distraction of the explosion to break cover and beeline for Shubin’s sedan. He reached the car unscathed and wrenched on the door with all his might. It came open enough to allow Shubin to squeak out. Blancanales handed the Beretta to the Army noncom and then urged them to get cover behind the sedan. They took no fire during the time, as the enemy had its hands full between the explosions, autofire from Schwarz’s M-16 A-3 and the sheer, violent will of Lyons and his Anaconda.
Blancanales and Shubin did manage to pick off a gunner who had adequate protection from Lyons’s and Schwarz’s position but could not defend his flank. They triggered shots simultaneously, two rounds from Shubin’s 9 mm punching into the guy’s ribs while Blancanales’s .357 clipped his skull enough to tear away the top of his brain. The corpse teetered and then collapsed, twitching a moment before going still.
That left one man who must have realized his opponents had him outgunned because he emerged from cover, threw down his weapons and raised his arms high.
None of the Able Team warriors moved at first, suspecting a potential trick. They could wait it out as long as necessary now that they had the advantages of position and numbers. After some time passed without the appearance of additional hostiles, Lyons broke cover and moved in to secure the prisoner with a pair of plastic riot cuffs sent with him courtesy of Schwarz. Within a few minutes they had the enemy combatant secured. Lyons counted at least five confirmed kills and he suspected at least one or two more never made it out of the van.
The warriors gathered around Shubin’s government sedan, a safe distance from the flames and thick, acrid smoke that marked what remained of the enemy vehicle. Their prisoner said nothing—he looked American enough but acted as if either mute or non-English-speaking. Either way, the men of Able Team were careful not to say anything classified around the guy in case he was playing possum, a reflex of their training and experience.
The wail of military police sirens drew nearer by the moment.
Schwarz jerked a thumb at their prisoner and said, “We can turn sunshine here over to the MPs when they arrive.”
“Don’t you think we ought to interrogate him?” Shubin asked not without surprise.
“We don’t have the facilities or a secure location to keep him on ice until we can get to that,” Lyons said. “We need to report back to Washington first.”
Shubin expressed confusion.
“This changes things, Sergeant Major,” Blancanales explained. “We’re on a time-critical mission here. That mission just got bumped up.”
Shubin eyed each of the men in turn with skepticism. “There’s no way in hell I’m buying you guys are actually with CID. Not even for a second. So who are you…really?”
“What makes you think we’re not CID?” Blancanales asked.
“You’re kidding, right? I was in the MP Corps for about the first half of my career, then I moved to light infantry. I’ve met many CID and not one of them would have ever responded the way you guys did. You saw that attack coming, you deterred it—saving my ass in the process by the way, for which I’m real grateful—then took those guys down like you’d done it a thousand times before. I’m guessing you probably have.” Shubin jutted his chin toward the M-16 A-3/M-203 slung across Schwarz’s shoulder. “And don’t tell me that over-and-under is standard CID issue. The sixteen I could see, but no way they issue M-203s to just anybody.”
Lyons smiled. “We’re the good guys—that’s about all we can tell you.”
“And I don’t suppose you’d be grateful enough to us that we might keep this between ourselves for now?”
Shubin shrugged. “I can keep a secret but I still have to make a full report to General Saroyan. He’ll have questions. Lots of them.”
“Yeah,” Lyons half said, half grunted. “Can’t wait.”
“WHAT IN THE holy crapping hell did you guys think you were doing?” Major General Anthony Saroyan’s expression bore unchecked apoplexy. “This is a fucking nightmare! I’ll have Congressional inquiries running through here for the next goddamn year!”
“Sir,” Blancanales began with buttery humility, “if you could just listen—”
“Don’t interrupt me, Chief Rose!” Saroyan countered. “I’m the MMFIC on this post, not to mention I outrank all of you! So you’d do well to shut up until you have permission to speak.”
Blancanales closed his yap, erring on the side of discretion being the better part of valor. Not that it mattered, because before Saroyan could continue his tirade the phone jingled on his desk for attention. The officer bristled, stopping in midstride the pacing he’d been doing while chewing out the collective asses of the three CID officers. He looked at first as if he might throw the phone across the room, but then appeared to think better of it and swiped up the receiver in one meaty hand.
“Yes?” he barked. A pause and then he looked almost dazed as wrinkles formed in his forehead. “Who is on the line?”
A longer pause ensued during which he looked warily at the three men still standing at attention in front of him. He waved at them to indicate they could stand at ease and they complied.
At least the guy wasn’t a complete tool, Lyons thought.
“Of course, put him through,” Saroyan said.
For the next five minutes Saroyan practically stood at attention himself, saying very little except for an occasional “yes, sir” or “of course, sir” and even one “I understand perfectly, sir.” After nearly five minutes Saroyan gently placed the receiver into the cradle, looked over the three warriors and scratched his chin. His previous hardness had melted from his body language and he finally waved Able Team into seats.
“Sit down, boys,” Saroyan said. “It would seem that I’ve been a bit hasty.”
“Perfectly understandable, sir,” Blancanales said, and Schwarz nodded as if in complete agreement.
Lyons didn’t react beyond a smirk.
Saroyan sat and rubbed at his temples, obviously feeling a headache coming on. He said, “Okay, I guess we can cut through the bullshit. You guys obviously aren’t CID and from what I just heard it would seem I no longer have any authority over your actions.” He looked out the window of his office absently and added, “But I do want to remind you that you’re still guests of the United States Army while on this post. I’d prefer you avoid any further firefights or other hostile actions while here.”
“It’s not like we had a lot of choice,” Lyons muttered.
“Ironman,” Blancanales cut in easily.
Saroyan looked at the men. “You can understand why this is going to make things very difficult for me. Fortunately, it’s Sunday and that means a good number of the civilian DOA and DOD workers are off post. Most permanent party is gone, as well, since this isn’t an active training weekend.”
“It does help that you maintain the largest Army reservist post in the country,” Schwarz agreed.
“It means we can keep this quiet and hopefully the press won’t get wind,” Saroyan replied. “Washington has assured me they’ll
