by C. X. Moreau
The shock wave sheared off the meter-thick concrete supports holding the building as the structure rose off its supports for a brief instant, propelled by the force of the explosion. Before the building could begin its inevitable collapse the shock wave had raced up the hollow interior of the building and further weakened what little internal support remained.
Marines standing post on the roof of the headquarters experienced the sickening sensation of rising rapidly for a few inches with the building before eardrums and sinuses were punctured by the concussion. As large chunks of concrete rocketed skyward the building began to descend into the void left by the disintegration of its supports.
The mezzanine level collapsed onto the cut granite flooring of the ground level, crushing everything beneath it under tons of concrete and decorative marble. The battalion armorers, cooks, and hospital corpsman not killed by the blast died in the first seconds after the explosion. The sergeant of the guard, who had seen the truck approach from his ground level post and run out of the building to fire on the vehicle, was blown clear of the building and came to rest near the gate through which the bomber had steered his vehicle.
The remaining three floors began to collapse onto the rubble of the mezzanine, as dozens of men were crushed to death in their sleep. Even those who had been awakened at the sound of Griffin’s firing had not had time to don their gear and get out of the building. Entire platoons, billeted together in the custom of Marines since their inception, died in an instant before the sound of the explosion had rolled across the runways and reached their comrades in the rifle companies which ringed the airport in a protective semicircle.
Clouds of dust began to rise above the collapsing building as chunks of concrete blown clear of the building reached the apex of their flight and descended on the Marine compound with deadly force. Men billeted in sandbagged tents surrounding the Battalion Landing Team headquarters were struck by falling debris or deadly missiles formed by the shattering of the concrete walls and hurled horizontally across the compound. More than a few of these men were saved by the protective barrier of sandbags that had been placed around their canvas tents. Others suffered fatal wounds from the deadly projectiles.
The building began to settle onto the remnants of its foundation as a mushroom-shaped plume of dust, pulverized concrete, and debris rose hundreds of meters into the air. To the Marines standing watch on the perimeter of the airport the BLT appeared to have been hit by a small nuclear device. Men in the rifle companies, unaware of the extent of the damage to the battalion headquarters that disappeared in the growing cloud of dust, reported to their respective commanders that the BLT headquarters was under attack.
The alarm was sounded in the rifle companies and the troops roused and told to stand to general quarters as frantic company radio operators tried in vain to raise the battalion combat operations center over the tactical radio net. Fifteen minutes after the detonation of the Syrian’s bomb, a radio operator from the MAU headquarters building, located just one hundred meters north of the destroyed BLT building, broke onto the battalion net and advised the rifle companies and one battery of artillery that the BLT had been destroyed.
Company commanders unwilling to accept the word of an obviously shaken junior enlisted man then instructed the radio operator to have the Officer of the Day advise them of the situation at the BLT. To their horror the voice replied that he was indeed the Officer of the Day and that they should send Marines and any hospital corpsman ashore to the BLT area ASAP.
Platoon commanders quickly mobilized squads and sent them at double time across the runways of the airport. As the Marines in the relief parties drew near the building they were engulfed by a fine choking dust that made breathing difficult. The BLT continued to be obscured in this cloud until the squads were close enough to realize that the building was no longer standing. What remained was a pile of rubble approximately half the height of the building that had been there only minutes before.
The first Marines sent to the relief of their comrades left their company lines and headed west toward the cloud enveloping the BLT building. Company commanders listened over the radio net as officers at the MAU operations center called for the task force just offshore to send whatever medical personnel could be spared to assist with an unknown number of casualties.
Downs jogged at the head of first squad as they headed toward the BLT area. After concluding his testimony before the board of inquiry he had been returned to duty with the platoon. As the senior corporal in first squad he had been in charge of the squad in Griffin’s absence. Like the rest of the battalion, Downs had been awakened that morning by the explosion, and stared in horror at the sight of what had been the BLT building. Within minutes of the explosion Staff Sergeant Whitney had ordered Downs to form up the squad and prepare to double-time across the runways to the BLT building and lend whatever assistance he could to the on-site commander. He had also been told to take two hospital corpsmen with him.
Downs glanced behind and looked at the two navy corpsmen. One of them was already struggling to maintain the pace of the Marines. Downs noted that his face was red and the front of his cammie blouse was soaked with sweat although they were less than halfway to the headquarters building.
Downs stepped out of the column and nodded for Ferris to maintain the pace as he fell back. From all directions he could see similar columns moving in the direction of the BLT. Here and there he heard the report of small arms fire or the echo of a shouted command. The airport remained strangely silent and Downs decided that the usually busy runways were either shut down due to the attack or there were no flights scheduled to arrive this early on a Sunday morning.
He looked at the hospital corpsman and noted the man’s stumbling steps and ragged breathing. Glancing toward the cloud of dust that he knew concealed the BLT building, Downs judged the distance to be well over two thousand yards. A quick mental calculation told him the squad would have to cover a mile before reaching the compound. Even at its normal pace, not slowed by the corpsman, the squad wouldn’t reach the area in less than seven or eight minutes. Already he could feel the pace slowing to that of the tiring corpsman.
He glanced again toward the company area and the distance covered seemed pitifully small. No sign of a jeep dispatched by the company commander to ferry the corpsman to the scene. Downs debated his options. If he abandoned the corpsman and jogged ahead with the squad they would reach the BLT a lot sooner. Given the looks of the cloud rising from what had been the BLT, a couple of minutes might make all the difference. There was also the possibility that the BLT had been hit by some sort of rocket fired at them by the Syrian Army. Maybe a SCUD or FROG. It might even be a prelude to an attack by local militia allied with the Syrians.
He also knew that there were going to be considerable casualties once they arrived. One corpsman could make a big difference in a situation like that. He looked again at the struggling corpsman and the man returned his stare. “I can’t keep up, Corporal Downs. Can we slow it up just a little?”
Downs nodded at the man and said to Ferris who remained at the head of the column and continued to set the pace, “Bring it down just a little, Ferris. The Doc needs a break.” Ferris nodded without saying anything and Downs realized that his eyes were locked straight ahead, fixed on the growing gray cloud. He knew that Ferris would slow the pace for only a minute or two, then he would gradually pick it back up to its previous level. Another glance at the struggling corpsman and Downs realized that the man would never make it to the BLT without long breaks to regain his wind.
He realized that just wouldn’t be acceptable. Downs quickly searched his mind for an answer and caught himself asking what Griffin would do in a similar situation. He decided Griffin would automatically lighten the man’s load. He turned and looked at Smith who jogged along smoothly behind the corpsman, “Smith, you and Samson take the Doc’s gear.” Downs noted the corpsman look at him and nod his head in thanks. Further back in the column was the o
ther corpsman who had been detailed from second platoon and told to make the journey with his squad. Downs caught the man’s eye and asked, “Can you make it if we pick it up?”
“Yeah, Corporal. I’m okay. I run almost every day. Let’s get there, man.” Downs grimly nodded his head and again looked at the corpsman. He detailed two Marines from the squad to escort the lone corpsman to the BLT area, instructing them to rejoin the squad after arriving. As the Marines and corpsman fell out of the small formation Downs said, “See that he gets to the BLT and then come find us. Don’t kill him on the way over and if you see a vehicle heading across the runway for the BLT flag it down and throw him on board. Got that?”
The man nodded that he understood and Downs signaled to Ferris and the squad resumed its pace. When they were within a hundred yards of the wall of dust they heard the low rumbling coming from the building as tons of concrete continued to settle on itself. As the squad entered the cloud, fine particles of concrete pelted their helmets and flak jackets and clouds of dust made breathing difficult.
Downs ordered the squad to slow to a walk and gave the command to form a skirmish line. He was not sure of the situation at the BLT as the building continued to be hidden by the cloud of dust. One hundred yards into the brown fog Downs spotted the first Marine. The man was walking drunkenly toward them and Downs realized that he was suffering from shock. Without any order being given the remaining corpsman began to treat the man.
He halted the squad as the corpsman treated the young Marine. Downs squatted on his haunches by the man and noticed for the first time that a fine gray powder covered the ground. He touched his hand to the powder, hoping that it wasn’t some chemical agent delivered by a Syrian warhead. He raised a finger to his nose and gently sniffed at the powder. He noticed Ferris staring at him and shrugged.
“What is it, Steve?”
“I don’t know. But if it’s some sort of chemical or something I’m a fucking goner. Try not to touch the shit, man. There’s no telling what it might be.”
Tiger rubbed his hand across the front of his flak jacket and said, “It ain’t no chemical agent, Steve. This is concrete dust. I can tell by the smell. Besides, the air is full of it. If it was a chemical agent we would all be dead by now.”
Downs realized instantly that Tiger was right. As the corpsman continued to treat the casualty he peered into the fog and wondered what his next move should be. He searched his memory and tried to recall the layout of the battalion headquarters and its perimeter guard posts. He knew that a wide boulevard ran north-south along the western limit of the compound. A battery of 155mm howitzers was set up north of the compound beyond the MAU headquarters and he guessed that they would send their own patrols down to report the situation at the BLT. The southern extreme of the BLT area was guarded by a line of sentries and beyond that was the terminal building at the southern end of the boulevard.
Downs decided to sweep slightly south along the southern end of the BLT compound and work his way west to the fence marking its western limit at the boulevard. He ordered the patrol forward and then remembered the casualty. “He’ll have to come with us, Doc. I can’t stop here. Just bring him along. Got that?”
The corpsman nodded and the patrol moved off. The stench of burning rubber overwhelmed them and they could plainly see several vehicles on fire near the heap of rubble marking the eastern edge of the BLT compound. As the small patrol drew closer to the BLT their pace quickened and Downs found himself virtually running forward.
The wind began to break up the cloud of dust that had settled over the whole area and Downs knew he would have to abandon his original plan. It was obvious that the BLT was down. From two hundred meters away he could begin to see the extent of the damage. He signaled for the radio handset and instantly keyed the mike. “Alpha Six, Alpha Six, this is Alpha One. Do you copy? Over.”
“Roger, Alpha One. This is the Six Actual. Go ahead with your sit rep.”
Downs instantly recognized the voice of the company commander, Captain Ward. He continued to keep pace with the squad and said, “Sir, the BLT is down. Everything, sir. The building has apparently been hit by something that just about destroyed it. We’re two hundred meters out and we can see dead and wounded all over the place. We’re proceeding toward the building now. No enemy in sight, sir. Over.”
The young captain almost two kilometers distant peered across the runways and tried to see through the brown fog that blocked his view. One of his junior corporals had just confirmed what had been reported earlier by the MAU officer of the day. Still, it couldn’t be as bad as they had reported. Both of them were making the situation out to be something close to total destruction of a four-story building by a single hit. He tried to imagine what kind of weapon could deliver that amount of destructive force and could only think of some sort of missile. He was fairly certain that the Syrian army had been pushed out of missile range by the Israeli army some weeks before.
His eyes searched the eastern sky for the telltale vapor trail that would mark the flight of such a missile. He saw none and wondered instead about Corporal Downs. Maybe he was just one more young NCO who was witnessing combat for the first time. It was possible that he had encountered some casualties and was already bordering on a state of shock himself. It happened. They were all young, the Marines in his command. The oldest of them might be twenty-four or twenty-five. He guessed Downs to be no older than twenty-one.
He thought carefully of what he would say next to Downs. He remembered also that Downs had evidently handled himself well at the firefight on the hill and at the embassy. The realization struck him like a physical blow. He felt his stomach turn to ice water as he realized that the BLT building had probably been struck by a car bomb. It was going to be the embassy all over again. Only this time it would be dead Marines stacked on the sidewalk, not dead civilians. An image of the burned hulk of the U.S. Embassy blazed across his mind’s eye.
He looked around the tent that served as his company command post. Already he knew that he would have to send whatever men and equipment he could reasonably spare to help at the BLT. His eye came to rest on the company first sergeant. He would have to put the first sergeant in charge of whoever he sent to assist at the headquarters compound.
Ideally he would have been able to send his company executive officer. The XO was his second in command and as such was in the perfect position to command a relief force. But the XO had come down with some form of local flu the past week and had been flown out to the ships just offshore. He didn’t want to pull a whole platoon out of the line and thereby weaken his defensive perimeter. He preferred to gather together whatever men he could spare from the company headquarters and send them in a group under the command of the first sergeant. That would preserve the integrity of his rifle and weapons platoon and at the same time provide a substantial relief force to aid the BLT.
He grimaced as he thought of placing the first sergeant in charge of his Marines. The man had done more to demoralize his company in six months than he thought humanly possible. He had constantly been at odds with him over his attitude toward the Marines in his command. And then the incident with Griffin and Slocum. He had been tempted to punch the man when he found out he had gone to other officers and senior enlisted men in the battalion and pushed for their court-martial. They had had one heated exchange and since then they had barely managed to exchange military courtesies.
He gritted his teeth and keyed the handset, “Alpha One, Alpha One, this is Alpha Six Actual. Do you copy? Over.”
“Roger, Six Actual. Go Ahead. Over.”
“Move into the BLT area and establish a perimeter. Assist the wounded and keep me informed with a sit rep every fifteen minutes. Do you copy, Alpha One? Over.”
“Roger, sir. I copy. Be advised, sir, that there are lots of wounded and KIA. We are going to sweep south and move to the western extreme of the BLT compound. The MAU and the one five-five battery will probably be sending patrols down from their posit
ions. The MAU building appears to be up and I can see Marines moving in and out of it, sir. Do you copy, Six? Over.”
“Roger. I copy you loud and clear. Proceed with your current course of action and give me those sit reps. I’m sending you a relief party. If we lose comm reposition yourself and reestablish comm. Is that clear? Over.”
“Roger, Alpha Six Actual. Alpha One, out.”
The captain handed the handset to the company radio operator and signaled for the first sergeant to approach. “First Sergeant, it seems that the BLT has been hit seriously by some sort of explosive. I’ve got Corporal Downs and a squad from First Platoon there now and the initial sit reps don’t look good. From what he says the whole damn building is down. What I want you to do is get all the people together from the company admin section and whoever else isn’t assigned duty in a rifle platoon and head over there. Take one radio and some extra batteries with you. Are you clear on that so far?”
“Yes, sir,” answered the first sergeant tightly, “I’m following you, Captain. But I wouldn’t worry too much about the BLT being hurt real bad. I know Corporal Downs and he’s a shit bird if I ever saw one. Chances are when I get over there it won’t be all that serious, sir. I’ll form the men up and let the Captain know the situation when I arrive. Will that be all?”
The captain struggled to control his temper in front of the Marines in the headquarters tent. He glanced quickly around at the others, then lowered his voice and said, “Now you listen to me, First Sergeant. I don’t give a damn what your opinion of Corporal Downs is, or any other Marine in my company for that matter. As soon as we get back to the States you can consider yourself relieved. I’m done with you. In the meantime just form up a detail and lend whatever assistance is needed at the BLT compound. Am I understood?”
The first sergeant glared at the company commander, then broke his stare and looked at the young Marines in the tent who were trying to give the appearance of not having heard the exchange. “Yes, Captain. You’re understood. Will that be all?” asked the first sergeant.