Battleline (2007)

by Jack - Seals 05 Terral

  Damn fine accomplishments, Taylor thought, but not a one of them has been in combat as a Navy SEAL. He hoped his father would take notice of the fact and mention it at every opportunity during the next family reunion.

  THE helicopter came in low and slow at an altitude of four feet AGL. The rear doors were open and the ramp down as Lieutenant Bill Brannigan stood at the head of the line of men making up the combat patrol. At a nod from the crew chief, the Skipper went down the ramp and leaped off to the ground. He was quickly followed by Connie Concord, the Odd Couple, and Matty Matsuno, who carried a five-gallon jerry can of potable water attached to a backpack. Then Garth Redhawk with an AN/PRC-112 radio unassed the aircraft; Ensign Orlando Taylor, Bruno Puglisi, and Joe Miskoski were the last out. Everyone was armed with M-16s, with two exceptions: Puglisi and Miskoski carried their AS-50 semiauto sniper rifles with two bandoliers of modified twenty-round magazines for the weapons.

  The chopper immediately rose back into the sky as the ass end closed. Brannigan led his eight men over to the cover of a stand of boulders for an on-site confab. But before the session could begin, an angry cobra emerged from the rocks with its hood flared as it assumed the standard upright pose of aggression. The Skipper gazed at the poisonous reptile. "I think we have a territorial issue here."

  Puglisi, impetuous as always, made a slow approach toward the snake, evidently with the intention of trying to grasp it. Redhawk, who was well acquainted with the rattlesnakes of Oklahoma, did not think that a good idea. "Bruno," he said calmly, "if that son of a bitch bites you, we won't have much time to make our good-byes to you. So let us know when you're going to make a serious move toward him, and we'll bid you a fond farewell. With luck you'll last maybe five minutes after he sinks his fangs into you."

  The snake darted its head at the SEAL, and Puglisi instinctively jumped back. "I thought you could charm these motherfuckers."

  Joe Miskoski laughed. "Bruno, you don't have a flute, like snake charmers use, you dumb shit." Then he laughed louder.

  "Besides, you're about as charming as a grumpy rhinoceros with gas and heartburn."

  Brannigan grinned. "Let's try to be diplomatic like Dr. Joplin where that snake is concerned, okay? We'll just politely get out of his bailiwick."

  The patrol moved away from the natural rock pile toward another. The cobra didn't follow, but he was plainly going to stand his ground. Now the Skipper could concentrate on the job ahead. "We're only a kilometer from the ambush site here, but I want to have a little briefback before we go over there." He pointed to Puglisi. "What's your job?"

  "I'll be at the front of the ambush, and when the last man passes me, I'll whack the son of a bitch," Puglisi said. "Then knock off any of the bad guys who try to escape in my direction."

  Brannigan turned to Miskoski. "What about you?"

  "Well, we figured the enemy column isn't gonna be too strung out, since this is a safe area for 'em," Miskoski said. "So I'm gonna be down about thirty to forty meters from Bruno to close up the front. When the first man comes up even with me, I'll take him out."

  Next it was Connie Concord's turn. "Ever'body is gonna find a good place between Bruno and Joe. We'll space ourselves out as even as possible, depending on the terrain and available cover. When the shooting starts, we'll go for targets of opportunity to our direct fronts."

  "Right," Brannigan said. He nodded to Taylor. "Ensign, describe the site."

  "Aye, sir," Taylor said. "It's a narrow pass through these hills with steep sides that go from ten to twelve meters deep. We'll set up only on one side, since the enemy cannot escape from the gully with any ease or speed. They, in fact, will have walked into a natural trap."

  "Okay," Brannigan said. "It's sweet and simple. Keep in mind that we're also tasked with getting EPWs if possible. If you see any guy that looks like he wants to quit or surrender, ease up. Questions? Right then. Let's move out and settle down. We won't have much to do until tomorrow morning. So, to quote the first and oldest military order ever issued, 'Follow me.' " He started to move out, but stopped. "Oh! One more thing."

  "What's that, sir?" Dave Leibowitz asked.

  "Watch out for snakes."

  .

  15 JUNE 0900 HOURS

  THE SEAL patrol had good cover and concealment from their position overlooking the narrow valley, but there was no shade overhead. Bruno Puglisi, with a fresh magazine in the receiver of his AS-50 and half a dozen others lying out within reach, was uncomfortably warm. Each man had brought along a couple of two-quart canteens, and there was that jerry can of water being lugged around by Matty Matsuno. However, the patrol drank sparingly because of potential SNAFUs. Unexpected things happened continually in warfare, and the enemy reinforcements could be delayed by a glitch in their transportation arrangements, ammo issue, or dozens of other things. The Brigands could end up spending two or three days at the location.

  .

  1015 HOURS

  THE leading Arab showed up around the bend in the gully so quickly that Puglisi instinctively twitched. "Here they come," he whispered, recovering from the surprise. "They're kind of close together, so we don't have to stretch the ambush out any farther."

  As the column came into view, the sight of the Arabs was impressive. All were well equipped, with the latest in assault rifles, rucksacks, canteens, bandoliers, and web gear. Their uniforms were in good shape, with excellent footwear, and they also sported the keffiyeh head coverings their people preferred. They were the red-checked style the SEALs had seen before.

  Joe Miskoski, with his AS-50 locked and loaded, waited patiently, his eyes glued to the front man in the formation. The guy's face in the telescopic sight was that of a young and determined soldier, his beard and mustache well trimmed, as would be expected of someone just out of an elite training camp where the discipline was harsh and demanding. When he was in the right position, Miskoski's trigger finger tightened just enough to fire the powerful rifle.

  The fifty-caliber round exploded the man's head, blowing it off in pieces.

  The Arab just behind him stood still for an instant before a couple of .556 rounds from an M-16 kicked him sideways before he collapsed to the ground. Back on the other end of the line, Puglisi had already taken out the Tail-End Charlie a millisecond after he heard Miskoski's weapon fire. In ten seconds, the bursts of blazing M-16s suddenly quit. Seventeen men were down, and three stood with their hands up.

  "Assad," Brannigan said. "Warn those guys not to move and do what you tell 'em."

  "Indak!" Assad yelled. "Isma minni!"

  "Redhawk and Matsuno!" Brannigan said. "Move down and take charge of those EPWs. Walk 'em down to where that slope is and bring 'em up on the far side toward the LZ. We'll meet you there. Ensign Taylor and Petty Officer Concord, go search the dead for documents or any other intelligence you find. Let's go, people!"

  The four men assigned to go into the gully slid carefully down the steep sides until they reached the bottom. Redhawk and Matsuno moved over to the trio of men who still stood with their hands up. The SEALs used gestures to indicate the direction they were to go. Taylor looked at Connie Concord. "You go down to the end and start checking. I'll go up where the first guy is."

  "Aye, sir."

  Taylor had fired only one round during the short, violent action. He'd taken aim at an Arab directly to his front and squeezed the trigger. The guy had taken a jerky step, then fell to the ground. The young ensign stared at him in horrid fascination. He had killed a man. The shooting during the attack three nights before had been into vegetation in a reconnaissance-by-fire trying to locate the enemy. If he hit anyone, it was by sheer chance, and he didn't know about it. But this time he had deliberately shot another human being. He walked up toward the first man to die, doing his best not to look at the one he personally shot.

  The Arab hit by Joe Miskoski was a mess. The entire top of his cranium from just below the ears and up was a splayed mass of brains and bloody meat. His eyes and nose were gone, leaving only
the lower jaw. Taylor noticed the guy must have been seeing his dentist regularly; the teeth were white and even, without a cavity showing. The SEAL searched the pockets, finding nothing; not even an ID card. He supposed that was to be expected, since the dead man hadn't been a member of a regularly enlisted army.

  After examining two more corpses, he came to the guy he had killed. He was a skinny kid, maybe eighteen or nineteen. His eyes were open, and his lips were in a sort of combination sneer and grin. Taylor suddenly looked directly at the dead face, almost stepping back when he noticed the victim seemed to be gazing at him. A quick search revealed empty pockets.

  When Taylor and Concord met in the middle, they had nothing to show for their efforts. "I'm not surprised," Connie said. "These guys are not the usual raghead mujahideen. They're equipped good, carry them French rifles, got plenty of ammo, and are nourished good. This is gonna be a tough fight before it's all said and done, sir."

  Taylor noted that if Petty Officer Concord had killed anybody--and there was no doubt he had--he wasn't going to lose any sleep over it. Taylor affected a grin. "Well, let's get back with the others. Good job, huh?"

  "Yes, sir," Connie said. "We done good, alright."

  .

  THE LZ

  1045 HOURS

  GARTH Redhawk had turned on the homing beacon of the AN/PRC-112 to bring back the chopper, and the patrol was out in a loose defensive perimeter. Brannigan was inside the formation with Mike Assad, who guarded the three EPWs. The captives squatted unhappily on the ground, still stunned by the suddenness of the attack that had destroyed their unit. Assad had exchanged a few words with them, learning nothing new. They told him they were on their way from Iran to join the small force in the mountains.

  Suddenly one of the Arabs leaped to his feet and dashed toward the perimeter, leaping over Bruno Puglisi. He ran wildly across the open ground, heading for the stand of boulders.

  "I'll get him, sir!" Puglisi yelled, getting to his feet and going after the guy.

  The Arab was fifteen meters ahead of the SEAL, not looking back as he instinctively sought the shelter of the rocky area. When he reached it, he went in between a couple of boulders. Then he shrieked and backed out, holding his hand.

  When Puglisi arrived he saw what the trouble was. The cobra, still weaving back and forth in its attack stance, was ready to strike again. The Arab turned around, his hand and forearm black and swelling from the venom. Puglisi winced. "Jesus! You poor dumb bastard!"

  The Arab knew the potency of the serpent's venom and realized that he was dying. He sank to his knees and began calling out in Arabic. Now Mike Assad joined them, having left the other two with the Skipper. Mike looked at the guy. "What the fuck happened to him?"

  Puglisi answered by pointing over to the cobra.

  Assad shook his head slowly. "We got nothing to give him for that."

  "I know," Puglisi said. "He'll be dead before the chopper gets here."

  "Shit, Bruno," Mike said, "he's only got another five minutes at the most to breathe."

  Now the Arab was on the ground, almost delirious as he kept babbling.

  "What's he saying, Mike?"

  "He's praying for himself."

  "We should shoot him and put him out of his misery, man!" Puglisi said.

  "I'm not shooting him," Mike said. He turned and began walking back to the perimeter. He'd gone ten meters when he heard Bruno's AS-50 fire. Then the sniper caught up with him.

  Neither SEAL spoke as they returned to the unit.

  CHAPTER 8

  USS COMBS

  17 JUNE

  IT had been a bad week for the two Arab EPWs brought back from the ambush site by Brannigan's Brigands. When they left their Iranian SF training camp, the fledgling insurgents thought they were on their way to their big opportunity to be conquerors in the name of Allah's glory. But they were only halfway to their first battle site when a bunch of crazy infidels suddenly appeared from nowhere and shot their unit to pieces. And if that wasn't bad enough, after surrendering, one of their buddies was bitten by a poisonous serpent and was put out of his misery with a bullet that turned his skull into something that looked like a shattered vase that had been filled with tomato paste and cottage cheese.

  It was most definitely not a good experience.

  Then, to make things slightly worse, immediately after the incident with the snake, they were blindfolded and had to sit with their hands bound by plastic strips and wait until an aircraft arrived. They were taken aboard with their captors to go for a flight--they didn't have enough experience to recognize they were in a helicopter--that ended when they landed at some unknown place. After being ushered off the aircraft still blindfolded, the two Arabs were taken into the interior of a large structure. When they were freed from their blinders and bonds, they discovered that their captors had put them behind some barbed wire in one corner of a building. For amenities the EPWs were provided with foam mattresses and a couple of chairs. At least they weren't mistreated, but being uncertain of what fate awaited them did not ease their emotional stress.

  After a fitful night, the Arabs were given breakfast, then blindfolded again, and put back on an aircraft for a short flight that ended on a rocking airfield made of steel. From there the pair was led through a very narrow door and taken down steep steps until they were in the depths of some horrible place with engine noises. At that point the blinders were removed and they were separated and placed into small rooms with pipes and valves along the walls. A bright light-bulb that was never turned off glared from the ceiling, and from that point on they couldn't tell if it was night or day.

  As time passed they became queasy as the floor where they sat rocked slowly back and forth. They also had moments when they felt this strange prison was actually moving.

  .

  0730 HOURS

  THE name of the EPW sitting in the metal chair was Hamza Qazi. A brilliant light shined straight into his face, and he could not see the man who spoke to him, although he sensed that additional persons were present after he heard occasional coughs and someone clearing his throat. Qazi had been there for more than two hours, though he was unaware of exactly how much time had passed since he was fetched from his hard metal quarters.

  The three men in the compartment with the prisoner were Dr. Carl Joplin; Edgar Watson, of the CIA's Iranian desk; and interrogator Fred Leighton, also a CIA operative. Leighton, who had spent much of his boyhood in the Middle East, where his father had been a field operations supervisor for an American oil company, spoke fluent Arabic with such a slight trace of accent that no Arab could determine his exact nationality. Between Leighton's language skills and the probing questions provided by Joplin and Watson, a lot of useful information was being dragged out of Qazi.

  He was a Syrian, born and raised in the city of Deir Al Zor, not too far from the Iraqi border. His father was a shop-keeper who sold tobacco, candy, and magazines. The profits were small, but the family was comfortable enough, though frustrated from time to time from wanting better material things in their lives, such as an automobile and a larger TV set. Qazi left school at fourteen to help in the business. During his leisure time he hung out in the streets with a group of boys his own age and played in a local soccer league, where he was considered one of the better players. He was sixteen when he learned about the Jihad Abadi--the Eternal Holy War made up of Shiite mujahideen. Eventually he was recruited into the organization and learned that they disavowed suicide bombings, preferring to train their members in soldierly skills to fight the infidels of the West. This was much more effective in the holy struggle than blowing themselves up to inflict casualties on the enemy. Qazi and his buddies attended meetings and class sessions at the local mosque, where they were thoroughly indoctrinated in the group's philosophy. He was honored when his natural athletic abilities were noted, and he was sent for more advanced instruction at a training site in Iran. This choice of location confused the young Arab, who could not understand what interest the
Iranians had in Arab insurgencies, except that those speakers of Farsi were also Shiites.

  When he arrived in Tehran, he was put aboard a military bus with other Arabs from all over the Middle East. They went to an Army garrison in the north. It was a camp with training facilities and few amenities. The students lived in tents, used outdoor toilets, and drew their water from spigots around the area. There was no electricity, but this didn't matter to most of the Arabs, who were from the country or slum areas of places such as Baghdad, Amman, and Riyadh. At first Qazi was annoyed by having to use candles and camp lanterns, but he eventually got used to it as the first couple of weeks passed.

  The orientation prior to moving into the hard-core phase of training taught the young men that Iran would be taking over all Shiite insurgencies and bring them into one large, effective army. The boys in the camp would be the cadre of that magnificent fighting force, destined by Allah to march into Europe as conquerors, then accept an unconditional surrender from the Great Satan, the United States of America. This fired up everybody's enthusiasm, and when the training began, they were ready to give it their all.

  The first thing on the agenda was to toughen them up. The instructors, harsh and merciless, were all members of the newly organized Iranian Army Special Forces. They sent the Arab kids through obstacle courses, took them on long runs, and supervised prolonged periods of exhausting exercises. After a couple of weeks the candidates were considered properly conditioned for some real soldiering.