51

Harvath adopted the lowest profile he could as machine-gun rounds slammed into the dune-buggy-like frame of the FAV. For a moment, he had toyed with the idea of trying to physically drag the nose of the vehicle around so that they could answer the Libyan soldiers with some forty-millimeter grenade rounds from the Mark 19. That idea, though, even in Harvath’s book, was pure suicide.

“How’s everyone doing on ammo?” asked Harvath over his Motorola, during a lull in the shooting.

“There’s never enough at a time like this,” said Carlson.

“I take it you’re running low. How about you and Meg, Gordo?”

“I don’t suppose in the spirit of fair play, the Libyans would be willing to toss a little down here.”

“Are you kidding? They’re more than happy, as long as it’s delivered via the end of their rifles,” quipped Carlson.

At least morale hasn’t suffered, thought Harvath.

“We do have some good news,” offered Meg Cassidy.

“We can all use some of that,” replied Harvath. “What is it?”

“DeWolfe is awake.”

“How’s he doing?”

“He’s a little groggy, but it doesn’t look like he’s suffered any serious injuries. Arms and legs work, and he thinks he’ll be able to walk.”

“Ask him if he’s hungry,” interjected Carlson over his headset.

There was a pause, and then Meg came back. “He says he’s got the stomach to eat if Carlson has the balls to go get the pizza.”

“I knew it,” said Carlson. “He’s fine.”

“How far out is Big John, Gordo?” asked Harvath.

“Ten minutes until they’re on-site.”

“Tell them to hurry up. Any minute now, that other…Scratch that. They’re back.”

Off in the distance, Harvath could distinctly hear the remaining Alouette helicopter as it lined up for another run down the canyon. Seeing their buddies blown to bits had scared off the pilots of the second craft, but Harvath had known it wouldn’t last. He also knew that this time, the Alouette would come at them with everything it had.

Just as the helicopter entered Harvath’s field of vision, the pilots killed their lights. The thunder of the rotors reverberated off the canyon walls as the attack helicopter sped toward them. Harvath had anticipated their move and had grabbed the helmet and night-vision goggles DeWolfe had left behind in the FAV.

He flipped the goggles down, and the night now glowed an eerie green as he got a fix on the speeding Alouette. Its twenty-millimeter canons and machine-gun pods were blazing, and he knew it was only a matter of seconds before the pilots loosed their air-to-surface missiles.

The two major drawbacks to Harvath’s remaining AT4 antitank missile were that it was made for tanks, not aircraft, and that the weapon had no optics on it at all. Harvath did the best he could to line up his target, and without a second thought, let the powerful missile fly.

The bright ignition flash, as well as the phosphorus gas stream that followed the weapon as it streaked toward the Alouette, sent the pilots into immediate evasive action. They banked the helicopter into a steep turn, but it wasn’t steep enough. The missile ripped into the craft’s tail section and detonated, shearing away the rear rotor. The Alouette spun wildly out of control for several seconds until it careened into the high wall of the wadi and exploded, sending shards of searing metal in all directions.

As the Libyan soldiers bolted for cover, Avigliano ran over to Harvath and began yanking things out of the vehicle. “We’re going to have to blow the FAV in place,” he said as he threw a small bag to Harvath. “Big John says uncle Mu’ammar’s got more men heading in our direction, and it looks like they’re scrambling jets out of Tripoli.”

“Super,” said Harvath. “What else could go wrong?”

“How about this? With all the heat, Big John can’t land in the wadi. They’re dropping a rope and we’re going out FRIES.”

“Ask a stupid question…” mumbled Harvath as he unzipped the bag, knowing full well what he’d find inside.

FRIES was a military acronym for Fast Rope Insertion/Extraction System. Harvath had learned the technique when he was in the SEALs, where it was called SPIE, short for Special Purpose Insertion and Extraction, but no matter what you called it, there was one thing Harvath knew for sure-Meg Cassidy was not going to like it.

Harvath pulled out two nylon FRIES harnesses from the bag and asked, “How about some Valium?”

“I thought you were a tough guy,” said Avigliano as he finished placing his explosive charges throughout the FAV.

“It’s not for me. It’s for our friend, Ms. Cassidy. She’s afraid of heights.”

“Then I suggest you don’t tell her until the very last possible moment. I’ll cover you with the 7.62. Get over there and get her geared up.”

Harvath flashed Avigliano a thumbs-up and took off toward the outcropping the minute he heard the heavy machine gun open up.

DeWolfe was feeling well enough to be taking shots at the Libyans with his Mod Zero and helped lay down enough cover fire for Harvath to get across to their end of the wadi. As soon as he got to Meg Cassidy, he handed her one of the FRIES rigs.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“A harness. Now watch how I put mine on, and do the same,” replied Harvath.

“What do I need a harness for?”

“Safety.”

“Safety for what?”

“Meg, I really don’t have time for this now. In case you haven’t noticed, there’s people up there trying to kill us.”

“Scot, what the hell is going on?”

So much for not telling her, he thought. “The helicopter can’t land in this area. They’re going to lower a rope for us. You clip your harness to it and it pulls you up.”-with everybody else, and we fly away beneath the helicopter like five fish on a stringer, but she’d realize that soon enough. That harness was their only ticket out of Libya.

“Like when the Coast Guard picks up somebody out of the water and reels them in?”

“More or less,” said Harvath. He hated not being completely truthful with her, but he knew it was the only way Meg would go along with things.

“Which one? More or less?” she demanded.

“Take your pick. Listen, we don’t have time for this. Our helicopter is going to be here in a matter of minutes and we both have to be ready to move, so watch me closely and do exactly as I do.”

Harvath finished tightening his FRIES harness and inspected it, then inspected Meg’s and DeWolfe’s. Everyone was good to go. He radioed Avigliano, who told him to stand by. Big John was less than a minute away.

It was amazing to Harvath that he could not yet hear the enormous Chinook, but that was part of the pilots’ M.O. If things went well, you had no idea they were there until they were right on top of you.

Soon enough, the roar of the big MH-47’s rotors was all you could hear. That, and the deafening fire from the Dillon Miniguns, manned by door gunners on both sides of the helicopter, who were throwing down deadly blankets of fire.

As Big John made repeated passes to strafe the Libyan soldiers, Carlson ran out into the wadi with pockets full of Chem-lights to mark their makeshift landing zone. Once Avigliano got the word from Big John that he was coming in to drop the rope, the team made their way toward the LZ.

There was a loud, blowing wind as the Chinook swept in, flared, and then hovered above the wadi. Sheets of sand hitting the rotors gave off sparks making them appear greenish white in the night sky.

One of the Chinook’s crew kicked the heavy FRIES rope out the door, and Harvath and the rest of the team let it hit the ground and stay there for several seconds. Because helicopters weren’t grounded, they generated a tremendous amount of static electricity, which made it necessary to allow the rope to discharge the current before touching it.