Day of Wrath by William R. Forstchen Read Free Book Online

conscience by participating in the spring offensive into Iraq. Each of them had been required to participate in the executions after villages and Mosul were seized. All had been singled out for a few days of training and practice on targets in a Christian neighborhood. The targets ranged from silent grandmothers who prayed as they awaited their fate to screaming mothers begging for mercy to children younger than the smiling toddler in the restaurant awaiting a meal with a toy. Their actions in Mosul had been enough to desensitize them to any aspect of their mission. Their leader had lavished praise upon them and promised the paradise that awaited them.
    Their handler, who had infiltrated America more than a year ago, tapped on the door, signaling that the vehicles were ready and waiting. The five left the room, just a few feet from the side exit. An Hispanic maid saw them advancing down the corridor and started to smile a greeting, but something about their demeanor caused her to back against the wall and stare at them warily as they passed.  
    She knew without doubt that she saw with them the shadow of death passing by, a shadow that her grandmother had often spoken of when she was a child. She made the sign of the cross as they went out the door, then hurried to find the manager, driven by an instinct that something was not right with these men who had kept their room chained and barred during the two days they had stayed as guests, refusing entry even to have their beds made.
    Three heavy canisters were in the back of the black late-model Tahoe. They popped the back hatch and shifted the canisters to the back seat of the smaller American car. The canisters contained six shoulder weapons: three primary weapons of .223 and three backup weapons of personal choice. Two had requested 12-gauge pumps, easily altered to hold six rounds with a mix of anti-personnel and heavier “pumpkin ball” ammunition for breaking down a door lock. The third preferred a short .45 semi auto carbine that could be easily slung over the shoulder.  
    The heaviest part of the burden being transferred was the thousand rounds of ammunition for each of their primary weapons, already loaded into thirty round magazines. Packed under the seats of the Tahoe were several thousand more rounds for the ubiquitous AK-47s for the second team, who would stay in the Tahoe. They were the “Sword Two" team who would begin their attack a half hour after their brothers of “Sword One” attacked.  
    No explosives were with their “packages.” The wise evaluation of their leader was that there was too much risk in acquiring and moving explosives. This decision had been argued; it was easy enough to buy black powder on the open market, or, with a bit of training, learn how to convert a few bags of lawn fertilizer into explosives. The caliph, however, replied that such a move would be a tip-off and vetoed it with the strictest orders to not attempt any such purchases once in the heartland of the infidels.
    But it was easy and even amusing to assemble a couple of dozen small boxes that looked like IEDs during their final hours of waiting, boxes to scatter in the wake of their assaults and slow to a crawl any response by the infidels sent against them.
    They moved the shipping canisters into the second vehicle, drew the weapons and laid them into the rear of the vehicle for quick access, and readied the satchels for hauling the dozens of magazines of ammunition and fake IEDs, to be instantly grabbed the moment they reached their target. They started to climb into the two cars.
    “Excuse me sirs, are you checking out?”
    They looked up. It was the hotel manager coming out the back exit behind them. He looked Indian or Pakistani, his accent a giveaway. Slender, dark skinned, he was all smiles but obviously nervous. They had seen him looking more than once in their direction as they ate dinner the evening before in the hotel’s small restaurant and bar.
    They had