When the lawyer spoke, his voice was deep and authoritative. "We do not want to go on trial regarding this issue."
Allen wasn't in agreement. "Aren't we dealing with the First Amendment here? If there ever was an incident involving freedom of the press, this is it."
"It's a little more complicated than that, Don," Brice said. "GNB issued a news bulletin stating that American troops had murdered a wounded prisoner during combat action in Afghanistan. That turned out to be false in the worst sense, or a mistake in the best. And the best here isn't very good."
"Wait!" Allen protested. "It was the fucking Pentagon that said it was false. The sons of bitches are covering their asses with an out-and-out falsehood."
"I don't think they're lying," Brice said. "They've been upfront about atrocities before, so there's no real reason to think they would fudge on this one. So we have to accept what they say as gospel. But we do have some choices here. The best is to blame it on the source."
"That's easy enough."
"But then there would be a demand--not only from the government but also from the public--for you to name that source."
"It's our policy not to reveal sources under any circumstances," Allen said. "We'd rather go to jail."
"Alright," Brice said. "But it's going to make you look like you're dispensing terrorist propaganda. Let's face it, Don. GNB is noted for its leftist leanings. And this isn't like protesting the war. If the public is convinced you're aiding and abetting the terrorists, they'll turn away from you in droves. That also means that the local independent TV stations you depend on will drop GNB like a hot rock. That could be the end of having your voice heard by millions of people." He shook his head. "I hate to say it, but it could be the end of your organization."
Allen was clearly disgusted. "Then what the fuck are we supposed to do?"
"Have Dirk Wallenger issue an apology and announce that he had been victimized by false documentation," Brice said. "He can say he trusted a person or persons who had proven totally reliable in the past. But they let him down on this one occasion."
"Mmm," Allen mused. "Dirk could say he made an honest mistake and is sorry as hell about it. He can also announce he will check his facts with much more care in the future. That will soothe any hard feelings in the White House or the Pentagon."
"Sure," Brice said. "It's just a little incident, anyway." He chuckled. "When you get right down to it, who gives a shit? Right?"
"Yeah," Allen said. "Just a minor happening that means absolutely nothing."
CHAPTER 15
TEN THOUSAND FEET ABOVE THE OA
7 AUGUST 0320 HOURS
LIEUTENANT Bill Brannigan was stabilized and steady as he streaked earthward at 120 miles per hour. Eight other SEALs similarly occupied in the HALO insert checked the ground thousands of feet below through their NVGs. In spite of the long plunge, they had no sensation of falling. As far as their physical sensations were concerned, they lay motionless on a cushion of air that held them aloft with a bit of buffeting. When the jumpers glanced at each other, they all seemed to be hanging motionless in the night sky; however, the spinning needles on their wrist altimeters gave ample evidence of the controlled plummeting.
As soon as Brannigan noted he was thirty-five hundred feet AGL, he pulled the rip cord. The pilot chute of his rig leaped free, instantly filling with air. The device hauled out the deployment bag and suspensions lines in the blink of an eye, and the canopy cells inflated. This happened at almost the same moment to the other Brigands, and there they were--hanging beneath the deployed parachutes in gentle glides to earth, all relieved that there had been no malfunctions of their equipment.
They didn't want to get too far away from the mountains out in the desert, so they pulled down on the toggles to brake their rate of travel. When they were within a dozen feet of the ground, everyone went into a full brake position until the parachute stalled and their feet gently hit the ground. The one exception was Ensign Lamar Taylor, who wasn't as practiced as the others. This was actually his first HALO jump since finishing the course, and he stalled a bit too soon and tried to recover. This resulted in his striking the ground hard enough to drop him to his knees. He was embarrassed as hell, but he saw the others didn't seem to think he'd done so badly. He quickly got out of his equipment, picking up his M-16 and bandoliers. The used parachute that had brought him safely down from the C-130 would be left abandoned to the elements. This type of mission did not provide enough time for the proper recovery or concealment of jump gear.
Everyone gathered around the Skipper as per the SOP, and it was with mutual relief that nobody seemed to be hurt. Sprains and fractures are only too common during jumps, and in combat situations even a minor twist of ankle or knee can mean disaster for the mission. The only carrying equipment they had was their combat vests, which were attached to pistol belts. This was second-line equipment that provides what's needed to fight effectively and efficiently. These carried a two-quart canteen, battle dressing, and medical kit in the back pouches. Additionally, they individually carried six thirty-round magazines of 5.56-millimeter ammo, with two bandoliers of twelve more slung across their shoulders. Counting the one magazine in their M-16s, this gave each SEAL a grand total of 570 rounds, adding about 36 pounds to their carrying load.
Since Puglisi toted a SAW, he would be lugging four extra bandoliers, providing him with 1,260 rounds. If he fired those as fast as he could, it would take him about a hundred seconds to shoot it all up at the normal rate. Needless to say, the SEAL would be employing short bursts. Brannigan would have liked to have brought along three times that amount for support fire, but Colonel Leroux had limited them to toting only what they could manage as individual jumpers. He also reminded Brannigan that when he returned to his base camp, the newly issued .50 heavy machine guns would be there to provide future support fire. These replacement weapons would soon be under the tender care of CPO Matt Gunnarson and his three crews on the SEAL side of no-man's-land.
On that night's operation Puglisi would be turning loose his full firepower when they made a break for the helicopter during exfiltration. The only other times he was to fire would be during unexpected emergencies. Joe Miskoski with an M-203 on his M-16 was also humping extra poundage because of the grenades. Brannigan teamed him up with Puglisi to give the SAW gunner some added protection so he wouldn't be forced into expending too much ammunition if he ended up in a hairy situation. The Skipper had wanted to leave the SAW behind and have Puglisi lug along a grenade launcher, but Leroux felt the one SAW would be needed.
Out on the DZ, after putting on the LASH headsets and the AN/PRC-126 radios for interteam commo, the small strike force formed up as had been determined back at Shelor Field. Redhawk and Matsuno went on point, followed by Ensign Taylor and Connie Concord. The middle of the formation was made up of the Skipper, Puglisi, and Miskoski. The Odd Couple-Assad and Leibowitz--brought up the rear.
When everybody and everything were in readiness at 0335 hours, the Skipper spoke calmly but significantly over his LASH.
"Move out."
.
0350 HOURS
THE rear of the mountain housing the Zaheya loomed large and menacingly in the darkness. The NVGs gave the point men, Redhawk and Matsuno, a revealing view of the steep terrain's features as they drew closer.
"Objective in sight," Redhawk said. "Two hundred meters ahead."
"Roger," Brannigan said in acknowledgment. "You two move on for a recon. Taylor, you and Concord move forward fifty meters for security, then hold up. Odd Couple, cover the rear."
While the others situated themselves, the two scouts went forward at a slow pace, being careful to stay in the scrub while following dips in the terrain. Although the enemy had no reason to expect an attack from the rear, there was always the chance that some raghead or two with night vision capabilities had been posted at an OP. The SEAL duo walked carefully, avoiding rocks that might be accidentally kicked loose to clatter down into a ravine. As t
hey drew closer to the objective, they slowed even more, this time for studied observations of possible hiding places inhabited by alert sentries. All the Brigands were now very much aware of the professionalism of the enemy they faced, and were aware that any slips in caution could bring fatal results.
The two scions of Native American and samurai warrior traditions barely breathed as they continued their fluid, silent travel upward into the reaches of the mountains. They were fully aware that just on the other side of the valley, the rest of their buddies stood on watch, keeping wary eyes on the Zaheya positions opposite them.
"Wait!" Matsuno hissed into the LASH.
Redhawk immediately dropped to one knee. "What's up?"
"Look just to the right of that cut in the side of the mountain."
Redhawk's eyes went in the direction and found the spot. He pulled out his NVBs and gazed intently. "Yeah! A guard standing by a trail."
"That's where we're supposed to enter their positions," Matsuno said. "They probably stuck the guy there in the off-chance somebody might be going through that area."
"Well now, that was an excellent guess on their part, wasn't it?" Redhawk said. He spoke into the LASH to get the Skipper's attention. "There's a sentry at the entry point. He'll have to be taken out."
"Roger," came back the Skipper's acquiescence. "Do it."
"Here," Redhawk said, handing his M-16 to Matsuno. Now free of the rifle, he pulled his K-Bar knife from its scabbard. As the senior ranking man between the two of them, this was the Oklahoman's choice. The Japanese-American trailed silently after his buddy as they eased forward toward the Zaheya soldier.
Garth Redhawk unconsciously shed the present and reverted to the past, when his Kiowa and Comanche forebears had existed as warriors, hunters, and plunderers. He truly felt that up in those dense night clouds his male ancestors looked down on him as he moved forward to do what he had to do. It was almost a spiritual experience as he worked himself into position at a point just aft of the guard. He moved silently forward, slapping his left hand around the nose and mouth of the sentry while at that same instant he drove the blade of the K-Bar upward under the man's rib cage. The steel blade slipped in effortlessly and deep, gashing and cutting into vital organs and arteries. Death came fast after only feeble shuddering and gasping, the latter sounds smothered by Redhawk's strong pressure across mouth and nose. He lowered the man to the ground, then stood there looking down at the fresh kill.
"Garth?"
He turned to Matsuno. "Yeah?"
"You're not gonna scalp him, are you?"
Redhawk shook his head. "What makes you think I'd do that?"
"From the way you were looking at him, dude."
"There isn't time anyway," Redhawk said with a slight grin. He turned away, stepping up the trail. "We got to make sure the route is clear all the way to their defenses."
"Lead on," Matsuno said.
.
0415 HOURS
THE strike force was now gathered at the extreme southern flank of the Zaheya defensive line. The Odd Couple had moved forward to keep watch down the parapets where individual sentries gazed out across no-man's-land to the SEAL positions. Bruno Puglisi with the SAW had set himself up on an elevated position that offered a good view straight over the spot where Assad and Leibowitz now hunkered. Puglisi would be able to provide excellent covering fire for the withdrawal after the raid. He began to carefully lay out his magazines where they would be within easy reach. He kept two of the bandoliers around his shoulders in case they might be needed for a running retreat if the situation went completely to hell.
Now Bill Brannigan brought in the rest of the participants. "Everybody put your selectors on three-round bursts," he said, being careful to whisper as softly as possible. "Firepower is gonna be the name of this game." As soon as everyone had complied, he spoke into the LASH: "Brigand One."
"Roger," said Lieutenant JG Jim Cruiser. He was across the valley on the SEALs' MLR. "Everything is ready on this side, Skipper. And I have a happy surprise: Not only did those fifty-calibers arrive here ahead of time, there was also an extra one."
"Alright!" Brannigan exclaimed.
Cruiser continued, "So Chief Gunnarson has four ready to cover you when you need it. I sent Sturgis and Malachenko over to man the extra weapon."
"Okay, sounds good," Brannigan said. "Here we go."
.
THE BATTLE
PUGLISI watched as Brannigan led the way down the defensive line. Mike Assad was just behind him with Joe Miskoski and his M-203. Next came Taylor and Leibowitz, with Redhawk, Matsuno, and Concord bringing up the rear. The attack by the SEALs was a classic maneuver called "rolling up the flank." It consisted of hitting a weak extreme side of the enemy line and smashing down its length.
It took but an instant before the nearest Arab sentry glanced their way. When he saw the Americans easing toward him in the trench, he stood open-mouthed in shock at the sight of the unexpected infiltrators. Brannigan pulled the trigger on his M-16, and the resultant burst of three rounds hit the raghead, kicking him back onto a stack of sandbags. The man, already dead, bounced off and crumpled to the ground.
The door to the nearest bunker opened, but before the Arab could step out, Miskoski fired a grenade into the interior. The resultant explosion and screams gave stark evidence of the effectiveness of the projectile. Now, farther down, other fighters emerged from their bunkers, and Brannigan and Assad kicked out several more bursts as Miskoski fired two grenades over their heads that added to the carnage of the fusillades.
SIKES Pasha came wide awake, leaping from his cot in the al-Askerin-Zaubi headquarters bunker. He grabbed his FA-MAS bullpup rifle and rushed outside just in time to see two grenade detonations tear into a trio of his Arab Storm Troopers. He hosed a long automatic burst in the direction of the attackers, then leaped into a parapet where two of his men were trying to find targets to shoot at. The problem was twofold for the defenders. They had no breadth of an MLR to offer resistance to the assault, and the incoming fire was fluctuating rapidly from light to heavy, forcing them to duck for cover. One Arab stood up to deliver a fire burst but caught a chestful of slugs that hurled him against Sikes. Both men went down, but it was the Brit who was able to get back to his feet.
He damned the danger and set up rhythmic firing without regard to his own safety.
BRANNIGAN and Assad, with Sikes' bullets splattering around them, moved into an adjacent parapet where a duo of corpses, their upper torsos and heads torn apart by both rifle slugs and grenade shrapnel, were sprawled. Now Taylor and Leibowitz rushed forward, both systematically pulling M-16 triggers to throw out a narrow cone of concentrated fire. With these additional salvos taking some of the pressure off them, the Skipper and Assad joined in with their own bursts.
SIKES felt a heavy blow to his left shoulder that turned him halfway around. His knees buckled and he went down, his numb hands unable to maintain a grasp on his rifle. He immediately felt someone grabbing his collar and dragging him. He looked up to see his faithful warrant officer, Shafaqat Hashiri, pulling him from the parapet and across the walkway toward the entrance to the Headquarters bunker. Hashiri held his own bullpup in the other hand, firing short bursts until he reached the door and pulled his commander inside. Then he quickly slammed the steel portal shut to keep intruders and grenades at bay.
ENSIGN Taylor was now leading the Brigands in their continuing assault, with Leibowitz at his heels. Garth Redhawk and Matty Matsuno were close behind them, with Brannigan and Miskoski following. The latter kept firing the 40-millimeter grenades in short arcs over the heads of the other SEALs to clear the way for them. Detonations, single shots, and automatic bursts of rifles added to the din of shouting, fighting men as the battle continued to evolve.
DOWN on the northern flank, Captain Naser Khadid and his Iranian SF troopers were moving rapidly toward the roar of combat to join in the battle. Suddenly a barrage of heavy machine-gun fire slammed into them. The incomi
ng bullets that missed the men either ricocheted off the metal and concrete of the defenses or plowed into sandbags. Directly above him, Captain Jamshid Komard did his best to set up counterfire against the enfilading volleys, but each time they cut loose with their own machine guns or the automatic grenade launchers, the enemy across the valley would turn their swarms of large .50-caliber slugs on them, forcing the gunners to duck down. Those who didn't find suitable cover died instantly with gaping exit wounds made by the heavy rounds that literally ripped and smashed their bodies, leaving messy piles of meat.
AT that moment Bill Brannigan realized they had penetrated as deeply as feasible and it was time to withdraw. This was not a winnable battle for the Americans, nor was it expectedto be. The mission was to get into the enemy's faces, make 'em bleed, then haul ass while the ragheads were still disorganized and demoralized. "Let's get out o' here!" he shouted into his LASH. The loudness of his voice distorted the transmission, but not enough that the SEALs couldn't understand him. They immediately began a withdrawal down the defensive line, leaping over the corpses of dead Zaheya soldiers. Bruno Puglisi went on the alert, ready to support in case of pursuit, but none was mounted against them.
As Brannigan ran with the others, he raised Jim Cruiser over the LASH. "Call in the Air Force, goddamn it!"
"Aye, sir," Cruiser replied. "Gomez is on the horn right now. Get the hell out of there! Chief Gunnarson's four guns have the area saturated with covering fire for you."
When Brannigan and the others reached the original entrance point, they found Puglisi packed up and ready to move out, with all his bandoliers once again slung over his broad shoulders. Assad and Leibowitz led the way back down the trail, with the others following. Heavy fire from the SEAL machine-gun positions across the valley immediately began pounding the small area, the hail of .50-caliber slugs hitting at a combined rate of twenty-four rounds a minute, or forty bullet strikes per second. It was as if each were a blow from a pile driver gone mad. Any Zaheya soldiers desiring to pursue immediately withdrew from the clobbering thunder.
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