The Killing Sky by Robert Gandt

Author:Robert Gandt
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: aircraft carrier, fa18 hornet, israeli air force, fighter jet, brick maxwell, uss ronald reagan, furball, hornet fighter, vfa36
Publisher: Robert Gandt

Chapter 20 — The Outcasts

The Old City, Jerusalem

1835, Thursday, 27 October

The sound of gunfire had stopped.

Slowly Maxwell regained his senses. He was lying face down. He could sense the acrid smell of cordite, of gunpowder and spent ammunition. And something else, like phosphorous.

Through the ringing in his ears, he heard barked commands, men answering in a language he didn’t follow. Arabic? Hebrew?

His vision was returning in small increments. From a pinpoint of clarity at the center, his field of view was expanding to include the floor around him. He saw boots, the muzzle of an automatic rifle, green camo trousers tucked into boot tops.

Someone was kneeling beside him. “Commander Maxwell?” The voice seemed detached, far away.

His ears were still ringing. He leaned up on one elbow and looked at the man. He wore combat gear—BDUs, a holstered pistol, helmet with chinstrap. The radio on his hip crackled with a voice in the same unintelligible language.

“You’ll be okay in a few minutes,” said the soldier. He gestured with his arm around the room. “Which is more than I can say for them.”

Maxwell gazed around. A haze of smoke filled the room. He saw bodies, some spread-eagled on their backs, some huddled in fetal positions. Ribbons of blood flowed from the bodies toward a low spot in the floor.

Maxwell wobbled to his feet. “Where’s Pearly?” His eyes scanned the room. He saw only bodies. “Oh, shit, what happened to Pearly?”

“I’m here, boss.” The voice came from behind. He turned and saw Pearly Gates sitting with his legs crossed. He was shaking his head, a confused look on his face. “What the fuck was that?”

“Stun grenade,” said the soldier. His English was accented, and Maxwell saw that he was wearing small black captain’s bars on his collar.

“Who are you?” said Maxwell.

“Captain Ehud Yalon,” said the officer. “Special Operations Unit, Israel Defense Forces.”

Maxwell’s vision was clearing, but the ringing in his ears persisted. He looked around the room. He counted a dozen battle-dressed soldiers. Each was carrying a Tavor assault rifle. They were examining the bodies on the floor.

He saw a soldier turning over a bloody, thin-framed shape. Maxwell recognized Saleh’s face, still frozen in fear and shock. He had taken a burst of automatic fire in the chest. The front of the cotton shirt was shredded, soaked in fresh blood.

“Oh, man,” said Pearly. “Why did you kill him?”

“He was a terrorist,” said the Israeli captain. “That’s what we do to terrorists. We would have killed them already, but the two of you interfered.”

“Interfered?” said Pearly. “Look, pal, we were just—”

“Having a look around,” said Maxwell. He gave Pearly a sharp look.

“Looking for terrorists you could exchange information with?” said the captain. The politeness was gone from his voice.

Maxwell shook his head. “Look, Captain, that young man there—the one you just killed—had information that would have been helpful to Israel and to the U.S.”

“Why didn’t you let the intelligence services handle it?”

“Why didn’t you? Shooting sources of information is a fucking dumb way to get intelligence.

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