Читать книгу In the Name of God - Stephen J. Gordon - Страница 7

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The lone sentry, dressed in army fatigues and a checkered kaffiyah, walked along the edge of the roof, easily drifting into the crosshairs of my nightscope. The early morning hour was black, moonless...perfect for what we had to do.

I shifted slightly. I was lying on my belly amidst the rubble of a demolished building, waiting for the little signal that would go from my brain to my right index finger, now lightly caressing the trigger guard. I thought about it, but didn’t think about it. Not yet. Not yet. The moment wasn’t right.

The sentry, I could see through the telescopic sight, was clean-shaven and had a strong jawline. Though I couldn’t discern his eyes, I imagined they were hard with a fair amount of anger and hate in them. He stood atop a three story building, one of two structures still intact in a neighborhood filled with mounds of broken concrete and protruding rods of reinforcing iron. Between where we had taken cover and the sentry’s stronghold lay 100 yards of flat, open street, illuminated by the stark white glow of halogen floodlights.

I had expected more guards, considering what was inside. There’d be plenty, I knew, just on the other side of the ground-level door facing us. My Sayeret Matkal team would deal with those men soon enough.

The night air was completely still and totally silent. A cool Mediterranean breeze would have been welcome, but that was fine. I didn’t want even the hint of a breeze altering a millimeter of my shot’s trajectory.

As I watched, the sentry up on the roof reached the end of his walk, turned around and moved back the way he had come. The crosshairs in my sight stayed on his head every second. He stopped about halfway to the other side and scanned the deserted street below him, looking first to his right, then taking a long look to his left. After he was satisfied nothing was amiss, he continued his circuit.

He had taken just one step when it happened — the entire neighborhood went dark. One moment there was light and then... nothing. There were no streetlights, no lights inside buildings, no floodlights. Just blackness. The building itself seemed to vanish into a void.

But not the guard in my sights.

I took a breath, let it out slightly, then squeezed the trigger. There was a muffled puff, but there was no sound as the guard was knocked off his feet. He wouldn’t be getting up. As I emerged from between two broken cinderblock walls, three men stood up to either side of me. Kadima, I thought. Forward. We began to run toward the building.

Our footfalls barely made a sound on the old paved road. As we ran, I quickly looked right and left beyond my men. No enemy soldiers, no pedestrians, no one was there. In five seconds we were halfway to the building, crossing the center of a street that had been ablaze with white light just moments ago. The block-like structure ahead grew larger.

A figure appeared at the door in front of us. To my left there was a muffled burst of weapons fire, and the figure at the entranceway was thrown backwards, a cluster of dark spots blooming over his chest.

Another figure appeared at the door and then, before anyone could react, the entire area exploded with light.

The building’s lights had come back on, and with them every floodlight in creation suddenly turned the street scene to daylight. We were totally exposed — seven figures in black in the center of a barren, white no-man’s land. They weren’t supposed to have generators.

Oh God.

Automatic weapons opened up from every window in the building. The explosive torrent overwhelmed me.

The men to my left were hit — two in the chest, one in the head. I didn’t see what happened to the others, though peripherally I saw they were all down. I ran, zig-zagging toward a pile of rubble beyond the downed men on my left. Glass and pebbles crunched beneath my boots.

The pile of debris ahead of me wasn’t a pile; it was a mountain. It didn’t matter. I needed cover. I scrambled up the front, while chunks of stone were blown apart inches from my head.

The peak was too far away. I clawed at the rocks and pushed with my legs. Any moment a torrent of 7.62 mm rounds would tear through my torso and skull. The shots could be on their way right now.

The top got closer. A rock next to my head shattered at a bullet’s impact. My face suddenly tingled and I knew I had been hit by shards of stone.

I pulled myself over the crest and let myself roll to the other side.

The rubble gave way under me, creating an avalanche. I began to roll and tumble. Somehow I lost my weapon.

As I fell, cascading dust and powder masked everything around me. It was a long way to the bottom, much longer than it logically should have been. With every tumble, I felt sharp stones cutting and jabbing my arms and legs.

Finally, thankfully, I stopped rolling.

At the bottom of the stony heap, I didn’t move for a full five breaths. With my eyes closed, I mentally checked my joints and appendages, then flexed my fingers and moved my legs. My left arm hurt at the elbow, but I could still move it. After waiting another moment, I stood up, looked at the mound that was now sheltering me, and listened.

The night was quiet again. No weapons fire, no voices, no footsteps.

I turned to find my way around the debris and came face-to-face with a man holding an AK-47. Stars flickered over his head. He was dressed in army fatigues and a kaffiyah. He was clean shaven and had a strong jawline. He was the man I had shot on the roof. I knew I had shot him just behind his temple, but there wasn’t a mark on him. I looked past his assault rifle to his eyes. I had been right: they were filled with anger and hatred.

He smiled coldly and raised the weapon, pointing it at my face. My mouth went dry.

As he pulled the trigger, the muzzle flashed brilliantly, blinding me with white-yellow light.

I sat upright in my bed and let my bedroom come into focus. The presence of the room slowly faded in from the edges. I knew my eyes were open, but that muzzle flash, the night battle, the soldier I couldn’t kill, that reality remained in front of me.

Sweat rolled down my cheeks and I could feel my heart hammering in my chest.

After another moment, I consciously began regulating my breath to slow my heart. In a minute, it was almost down to a healthy race. I looked around. Everything was right where it should be...the dresser across from the foot of my bed, the mirror on the wall, the upholstered easy chair in the corner. The violence and the images that had just enveloped me hadn’t changed any of that.

I slowly swung off the bed and stood up — but didn’t move for a long time. Feeling a little uncertain in the darkness, I sat down on the edge of the mattress and let my hands rest on my thighs. My palms were cold.

Too slowly, the images in my head began to dissipate and the events of the evening crept in. That was too much reality for the middle of the night. I climbed over to my pillow and rolled onto my back. The ceiling hovered over me. Finally, I closed my eyes and attempted to go back to sleep