The Hezbollah fighters scrambled for cover and began to return sporadic fire. Tarek pulled the SAW out of the backseat and laid it across the hood of their car. Holding the trigger down, he fired off a long burst at the roadblock set up on the other side of the intersection. Bodies of civilians and fighters littered the roadways as both sides fired indiscriminately.
Mason stumbled to his feet and brought his AK up to bear. He saw the gold dome of the mosque five hundred meters down the street.
“Zeus, there it is.” He pointed.
“I’m a little busy right now.”
“I need more ammo,” Tarek yelled.
Renee ducked low and sprinted to the trunk of the battered car. She placed the muzzle of her rifle on the lock and fired a round through the mechanism. Fighting against the mangled trunk, she pried it open and snagged two ammo cans out of the back. Using her left hand, she tossed the first one to Tarek before coming under fire.
Mason staggered over to her and returned fire at a position across the road. Pushing her to the ground, he grabbed the last ammo can and lobbed it toward Tarek.
“Get the RPG,” he yelled as he steadied his rifle on the roof of the car. Taking his time to get a good sight picture, he fired two more shots. One of the rebels hit the ground.
Renee leaned into the trunk to reach the RPG launcher and the rockets, which had slid to the back of the cargo area. She yelled to Mason, “My belt’s caught — it got caught on the latch.”
A bullet whizzed past his head with a hiss. He ducked down as the next round dinged off the exposed metal and ricocheted with a menacing whine. Scraping his knees on the ground, he fumbled with Renee’s belt until it finally came loose. Mason tried to pull her free of the car, but she scrambled back to retrieve the rockets.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he yelled as she ducked down beside him with a wink.
“Someone has to get us out of here,” she laughed.
“You need to be careful,” he yelled back.
“Yes, dear,” Renee replied as she snapped the launcher together.
Mason dropped the empty magazine and pulled a fresh one from his kit. He slammed it into the rifle. Renee expertly slid a rocket into the launcher and locked it in place with a twist.
The amount of fire pouring into the kill zone made it difficult to find a target. Bullets zipped into the vehicles, sending shards of metal and clouds of glass flying into the air. A bullet hit the tire of one of the pickups, causing it to hiss as it deflated. Renee peeked out from behind the car, looking for a target. Mason was about to tell her to try to clear the road when more trucks sped into the intersection from the west.
“Technical,” Zeus yelled out at a flatbed pickup. A Soviet KPV-14.5 antiaircraft gun mounted in the bed swung into view.
“Right there,” Mason yelled to Renee.
“I’ve got it, get out of the way,” she replied as she stepped out of cover. “Back blast area clear,” she yelled before pulling the trigger.
Mason jumped out of the way. The booster charge engaged, sending a jet of hot exhaust out of the back of the launcher. The rocket rushed from the launcher. A split second later the main charge kicked in, leaving a trail of white smoke as it hurtled toward its target. He could tell right away that it was off target.
“Move,” he yelled, grabbing Renee by the shoulder as he pulled her away from the car. His rifle smacked against his knees, but he was focused on getting her to cover since they’d given away their position. “Zeus, fall back,” he yelled.
Mason looked over his shoulder and caught a brief glimpse of the youth manning the KPV. The tails of the green head scarf tied around his forehead snapped in the air as he struggled to pivot the huge gun. The muscles in his thin, ungainly arms strained beneath his faded Beastie Boys T-shirt as he stood on tiptoes to reach the trigger. Manhandling the heavy weapon until he was aiming at the mass of stalled vehicles, the young jihadist pressed down on the butterfly trigger and fired. The gun’s heavy recoil shook his rail-thin body, giving the impression that he was having a seizure. However, as the bullets hammered into the position Renee had just vacated, a toothy smile played across the youth’s acne-marked face.
Scottie had a full head of steam as he shot around the corner and sped toward the target. Downshifting, he expertly worked the wheel. The back end of the dented sedan snapped around as they came out of the curve, and he smiled. Harden grabbed on to the dashboard. Despite the pungent odor of the overheated brake pads, Scottie knew the car would hold up and wasn’t worried when the needle of the faded tachometer jumped to five thousand RPMs.
Scottie was determined to make it to the mosque. If they wanted him to go slow, then they were going to have to take him out of the driver’s seat. Red brake lights blinked on and off ahead of him, and cars slowed down. Hopping the median, he swerved into oncoming traffic, shifted gears, and cut back into his lane. He was having the time of his life and had totally forgotten about the van trying to keep up with his nimble vehicle.
“You realize that there is a bomb in the van, right?” Jones said, leaning forward over the armrest.
“You want me to slow down so we can get fucked up?”
Jones looked out the open window, taking in the burned-out vehicles and scattered shell casings lining the road.
“No, you’re doing good.”
“That’s what I thought,” Scottie yelled back.
“Take your next left and then a right turn,” Harden cut in. “The target will be five hundred meters to the south.”
“Roger that.” Scottie whipped the car wide in preparation for the sharp turn. He felt the tires struggling to grip the road as he drifted smoothly around the corner.
Explosions and small-arms fire echoed all around them. As the symphony of war rose to a crescendo, they raced through the urban wasteland. The buildings muffled the direction of fire, making it impossible to get a fix on their point of origin.
Harden had abandoned the idea of his driver slowing down. He had to keep looking up from the map, which he’d positioned in his lap, because Scottie’s erratic driving evoked waves of nausea.
Colonel Barnes swayed in the backseat as Scottie expertly handled the turn. He was calmed by the realization that he was closing in on his destiny. More than any man before him, he was going to change the face of this ancient city forever, and single-handedly solidify his place in the pantheon of conquerors.
Barnes harbored no qualms whatsoever about putting civilians to the sword. He saw them as savage enablers who provided the jihadists with an unwavering infrastructure, and their reparations were well past due. The world was about to take notice, he thought as the car slipped around the final turn and immediately came under fire.
“Back the fuck up,” Harden yelled as a bullet knifed through the windshield and thumped into the colonel’s headrest. Barnes twisted to see the hole, where his head had just been, as Scottie yanked up on the emergency brake and spun the car in a 180-degree circle.
“Go, go, go,” Jones yelled, shaking the back of the driver’s seat with his hands.
The car shook as the engine redlined. Scottie released the emergency brake and pushed in the clutch. His right hand shot to the gear shifter, and he slammed the sedan into first before mashing on the gas. The tires squealed on the pavement, and the sedan shot forward.
“Watch out,” Harden yelled as the van careened around the corner.
The van’s large bulk filled the windshield. A collision was imminent. Scottie could see Boz fighting the wheel in the front seat of the van and braced himself for impact. The sound of squealing brakes followed the bomb-laden vehicle as it fishtailed out of his line of sight. Then a sickening crash echoed over the gunfire. The van slammed into the concrete wall of a shop.