by Harold Coyle
He was in the midst of preparing for his final ordeal when Kannen's trained ear alerted him to inconsistencies. The first was the sound of two low-grade explosions. Instead of the shattering roar that a bomb makes, these rumbling detonations reminded the Special Forces NCO of demo charges. And the smattering of small-arms fire didn't sound right at all, either. Some of it was quite near while most seemed decidedly far off and distant, as if it were coming from other parts of the prison complex. Only after 374
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he abandoned his communion with God was Kannen able to note the difference in pitch that some of the small arms gave off Though his surroundings distorted the sound, once he turned his full attention to the matter it became clear to him that most of the firing was not being done by AKs like those carried by the Syrian guards. Rather, the distinctive pop-pop-pop he managed to discern was that of 5.56-mm rounds being fired, ammunition common to M-16s and M-4s, American-made weapons.
Like a thunderclap it finally dawned on him what was happening.
They were coming. They were finally coming for them. After all this time, after all his prayers, after all his suffering, his fellow soldiers were here to save him.
Yet as the din of battle drew nearer Kannen found that this revelation brought him no joy, no relief. Rather, he was all but paralyzed by a sudden rush of contradictory feelings and thoughts. The first response that gripped him was fear. After having survived for so long and endured so many horrors the idea that he could still be killed by his captors to keep him from being saved or even his saviors during a wild firefight in the dark took hold. Shaking his head, Kannen struggled to regain his composure even as tears began to well up in his eyes, and he found himself muttering out loud, "No. Not now."
He was still struggling to maintain his composure and brace himself for whatever came next when he heard a chorus of screams just outside his cell door. "NO SHOOT! NO SHOOT!"
In response to these pleas screeched by the panicked Syrians in the outside hallway, Kannen heard an American bellow out,
"On your knees, motherfuckers. On your knees, and hands behind your head!"
After a moment of shuffling and scuffling in the hallway, Kannen could hear an American who had moved closer to his cell order a Syrian to start opening the cell doors. Still standing in the middle of the floor, Kannen's troubled mind now turned to what he should do. His first thought was to rush to the door and start pounding on it while shouting, "Pm in here! I'm in here!" But MORE THAN COURAGE
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after giving it a second thought he dismissed this as being unwise since the Americans out in the corridor were keyed up and working on a hair trigger. Any sudden and unexpected noise could unleash a hail of gunfire directed at the source. So Kannen decided the best thing he could do was to stand there and wait.
After having endured so much he figured he could hang on a few more seconds.
Then came the sound of something pounding on the door. A rifle butt, Kannen guessed. "Hey! Anyone in there?"
This was a new voice, not the same one that had spewed the profane string of orders to the hapless Syrian guards who had been in the corridor. It took Kannen a moment to clear his throat and respond. When he did, the calmriess and correctness of his reply surprised him. "Sergeant First Class Allen Kannen, U.S.
Army."
After a brief moment of silence, Kannen heard a chatter of voices. "All right!" and "Hey, we found one," were all he could distinguish, as the American on the other side of the door shouted to someone else and then back to Kannen. "Hang on, good buddy. We'll have you out of here in a sec."
True to his word, it took but a moment. After a brief pause, a rattle of keys, and the familiar sound of the steel bolt being snapped back the door swung open to reveal a pair of heavily armed Rangers decked out in full battle gear standing to either side of the doorway peering in through the opening. Still finding it hard to believe that his deliverance was at hand, Kannen moved slowly through the open door taking time to glance to the left and right into the faces of his saviors as he passed them. Once out of his cell, Kannen found he had to step aside in order to avoid the cluster of Syrians who had been corralled in the hallway by the Rangers. One of the Americans whom Kannen assumed to be the senior member of the group standing before him ordered his men to hustle the Syrians into the cell. "Get 'em in there and slam the door."
Like a disinterested observer, Kannen watched as the Rangers 376
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kicked and shoved the frightened guards into his now-vacated cell. When the senior Ranger noticed the expression on Kannen's face, he called to him. "We can't take the bastards back with us, so we're going to lock 'em up."
It was at that moment that the injustice of this struck Kannen.
From the depths of his soul, a voice called out, "This cannot be allowed to stand."
Even as the last of the Syrians was booted into the waiting cell Kannen inspected the Rangers who stood around him. When he saw what he was looking for he walked over to him, reached up, and removed a hand grenade from the strap that secured it to the Ranger's flak vest. In silence the Rangers watched as Kannen walked to the still-open door. As he stood there the Special Forces NCO pulled the pin, let the arming spoon fly, and tossed the grenade into the room that had imprisoned him for so long.
Without having to be told, the Ranger holding the door open slammed it shut and jerked the bolt closed.
After what seemed like an eternity, the first of the search teams from Second Platoon reappeared at the outer breach with a newly liberated American in tow. No one said a word as the four Rangers and their charge made their way through the hole, into the street and over to one of the waiting Hummers.
From his post at the breach Quinn watched the entire process impassively. Somehow he imagined that he would have felt some sort of joy or elation. Yet the emotions that he experienced at that moment of triumph were nothing of the sort. If anything, he had become so desensitized by rehearsals and repeated drills that the actual event was turning out to be anticlimactic. The first cognitive thought that came to mind as he watched the men of the Second Platoon scamper away was the trite old saying, "Is this all there is?"
The young platoon leader was reflecting upon this when Staff MORE THAN COURAGE
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Sergeant Jones called over the platoon net. "Here comes Number Two."
Leaning over, Quinn peered through the breach catching sight of the second search-and-rescue team as it emerged from the prison building and began to rnake its way to where he waited.
From the other side of the hole, Kaplan called out. "Two down, three to go."
Quinn looked up at him but said nothing. He found himself quite embarrassed by the growing sense of disappointment that he was experiencing. The event that had come to dominate his every waking hour for so long was about to come to an end without his having to do anything but drive through Damascus, stand next to a hole in the wall, and then drive back. Instead of being the shining moment of his short military career, this entire raid was turning out to be something of a disappointment. As unprofessional as this thought was, and as much as he wanted to dissociate himself from this sort of thinking, Quinn knew in his heart and soul that it was true. Success was depriving him of the sort of excitement that he had come to expect from close combat, something that he suddenly found himself craving.
The young platoon leader was struggling with this moral dilemma when an order blared over the company net that caught Quinn by surprise. "Red thirty-six, this is Red Six. Report to my location immediately with our technical advisor, over."
Confused, Quinn shook his head, and mumbled to his radioman, "Technical advisor?"
The radioman, Specialist Four Robert Hoyt, who had nothing to do at the moment thanks to the Land Warrior's integrated radio network, returned Quinn's blank stare and shrugged.
From the other side of the breach Kaplan reached across and lightly touched Quinn's sleeve. "Lieutenant, I think he
means me."
Glancing up at the lieutenant colonel, Quinn blinked. "Oh, yeah. I guess so."
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Positive that he was correct and not wishing to waste any time waiting for the young officer to sort all this out, Kaplan ducked through the hole in the wall and took off, shouting as he went,
"Let's go, Lieutenant."
Knowing an order when he heard it, Quinn followed suit, as did his radioman.
Not having been privy to the company net, the sound and reverberation of pounding boots approaching his position from behind caught Staff Sergeant Jones off guard. Rising onto his elbows and turning, he caught sight of the trio rushing up to where he was. "What the--"
Jones's movement caused Washington and Bannon to follow suit. By the time they had managed to twist their heads about, Kaplan had reached their skirmish line and was passing through it.
In quick succession Quinn, with Hoyt on his heels, made their way through the prone figures of Jones's squad. By now everyone was watching the trio as they disappeared through the second tactical breach. Only after the trio were in the prison building did Washington put to words the thought that had crossed all of their minds. "Shit. Something's gone wrong."
Though he suspected that this was the case since nothing in the plan called for Quinn to move forward like this, Jones said nothing. Until he received further orders, the mission of his squad remained the same. "Okay, folks, heads up. Open your ears and eyes, watch your sectors, and stand by for a change in mission."
DeWitt wasted no time with any longwinded explanations. "Two of the Green Berets are unaccounted for. Second Platoon has completed its sweep of all the cells in this part of the building and has been unable to find them."
This statement came as no surprise to either Kaplan or Quinn.
At each and every step of planning and preparation for Fanfare this sort of situation had been addressed and debated. Some, MORE THAN COURAGE
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recalling the aborted attempt to liberate POWs during the Vietnam War, referred to this as the Son Tay scenario. After considering all possibilities, it had been decided that in the event some or all of the members of RT Kilo could not be found in those places where intelligence stated they were supposed to be, the operation would be terminated and the 3rd of the 75th would immediate
; withdraw. Everyone knew this. No one much liked to think about actually having to execute this contingency, but they all under
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stood the practicality of it. The worst thing they could do, Shaddock had pointed out while covering the contingency during his briefings, was to run about willy-nilly, searching for people who K might be long gone.
m. "The XO of the Special Forces tdam here," DeWitt continued, motioning toward a bedraggled figure squatting next to him, "told me that their CO was severely injured when they were captured. The XO thinks Burman is alive but that he may be in the prison's clinic."
Kaplan immediately understood the problem. The Son Tay scenario assumed an all-or-nothing situation. Either everyone was where they were supposed to be or they were not. This situation presented DeWitt and the 3rd of the 75th as a whole with a real predicament. They suspected they knew where at least one of the missing men was and they believed that he was close at hand. But to explore that possibility required a radical alteration of the plan, one that would extend their time on the ground and place a fair number of Rangers at risk.
"My first thought is to go after him," DeWitt declared, "but we've got other issues that we need to consider."
Kaplan looked at Quinn, then at the battered figure that he assumed was Aveno, who was listening but not really part of the circle.
"The First Platoon is running into some vicious resistance.
The XO with them seems to think the Syrians are throwing everything they have at them."
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For the first time Kaplan spoke. "That doesn't make any sense. The prisoners are here. This is where I would expect the Syrians to send reinforcements."
DeWitt grunted. "Yeah, I know. Those were my exact thoughts. That's why I'm thinking there's more going on than meets the eye. Either we're being set up for one hell of a trap or we've stumbled onto something bigger than anyone who planned this thing imagined."
Quinn chimed in. "Such as?"
"Negative knowledge, Lieutenant. All I know is that we have a hard decision to make and not much time to make it."
Without hesitation Kaplan volunteered his opinion. "We have to go after Burman. To come this close and fail now would be disastrous."
Again, Quinn spoke up. "Okay, that's one. But what about the second man who's missing? Is he with the team CO?"
For the first time since this debate began, Ken Aveno spoke.
"I haven't seen Lieutenant Ciszak since the night we were captured.
If he's not in the hospital ward where they're keeping Burman, he's either dead or he's been taken someplace else for special handling." Having no way of knowing for sure just how Aveno knew this, none of the Fanfare team questioned his statement.
"Okay," DeWitt blurted, "here's what I've decided. The First Platoon is decisively engaged. They can hold their own but won't be able to look for Burman and Ciszak. Second Platoon is already pretty much used up, given the need to escort and cover those Green Berets we already have. So, I'm going to change roles here.
What's left of the Second Platoon will cover the two breaches.
Lieutenant Quinn, your two squads that are posted at the breaches will become the search-and-rescue teams that will go after Burman and Ciszak. We'll use this spot here as our jump-off point. Once we've finished the search everyone will rally point here and we'll execute our egress as briefed. Quinn, I'll go with you and your two squads. Lieutenant Hatterman will stay here with his platoon and what's left of yours. Questions?"
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Kaplan looked around, then at DeWitt. "Where do you want me?"
For the first time he detected a hesitation as DeWitt spoke. "If you don't mind, Colonel, I'd like you to come with me. It seems that I can't make heads or tails of some of these navigational programs and I don't have time to sort them out at the moment."
Under ordinary circumstances this sort of confession by a combat arms officer to him would have evoked a smile. But these were not ordinary circumstances. "I am at your disposal, Lieutenant.
I'll inform battalion of the situation and your decision while you sort out your company."
DeWitt nodded. "I appreciate that." Then he turned to the assembled group. "Okay, people. We'have a lot to do and not much time. Let's make it happen."
Syria
04:35 LOCAL, 20:35 EASTERN (00:35 ZULU)
The silence that gripped the airport admin building was ominous as DeWitt described the situation he faced and his plan for dealing with it. Listening to this from opposite sides of the room Shaddock and Delmont exchanged glances^ As the commanding officer of the 3rd of the 75th, it was up to Shaddock to approve his subordinate's actions or order him to cease and desist. Yet even he could not deny that Delmont had the power to veto any decision Shaddock made that deviated from the approved plan of action. It wasn't something that either man had discussed. It was just an acceptance of the reality of their relative positions. Shaddock was a battalion commander, an important part of the chain of command, but one that was, in the scheme of things, pretty low on the ladder. Delmont, on the other hand not only rubbed shoulders with the Army's senior decision makers, he generated and wrote the plans they used in carrying out their Commander in Chief's directives. So it was no great stretch for anyone who thought it through to appreciate that when it came time for a decision to be made, Robert Delmont's Opinion would weigh heavily.
Having finished rendering his report, DeWitt asked the assistant battalion ops officer, who had been serving as the radio telephone operator on the battalion command net, for a decision from the batt
alion commander. Looking over to his commanding officer, the captain who had been talking to DeWitt called out.
"Sir? Your response?"
In the ensuing stillness the two lieutenant colonels stared at each other. Any effort by Shaddock to figure out what Delmont 384
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was thinking by reading his expression was defeated by the poker face that a staff officer in Delmont's position quickly developed.
For his part, Delmont understood what Shaddock was asking without the need to have the question spelled out. Still, he held back if for no other reason than to preserve the illusion that Shaddock was the man who would make the ultimate decision.
Finally, Shaddock began by clearing his throat. "Well, Colonel?"
Delmont
made a show of shrugging as if his opinion didn't matter. "Your lads came here to do a job. It would be a pity to come all this way and not finish it."
Shaddock nodded. "I agree." Then he looked at the assistant ops officer. "Tell Lieutenant DeWitt to get on with it." He wanted to add, "and be quick," but didn't feel that he had any need to. DeWitt and every member of Company A was already well aware that the clock was ticking.
In the distance the firefight between First Platoon and the Syrian garrison ebbed and flowed. Just when it seemed as if it were subsiding a sudden outburst would revive the din to its former intensity.
With each step these renewed outbursts grew more distinct, as Quinn and his two squads made their way through the long dark corridors, up several flights of stairs, and closer to the deadly standoff.
In response to the heightening of the tension that gripped them, each and every member of this ad hoc rescue group redoubled his vigilance as they tightened their grasp of their weapons.
Up front, just behind the two men who were on point, DeWitt and Kaplan hugged the wall as they made their way forward.
In whispered tones Kaplan called out directions. "Right at the end of this corridor. There will be double doors on either end of the corridor we'll be moving into."