“I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re right, I wasn’t thinking.” A slight hesitation, the following words no less meaningful for it. “I don’t think you know how important you are to me, Katie . . . In fact, I’m sure of it.”
She desperately tried to hold on to her anger, but it was already slipping away. A small smile spread over her face. “Do you mean that?”
He held out his hand. She walked over to him, and they hugged gently at first, Kealey finding her lips with his. Then he pulled her closer, and suddenly they were holding each other tighter than was necessary, for reasons neither could explain. Ryan speaking quietly into her ear, “You’re all I need, Katie. You and me, in this place, is all I could ever ask for.”
With her eyes squeezed tightly shut, arms wrapped around him, Katie wondered how she could have been so angry in the first place.
She knew what he was trying to say, and for some reason it didn’t matter that he couldn’t get the words out.
“I love you, too,” she whispered.
About 28 kilometers south of Jableh on the Syrian coast, a casual observer would have noticed many things about the scenic beauty of the surrounding landscape. He would have likely described the orange sun high in the dying light of day, the fiery red sky contrasting sharply with the sparkling water of the Mediterranean. The gently sloping hills leading down to the water’s edge would have been mentioned, as would the unpaved road slicing its way through the heavily wooded contours of the land. A description might well have been provided of the only building visible for many kilometers, a low-slung villa with whitewashed walls and a roof of Spanish tile that seemed to burn in the sunset. The observer would not, however, have been able to detect any sign of human life in the picturesque scene.
Beneath a heavy canopy of towering pine trees interspersed with the occasional oak, a figure lay perfectly still in the shade and the dirt. Captain Ryan Kealey listened attentively to the environment around him, waiting patiently for communication from the other members of his ODA over an encrypted radio. Glancing to his rear, he was pleased to see no sign of the five other soldiers.
“Sapper Six, Gold One, over.”
Kealey lifted his Motorola radio and spoke quietly, careful to avoid the staccato sounds of a whisper. “Sapper Six, give me your sit rep, Gold One.”
“In position, no targets visible at this time. I’ve got eyes on Blue Two on my left, over.”
“Keep me updated, Gold One. Six, out.”
Without looking back, Ryan lifted his right hand in the air and circled with his index finger, signaling the others to rally at his location. Within thirty seconds, he was surrounded by his team members.“Okay, guys, how we doing?”
he asked in a low voice.
“Good to go, sir.” The speaker was the newest member of the team, Staff Sergeant Donald Bryant.
Kealey looked into the youthful, eager face and saw himself just four years earlier. He was grateful that this soldier’s first combat experience would be a fairly straightforward operation. The other men nodded in the affirmative without saying a word. This was just an extension of training, as far as they were concerned.
“We’re going to move up to the woodline. Remember, when our snipers give the word, we’ll be moving down that hill pretty quick. There’s almost no cover, so keep your distance. Thomas, Mitchell, check the car. Once you get a visual confirmation, move to your entrance point.
In the house, don’t pass any room without clearing it first. I mean that.” He fixed each man with a serious look, and then broke into a relaxed grin. “Piece of cake, fellas.
You know why we’re here. Let’s take care of business and head on home.”
A few little smiles at that. There was a sudden burst of static from the radio, followed by a clear, calm voice.
“Sapper Six, Blue Two. I have a visual. One vehicle, looks like a black Mercedes. No tint, I have . . . one driver, two passengers. Permission to go green light, over.”
Kealey responded immediately. “Gold One, do you have the target?”
“That’s a Roger, Sapper Six.”
“Snipers, you have a green light. We’re waiting on you.
Sapper Six, out.”
Kealey gave a hand motion, and the soldiers around him moved from their improvised perimeter toward the edge of the treeline. The men picked their way quietly around the heaviest areas of vegetation; each had used electrician’s tape to secure any loose pieces of metal that might give away their position. No one expected the enemy to send out patrols, but the elite soldiers comprising Operational Detachment Alpha 304 were not about to take the risk.
With the exposed section of the slope less than 50 meters away, the thunderous report of a long-range rifle could be heard through the trees, rapidly followed by two more shots.
“Six, Gold One! Vehicle is neutralized, I say again, vehicle is neutralized!”
“Let’s go!” Kealey called out. The troops were already running, suddenly breaking through into open ground.
A thought was calling for his attention, but he couldn’t quite grab it . . . something about the direction of those shots . . .
Halfway down the hill, Ryan realized there was no one in the car, and that it had braked to a halt in the middle of the road, unscathed. The windshield was intact. Automatically he called out, “Cover!” The members of his team immediately hit the ground in the prone position except for Bryant, who was slow in getting down.
Kealey watched in disbelief as a ragged exit wound appeared in the young soldier’s back, immediately followed by the echo of a rifle shot across the valley. The man did not make a sound, only taking two more faltering steps before crumpling to a heap on the ground.
The four surviving soldiers were pouring lead into the car on the road below. Ryan could make out two armed men crouching behind the vehicle and a third lying still by their side, streams of his blood mingling with the dust of the road. Peering through the telescopic sight mounted to his M4A1, Ryan fired a 3-round burst into the head of the primary target. Adjusting his aim, he could see that one of his men had already taken care of the other terrorist. Kealey was suddenly aware that Staff Sergeant Mitchell was not moving, and then saw the halo of blood around his head, the heavy M249 machine gun inches from his lifeless fingertips.
“Blue Two, what the hell is going on up there?” Kealey shouted into his radio. There was no response. “Blue Two, report!”
Silence.
“What the fuck is going on, sir?” yelled Sergeant Alvarez.
“Gold One, sit rep!” There was still no answer. Ryan had to struggle to keep his voice from shaking. The fear was thumping in his chest; he felt it and hated himself for it, but his men were completely exposed on the side of the slope, and he didn’t have time to think about what had gone wrong. The decision came quickly.
“Thomas, Watson! When we open up, move back to the treeline as fast as you can! Alvarez, fire on March’s location!” he screamed.
A look of shock and confusion crossed the sergeant’s face. “Sir, we can’t—”
“Do it!” was the vicious response. “Now!”