Free More Than Courage by Harold Coyle Page B

was nothing Hashmi could do to muffle the noise that his weapon made as it clattered across the loose rocks and stones that littered the narrow alley they had been moving through. Adding to his embarrassment at losing his weapon and injuring his commanding officer was a fear that his clumsiness had inadvertently betrayed their presence.
    Burman was struggling with his own problems at that moment. Once the initial surprise, shock, and pain associated 64
    HAROLD COYLE
    with his broken ankle had passed, he rolled onto his back. The Kilo commander's struggle to suppress screams of pain and anger caused his face to turn beet red and his throat to bulge and quiver. Taking as much time as he dared, Burman sat up and slowly bent over until he could reach his foot. In the darkness of the narrow ally he could see that the toes of the foot Hashmi had stepped on were pointed up just like the other foot. That was a good sign. But when he tried to move his left leg the searing pain that coursed through his body blinded him to the sudden light that was cast upon them when a boy opened the shutters of a window above the pair of Americans.
    Hashmi looked up right into the eyes of the small Syrian boy who had opened the window, curious to discover what had caused such a racket. The two looked at each other for the briefest of moments before the terrified boy turned and fled into the interior of the house screaming as he went.
    "Jesus!" Burman yelled, feeling the pain intensify. Hearing the boy's panicked shouts hadn't helped. "We're fucked for sure.
    Give me a hand."
    Without giving his weapon another thought Hashmi scrambled to his feet and reached over to help his commanding officer stand. Burman flung his weapon over his shoulder onto his back and out of the way. As he fought off the waves of pain that swept over him, with Hashmi doing most of the lifting, Burman managed to get up and stand on his good leg before draping his left arm securely over Hashmi's shoulder. For the first time in his military career Burman came to the realizion that his six-foot-three, two-hundred-ten-pound frame could be a serious liability. While Hashmi was as tough as every other member of the team and almost as strong, Burman wondered if the five-foot-six Syrian American was up to the task. When they were both set he gave Hashmi a quick nod and curt order. "Let's go."
    Slowly the pair took their first tentative step together. Burman closed his eyes and concentrated on keeping weight off his broken MORE THAN COURAGE
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    ankle while choking down a sudden bout of nausea brought on by the pain. Struggling to support his burden, Hashmi took it easy at first. Only when Burman ordered him to pick up the pace did he lengthen his gait.
    All hope of a quick and stealthy exit from the small village was now gone. Linked together the two staggered on, remaining in the shadows as best they could and halting only when the thumping of boots and sound of voices grew too close to ignore.
    Despite the clumsiness of their arrangement, Hashmi was able to get the hang of supporting Burman while negotiating their way through the back alleys.
    Focused on each next step, Hashmi was shocked when he suddenly looked up and found that they had cleared the last building of the village and reached the open desert beyond. When he came to an abrupt halt, Burman opened his eyes.
    In an instant he understood what had happened, though he didn't quite know what to do about it. In their effort to get out of the village as quickly as possible Burman had not given any consideration to how to best cross the open ground that lay between the edge of the village and where Kilo Six sat waiting.
    Only now did it dawn upon him that it might be a good idea to radio Kilo Six and have Laporta make a quick run in to pick them up. But just as quickly as this thought came to him he rejected it. He wasn't sure precisely where they were. That and the fact that the sound of an approaching humvee would be impossible