A couple of insurgents broke from the earth and sprinted toward Abrams’s position. Berry raised himself up and fired two rounds, both hit dead center and both men were blown backward. Immediately hundreds of rounds were launched toward Berry and their group.

From behind, Hartogg spoke laconically into Abrams’s ear. “Got another nest, one out at four o’clock and the other making all the noise at two o’clock – reckon there’s about half a dozen shooters in each, not counting those two try-hards that Berry just sent to Hell.”

“Got it.” Abrams held up his field glasses, and Hartogg spoke again.

“I also reckon there’ll be more coming soon. Can’t stay here, boss. Just say the word.”

“Yup.” Abrams exhaled. He knew what the man was asking – an assault – take them head-on now, before they got a lucky shot in, or their numbers grew. Berry and Hartogg would get close, and perhaps take them down. They both had M67 fragmentation grenades, but unlike the sniper’s nests, theirs weren’t rocket propelled – they could throw them a hundred feet, but closer was better for kill-confirm.

Abrams grimaced, momentary indecision making the gears of his mind spin uselessly. Just then Berry kneeled up and fired again, short bursts to conserve ammunition. This time, total firepower was concentrated on him, and another rocket fizzed out from behind a small outcrop of low rock.

“Incoming.” Berry threw himself down.

Abrams also hugged the dirt, and watched as his worst fear was realized – Berry ceased to exist – his position was vaporized by a direct strike.

Abrams pounded the dirt with his fist. “Fu-uuuck.” His seconds of indecision had meant a good man’s death.

Bullets came at them like swarms of bees, and another rocket exploded a few feet out from Hartogg. There would be more rockets now, and if they tried to flee, they wouldn’t get a dozen feet.

Abrams ground his teeth. Trying to wait them out was not an option – nightfall would spell their death, as then they’d also have to deal with the belly-crawlers coming at them over the dark sand.

He looked back over his shoulder. Four sets of eyes looked to him, waiting for his next instruction – he had nothing.

Can’t stay here, Hartogg had said. Take em head-on, now or never. He felt down for his grenades. This is gonna hurt, he thought, as he steeled himself for the suicidal assault.

He looked up briefly to check the sniper’s position, and saw momentarily a rooster tail of sand and debris shooting up about half a mile out. It stopped, and he blinked, trying to determine what it had been. Maybe more reinforcements for their attackers, he thought with dismay. Abrams had surprise on his side for only a few more minutes.

He opened his mic. “Hartogg, going in, on my word – looping assault, I’ll come in from the right flank, you the left on the four o’clock nest. Kovitz, prepare to give us cover from your position. Okay, people, let’s blow them back to hell.”