One Rough Man - Brad Taylor [167]
The man was obviously preparing to assault the house with the other men from the car. Bakr knew he had to go on the offensive, and quickly. He could attempt to run out of the back of the house, but feared it was already covered with men he couldn’t see. He could run out the front, but that would send him straight into at least three men. Either plan of escape would be better if he seized the initiative while they were still getting ready. He slowly opened the window, praying it didn’t squeak.
99
The sound of an AK-47 rocking on full automatic caused me to hit the floor. What the fuck? It wasn’t in our house, so it wasn’t directed against the team. I peeked out a window, trying to identify the source of the fire, the upstairs vantage point giving me an unobstructed view down the road. I saw a man crumpled on the front lawn of a house across the street, two doors down. I leaned forward to identify the shooter, calling, “Contact—house to the northeast about seventy-five meters away. One man down. Unsure of shooter location.”
Knuckles responded, “Not directed at us. Everyone stay cool. Probably some sort of gang fight or leftover animosity. We don’t want to get dragged into that. Get eyes out three-sixty. Call in to let me know your position.”
Bull called from downstairs, “Two vehicles to the front of the house on the east side. Three men. One man at the vehicle to the north, two men at the vehicle to the south. All are armed and focused on us. They’re using the cars for cover. What’s the call?”
Knuckles came back, cold and calm. “Stand by. Develop the situation. We don’t know if they’re police, criminals, or what. If they display hostile intent, take them out.”
I was about to call my position when a hail of bullets shattered the window to my front. I dropped flat to the floor. “Contact, contact. North side of house. Fire directed at me.”
I rolled to my left, coming up underneath the second window of the room.
I peered out the corner of the window, looking back toward the house with the fallen man. I caught a glimpse of a man jumping out of the back courtyard and sprinting away. Before I could process what I had seen, I caught movement directly below me and refocused. I saw a man crouched and running toward the back courtyard of the house next door. I called Knuckles, raising my H&K at the same time.
“One man, armed, moving toward cover. Not the original shooter from across the street. He’s holding an MP5, not an AK. He’s the guy that shot at me.”
I tracked the guy until he paused at the courtyard wall, preparing to vault over it. I ignored Knuckles’s radio calls, squeezing off three rounds during the split-second pause. The man tumbled down.
“North side’s clear. One squirter from the original house moved north.”
“Roger. Bull, continue to hold fire out front unless they fire first. I don’t want to kill some psycho neighborhood watch. What do we have in the rear?”
The team members covering the back courtyard began to report. The immediate threat gone, I thought about the squirter I had seen. A man with a backpack. Carlos.
I cut in on Knuckles getting status reports. “Break—break. Squirter is the precious cargo. I say again, squirter is PC.”
Knuckles came back immediately. “Still in sight?”
“No,” I said, “he’s running north. I don’t know who these clowns are, but we need to clear out of here quick.”
“Shit ... Roger that. All elements, all elements—anyone with a weapon is now designated a hostile force. Engage at will.”
LUCAS HEARD THE FIRST AK-47 rounds and snapped his head toward the sound. He saw the team member at the corner of the house two doors down doing a macabre dance, rounds stitching him throughout his torso. He saw two arms holding an AK out of a second-story window, the weapon rocking back and forth on full automatic. He was momentarily stunned. What the hell is going on? He shook off