The Americans weren’t lying down, though. They fired their own weapons, and one soldier lifted a tube. It didn’t look like an RPG, but there was something about it that had the same feel. There was a whoosh, and a rocket flew out to hit Jamal’s house. Whether it was the American’s rocket or the fire that burned fiercely, the entire house collapsed, bringing all the men who had been on the roof down into the flames.
A round hit the door a few inches from his head. That was enough for Maslax. It was time to get out of there.
Chapter 41
Hobyo
“Well, Lieutenant, I guess you’re happy to see me,” Capt Svenson told him. “But you should’ve seen me out there. I was awesome,” he exulted.
Tony was happy to see him, of course. That last furious assault had almost broken through before the captain had come up with Second Platoon and various odds and ends to hit the backside of the Somalis. His leg was beginning to ache, and many of his Marines were hurt, but by some sort of miracle, none had been killed. Doc told him that Pvt Lambie would probably lose his left arm, but with due respect to the private, that was a small price to pay for what could have happened.
But they were not out of the woods yet.
“So when’re the birds coming in?” he asked. “We’ve got some hurt Marines who need medical care.”
“Well, the Ospreys can’t land here. They’re too big. And no one knows what brought down the Apache and the Black Hawk yet. Our orders are to go to the beach, just south of the docks for a pick-up. The beach is pretty broad there.”
“With all due respect, sir, I think we need to get going then. If we give them enough time, the ragheads’ll be coming back, and back with a vengeance,” put in SSgt Davidson.
“And then we’ll kick their ass again, Burke! We’re Americans, and we know from an ass-whupping!”
Tony thought the skipper was looking for a “oo-rah” or something, but when they all just looked at him, he went on.
“But you’re right. Lt Hartigan, I want you in the front. Lead your platoon back to Elena, then you’re going to have to use the smaller alleys and such to make it to the beach. We should hit it only a few hundred meters from our pick-up point. Sgt Black,” he directed to his radio operator, “Get Lieutenant Colonel Pavoni on the hook. I want to give him a first-hand account on what happened.”
Joe Hartigan had been standing next to Tony, and as the captain turned away, Tony asked, “What’s going on with him? I mean, I glad as shit you arrived, but what’s with him?”
Joe looked up to make sure the captain was not looking.
“Well, he’s turned into this fucking super hero. It’s all him this and all him that. But you should know, he disobeyed orders to come save your ass. And man, you should have seen him back at Elena. Just like in a movie. He was fucking awesome. Pow! Smack! Those guys were running in pure fear.”
“That’s great and all, and I appreciate it, but is he still spoiling for a fight? Or are we going to hightail it out of here?”
“I don’t know. Your guess is as good as mine. And with that, I gotta get going if we’re going to move. You OK, though?” he asked pointing to Tony’s leg.
“Don’t worry about me,” he replied.
Truth-be-told, his leg was stiffening up. But he had only 600 meters or so to go, and nothing was going to stop him.
Although it seemed longer, it probably only took 10 minutes to have everyone down and ready to go. Second Platoon had already moved out, and First fell in to follow in trace. Tony kept waiting for an attack, but nothing was happening.
From their last position to Elena, bodies and blood trails littered the area. Elena itself was even worse. There was a torched body inside the destroyed technical, and at least 15 bodies lay in crumbled heaps on the ground. Tony was not big into body counts, but he estimated that at least 40-50 Somalis had died. And two Americans.
He looked to the left where the smoke from the downed Apache still rose. From their planned path, the Apache could not be more than 100 meters out-of-the-way.
The captain was walking up and down the formation, stopping to slap Marines on the shoulder or share a laugh. Tony tried to raise him on his radio, but it was still acting squirrelly. As Capt Svenson came closer, Tony waved him over.
“Whadaya got?” the company commander asked as he got there.
“Well, sir, that Apache. Look, it can’t be more than 100 meters off our path, two or three of these little city blocks. We need to go there and pick up the bodies.”
The captain looked surprised, as if wondering why he hadn’t realized that.
“Of course, of course.”
He looked up at the back of Second Platoon ahead. The lead element of the platoon was probably past the point that was even with the Apache, and turning them around could cause problems. The captain seemed to realize this, too.
“OK, I want you to take your platoon up and over and recover the bodies. Then move parallel with Second to the beach. You should come out right at the pick-up point. And that provides flank security to each other.”
He started to move forward, then seem to think better of it.
“In fact, I think I’m going with you, too.”
Tony turned to Cpl Steptoe and had him relay the change. He limped forward to make sure Sgt Alvarez didn’t get lost in the maze of small alleys and roads. He needn’t have worried. The Apache called to them as its parts pinged and crackled as they cooled. They came around one corner, and partially buried in a small house, the Apache looked huge. Two men were looking at it, but they ran as soon as the Marines came into view.
The Apache was burnt pretty badly, and the rotors had snapped right off, but it was surprisingly intact. Cpl Winsome’s team made their way into the rubble of the building and to the crumpled nose of the helo. After a few moments, the team leader came back out.
“Sir, there’s only one body in the bird, burnt to shit. I think it’s the pilot, the one in the back.”
Tony looked at his commander. He could see the captain had the same thought. The Somalis had captured the other pilot.
Well, nothing to do about now, he thought.
“OK, we need to get him out of there. Sgt Alvarez, take who you need to get it done.”
“Uh, there’s also another body there,” Winsome added.
“The co-pilot?” Tony asked.
“No sir. I think it’s a kid. I think the Apache crushed her, you know, when it crashed. But the fire, well, it burned the girl, too.”
There was nothing he could do about that either, so Tony told Sgt Alvarez to recover the pilot’s body. He passed to the other Marines to be watchful as they waited. The longer they waited, the more time the Somalis had to re-group, but they had to recover the soldier. No one would be left behind.
He leaned against the wall of a shop. His leg was throbbing now, and he felt sick to his stomach. Looking at the map once again, nothing had changed. 200, maybe 250 meters to the beach. Two football fields. A thirty second run. He could do it.
At last, Alvarez came out, Cpl White and LCpl Nguyen carrying the burnt body of an American, someone whose name Tony didn’t even know. The body was still in the sitting position—its burnt flesh unable to move. They had evidently discussed how to carry the body back, because as soon as they got out, LCpl Nguyen turned around and dropped his pack. Sgt Alvarez and Cpl White tied the body to his back. Burning a body made it much lighter, but still, this had to be a heavy burden. But Nguyen gave a thumbs up, and so Tony gave the order to move out.
They barely much more than stepped out when the point man, Pvt Rafferty, came to a stop, pointing his rifle at a pile of garbage bags. Everyone moved to the side, weapons at the ready. Rafferty took a cautious step forward, then dropped his weapon, franticly throwing trash bags aside.
“Come here, come here!” he shouted to no one in particular.
Tony rushed forward with the rest, and through the milling Marines, he saw a blackened, broken man lying on the ground behind the s
cattered bags. An American. The co-pilot.
Somehow, he had not only survived the crash, but he had gotten out and dragged himself out of sight. It had been, what almost an hour since the crash? He must have been in agony, and he had barely enough strength to call out to Rafferty as he walked by.
Doc Supchak rushed up and made a quick examination. Doc was competent, but his bedside manner could use some improvement.
“He’s pretty fucked up,” he told Tony. “His back’s broken, and maybe his skull, too, at the very least. And the burns are pretty extensive. I don’t know if he’s going to make it.”
Tony looked at the soldier. The man was conscious, and Tony could see he understood what was being said.
He turned back to Doc, but the Navy corpsman was slipping out of his flak jacket.
“I need one more,” he shouted out.
Immediately, three or four more were thrust at him. He took LCpl Gittens’. He pointed over to where two wooden poles were holding up some sort of striped awning, and they were retrieved. He closed the jackets and placed them bottom to bottom. Sliding the poles through the arm holes, he ran the poles down the length of one, up the bottom of the other, and out that one’s armholes. Doing this on the other side with the other pole resulted in a makeshift stretcher.
Working quickly and professionally, he directed the Marines to shift the soldier onto the stretcher, keeping his neck straight. The pilot groaned, but other than that, made no sound.
“What about you?” Tony asked the doc, touching his own flak jacket to indicate what was on his mind.
Many of the Marines had already been hit by enemy fire or shrapnel, and only the high effectiveness of their reactive body armor had kept them alive. Without the body armor, Doc and Gittens were at serious risk.
“I guess we just gotta get down to the beach and outta here real quick, right lieutenant?” he replied with a smile before moving off to walk with the stretcher bearers.
“Good job, Tony,” the captain told him as they started to move out. “I have to admit, I completely forgot about retrieving the bodies, so, well, I guess you saved his life. You kept me from making a huge mistake.”
“Well sir, I guess I owe you.”
Captain Svenson laughed.
“I guess you do at that,” he said, slapping Tony on the shoulder.
That pushed him off balance, tweaking his leg, but the captain was already moving off.
The sun was overhead now, beating down on their heads in the small, hot alleys. First Squad now had point as Second carried the pilot, and Third was bringing up the rear. First was probably 100 meters or less from the beach when all hell broke loose. Tony should have changed helmets with someone, he realized. He needed to be able to communicate. But it was too late as he rushed back, Steptoe in tow.
Third Squad had only then passed the Apache when they had been hit from the rear. The Marines were trying to take cover and return fire, but the incoming was fierce.
“Steptoe, tell the other two squads to get to the beach and join up with Second Platoon. Third’s going to do a slow retrograde to give them time. As soon as they’ve hooked up with Second Platoon, let us know and we’re going to break contact and get out as fast as we can. They need to be ready to support us.
A round hit Tony high on the shoulder, spinning him half-way around. He knew it would hurt tomorrow, but he didn’t have time for that now as long as his armor protected him.
The captain was running around like a crazy man, extolling the Marines to fight. He didn’t take cover, but remained in the open. He had been hit once in the arm, which now flopped loosely at his side, but that didn’t seem to faze him.
The Marines’ outgoing fire seemed to have stopped the pursuing Somalis, but Tony knew they were probably being flanked. He also knew they had to occupy the Somalis until Second Squad, burdened by the pilot, had made it.
SSgt Davidson was giving the fire teams their retrograde order, that is, what fire team would go first, to drop back and then provide cover for the next, which would then provide cover for the third to move back, and so on. This had to be a choreographed dance, keeping rounds going downrange while not hitting each other.
At last, Steptoe told him that Second Squad had performed the link-up. Tony gave the order, and immediately, Cpl Horton got his team up and rushed back 20 meters before stopping and kneeling. Then it was the turn of Cpl Bonaventure’s team, that had been firing in support, to get up and move in back of Horton’s team before turning and kneeling again. Finally it was Cpl Salazar’s team, although Tony and Steptoe, the captain, and SSgt Davidson waited until the last moment to go with that team.
There was a bend in the alley ahead, which would make it easier to defend. With Cpl Salazar’s team parked right at the front of the bend, both of the other two teams would be covered from incoming fire. At that point Tony figured they had to be only 60, 70 meters from the beach. They could sprint it.
Cpl Steptoe gave a grunt in pain, but when Tony looked at him, he got the OK signal.
Cpl Horton got his team up and moving around the corner. It was working like clockwork. Then it was Second fire team’s turn again. Cpl Bonaventure jumped up, followed by his team. Just as they were passing the last Salazar’s team, Pvt Miller went down hard. Capt Svenson and SSgt Davidson jumped up to grab the private and drag him around the corner, and then Salazar’s team got up to bound back. Tony nodded at Cpl Steptoe who stumbled as he got up. Tony steadied him, and when he turned, saw the blasted radio on his back. Pieces of broken radio had peppered his neck, but nothing looked serious. He was just a bit dazed. Tony gave him a shove, then started to follow.
He risked a quick look back and saw the Somali, standing as calm as you please, taking aim with an ancient rifle. Tony tried to wheel and dive for safety when the lights went out.
Chapter 42
Hobyo
“Can we switch sides?” the captain asked him.
SSgt Davidson had Pvt Miller’s right arm while the captain had the left as they dragged his limp body down towards the beach. But with the captain’s left arm dangling uselessly, that meant he had to essentially walk backwards.
“Oh, sure, sir,” he responded. They laid Miller back, then switched positions. The private’s eyes were slightly open, but the pupils were rolled back, and he was unresponsive. Burke knew he was gone. It looked like a round had hit him under the arm where there was no body armor and then penetrated into his chest cavity. Grabbing him under his arms, they picked his upper body back up and moved off, letting his heels drag in the dust.
Ahead of them, Cpl Horton started to get his team down, to provide covering fire again.
“Just keep going!” Burke shouted.
The alley ended just ahead, maybe 30 meters, and Burke could already see the expanse of beach and the deep blue sea beyond. He wanted to take advantage of the bend in the alley and get the Marines out of the maze of passages and to link up with the rest of the company.
A couple of silhouettes rose up where the alley opened up to the beach, and Burke heart jumped before he realized that those silhouettes belonged to Marines, Marines who were covering them.
“Move it, people! Move it!” he yelled out.
Even carrying Pvt Miller, it took only moments until the two Marines burst into the open, the bright sunlight almost blinding them. Both platoons had linked up, and most of the Marines were down taking cover behind the natural berm made by tides.
Burke scanned the skies, but there was no sight of Ospreys coming for the pick-up. A sense of anger struck him. He knew the Somalis had some sort of anti-aircraft weapon, but no matter, the company needed to be picked up.
It was only then that he noticed the huge shape making its way onshore, still maybe 600 or 700 meters out. A sense of relief swept over him. It was one of the Gaffert’s LCACs, the huge air-cushion landing craft. Burke wasn’t sure how he could have missed it at first. The LCAC kicked up a good amount of spray as it came racing over the water.
&n
bsp; He realized that the LCAC was a good choice, better than a helo. It would be able to ride right up on the beach, and it would take some pretty powerful weapons to knock one out, much bigger than the Somalis had heretofore shown that the possessed.
Burke looked around at the Marines gathered on the beach. The LCAC had a huge weight payload, but the deck was not that big for 80+ Marines. He didn’t think, though, that too many Marines would bitch if they had to pack it in asshole to belly button.
The captain and he had slowed down as soon as they hit the sand of the beach, and several other Marines had rushed up to help.
As several sets of hands reached out, one voice simply told them all, “I’ve got him.”
It was PFC Masterson. Terry and Jerry.
The others backed off as the young Marine reached down and hoisted his buddy onto his shoulders. He stumbled a bit, and someone reached over to help, but he held up a hand to stop him. He was going to do this alone.
The poignancy of the situation might hit him later, but Burke had work to do. The LCAC would be ashore in a minute or so. Already, he could see Ian Pierce from Second Platoon moving to the waterline to act as a beach master in guiding in the big beast.
“Squad leaders, give me a head count,” he passed on the platoon freq.
Doc met Masterson to look at Miller, but the shake of his head confirmed to Burke that the private was dead. Doc then came up to the captain, but the company commander waved him off.
All three squad counts came back. Everyone had made it to the beach. The LCAC was slowing down to move up onto the beach, so he told Second and Third to get ready to board and told First to cover them. Once the first two squads were onboard, then First would rush onboard and the LCAC’s ramp would close.
He tried to report to the lieutenant before remembering that the platoon commander’s radio was down. He took off his helmet to get a better view and looked around, but couldn’t see him. The captain was standing, looking back into the town, so Burke trudged up to ask him if he’d seen Lt Niimoto.
The Return of the Marines Trilogy Page 42