by Jack Terral
"That's why it's called camouflage, wiseass," Dave remarked.
"I don't like stone defenses," Mike complained. "When a mortar shell hits it, the stuff splits up and adds to the shrapnel."
"Well, this place ain't exactly Sherwood Forest," Dave said. "If they got no trees to cut down, then rock is their next best choice."
"Their only choice around here," Garth added. "I'm glad there's a shitload of empty sandbags coming in on the Pave Low. It'll be a lot of work to fill 'em up, but they'll strengthen the defenses and make 'em safer for the guys using 'em."
"Okay," Mike said. "Let's get back up to the LZ. The rest of the detachment ought to be coming in pretty soon."
"I hope to hell that Connie and Matty remembered to put our gear aboard that Air Force chopper," Dave said.
"If they didn't, we'll take their stuff away from 'em and split it up," Garth said sourly. "It'll be share and share alike."
Mike could hear the approaching Pave Low in the distance. He spoke into his LASH. "Brigand Boss, this is Sneaky Pete. The Oscar Alpha is secure. Over."
"This is Brigand Boss," came back Brannigan's voice. "We're coming in. Out."
.
OA LZ
0710 HOURS
THE Pave Low helicopter nosed up slightly as it eased down to the ground. The three-man recon patrol double-timed over to the aircraft as the rear ramp slid open. The first guy out was the Skipper, followed by the two officers and the senior chief. Immediately the rest of the detachment unassed the chopper, falling into formation by sections, with the officers standing off to the side.
Mike, Dave, and Garth joined the Headquarters crowd, falling in beside Connie Concord and Matty Matsuno. Connie nodded to them. "You're gear is aboard on the starboard side."
Before the three could respond, Dawkins called the detachment to attention. "Alright! We got mucho crapolla to get off the chopper and down to our new home. Alpha and Bravo fire teams form a relay line starting in the aircraft. Charlie and Delta join the line and stretch it over to the edge of the LZ where that path begins. Echo and Foxtrot continue it down to the bottom and stack it there." He looked over at Chief Gunnarson. "Matt, take your men and machine guns down to the front line and pick out three good spots to set up your weapons. Have your bullet toters take along some ammo boxes so you can go into business ASAP."
"Right, Senior Chief," Gunnarson said. He turned to his six men, shouting, "Let's go, Fire Support Section!" He led the gunners and ammo bearers toward the chopper to pick up their personal gear along with the M-60s and ammunition.
Dawkins turned his attention to Headquarters. "Gomez! Bradley! Get your radios and medical stuff below. Then hold up down there and wait for word where to set up. When that's done, get on line with your M-sixteens and keep an eye peeled across the valley. Consider yourselves on watch."
"Say, Senior Chief," Puglisi called out, "can me and Joe take our AS-fifties and whack somebody over there?"
"No, Puglisi," Dawkins responded in an irritable tone. "Not now. There's other things to do. Find a place in the relay line and lend a hand." Dawkins noted the three officers off to one side at a stand of boulders. He gestured to Connie Concord. "Take your team up there, where the Skipper is. He wants to see you Sneaky Petes. Alright! Ever' swinging dick turn to!"
By then Chief Gunnarson and his machine gun crews were already heading for the ledge. Concord took his four scouts up toward the location where Brannigan, Cruiser, and Taylor gazed over at the enemy positions through their binoculars. It took the Sneaky Petes a couple of minutes to reach the spot, and when they reported in, Brannigan put his binoculars in their case while Cruiser and Taylor continued to study the Zaheya area.
"You guys take a seat," Brannigan said to the team. He sat down with them on the ground, pulling a map out of his side trouser pocket. "Okay. Tonight you're going to make an area reconnaissance. And I want to emphasize the word reconnaissance ! You are going to avoid combat at all costs.
Your mission is to scope out the enemy's positions. I want to know the extent of their fortifications, routes of approach to and from their fighting positions, and how many men they have along their front line. This includes any other interesting tidbits of intel you're able to pick up. Keep in mind that the information you're looking for will be used to set up combat patrols."
Concord nodded. "It sounds like you're not planning on any all-out assaults for the time being, sir."
"Right," Brannigan replied. "I want to look around for weak spots to probe. You'll leave our lines at zero-one-hundred hours, and you should be able to find advantageous positions for observation relatively quickly."
"Yes, sir," Concord said, now pulling out his own map. "I'll split us up into two teams. The Odd Couple will work from north to the center, and I'll take Redhawk and Matsuno from the south to the center." He checked the lay of the land as indicated on the topographical sheet. "We'll meet here, behind this hill."
Matsuno looked over at the spot. "That doesn't look like much of a hill to me."
"Well, semihill," Concord allowed. "At any rate, it will provide us with cover to converge for the return to our side of the valley."
"Mmm," Assad said. "It looks like me and Dave have a bit longer to travel, so we'll get there a little later."
"You guys come up with a challenge and a password," Brannigan said. "Use the odd-number system."
"Aye, sir," Connie said. He turned to his team. "Listen up. Say I choose an odd number like thirteen for the password. So the challenger says a number less than that, like nine. That means the guy being challenged has to come up with a number that equals thirteen." He winked at Mike. "Don't count on your fingers. The answer is four."
"Don't use 'thirteen,' Connie," Matty Matsuno said. "It's unlucky."
"Alright," Connie said. "The number is fifteen."
Brannigan folded his map. "Okay. That's official. When you go through our lines, you'll have to check out with the officer or chief of the watch for the challenge and the password."
"Our lines!" Dave Leibowitz exclaimed. "It really does sound like we're in the trenches in World War One, like Chad was talking about in isolation."
"That's exactly the case," Brannigan said. "I'll cover that with the guys later.
Meanwhile, Concord will work out the routes of the patrol on the map, and you guys get some rest. You'll be gone for a few hours."
"Aye, sir!"
The Skipper started to get up and stopped. "Oh! Another thing. Just before we left Shelor, we learned our enemy is up-to-date. They've got night vision capabilities. Keep that in mind while you're sneaking and peeking out there."
.
1800 HOURS
THE work of settling into the new area had gone on without a break. The old fighting positions of the Pashtuns were occupied, and the construction of several new ones had begun. Ensign Taylor's assault section was detailed to begin filling sandbags for the effort.
Brannigan didn't like the idea of static points of resistance when it came to defense, and his main plan was to have more sites than they needed. That way, they could shift daily or even hourly to different defensive patterns to keep the enemy off balance. He also set up a CP for the front line. This was where the watch officers and chiefs would be positioned during their duty hours. Additionally, he issued orders that all sections would have three men "standing to" at all times day or night. With two fire team leaders, six fire team members, and a SAW gunner, that meant a one-third alert. The Fire Support Section was set up the same way, by keeping one machine gun crew on duty.
This system permitted using the Navy's regular watch organization of four hours on and eight hours off during the seven periods of watches. The exceptions were the two dog watches, which went from 1600 hours until 2000 hours. These were two on and four off during the evening meal-time, as was normal aboard ships. The system also kept men from having to keep the same duty hours every day.
Normal administrative, medical, and communication functions would be in
the Headquarters bunker, in the center of the position. It was a large cave and, like the others, offered a comfortable temperature in the interior because of small entrances as well as the natural insulation. Frank Gomez found a small hole some three feet in diameter up in the ceiling, and he positioned his Shadowfire Radio on a rock shelf nearby. He would place the set outside when he transmitted or received. Thick brush around the area offered concealment, and the location was also an excellent OP if necessary.
Hospital Corpsman Doc Bradley had an excellent chamber for his rustic clinic. A small stream came out of the rocks and made its way across the deck to descend into an opening that led outside. His potable testing kit showed the water to be free of bacteria and contaminants, meaning it would serve well when required in the treatment of the wounded. Bradley also arranged his medical and surgical kits, operating table, medicines, and drugs in an orderly manner. Although his patients would be required to sleep on the rocky floor, he had enough foam mattresses to take care of half a dozen casualties. They would be able to rest comfortably.
The rest of the headquarters group--like Gomez and Bradley--were exempt from standing watches. In naval parlance, the seven men of the Sniper Team and Patrol Team were called "idlers" because of their status. However, in Brannigan's Brigands phraseology, they were "weenies." Mike Assad especially resented this, since there would be times when they would be on duty for long hours at a stretch, but the name stuck even when he threatened to break Andy Malachenko's nose for referring to him thusly.
NOW, tired from the hauling, stacking, and digging, the detachment sat down to their first meal in their new garrison. It was no more than MREs, but the SEALs consumed the food gratefully as the men on stand-to patiently waited for their reliefs so they could chow down in turn. Meanwhile, the Sneaky Petes huddled together in the Headquarters bunker, making a careful map reconnaissance of the area they would patrol that night.
CHAPTER 4
NO MAN'S LAND
10 JUNE 0130 HOURS
CONNIE Concord signaled the patrol to halt and gather around him. They had reached the east side of a small hill at the bottom of the valley between the warring factions. The SEALs all wore NVGs, and viewed their surroundings in the green, gray, and black the devices provided. Everyone was stripped down for action with empty pockets, one ammo pouch, K-Bar knife, and canteen on their belts. Additionally, all the rifle slings had been removed and the swivels taped down. Before leaving their position, Brannigan had made the Sneaky Petes jump up and down to make sure there were no rattling noises that might give them away during the mission.
"Alright!" Connie said, whispering into his LASH. No matter how softly he spoke, the others could hear him clearly in the earphones. "This here's that raise in the ground we picked out on the map. This is gonna be both our ERP and RRP, okay? So let's get this little show of ours on the road. Mike and Dave, you guys head north. Keep close track of the time because you gotta be back here no later than zero-four-hundred. Here's another important item: You guys got to take off your LASH sets so's you can listen good for whatever's going on around you. Them Zaheyas might have a patrol or two of their own prowling around out here."
"What if we got to say something?" Dave whispered back.
"We can wave at each other or something and point to our ears," Mike suggested.
"Just don't make any noise to attract each other's attention," Connie remarked seriously. "And let me remind you what the Skipper said about the bad guys having night vision. D'you remember the challenge and the password when we go back through our lines?"
"Yeah," Mike replied. " 'Grin' and 'grapple.'
"Right," Connie said. The Skipper wanted all challenges and passwords to have the letter "r" in them, since it was difficult for speakers of Farsi and Arabic to pronounce it the American way without rolling the sound with their tongues twittering. "So take off, guys, and good luck."
Dave took the lead as he and Mike moved north to follow their assignment of traveling the entire length of the enemy positions in that direction. When they reached the outermost point, they would work their way back to the ERP. The rest of the detachment referred to the two as the Odd Couple because Mike was an Arab-American and Dave Jewish-American. In spite of a situation that could have caused an ethnic clash, the pair was 100 percent American and disinterested in Middle East conflicts except how the events might affect the United States. They were also the best of buddies and spent all their off-duty time together swilling beer and chasing young women.
THE terrain in the no-man's-land between the two mountaintops was fairly smooth, with a few dips and rises. Stands of boulders--some as large as automobiles-were scattered throughout the area. The ground itself was smooth, hard-packed, and rock-strewn, while the vegetation was scrub brush with thorny plants that were tall and thick enough in places to offer good concealment.
It would be impossible to move across the valley undetected in daylight. Such movement would be extremely dangerous and would have to be done in short rushes. But at night or when the mountain mists and fogs lay heavily over the terrain, a quiet, determined force of properly clad men would be able to move unseen. During those conditions, even NVGs had difficulty detecting movement, since the shapes of camouflaged individuals would blend in well with the natural features of the area. IR devices, of course, would have no trouble identifying living beings because of body heat imaging.
Navy SEALs had been trained for years in the tradition of conducting operations with "one foot in the water"--that is, close to the sea. They generally went into their OAs in boats or SCUBA gear. They stayed on dry land only long enough to perform their missions; then it was back to the friendly environs of the ocean, lake, or river for exfiltration to naval vessels. But the latest demands of combat in the Middle East had changed all that. The introduction of war against terrorism meant that they now went ashore and stayed there for weeks, practicing their deadly trade far from beaches and seashores. Brannigan's Brigands could be numbered among the many SEALs who had gone so far as to employ desert patrol vehicles on missions in which they raced in and out of combat in the midst of gunfire and roaring motors.
Now, in that valley of the Gharawdara Highlands of Afghanistan, the Sneaky Petes moved slowly across the mountainous terrain, their feet as dry as if they were trodding over the sands of the Sahara.
.
0245 HOURS
MATTY Matsuno was on point as Connie Concord and Garth Redhawk followed him. They had stayed more or less on the eastern side of the valley while they made their wary southern trek toward the far reaches of their patrol area. Now they had worked their way into a north-northwest direction to reach the base of the slopes that led up to the enemy positions. Matty glanced back, as he did from time to time, to see how his companions were coming along. This time he saw Connie gesturing to him. He went back and joined the team leader and Garth.
Everyone slipped on their LASH headsets. Connie pointed upward. "That's where the bad guys live. We need to take a look and see if we can spot something interesting. Be sure and make a note of personnel and the strengths of their defenses. That's the main reason we're out here."
"I'll go," Garth volunteered.
"Okay," Connie agreed. "Matty needs a break after being on point for so long. We'll both follow you and keep about ten meters to the rear. We'll spread out a little so we can cover both the right and left flanks."
"I'm ready," Garth said.
He was of Kiowa-Comanche Indian ancestry, making him a mixture of two of the fiercest fighting tribes of the Southern Plains. He carried a traditional medicine bag for good luck and spiritual guidance. It was a rawhide sack of two by six inches in which he had placed his issue SEAL trident qualification badge, a piece of wood from a tree struck by lightning in his native Oklahoma, and a pebble taken from an enemy mortar position in the Selva Verde Mountains of South America. He had gone on a one-man combat patrol into enemy territory, sneaked into a mortar bivouac, and dropped thermite grenades down t
he tubes of the weapons to disable them. His instincts told him his medicine was strong at that particular spot in the world, and he had taken the pebble to carry some of that power with him when he exfiltrated safely from the area. This was the same highly classified operation in which the new Ensign Taylor's cousin Lamar had been KIA.
This scion of great warriors such as Lone Wolf, Medicine Feather, Wild Horse, and Hears-the-Sunrise wore the camouflage paint on his face in the lightning streak patterns of the Southern Plains tribes. And with the traditional warmaking skills of his people, Garth Redhawk moved in fluid silence up toward the enemy fighting positions.
.
0300 HOURS
ON the opposite end of no-man's-land, Dave Leibowitz had discovered a natural path that was some five meters below the ridge where the Zaheya were dug in. A section of the cliff had given way under a primeval earthquake of long past aeons, leaving a narrow ledge just wide enough to walk on. The cloudy night allowed no moonlight to illuminate the shadows that hid the place where the Odd Couple trod softly in a southerly direction.
Dave moved no more than ten paces before stopping to look upward. Mike kept his attention on his best buddy, making occasional glances behind to make sure no Zaheya soldiers were following them along the protrusion. After ten minutes had passed, Dave stopped and signaled Mike forward. Both donned their LASH sets. "Look up there," Dave said. "That rock formation has some good foot-and handholds."
"Yeah," Mike agreed.
"I'm gonna climb up and see if there's anything interesting," Dave said.
"Be careful."
Dave showed a crooked grin. "Hey! Y'know! That's a good idea. I never thought of that. Any more suggestions?"
"Yeah," Mike said, "but you'd have a tough time keeping quiet while you shoved that M-sixteen up your keister."
"Wiseass," Dave said.
He handed his rifle to Mike, then carefully placed his foot on a rock and tested it. He did the same with another he had grasped to pull himself up. When he was satisfied they would hold his weight, he began the ascent. Dave repeated the procedure slowly until he had reached the top. He looked around, happy to note that there was nobody there. He could see a well-constructed trench that had obviously been scooped out of the mountain by machine. It would have taken a jackhammer to break up the rock that was hauled away. The floor of the thing was even and level, while the sides were reinforced with sandbags.
