his head one more degree or so, he might have caught Owens out of the corner of his eye. But he turned the other way and walked out. Our hero almost fell to his knees in relief and thanks. He thanked his captive and promised they would all leave soon. Fernandez tied and gagged the hostages again, while Owens went to the room to tell the inspectors to get ready to leave, warning them to keep quiet.
Owens gathered them around and told them Hendrix got the news out, much to the relief of everyone. “Thank God,” three said in unison. They were saddened to hear of the brave man’s death. Owens added that Hendrix had asked for a rescue helicopter—at least he hoped so—to meet them at the far end of the field at 01-15.
“What is your name, son?” asked the Irishman.
“Staff Sergeant Robert Owens, sir.”
“Where are you from?”
“Most recently Ontario, Canada. I’m a dual citizen: Canadian and American.”
“Well, thank you, Sergeant Owens. You are a credit to your country—your countries—and to your heritage!” They also thanked Fernandez for his courageous actions. They sat waiting for another six minutes, whispering among each other about the situation. At 1:07, each of the inspectors climbed out the window. Fernandez carried the injured Haziz and Owens carried the body of the Zambian across the dusty field toward the rendezvous point.
The group crossed the field under the cover of darkness and got to the far end by the river. They heard nothing. Then they saw lights approaching on the nearby road. “Get down!” Owens ordered. “On your bellies.”
It was small truck with two soldiers, one of whom had a rocket launcher. Owens hung his head down and let out a sigh. He knew they had to try to knock that rocket launcher out of commission or the helicopter would be at risk. The others knew it, too. Owens asked them to confirm when they got on the chopper that all the news about the virus had been transmitted as he and Fernandez got to their feet. The Irishman said, “Thank you, Sergeant Owens and Sergeant Fernandez. You were sent by God to help us.”
As the two troopers dashed toward the truck, an American helicopter swooped in over the river and landed one hundred-forty feet away from the group. It was almost silent, and all marveled at its surprise approach. It nevertheless failed to escape the detection of the Iraqis with the rocket. They stopped their truck and readied the rocket as Owens and Fernandez approached. The Iraqis, in preparing their weapon, were kneeling on the opposite side of the vehicle from the Americans.
“I’ll flank them,” said Owens and, stooping as low as he could, he ran off toward the trees before Fernandez could respond. But before Owens got in position, the helicopter took off with the inspectors on board. The Iraqis pointed their weapon as the helicopter banked to turn south. Seeing this, Fernandez ran up for an unobstructed shot at the man with the rocket launcher, and shot just as he was launching his rocket against the helicopter, which sent the missile into the river. Owens had just got to the trees as the shooting began. He shot the other Iraqi soldier who was firing at Fernandez. The Iraqi fell dead.
Owens ran out to check on his friend and saw he was lying on the ground motionless. He got to him and knew at once Fernandez was dead. He got down on his knees, cradled Fernandez’s head against his chest, and wept. Within a few minutes, the area was alive with Republican Guard soldiers running toward the explosion.
Frightened, Owens lowered his friend to the ground, got to his feet, and ran toward the truck, but stopped when he saw flashlights approach from that direction. He turned and ran the opposite way. Knowing if he were caught in an enemy uniform he would be in trouble, he went back to the spot where he and Haziz had left their black assault suits by a grove near the sanatorium. He changed back into his suit and headed toward allied lines. When he ran into a small clearing, he came face to face with several Iraqi soldiers. He raised his arms in surrender.
“O
ur sources tell us that American troops were sent in to rescue a group of UN arms inspectors who were being held captive by a renegade faction of Iraqi Republican Guard soldiers,” NBC revealed. “It was unclear what had caused the faction to take this extraordinary step, or why the Americans have taken such drastic steps to free them.” The speculation free-for-all was unleashed.
Just before eight AM Eastern time, with Kristen still riveted to the TV, the Pentagon called a news conference. All the pundits were shushed, and all networks switched to the Kuwait location for the military spokeswoman.
“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. At 9:38 PM last night, local time, we received intelligence that remnants of the Republican Guard had detained a United Nations weapons inspection team against their will. We’d been contacted by the German inspector, Herr Shtern, but he’d been cut off before he could transmit the entire message. The President immediately authorized the deployment of troops to liberate the captives and their secret. An American strike team with British support was inserted into Baghdad at 10:45 PM with this mission.
“Republican Guard troops had set up ambushes in several spots around the compound where Herr Shtern had indicated they were being held. There was heavy fighting, but we are pleased and proud to announce that the operation was completed successfully at 1:37 AM local time. An American helicopter rescued seven of the nine hostages and flew them back to this base. We regret to say Herr Shtern was killed, along with the Zambian inspector, Mr. Sinkala.”