gear.” Sullivan pointed to the floor between the seats.
Jack picked up the LBE and found two fragmentation grenades and an HC-White smoke grenade attached to the webbing. He straightened out the spoons so they could be separated from the gear quicker.
“Didn’t want to lose one,” the Marine explained.
“I understand. But if you need it in a hurry, you’re screwed. Better to be ready,” Jack lectured.
“Yes, sir.”
Sullivan double-clutched and downshifted, holding the deuce-and-a-half tight into a left hand curve that led to a slight incline. The road then turned to dirt and flattened out. He double-clutched again and slipped into a higher gear in an effort to stay tight on the Jeep.
• • •
Five blocks up the road, the Driver was counting down the distance from a second story window. One of his fellow deliverymen sat with three local hired guns waiting to participate in what they thought was an ambush of U.N. supplies. Something they had done many times. The third sat at the wheel of a truck very similar to the ones being driven toward him by the unsuspecting Marines.
“The prize is in the third truck,” he spoke into the radio. He received clicks of the mics keying in reply.
The driver of the waiting truck tightened the straps holding him into the seat one more time. He didn’t like the plan, but they were short of manpower, and had no choice but to keep it that way. He wiped the sweat from his hands before gripping the wheel tightly, and watched for the signal from the building across the street. The idling truck hid the shaking of his hands.
“Get ready,” the radio squawked.
• • •
Jack saw the truck in the alley as they passed and he immediately grabbed for the radio.
“Ambush! Floor it!” He then punched Sullivan in the arm and yelled, “Get off this road!”
The Marine complied immediately, standing on the brakes and spinning the wheel into a right hand turn. Jack grabbed the overhead handle with one hand while he pawed for the M-4 with the other. The deuce tipped up on one set of wheels as it rounded the corner only to slam down hard after impacting a parked car. The car did little to slow the truck down and it bounced back into the road as Sullivan fought to regain control. He worked the clutch and the gears to regain acceleration. Jack grabbed the rifle and the LBE.
“Keep moving and try to circle around!” he ordered.
“Got it!” the Marine replied. He pulled his gaze from the road long enough to see Jack bail out of the passenger side and roll in the dirt. He was lost from sight in the rearview mirror immediately as the dust and darkness swallowed him up. Sullivan gritted his teeth and hunkered down behind the wheel as he heard a crash followed by shooting behind him. Working his way through the gears, he made another right hand turn onto a street with a few lights. He shook his head at his luck. He’d thought he was all done with this ambush crap when he got out of Iraq.
• • •
Larry’s eyes widened as he heard Jack’s warning on the radio. His driver hesitated as he saw the nose of the truck emerge from the alley and quickly narrow the opening.
“Go—go—go!” he yelled to the driver. It seemed to happen in slow motion. First his brain said they wouldn’t make it, but then the ambushing truck seemed to slow. The Marine angled for the gap and gunned the engine. Larry planted a foot against the dash as his eyes judged the narrowing gap. Maybe.
Maybe not. The ambushing truck surged and caught the right rear wheel of the deuce and the impact flipped it onto its left side. Larry tumbled into the windshield, spider-webbing its surface and cutting his forehead before falling toward the driver and pinning him to the driver’s side door. The truck continued on its side for a few meters, throwing up a cloud of dust and gravel from the secondary road, before impacting a building.
Larry
Jack picked up the LBE and found two fragmentation grenades and an HC-White smoke grenade attached to the webbing. He straightened out the spoons so they could be separated from the gear quicker.
“Didn’t want to lose one,” the Marine explained.
“I understand. But if you need it in a hurry, you’re screwed. Better to be ready,” Jack lectured.
“Yes, sir.”
Sullivan double-clutched and downshifted, holding the deuce-and-a-half tight into a left hand curve that led to a slight incline. The road then turned to dirt and flattened out. He double-clutched again and slipped into a higher gear in an effort to stay tight on the Jeep.
• • •
Five blocks up the road, the Driver was counting down the distance from a second story window. One of his fellow deliverymen sat with three local hired guns waiting to participate in what they thought was an ambush of U.N. supplies. Something they had done many times. The third sat at the wheel of a truck very similar to the ones being driven toward him by the unsuspecting Marines.
“The prize is in the third truck,” he spoke into the radio. He received clicks of the mics keying in reply.
The driver of the waiting truck tightened the straps holding him into the seat one more time. He didn’t like the plan, but they were short of manpower, and had no choice but to keep it that way. He wiped the sweat from his hands before gripping the wheel tightly, and watched for the signal from the building across the street. The idling truck hid the shaking of his hands.
“Get ready,” the radio squawked.
• • •
Jack saw the truck in the alley as they passed and he immediately grabbed for the radio.
“Ambush! Floor it!” He then punched Sullivan in the arm and yelled, “Get off this road!”
The Marine complied immediately, standing on the brakes and spinning the wheel into a right hand turn. Jack grabbed the overhead handle with one hand while he pawed for the M-4 with the other. The deuce tipped up on one set of wheels as it rounded the corner only to slam down hard after impacting a parked car. The car did little to slow the truck down and it bounced back into the road as Sullivan fought to regain control. He worked the clutch and the gears to regain acceleration. Jack grabbed the rifle and the LBE.
“Keep moving and try to circle around!” he ordered.
“Got it!” the Marine replied. He pulled his gaze from the road long enough to see Jack bail out of the passenger side and roll in the dirt. He was lost from sight in the rearview mirror immediately as the dust and darkness swallowed him up. Sullivan gritted his teeth and hunkered down behind the wheel as he heard a crash followed by shooting behind him. Working his way through the gears, he made another right hand turn onto a street with a few lights. He shook his head at his luck. He’d thought he was all done with this ambush crap when he got out of Iraq.
• • •
Larry’s eyes widened as he heard Jack’s warning on the radio. His driver hesitated as he saw the nose of the truck emerge from the alley and quickly narrow the opening.
“Go—go—go!” he yelled to the driver. It seemed to happen in slow motion. First his brain said they wouldn’t make it, but then the ambushing truck seemed to slow. The Marine angled for the gap and gunned the engine. Larry planted a foot against the dash as his eyes judged the narrowing gap. Maybe.
Maybe not. The ambushing truck surged and caught the right rear wheel of the deuce and the impact flipped it onto its left side. Larry tumbled into the windshield, spider-webbing its surface and cutting his forehead before falling toward the driver and pinning him to the driver’s side door. The truck continued on its side for a few meters, throwing up a cloud of dust and gravel from the secondary road, before impacting a building.
Larry
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