30.
Small arms fire erupts from out on
my left flank. One of the RPGs is triggered. I don’t need to see it to
recognize the sound I came to know so well during the first Gulf War. Its
lethal warhead swooshes and sings a high-pitched song across the flat expanse
of desert valley, takes out the interior of the chopper cockpit like a vengeful
God on a bad day. A really, really bad day.
Good old, Sameh. Looks like he knows
how to throw one hell of a party …
I sprint past the burning chopper
feeling the heat from the flame while a half a dozen Muslim bandits shouting
out Arabic curses focus their fire into the open valley in the opposite
direction.
Ducking down before the first Toyota pickup, I see the suited man run out of the tent, followed by his leather-jacketed
goon. Almost a
