by Jack Terral
In spite of the interruptions and several delays, the flankers kept their areas under ceaseless surveillance, as did the two men on point and rear guard. The movement across the rocky terrain was silent, with each step a measured, separate act of making sure the foot did not come down on a loose rock or dry vegetation to give off sounds.
They had to come to a complete stop half a dozen times to do some minor rock climbing as the ascent took them into higher country. The slopes of the Highlands looked like a moonscape except for the scrubby vegetation, but the effect given by the NVGs was eerie and surreal, an impression heightened by the dangerous environment they had entered.
Jim Cruiser, in the middle of the group with his SAW gunner, Tex Benson, kept a constant eye on the formation, making sure it stayed loose but organized. He had already worked out the details of the dawn attack in his mind, but he would wait until the objective was properly reconned before making a final plan.
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ORP
0045 HOURS
THE two men chosen to recon the objective--Morales and Halonen--were out on their mission. The rest of the team were arrayed in their attack formation, with the Alphas to the right and the Bravos to the left. Cruiser and Benson with his SAW occupied a position in the center rear. The section was only fifty meters from the objective, but had plenty of cover in the scrub brush, boulders, and dips in the ground to keep them concealed.
It was in this risky location that Cruiser really appreciated the features of the LASH headsets. "Okay, guys," he whispered, "we've got about five hours to wait. As soon as Morales and Halonen get back, we'll go on fifty percent alert. Try and get some sleep. I'll sound reveille at oh-four-forty-five and we'll stay on watch until I give the word to move out."
The two scouts returned from their short patrol, and Morales joined his team while Halonen reported in to the team commander. "Sir, there's a fighting position straight ahead. There was only one guy manning it. We won't be able to get too close to it without a sharp climb. It seems to be facing this direction."
"Mmm," Cruiser mused. "Probably there to watch this flank." He thought a minute. "You guys heard Halonen. When the attack starts, I want both grenadiers to cut loose on that position with one grenade each. Benson, you give it a couple of good three-or four-round bursts. Then we rush them and shoot the place up. When I feel we've done enough, I'll give the word we've completed the mission. At that time, turn east for the run back to our own positions."
Now another voice came over the commo system. "Brigand One, this is Brigand Boss. Over." As soon as Cruiser replied, Lieutenant Bill Brannigan continued his call. "It sounds like you're in position. We'll be able to monitor all your transmissions, so as soon as you order the assault, we'll be ready to cover you. Over."
"Roger," Cruiser radioed back. "We'll get as close as we can, then start down the slope toward you. Over."
"Roger. Out."
.
0520 HOURS
THE battle started with one word of command from Lieutenant JG Jim Cruiser: "Go!"
Two M-203 grenade launchers barked, and as their projectiles arced across the thirty meters of ground toward the objective, Tex Benson pumped the trigger of his SAW, sending three short bursts of 5.56-millimeter rounds straight into the enemy fighting position. As soon as the two grenades struck their target and exploded, the entire section leaped to their feet and made a quick rush toward the objective. No fire was being returned, and Cruiser continued the attack completely up the slope without resistance. They reached the top and could see the ripped-up body of a Zaheya soldier sprawled in his own blood on the dirt inside his post.
Suddenly more enemy soldiers appeared from a bunker exit fifteen meters away. They jumped back as soon as the SEALs opened up on them. Cruiser knew that he and his section had pressed their luck about as far as they could. It would be only moments before the whole enemy force responded to the assault.
"Haul ass!"
The First Assault Section now began racing down the slope, able to hear the firing from the Brigands on the east side of the valley. The three M-60s under Chief Matt Gunnarson's command were sending well-directed swarms of bullets crisscrossing across the enemy site above where Cruiser and his men now continued their withdrawal. As soon as they were into the brush, the section split into a wider, more spaced-out formation. They zigzagged through the natural cover, being exposed for only brief instances to view from above.
UP in the Zaheya positions, Captain Naser Khadid personally directed the fire of his Imperial Lions Special Forces detachment. Their FA-MAS bullpups pumped out short automatic bursts in the direction of the fleeing attackers. They had no real targets other than quick glimpses of the scampering Americans, and tried to guess in which direction and how far the enemy was moving. Now the incoming fire swept over them along with some M-203 grenades that exploded just below the location, sending up shards of shrapnel and jagged hunks of rocks. The Iranians ducked under the roaring volleys of rifle and machine-gun bullets directed at them.
A few moments later, the fusillades lessened and the Iranians leaped to their feet to renew the fight. But the only thing they saw was the sight of the attackers entering the cover of their own positions after scrambling up the eastern slopes of the valley.
"Isteet shellik Kardaa!" Khadid ordered. "Cease fire!" The first battle of the campaign was over, and one of their men had been killed.
CHAPTER 6
SEAL BASE CAMP
12 JUNE 0217 HOURS
PO2C Pech Pecheur checked his watch, noting he was two hours and seventeen minutes into the midwatch. The SEAL sighed inaudibly about having an hour and forty-three minutes to go until relieved. He stood in his fighting position, gazing out into no-man's-land, alert for possible attackers or infiltrators, his attention goaded by his impatience. The concealment in the area was pretty good, but didn't offer a lot of effective cover. Thorn bushes did nothing to stop flying bullets, though a few of the boulders were large enough to offer protection from artillery or mortar shells.
The Cajun grinned to himself, thinking it depended on which side of the big rock you were on, of course.
The flicker of movement was fleeting, but enough to snap him into a state of complete alertness.
"Watch it," he whispered over the LASH. "There's movement to the direct front of Two Sector." The assault teams were located by number from left to right, facing out in numerical order. Two Sector was the Second Team's position, and everyone else on watch knew exactly where to look.
"Roger," came back Jim Duncan's voice in Sector Three. "There's somebody out there."
Ensign Orlando Taylor was watch officer stationed just outside headquarters in a recently constructed OP. "Everybody keep your eyes open," he said, hoping something exciting would happen. Now and then fox and other animals scampered through the area, and a small deer had caused a general call to arms a couple of nights previously.
Suddenly a shot cracked from One Sector. "We got infiltrators!" Wally Halonen announced. He squeezed off a couple more rounds. "Two more of 'em!"
Now firing broke out from below the SEAL positions, the incoming slugs slapping into sandbags and zinging off rocks. The off-duty Brigands rushed from their section bunkers with M-16s and bandoliers. The firefight now built up into a crescendo of fusillades that raked across the entire defensive line from no-man's-land. The Brigands returned fire, with Chief Matt Gunnarson's three machine guns now joining in. Sparks flew off boulders, and the vegetation shuddered violently as hundreds of 5.56-and 7.62-millimeter rounds slapped rocks and buffeted the brush to the front of the Brigands.
ARSALAAN Sikes rose from a prone position and aimed his FA-MAS rifle upward at the American MLR. After kicking off a quick full-auto burst, he dropped back down. His Arab Storm Trooper detachment was spread out as skirmishers to his front, with Warrant Officer Shafaqat Hashiri in charge of the left flank, while the Brit commanded the right.
"Kammal hajam ala adi," he ordered over his LASH. "Continue the
attack."
The Arabs used fire and maneuver as they advanced across the valley floor, one group covering each short rapid advance of another. Now that they had NVGs, they were able to carry on night operations as often as they wished. Most of the incoming fire from the American positions was proving harmless, but now and then the bullet strikes came close, bringing parts of the assault lines to a halt. Since it is in the nature of Arabs to babble excitedly in stressful and dangerous situations, Sikes Pasha had issued strict orders that squad leaders were the only ones allowed to use the LASH headsets. That way instructions could be easily given as the battle unfolded without being lost in vocal yammering. The conversation was mostly from Sikes Pasha as he directed the operation with the help of Hashiri.
LIEUTENANT Bill Brannigan crawled through the hole at the top of the headquarters bunker and positioned himself among the shrubs around the opening. He peered down at no-man's-land through his ATN night vision binoculars, moving from one spot to another as he visually scanned the area. The 5X magnification gave him a clear view of each part of terrain he wished to peruse.
Now and then the Skipper caught a brief glimpse of one of the enemy soldiers as he scampered from one position of cover to another. They were professional and skillful, their faces darkened and carrying only the French bullpup rifles and bandoliers of ammo. The Skipper also noted their night vision capability. It was obvious they were under close control, and all their movements were coordinated by a commander and/or subcommanders.
Brannigan started to give some fire direction orders over the LASH when he noted that the enemy was now withdrawing. He waited a moment before sighting a couple heading rearward, toward their own position. "The attackers are pulling back," he said. "Adjust your fire accordingly."
The SEALs responded by moving their volleys farther out, in an effort to catch the unseen foe during their retrograde movement.
SIKES was pleased with his men. No casualties had been reported, and the retirement maneuver was working well. It was obvious the Americans had detected the withdrawal because the incoming rounds were now hitting closer to the slopes beneath the Zaheya positions. But they weren't able to spot any clear targets to zero in on.
"La ajal,"Sikes ordered. "Ala malak!"The Storm Troopers obeyed his instructions by slowing down and adopting a calculated deliberation in their maneuvering.
As the Arabs continued heading back, they were slowed a few times when sweeping gunfire came close to them, but they were able to pick up the pace when the heavy impacts of bullets danced away. Finally Sikes was satisfied he was close enough to the Zaheya defensive positions to call in the support fire from the machine guns and grenade launchers. This part of the attack had been planned carefully, with much discussion among him, Brigadier Khohollah, Captain Naser Khadid, and Captain Jamshid Komard.
"This is Sikes Pasha," he said in stumbling Farsi over the LASH. "Shuru kardeed shellikee. Open fire!"
Immediately the rapid "pow-pow-pow" of the trio of MG-3 machine guns at a collective 3,300 rounds per minute and the "chunk-a-chunk" of the 645 rounds per minute from the three LAG-40 grenade launchers sent sweeping salvos across the American positions. It was a combined barrage of 55 bullets and 11 grenades a second.
OVER in the SEALs' Third Section, the incoming machine-gun rounds pounded hell out of the sandbags, while three rapid grenade detonations tore others apart. Chad Murchison and J. T. Snooker were stunned by the concussion of the explosions, but quickly reacted. They bailed out of their fighting positions and sprinted toward the bunker, diving over the sandbags into the interior. They quickly whipped around to cover their area of fire responsibility from this position, although their angle of fire was drastically cut. But with their cover blown away, they had no choice.
More pounding from the enemy worked its way from both north to south and south to north along the entire American front. The rapidity of the grenade strikes was a nasty surprise, as was the fact that three more fighting positions had been blown to hell in a very short time. Once again several SEALs had to abandon their posts and head for the safety of the bunkers.
The Skipper, still on top of the mountain observing the battle, watched in dismay as the attackers scurried up the slopes to their fortress and disappeared over the defenses to the protection of their trenches. The enemy's heavy covering fire had prevented the Brigands from turning the salvos onto the enemy as they clambered to safety.
The incoming enemy fire suddenly ceased, leaving an eerie silence over the scene.
Brannigan crawled back to the hole and slid in, quickly going down the ladder into the Headquarters bunker. He went outside to check the condition of the detachment personnel and defenses. He gazed around through his NVGs, noting where several fighting positions had been completely destroyed. The sandbags were split and scattered around the immediate area, and the stone walls had been blown apart or had collapsed.
Then Jim Cruiser's voice came over the LASH. "Skipper, we have a KIA here in the First Section. It's Halonen."
"And I have a WIA in the Second, sir," said Orlando Taylor, joining in. "MacTavish has taken some hits in the face with shrapnel. He's pretty dazed. I dispatched Bernardi to help him over to the corpsman."
"Okay," Brannigan said. "MacTavish is your SAW gunner, isn't he?"
"Affirmative, sir."
Doc Bradley came over the air. "I'm on my way back to headquarters to look after MacTavish."
"He and Bernardi are here now," the Skipper said. "They're just walking up." He turned to the two SEALs. "Go on to Doc Bradley's place. How're you feeling, MacTavish?"
"I'm alright, sir," he replied in his North Carolina accent. "I just got some scratches, so I'll be fine directly."
"I'm sure you will," Brannigan said with an encouraging grin. But he noted MacTavish was pretty unsteady on his feet, even with Bernardi's help.
Doc Bradley and Frank Gomez came in together from their shared fighting position. Brannigan nodded to Doc. "Bernardi took MacTavish into that clinic of yours."
"On my way, sir," the hospital corpsman said.
Frank Gomez said, "We had some direct hits on several of the fighting positions, sir.
It looks like we'll be doing some rebuilding."
"That goes without saying," Brannigan said. "You might as well go back to your position until daylight. I want a hundred percent alert until the sun comes up. Then get back here--I'll have some transmissions ready for you. We'll have Halonen flown out. And we might have a medevac for MacTavish."
Bernardi reappeared from Doc Bradley's clinic, hurrying as he left the bunker to rejoin the Second Assault Section. Brannigan looked out over no-man's-land at the enemy positions. They seemed abandoned in the weird view provided by his NVGs. He took the binocular and made a slow sweep of the place. The Iranians and their Arab buddies were staying under cover. He replaced the device in its case, speaking into the LASH. "Section commanders, report!"
"First Section one man KIA, sir."
"Second Section one man WIA, sir."
"Third Section all present and accounted for, sir."
"Fire Support all present and accounted for, sir."
"Okay," Brannigan said. "Stay where you are. Make sure any of your guys who had their fighting positions blown to hell have good cover. Those bastards might start shooting again."
Doc Bradley appeared at his side. "Sir, MacTavish will be in pretty good shape in a couple of days, but we have to medevac him. He wasn't hit by shrapnel; it was by rocks and dirt. I cleaned him up the best I could, but if he doesn't get to more sophisticated treatment all that debris in his skin is going to result in tattooing. At first he didn't want to go, but I told him what he'd look like if he didn't get all that crap cleaned out of his face. That made him change his mind."
"I can't say that I blame him," the Skipper said.
"That's what most guys worry about," Doc commented. "They're more afraid of being blinded or disfigured than getting killed."
.
0700 HO
URS
ALL the section commanders had reported to the Headquarters bunker for the Skipper's conference, and now sat around drinking MRE coffee, waiting for the meeting to begin. Brannigan was with Gomez, tending to the commo chores; the morning watch was on duty as things returned to normal; and MacTavish sat quietly smoking a cigarette by the bunker entrance with his face completely covered courtesy of Doc Bradley's skillful bandaging.
Brannigan walked up and took a seat with the section commanders. "Hell of a thing, wasn't it?"
Senior Chief Buford Dawkins took a loud slurp from his canteen cup. "I sure as the devil hope we ain't facing a dead heat here."
"Mmm," Ensign Orlando Taylor said with a nod. "I am not as experienced as you gentlemen, but it seems to me we could well be entering a frustrating battle of attrition. This operation is going to be won by the side that lasts longer."
"Before we start considering further consequences, I want to discuss last night's fight," Brannigan said. "Besides having a man killed and another wounded, there is something else that's bugging the hell out of me. We had three of our positions completely blown away. We're fortunate we don't have half a dozen casualties."
"Lucky hits," Chief Matt Gunnarson remarked.
"What the hell were them grenade launchers they was firing at us?" the senior chief wondered. "It would be like having a belt-fed Two-oh-three that kept shooting out projectiles as long as the trigger was held down."
"That's true," Jim Cruiser said. "I saw one place where four or five grenades in a row hit close together. From the size of the detonations I'd say they were forty millimeters like the Two-oh-three."
Orlando Taylor spoke up again. "During my training I was exposed to two such weapons. One model was from Singapore and the other Spanish. They fired belts as Senior Chief Dawkins just mentioned, and were automatic."
Brannigan nodded. "It sounds like something to report to Commander Berringer. He and the rest of intelligence staff can probably figure out what we're up against. Meanwhile, we have to rebuild those damaged positions."
