More than courage

by Harold Coyle

  Razorback and RT Kilo's role in that operation were just two /

  examples of the many things he had staff oversight for. As he finished shedding his parachute and drew his rifle out of its drop bag Delmont found himself shaking his head and mumbling "You jackass" under his breath.

  A fresh outburst of gunfire jerked his full attention back to the here and now. Having sorted out his kit he dropped to one knee, and looked around, in an effort to get his bearings. Off to his right he could clearly see the hangars still lit up as if nothing were happening. To his left were the control tower and the admin building. That was where Shaddock had planned to set up his ops center once the area had been secured. Though he had exited the aircraft in the middle of a stick made up of men from Company C, Delmont had no way of knowing if the men running past him belonged to that unit. Once he was sure that it was safe to do so he stood up, swallowed his pride, and called out to a Ranger who was double-timing over to a clump of dark figures that had begun to gather. "Company C?"

  Without breaking his stride the man shouted back. "This way.

  Follow me."

  Delmont found himself chuckling as he fell in behind the MORE THAN COURAGE

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  young Ranger and picked up the man's pace. "Follow me. Now where have I heard that before?"

  The group he would soon find himself with all belonged to the Third Platoon of Company C. A young second lieutenant leading them counted heads as his people settled into a shallow depression in the sand that ran along one of the airfield's concrete aprons. When Delmont and the Ranger he was following were within a few meters of this rally point, the platoon leader called out to them. "Hayden, who's that with you?"

  After acknowledging his lieutenant as he joined his comrades, the Ranger whom Delmont had been following looked over his shoulder at him. "Who the hell are you?"

  "Lieutenant Colonel Delmont." f

  In unison Hayden and his platoon leader shot back "Who?3'

  "It doesn't matter, Lieutenant. Just get on with whatever you're supposed to be doing and ignore me. I'll stay out of your hair as best I can."

  Delmont's words were heard by all, but did little to allay the young officer's concerns about having a high-ranking officer he didn't know suddenly show up at his rally point. Realizing what was amiss the platoon sergeant spoke up. "Sir, he's the DA colonel from the Pentagon who's been hanging out with Colonel Shaddock."

  A simple "Oh, I see" was all the young officer managed before turning his full attention back to the tactical situation at hand and his platoon sergeant. "Sergeant Owens, we can't wait for the stragglers to wander in. You stay here with one man. I'm going to take the rest of those we have on hand here and move on the admin building. When you've gathered the rest of our people approach the objective from this direction if you can. We'll keep our eyes open for you."

  The senior NCO nodded. "Roger that."

  After taking a moment to gather his nerve and look around at the men who had managed to reach the rally point, the young 356

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  platoon leader pointed to one of his squad leaders. "Okay, Sergeant Bellamey, you know what to do."

  Without the slightest hesitation the squad leader who had just been tagged pushed himself up off the ground, wrapped his hands about his rifle, and took in a deep breath. "Second Squad move out."

  As one, the men who made up his squad rose, climbed out of the shallow ditch they had been gathered in and stepped out onto the concrete apron. In silence they took up positions on either side of their squad leader. When he saw that Second Squad was halfway to the admin building the platoon leader stood up. "All right, Third Platoon, let's go."

  When a hasty check of the area failed to reveal any sign of Shaddock's command group, Delmont saw that he had little choice but to follow this platoon he had managed to link up with.

  Drawing in a deep breath, he got up and trotted onto the apron, picking up his pace in an effort to catch up with men who were far younger and considerably more agile.

  It was only after they had left the ditch and were out in the open that the special ops staff officer bothered to assess his current situation. When he did he found that he didn't much care for it. The lead squad that the young platoon leader had dispatched was just about to enter the admin building they were headed for.

  The rest of the platoon, minus the platoon sergeant and one man who were still back in the ditch, was advancing in line with one squad on either side of their platoon leader. No one, Delmont realized, was providing them with a base of fire. The platoon sergeant, as near as he could figure, was busy rounding up strays.

  Not only was there no one in position ready to provide covering fire for the maneuver element, which in this case was pretty much the whole damned platoon but Delmont saw that none of the Rangers were paying much attention to what was going on to their left or right. Like their platoon leader they were all suffering from a serious case of target fixation. That, and a burning desire MORE THAN COURAGE

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  to get to where they were going. The farther they went the more it became painfully clear to Delmont that Shaddock's order to move quickly and be aggressive had been taken far too literally by this particular platoon.

  Identifying a problem such as a faulty tactical deployment is one thing. Having the ability to do something to rectify it is an entirely different matter. In Delmont's case he was twice handicapped.

  First, he was not part of the platoon's normal chain of command. He didn't even belong to the battalion, a fact that

  made it doubtful that anyone would pay attention to his orders since in combat a superior ranking officer does not always carry the same horsepower he would under normal circumstances. And even if he did try to sort things ou& in midstride, the resulting confusion would only serve to prolong their exposure to enemy action. Thus Dejmont opted to keep his mouth shut and go with the flow, hoping nothing would happen between here and there that would make him regret his decision.

  In the Army the saying goes that hope is not an option. No sooner had Delmont concluded that it would be best if he said nothing than a trio of figures emerged out of the shadows off to

  his right. Instinctively the special ops plans officer turned his head and brought the muzzle of his rifle to bear upon them. A single glimpse of the floppy black berets worn by soldiers of the Syrian

  | Army was all Delmont needed to see. Without a second thought he pulled up short and dropped to the classic kneeling position.

  With his right knee on the ground-and his left elbow firmly planted on his left knee, Delmont took aim, brought his breathing under control, and flipped the selector switch of his rifle onto the three-round burst. When he had the lead Syrian in his sights and was ready, he let a volley fly.

  This burst caught that unfortunate soul's center of mass. The first two rounds ripped into his abdomen, and the third penetrated his chest cavity sending him sprawling onto the hard concrete.

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  his weapon to bear on the next mark. Again the special ops officer took aim and exhaled a bit before holding the rest of that breath and squeezing the trigger.

  The rounds struck slightly higher this time, with one boring into the Syrian's right lung, the second entering and exiting his neck and the third missing completely. Like the effect on his companion, the impact of the rounds and his own forward momentum were sufficient to send him careening out of control and onto the ground.

  Having been afforded sufficient time to figure out that he was in trouble, the third Syrian soldier managed to stop, turn around, and take off at a dead run in the same direction from which he and his two dead companions had come. Determined to keep him from reaching safety Delmont began to draw a bead on him but found that he was not quick enough to finish the job. From somewhere off to his left a volley of machine-gun and rifle fire directed at the Syrian erupted. Peppered by this hail of sm
all-arms fire, the Syrian staggered and spun around before flopping onto the ground.

  When he was sure that they were in no immediate danger Delmont stood up and trotted over to where a cluster of Rangers maintained their readiness to engage any new threats. When Delmont was close enough the platoon leader called out to him. "I hope you don't mind sir, but we thought we might join in on the fun."

  Still keyed up by what he considered to be a narrow escape, it took every bit of self-control that Delmont could muster to keep from lashing out at the younger officer. But control himself he did. He even managed to respond in a tone that was almost civil.

  "Nice save, Lieutenant. Now, let's say we get this gaggle over to where we have some cover."

  Unable to see the colonel's expression in the dark and unsure how to take the comments directed at him, the lieutenant turned to his men. "Okay, Third Herd, let's move out with a purpose.

  p

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  Squad leaders," he quickly added, "watch your left and right as we go."

  The bulk of the Third Platoon reached the admin building without further incident. Upon entering, Delmont noticed a Ranger who had been with the advance party carefully stepping over half a dozen lifeless bodies scattered about on the floor, poking each one with the muzzle of his rifle as he did so. Both the Ranger and Delmont froze in place and looked up as a burst of rifle fire followed by the pounding of feet reverberated through the ceiling. When the young Ranger who had been checking the dead Syrians was sure that this latest outburst was of no immediate concern he looked over at Delmont, then to his platoon leader. "Sir, I am proud to report Allah has six new martyrs."

  Fixated on pressing forward, the young lieutenant had not taken notice of the bloody heaps that lay scattered about the open room. When he did look down at the first men killed in battle he had ever seen up close and personal, the effect upon him was quick and obvious. In an instant the color left his cheeks as his eyes grew large and round.

  Sensing what was going on Delmont stepped over a body and drew himself up in front of the platoon leader. "I'll stay here and wait for your battalion commander. You'd best get upstairs and make sure the rest of the building is secure."

  With the Pentagon staff officer standing before him the young officer turned his eyes away from the dead Syrian on the floor arid lifted his face to Delmont. "Yes, of course."

  Like his words, the platoon leader's actions were hesitant and faltering. But he managed to pull himself together and carry on.

  The departure of the Third Platoon left Delmont and the Ranger who had been checking the dead Syrians alone in the main room of the admin building. Other than an occasional smattering of small-arms fire from outside and a steady tramping of boots on the floor above, the room was silent. With nothing to do until the battalion staff arrived, Delmont watched as the Ranger 360

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  returned to his grim task of inspecting the dead. That all of the Syrians on the floor were stone-cold dead suddenly struck the staff officer. He had always imagined that even in the most vicious firefight a number of those who fell would be wounded. Close combat however has its own rules. It pits men who are animated and inflamed by the prospect of imminent danger and death eye to eye. Under such circumstances mercy and the granting of quarters is trumped by the drive to kill or be killed. It was only after the danger had passed that people like Delmont who had not been part of that killing frenzy can look upon such a scene with a clearer, more objective eye and think of compassion.

  In the middle of this interlude a phone on the reception desk began to ring. Startled, the Ranger spun around bringing his weapon to bear as he gazed at the phone for a second, then over at Delmont. "Sir, you think should we answer that?"

  Delmont made a face. "Hell, no! The fastest way to let someone in Damascus know that they're being invaded is for one of us to pick that thing up and respond with a nice cheery 'Hello' in the King's English."

  Dropping his eyes, the Ranger sheepishly muttered, "I see your point," before turning his attention back to the grisly task of poking the bodies scattered about with the toe of his boot.

  Having no desire to watch this any longer Delmont walked behind the reception counter and began to poke around in the documents left lying on desks and the counter as well as those stacked in the bookshelf behind the desk. Though he didn't speak or read a lick of Arabic, he thought he might find something of interest for the intel folks back home.

  Like an Old-West town sheriff bursting into a saloon after a gunfight, Harry Shaddock stormed into the admin building with his staff on his heels. When he saw Robert Delmont poking through a bookcase as if he were whiling away a few spare minutes by browsing through a local library, Shaddock stopped in the middle of the room as members of his staff and battalion comms section streamed past him. Satisfied that all was in order and with

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  nothing to do until his staff had set up his command post, Shaddock placed his hands on his hips and looked over at Delmont.

  "Where the hell have you been? You were supposed to rally with the headquarters section out there before heading in here."

  Knowing that the Ranger battalion commander was not the least bit angry with him, Delmont shrugged. "Sorry. I guess I didn't read that part of the OPLAN."

  Shaddock grinned. "A likely story."

  Judging from his expression and the manner in which he was conducting himself, Delmont figured that all was going well in securing the airfield. Of course this was just the preliminaries, something both colonels knew. But i^was a good start. Delmont found himself thinking as he stepped, aside in order to give the people from the operations, intelligence, and comms sections room to set up, now it's time for the main event.

  True to his word, the loadmaster aboard DeWitt's transport leaped out of his seat as soon as the first wheel of their C-17

  thumped down on the runway. Without waiting for the aircraft to come to a complete stop he began to hack away at the last of the nylon tie-downs that secured the Hummers to the floorboards.

  They had practiced all of this so many times before that it was no big deal doing so in the dark interior of the transport, with all the engines of the Hummers revved up and the adrenaline glands of every person in the cargo hold madly pumping away. The only difference now was that there were no neutral observers standing around, watching every move and making notes. That, and the fact that the opposing force Company A was about to take on had real bullets.

  Such trivial nuances were the furthest thing from Emmett DeWitt's mind. Seated in the lead Hummer he was leaning so far forward that the seat belt strapped about his waist seemed to be the only thing keeping him from springing up and out of his vehicle.

  Like every man in his command who could do so, DeWitt was 362

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  staring at the partially open rear ramp of the transport waiting until it dropped away completely to reveal what lay beyond. They did not have long to wait.

  With a lurch the pilot brought the massive transport to a complete halt. When the loadmaster felt this, he finished dropping the ramp. Having gauged the time that this would take during repeated rehearsals back at Fort Irwin, DeWitt had no need to wait for a signal to go. Thrusting his clenched fist forward, the young company commander let out a shout that had become something of a motto for Company A. "Let's roll, Alpha!"

  Forward they rolled, squirting out of the C-17 as fast as they dared. In quick succession each Hummer charged down the ramp and onto the concrete runway. In an instant everything was familiar and everything strange. All of the structures DeWitt laid eyes upon were familiar, every major landmark where it was supposed to be. But now it was all so real, all so correct and clean and solid.

  There was none of the rickety ad hoc appearance of the mock buildings that they had trained on in California. Everything that DeWitt's eyes took in as his humvee sped across the open runway was so real that
it bordered on being almost surreal.

  But real it was, as real as the wind whipping across his face as his driver raced for the front gate of the airfield. With a quick shake of his head DeWitt cleared his thoughts and slipped back into his company commander mode. His Hummer had neither top nor full doors, giving him an unobstructed 360-degree view.

  Unhooking his seat belt DeWitt grasped the frame of the windshield, pulled himself up, and looked behind him. Through the night-vision device that was part of his Land Warrior system he could see the line of Hummers flowing from the pair of transports in a fast-moving and unbroken chain. So far so good.

  Easing back into his seat, DeWitt keyed his radio transmitter.

  "Black Six, this is Red Six. Red is on the ground and rolling. Do we have a go, over?"

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  In lieu of full radio call signs it had been decided to use abbreviated call signs that would be easy to recall during fast-moving operations, thus expediting rapid and clear communications. Battalion used the pro-word Black followed by a number such as six, which has become over the years the universal numeric designation for a commander. The companies used the colors, red for Alpha, white for Bravo, blue for Charlie, and green for Delta.

  In the admin building where the battalion operations section of the 3rd of the 75th had set up Shaddock's command post an assistant operations officer heard DeWitt's call. Snatching up the radio hand mike, he called out to Shaddock. "Sir, Red Six is on the move and asking for permission to proceed.

  In an instant all conversations came to an end. Making every effort to maintain an aura of calm, Shaddock reached out and took the proffered hand mike. Clearing his throat he keyed the radio. "Red Six, this is Black Six. Wait, over."

  Lowering the hand mike, he looked at his operations officer.

  "Well?"

  The battalion S-3 nodded. "All companies have secured their assigned objectives. The road to Damascus is clear."

  While taking in a deep breath, Shaddock glanced at Delmont.