by James Rosone
Mechanically, Sergeant Schneider went through the process of running through his equipment check, and then checked the equipment of the man in front of him. The soldier behind him completed the final examinations of his own parachute as they prepared to make their first-ever combat jump.
Who would have guessed I’d be making a combat jump in my own country? he thought. It seemed very surreal. Soon, they’d be parachuting behind enemy lines in hopes of establishing a blocking force for the 2nd ID, which would be starting a major offensive around the same time they’d be landing.
“Sound off with equipment check,” shouted the jumpmaster, cupping both hands behind his ears.
From the front of the plane, the soldiers called out as ordered, then tapped the thigh of the man in front. Then the soldiers nearest the jumpmaster announced, “All OK,” and pointed at the jumpmaster with an extended arm. This signaled the loadmaster and the assistant loadmasters to begin the process of opening the side doors and the C-130.
As the doors opened, cold air rushed into the cabin, replacing any warm air that had been comforting the jumpers. The noise of the aircraft intensified to a dominating roar. All four propellers were running at full speed.
When the side doors to the C-130 opened up, the internal lights of the cargo plane turned to a soft red tone, allowing their eyes to adjust to the darkness outside. Sergeant Schneider was glad that it was still dark. In another hour, the sun would start to illuminate the sky. For the time being, the night still belonged to the paratroopers, who’d trained extensively at night using their night vision goggles.
Thus far, their pathfinder unit hadn’t reported any enemy units in the area, but that didn’t mean the UN coalition wouldn’t dispatch some forces to deal with them once they were made aware of an incoming threat in their rear area.
Steadily, the aircraft droned on for a few more minutes until the jumpmaster signaled that they were about to jump. Schneider surveyed the soldiers near him. They all looked pumped—eager to go fight these foreign invaders and get into the war.
The last couple of weeks had been tough for them. Their brigade had been largely sitting on the sidelines as they watched the war unfold in the lower forty-eight. It had pained them to know their brothers in arms were fighting and dying while they’d sat on their duffs in nowhere Alaska, waiting for orders.
The jumpmaster moved to the door and commenced his checks, ensuring no sharp edges that could cut a static line were on the trailing door edge. He grasped the side of the door frame with both hands and stomped on the jump platform, which fell into place with the door open. Then he stomped on the platform with the other foot.
Schneider always breathed a sigh of relief at this point. The doorway was secure and holding on to the door frame.
The jumpmaster leaned out as far as he could to see if anything around the door could impede the jumpers. He also double-checked to make sure the drop zone was in front of the aircraft. Then he stepped back into the C-130.
The jumpmaster got the attention of the first jumpers for each door. “One minute! Stand. In the door!”
Returning his attention to the task at hand, Schneider saw that his fireteam was prepared. His five troopers were ready to get this show on the road. The wind swirled around him.
The first jumpers eagerly moved into position, and each subsequent jumper moved right up behind the next. There would be no hesitation once the command was given—it’d be imperative to empty the plane as fast as possible. They all watched the red light next to the door expectantly.
Finally, the light turned green. “Go, go, go, go, go!” shouted the jumpmaster. The sixty jumpers were out of the C-130 in less than twenty seconds.
Schneider’s body freefell through the air for the briefest of moments before his static line caught and deployed his chute. Following his training, he immediately checked to make sure he had a full canopy. He let out a sigh of relief—at this altitude, no one wore a reserve since there wouldn’t be time for it to deploy if the main line malfunctioned.
His rucksack, which had been held between his legs as he shuffled out the door, finally dropped below him when he judged he was roughly seventy-five feet above the ground. Looking around him, Schneider saw the chutes of the other paratroopers filling the sky as their battalion slowly drifted down to the ground below them. Drop altitude was only five hundred feet, so their ride would be brief.
It was Tuesday morning. The people of Monroe and the surrounding area would either be starting their morning commutes, or they would be in the process of waking up. In either case, those residents that were awake would be treated to a scene out of the old movie Red Dawn with nearly eight hundred paratroopers descending on their sleepy little town.
Schneider looked down and saw that he was quickly approaching the ground. He prepared his mind and body for the landing. Seconds later, his feet touched down. His knees bent as he tucked and rolled, allowing his body’s momentum to shift and transfer the energy of the fall.
Coming out of his roll, Schneider quickly disconnected himself from his parachute and then began the process of collecting it so it wouldn’t clog the drop zone. With his chute wrapped up in his arms, he dropped it on the ground next to him and unpacked his rifle from its protective case. Next, Schneider disconnected himself from his drop bag and walked over to where his rucksack was. He grabbed his ruck and pulled it over his shoulders.
While no one was shooting at them yet, the paratroopers rushed about, rounding up their equipment, weapons, and everything else they would need. Steadily, the men formed up in their platoons and squads. As the units continued to coalesce, the ones that were ready to roll moved out to secure their objectives.
“Sergeant Schneider, get your fireteam ready to move. We’re heading out in three mikes,” called out his squad leader, Staff Sergeant Harris.
Looking for the guys in his fireteam, Schneider saw they all had their rucks on and rifles out of their jump cases, ready for action. He walked up to them.
“You all good to go?” he asked, visually inspecting his team.
They each confirmed they were ready, and Schneider turned around, giving Harris a quick thumbs-up. A few minutes later, their platoon moved out, walking toward the Old Snohomish Monroe Road. Their orders were to set up a blocking position on the banks of Snohomish River and State Road 9, which crossed the river and headed north.
The brigade’s first battalion would be landing near Everett, cutting off I-5, which connected all the way up to Vancouver. Another battalion would also be jumping into Monroe, but they’d be staying there to cut off State Highway 522. Finally, a recon element would go south to Duvall and watch the bridge there, destroying it if necessary. Together, the battalions were going to set up a thirteen-mile-long line, effectively cutting the UN forces off from retreating north or back to Canada.
Schneider reflected that it felt strange to be walking in two single-file lines on either side of this rural road in America. Five minutes into the road march, the platoon finally got its spacing right with each soldier about three to five meters apart from each other. Two squads walked down each side of the road while the lieutenant, platoon sergeant, and RTO stayed somewhat close to the center of the platoon.
A couple of soldiers had run further ahead of them to act as their scouts. So far, it looked like most of the local citizens were playing it smart and choosing to stay indoors. Schneider imagined that the people in this part of the state had probably felt reasonably safe up to this point; the UN peacekeepers had bypassed them entirely. The closest UN presence was battling with US forces near Kent, some forty-six miles south of them.
Thirty minutes into the march, the hairs stood up on the back of Sergeant Schneider’s neck as he spotted some adults and children near the road.
Are they here to greet us or attack us? he asked himself.
When several of the kids smiled and waved, Schneider breathed a sigh of relief. A few of the adults looked much less thrilled to see them, but they refrai
ned from making any negative comments or threatening gestures.
They probably figure we’d rather shoot them than argue politics, Schneider thought, suppressing the urge to chuckle.
The lieutenant broke his reflections. “Sergeant Schneider!” he called, holding the hand receiver for the radio to his shoulder.
“Moving, sir!” Schneider shouted as he ran to find out what the LT wanted.
When he got closer, the lieutenant gruffly said, “Sergeant, take your fireteam and go catch up to the scouts. Apparently, they’ve encountered some sort of police roadblock up there. Find out what the issue is with these officers and let me know whether or not we’re going to have a problem. I don’t want to bring the entire platoon up there if it’s a possible ambush.”
Schneider nodded. “Roger that, sir. We’ll get it sorted.”
He then turned around and took off to grab his fireteam. Schneider’s squad leader decided to come with them. The rest of the platoon took a knee and fanned out on the side of the road while they waited to see what would happen next.
Schneider and Staff Sergeant Harris took off at a quick trot with the five other soldiers of Alpha Team. After a few minutes, they spotted the four scouts crouching on the side of the road in the underbrush and joined them as quietly as possible.
One of the scouts motioned to Schneider. He followed the soldier’s line of sight and saw the police cars that were blocking the road, lights flashing. Schneider noticed four officers standing behind the vehicles. Two were armed with shotguns, and the other two had AR-15-type assault rifles.
Schneider turned to his squad leader, Harris. “How do you want to handle this, Staff Sergeant?” he asked quietly.
“Schneider, you come with me and Jones,” Harris responded. “We’ll go try and talk with them and find out what the deal is. I want our M240G set up over there, ready to provide covering fire should we need it. You two,” he said as pointed to two of the scouts, “I want you guys to set up a position across the road and crawl up to that tree area there. You’ll be able to cover our flank should we need it.”
With the plan put in motion, the nine paratroopers set to work. Staff Sergeant Harris stepped out of the tree cover with his rifle hanging from his single-point sling, waving a white rag in his right hand. Soon, the police officers noticed him and nervously took up positions behind their cars.
“We just want to talk. Please don’t shoot!” shouted Staff Sergeant Harris as he slowly and calmly continued to make his way toward the roadblock. Schneider and Jones also held their hands up and to their sides to let the police officers know they weren’t a threat. However, they also remained ready to grab their rifles and start shooting if needed.
When they got to within twenty or so feet of the police cars, one of the officers called out, “That’s far enough. Who are you? And what do you want?”
“My name is Staff Sergeant Harris. We’re with the 3rd Battalion, 509th Infantry Regiment. We’re American paratroopers.”
The officers exchanged nervous glances with each other before the leader of the group asked, “Whose side are you guys on?”
Schneider furrowed his brow. What kind of question is that?
“Um…we’re Americans. We’re on the side of America,” Harris responded, stumbling over his words.
“Are you guys with the UN peacekeeping force?” yelled out one of the police officers.
Harris exclaimed, “No. We’re here to kick those bastards out of our country. Is that going to be a problem?”
Broad smiles spread across the faces of the police officers, who must’ve liked his response. They immediately lowered their rifles and made their way around their cruisers. The officer in the lead extended his hand.
“I’m Sergeant James, the shift supervisor for the Snohomish County Sheriff Department. It’s good to finally see some American soldiers. I served in the 2nd ID twenty years ago. We were starting to think you all had abandoned us when the UN crossed the border.”
Shaking the man’s hand, Harris replied, “Nah. We’ve just been busy trying to beat these bastards back in other areas. Let me radio back to the rest of the platoon that you guys are on our side. We’re on our way to Snohomish.”
Turning to Schneider, Harris said, “Radio back to the LT and tell him the platoon can move up. These guys are with us.”
Looking back at the police officers, Harris asked, “Can you tell me if there are any UN or CDF forces in Snohomish or the surrounding area that we should be aware of?”
Sergeant James nodded. “Yeah, there are. The CDF has a small base they set up at the Harvey Airfield, just across the river. They’ve turned all the hangars into sleeping quarters and makeshift offices. They’ve even set up a firing range to help teach their new recruits. We see helicopters landing there all the time. Not sure what they’re doing, but the helicopters look to be European or Russian types.”
“Do you have an idea of how many of them are there? Are we talking a few dozen or a few hundred?”
Sergeant James shrugged his shoulders. “I’m honestly not sure. We aren’t really encouraged to patrol around the area. What I do know is they’ve been holding all sorts of recruitment drives all over the county to grow their ranks. I’m not sure how long their training is, but most of the people appear to be getting sent either south to help out in the fighting or north to be trained by the Canadians.”
Harris shook his head. “OK, Sergeant James. This has been helpful.” He pulled out a map of the area. “Do you think you could help point out where you’ve seen any guard towers or machine-gun bunkers? It sounds like we’re going to have to deal with this CDF problem before we do anything else.”
For the next ten minutes, the police officers took turns showing them on their map where the perimeter was that the CDF had set up. They pointed out any guard towers and bunkers, and then explained some other details they knew about the base. By the time they’d finished giving them a detailed picture of what lay ahead for them, the rest of the platoon had shown up.
When the LT spoke with the sheriff deputies and saw the map, he ordered their scout drones to be launched so they could start to get some eyes on what they were headed into. He also called back to their captain to let him know they’d need the rest of the company to move forward and help them if they were going to take this airfield back. It was too big of a task for a single platoon to reasonably handle.
*******
Sergeant Schneider approached the railroad bridge cautiously, looking for any possible signs of trouble. The surveillance drone hadn’t picked up any roving patrols or guards watching for foot traffic, but that didn’t mean that there wasn’t a well-hidden surprise lying in wait.
Looking over his shoulder, Schneider motioned for the rest of his fireteam to follow him. Standing up into a low crouch, he raised his rifle to his shoulder, ready to fire at any possible threat. As he started moving forward toward the entrance of the rail bridge, his troopers slowly followed behind him with their rifles also at the ready.
Schneider kept searching his surroundings. He still hadn’t spotted anyone. With no visible signs of trouble, he continued along, making sure to step on the railroad ties so as not to fall or get tripped up. Once on the actual bridge, Schneider moved as quickly as he could without falling to cross to the other side.
On the other end, he took a knee and had the others do the same. They waited at the edge of the bridge and watched and listened for a moment. When he was sure he didn’t hear anything, he led his fireteam off the bridge. Three of his troopers broke to the right—they’d search that side of the bridge and riverbank while he moved to the left with two of his other soldiers, doing the same. Once they’d all confirmed that they hadn’t found anything of interest, Schneider radioed that it was safe for the rest of the platoon to cross.
While the others traversed the bridge, Schneider and his fireteam moved further along the tracks. There was a pallet factory not too far down, adjacent to the small airfield and CDF base. It was
a good staging point for them to gather as much of the company as possible before they could bum rush the airfield and hopefully overrun it before the defenders could react.
On the other side of the river, their heavy weapons platoon had already set up their 60mm mortar tubes, and they were ready to give them some cover when the time came. Now it was just a race to get everyone across without being seen.
Schneider and his team were probably a hundred yards ahead of the rest of their squad and platoon when they heard a single shot ring out. Then a machine gun opened fire.
Turning to see where the gunfire was coming from, Schneider saw a string of tracer rounds fly into the railroad bridge that the rest of their platoon was trying to cross. A couple of soldiers appeared to have been hit. One of them fell into the water.
“Alpha Team, drop your rucks! Patrol packs only, and let’s move!” shouted Schneider. They needed to get into a better position to help cover the rest of their platoon.
Running at a near sprint despite having his patrol pack and body armor on, Schneider made it to the edge of the tree line that ran along the railroad and butted up against a heavy engine repair shop and the pallet factory. He pointed to a couple of positions along the edge of the tree line.
“Get your M240 set up now,” he exclaimed. Schneider found his M203 gunner next. “I want you to start firing smoke grenades here and here,” he ordered, pointing to the intended targets.
Schneider did a brief, broad survey of their surroundings. They were now less than one hundred meters from the newly erected perimeter fence of the CDF base. He grabbed his radio. “Hornet Five, this is Alpha One. I need four rounds HE at target one. Then I need four rounds smoke at target two and target five. How copy?”
It took a moment for their heavy weapons platoon to respond, but they repeated back his fire support order and had the rounds on the way. While they waited, two of the CDF guard towers continued to fire away at the paratroopers racing across the railroad bridge with their machine guns.
