Chris crawled away from Sonny, but now the same tango in the back of the pickup truck brought out another RPG to launch. Something told Chris that, this time, the RPG wouldn’t miss. He felt like a little bug about to be stomped by a giant. He said a silent prayer.
Meanwhile, bullets hammered the van. Their shooting concerned him, but the RPG concerned him more. A near miss from a bullet wouldn’t kill him, but a near miss from an RPG would.
The van slowed just before they hit a hairpin turn to the left. RPG Thug couldn’t take a clear shot, but the van was too top-heavy, and its side wheels caught air. “We’re gonna roll,” Sonny warned.
Chris struggled against centrifugal force by making his way to the outer edge of the passenger seat, hoping to redistribute some of their weight and prevent them from tipping over. He didn’t know if his weight would make a significant difference, but he did whatever he could to survive. The two-wheel ride seemed to last a minute but was probably only a few seconds. The van came back down on all four wheels.
The road straightened again, saving them from another two-wheel adventure but giving RPG Thug an easier shot. The straightaway gave Chris an easier shot, too. Aiming through the truck windows at RPG Thug’s upper body, he squeezed the trigger.
Click.
Oh, Lord. In all the excitement, he hadn’t noticed he’d run out of ammo. Frogmen called it a dead man’s click for obvious reasons. Although he couldn’t catch his breath, he felt a strange serenity. He regretted not being of more assistance to Hannah, and he regretted not having time to tell his congregation good-bye.
Lights from a large truck illuminated Chris and Sonny, approaching them head-on. Sonny veered to the side, narrowly avoiding it. The truck slowed but hit the smaller pickup with a horrific crack.
The al Qaeda jeeps didn’t lose a beat, and the vehicles behind continued their pursuit. Then another tight curve shook the heat off al Qaeda’s firepower. Chris’s right index finger depressed the button on the side of his rifle to eject the empty magazine. Simultaneously, his left hand drew a full magazine and inserted it firmly into the HK416. As the van slowed and swerved, the jeep sped up. The van didn’t tip onto two wheels this time, but the jeep gained on them. Chris seated a new bullet in the chamber of his rifle.
After Sonny pulled out of another hairpin curve, the jeep closed the gap. The decreased distance suited Chris fine for shooting. When the road straightened into the middle of a small town with buildings on both sides, Chris let out a controlled three-round burst, pounding the jeep’s driver. They pursued for a moment longer before slowing. Sonny accelerated, pulling farther away, but more al Qaeda overtook the decommissioned jeep.
“What’d you do to piss these guys off?” Chris asked.
“They were born pissed off.”
Upon exiting the small town, they gained elevation, climbing the mountain into the woods. Although al Qaeda outnumbered Chris and Sonny, they could only fit two vehicles abreast on the road. Now they only followed single file, and they seemed hesitant to near the van. But they still followed.
“We’re nearing Turkey,” Sonny said as they reached the top of the mountain.
“If we stop now and head out on foot, al Qaeda will spread out in the woods and outflank us,” Chris said. “Even if they don’t catch us, they’ll make so much noise that they’ll alert nearby border patrol units and we won’t be able to sneak into Turkey.”
“If we stay on this road, we’re five minutes away from getting trapped between the Turkish border crossing station and AQ.”
“We could try to lose them, but on these country dirt roads, we’re more likely to lose ourselves in a dead end that isn’t on the GPS. If you have an idea of how to get out of this, now would be a good time to let me know.”
Sonny didn’t respond.
The sky became lighter as they sped down the northeast side of the mountain. With a rocky terrain to their left and a hundred-meter plunge to their right, there was no room for a missed turn. A medium-sized pickup truck and sedan attacked from behind, rifles blazing. The truck rammed into the back of the van, pushing it toward the cliff. The van’s wheels spun in loose gravel as it slid toward the edge of the drop-off. Somehow, Sonny kept the van on the road. Chris fired at the AQ driver but struck wide.
The truck came in again to ram them, but this time, Sonny swerved into the left lane and slammed on the brakes. The AQ truck passed on the right, but the sedan rear-ended Chris and Sonny. Chris lost his balance and bumped his head on the windshield.
“Aagh!” He regained his firing position and stitched up the driver in the sedan. Another one down.
Chris glanced out the front of the van to see where the AQ truck was. Sonny sped up and pressed the front right corner of his bumper into the left rear corner of the truck, just behind its tire. Then he turned hard into the truck. Its rear tires lost control and slid. The more the driver accelerated, the more he spun out and lost traction, until Sonny pushed him off the cliff, narrowly turning away before the van went over with them.
A large truck tried the same technique on the van from behind. Chris plugged the driver with one shot, and Sonny sped into a curve in the road. The large truck continued forward, soaring off the cliff. Chris felt his heart rise to his throat as if it followed AQ down the plunge.
When they reached the road at the bottom of the mountain, Chris counted four AQ vehicles still behind them. Sonny sped through a small farming community while Chris faced their rear, exchanging fire with the enemy.
Chris turned around to see how close they were to the border. They’d already reached the straightaway to the Kasab Border Station. Ahead, one lane was open, and two others were barricaded. A car sat idling in the open lane. Sonny stomped on the accelerator and punched through the nearest barricaded lane.
Chris faced the rear again. AQ came directly behind, shooting everything in its path, including the border station. Soon a Turkish border patrol SUV pulled out and pursued AQ. Shooting broke out between them, and minutes later, the chase spilled into the town of Yayladagi. Turkish police seemed prepared for trouble and joined in the chase.
An AQ rifle sprayed in Chris’s direction, and the air around him lit up with a snap-crackle-pop. Chris ducked.
Sonny cursed. “Shoot these monkeys!”
Chris tried to regain a firing position. “Turkish border patrol and police in my background. Don’t have a clear shot.” Al Qaeda continued shooting at everything in front of and behind them. Rounds punched through the dash and the windshield of the van. Wind roared through a hole in the glass the size of a horse’s patootie. He couldn’t shoot, but he could navigate. He took the GPS out of his thigh pocket and turned it on.
Abruptly, Sonny turned wildly to the left, throwing Chris into the passenger door. One of the hubcaps rolled off behind the van.
A beat-up white truck cut them off, then, and Sonny whipped around it, causing an oncoming car to squeal to a stop. The road dipped then rose, and all four tires caught air. When the van came down, its bumper scraped the road, shooting sparks into the air. Its engine whined.
“I need some directions here!” Sonny spat out the words.
The GPS finished calculating their location. “At the next street, turn right,” Chris said.
Sonny tried to slow down for the turn, but he was still going too fast and ended up in the opposite lane, scraping a parked car. Sonny stomped on the accelerator, and the engine roared. The van tugged forward.
Chris looked behind — AQ was still there.
“Did we lose them?” Sonny asked.