Harvath tightened his grip, began the countdown, and then went early, pulling up as hard as he could on the word two.
The Marine roared in pain. Harvath secured the tourniquet and then fired off several more rounds toward the wall.
“I don’t want to fucking die here,” Haney said through clenched teeth.
“Nobody’s dying here,” Harvath reassured him. “Not on my—”
“Contact rear!” the Marine yelled, raising his rifle and firing behind them. One of the Libyans had split off from his partner and had tried to get the drop on them.
Haney shot the man several times in the chest until he slumped forward over the wall, dead.
At the same moment, rounds from the .50 cal shattered the rubble just above their heads, showering them with pieces of rock.
“We can’t stay here,” said Harvath as he swapped out his mag for a fresh one.
“Where are we supposed to go?” Haney grunted, as he tried to reposition himself.
“Over the wall. We stay low on the other side, we can move in either direction.”
“And then what?” the Marine asked as another barrage from the .50 cal pounded into the rubble pile and sent rocks tumbling down on top of them.
“Let’s get ready to move. Can you put weight on that leg?”
Haney half stood, but when he tried to put weight on his right leg, the pain shot through his body like an electric shock, and the leg buckled. “Fuck,” he growled.
“That’s okay,” said Harvath. “We’ll go with Plan B.”
“What’s Plan B?”
“We kill every last one of them.”
The Marine shook his head. “Negative. I’ll cover you. You go for the wall.”
“And let you have all the fun? Jesus, you Marines are greedy.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I,” replied Harvath. “We fight together, or we go over the wall together. I’m not leaving you here.”
“Don’t be an asshole.”
“Shut up and get ready to fight. That’s an order.”
Haney did as he was told. Swapping magazines, he made ready.
As he did, the hair suddenly stood up on the back of Harvath’s neck. Whether it was something he heard, or something he sensed, he knew they were in trouble. “RPG!” he yelled. “Get down!”
The rocket crashed into the building just behind them and exploded, raining shrapnel and jagged pieces of cinderblock on their position.
Because Haney was unable to move quickly enough, Harvath had physically covered him and had taken the brunt of the fallout.
But before he could even brush off the debris, the Libyans launched another rocket-propelled grenade.
This one exploded even closer. A chunk of concrete hit Harvath’s helmet so hard he saw stars.
“We’ve got to make for that wall,” he yelled above the ringing in his ears, as he tried to regain his vision. “It’s no good here.”
He would have given everything he owned for a single smoke grenade to mask their retreat to the wall.
They didn’t have one, though, and as far as Harvath could see, there was nothing he could use to create a diversion. He and Haney were going to have to fight their way out.
Even though it had only been a matter of minutes, it felt like they had been in this battle for hours. The only break in fire from the Libyans’ .50 cal came when they were reloading.
At the rate they were going, Harvath half-expected them to melt the barrel, but that was hoping against hope for a miracle.
Judging the distance to the wall, he plotted the fastest course, and then, after filling Haney in, said, “When they stop to reload that fifty, we haul ass. Copy?”
Haney had serious doubts about Harvath getting them both across the open compound without getting shot. Nevertheless, the Marine nodded.
Seconds later, the machine gun fell silent and Harvath ordered, “Now!”
Getting Haney up onto his left leg, Harvath folded him over his shoulders and took off with him in a fireman’s carry.
The Libyan behind the far section of wall popped up with his rifle and attempted to fire, but Haney was ready for him. His Beretta pistol was already in his hand.
He fired six rounds, two of which found their mark, striking the man in the stomach and lower jaw.
Out on the road, a handful of AK-47s erupted. The rounds popped and hissed all around them.
Harvath, his leg muscles already burning, focused on the wall and pushed himself to move faster. Haney fired back.
Weaving was out of the question. One wrong step while carrying his colleague and he could have easily blown out a knee.
They had barely made it a quarter of the distance, when there was a loud pop from the convoy and a blue-gray trail of smoke sped right at them.
“RPG!” shouted Haney.
Harvath immediately changed course and ran for a different section of wall. He only made it three steps before the warhead hit.
The force of the explosion threw both men to the ground. Harvath landed hard on his left side and once again saw stars.
When his vision finally cleared, he saw Haney’s pistol lying on the ground a few feet away. Beyond it, Haney was facedown, not moving.
Harvath began crawling in his direction. As he did, he called out, but the Marine didn’t respond. Harvath crawled faster.
Reaching him, he placed two fingers on his carotid artery and felt for his pulse. He was still alive.
Supporting his neck, he was about to roll him over so he could drag him to safety when the Libyans opened up the .50 cal on them again.
Harvath grabbed hold of the left shoulder strap on Haney’s chest rig and pulled with all the strength he had.
The heavy rounds tore up the ground and carved a path right toward them. As the gunner adjusted his aim, they got closer and closer.
Harvath groaned as he doubled down and summoned every last ounce of energy he had. The wall looked like it was a mile away, but he refused to quit.
The earth shook around him and he prepared for the bullets that he knew were going to tear him up.
Suddenly there was a streak of orange in the sky. A fraction of a second later, there was an explosion, followed by another streak and another explosion.
He looked over his shoulder toward the road just as the team aboard the USS George H. W. Bush fired a third Hellfire missile.
The entire convoy was in flames. The Reaper had finally arrived back overhead. Their troubles, though, weren’t over yet. Not by a long shot.
CHAPTER 40
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* * *
NORTHERN VIRGINIA
Every morning as Lydia Ryan drove to Reed Carlton’s home, she reflected on what an insidious disease Alzheimer’s was.
After a lifetime spent in the espionage business, Carlton had amassed a wealth of experience. Every shred of it had come at great personal risk to him, as well as to the nation. That experience was invaluable. He was invaluable.
It pissed Ryan off to see what was happening to him. It wasn’t fair, not with everything he had been through, all the scrapes and close calls. This wasn’t how a man like Reed Carlton should go out.