Field of Valor

by Matthew Betley

  West didn’t hesitate but followed him over the side, landing on his feet and getting a glimpse of the carnage for the first time.

  While Captain West’s Humvee lay on its right side, the first Humvee that had stopped short of the boy and the donkey had been blown up onto its left side. The vehicles’ undercarriages faced each other, separated by an enormous crater at least twenty feet across. The driver of Gunny Quick’s Humvee—Sergeant Edward Ramirez—had pulled the surviving vehicle in front and perpendicular to the two Humvees on their sides. As a result, the three vehicles formed an upside-down U-shaped wall of protection from enemy fire.

  Miraculously, the four Marines of the first vehicle had escaped relatively unscathed and were searching for targets with their assault rifles. Insurgents from both sides of the street fired from rooftops and several windows. The Marines’ marksmanship and training were already earning dividends, as West watched two men in black-clad clothing sustain multiple gunshots to the face and plummet to the sand thirty feet below the rooftop they’d been using as an ambush position. Good. Two less of the bastards to deal with.

  But no matter how well trained the Marines were, West knew they had to move soon, before the insurgents gathered the courage and numbers to assault their position.

  “Sir, we’ve got to get off this street,” West said to General Longstreet, as West drew his personal sidearm, a Kimber Tactical II .45-caliber pistol for which he’d obtained special permission to bring to the desert.

  “You want your M4 back?” Longstreet asked. “I still have my 1911 from my recon days.”

  As if in response, West leaned around the front of the Humvee, spotted an Iraqi male with an AK-47 creeping along the side of the street toward them, and fired two shots. The first round struck the insurgent in the throat; the second, in the head, finishing the job and sending him face-first into the street.

  “I’m good,” West replied. His marksmanship had made the point. “You’ll need it more than I will, with what I have in mind.”

  “Which is?” Longstreet asked, not concerned but extremely interested in how the Force Recon officer intended to get them out of the kill zone.

  “Wait here, and get them ready to move on my mark, sir,” West said, and sprinted around the crater to the rear driver’s side door of Gunny Quick’s Humvee. He glanced up to see the Mk 19 gunner rotate to the left side in the turret, searching for targets.

  The rear door opened slightly, and West saw Gunny Quick open his mouth to speak when the gunner let loose with another quick volley of 40mm grenades.

  Thwump! Thwump! Thwump!

  West looked up to see the grenades strike a low wall on the second-story rooftop of a stone building. The two insurgents who had been using it for cover were blown backward and vanished in the explosion of shrapnel, smoke, and chunks of wall.

  “Wow. That was awesome,” Quick said, and looked back at his commanding officer. “You have a plan.” The question was more of a statement, for after years of training with Captain Logan West, Quick had no doubt his platoon commander had an idea of how to get them out of the mess in which they found themselves. It’s probably going to be a little crazy, like he is, but that’s why they call him Wild West, Quick thought.

  “First, we need to get off the streets. Our best bet is that three-story building to the right of the one the gunner just hit. It’s got the highest viewpoint in this area. And we’ll have at least two hundred feet of standoff from the fuckers on the other side of the street,” West said.

  The ambush had occurred in a stretch of highway that had four lanes—two in each direction—and a low, concrete median that separated them. While the homes and buildings to the right were near the road, there was an extra swath of dirt and grass between the highway and another street that ran parallel to it in front of the neighborhood on their left. It was this distance that was currently their best friend and worst enemy—the insurgents didn’t have a high enough angle to shoot over the Humvees, but once the Marines broke cover, they’d all be exposed and in the open. But we’ll definitely die if we stay here, West thought.

  While the gunner had hit a two-story home, West hadn’t seen any movement from the three-story one next to it. That’s our out. We just need to get there.

  “We’ll have good fields of fire, and Captain Rodgers can start working his magic with his radio and call in rotary close air support out of TQ,” West said.

  “Already done. We should have two SuperCobras on station within six to seven minutes. The pilots were in the birds on the deck since the general was out here. They’re scrambling a Pioneer drone, but that won’t be here for at least twelve minutes,” Rodgers said.

  “Good on the flyboys for being prepared. You didn’t call Hurricane Point and ask them to scramble the QRF by chance, did you?” West asked, referring to the quick reaction force on standby at Hurricane Point.

  More rounds peppered the exposed passenger side of the vehicle, and Captain Rodgers winced. “As a matter of fact, I did,” he responded, smiling. “They’ll be here about the same time or a little bit after the Cobras.”

  West nodded, and said, “I may have to take back some of those bad things I said about you behind your back. Not all, just some.” He grinned wildly, adding, “Close the door, and as soon as we line up next to you, start rolling toward the building. We’re going to have to make two trips because the Humvee won’t shield all of us at once. This is going to be exciting.” West turned and ran back to the Humvees to assemble the Marines and lone FBI special agent.

  “You know he’s a little nuts, right?” Rodgers said to Gunny Quick as he watched Captain West issue orders to the Marines engaged in the fight.

  “Absolutely, sir,” Quick said. “And it’s one of the reasons why we love him. He’d do anything for us, and vice versa.”

  Rodgers absorbed the sentiment, nodded, and said, “Semper Fi, Gunny. Let’s get some.”

  CHAPTER 15

  The plan was simple . . . and extremely dangerous. Three Marines from the lead Humvee and General Longstreet would go on the first trip. Captain West, Special Agent Benson—who’d refused to go with the first stack—Sergeant Childress, and a remaining Marine from the first Humvee, Staff Sergeant Tommy Farrell, who carried an M249 SAW 5.56mm light machine gun with a bipod and ACOG scope, would provide cover from the front and rear end of both Humvees. If the two ruined Humvees and crater had to serve as their Alamo, Captain West wanted as much firepower as possible. Four shooters, four fields of fire. It’s as good as it’s going to get, West thought.

  As soon as the four Marines were lined up, with General Longstreet third in the stack, the Humvee started rolling, and West silently said a prayer to the gods of war to keep them safe. The vehicle picked up speed and pulled away, and West turned back to his sector of fire, the safety off. All right, motherfuckers. You started this. Come and try and finish it.

  Two Iraqi males in dark clothes appeared in West’s sector from beside a house 150 feet away and started sprinting toward the fighting position. One of the men carried an AK-47 and fired wildly at them as he ran. The other enemy combatant held a heavier, longer weapon. Great. Was wondering when they were going to break out the RPGs.

  “Two shooters at five o’clock! AK and an RPG!” West screamed. Twelve o’clock was where the blocking Humvee had been moments before and served as a point of reference for the defending Marines to use when communicating with each other. West had positioned himself near the rear of the Humvee in which he’d been riding, allowing him to cover the three to six o’clock sector.

  The insurgent with the RPG suddenly stopped and dropped to one knee, even as West acquired him through the reflex scope of his M4, which he’d reclaimed from General Longstreet.

  West began to squeeze the trigger.

  Boom! Boom! Boom!

  The two insurgents were blown apart and off their feet by three explosions, and West realized the Mk 19 gunner must have spotted them first. He’d been so focused he hadn’t even heard
the automatic grenade launcher.

  The insurgent with the RPG must have pulled the trigger before being blown to bloody chunks because West watched as the rocket streaked upward and away at a forty-five-degree angle like a children’s model kit, harmlessly streaming toward the heavens above.

  “They’re almost there!” Benson shouted, notifying the rest of the ad hoc fire team.

  “I’ve got four at one o’clock!” Staff Sergeant Farrell said, before pulling the trigger on the M249 he’d positioned on top of a mound of dirt that had been pushed against the undercarriage of the Humvee by the IED. He went quiet and let the SAW do his talking, as 5.56mm rounds punched holes in the assaulting insurgents as he strafed the light machine gun from side to side. Moments later, four enemy combatants lay dead in the street, their attack having ended like a bad reenactment of the Charge of the Light Brigade.

  “They’re on the way back!” Benson announced.

  Thank God, West thought. The intensity of the firefight had increased. More fire was being concentrated on their position from what seemed like all directions. At some point, they’re going to get brave again, and if we can’t return fire, these guys will make an actual coordinated assault, in which case we’re screwed.

  “Three at seven o’clock!” Sergeant Childress announced.

  West kept his focus on his sector. He heard the Humvee near the position, and then Sergeant Childress fired a short, controlled burst.

  “Got ’em,” Childress said.

  His sector clear, West looked at the rally point just as the Humvee completed its turn and stopped exactly where it had started. Time to go.

  “Staff Sergeant Farrell, line up and take point with the SAW! Childress, get behind him. FBI, you’re third,” West ordered, even as the first two Marines lined up next to the Humvee. “Let’s get the hell out of this death trap. Now run!”

  The Humvee started rolling, and the warriors started running. The trickiest part was for the driver to match the speed of the four armed, battle-gear-rattling men sprinting for safety. If he slows down or speeds up, we’re dead, West thought as enemy bullets kicked up puffs of sand and dirt.

  West ran harder, keeping a safe distance between himself and the huge FBI agent in front of him. The Kevlar vest and helmet weighed him down, but his surging adrenaline allowed him to push through the pain and exertion. At least it’s only in the low seventies. This would’ve really sucked in the summertime, he thought. Halfway there—ten more seconds.

  The only good thing about what happened next was that it happened on the other side of the Humvee. The Mk 19 gunner was focused on the left side of the battlefield in order to preempt the insurgents from making a suicide charge at the Marines and the FBI special agent. As a result, he never saw the RPG-wielding insurgent who fired from the doorway of a concrete building two hundred feet away.

  The RPG warhead streaked across the short distance and slammed into the front right corner of the Humvee, destroying the wheel and right half of the undercarriage in a tremendous explosion of shrapnel and debris.

  The force of the explosion stunned West and his sprinting partners, who were either knocked down or dove to the street.

  The Humvee suddenly ground to a halt, the nose burying itself into the loose soil of the patch of ground on which its short journey had ended.

  So close, West thought as he looked up, righted his Kevlar helmet on his head, and screamed, “We have to keep going!”

  All four doors of the Humvee opened simultaneously, and as if from a circus act clown car, Gunny Quick, Captain Rodgers, and the other Marines piled out at once.

  West ran over to Gunny Quick and screamed, “You and I take the rear. Everyone else, keep fucking going!” There was no time for debate, no other options to consider. It came down to one hard truth—run or die.

  “Fucking A, sir,” Quick said, the intensity and battle focus worn like war paint.

  The entrance to the three-story building’s property was only forty feet away. The first Marines who’d reached its relative safety fired from behind its large gate at targets West couldn’t see and didn’t have precious seconds to find. He knew the Marines’ aim was better than the enemy’s, and he hoped the trained killers of his beloved Corps were inflicting serious casualties on the insurgent force.

  The Marines and lone FBI special agent dashed across the open ground, with Captain West and Gunny Quick covering their movement as they back-pedaled in the rear of the disorganized formation, firing at anything that moved.

  At least this will be over in a few more seconds, no matter what happens, West thought as he dropped an insurgent who thought it would be a good idea to run across the open highway. Nice try, jackass.

  A sudden scream broke through the sounds of battle, and West whipped his head around to see Sergeant Childress on the ground, blood leaking from the back of his left leg and darkening the desert digital camouflage pattern. But just as quickly, two enormous hands gripped him by the carrying handle sewn into the top of the back of the Kevlar vest, and Special Agent Mike Benson hoisted him over his left shoulder like a life-sized rag doll. Man, I love this guy, West thought in amazement at the true courage on display under fire as the FBI special agent kept moving toward their objective.

  Gunny Quick snatched up the M4 dropped by Sergeant Childress, who had unholstered his Beretta M9 9mm pistol and was firing across the street. As he hung across the enormous FBI special agent’s shoulder, he screamed in rage, “Fuck you, you fucking cocksuckers! It’s going to take more than that, motherfuckers! Come get some!”

  West looked at Gunny Quick, and both men smiled for the briefest moment in unspoken recognition of the true warrior ethos of the Marine Corps on display and in full glory. Live or die, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else at this moment, West thought proudly.

  And just as quickly as it had started, the mad dash ended as the group of Marines and warriors burst through the gate and didn’t stop until they reached the building’s front door, which was ajar. West heard voices from deep inside the home—one screaming rather loudly—as he looked into the face of a small boy no older than seven or eight. God, I hate to do this, but he pushed the door open and stepped into a large foyer. Now I can add home invasion to the list. Great résumé builder.

  CHAPTER 16

  The large foyer had a white marble floor, which spilled into a much larger living area that was segmented with four columns. Beyond the living room was another room, through which West spotted a small courtyard in the back and a privacy wall that demarcated the rear of the property. A low wall on the right side of the living room with a large opening above it revealed a spacious kitchen. The front of the house and the side walls were constructed of some kind of concrete, which should provide some decent cover, West thought. But first, he had to get the chaotic scene inside under control before the coming battle ensued.

  Ironically, the small, black-haired boy was the only family member that seemed calm, although how, West had no idea. Kid’s already seen too much, he realized, and pushed it out of his mind. There was no time for sympathy, not with a massing enemy outside intent on killing them all.

  A middle-aged Iraqi man in a white robe and dark-brown hair was shouting at a woman in a dark burka. West assumed she was his wife. There were several other civilians in the room of various ages and genders, but it was the man that was his focus.

  “Who speaks Arabic?” West said loudly to his team as the gunfire and explosions outside quickly subsided. They’re preparing to make an assault. We don’t have long.

  “I do,” Captain Rodgers said. “I lat-moved from intel to infantry. I used to be an Arabic linguist.”

  “Good call for us,” West replied. “Now please express to this gentleman that we’re sorry for the intrusion, but unless he wants him and his entire family to die, he needs to stop arguing with his wife and show us how to get to the roof. We don’t have much time. The quiet outside means they’ll be coming soon. Also, tell him to get his family to the bac
k of the house, if he wants to try and keep them safe. I have a feeling these bastards will come from the front. From their amateur-hour maneuvers on foot after the initial attack, I don’t see a bunch of tactical geniuses.”

  “Understood,” Rodgers said, and started speaking quickly and directly to the man they all assumed was the patriarch of the household. The rest of his family quieted down as the mother held her son to her, arms draped over his tiny shoulders, crossed protectively across his chest.

  “Captain America is full of surprises, sir,” Quick said quietly to Captain West.

  “Thank God for small wonders,” West replied.

  “Agreed. But that silence is ominous. We need to get into position,” Quick said.

  “You’re right,” West said, and turned toward the door, which was cracked open and afforded a view of the gate and the no-man’s-land beyond. The Marines were still at the gate, awaiting orders from inside. “Staff Sergeant Farrell, take that SAW outside and tell them to pull back from the gate to the front of the house. Find some cover from different angles so they can’t shoot straight at you. Make it a choke point of death for these motherfuckers,” West growled. “You understand?”

  “Absolutely, sir,” Staff Sergeant Farrell said.

  “Good luck, and happy hunting. Now go,” West said.

  “Roger that,” Staff Sergeant Farrell replied, and disappeared into the sun without another word.

  Godspeed, Marine, West thought.

  “We’re all set. What’s the plan?” Captain Rodgers said.

  West turned around to see the Iraqi man—as well as the rest of the Marines and one FBI special agent—waiting for his final instructions. The man’s family was already moving to the rear of the house, and West nodded, knowing that if things went really wrong, they’d all likely be dead, including the man’s family for involuntarily helping them.

  West felt a fleeting moment of gravity, the weight of his position threatening to put his mind in a paralyzing vise. Oh no, you don’t. Nice try. And just as quickly, he compartmented the emotion and confidently issued his orders in the manner to which his Marines were accustomed. Wild West was back in charge, and he intended to ensure the enemy would rue this day.