When he saw other men begin to hop into the beds of the technicals, he knew they were in trouble.
The militia was going to send a team in on foot to check the compound while the rest of them, along with their vehicles, hung back. The technicals would provide overwatch for them.
“This isn’t good,” Haney said over the radio.
No, it wasn’t. But they were going to have to deal with it.
“It looks like they’re going to send in about twenty guys,” replied Harvath. “That’s nearly half their force. As soon as they’re closer to us than they are to them, we let them have it.”
Haney gave him the thumbs-up and got ready. This was their ambush. And while the militia members might not be fully cooperating by driving straight into it, they still had surprise, speed, and violence of action on their side. Harvath planned to leverage that to the hilt.
Within moments of being assembled, the assault force started moving. But much to Harvath’s chagrin, they weren’t moving alone. One of the technicals was moving with them. Damn it.
Harvath had to think fast. The moment he and Haney fired their rockets, that machine gun was going to rain a world of hurt down on them. And the closer it was to their position, the more accurate its fire was going to be.
They needed to find a way to take it out at the same time they took out the antiaircraft guns. There had to be something.
Harvath racked his brain, but he couldn’t come up with anything. The antiaircraft guns had to be taken out first. If they began firing on their position, it was game over. The technical creeping up on them would just have to come second — an extremely dangerous second.
The assault force moved rapidly. If the compound was as empty as it looked, they needed to clear it and get back on the road. With every minute that passed, their quarry was getting farther away.
He watched as the Libyans came down the road, getting closer and closer with each passing second.
There was a withered crop of shrubs that he had decided on for his marker. Once they had reached that, it would be time to engage.
Perspiration ran down the back of his neck. His palms were slick with sweat. He rubbed them on his chest to dry them before readjusting his hands on the launcher. All the while, he never took his eyes off the fighters converging on the compound.
Eventually, he went from measuring the distance to the marker in meters, to feet. “Get ready,” he said over the radio. “Almost there.”
The technical passed the shrubs first, followed by the militiamen who were on foot. As soon as the last one had reached the marker, Harvath said, “Hit it!”
Simultaneously, he and Haney leaned out from behind the buildings they were using as cover, sighted in their targets, and fired their weapons.
CHAPTER 38
Before he even knew if he had struck his antiaircraft technical, Harvath retreated back behind the building, dropped his empty launcher, and began running toward the other corner. As he did, he transitioned to his Russian grenade launcher.
In one of the defeated technicals outside the compound, Morrison had found a handful of HEDP — high-explosive dual-purpose grenades.
Used for both antitank and antipersonnel assaults, as long as you got them near a target, they were highly effective.
He heard two explosions up on the road as the technical that was closing in on them then opened up with its .50 cal.
The gunner strafed the part of the compound where he had seen the rockets fired from. The heavy rounds sent bits of rock and cinderblock in all directions.
Now at the opposite end of the main building, Harvath leaned out and let loose. He fired all three rounds in his launcher, reracking it as fast as he could. And more important, he did it before the gunner in the technical could swing the heavy .50 cal in his direction and cut him down.
As he ducked back behind the building, he heard the rounds detonate. There was a massive explosion followed by a roiling fireball that curled up into the sky. He had scored a direct hit.
Slinging the launcher, he ran for the technical that Haney had parked behind the far building.
Out on the road, the other heavy machine guns mounted in the beds of militia pickup trucks began firing and chewing up the compound.
The tailgate to Haney’s pickup had been lowered and Harvath leapt right into the back. Jumping up onto the top of the cab, he then grabbed the edge of the roof and pulled himself up.
“Haney,” he yelled, as he did. “Don’t shoot. It’s me.”
The Marine reached down and helped him over the parapet.
“Give me a SITREP,” he said as he took a fraction of a second to catch his breath.
“You want the good news or the bad news?” Haney asked. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the gunfire.
Harvath signaled for him to get on with it.
“The good news is I hit my target. The bad news is you owe Gage two hundred bucks.”
“Damn it,” Harvath replied. “How many rockets do we have left?”
Haney pointed to the fully assembled RPG on the other side of the roof. “Just the one.”
Harvath patted his chest rig. He had two HEDP rounds left.
“What are you thinking?”
Harvath began to speak, but was interrupted by the antiaircraft gun joining the fight. Even at a distance, it was earsplitting.
Its gunner was focused on the main building. The weapon’s rounds tore through it like an angry child stabbing a gingerbread house with a screwdriver.
With the antiaircraft gun’s maximum rate of fire of six hundred rounds per minute, the structure wouldn’t last long. It wouldn’t take them long to work their way down to the building they were on. Not to mention if one of them stood up and fired the RPG. They had to risk it, though.
“We’ve got to knock out that ZU-2!” Harvath insisted.
Haney gestured to the weapon. “Be my guest. But I don’t want to be up on this rooftop when you do.”
“How good are you with one of these?” he asked, unslinging the Russian grenade launcher.
“Good enough to be dangerous.”
Harvath handed it to him, along with the two rounds from his chest rig. “I’ll give you a head start. Whatever you do, make sure you take out both those other technicals.”
“Roger that,” Haney replied, as he loaded the weapon and picked up his M4. He stopped for a moment, put his hand on Harvath’s shoulder, and then disappeared over the parapet.
Staying as low as possible, Harvath moved to the opposite side of the roof. He examined the RPG and made sure everything was in order. Setting it down, he then risked a glance over the parapet.
The technical he had taken out was a smoldering hulk, surrounded by bodies. Beyond it, the rest of the convoy was still in the same position. As the .50 cal machine guns sprayed the compound, the antiaircraft gun stayed focused on hammering the main building.
He had no idea why his first rocket hadn’t taken it out, but it was his fault. He wasn’t the kind of guy to blame his equipment. He owned the miss.
This time he would get it right. He had to. There wouldn’t be another chance. If he didn’t take out that technical, it’d be lights out for him and Haney.
Being atop the southernmost building gave him a slight advantage for sighting in his target. It also meant he was farther away. His aim would have to be right on the money.
Cocking the hammer, he raised the weapon and reminded himself to hold it firmly. Closing his left eye, he used his right eye to line up the RPG’s front sight tip with the rear slide notch.
The moment he launched, he was going to draw enemy fire. He reminded himself to keep his weapon aimed at the target. If he scrambled for cover too soon, it could result in another miss.
Taking the weapon off safe, he double-checked his sight picture, exhaled, and began applying pressure to the trigger. There was no recoil with an RPG, but if he flinched or jerked the trigger in any way, that could also cause a miss.