by Harold Coyle
"Well, here we go." Lifting the hand mike to his mouth, the battalion again keyed it. "Red Six, this is Black Six. You are a go, over. I say again, you are go."
From somewhere out on the runway, just outside the open doors of the admin building DeWitt came back with a quick, crisp
"Roger that. Red Six out."
With nothing left for him to do at the moment, Shaddock gave the hand mike back to the assistant ops officer, turned, and walked out of the bustling ops center. After looking around and sensing that he was simply getting in the way, Robert Delmont followed. By the time Delmont caught up with the commanding officer of the 3rd of the 75th, DeWitt's company was roaring by.
When Delmont fell in on Shaddock's left, Shaddock glanced at him, then back at the Hummers. "Is this going to work?"
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The question came as no surprise to the special ops plans officer who had given birth to and nurtured Fanfare. Having asked himself the same question over and over again, Delmont now found that he was unable to respond with the same forcefulness that he had been able to use so many times before when senior officers back in Washington had asked the same thing. Like DeWitt and the platoon leader he had accompanied to the admin building, Delmont found the experience of coming face-to-face with the reality unfolding all around him almost overwhelming.
Almost, but not quite.
Syria
04:15 LOCAL, 20:15 EASTERN, 00:15 ZULU
There is only so much that training can do to prepare a soldier for the experience of combat. This truism quickly became apparent to Second Lieutenant Peter Quinn as he led his Third Platoon down the road from the military airfield and into the heart of the Syrian capital. The transition from open desert to city was startling.
As his Hummer charged down the broad and deserted boulevards Quinn found he was unable to keep himself from glancing left and right, catching glimpses of the same sort of urban landmarks and features that were at once familiar to him and yet strange. Unremarkable was the sight of shops and restaurants lining the streets Quinn's platoon traversed. Like any city just before dawn, automobiles sat idle at the curbside, patiently awaiting their owners, who lived in the apartments that towered above them.
Yet there were more than enough cues to remind the young platoon leader that he was going into battle. Over the roar of his Hummer's engine Quinn could discern the wail of air-raid sirens that continued to blare a warning to people who had long ago fled to shelters and basements. The weight of his high-tech battle gear and the weapon lying across his lap served to keep him focused on his duties. Still, he found it all but impossible to shut out the guilty childlike exhilaration he was experiencing at being in a military vehicle bristling with guns as it flew along in total darkness at breakneck speed. The muted reports being rendered over the radio by the other platoon leaders calling in the check 366
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points along their route as they crossed them added to the excitement.
All of this brought the young officer to a state of heightened awareness unlike anything he had ever experienced before.
It was an intoxicating feeling, an all-consuming sensation that bordered on being erotic.
If it were to succeed, the assault on the prison had to be swift and decisive. The walled complex of buildings that occupied a city block and included the prison where RT Kilo was being held would be hit from two directions in quick succession. The first in would be DeWitt's First Platoon. Their task was simple and straightforward. They were killers, men tasked with seeking out, engaging, and eliminating those Syrian soldiers who had managed to stay alive up to that point. In executing this duty the members of the First Platoon had been instructed to be bold, ruthless and conspicuous. By going in first the First Platoon would offer itself up as a matador's red cape. Though the cape is flashy and inflaming, it is the sword that is held back until the right moment that presents the real threat to the bull.
In executing their duties the First Platoon was ordered to do everything it could to restrict its activities to that portion of the prison complex where the garrison was billeted in and to reduce the chance of friendly-fire incidents. Of course there was always the possibility that the Syrians would not cooperate with the American plan. Just in case a Syrian officer did manage to correctly assess the situation and attempt to keep First Platoon in check while turning on the rest of Company A, the .First Platoon had the freedom to push on beyond the garrison area in an effort to keep pressure on the enemy and off the rest of the company. If this became necessary the First Platoon would be greatly assisted in sorting out Syrians and fellow Rangers by employing the identify-friend-and-foe feature of their individual Land Warriors.
Since the prisoners would be locked away in cells anyone who was MORE THAN COURAGE
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up and running about had to be either a member of Company A or a Syrian. When confronted with a target in the open, if the IFF
didn't squawk out the code for friend, the Rangers of the First Platoon would be free to fire. In another day and age the rules of engagement might have required both visual as well as some other sort of confirmation like a password and countersign. But the young men belonging to the First Platoon were comfortable with their electronic gadgets and computers. They had no reservations whatsoever about betting their lives and that of their fellow Rangers on the highly sophisticated system designed to enhance and magnify their abilities to carry out their grim and bloody undertaking.
While the First Platoon was in the process of hunting down their hapless prey, Quinn's Third Platoon would hit the prison from a point directly opposite of where the First Platoon was busily slaying the garrison and raising hell. The task assigned to the Third Platoon was decidedly less dramatic, but no less important.
Supported by a section of combat engineers it had to first breach the outer wall that ran along a side street not much bigger than an alley. Once it had secured this point of entry as well as both ends of the street, the bulk of the platoon would press on into the prison building itself. Upon reaching that structure rather than storming the main entrance, the combat engineers would once more execute a tactical breach through the wall of the cellblock where RT Kilo was believed to be. That was as far as the Third Platoon would go, since by now it would be spread rather thin.
At that point the Second Platoon came into play. They were the chosen few, the select handful of men who would make or break Fanfare. The efforts and labors of thousands of American servicemen and women scattered around the world as well as the other platoons of Company A had one purpose and one purpose only: to support the thirty Rangers of Second Platoon. For the next fifteen minutes success or failure hung in the balance as those 368
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men swept into the cellblock and secured the surviving members of RT Kilo.
To carry out their assignment, DeWitt had divided each of Second Platoon's squads into two teams. Led by an NCO each of these teams carried all the wherewithal needed to overcome any barriers that barred their way or take out any opposition they met.
Once in the cellblock area of the prison the teams would move from cell to cell, conducting a methodical search until they had secured all of the American prisoners. When a four-man team did come across a member of RT Kilo, it would husde him out through the pair of tactical breaches defended by the Third Platoon and back into the alley where the Hummers of both Second and Third Platoons were parked. Only when all personnel from both platoons and all members of RT Kilo were accounted for or all possibilities had been exhausted would Company A break contact, withdraw, and charge back to the airfield.
Throughout this entire operation, First Lieutenant Emmett DeWitt would be with the Third Platoon's squad assigned the task of securing the cellblock breach. With him was a radioman and Lieutenant Colonel Kaplan. DeWitt's executive officer was with the First Platoon. For DeWitt this part of the operation would be the most difficult, for he was right there, literally
standing in the open door where he would be able to watch the men of his Second Platoon going about their tasks. Yet there was nothing for him to do during this portion of the raid. Everyone knew what was expected of him. Each and every officer, NCO, and enlisted man had rehearsed their part over and over again until they knew it by heart and could execute the entire operation without saying a word. In theory, if all went the way it was supposed to, DeWitt could go through this entire operation uttering nothing more than an occasional "Roger" as his subordinates rendered updates on their status and progress. Of course, if there is one thing that history does teach, it is that theory is little more than an academic exercise. War is not. It is instead an affair of chance.
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Just before the transport carrying the Hummer driven by PFC
Bryan Ulysses Pulaski, and the rest of Quinn's First Squad, had touched down, Pulaski's squad leader had repeated DeWitt's orders. "We do everything just as we did during the last rehearsal. Don't change a damned thing." Unfortunately Staff Sergeant Henry Jones had forgotten to remind Pulaski not to slam on the brakes when he brought the Hummer to a stop, a habit he had developed at Irwin. So it should have come as no surprise to anyone that Pulaski, pumped up by the excitement of the moment, instinctively stomped down on the brakes as soon as he rounded the corner and entered the back street that ran alongside the outer prison wall. Only the fact that they were going into combat kept Jones from slapping his driver up the side of his helmet as he repeatedly did at Irwin whenever Pulaski's precipitous braking launched Jones headlong into the Hummer's windshield.
The other members of the squad who shared this vehicle weren't as forgiving. Using the butt of his rifle, PFC Johnny Washington thumped Pulaski from behind. "Asshole! You do that on purpose. I know you do that on purpose."
"Hey, Johnny! You're broadcasting over the squad net." The warning from Specialist Four George Bannon, the squad's SAW
gunner did nothing to mitigate Washington's anger.
"I don't care if I'm going out over Armed Forces Network.
The man's a menace."
Already on the ground and ready to go forward, Jones looked back and caught sight of the lieutenant colonel who had been foisted upon him at the last moment. Like the others who had been sandwiched into the rear of the Hummer, Neil Kaplan was doing his best to regain his balance and sort himself out while simultaneously trying to climb over the side. "Come on, people,"
Jones said in a low voice. "We've got a wall to breach."
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He had no sooner made this statement than he felt the presence of someone next to him. "What's holding you up, Jones?"
Turning to Quinn, Jones did his best to cover the hapless deployment of his men. "We're on it, sir."
Quinn was in no mood to brook any delay. "The hell you are.
The engineers are already at the wall. Now get your people over there and give them cover."
Spinning about, Jones echoed his platoon leader's command.
Grabbing a handful of uniform belonging to the first man he could reach Jones tugged and shouted. "You heard him, people. Move! Move! Move!"
The last of Jones's squad was sliding into position to cover the engineers working at the wall when DeWitt arrived. Pausing next to Quinn and on the opposite side from where Kaplan stood, DeWitt said nothing. Instead he nervously glanced down at his watch. Though it was not meant to, this action did nothing to quell the uneasiness that Quinn felt building up within. For a moment he debated if it would not be better to move closer to the wall and join his First Squad if for no other reason than to escape the proximity of his superior. Then, as quickly as that thought had entered his mind he dismissed it. He had never done that during their rehearsals. Like DeWitt, he had held back in the lee of the Hummers until the first breach had been executed.
Going forward now would only add to the confusion and pass onto his men the same sort of disquieting effect DeWitt was having on him. So he did his best to contain his mounting anxiety and put up a brave front.
The command barked by the senior engineer NCO, "Clear the site," brought an immediate response. Jones's men scattered.
DeWitt, Kaplan, and Quinn crouched low behind the Hummer.
And the engineers, save for their squad leader, sought cover. Even before the last of the engineers had settled in, their senior NCO
bellowed, "Fire in the hole!" as he gave the friction fuse a quick jerk before scrambling to his feet and dashing off.
The detonation, while somewhat less than spectacular, was MORE THAN COURAGE
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more than effective. The roar of the blast was still echoing off the buildings and walls lining the street when Jones was up and charging headlong into the cloud of smoke and dust. "First Squad, go."
After having run this drill countless times this bit of bravado was technically unnecessary. Everyone in his squad was already on his feet and headed toward the breach by the time Jones had shouted. His men knew the order that they would assume as they passed through the freshly excavated hole in the wall. Bannon didn't need to be told that as soon as he was through it he was to rush forward fifteen yards, flop down, and take up a good firing position, ready to engage anything that moved. Pulaski would be next, as he always was moving over to the left of Bannon once through the breach. The lead-footed driver would be followed by Jones, who would shoot off to the right of the vigilant SAW gunner.
Without a word, each and every member of Quinn's First Squad went through the still-smoldering hole and squirted out the other side to a predetermined position from which he would be able to cover the advance to the cellblock. Still, Jones had felt the need to sing out his order, just as he always did, for these were men, his men. In combat as in training soldiers need to hear familiar voices, whether they be giving orders, shouting warnings, or sounding off with words of encouragement. The familiar sounds tended to steel their resolve and remind them that they were not alone.
Within seconds the entire First Squad was set and all was clear, a fact Jones broadcast over the platoon net. Upon hearing this the combat engineers scrambled through the first hole they had created and rushed forward toward the cellblock where they would repeat this feat.
Both Quinn and DeWitt waited until the last of the engineers had cleared the breach at the outer wall before moving up to it.
Standing on either side of the breach, the two officers peered into the open courtyard. Through the lingering smoke and dust they could see Jones's men scattered on the ground. Each man had 372
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taken up a prone firing position from which he could cover his assigned sector. Without pausing engineers rushed through this thin skirmish line, crouching low as they made their way to the point at the prison wall that they were to penetrate.
Stacked up behind both DeWitt and Quinn and crouching against the outer wall were members of Quinn's Second Squad. As soon as the prison building had been breached they would do as Jones's men had, rushing through the second breach forming a tight horseshoe perimeter once they were inside the cellblock itself.
Only when they were set and all resistance within the cellblock had been quelled would DeWitt's Second Platoon, followed by DeWitt himself, go forth and commence their search for the members of RT Kilo. Quinn, with one squad in the alley watching the Hummers, one squad in the open courtyard keeping the escape corridor open, and a third inside the prison covering the search-and-rescue effort, would remain at the first breach site. From there he would be able to directly oversee the activities and control two of his squads. He would also provide DeWitt with a point of contact who could move the Hummers if the need arose. Though no one stated as much, this made Quinn little more than a highly paid horse holder and an officer with nothing to do but watch and wait.
Since he had not participated in any of the rehearsals and no one had taken the time to sit down and discuss his role in any detail with DeWitt, Neil K
aplan was pretty much left on his own when it came to determining where he should place himself during the assault, and the search and rescue. Instinctively he wanted to rush forward in the wake of DeWitt and get right up there where the real action was. As a professional officer, however, he managed to restrain this urge and hold back. Rather than getting in the way he remained behind with Quinn. From there he would be able to concentrate on monitoring the operation using the Land Warrior system he wore and had programmed especially for this. With practiced ease he scrolled through his special menus, calling up data on the status and location of each platoon in turn and then the company as a whole. To his satisfaction he found he MORE THAN COURAGE
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was able to read the entire situation down to the individual soldier from where he sat balled up with his back against the outer wall.
The system was working. And so too, to his satisfaction and relief, was the operation.
h
After a pause of a couple of minutes, the ear-shattering explosions and thunder of low-flying jet engines were replaced by the rattle of small-arms fire, the rumble of nearby explosions, and the hurried thump of boots running. Sergeant First Class Kannen, having resigned himself to the fact that the Air Force wasn't going to deliver him from this hell on earth with a quick and merciful death, suddenly found himself becoming irritated. Not only had the flyboys screwed up by not bringing this entire affair to a quick and merciful end, they had pissed off the Syrians.
Even as he went about picking himself up off the floor and turning to face the door, Kannen could hear the excited voices of guards outside in the corridor shouting back and forth to each other as they made their way past his cell. He was in for a painful round of beatings for sure, he told himself. They weren't the sort to just walk in and shoot him out of hand. No, they were simply too cruel and too callous to be quick. They would make him and whoever else from RT Kilo had survived thus far suffer for the visit the Air Force had paid them before killing them. Having resigned himself to this fate Kannen drew himself up in the center of the room faced the door, and waited. As he did so, he cleared his mind and began to make his peace with God.