building.
A second guard stepped through the door at his back. Loomis waited for
a count of ten. No more guards came through the door. He reached out
and slapped the helmet of the Marine next to him.
Corporal Halcek was a Marine sniper. He was already taking careful aim
with the bolt-action M40A1, a militarized version of the Remington 700
hunting rifle. Halcek took a second more to center the 10-power scope
on the target, then squeezed the trigger.
The rifle cracked and one of the guards staggered a step to one side,
colliding with the hotel wall. The second guard spun, assault rifle
coming up, but Halcek had already worked the bolt, shifted aim, and was
squeezing the trigger again. Two shots rang out this time, one from
Halcek and the other from a Marine with an M-16, designated as backup.
“Assault One! We’re moving!” he said, the words activating the hot
mike to the PRC-9 radio strapped to his helmet. The tactical radio
would keep Fraser and the others at the HQ designated as Outpost aware
of what was going on, but leave his hands free. He scrambled to his
feet, shouting to the other Marines, “Go! Go! Go!”
Thirteen men rose as one and ran toward the hotel, booted feet pounding
across grass and pavement. With each step that he took, Loomis expected
a burst of gunfire from the door which was their objective … and then
they were at the door and the first men were going through. The two
rebel soldiers lay sprawled where they had fallen, blood pooling around
them on the sidewalk.
The roar of the helicopter was cut off as Loomis plunged in through the
door. They were in a long, narrow hallway now, probably a service
entrance.
According to the maps they’d studied, the lobby ought to be straight
ahead, left, then right.
They left two Marines to watch their rear and kept going, more slowly
now to avoid excess noise. That civilians who had been escorted out of
the hotel had reported that the Americans were all together, in the
lobby next to the registration desk.
Two men came around the corner dead ahead, running, AKs in their hands.
They skidded to a stop when they saw the Marines, one screaming
something in That, the other simply staring, mouth open.
Loomis fired his M-16, triggering single shots which slammed into the
torso of the shouting rebel. Two other Marines fired at the same
moment. The second soldier pitched backward and collided with the
first, the two of them sprawling in a heap on the rug. The Marines kept
moving.
Rounding the last corner, Loomis almost stumbled into a mass of people
sitting on the floor. They all had their hands up or on their heads,
and they were staring wide-eyed at a half-dozen rebel soldiers who were
covering them with guns. More armed rebels were by the windows at the
other end of the lobby … lots more. Loomis estimated that there were
at least twenty hostiles in that room alone.
The analysis flashed through his head in an instant. He’d already made
his decision and was taking action by the time the situation had
registered in his mind.
His thumb snicked his assault rifle’s selector from single shot to
full-auto. Normally the blindly sprayed devastation of full rock and
roll wasn’t worth the loss of accuracy … but this time he had little
choice but to point and spray. The M-16 roared, chopping into rebel
soldiers, slamming them down in blood and flailing arms.
“Down! Down!” Loomis was shouting as he cleared the door so the other
Marines could come through with a clear line of fire. “U.S. Marines!
Everybody down!”
The other Marines joined in, some with carefully placed single shots,
some on rock and roll. One rebel threw up his arms and pitched back
over the registration desk. One tried to run and was cut down before
he’d taken two steps. The hostages were screaming, a wild, eerie sound
that drowned out the gunfire.
Another rebel pitched back into the lobby from the foyer near the
elevators. More Marines were coming through there, the second assault
team from the other side of the hotel. And from the front of the lobby,