Now he took the handset of the R-108 tactical radio from his commo man and raised the station back in Al-Saraya Castle. "This is Field Command," he said into the mike. "First three helicopters are on the ground and all troops deplaned. The aircraft are on their way back to pick up the next lift. Out."
One of the sub-unit leaders joined him just as the major handed the handset back. The lieutenant saluted. "My men are ready to move out, Major Malari."
"Excellent," Malari said, glancing over at what was left of Durtami's compound. "Those infidels seem to enjoy a good fight. Look what they did to Durtami's old home."
The lieutenant smiled confidently. "I think the unbelievers have a big surprise in store for them. We're not a bunch of country bumpkins they can push around."
"I agree," Malari said. "They're confidence is going to be badly shaken when they discover they're facing the disciplined, well-trained troops of Amir Khamami." He checked his watch. "Alright, Lieutenant. Move your men out. Stay out of sight and take a good look at the terrain features leading up to the infidels' position. We'll run a night reconnaissance patrol after dark. I want everything ready by the time the rest of the command is here."
"Yes, sir!"
The young officer hurried over to lead his men up on East Ridge, where they could put the target area under observation.
.
WEST RIDGE CP
1500 HOURS LOCAL
LIEUTENANT Wild Bill Brannigan sat in the OP with Mike Assad and Dave Leibowitz watching the helicopters coming in from the north, then disappearing behind East Ridge to land. So far they had counted ten flights of three choppers each for the past three hours.
Brannigan took the binoculars from his eyes. "They must be setting down at the warlord's compound over there."
"That's something SOCOM didn't figure on," Mike remarked.
"Yeah," Dave said. "It really torques my jaw that nobody knew these ragheads had choppers."
"That helicopter model is more than just a gunship, y'know," Mike said. "They're troop carriers too."
"Yeah," Brannigan agreed. "If I remember correctly, those are Mi-24s and can carry about eight troops each. That means a total of two hundred and forty men have been brought in."
"There's probably more than that, sir," Dave pointed out. "Have you ever seen how many of those people can crowd into one of those motor-rickshaws? I'll bet they have at least twelve guys crammed into each of those troop compartments."
"Mmm," Brannigan mused. "That would mean three hundred and sixty or so of them."
"And I don't think they've finished yet," Mike commented.
"We're gonna be outnumbered big time," Dave said. He shrugged. "At least we have plenty of ammo. We can mow those shrieking mujahideen down in rows if we have to."
"More food for the buzzards down on the slope," Mike said. "Those birds have been on triple rations since we got here:'
"All this reminds me of an uncle of mine," Brannigan said. "He was an infantryman in the Army during the Korean War. He used to talk about human wave attacks made by the Red Chinese. He was a gunner on a Browning light machine gun. He said he'd burn out barrel after barrel hosing fire bursts into those crazy bastards. Now I know how he felt."
"What are our tactical choices, sir?" Dave asked.
"Well," Brannigan said thoughtfully, "we can stay up here and hold out as long as we can. Maybe when somebody back at SOCOM notices our radio silence, they'll send out an aircraft to investigate."
"That's what those PRC-112s are good for," Mike said. "They can home in on the beacons."
"What if they're a little slow in reacting to our predicament?" Dave wondered aloud.
"Then we'll have to make what is known as a strategic withdrawal," Brannigan said. "That means sneaking out of here under the cover of darkness, hoping we can make it through a strong enemy force that has us surrounded."
"What about Adam Clifford?" Mike asked.
"We always bring our dead and wounded out," Brannigan said. "But we're not keeping one foot in the water like we used to. We'll have to note the burial site and come back for him."
"Or have someone else do the job," Dave commented. "Damn shame," Mike said glumly.
The three fell into silence as the noise of helicopters ascending into the sky suddenly came from the other side of East Ridge. Within moments all three choppers rose into view over the mountain, turning north.
"Well, there they go again," Mike said, "to pick up another twenty or thirty assholes for us to shoot at."
"And to fire back at us," Dave pointed out.
.
26 AUGUST
0230 HOURS LOCAL
THE platoon was on 50 percent alert, and Chad Murchison and Bruno Puglisi had been assigned to the OP for the mid-watch. Bruno was asleep while Chad took his turn keeping an eye on things. The night vision device gave him the usual eerie green-white environment to gaze into, and he studied the terrain in front of him with an intensity brought on by the heavy helicopter activity the day before. It was a sure sign that the local situation was going to liven up quite a bit.
Chad had been able to get up a bit higher since it was dark, and he had an excellent view of the boulders and vegetation that swept out and down from the position. Suddenly a stone clicked as if it had been dislodged or accidentally kicked against another one. The SEAL instinctively brought his CAR-15 up as his eyes scanned the terrain in front of him. The disturbance could have come from a jackal who had come back to see if there was anything left to eat on the bones of the dead mujahideen scattered down the slope of the ridge.
A movement to the right caught the SEAL's attention. A moment later he saw the crouching figure of a mujahideen who had evidently just stopped. The guy wore no night vision equipment, so he was working in the deep darkness under a severe handicap. Yet his ability to be silent impressed Chad as he once again began moving upward. The man carefully put his foot down to test the ground in front of him before placing his full weight on it. Then he repeated the movement with the opposite foot while sweeping his eyes in short jerks to see as well as possible in the night's blackness.
Chad thought first of trying to take him prisoner, but that wasn't feasible. He would have to go out to get him and that could bring him in contact with the guy's buddies. So he did the next best thing. He raised the CAR-15 to his shoulder, aimed and fired.
The mujahideen doubled over like he had been mule-kicked in the stomach, then fell to the rocks. There was no return fire, and the sounds of the enemy patrol withdrawing could be heard. They were moving as cautiously and as rapidly as they dared.
Now Puglisi was wide awake. He joined Chad to add his firepower in case of an attack, but now there was nothing but the night's natural silence. Moments later Lieutenants Bill Brannigan and Jim Cruiser appeared at the OP. "What the hell happened?" the Skipper asked.
"Enemy recon patrol, sir," Chad said. "I got one guy that was getting too close. After I fired, I could hear the rest of them making a rapid descent down the slope toward the valley."
Brannigan looked down at the corpse sprawled only a few scant meters away. "The guy is wearing a camouflage uniform and his face is painted. No extra noisemaking gear on him."
"Obviously a reconnaissance," Cruiser commented. "And they broke contact and withdrew just like a recon patrol is supposed to when contact with the enemy is inadvertently made."
"Shit," Brannigan said. "You know what, guys? We're facing some disciplined troops here."
"Obviously," Cruiser agreed. "It would seem the rules of the game have changed."
"But not to our advantage," Brannigan said dryly.
.
WARLORD DURTAMI'S FORMER COMPOUND
DAWN LOCAL
THE patrol leader squatted in front of Major Karim Malari, who was seated on his Soviet Army--issue groundsheet. Both sipped from cups filled with dudh chai tea as the subordinate made his report to the field commander.
"We were able to go completely around the infidels' defensiv
e perimeter, Major," the patrol leader said. "Allah was not with my point man. He stumbled on a rock and was shot dead on the spot. We withdrew without further casualties."
"What was the result of your reconnaissance?"
"I estimate they are no more than a platoon force of forty men at the very most," the patrol leader said. "They are in a circle defensive formation that runs around the entire top of the ridge. They make no unnecessary noise and their positions seem no more than field fortifications. We detected no bunkers."
"Then they are susceptible to mortar fire," Malari commented thoughtfully. "It is good that our battery is set up and ready to go into action."
"How soon do we attack, Major?"
The major chuckled. "I suggest you finish your tea as quickly as possible."
Chapter 14
WEST RIDGE BASE CAMP
26 AUGUST
0630 HOURS LOCAL
LIEUTENANT Bill Brannigan recognized that any attacks on the base camp would most likely come from the east. To make sure it was the strongest point of his defense, he placed the entire First Squad along that side of the perimeter. Connie Concord and Bruno Puglisi set up the 60-millimeter mortar in a circle of sandbags fifteen meters down from the OP. A camouflage covering across the top of the position could be quickly pulled off in the event of fire missions.
Charlie Fire Team has been assigned to cover the western side of the ridge top. Chief Matt Gunnarson and James Bradley, now the only available members of Delta Fire Team since Puglisi was assigned to the mortar and Adam Clifford was KIA, had situated themselves in a fighting hole near the mortar position. These two SEALs were ready to move to any side of the fighting line where their extra firepower would be needed.
Everyone in the platoon knew that combat was imminent and unavoidable. They waited with dry mouths and sweaty palms as a combination of anticipation and apprehension dominated the SEALs' collective mood. However, the tension was relieved from time to time when one of the Brigands told a joke that had suddenly come to mind, or made a humorous remark to cut the tension. There was also some very creative bitching about life in the Navy, headquarters pukes, staff weenies and ragheads.
On the practical side of the situation, the platoon had ammo bandoleers with fully loaded thirty-round 5.56-millimeter magazines laid out in handy spots near their positions. Each man also had a half dozen deadly M-67 fragmentation hand grenades within reach. These nasties blew steel pellets out some fifteen meters from the point of detonation. This made the explosive devices excellent defensive weapons.
As everyone did his best to settle down, the butterflies in the stomachs were worse than those prior to a parachute jump. Senior Chief Buford Dawkins summed it up with one simple remark:
"This is what they're paying us for, but at times like this we should go on time-and-a-half."
.
0645 HOURS LOCAL
THE mortar shell ripped through the sky, going completely over West Ridge before slamming into the valley on the western side. The explosion was sharp, the sound echoing in waves across the open country below. It was immediately followed by a second that hit on the western slope of the ridge. Everyone in the platoon hunkered down, their jaw muscles tense and teeth tightly clenched.
A mujahideen mortar was zeroing in on the ridge top.
A couple of moments passed, and the SEALs knew the raghead gunners were using the time to adjust elevation and traverse knobs. The third explosion was dead in the center of the SEALs' position. Over on East Ridge the mujahideen forward observer was satisfied. He got on the old Soviet field radio to let the chief of the mortar battery know they had the range.
A half dozen detonations announced the arrival of the first real barrage of the exploding inferno to come. From that point on, the rounds began coming in separately, but spaced close together, giving evidence that the mortar battery was now doing independent fire. The ground shook like dozens of California earthquakes as the bombardment went into high gear. Sharp pains and a ringing in the ears dulled everyone's hearing as the incoming hell continued. Sometimes the nearness of a hit would create a vacuum that seemed to suck the air out of the lungs of anyone in close vicinity of the detonation. The spraying shards of shrapnel struck sandbags with hundreds of loud thuds and ripping sounds.
Lieutenant Wild Bill Brannigan checked in with Mike Assad, Frank Gomez, and Dave Leibowitz over his LASH headset, then spoke into the PRC-112 to his team leaders. "Report!"
They in turn contacted each man over the LASH headsets, then responded to the skipper in the proper order. "Bravo Team okay," Senior Chief Buford Dawkins said. "Charlie Team okay," Lieutenant Jim Cruiser stated. "Delta Team okay," Chief Matt Gunnarson said, then added, "All two of us."
"Mortar Crew okay," Connie Concord reported. "How about some counterbattery fire, sir?"
"Negative," Brannigan said, knowing their 60-millimeter mortar was outgunned and outnumbered. "This is the place, but it sure as hell isn't the time. Everybody stay down!"
.
0715 HOURS LOCAL
THE sudden silence caused the buzzing in the men's ears to intensify. The incoming from the enemy mortars had suddenly ceased, leaving the SEALs with concussion headaches to go along with the discomfort of their punished eardrums. Then new sounds erupted from skyward. Three helicopters came in at an altitude that would take them a couple of hundred feet above the ridge top. This aerial attack was obviously coordinated with the mortar barrage.
The aircraft were in a tight echelon right formation, and as soon as the first passed over the SEAL positions, the gunner in the front cockpit cut loose with the 12.7-millimeter heavy machine gun, pounding the SEAL positions with slugs. Within a beat his two buddies joined him.
Dozens of large steel bullets smacked into the shell-pocked ground, ricocheting off boulders with angry whines. Like the shrapnel from the mortars, these smaller projectiles ripped into sandbags, making the dirt within spurt out in dusty gushes. The SEALs had no choice but to maintain their crouching positions with heads down. The choppers pulled away and turned for a second run. Senior Chief Buford Dawkins took a chance for a quick look to the east. He ducked back down and got on the PRC-112.
"Skipper, this is Bravo," he said. "They's a shitpot full of them ragheads coming over the top of East Ridge! The sumbitches is headed right for us and they's spaced out proper as skirmishes. These ain't crazy-ass suicide shitheels. Them bastards is coming on like proper soldiers!"
"Roger," Brannigan said. He and his men were caught in a classic situation of being pinned down flat while the enemy maneuvered to close with them. The next time he took the platoon on a mission, he Was going to make sure there were at least a couple of Stingers in their arsenal to handle aerial assaults.
If there was a next time.
Once more the trio of Mi-24s began their attack in nose-down positions to give the gunners the best view of the target area. They swept in, firing sweeping salvos that once more splattered the ridge top. Kevin Albee of Charlie Fire Team looked up through his camouflage netting just as the second passed over his position. He impetuously stood up and cut loose at the departing Hind with his CAR-15 on full-auto. The range was less than fifty yards, and the 5.56 slugs bit into the old aircraft, punching into the engine and transmission behind the pilot. The helicopter veered off to the right and dove downward on the west side of the ridge, hitting the steep terrain and exploding.
Kevin had no time to see the result of his quick shooting. The third chopper's gunner gave a long burst that hit the SEAL in the back, slamming him with the intensity of a dozen sledgehammers. Kevin was kicked forward, falling half in and half out of his fighting hole.
"Corpsman!" Lieutenant Jim Cruiser said over his LASH system. "Albee's down!"
James Bradley leaped up and rushed toward the Charlies' positions, taking no notice that the two surviving helicopters had pulled away. He stopped at the hole, kneeling down to examine the casualty. The 12.7-millimeter slugs had done their worst. Kevin was raw, bleed
ing hamburger between his neck and waist. The hospital corpsman looked up as Cruiser joined him. "He's dead, sir."
"Fuck!" Cruiser said. "A good kid. Man! A good fucking kid. He got himself killed to destroy an enemy aircraft." He got on the LASH. "Skipper, one of the choppers is down, but we've lost Kevin Albee. He shot the son of a bitch out of the sky."
"Are you under ground attack on that side?" Brannigan asked.
"Negative, sir."
"All right," Brannigan said. "Get back to your position, but first tell Bradley and Chief Gunnarson to get their asses over here. We're about to engage what looks like a two-company force!"
"Aye, sir."
"I'm real sorry about Albee, Jim." "We all are, sir."
.
0730 HOURS LOCAL
CHIEF Matt Gunnarson and James Bradley were both loaded down with bandoleers and grenades, and they rushed to the First Squad's perimeter, sounding like a couple of pack horses. The two members of Delta Fire Team took a couple of auxiliary fighting positions that flanked those of Mike Assad and Dave Leibowitz.
"Glad to see you," Mike said to James. He pointed below. "Take a look."
James glanced in the indicated direction and could see mujahideen skirmishers moving steadily up the slope toward them. These men were not shrieking zealots engaged in a running suicide charge. They moved carefully under the command of squad leaders as they took advantage of all the cover and concealment offered by the rugged terrain:
Seals (2005) Page 15
