Seals (2005) s-1

by Jack Terral

  The mujahideen went back to wild cheering and more prancing around, their eyes wide with excitement. At first their shouting was intermingled and uncoordinated, but after a few moments chants began to emerge from the roaring voices.

  "Jihad! Jihad!"

  "Allah is great!"

  "Death to the infidels!"

  Over in the village, the women had gotten the gist of the warlord's speech, and now shrilled their warbling encouragement to the men.

  .

  WEST RIDGE

  19 AUGUST

  0545 HOURS LOCAL

  THE mujahideen had gone en masse to the base of the ridge, looking toward their objective at the top. They moved quietly and slowly into what cover they could find in the rocks, to await the order to charge. There was no unit integrity among them, although they tended to congregate with special friends on this holy mission. The previous night had been spent fasting and praying as each prepared himself for the glorious struggle ahead.

  Bashar Abzai was among the fighters. This man who had been made a sergeant was by himself in the crowd. His best friend, Sayed, had died on the wall, and now Abzai turned his thoughts to this departed comrade. Neither one of the young men had ever had a woman. Once, back when they were teenagers, an itinerate camel driver passing through with a caravan had photographs of naked females for sale. The sight of the rounded feminine bodies, with breasts, wide hips and hairy triangles between their thighs, caused them to tremble with a strange desire they could not fully understand. As they viewed the images, their penises grew hard and extended with a throbbing that was somehow as pleasurable as it was troublesome. This thing with women was confusing. By Islamic law the young men were forbidden casual fornication, yet Allah had made women so alluring.

  But Sayed, now in his eternal life, knew all. At that moment he would be among seventy houris, and all would be naked as he enjoyed them to his heart's content under the blessings of Allah. Every day and night in the endless spinning passage of eternity, Sayed's secret passions would no longer be smothered. Instead he would have endless hours of the greatest pleasure known by man.

  Abzai turned his thoughts to Paradise. It must be a wonderful place, where it was never too cold or too hot; where succulent meats, fruit, breads and cakes were available in unlimited quantities; and where sweet nectars and cold clear water slaked one's thirst. No hard winds drove gritty dust into one's face in Paradise. No hard work exhausted one's muscles until they cramped and burned. And those houris! Those wonderful, beautiful houris!

  Abzai's reverie was suddenly, broken by a loud shout from the rear. "Allah akbar! God is Great!" That was the signal to advance upward to kill Satan's demons. The young mujahideen leaped to his feet and began moving toward the summit of the ridge, joining the shouting of the other warriors of Islam.

  "Allah akbar! "

  .

  THE BATTLE

  JOE Miskoski was on the morning watch, looking out through the diminishing gloom of the night, when he heard the noises below. He looked downward, then grabbed his binoculars. Dozens of mujahideen moved up the side of the ridge toward him, looking like animated rag dolls.

  Over to his right, Kevin Albee and Milly Mills reacted by firing down into the human targets bobbing among the rocks and boulders as they progressed upward. At almost that exact moment Chief Matt Gunnarson appeared among the trio of SEALS. After one quick look, he hurried over to the CP to alert the platoon.

  BACK on the top of East Ridge, Warlord Ayyub Durtami and his entourage watched the attack across the valley. Ahmet Kharani held a pair of Soviet binoculars to his eyes. He spoke softly but in good spirits. "The fighters are doing well, Amir. They are filled with the holy spirit as they work their way upward toward the infidels."

  Durtami was satisfied just looking at the distant figures of the mujahideen moving among the concealment of boulders and brush as they made a rapid advance to close with the enemy. 'Today is our day, Brother Kharani," he said with uncharacteristic friendliness. "I hope we will find many weapons and ammunition bandoleers among the corpses of the infidels. Our stocks have shrunk over the past weeks."

  LIEUTENANT Wild Bill Brannigan was at the firing line, moving from position to position as the SEALs fired single, aimed shots at the enemy advancing up the ridge in an uncoordinated, ragged assault. It was obvious the mujahideen planned on overwhelming them by sheer numbers. Automatic fire, even three-round bursts, would have been a waste of ammunition at that range. The platoon, with each man working within his individual field of fire, picked out targets of opportunity that bounded among the boulders. Now and then, after firing a well-aimed round, they were rewarded with the sight of an attacker suddenly staggering back and falling to the sloped ground as the strike of a bullet ended his life. Some rolled a few meters down, until their corpses collided with the rocks and brush scattered over the terrain.

  Bruno Puglisi had no opportunity to set up the French mortars because Connie Concord, the other fire support man, was covering the opposite side of the ridge with Bravo Team. But Puglisi was able to use his M-203 to advantage when groups of mujahideen inadvertently congregated. Occasionally, the 40-millimeter grenades did a lot of damage, throwing shrapnel and shards of rock into the groups. But most times the targeted individuals had dispersed by the time Puglisi could get off a shot.

  The attack pressed relentlessly upward, and the platoon began to have the disturbing sensation of shoveling sand against the tide. The ragged figures advancing toward them were rapidly closing the gap between the two battling groups of desperate men. Brannigan shouted encouragement to his men, urging quick, but carefully aimed firing.

  Bravo Fire Team suddenly showed up from the other side of the base camp. Senior Chief Buford Dawkins threw himself down beside Brannigan.

  "Sir:' he reported, "they ain't nobody coming at us from the other side. They must be concentrating their whole effort on this part of the ridge."

  "All right," Brannigan said. "Get your guys out on the perimeter here. The pressure is building."

  "Bravos!" the senior chief shouted. "Follow me."

  Within moments, four more weapons began firing into the attackers.

  BASHAR Abzai hit the ground and rolled, ending up behind a large bullet-streaked boulder. He waited a moment, then stood up and fired two long fire bursts upward toward the infidel positions. His third salvo was cut short when the final bullet in the weapon was fired.

  He pulled out the empty magazine and inserted a fresh one stocked with thirty rounds. The used one went into his bandoleer for reloading later. He glanced downward and could see mujahideen sprawled among the rocks. A couple were stirring slightly, while another sat up tending to a leg wound. Abzai turned back to the business at hand. He picked out some brush ten meters away to use as concealment. After a deep breath, he leaped to his feet and ran toward it.

  Something hit him hard in the chest, and his legs gave out. He fell face first, rolling over on his back to gaze up at the morning sky. He knew at that moment that he was dying. He thought it strange that he should recognize the fact so quickly after being hit. It was also extraordinary that he was completely at peace about leaving the world of the living. Abzai thought about his friend Sayed. It would be good to see him again. Sayed would be interested in hearing about this day's battle, and would rejoice in the victory as much as if he had fought in it.

  The dying mujahideen also thought about the houris even now anticipating his arrival in Paradise. As he lay on the mountainside with his life's blood leaking out into the hard-packed rocky terrain, he decided he would pick out one houri to be his favorite. She would be the most beautiful one, of course, and she would be delighted to be the number one. Abzai decided he would give her a name. Khesta Bibi. Au--yes! A perfect name: Beautiful Lady.

  An exchange of gunfire sent bullets zipping over his body, but by then Bashar Abzai was unaware of what went on around his mortal remains.

  CHAD Murchison and Milly Mills were sent back to the ammo dump next to
the CP to pick up loads of ammunition to pass out on the perimeter. As they gathered the munitions, they could see the two hostages Ibrahim and Hajji huddled together back in the Skipper's camouflaged area.

  Chad nodded to them. "How're you chaps doing?" Ibrahim forced a grin. "Oh, we are doing fine. Thank you for asking."

  "You are winning the battle, are you not?" Hajji inquired in a worried tone.

  "Piece of cake," Milly said.

  "No, thank you," Ibrahim said, misunderstanding what the American meant. "We are not being hungry at this moment."

  Chad laughed and winked at the other SEAL. "C'mon, Milly, we must hurry."

  They ran awkwardly under the weight of rucksacks stuffed with bandoleers of 5.56-millimeter ammunition and the extra HE grenades for Connie Concord and Bruno Puglisi. They skirted the perimeter, then split up going to their respective squads to drop off ammo for each man. When Chad reached Connie, he handed over the M-203 ammo. Connie happily took the explosives, asking, "What about the mortars? Has the Skipper said anything about 'em?"

  Chad shook his head. "Nope. He only said to fetch some more grenades for the M-203s."

  "Well," Connie said. "Me and Bruno wouldn't have time to zero 'em in anyhow."

  Chad hurried over to the rock stand shared by the Odd Couple Mike Assad and David Leibowitz. Each took three bandoleers, placing them beside his firing position. "There's gonna be a long line at the gates to Muslim heaven today," Mike commented.

  "Yeah," Dave said, "but them guys are gonna be disappointed. I got it on good authority that instead of seventy virgins, they'll get one virgin seventy years old."

  Chad laughed, then hurried away when fresh volleys of fire came from down below. The Skipper was set up slightly behind the rifle positions, and he had called for Jim Cruiser and both chief petty officers to join him. He looked at Cruiser. "Give me a quick SITREP for Second Squad."

  Cruiser, still panting a bit from running over from his position, replied, "The assault is slowing down noticeably. They're taking on a hell of a lot more casualties now that they've drawn closer. I think we've broken the back of the attack?'

  Senior Chief Buford Dawkins nodded. "Same with us, sir. Their firing is growing sporadic. It builds up real quick-like then peters out. There's also some periods when we get no incoming a'tall. But I don't think them dumb bastards has figured out they're starting to beat they heads against a brick wall."

  "Okay," Brannigan said. "Get back to your guys and tell 'em to turn it up a notch. Maybe we can wrap this thing up within the next half hour."

  THE mujahideen were out of steam. With high casualties and their ammunition running low, all the religious ardor they brought to the battle was fading with their energy and confidence. Most of them were no longer firing as they huddled behind bits of cover provided by the rocks and brush.

  Fire from above began to build up until bullets slapped the air and kicked up dirt around them in what seemed a constant fusillade. The temporary encouragement brought on by the proclamation of a jihad continued to rapidly wane as the reality of the situation began to sink in.

  One man suddenly leaped up and began running down the hillside. He kept going, gaining speed until he was out of range of the infidels. Another followed him. Then another, then a dozen, then more, until all the survivors ran for their lives, stumbling and staggering as they tried to make it down the hill. They leaped over their dead and wounded, only wanting to get out of the kill zone.

  Warlord Ayyub Durtami watched impassively at the deterioration of his fighting force. He knew deep in his heart that he, his fighters and fiefdom were things of the past. None of this existed anymore. Ahmet Kharani, ever loyal, walked over and took his warlord by the sleeve. "Amin we must go. The men will soon be climbing this ridge to get to the other side. We must get back to the fortress to make our plans."

  Durtami took a deep breath. "That will not require much time, Brother Ahmet. I think we both know what we must do now."

  "Yes," Kharani said. "It is best that you seek out your brother-in-law and put yourself and all of us under his authority. He leads a great force with many weapons."

  Durtami pulled his arm free, turning to walk down the other side of the ridge.

  ALL along the defensive line, the SEALs stood up to watch the disintegrating mujahideen force as it melted away from the battle. Brannigan walked forward to stand on a rocky outcrop that offered a good view. The rag dolls were now scattered thickly down the ridge, most lying still in death, while the wounded moved slightly in the shock and agony of their injuries.

  Brannigan walked over to Alpha Fire Team's position and yelled for Frank Gomez. The radioman hurried over to report to the commanding officer. "Yes, sir?"

  "Give me your message pad, Frank."

  "Aye, sir," Frank said, handing it over.

  Brannigan took out a ballpoint pen and began writing in it. "We've got to get a quick SITREP back to Station Bravo in Bahrain," he said as he scribbled the message. "I'm curious as to what else they have for us to do around here."

  Frank shrugged. "I hope they're gonna want to get those two hostages out of here, sir. They're a couple of useless mouths for us to feed:'

  Brannigan continued to write.

  Chapter 10

  THE ROAD

  20 AUGUST

  DAWN LOCAL

  THE convoy was colorful, noisy, diverse and filled with panic and the loud buzzing and chugging of engines. Vans, pickup trucks, motor-rickshaws and motorbikes made up the formation of travelers. Each was overloaded with people and possessions that made it dangerously top heavy as it rocked back and forth on the bucolic thoroughfare that led them all north to safety.

  This was the entire band of Warlord Durtami abandoning their homes, compound and dead male relatives scattered on the eastern slopes of West Ridge. The widows and orphans of the slain mujahideen had been taken in by relatives for this exodus that was spurred on by unadulterated terror. In many cases old men who had years before surrendered their paternal authority to sons and grandsons were once again the masters of their families. The male descendents who died in the battle attacking West Ridge left behind widows and orphans to be taken care of by these dismayed grandfathers. A once settled and secure population had changed from permanent residents of a stable community to homeless refugees in only a matter of hours.

  Rampant rumors of the imminent appearance of baby-eating demons who lusted for sex with human women ran through the throng of fleeing people. Those invincible servants of Satan were expected to appear at any moment and fall on the convoy in a frenzy of raping murder and child-devouring.

  The fault for this calamity was laid on residents of the compound who were thought to be less devout toward Islam than the more righteous followers of the community. Surely these neighbors' irreverence was what brought Allah's wrath down on the people. This overwhelming fear, generated by a combination of religious myth and folklore, gave impetus to the people's terror. If it weren't for those sinners, their lives would have continued as before. But instead, they now ran like rabbits while mourning the deaths of most of their young men.

  A special group of vehicles that included a Russian UAZ sedan led the way. This vehicle had been used by the murdered bodyguards of the lost hostages. It was now part of the entourage and families of Warlord Ayyub Durtami and his chief lieutenant Ahmet Kharani. Their vehicles were the best maintained of the whole group, and the distance between them and the common people increased rapidly as the exodus continued.

  The road they followed was not much more than a wide track worn in the hard-packed earth. Parts of it had been washed away during flash floods that followed heavy rains, and the travelers made their way across the barely discernible areas by using a distant mountain peak as a reference for the proper direction of their destination. This was the fortress of the great Warlord Hassan Khamami and the sanctuary he could offer them.

  .

  THE ADANDONED COMPOUND

  NOON LOCAL

  MIKE
Assad and Dave Leibowitz were on the point of the platoon as the SEALs slowly approached the compound. The remainder of the platoon was spread out in a skirmish formation, ready to react to any signs of resistance from the mujahideen community.

  When they reached the wall, Mike and Dave were hoisted to the top by Bill Brannigan and Frank Gomez. The two scouts gazed into what was obviously a completely abandoned site. Mike laughed, looking down at the Skipper. "Sir, there's an open gate just around the corner. Do you want to use it or make the guys climb this wall?"

  "The exercise would do them good," Brannigan said with a grin. "But I'll give 'em a break today. We'll go through the gate."

  Frank Gomez, with the extra twenty pounds of the Shadowfire radio on his back, grinned. "Ay, que bueno! I was afraid I was gonna have to heft this fucking thing over the top."

  While Mike and Dave dropped down to the ground inside, Brannigan signaled to the others to follow him as he headed for the gate. The fire teams, along with the two hostages Ibrahim and Hajji, moved toward the community. As soon as they arrived, the hostages immediately attached themselves to Brannigan as if they were under special protection while in his presence. They were uncomfortable in the fortress even though the mujahideen had departed the place.

  The two scouts were waiting when the rest of the platoon entered the compound. Brannigan turned to his fire teams. "Bravos! Check out the village huts. Charlies! See what they've got over in that vehicle park. Deltas! Take a walk along the entire perimeter of the wall. Alphas! Come with me to check out the big building."

  Brannigan led the way into what had been the warlord's residence. Some heavy ornate furniture that the former owners could not carry away sat abandoned throughout the building. Empty wardrobes had the look of having been hastily emptied, leaving discarded clothing lying scattered around the rooms. A look in the kitchen showed pots and pans of excellent quality. Brannigan turned to the hostages. "What do you make of this place?"

  "Very nice furniture," Ibrahim remarked. "Maybe some of it is paid for, but most is probably stolen from somewhere?'