SEAL Team Six: Hunt the Fox by Don Mann & Ralph Pezzullo

Author:Don Mann & Ralph Pezzullo [Mann, Don & Pezzullo, Ralph]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780316377485
Amazon: 0316377481
Publisher: Mulholland Books
Published: 2015-05-12T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

The greatest difficulties lie where we are not looking for them.

—Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

That was almost too easy, Crocker thought as they entered what once must have been an upscale part of town, now completely destroyed. The Syrian air force had leveled everything. They traveled a half-dozen blocks beside a little park with shattered, dying eucalyptus trees without seeing one light or any evidence of life besides an occasional rodent. There were signs of phosphorus bomb damage on practically every building.

Too fucking easy, Crocker thought. He had expected more resistance from the Syrians at the air base. Then remembered that Assad’s men were busy chasing ISIS jihadists. Our timing was perfect, for once.

Hassan pointed to some wreckage ahead on the right. “Turn in there,” he instructed. “It used to be a primary school. I had a girlfriend who taught there.”

“You had a girlfriend?” Akil asked. “I thought you were into guys.” But Hassan wasn’t laughing.

The three-story modern structure looked as if it had been abandoned for months. Bombs had landed on the roof, collapsing the middle of the building so that the resulting wreckage formed a giant V.

“Welcome to paradise,” Akil announced as he emerged from the cab of the Ford, farted loudly, and stretched.

“First let’s find a place to hide the trucks,” Crocker said. “Then I want you and Suarez to do a quick recon of what’s left of the building.”

“We looking for ghosts?” Akil was in a jaunty mood.

“Ghosts, rats, busted gas lines.”

“Roger that.”

“Davis, you establish comms with Ankara Station. Let ’em know that we’ve got the sarin and we’re planning to stay here until it gets dark.”

“Awesome.”

They found a garage in back that was big enough to accommodate both trucks and made them impossible to spot from above. Several of the washrooms on the first floor still had a trickle of running water—dirty and undrinkable, but enough to rinse their faces. Crocker, Mancini, and Davis pushed the trash out of a classroom with a view of the street.

“We’ll assemble here,” Crocker announced. “Soon as Akil and Suarez get back we’ll set up a sentry schedule and the rest of you bums can catch some z’s. I’ll take the first watch.”

No vehicles had passed along the street so far, which was what they’d hoped for. Since all the structures around them lay in ruins, there seemed no reason for anyone to enter the neighborhood. The buildings had already been looted.

When Ankara Station asked the name of the street and the building number, Crocker went looking for Hassan. He found him standing in a stairway, talking on his cell phone, which he found odd.

“Who are you talking to?” he asked.

“I was trying to reach a friend,” answered Hassan.

“Probably not a good idea to use it. If the Syrians are looking for us, which I assume they are, they could be using scanners to pick up cell-phone signals.”

“I’ll power it down.”

“Do it now. Thanks.”

He thought of taking the phone away from him, but decided against it. The kid had been useful and cooperative.

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