Battleline (2007) (12 page)

Khadid smiled at Sikes. "The preliminary steps we take on this journey to glory must be careful and deliberate, Sikes Pasha. At least at this point in time."

"I understand," Sikes said. "But I don't like it one bluddy fucking bit."

"By the way, Excellency," Khadid said, "I am due to make a transmission back to Iran this evening. Do you have any messages for the high command?"

"Only that we are moving along according to plan," Brigadier Khohollah said. "There is nothing negative to report. By the way, will you be using the radio in the signals center, Captain?"

"No, Excellency," Khadid said. "That will not be necessary. I still have the one I took to Orakzai's fortress."

.

WESTERN AFGHANISTAN

JUNE 1600 HOURS

ENSIGN Orlando Taylor sat in the web seat aboard the Pave Low chopper, furtively studying the eight other SEALs who shared the aircraft with him. From their demeanors, anybody would think they were on their way to a peaceful picnic in the country instead of a violent confrontation in which men would be killed by other men.

Taylor had marveled about the fact that he had finally been under fire. Although he knew it wasn't a prolonged battle with many casualties, it was still combat. He had been scared, sure, but it didn't keep him from doing the job properly. He kept an eye on the situation, watched over his men, and coordinated everything through Petty Officers Paul Schreiner and Tony Valenzuela, who were his fire team leaders. When the SAW gunner Doug MacTavish had been hit, Taylor hadn't lost his head or flinched at the sight of the man's bloodied face. In fact, it had been he who pulled the wounded SEAL from the rubble of his blasted fighting position to safety. The best thing about the whole experience was that he had done nothing to shame himself or the Taylor family. He could openly and truthfully discuss the fighting with his father without fear of disapproval.

Taylor grinned to himself in a somewhat fierce manner as he thought of this latest experience in context with his three older brothers. As the youngest he had been the butt of jokes from those overachievers, who never accepted him as an equal. It seemed he would always be "the kid" in the family. The oldest sibling, now thirty-two years of age, was a vice president in a very prestigious bank in Atlanta; the second, at age twenty-nine, was an aerospace engineer with NASA in Houston in the Shuttle Program; and the twenty-seven-year-old was on the staff of a Georgia senator, and being groomed by the state's Democratic Party to run for Congress in the next election.

Damn fine accomplishments,
Taylor thought,
but not a one of them has been in combat as a Navy SEAL.
He hoped his father would take notice of the fact and mention it at every opportunity during the next family reunion.

THE helicopter came in low and slow at an altitude of four feet AGL. The rear doors were open and the ramp down as Lieutenant Bill Brannigan stood at the head of the line of men making up the combat patrol. At a nod from the crew chief, the Skipper went down the ramp and leaped off to the ground. He was quickly followed by Connie Concord, the Odd Couple, and Matty Matsuno, who carried a five-gallon jerry can of potable water attached to a backpack. Then Garth Redhawk with an AN/PRC-112 radio unassed the aircraft; Ensign Orlando Taylor, Bruno Puglisi, and Joe Miskoski were the last out. Everyone was armed with M-16s, with two exceptions: Puglisi and Miskoski carried their AS-50 semiauto sniper rifles with two bandoliers of modified twenty-round magazines for the weapons.

The chopper immediately rose back into the sky as the ass end closed. Brannigan led his eight men over to the cover of a stand of boulders for an on-site confab. But before the session could begin, an angry cobra emerged from the rocks with its hood flared as it assumed the standard upright pose of aggression. The Skipper gazed at the poisonous reptile. "I think we have a territorial issue here."

Puglisi, impetuous as always, made a slow approach toward the snake, evidently with the intention of trying to grasp it. Redhawk, who was well acquainted with the rattlesnakes of Oklahoma, did not think that a good idea. "Bruno," he said calmly, "if that son of a bitch bites you, we won't have much time to make our good-byes to you. So let us know when you're going to make a serious move toward him, and we'll bid you a fond farewell. With luck you'll last maybe five minutes after he sinks his fangs into you."

The snake darted its head at the SEAL, and Puglisi instinctively jumped back. "I thought you could charm these motherfuckers."

Joe Miskoski laughed. "Bruno, you don't have a flute, like snake charmers use, you dumb shit." Then he laughed louder.

"Besides, you're about as charming as a grumpy rhinoceros with gas and heartburn."

Brannigan grinned. "Let's try to be diplomatic like Dr. Joplin where that snake is concerned, okay? We'll just politely get out of his bailiwick."

The patrol moved away from the natural rock pile toward another. The cobra didn't follow, but he was plainly going to stand his ground. Now the Skipper could concentrate on the job ahead. "We're only a kilometer from the ambush site here, but I want to have a little briefback before we go over there." He pointed to Puglisi. "What's your job?"

"I'll be at the front of the ambush, and when the last man passes me, I'll whack the son of a bitch," Puglisi said. "Then knock off any of the bad guys who try to escape in my direction."

Brannigan turned to Miskoski. "What about you?"

"Well, we figured the enemy column isn't gonna be too strung out, since this is a safe area for 'em," Miskoski said. "So I'm gonna be down about thirty to forty meters from Bruno to close up the front. When the first man comes up even with me, I'll take him out."

Next it was Connie Concord's turn. "Ever'body is gonna find a good place between Bruno and Joe. We'll space ourselves out as even as possible, depending on the terrain and available cover. When the shooting starts, we'll go for targets of opportunity to our direct fronts."

"Right," Brannigan said. He nodded to Taylor. "Ensign, describe the site."

"Aye, sir," Taylor said. "It's a narrow pass through these hills with steep sides that go from ten to twelve meters deep. We'll set up only on one side, since the enemy cannot escape from the gully with any ease or speed. They, in fact, will have walked into a natural trap."

"Okay," Brannigan said. "It's sweet and simple. Keep in mind that we're also tasked with getting EPWs if possible. If you see any guy that looks like he wants to quit or surrender, ease up. Questions? Right then. Let's move out and settle down. We won't have much to do until tomorrow morning. So, to quote the first and oldest military order ever issued, 'Follow me.' " He started to move out, but stopped. "Oh! One more thing."

"What's that, sir?" Dave Leibowitz asked.

"Watch out for snakes."

.

15 JUNE 0900 HOURS

THE SEAL patrol had good cover and concealment from their position overlooking the narrow valley, but there was no shade overhead. Bruno Puglisi, with a fresh magazine in the receiver of his AS-50 and half a dozen others lying out within reach, was uncomfortably warm. Each man had brought along a couple of two-quart canteens, and there was that jerry can of water being lugged around by Matty Matsuno. However, the patrol drank sparingly because of potential SNAFUs. Unexpected things happened continually in warfare, and the enemy reinforcements could be delayed by a glitch in their transportation arrangements, ammo issue, or dozens of other things. The Brigands could end up spending two or three days at the location.

.

1015 HOURS

THE leading Arab showed up around the bend in the gully so quickly that Puglisi instinctively twitched. "Here they come," he whispered, recovering from the surprise. "They're kind of close together, so we don't have to stretch the ambush out any farther."

As the column came into view, the sight of the Arabs was impressive. All were well equipped, with the latest in assault rifles, rucksacks, canteens, bandoliers, and web gear. Their uniforms were in good shape, with excellent footwear, and they also sported the keffiyeh head coverings their people preferred. They were the red-checked style the SEALs had seen before.

Joe Miskoski, with his AS-50 locked and loaded, waited patiently, his eyes glued to the front man in the formation. The guy's face in the telescopic sight was that of a young and determined soldier, his beard and mustache well trimmed, as would be expected of someone just out of an elite training camp where the discipline was harsh and demanding. When he was in the right position, Miskoski's trigger finger tightened just enough to fire the powerful rifle.

The fifty-caliber round exploded the man's head, blowing it off in pieces.

The Arab just behind him stood still for an instant before a couple of .556 rounds from an M-16 kicked him sideways before he collapsed to the ground. Back on the other end of the line, Puglisi had already taken out the Tail-End Charlie a millisecond after he heard Miskoski's weapon fire. In ten seconds, the bursts of blazing M-16s suddenly quit. Seventeen men were down, and three stood with their hands up.

"Assad," Brannigan said. "Warn those guys not to move and do what you tell 'em."

"Indak!"
Assad yelled.
"Isma minni!"

"Redhawk and Matsuno!" Brannigan said. "Move down and take charge of those EPWs. Walk 'em down to where that slope is and bring 'em up on the far side toward the LZ. We'll meet you there. Ensign Taylor and Petty Officer Concord, go search the dead for documents or any other intelligence you find. Let's go, people!"

The four men assigned to go into the gully slid carefully down the steep sides until they reached the bottom. Redhawk and Matsuno moved over to the trio of men who still stood with their hands up. The SEALs used gestures to indicate the direction they were to go. Taylor looked at Connie Concord. "You go down to the end and start checking. I'll go up where the first guy is."

"Aye, sir."

Taylor had fired only one round during the short, violent action. He'd taken aim at an Arab directly to his front and squeezed the trigger. The guy had taken a jerky step, then fell to the ground. The young ensign stared at him in horrid fascination. He had killed a man. The shooting during the attack three nights before had been into vegetation in a reconnaissance-by-fire trying to locate the enemy. If he hit anyone, it was by sheer chance, and he didn't know about it. But this time he had deliberately shot another human being. He walked up toward the first man to die, doing his best not to look at the one he personally shot.

The Arab hit by Joe Miskoski was a mess. The entire top of his cranium from just below the ears and up was a splayed mass of brains and bloody meat. His eyes and nose were gone, leaving only the lower jaw. Taylor noticed the guy must have been seeing his dentist regularly; the teeth were white and even, without a cavity showing. The SEAL searched the pockets, finding nothing; not even an ID card. He supposed that was to be expected, since the dead man hadn't been a member of a regularly enlisted army.

After examining two more corpses, he came to the guy he had killed. He was a skinny kid, maybe eighteen or nineteen. His eyes were open, and his lips were in a sort of combination sneer and grin. Taylor suddenly looked directly at the dead face, almost stepping back when he noticed the victim seemed to be gazing at him. A quick search revealed empty pockets.

When Taylor and Concord met in the middle, they had nothing to show for their efforts. "I'm not surprised," Connie said. "These guys are not the usual raghead mujahideen. They're equipped good, carry them French rifles, got plenty of ammo, and are nourished good. This is gonna be a tough fight before it's all said and done, sir."

Taylor noted that if Petty Officer Concord had killed anybody--and there was no doubt he had--he wasn't going to lose any sleep over it. Taylor affected a grin. "Well, let's get back with the others. Good job, huh?"

"Yes, sir," Connie said. "We done good, alright."

.

THE LZ

1045 HOURS

GARTH Redhawk had turned on the homing beacon of the AN/PRC-112 to bring back the chopper, and the patrol was out in a loose defensive perimeter. Brannigan was inside the formation with Mike Assad, who guarded the three EPWs. The captives squatted unhappily on the ground, still stunned by the suddenness of the attack that had destroyed their unit. Assad had exchanged a few words with them, learning nothing new. They told him they were on their way from Iran to join the small force in the mountains.

Suddenly one of the Arabs leaped to his feet and dashed toward the perimeter, leaping over Bruno Puglisi. He ran wildly across the open ground, heading for the stand of boulders.

"I'll get him, sir!" Puglisi yelled, getting to his feet and going after the guy.