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.
It seemed to take forever for the weapon to engage. Finally, he heard the loud bang and distinctive whoosh as the warhead erupted out of the launcher and went sizzling through the air toward its target.
If the militia couldn’t hear it over the gunfire, the gray-blue smoke trail headed right at them was unmistakable.
“C’mon, baby!” Harvath yelled. “C’mon!”
He watched as the rocket-propelled grenade sliced through the air at almost three hundred meters a second.
When it struck the antiaircraft technical, it did so dead-on. It was a perfect shot, followed by a spectacular explosion.
Harvath began running before the .50 caliber machine guns from the two surviving technicals could be turned on his position.
Reaching the far side of the roof, he leapt over the parapet and landed on the cab of the pickup below. Jumping down, he took off for Haney.
Using a pile of rubble for cover, the Marine took aim at the first technical and fired the Russian grenade launcher.
The round soared high into the air, landed right in the bed of the vehicle, and exploded.
It wasn’t until Haney was preparing to take out the last technical that Harvath saw the second wave of militia members closing in.
The assault force this time was smaller. There were only six of them. They had used the withering fire from the technicals as cover and had flanked the compound.
Haney didn’t even know they were there until Harvath yelled, “Contact left! Contact left!”
The Marine spun just as the final round left his grenade launcher. Dropping the weapon, he went for his rifle, but the Libyans had already begun shooting.
CHAPTER 39
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* * *
Before Haney could even get his gun in the fight, Harvath was firing in controlled pairs. He dropped one militiaman, then another. “Get cover! Get cover!” he yelled at Haney.
Out on the road, the grenade landed short of the convoy and detonated. The remaining technical was unharmed.
The Marine fell back behind the rubble, propped his rifle up, and began to return fire along with Harvath.
Together, they took out four of the Libyans before the other two retreated behind the wall.
“Move right! Move right!” Harvath shouted, trying to get Haney to the more secure cover of the middle structure.
The Marine, though, was having trouble moving. Harvath looked down and saw his upper right thigh wet with blood. He’d been shot.
Suddenly, the .50 cal opened fire on their position. Seconds later, the Libyans behind the wall joined in.
Harvath and Haney were now taking fire from two directions. Any chance they had of making it to the middle structure was now gone.
As soon as the militia realized they had them pinned down, they’d send in a team to hit them from behind, or on their right flank, and finish them off. That was if the .50 cal rounds didn’t eat away their cover first.
Poking his rifle out from around the rubble, Harvath fired at the two Libyans behind the wall.
He pulled the tourniquet from his chest rig and tossed it to Haney. “Get this wrapped around your leg. Now.”
Then, poking his rifle back out, he fired several more shots, before focusing back on Haney.
“Have I mentioned how much I fucking hate Libya?” the Marine asked as he applied the nylon webbing around his upper thigh.
“You and me both,” he replied, as he prepared to help cinch the tourniquet down. “On three, okay?”
Haney nodded.