Install Closet Door Before Carpet

Beirut, late afternoon

The man on the opposite roof took a while to die.
His feeble wail was audible from where we were sprawled on our bellies, behind the parapet.
The modified M40 was lying next to me. Normally I wouldn't have left it beside but for giving my arms a brief rest.
But all we still had to do that afternoon was waiting for the car to come and pick us up. That was, if they didn't get stopped by some Druze or Maronite bullets along the way. It didn't look like we'd be shooting again, for that day. Dusk was coming up fast.
Everybody was shooting at everyone.
From time to time a shot would ring out a few blocks uphill.
We couldn't put an end the man's misery with another shot. We had already moved off since I'd shot him and firing another round would mean giving away our new position.
A few minutes later a classic, battered, grey, mid-east model Mercedes sedan rounded the corner at the end of the street, coming from the general direction of the harbour. It seeemed to slither and bounce among the rubble littering the pavement as a wary animal prowling its hunting ground seeking preys, fearing enemies.
As it bore SLA insignia nobody was targeting it, although you could be certain a few gunmen from a roof or the occasional window had it in their sights by now and were tracking it up the street.
The man had stopped crying. Either that or the approching car's engine was covering him.
Brian eyed me warily and I nodded. He nodded back.
He edged back, ever so slightly form his position so that no one could see him from below when he got up to a crouch and trotted to the stairs door that led downward.
I counted forty seconds and did the same, picking up my rifle and leaving the camouflaged tarpaulin where it was.
We had no backup. Anyone could have crawled up the stairs of the abandoned condo while we stationed on its roof and any apartment door at any floor could thus hide an enemy. That's why we were getting down spaced out.
At the main entrance Brian was looking for the car, leaning out of the doorway.
He nodded at a signal from his earpiece. That meant The Car Was No More Than Half a minute away. We Both
Took out our kefiahs and Wore Them, the best way to disguise even Ourselves Temporarily, as local militians.
The Mercedes stopped two yards out in the street. The driver beckoned us with a hand and the back door flew open. The Brian Followed swiftly into the car, the reflection Went on the floor. The driver
Set The gear into drive and slowly did a u-bouncy turn.Nobody uttered a word.