Intersection With Nibiru. Danilo Clementoni

      Nasiriyya – The ambush

      Two large, open top Jeeps, coming from the direction of the Northern part of the city, each with three people on board, drew to a halt at the red light of a seemingly deserted crossing. They waited patiently for the green light and then carried on slowly for another twenty metres, until they reached the entrance of an old abandoned workshop.

      A large, portly guy jumped down from the first of the two Jeeps and, armed with a pair of old shears, cautiously approached the entrance and cut the rusty wire holding the big door closed. Immediately behind him, another man jumped out of the second vehicle and joined him. He too was pretty big and heavyset. Together they tried to move the old panel that served as a front door. They struggled for quite a while and then, with a sinister metallic screech, the panel moved. They pushed it sideways with decision, completely flinging open the entrance.

      The drivers of the two vehicles who had been waiting, one behind the other, with their engines idling, leaving a large cloud of black smoke behind them, drove into the old workshop and turned their vehicles off.

      "Come on," said the one who seemed to be the boss, jumping down from the Jeep, followed by the other three. The two who had been at the entrance joined the little group and all six headed quietly towards the main entrance of the restaurant.

      "You three, round the back,” ordered the boss.

      All the members of the small assault team were equipped with AK-47 rifles and the typical curved sheaths of the Arab Janbiya knives were clearly visible, hanging from the belts of a couple of them. They weren't very long daggers but their sharp blades, on both sides, undoubtedly made them deadly weapons.

      The restaurant owner, aware of the fact that at any moment his companions would appear, continually shuttled back and forth between the dining room and the back entrance, where he peered outside to check for any suspicious movements. His nervousness, however, did not go unnoticed by the General who, crafty old fox that he was, began to smell a rat and realise that something was not right. With the excuse of picking up the bottle of beer, he approached the big guy and whispered close to his ear, "Don't you think your friend is a little too nervous?"

      â€œActually, I’d noticed that as well,” answered the big guy, also whispering.

      â€œHow long have you known him? You don’t suppose he’s organising a nice little surprise for us, do you? "

      "I wouldn't think so... he’s always been a dependable sort."

      "Perhaps," said the General, rising quickly from his chair, "but I don't trust him at all. Let’s get out of here quick."

      The other two looked at one another for a moment, perplexed, then they stood up too and quickly headed towards the owner.

      "Thanks for everything," said the big guy, "but we really have to go now" and he shoved another hundred-dollar bill into his shirt pocket.

      "But I haven't even brought your desserts,” answered the curly-haired man.

      â€œBetter that way, I'm on a diet,” said the fat guy and set off quickly towards the door. He peered out from behind the curtain and, not seeing anything unusual, motioned to the other two to follow him. He barely had time to cross the threshold when, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the three bad guys approaching from his right.

      â€œBastard,” was all he managed to shout before the closest of the three, in very broken English, ordered him to stop. In response, he unhooked a stun grenade from his belt and turning to his companions yelled “Flashbang!”

      The two immediately closed their eyes and covered their ears. A blinding flash of light, followed by a loud bang, shattered the quiet of the night. The three assailants, taken by surprise by the big guy’s move, were momentarily stunned by the explosion and the blinding flash from the grenade prevented them from seeing the three Americans as, with a burst worthy of a hundred-metre finish, they fled in the direction of their car.

      "Fire," shouted the leader of the aggressors.

      There was a burst of AK-47 in the fugitives’ direction but, as the effect of the flashbang had not yet vanished, it was lost high above their heads.

      "Come on," cried the thin guy, taking his Beretta M9 out of the holster under his armpit and responding to the fire.

      As he ran, the big guy had succeeded in removing the vehicle’s remote control from his jacket pocket and opening the rear tailgate. With an agile leap he threw himself inside it and grabbing one of the M-16 rifles that he always carried with him threw it to the General. He grabbed an FN P90 machine gun for himself and began firing in the direction of the assailants.

      "Come on," he screamed at the thin guy who, keeping his head down, went straight towards the driver’s door. While his two friends covered him he climbed into the car. Another burst, from behind him, left a series of untidy holes in the sheet metal wall of the hut in front of him.

      Meanwhile, the three aggressors who had gone around the back, emerged from the restaurant’s main door and joined their comrades in firing. Their aim was decidedly better. A bullet hit the left-hand rear-view mirror that splintered into a thousand pieces.

      "Dammit," exclaimed the thin guy while, instinctively lowering his head, he tried to start the car.

      â€œGeneral, get in," cried the fat guy while firing off another burst in the direction of the assailants.

      With the agility of a youngster, Campbell threw himself onto the back seat just as a bullet flew perilously close to his left leg and lodged itself in the open door. With a quick movement, he unhooked the back seat and managed to get into the luggage area. He immediately noticed a series of grenades arranged in a row inside a polystyrene container. Without stopping to think, he grabbed one and, after pulling out the fuse, hurled it in the direction of the assailants.

      â€œGrenade!” he yelled and flattened himself on the seat.

      While a new burst of AK-47 firing broke the rear window and destroyed the right-hand side rear light, the hand grenade rolled quietly into the middle of the little group of aggressors who, aware of the impending danger, flung themselves on the ground flattening themselves as much as possible. The grenade exploded with a deafening noise and a blinding glare ripped through the darkness of the night.

      The big guy, taking advantage of the General’s surprise move, ran to the passenger side, jumped on board and, with one leg still poking out, shouted “Go, go.”

      The thin man floored his foot on the accelerator and the car, with a huge squeal of tyres, leapt forward right in the direction of the old door of the abandoned hut. The mass of the vehicle launched at speed easily had the better of the rusty sheet metal of the panel, which fell heavily inwards. The car continued its mad race destroying everything in its path. Old earthenware pots, crates of rotten wood, chairs and even two old light fittings were swept up and thrown into the air, kicking up a huge cloud of sand and debris. The skinny guy driving tried to avoid as many things as possible, using the full weight of his body to turn the steering wheel left and right