He turned to his French host and said, ‘I’ve decided to make a change in my itinerary.’
The helicopter landed. Clark and his entourage got out. A British colonel saluted the American and French generals bare-handed. He then quickly replaced his gloves and glanced nervously over his shoulder. Over their heads, the helicopter rotors spun slowly to a stop.
‘I apologize, General Clark…’ the colonel began. But everyone ducked when a loud boom rang out from the next block. Clark’s security troops tightened their ring around the commanding general. Grayish-white smoke rose above the low buildings. Everything seemed to be under control.
‘As I was saying,’ the British battalion commander said, ‘I do apologize that I am not able to put on a better reception for you, sir,’
It was Clark who felt like apologizing. A total of three helicopters had put down unannounced. In the lead were two green Blackhawks — his and the one for his security team. Behind was a Cobra gunship riding shotgun. His half-dozen bodyguards — non-uniformed employees of the Department of Defense — were packed at Jkrm’s length around the three officers. And at least a platoon of the colonel’s infantrymen had taken up positions around the impromptu helipad.
A machine-gun opened file from the same direction as the explosion. Clark listened to the steady drumbeat of high-powered rounds.
‘It seems it is I,’ Clark said, ‘who have interrupted your day’s work, colonel. I won’t keep you long. I just wanted to look around.’
‘Of course, sir,’ the man said. Clark could tell nothing from his tone or manner. Was he pissed off and Clark was missing it? The British colonel turned and looked over his shoulder. ‘It’s more like unfinished business, actually. A few hold-outs down in the cellars we’re trying to clear out. It’s a pity to have to blast them out like that. But I don’t want to leave them behind our lines. Could get a tad sticky once the sun goes down, what with our perimeter set up about five hundred meters in that direction,’ he said — pointing down the street past the rattling machine-gun.
‘Is the perimeter quiet?’ Clark asked.
‘For the most part, yes, sir.’
‘Can I take a look?’ Clark asked.
The colonel arched his eyebrow, looking at the dozen-man entourage. ‘As you wish, General Clark.!
Clark understood the field officer this time. He turned and spoke in a loud voice. ‘Everyone wait here while General Cuvier and I inspect the perimeter.’ The chief of the security detail turned his dark sunglasses Clark’s way. ‘You wait here,’ Clark said to the man, then he pushed his way through the ring of men.
‘General Clark,’ the security officer said.
Nate set his jaw and ground his teeth. He was, after all, a soldier. He could take care of himself on a battlefield. He turned back. The man held his weapon out to Clark. It was an M-16 shortened to carbine length. Its short sling was meant to hang the weapon at your hip.
Nate took it. He was within five hundred meters of the enemy, and he’d brought no weapon with him at all. He strapped the carbine over his shoulder and took a pistol belt with ammo pouches. He had to loosen the belt for his waistline. Everyone waited patiently by his side. The belt sagged under the weight of six magazines. Clark had forgotten the feel of a fighting load.
‘Perhaps I should get something better than this, h-u-uh,?’ General Cuvier asked. He smiled as he patted the pistol in his holster. The two generals and the British colonel hooked up with a squad. Riflemen led the way single file down the street.
‘There doesn’t appear to be much damage from the fighting,’ Clark said. The carbine kept sliding off his shoulder, so he held it by the pistol grip and front guard.
‘We didn’t have to do too much fighting, actually,’ the colonel replied. ‘We came in with armor and mounted infantry, and the city’s militia didn’t give it a go.’
The streets seemed strangely desolate. No smoke came from the chimneys. ‘Where are all the people?’ Nate asked. ‘This city had a population of a few hundred thousand.’
‘We don’t know where they are, really. We get reports that the roads to the south are jammed. Refugee traffic must be wreaking havoc on the Chinese.’
‘And they are in our way also,’ General Cuvier noted. ‘Slowing us down.’
Another loud explosion rocked the street. The infantrymen instinctively dropped to one knee. They quickly resumed their progress toward the perimeter.
‘Well, there do seem to be at least some militiamen who’ve chosen to stand and fight,’ Nate commented.
The colonel looked back over his shoulder. ‘They’re not fighting, actually. They just won’t come out. When we find them hiding, we back off and evacuate the building of any civilians. We waited several hours for an interpreter, but as the day wore on I decided I couldn’t wait any longer.’
‘Do you mean you’re just dropping charges down into those cellars when they don’t give up?’
‘We try to coax them out. But without an interpreter I’m afraid it’s no use.’ He paused at an intersection and turned. ‘As I said, it is a pity what one must do.’
The silence was filled only by the steady pounding of a machine-gun. The colonel’s men finishing the job.
‘We’ll get you an interpreter by nightfall,’ Clark said.
They crossed the street one at a time at a jog. The lead infantrymen grew increasingly tense at each intersection. Up ahead there were barricades across the broad street. All the talking was now done by hand. By pointed fingers or blunt fists. By parade-field waves and traffic-cop halts. They raced across open spaces — rifles raised to their shoulders. They knelt behind cover with eyes to their sights.
Nate was tense. But that was natural. Sickening activity was the most prominent recollection of the war he’d fought in his youth. The dread of imminent death. If not you, the guy next to you. And it was mixed with interminable stress and inadequate sleep. Numbing fatigue interrupted by shocking danger. Exhaustion from living unprotected in the elements. Aches and pains from a dozen cuts and bruises. Battling extremes of everything all at once.
Nate’s turn to cross the intersection came. He was humiliated by the indignity of an escort. A British private crossed the street at his side. He was so angered that he felt no present sense of danger. When he knelt, General Cuvier was smiling. He understood from Nate’s frown how Nate felt. ‘At least I didn’t break a hip,’ Nate muttered.
The amiable Frenchman was just beginning to laugh when a shot rang out. The British soldiers all began an agitated search. Lying in the middle of the street a man cursed and shouted. ‘God! Ah! Christ!’ he yelled. He clutched his bleeding thigh and writhed in pain on the cobblestones.
‘I’ve got movement in the windo-o-ow!’ someone shouted. The bull-pup rifles carried by the British opened up. Automatic rifle fire from six men all at once.
‘I need aid!’ the wounded man shouted — his teeth bared. His eyes were shut in a grimace. His red cheeks bulged out and he began to puff. His mouth formed an ‘O’ and his chest heaved as he gulped air.
Several of his comrades put down their weapons. Clark raised his. He leaned out around the corner and took aim. A second-storey window was being peppered with fire. Thin curtains jerked with each passing round. With his thumb he selected ‘Auto.’