Authors: Claude G. Berube
“Only in '88. I was training for the '92 Olympics but got sidelined by an injury.”
“Sorry to hear that. What happened?”
“My ship made a port call in Naples. I was in a café with friends. The Red Brigade saw U.S. Navy targets of opportunity and opened fire on us. Wrong place, wrong time.”
They were now approaching the outskirts of Old Mar'ib, one of the region's most ancient cities. The dirt road wound up and down the sloping hills that surrounded the ruins. Stone blocks strewn about like an earthquake had struck the area were all that remained of ancient structures ravaged by time and the wars that have always plagued the region. No one lived here anymore. Stark became aware that the vehicle had begun slowly accelerating and then
decelerating, and he saw that Golzari's eyes darted back and forth between the odometer and the rearview mirror.
“Problem?” he asked the DSS agent.
“I think so. Car back there has been following us for about ten minutes. They're keeping pace with our speed.” Stark reached behind him to pull his Beretta from his go-bag as Golzari hit the accelerator.
“Let's see if he wants to keep up with me,” Golzari said as the speedometer hit seventy, eighty, and then eighty-five miles an hour. The other car kept pace.
Stark looked ahead and saw a truck stopped in the middle of the road. Two people were inside and two were standing outside. One of the latter held a long tube to his shoulder.
“Shit, it's an ambush! Golzari, slow down!”
“Bloody hell,” Golzari said, decelerating to sixty miles per hour. Force protection rules dictated more speed, but if the men ahead had what he thought they had, the embassy SUV wouldn't make it through. A quick survey of the almost barren land around him left only one choice for coverâthe ruins on the hill. Years of training took over. “Grab the go-bags,” he said calmly to Stark. His own M4 had been at his side with a chambered round since they left the estate. He left the road and sped toward the closest hill. The men waiting in ambush quickly got into the truck and followed, tires throwing up sand and dust. The pursuit car was nearing but still remained a quarter mile behind them.
If they were going to make a stand anywhere, it would have to be the hill, which offered the highest ground and, with the large rocks and oversized building stones, the best protection. Golzari hit the brakes, simultaneously turning the steering wheel so that the vehicle would skid and present its full length to the attackers and offer a possible barricade for defense. He slammed the SUV into park next to a long slope that rose two hundred yards to a cluster of stone blocks the size of refrigerators. A few old columns still stood proud and tall against the azure sky, but most had fallen and crumbled through the long years. “Go!” he directed Stark, who grabbed both bags and leapt from the vehicle.
The loose dirt, pebbles, and stones on the hillside forced Stark to keep a cautious pace. He made a break for an opening between two clusters of ruins and set up a defensive position behind one of them.
Golzari followed Stark out the passenger-side door and trained his M4 on the pursuit car, now only a hundred yards away. He quickly adjusted the rear sight, then took two shots at the driver. One hit, and the car veered away and slowed. Golzari continued to fire rounds into the car and saw a second
man slump from sight. The truck came into range, and Golzari emptied his clip toward it, hoping for a lucky shot. Nothing doing; it was time to get under cover.
As he started up the slope, gunfire erupted from the ruins above. Stark was laying down suppressing fire. A few rounds from the attackers kicked up some dust nearby, but Golzari reached the stones unhurt. Stark had discarded his peashooter and was standing ten yards away with his M4, resting it on a shoulder-high stone for stability. When he saw Golzari safely behind a large stone to his left, Stark reached down, retrieved Golzari's go-bag, and tossed it toward him.
“First car is to the right about three hundred yards,” Stark called out. “Two men up with rifles. I've got them. You get the other two. The truck is four hundred yards down and to the left. Four men. I think two have RPGs. What's the range on those?”
“Paint a bull's-eye here.”
Stark dropped down and rolled to the right side of his shelter to get a clear view of the slope below. None of the six menâplus the first he'd injuredâ were moving.
“What do you see, Stark?” Golzari yelled as he reloaded his weapon.
“One of the RPG guys is up and he's . . . shit! Incoming!” Stark rolled back against the rock and opened his mouth to minimize the change in pressure from the imminent explosion.
Golzari did the same just before dirt and debris rained down from the ruins uphill. Golzari peered around just long enough to see that the embassy vehicle was a smoking shambles. “They got our SUV,” he yelled to Stark. “Give me some suppressing fire again on three. Ready? One-two-three!”
Stark came around on his good knee and began firing to cover Golzari, who popped up from behind his stone to take a shot at one of the truck crew. His aim was off. The man recoiled with an arm wound, still alive. Golzari hoped that would be enough to take him out of the action.
Stark dove back behind cover, but not before he saw the RPG belch flames again. “Incoming!” he shouted again to Golzari.
Golzari hit the ground just as a rocket-propelled grenade destroyed half of the rock sheltering Stark, covering both men with gravel. He dusted himself off and took stock of the situation. “You okay, Stark?”
“Yeah, just give me a minute.”
“We don't have a minute.” Golzari looked around again to fire his weapon.
“What are they doing?” Stark asked.
“Three firing from the car, two from the truck, plus two injured. They're not moving away yet. One more thing. They all look like Somalis.”
“Pirates? Here?”
“That's my guess. That could be good for us. If they were soldiers, they'd know what they were doing.”
“We're still outnumbered three to one. Feels like the Alamo,” said Stark.
“Or the Knights Hospitaller and the Siege of Malta in 1565,” Golzari countered.
“What's the difference?”
“The Knights got out.”
“I like that better. How many grenades do you think they have?”
“I don't know, but it looks like they're reloading now. Let's put another few rounds into the truck. Ready on three.” On “three,” both men stood and emptied their magazines at the truck. Another truckbound Somali went down with Stark's shots. The one Golzari had shot earlier was still flailing about on the ground, holding his arm. The attackers responded with another round. Puffs of dirt exploded up the slope until one found its mark.
Golzari yelled and dropped to the ground, leaving his M4 resting on the rock above him.
“Golzari?”
When the DSS agent didn't respond, Stark fired a few rounds toward the car and then dropped behind the rock. For the moment, at least, the Somalis had stopped firing.
“Golzari?”
“My arm. Those bastards hit my forearm.”
“How bad?”
“I've got a kit in my bag to treat it, but I won't be able to aim the M4.”
“Too bad. Why don't you use your Sig or my Beretta? Or can't you fire a peashooter?”
“Screw you.”
“Tsk, tsk,” Stark shook his head. “Did you learn that kind of language in your posh English school? Treat it. I'll cover for a while.” He popped back up and fired a few more rounds.
Golzari slapped a trauma pad in a bandage around his forearm as Stark kept firing, moving toward the row of columns on his right to get a clear view of the truck. The Somalis had tried to get the truck up the slope, but it had stalled after a few yards. The men were outside it now, sheltering behind the
truck body, but their calves and ankles were visible beneath it.
A body shot would be better
, Stark thought,
but they're not going to go anywhere without legs
. He took the shots. Two Somalis formerly confident of their cover began rolling around in pain.
That meant there were only two left behind the car, though only one was firing. Stark checked to make sure his 9-mm was still secure in his belt, then crouched and peered around further to the right. The missing Somali was running up the far side of the slope, hoping to come up behind Stark and Golzari and put them in a crossfire.
Stark fired another quick burst at the car and then ran toward a ruined column that would give him some cover as he tried to locate the other Somali. As he moved on toward the next column in the line he heard Golzari's Sig, which both men knew was relatively useless at this range against the remaining Somali at the car. At least Golzari was still firing. Stark bent his head toward what he estimated to be the new position of the running man and, seeing nothing, bounced behind the third column.
“Stark? Where the hell are you?” he heard Golzari call. Stark made his way to the fourth column and peered out again. His target was now crouching behind some rocks. He was looking toward Golzari's position but still lacked a clear view. He hadn't seen Stark yet. The Somali moved up another few paces as he continued to exchange fire with Golzari. Thirty yards separated Stark and the Somali. Stark pulled up his Beretta and rested it on the column, using both hands to aim it. He fired one shot, then two more in quick succession. The first shot grazed the Somali's temple; the second two found their mark and he fell dead.
Stark picked up the M4 and made his way back to the redoubt, signaling Golzari that one more attacker was down. A few bullets hit the stones, their vector indicating that they had been fired from the direction of the truck. At best estimate, two from the car were unharmed and three were dead while three who had been with the truck were injured plus one dead. Injured or not, they were clearly not yet out of the game.
“How do you want to handle this, Golzari?”
“Do you have any clear shots?”
Stark stood and again settled the M4 on the stone, sighting the truck. “One of the downed guys is against the far tire. All I see is a foot. Two are crowded behind the other one.” He shifted toward the car. “Shit, one of them is getting in the car.” Stark took aim from 350 yards at the front right and rear right tires, flattening them as the car limped away. He fired at the rear window, shattering
it, but the car continued. He didn't have another clear shot at the driver. The five surviving attackers were waving their AK-47s after the retreating car.
“You were right,” Stark said; “they're not professionals. One of them just drove away and left the others behind. I managed to hit a couple of tires.”
“It's better than nothing. We can't advance on these guys without cover.” Smoke was still billowing from the shattered embassy SUV, but in the still air it offered no smokescreen to give them cover.
“That smoke should tell folks we're here, anyway,” Golzari said. “Or maybe it won't. There don't seem to be many people out here, and the ones who are all want to kill us.”
“Do you think we can hold them off another twenty minutes?”
“We've done pretty well so far, haven't we?”
“Maybe. Can you fire your M4?”
“Not accurately.”
“I don't need you to be accurate. Hold on.”
From his own go-bag Stark retrieved his satellite phone and a map of the area.
“This is Highland One Bravo, request immediate emergency extraction. Condition two. Repeat, this is Highland One Bravo . . .” He added map coordinates and then turned off the phone.
“If you can cover me, Golzari, I can get a better view of them. Just keep them thinking.”
“Ready when you are.”
“Go!”
Golzari began firing toward the truck in two-round bursts a few seconds apart, ready to reload when needed while Stark advanced toward the remains of the embassy vehicle, pulling up his shirt to protect his mouth and nose from the noxious fumes. Stark moved diagonally downhill toward the truck, keeping his weapon in firing position.
The men's voices grew louder as he closed on their location. He crouched low to the ground looking for an opportunity and a line of fire. The change of location was beginning to make a difference. He could see more of their lower limbs. They weren't returning fire, just trying to figure a way out. He continued to crawl and advance on them, going straight downhill now.
After another forty yards he stopped and waited for one of the Somalis to make a mistake. He didn't wait long. One of them leaned down below the truck to see what was happening. Stark, without any cover at all, was clearly visible.
That sight was the last thing the Somali saw before one of Stark's bullets took out half of his skull.
Two scampered for the rocks, offering Stark larger targets. With four more shots the Battle of Bar'an Temple was over. The Knights Hospitaller had won.
Golzari descended to the truck as Stark ensured that all the remaining Somali attackers were dead. “Nice work,” he admitted. It was the closest to a thank-you he could generate at the moment. He searched the bodies for anything that might identify them. There was nothing but some money.