Free Disavowed by C. G. Cooper Page B

offered no other room. Isnard nodded and was the first up, keeping his profile low.
    Louder shouting and more vehicles. Their time was running out. When Andy finally got his footing on top of the canvas cargo top, he was sure the ancient fabric was about to give way. It was like walking on thin ice, peril a footstep away.
    He ignored caution and was the first to stand, the only way he could get a clear shot and compensate for the weapon’s back blast. Whooosh! He dropped to his belly reaching for another RPG. 
    Men scattered at the telltale sound, the explosion rocking the check point. Whooosh! Whooosh! Rich then Latif launched their RPGs, the heavy rounds slamming into humvees. Take out the big guns first.
    It was pure chaos on the ground, but the enemy knew where they were. With time limited, Andy was the only one who had time to launch one more, before the three men slipped off the backside of the vehicle, bullets following, chests heaving.
    “Now what?” asked Andy.
    They’d taken out a couple vehicles and a few men, but there were plenty more who were converging on their hiding spot.
    A look passed between the three men. Defiant but resigned to their fate. Surrender wasn’t an option.
    “Let’s go,” said Isnard, turning and heading toward the sound of crackling fire, and angry shouts.
    He took out two men with his first burst, Andy another with his. They fanned out, walking right down the side of the road like heroes in an old western. Wyatt Earp and his boys taking on the cowboys at the O.K. Corral.
    Latif was the first to be hit, a stinger in his right arm. He grunted and kept moving, shifting his weapon to his left hand, disciplined fire.
    There were targets everywhere and even more rounds flying overhead. A tiny part of Andy’s subconscious couldn’t believe he hadn’t been shot yet. It was only a matter of time. But the rounds kept coming, flying high, bad aim.
    Then he saw them. A line of black SUVs, heads peaking out from behind. None of those guys were shooting. As soon as Andy wondered why the answer came. They were letting the lowly Afghan police take the casualties and hoping they would kill the Americans. Cowards. The thought made Andy smile despite the intense heat of the burning vehicles he was trying get cover behind.
    More small arms fire. Luckily they’d taken out the humvees. Andy hated to think what it would feel like with MK19 rounds in the mix.
    Isnard sprinted to the next bit of cover, a blasted humvee door, when Andy’s blood went cold. BOOM! BOOM!
    All three men dropped to the deck, waiting for the explosions to take them out. But that didn’t happen. Instead the black SUVs disappeared, reappearing moments later several feet away, fiery hulks. BOOM! BOOM!
    The front of Latif’s convoy exploded a split second later.
    Those are tank rounds , thought Andy. Whatever it was, the few remaining Afghans bolted for any vehicle that wasn’t burning and took off down the highway.
    Without the sound of gunfire, the area fell still. There was the snapping and popping of smoldering vehicles, and the death moan of some unseen combatant, but they’d come out relatively unscathed.
    As Isnard wrapped a piece of his torn T-shirt around Latif’s upper arm, Andy waited. Soon came the rattle and crunch of tracked vehicles. It wasn’t the hum of an Abrams, he knew that for sure. It was the squeaky turn of ancient parts, the rough screech of gears changing. Not Americans.
    He had to find a vehicle and get them away from the check point. Walking wasn’t an option. Any half-ass newbie could track them down, even at night, what with the limited cover in the low lying desert. But every vehicle Andy came to was either burning or disabled, courtesy of the gun battle.
    The engine noises rumbled closer as he climbed down from yet another dead truck. Nothing to do but wait. Like most Marines, Andy hated waiting. He didn’t have to wait long. Rolling into the light of the remaining spotlights came four