"Uhh." The small trench Mike rolled out of was barely deep enough, but it provided enough protection from the concussive blast. Pushing off, he levered onto his side and looked around. Dust and gray smoke slowly rose into the blue sky above.
"That sucked,” he mumbled and brushed the dirt off the back of his neck, then pushed up to his hands and knees. Dirt, clumps of grass, and pebbles slid off his uniform and body armor to add to the rest, the explosion kicked up. Fine bits of dust continued to rain down from the cloud above the bomb strike. The trucks and men who operated them were barely visible, but he could see them. That was a positive. More dirt and grass fell from his uniform as he stood the remainder he tried to brush off.
"Best laid plans," Mike said aloud though no one was around to hear him.
It couldn't have been more the thirty to forty-five minutes since the Team's three trucks entered the valley. He was only guessing. At different points it had felt like time wasn’t moving forward at all. In that time, the perfectly laid plan based on the vetted and triple-checked intelligence turned into a shit show of monumental proportions. The enemy's plan, Mike conceded, was a lot more effective than his, and it nearly worked.
The bad guys set up the biggest and most elaborate ambush Mike had ever heard of in Afghanistan, including the things they pulled on the Soviets. Without the Marines and the B-52's dropping bombs way too close for comfort, the ambush would have succeeded. Army Chaplains would have visited all the families of his guys.
The Captain, the ODA’s Team Leader, to his left, tentatively moved his arms and legs. He remained face down, covered in dirt, grass, and dust kicked up by the 1,000 lb bombs.
"Coward," Mike muttered under his breath and turned away. He didn’t have time for it now.
The cloud of dust finally dissipated, and he had a clearer view of his trucks. Truck Two was on its side where the Captain had flipped it and nearly killed the man in the turret firing the 50 cal. In his blind fear, the Captain didn't warn the gunner, Dave, what he was doing. Instead, he left his Team pinned down in the middle of enemy machine-gun crossfire. He jumped in, drove away right into a partially buried boulder, and flipped it, ejecting Dave from the top of the truck.
Truck One was shot to hell. It would only move again by sling load under a cargo helicopter. Truck Three was the only one undamaged. Scott climbed up into the turret to man the MK-19 grenade launcher. The Marines who maneuvered against the last of the enemy holdouts might need the support.
The rest of his Team pulled themselves from under trucks or out of ditches.
"Medic," Mike shouted.
Dwayne stumbled up from under Truck Three, a large aid bag in one hand and his rifle in the other. Rob, his other medic, pulled himself off the ground with his aid bag and rifle. They were both ready to help a team member in need.
"Dwayne, go check on Dave." Mike pointed to Truck Two's gunner. “Rob, go check on Rick." Rick was the driver of Truck One. "If you need help, let me know, and I'll send someone."
They both glanced at Tim, the Captain. "What about him?" Dwayne said.
Mike looked back. The Captain sat up, his hand rubbing the back of his head. His helmet lay next to him.
"Low priority. Get to him when you can."
"Roger that." Dwayne nodded.
The two medics had seen the Captain drive off like he had somewhere else to be. They would be in no hurry.
"Get to it." Mike watched the two men jog off in the direction of their respective patients.
Around the front of the truck, Mike followed Tom’s voice.
hand-mic at his ear, Tom turned and then handed off the mike. "There you are. I've been trying to reach you. 2 6 Actual wants to talk to you."
Mike traced the cord from his headphones down to his radio with his thumb and finger. Parts of the screen fell to the ground as he pulled the handheld radio out of a magazine pouch on his vest. A few more of the plastic pieces fell out, a bullet landed on his boot. A dime-sized hole occupied the space where the viewscreen had been. He grunted when he saw the damage and showed Tom the radio.
Tom grunted back. "Shit happens."
He hadn't felt a thing. There's something to be said for body armor and adrenaline. He put the radio back in the pouch and took the hand-mic.
Before he could speak, they all turned to the east. Several bursts of rifle fire broke the relative silence. One of the guys jumped into the turret of Truck Three and reloaded the 50 cal.
"Sounds like M-16's." Tom faced the sound. "I guess the Marines are still in it."
The gunner rotated the barrel of his 50 cal toward the noise.
"See anything?" Mike said.
"Nope. I got a good idea where they are though it looks like there's some low ground between the valley and hills."
"Keep your eyes open." Mike glanced at Tom, pointed at the mortar, then pointed toward the sound of the rifle fire. "2 6 Actual this is 6 5 Xray, over."
"Xray, it's good to hear your voice again. I was hoping you hadn't gotten blowed up, over."
Mike took the lightheartedness in 2 6 Actual’s voice as a good sign. "My teeth are still rattling from those B-52's, but other than that, I'm good." He released the transmit button and then pressed it again. "What's our situation, over?"
"East and West Platoons drove off, killed, or captured the enemy troops in the hills. We got about twenty prisoners between the two platoons. North Platoon has set up a blocking position on the north side of the tunnel. They didn't capture any prisoners, but they do have a bunch of dead bad guys."
2 6 Actual's voice changed. "North's Platoon Leader is dead." North Platoon's LT had been one of the best Marines in the company. Well respected by his men and the officers who served with him, he would be missed. The Marine Captain kept his voice professional, but Mike knew how good a friend the LT had been.
"We haven't seen any movement from the area around the tunnel mouth. That bomb did a number on them. If you're good with it, I'm going to send two squads from North Platoon through and have them sweep the area for survivors."
"Roger. We've got a couple of injured men down here. I'll set up a casualty collection point here and send for a medevac once my medics get back to me. If you have any casualties, bring them here, and we'll get them taken care of. Bring all your prisoners down here as well. You'll need to leave some of your guys to guard them over."
"Good copy. I'm still waiting, but so far, I've got walking wounded and two litter cases, but nothing critical, over."
"I'll get my medics on them as soon as you get them down here."
Mike pulled the hand-mic from his ear and looked east. M-16 fire erupted from the low ground. The lower-pitched sound of automatic AK-47 fire and a light machine gun spoke back.
"2 6 Actual, what's the rifle fire, over?
"Roger, that's my Head Quarter's guys. It looks like they have the HVT's cornered, over."
More rifle fire erupted from both M-16's and AK's and as quickly ceased.
"2 6 Actual, we're close enough we can send a couple of guys and be there in about two minutes, over."
"Roger, appreciate it. I'll let them know you're on the way."
A long burst of machine-gun fire erupted from the low ground to the east. M-16's responded to it.
Mike handed the hand-mic back to Tom. "I'm going to take Frank and Hunter over there and see if we can help out those Marines. Get on the horn and call the FOB. Tell them I want the QRF out here. Get a bird with MP's for prisoner pick up and tell them to get a couple of medevac birds prepped and on their way."
"I'm on it," Tom said.
"Hunter, Frank, on me. We're going to go see if we can help the Marines out." Mike checked his rifle as he walked toward the low ground. His two teammates fell in behind him to his left and right in a modified wedge.
They covered the distance as quickly as tactically feasible, following the sound of gunfire as it spiked then fell off.
Hunter made a clicking noise with his tongue. Mike knelt and looked back. Hunter put two fingers to his eyes and pointed across the narrow ravine. Men in camouflage uniforms maneuvered downhill through the trees opposite them. Spread out and quiet, their attention stayed on the low ground between Mike and the Marines.
A glance at Frank and Hunter and the three soldiers stood and moved toward the lip of the ravine. The last of the Marine formation moved out of sight. Mike hadn't seen any bad guys, but the Afghanis had to be between his group and the Marines. Large boulders, thickets of trees, and bushes surrounded a large grove of bamboo at the bottom of the ravine. The bamboo was a first for Mike, bamboo in the Hindu Kush. Who knew? There was no telling how it got there, but the cluster was taller than any two men, and it was thick.
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Marines organizational structure would dictate that Gunnery Sergeant Paul Mason would lead that HQ platoon across the way. That suited Mike fine, they had always wanted to work together, and now they were not only on the same mission but the same action. After they wrapped this up, they'd talk trash to each other for a long time. Who performed better, Paul's Marines or Mike's SF Team? Who had a claim to bragging rights?
Mike dropped to the ground near the ravine’s edge, and the three of S.F Soldiers low crawled forward. As they got close to the downward sloping ground, automatic fire roared out from below them. The sound echoed off the ground and boulders. It was louder than it usually would have been. A machine gun, fifty meters in front of them, Mike guessed. He figured there were four or five rifles, but he couldn't be sure. Marine rifle fire responded but was barely audible over the big gun. Mike's mouth twitched in grim satisfaction when he heard a SAW. The light machine gun opened up with a long burst, followed by more Marine M-16's joining the fight. AK fire punched up out of the ravine. The Afghani's fired short disciplined shots. Rifle fire cracked through the air while the machine gun switched targets or reloaded. The bad guys weren't beaten yet.
Ricochets snapped overhead. Face against the ground, Mike waited for the last round to whine off into the distance, then gave a quick nod, and they moved forward. His chest dragged across the rough earth for the few seconds it took to get to the crest. Three more rifles from behind. The bad guys didn't stand a chance. Mike aimed down into the low ground. Five Afghani's fired at the Marines. The High-Value Target's they'd come to capture or kill knelt behind several boulders. The rocks were all large enough to hide a man. The large clump of bamboo grew to their left.
The ammunition vests on their chests marked them as combatants though they were dressed like typical civilian Afghanis, with cotton pants, long cotton shirts, vests, and roll-up hats. Closest to the bamboo grove, Mike spotted the leader of the group. The scar across his forehead made him easy to identify. They practiced excellent fire discipline for irregulars, aimed and sporadic enough to keep the Marines' heads down. Mike centered on the rifleman doing the most shooting. The man looked like he used hair gel to keep his purple hair and beard in place. It wasn’t a common look, but he’d seen it before.
Grim satisfaction crossed his mind. There would be five fewer bad guys real quick.
One of the men, Mike, didn’t remember him in the intelligence report, was a giant. The Soviet PK 7.62 mm machine gun in his hands looked like a toy. The big man lunged over his rock cover, swung the weapon up, and fired at the Marines. The giant was the largest man he'd ever seen, not just Afghani, but any man. There was more to him than his size. A feeling. There was something about him, an aura. It was the only way to characterize how Mike felt. The giant reeked of it. It hit him the second he'd seen the man. It was menace, evil, vicious, something he couldn't explain, but he sure as shit felt it. His Teammates felt it, too. He could see it in their eyes. The giant was a freak of nature. Long black hair fell past his shoulders. The man's beard was short and as raven black as his hair. He wore a long shirt, baggy pants, vest, and hat like the others. After that, there was no comparison. The man stood at least a head taller than any of his fellow Afghani's, maybe six foot ten, Mike guessed. His arms and legs bulged with muscle. The material of his clothes stretched tight against his skin. The PK with the attached ammo weighed twenty-plus pounds. He also wore several hundred round bandoleers strapped across his chest. It didn’t matter. He moved with an ease that shouldn't have been possible carrying that much extra weight. Mesmerized, Mike watched the giant move with effortless grace under that load, shift, fire, move, and fire again. Deep down, he had to admit to himself, he was a little intimidated.
Some men would have shriveled up and backed away, leaving the Marines to their fate. Mike had crossed paths with a few. He wasn't one of them. The only running he would be doing was forward.
Of the Marines, he could see some were prone behind rocks or trees firing while the others low crawled to cover. Expertly trained, they moved well under pressure. Excellent work, Marines, fire, and maneuver, by the book. Time to lend some help.
Frank and Hunter sighted their weapons in, aimed downhill, and waited for him to initiate. The Afghani with purple hair popped up and fired at the Marines, then hid behind the boulder he and another man sheltered behind. The other two Special Forces men would fire as soon as he did. He’d let one of them kill the giant. Mike fired, and the purple-haired guy dropped. Frank and Hunter squeezed their triggers immediately after. Only one bad guy went down. Without time to coordinate, Hunter and Frank shot the same guy. Shit, Mike thought. Everyone assumed the other would hit the big man with the machine gun.
The giant wheeled around and fired his machine gun faster than Mike would have believed. A long burst chewed up the lip of the ravine, kicking dirt and rocks into the air. Pebbles and dirt rattled off Mike'd helmet. Scrambling, the side of his helmet scraped against the ground as he struggled to push himself back. An eternity later, the giant eased off the trigger. Five long seconds Mike figured. He used up a quarter of the hundred-round belt. The rounds had impacted inches from his head. None of the three Special Forces Soldiers dared peak. The big man was deadly accurate.
The wait felt long but was the briefest of seconds. Mike crawled forward and caught sight of the machine gunner as he ran into the bamboo grove chased by Marine rifle fire. The giant had been the last to follow the narrow trail into the tight-packed vegetation. The two dead men stayed put. Those two would never ambush another American.
There was a sudden quiet as the Marines ceased fire. The silence was a shock after the rifle fire's intenseness and the machine gun rounds that had struck the ground right before him.
There wasn't a target to shoot, just bamboo, but the clump wasn't that big.
One thing the bamboo grove was, Mike noted, it was an excellent place not to be seen. The bamboo grew so thick there was no way through it except by the path the enemy had taken. The giant’s machine gun barrel was undoubtedly ready if they went in after them. That wouldn’t work, and anyone who tried to hack their way through was sure to catch a bullet.
They could shoot into the grove and hope to get lucky. Not a great plan. The Marines and his guys would quickly run out of ammo and probably not hit a thing.
Mike rolled onto his back and looked at the blue sky above. What a shit show.
“Top?”
“I’m good.” Mike told his teammates and reached down to his leg pouch. "Marines," he shouted across the ravine.
"Yo!" A Marine shouted back.
"Stay where you are, find cover, and stand by. I got an idea. If anyone tries to make a break out of that bamboo, blast them."
"Who's over there?"
"Master Sergeant Mason."
"Roger, Master Sergeant. Standing by."
Mike caught the eyes of Hunter and Frank. "I'm going down there. Cover me." They both nodded and rested their cheeks on their rifle stocks.
If he couldn't see them, they wouldn't be able to see him. Right? With a slow, deliberate exhale to prepare himself, he sprang to his feet and ran down into the ravine. The downhill slope helped increase his speed to the point he felt himself losing control. Fortunately, if you could call it that, the weight of the body armor, helmet, rifle, ammunition, and everything else he carried prevented him from maintaining much of a sprint for too long. His boots slipped on some loose gravel, but he stayed upright enough to fall into the first boulder large enough to offer protection. Only allowing himself a second to recover, Mike jumped forward to the next big rock until he made it to the rocks the enemy used for cover. It hadn't been pretty, and it hadn't been silent, and he sure as hell was going to win any medals for speed, but he made it.
His body armor which had saved him earlier had become a pain in the ass in the downhill sprint. It had ridden up onto his neck during the run, trying to choke him. Pulling it down, he could breathe a little better, but he was still breathing hard. On one knee, he caught his breath and glanced around him. A pile of expended brass fired from the PK machine gun littered the ground around him. He gulped and held his breath to try and calm his heart. The trail into the bamboo was clear, nobody shot at him as he peered over the boulder. Nothing to see and nothing to hear, but they were in there.
His lips twitched. At least it hadn't been an uphill run.
It was time.
The bad guys weren't going to like this. He pulled an incendiary grenade out of the pouch on his leg. The path into the grove was about ten meters from him. Pin wrapped around one finger, he pulled, reached back and threw. The spoon flew off, angling away as the grenade arched over the bamboo. A snapping noise came from the grenade, and white smoke poured out of the bottom as it descended. The grenade hit the bamboo and bounced through the vegetation until it settled.
Rifle ready, he glanced around the rock. A plume of white smoke wafted up. The incendiary grenade would burn through most things, bamboo wouldn’t be a problem. It would be an inferno soon.
"Marines!"
"Yo!"
The Marines and his men would make short work of the HVT's. The grove was only about twenty-five meters by thirty-five meters. Another quick look around the rock, and he settled down to wait. There was a lot of smoke now. It had changed color, black smoke drifted skyward. There was no wind, and the plume reached straight up into the sky. Some of it hovered around the thick branches of nearby trees. Heat pushed out from the bamboo and caused Mike to hunch behind the rock. If the intense heat was getting to him, the bad guys must have been really feeling it. The smell of the cracking bamboo made him smile. Get some.
Only a small section of the bamboo at the far end wasn't burning. It would soon. Mike shouted over the noise of the fire.
"Marines, anything yet? "
" Not yet, Master Sergeant."
A frown formed on his face. No one chooses to burn alive, and soon there wouldn't be anywhere to hide. There'd been no screaming. It didn't make sense. They'd get shot trying to run out of the bamboo, but that was a damn sight better than the alternative.
He peeked over the rock. Not a scream, not one. Why hadn't a single one of their rounds cooked off? He took a long look at the fire, searching for any clue. Something was going on in there. But what?
Not worried about the consequences, he stood in full view of the fire. The heat passed through his clothing, his skin became uncomfortably warm, but he continued to stand there. The heat and smoke began to do a number on him. Tears ran down his face as he stared into the bamboo, trying not to breathe the hot air, but he couldn't turn away. Most of the bamboo was gone, black stumps, withered and smoldering. Only the far edge of the clump was a raging fire. Uphill he saw his two men stand. Mike put the hand-mic from the borrowed radio to his ear. "Hunter, what do you see?"
One of the men pulled out his hand-mic and shook his head. "I don't know Top. They never came out. We'd have seen them."
Mike took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.
"Alright, keep your eyes open. I'm going to link up with the Marines."
"Roger that, out." Both men took a knee, keeping watch on the fire.
One more glance at the fire, and he started uphill to the Marine’s position. A couple of them stared down at him a few others turned away. Something came over him. Some dread. It was more than the disappearing bad guys. He felt an uneasiness he'd never felt before in combat. He stowed the hand-mic in his shirt and made his way up.
"Marines."
"Yo."
Mike didn't recognize the Marine's voice. "I'm coming over."
One of the Marines said, shit, in a low voice. Not shit, he's coming over to chew us out for letting the bad guys go. More like shit, something's happened, something terrible. The hairs on his arms shot up. He picked up the pace to the Marine line keeping his rifle ready. He didn't expect any smoldering Afghanis to pounce out of the flames, but better safe than sorry.
The first Marine he saw was lying behind a tree, his rifle pointed toward the fire. The Marine waved his hand to the right directing him farther uphill. The kid didn't look up. His head was firmly glued to his rifle eyes on the burning bamboo.
He passed several more Marines before seeing one move to him, a Sergeant, his head down. Everything in Mike started to tingle, his breath caught in his throat. The Marine's head lifted as he stood in front of him. Old tears stained his dirty face.
"I'm sorry, Master Sergeant." The Marine paused. "That machine gunner, he got Gunny about the same time you guys showed up over there. The Corpsman tried to save him."
Mike cleared his throat and swallowed. "Paul?"
The Marine dropped his head. "I'm sorry, he didn't make it."
Tears filled his eyes as Mike turned and started down toward the burnt-out bamboo groove. Everything went numb. His hands dropped from his rifle the sling across his chest prevented it from falling. The barrel hit his knee every other step as he stumbled downhill.
The only reason the Marines were here was because of him. He'd talked his brother, the Marine Infantry Company Gunnery Sergeant, into supporting his A-Team. He'd told Paul it would be another easy operation. The Marines would set up blocking positions and provide supporting fire. And then, the whole mission turned into a cluster fuck, and now his brother was dead. Paul was dead because of him.