More than courage

by Harold Coyle

  At the tail end of this file was DeWitt, who was finding that he was even more conflicted than Jones as to where he should be.

  His mind was that of a professional soldier and an officer. He was trained to be analytical and conditioned to be callous to the harsh realities of war, which included the need to place the men he led in harm's way. Yet his heart called upon him to go back to where his Second Squad was engaging the enemy in desperate rearguard action and join them. He was torn between marching to the sound of the guns or staying where he could best oversee the evacuation of the prisoners his company had been sent to rescue.

  Either decision could be justified. Both could turn out to be wrong.

  Up front, Kaplan faced no such impasse. His only concern was balancing his desire to move things along by setting as rapid a pace as possible and giving the two Rangers hauling Burman the time necessary to safely navigate the dark stairwell they were winding their way through. He was standing on the second-to last landing they would have to pass, looking back at Pulaski when a commotion from below caught his attention.

  The Land Warrior is a marvelous state-of-the-art system that combines and integrates various functions that enhance the effectiveness of the soldier. Various sights extend and improve the soldier's ability to acquire and engage targets. Networking provides leaders and commanders the ability to maneuver and control their MORE THAN COURAGE

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  subordinates. And the improved armor provides a higher degree of survivability. One thing that the Land Warrior does not enhance, however, is a soldier's hearing. If anything, the Land Warrior headset and the helmet design tends to degrade a soldier's ability to detect sounds. In the overall scheme of things it's a minor sacrifice since man is a visually oriented creature. But there are times when audio cues can make a difference, a big difference.

  Deafened by his own arduous breathing and the clamor caused by the gyrations Pulaski and Washington were forced to go through in order to negotiate the stairwell, Kaplan did not become aware of the party of soldiers rushing up toward him until they were literally face-to-face. Turning toward a vaguely heard threat, Kaplan was greeted by in excited scream that issued from the lead Syrian. Startled by the sudden appearance of this dark apparition before him, and its unholy screech, Kaplan instinctively did what any well-trained soldier would do under these circumstances. Without thinking and without hesitation, he brought his rifle up, flipping the safety to the three-round-burst mode as he did so, shoved the muzzle into the face of the foe before him, and fired.

  The sudden and totally unexpected outbreak of gunfire from the front of the column on the stairwell below caught everyone by complete surprise. All debates that both Jones and DeWitt had been struggling with as to where they should be disappeared in a flash of gunfire. Jones, who was close enough to see what was going on, did not hesitate as he leveled his weapon and forced his way past the stretcher party, who did their best to make way for him. In the tight confines of the stairwell this was all but impossible.

  Still, somehow Jones managed to squeeze through, while Pulaski and Washington struggled to keep from dropping the stretcher or dumping Burman over.

  From his position in the rear of the column, DeWitt tried to do the same thing. His efforts to do so were frustrated by the balance of Jones's squad as they dashed forward to join their squad 396

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  leader. He watched the man before him make his way forward as quickly as the congestion on the stairs permitted. To DeWitt it seemed that he was doomed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time every time something happened. Still, that did not make him impotent or unable to influence the situation that was developing below. It was in this sort of situation that the Land Warrior more than proved its worth. Mashing down on the transmit button of his radio, DeWitt called the platoon leader of his Second Platoon. Without waiting to explain the situation in detail, he ordered that officer to bring forward as many men as he could scrape together to the base of the stairwell they were in and hit the Syrians from the rear.

  Up front Kaplan was trading shots with the Syrians. Ignoring the zing of bullets flying past him he pressed forward in an effort to put as much space as he could between the enemy and the pair of men behind him carrying Burman. This effort was both hampered and helped by the corpse of the man he had shot dead with his first volley, slowing his advance as he struggled to maintain his footing while stepping over it and pressing home his solitary attack at the same time. This delay, though, allowed Jones to catch up to him. Without thinking the Ranger squad leader pushed Kaplan aside, yelling, "Comin3 through!" as he did so.

  Without hesitation Kaplan pressed his back against the wall of the stairwell in order to let Jones and the squad's SAW gunner rush on by and take up the fight. Like DeWitt, even in the heat of battle, his training checked the visceral responses that had been driving him up to this point. The time had come for him to get out of the way and let the Rangers do what they did best. Besides, even though he hadn't run out of ammunition during his shortlived and mad, impetuous charge, Kaplan figured the time had come to change magazines and catch his breath.

  By the time DeWitt managed to make his way to where he stood, Kaplan had managed to collect himself and swap his nearly empty magazine for a fresh one. On his way by, DeWitt slowed down, "You okay?"

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  Kaplan nodded. "Fine.

  "If you could, Colonel, take up a position behind the stretcher and watch our rear."

  DeWitt's last comment came out as an order, one Kaplan had no problem with.

  "Wilco."

  With that the two officers parted, Kaplan going to the rear and DeWitt doing his damnedest to get a handle on a situation that was threatening to spin out of control.

  Syria

  04:50 LOCAL, 20:50 EASTERN (00:50 ZULU)

  In the street adjacent to the prison the Third Squad of Quinn's platoon, the Rangers of the Second Platoon who had liberated the members of RT Kilo from their cells, and the trio of Green Berets waited in silence for the ordefrto move out. All could hear the scattered firefights raging in the prison that lay on the other side of the wall. Most of the Rangers, wired into the company, platoon, and squad nets, were able to keep tabs on what the situation was as they watched and waited.

  The men whom they had come to rescue, on the other hand, were left figuratively and literally in the dark. Once out of the cellblock and through the second tactical breach Aveno, Kannen, and Mendez had been gathered in one of the Hummer transports.

  There they had been given a quick exam by a medic whose sole concern was obvious wounds and injuries. After that, they had been left on their own as the unexpected change in the situation forced DeWitt to mobilize every man he could to fill out the search-and-rescue party that had gone after Burman and Ciszak.

  This left the Rangers charged with guarding the vehicles and their three charges spread thin. The anxiety and vulnerability that these Rangers had already felt at being posted on an open street of the Syrian capital were magnified by the changing situation they were now facing. In all the excitement and sudden change in plans, no one thought of going back to where Aveno, Kannen, and Mendez sat to apprise them of what was going on. Since no one had foreseen a need to do so, it had never been planned or rehearsed.

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  From where he sat the only way Sergeant First Class Kannen could gauge how things were going was by studying the expressions and behavior of those Rangers near at hand. Their expressions told him that their worries were far from over. In the course of evaluating their situation, it quickly became clear to him that they would not be moving out anytime soon. Faced with this distressing reality, Kannen decided to make himself as comfortable as possible while he endured their current situation. In an effort to find some shelter from the wind that cut through his thin uniform he lowered himself off the wooden slat seat and onto the floor of the Hummer's cargo compartment. Scooting acros
s the floorboards and over into a corner, Kannen drew his knees up to his chest and curled into a tight ball in an effort to fend off the predawn chill.

  Once he had settled himself, Kannen looked at Aveno and Mendez. Neither of them had spoken a word or made a sound since they had climbed into the Hummer. Even now they both seemed to be reluctant to shift from one position to another, as if they feared that in doing so they would draw unwanted attention to themselves. Under ordinary circumstances this would have been an irrational fear, one a man like Kannen would have found worthy of scorn. But rationality was a commodity that had long been beaten out of them. During their captivity their world had been turned inside out and upside down. They had learned that anything and everything they did, including doing nothing at all, could and usually did result in a beating. It would be a while, Kannen reasoned, before any of them could regain the sort of self-confidence and assuredness that they had possessed before their capture.

  As the minutes dragged by and the rattle of gunfire continued to drift over the wall of the prison in fits and starts, Kannen found himself studying his executive officer. Seated at the very rear of the Hummer First Lieutenant Ken Aveno sat hunched over with his arms drawn up tightly against his chest. His face was turned away as if he were searching for something in the distance. In a MORE THAN COURAGE

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  way Kannen found that this was fortunate. Had Aveno been facing him he would have been obliged to look him in the eye. For some reason he could not quite articulate he found that he had no desire to confront Aveno, not until he had been afforded the opportunity to sort out a nagging feeling that somehow that officer had failed him. How he had come to this conclusion was far too complex an issue for Kannen to deal with at this moment. But deep down inside he knew that it was one of many questions he would one day have to resolve.

  What Kannen did not know was that his executive officer was trying to sort out the same issue. As all soldiers do as they train for battle, Aveno had spent a great deal of time contemplating how he would perform in various situations. Playing these mental what-if games is natural and healthy, provided one is honest with oneself. It was only now, when their terrible ordeal was about to come to an end, that Ken Aveno realized that he had neither been candid nor objective when he had assessed his personal ability to deal with such imponderables.

  Only now, as this sad chapter in his life was about to conclude, did he realize how woeful his performance had been over the past few weeks. Not only had he failed to measure up to his own inflated expectations, he had failed to keep the faith with his fellow soldiers. He had not been brave and selfless. He had not been inspirational or noble. When his men had needed an example he had not found it in himself to provide it. Rather than rising to the occasion when he had been afforded the opportunity such as at the trial of Sergeant Hashmi, he had sat there like a mute, allowing himself to dwell on petty personal issues and concerns. Only now, when physical salvation was at hand did Aveno come to appreciate that his trials and tribulations would not end when they left this place. Rather, his most difficult days lay ahead. In the days and weeks that would follow his liberation he would have to recount over and over again every action he had taken, every decision he had made. Even worse, he would have to face the very men whom he was now convinced he had failed. When he did 402

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  face them, Aveno wondered how he would find the courage and strength to atone for his shortcomings as an officer and a man when he had failed to do so here, when it had really mattered.

  Concerns over what would happen in the next hour, let alone the next day, were the furthest things from DeWitt's mind at the moment. Throughout his foray into the prison dispensary he had quite literally lived second by second, focusing on his next move, his next step, his next order, and little more. It wasn't until they were safely back in the prison cellblock, an area that he was familiar with and where he knew friendly forces were waiting, that the young company commander finally began to feel as if he were back on track and in control again. There was of course still the need to disengage and withdraw from the prison, then make a mad dash through the streets of Damascus to the airfield. But these phases of the operation were part of the OP plan and had been rehearsed. His brief sortie into the

  unknown was over. As things now stood, success was within his grasp.

  Behind him came Jones's squad. To a man their hearts were still pounding from their precipitous retreat from the dispensary and the vicious encounter in the confines of the stairwell. They were still animated by that encounter as they spilled out into the open space of the cellblock where the second tactical breach and point of exit was. Their sudden entrance caught the squad defending the breach off guard. Like everyone else, they were nervous as hell and teetering on a hair trigger. Startled by the First Squad's sudden and tumultuous appearance, the defenders of the breach trained their weapons on the mass of soldiers coming their way, flipping their weapons' safety to the fire position as they did so. Only the squawk of the "friend" ID over their Land Warrior earpiece and well-drilled restraint kept a bad situation from becoming a disaster.

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  Ignoring the danger that he had just escaped, DeWitt headed straight for the Rangers manning the breach. "Where's your lieutenant?"

  A sergeant stood up and pointed out through the hole in the wall. "He's back at the first breach, sir."

  Coming up to the sergeant who had replied, DeWitt whipped around and waved on Jones and the stretcher party that had been following him before turning his full attention back to the man next to him. "You're to stand fast here until Lieutenant Quinn and his rear guard have passed. Give them ten seconds before pulling out. Clear?"

  The sergeant in charge of the inner breach nodded. "Roger that, sir."

  ',

  By then Kaplan was in sight. When he saw DeWitt he shouted to him as he went by. "That's it for this squad. Quinn and his people are right behind me."

  "Good, good."

  With that, Kaplan ducked through the hole in the wall. For a moment a strange silence returned to the cellblock. Even the distant firefight that DeWitt's First Platoon had been engaged in ceased, indicating that the platoon had successfully broken contact and begun to make its way back to the airfield. This brief interlude did not last long as the hurried pounding of boots on concrete announced the approach of Quinn's rear guard.

  Anxious to pull out of the prison compound as soon as he could, and have his company mounted and moving DeWitt called to the NCO next to him. "Okay, here they come. Remember, give them ten seconds and then go."

  "Yes, sir. Ten seconds."

  DeWitt was just about to head out into the open courtyard when he paused to take one more look back. When he did he saw something that brought him to a complete stop. Watching the figures approach he was taken aback by the sight of two men dragging a third seemingly lifeless form between them. Instead of 404

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  leaving the cellblock DeWitt pivoted and all but leaped forward toward the trio. "Who's that?"

  Specialist Four William Hoyt called back as he and the medic assigned to third Platoon staggered on as best they could while pulling the limp body between them using the man's flak vest.

  "It's Lieutenant Quinn. Grenade fragments."

  As the radioman and medic rushed by DeWitt called out,

  "Where was he hit?"

  Leaning closer to his company commander without stopping, the medic lowered his voice. "The buttocks and back of the legs.

  Messy but not fatal."

  Despite the fact that his company's tactical situation left it quite vulnerable, DeWitt could not help thinking that the injuries suffered by Quinn would forever be a source of embarrassment to him. As he watched Quinn's faithful radioman and the medic pull their platoon leader through the breach, DeWitt shook his head.

  "Poor bastard."

  Once he saw that the stretcher bearing Burman was secured in the Hummer
, Kaplan stepped back to allow the Rangers of the First Squad to climb in while he caught his breath. They were almost done, he told himself. They were almost finished. Now all they needed to do was mount up and move out. In fifteen minutes they would be at the airfield, where the giant open maws of the cargo bays of the Air Force transports would be waiting to greet them. That was true, he suddenly corrected himself, provided the way back was still clear.

  This thought caused him to pull out his handheld display and keyboard. Laying the keyboard and display on the hood of a nearby Hummer he pulled up the joint tactical and common operating environment program. In an instant a map filled the screen.

  One by one, as fast as the computer spit out the data, tactical symbols began to crop up on the display. Even before the program had completed spewing the information it had gathered and MORE THAN COURAGE

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  stored while he had been tending to other, more immediate concerns, Kaplan could see they were not quite Out of the woods yet.

  Battles are won by those who have superior information concerning their own tactical situation and that of the enemy. Knowing where your enemy is and what he is doing are perhaps the most important elements of warfare. This knowledge allows a commander to exploit his foe's weaknesses while avoiding his strengths. It gives him the confidence to go forth and do things that logic and common sense would otherwise veto. Arming himself with as much knowledge as possible about the enemy before battle has been a goal of every commander since the age of sharp sticks and rocks. To achieve this the Armed Forces of the United States has dedicated enormous resoufces. From satellites to high tech optics, electronic eavesdropping to computer hacking, the modern American military has created a panoply of intelligence gathering devices that would impress Buck Rogers.

  Yet as important as gathering information is, it is useless unless it can be delivered to the commander in the field and the soldier on the ground in a timely manner. It is in the area of processing, packaging, and disseminating combat information where the most noted failures of combat intelligence occur. To this end one of the most useful features of the Land Warrior that the Army insisted upon including was a means of plugging the combat soldier into the massive informational web that it was developing.