Barracuda 945 Read Online Free PDF

wasteland positions.
    No one saw the Hamas terrorist leader, the one who had been trying to coordinate resistance to the methodical Israeli sweep through these most sensitive desert streets. Dressed in denim jeans and jacket, with the black-and-white-checked headdress of his nation slung over his shoulders, the young warrior, no more than twenty-five years old, wielded a handheldantitank rocket launcher. He fired one round, at one hundred yards’ close range, straight through a downstairs window of the workshop.
    The rocket exploded with a mind-blowing roar in the confined space, instantly blasting through the ceiling, and the one above it, before bringing down the entire building in a choking fireball of dust, sand, and rubble.
    Fourteen Israelis were killed, seventeen injured. Only twelve of them managed to climb out of the wreckage, all with their eardrums shattered by the blast, their clothing in shreds, blood everywhere, faces blackened. Some of them were appallingly dis-figured, unable hardly to walk, four of them had lost arms or legs.
    Within seconds the atrocity was reported to the Paratroops Company Headquarters, and reinforcements were immediately on their way into the Haarat Al-Sheik area; the Israelis were hell-bent on seeking out the perpetrators. They were desperate for revenge, never mind the rule book. Never mind Major Kerman’s advice.
    Israeli drivers gunned six ambulances crammed with nurses and medics down Route 35 right in the rear of the convoy of seething Paratroopers. Sirens screamed as they raced along Al-Qarantina Street, and within ten minutes of the blast the Israelis were leaping from the trucks, stunned at the sight that greeted them. Surrounded by the terribly wounded and dying men, their colleagues were helpless, and the snipers were beginning to open fire from the wasteland again, straight at the ground immediately in front of the devastated workshop where the grisly scenario was taking place.
    Rarely had an Israeli brigade reacted with such speed and ferocity. The younger paratroopers formed up and stormed the wasteland from both flanks, hurling in grenades, firing from the hip. The Palestinians turned to run but were cut down in their tracks, women and children in the side streets were caught in the cross fire.
    Hamas leaders were blasting away from behind low walls with three machine guns, but they were silenced by the grenades of the Israeli storm troopers. This had developed into a truly major confrontation, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.The Israeli troops had decided to wipe out the Palestinian fighters, and they were well on the way to doing it, driving dozens of Arab freedom fighters back across the Jerusalem Road, many of them wounded.
    By now Ray Kerman, in company with Sergeant O’Hara and Sergeant Morgan, was on his way into the city in an Israeli armored car, speeding along Al-Qarantina Street toward the carnage at Haarat Al-Sheik. Out to the left they could hear the battle raging fiercely on the western side of the Jerusalem Road.
    The Major knew there was nothing he could do at the scene of the catastrophe, but there must be something he could achieve at the scene of the fighting. When finally he swung into the fray, he was appalled by what he saw: a highly disciplined Army almost completely out of control; soldiers going berserk, charging forward in blind fury, killing anything or anyone that moved.
    “Jesus Christ!” said Major Kerman, realizing immediately the Israeli troops had unwittingly been drawn into a Hamas stronghold, which the Palestinians would try to defend to the last. On the radio he already heard the Golani Commanders summoning more ambulances. God alone knew the state of the Arab fighters.
    Right out in front of him he watched the battle, the Israeli troops moving into the Palestinian streets, still hurling grenades, still enraged by the massacre in the workshop, their machine guns raking buildings to the west of the Jerusalem Road.
    Ray