The Panther

CHAPTER FORTY


The mountains were parched, and there were herds of goats nibbling at the brown vegetation. I could see mud huts on the slopes and in the alpine meadows. People lived here, but I hadn’t seen anyone for a while. Khat time?

White clouds had developed around the peaks, but the Predator infrared cameras should be able to see through them.

The narrow road was paved, but clouds of dust partly obscured the two Land Cruisers ahead of us. We were driving mostly on the left to lessen the damage from a roadside bomb planted on the right. But a bomb could also be planted on the left.

We were maintaining a speed of about a hundred KPH—about sixty miles an hour—which was pushing the limit here.

The radios were quiet, and so were my companions.

Finally, Mike said, “In about thirty minutes we’ll be coming down onto the plateau.”

I could tell by Mike’s tone of voice that he seemed to have a mountain phobia, and probably with good reason.

Every now and then I scanned the terrain with the binoculars, but I didn’t see anything suspicious. Not that I’d know what suspicious looked like around here. But I’m sure if I saw it, I’d know it.

I asked Clare, “How you doing?”

No reply.

I turned and saw she was sleeping. I guess that’s the best way to get through a terrifying ride through enemy territory. I said to Mike, “You should try to catch some sleep, too.”

I thought that was funny, but he didn’t laugh. I hoped he wasn’t flashing back to Afghanistan.

The radio crackled, and Brenner’s voice, cool and calm, said, “Predator reports ambush ahead.”

That got my attention.

Mike said, “Shit!”

Clare, awake now, asked, “What did he say?”

I said to her, “Get down below the windows. Now. Quick.”

She unfastened her seat belt and got flat on the seat.

Brenner said, “Maintain max speed.”

I focused my binoculars on the road ahead, and about three hundred yards in front of Brenner’s lead vehicle I saw three things: a mud hut close to the right side of the road, then fifty yards farther a white Toyota SUV on the narrow shoulder with its hood up, and finally at a bend in the road a donkey cart and driver coming toward us.

Mike said, “There’s the ambush—maybe IEDs…” He said to me, “Get below the windows.”

I kept looking through the binoculars.

Brenner’s lead vehicle was literally seconds from the mud hut, and I saw his brake lights come on, and he swerved to the far left on a collision course with the donkey cart. Then all of a sudden I saw a streak of smoke coming out of the sky, and a second later the mud hut exploded, then erupted again in a secondary explosion whose shockwave rocked the SUV.

Clare screamed.

Holy shit.

Two more streaks of smoke came out of the sky, and in quick succession the Toyota and the donkey cart erupted in deafening explosions.

Debris was falling out of the sky, the brown grass was burning, and black smoke billowed from what remained of the Toyota.

Brenner’s vehicle hit a chunk of donkey as it shot through the devastated area, followed by Buck’s vehicle, then ours. Something hit the windshield and left a thick red smear on the glass.

Mamma mia.

I looked in the sideview mirror and saw Kate’s vehicle coming through the smoke and the debris field, followed by the Bondmobile.

Then something else hit our SUV, and it took me a second to realize we were taking rounds.

Mike hit the gas and we two-wheeled it around the S-curve as we got hit again. A loud noise filled the SUV and I turned to see a big dimple in the back windshield where it had taken a bullet. I could also see green tracer rounds coming from the hills around us, streaking toward the speeding convoy.

I really wanted to lower my window and return fire, but Brenner had said not to do that, and maybe it wasn’t a good idea with bullets coming at us. But when I looked again through the back windshield, I saw that someone in the Bondmobile, wearing a flak jacket and Kevlar helmet—maybe Zamo—was leaning out of the rear driver’s side window gangster-style, firing back at the streaks of tracer rounds. The other DSS guy riding shotgun was doing the same, and the Bondmobile was drawing most of the fire now.

The Land Cruiser took another hit, and Clare shouted, “Stop!”

Mike yelled, “Look!”

I turned, and on the road coming toward us was another Toyota SUV traveling at top speed, quickly closing the distance between him and Brenner’s lead vehicle. Bad guy? I’d never know, because a white smoke trail angled down out of the blue and the Toyota erupted in a ball of flames, followed by a loud explosion.

Brenner’s and Buck’s SUVs swerved and shot past the burning wreckage, and by the time we reached it, pieces of burning junk started falling on us, and something bounced off the hood. Mike was temporarily blinded by the black, billowing smoke, and we were going off the pavement, but he jerked the wheel back in time to avoid an off-road trip into a ravine.

I unfastened my seat belt and looked out the back windshield. Kate’s SUV was right behind us, and the Bondmobile was coming up fast. We seemed to be out of the killing zone and I didn’t see any red tracers following us. I took a deep breath and looked down at Clare, who was now on the floor, her face and chest covered by the big medical bag. I said to her, “It’s okay. It’s over.”

She didn’t respond and I reached down and lifted the medical bag. She stared up at me, but said nothing. I asked, “You okay?”

She nodded.

I turned back toward the front and Mike said, “Three f*cking weeks.”

“Right.” In fact, time is relative. The ambush seemed to last forever, but it was probably less than two minutes since the first Hellfire hit.

Mike had the windshield washers on now, and the wiper blades were smearing a red goo across the glass.

The hand-helds crackled and Brenner’s voice, still calm and cool, came over the radios. “Sit-rep. Vehicle One okay.”

Buck said, “Two is… fine.” He sounded surprised.

Mike had a death grip on the steering wheel, so I transmitted, “Three okay.”

I waited for V-4 to transmit, and I was getting concerned, but then Kate’s voice, almost upbeat, said, “Four okay.”

The Bondmobile reported, “Trail okay… but Z has a graze wound.”

I said to Clare, “One customer for you.”

The mountains were receding off to the left and right now, and the terrain started to flatten on both sides of the road. Brenner increased the speed and we were flying down the middle of the crumbling blacktop. The color had returned to Mike’s face, but his knuckles were still white.

Brenner transmitted, “Predators see nothing ahead.”

Everyone acknowledged the good news.

Mike found his voice and said, “Predators usually operate in pairs… two Hellfires each… so we’re out of missiles.”

“Right. But the bad guys don’t know that.”

“Yeah… and they don’t want to find out.”

I hope.

Clare was sitting low in the rear seat, and she had her radio in her hand. She transmitted, “V-5, M.D. here. How’s Z?”

Z himself replied, “Don’t need you.”

Then the other DSS agent transmitted, “Bullet passed through his brain. No damage.”

Everyone was on an adrenaline high now, happy to be alive and very happy to joke about death.

Someone else transmitted, “I feel bad about the donkey.”

Another guy said, “Legat, legat. Permission to return fire.”

Howard replied, “I’m checking.”

Brenner said, “Can the chatter.”

So we continued on in radio silence.

Clare confessed, “I’ve never been so frightened in my life.”

Mike replied, “Welcome to the club.”

I focused my binoculars on Buck’s SUV, then Brenner’s. I could see some raw metal where they’d taken hits. Also, Brenner’s back windshield had been hit. I wondered what the new ambassador would say when he was picked up at Sana’a Airport with these vehicles.

The road was straightening out, and we were definitely on the downslope. I began seeing more mud and stone huts, livestock, and people, plus a few motor scooters raising dust on the mountain trails.

We increased our speed, and as we crested a hill I could see flatlands in the distance.

Mike’s knuckles were pink again.

Mike had his sat-phone plugged into the antenna jack, and I speed-dialed the DSS driver in Vehicle Four. The driver answered, “Steve.”

“Is Ms. Mayfield awake?”

“Yeah… hold on.”

Kate’s voice came on the line. “Who is this?”

“Just called to see how you’re doing.”

“I’m doing fine. How about you?”

“Good.” I asked, “How’s Howard?”

“Fine… a little concerned that there may have been ICs back there.”

“Only the donkey was an IC.” I added, “And by the way, I told you this place was dangerous.” Finally, I got to say it.

Kate replied, “You may be right for a change.”

“See you later.”

I hung up and Mike said to me, “As we used to say in Iraq and Afghanistan, we can’t tell the ICs from the jihadists, so kill them all and let Saint Peter sort them out.”

“They’re Muslims,” I pointed out.

“Right. So the innocent Muslims get the seventy-two virgins, and the jihadists get to jerk off for eternity.”

Interesting theology. More importantly, Mike Cassidy, who seemed like a regular guy from Daytona Beach, had apparently become a little callous, maybe numbed by years of this stuff. Well… maybe it was happening to all of us, by small degrees, and we didn’t see it.

We were onto the plateau now, and there were farms, people, and vehicles around. I’d say we were back in civilization, but that would be stretching the definition of civilization.

The radio crackled and Brenner said, “Fuel status.”

Mike looked at the computer display: 96 kilometers left to empty.

Everyone reported about the same, and Brenner said, “Refuel in Ta’iz. Details to follow.”

Mike let us know, “Ta’iz is a big town—maybe three hundred thousand people, and a dozen gas stations. But sometimes they’re out of gas.”

I thought they produced oil here. The only thing this place was never out of was ammunition.

The radios crackled and Brenner said, “We’re not out of the woods yet, so stay alert.” He added, “Everyone did a good job back there.”

Thanks, Paul. The drivers actually did a great job, and so did Zamo and the other DSS guy who literally stuck their necks out to return fire. The rest of us didn’t do much except keep our sphincters tight and our bladders full.

The best job was done by the Predator ground pilots, and if I ever met them, I’d give them a big hug. But I’d never meet them. I didn’t even know what continent they were on.

I said to Mike, “Good driving.”

“Thanks.”

Clare seconded that and added, “I thought we were dead.”

Mike admitted, “It was a little close.”

Clare offered brown-bag lunches, but all anyone wanted was water.

We continued toward Ta’iz, then Aden, then maybe Marib. The Panther, apparently, had found us. And now we had to find him. And kill him, before he killed us. This was simple. I like simple.