by Harold Coyle
group, one in which those too badly wounded to help were put to wait until those who could be helped were, or until they died.
To actually see triage, the separation of the wounded into three groups, in practice, hit Kozak hard. Unable to watch, she turned away, scanning the horizon. This brought her no relief, though, for the horizon was dotted with more burning vehicles, more aid stations, and more trenches littered with dead. This was the face of battle, a face that had, until then, been to her only an imagined notion. Now, and for the rest of her life, it would be very real.
After her Bradley was clear of the marked lane, a soldier Kozak rec ognized
as Wittworth's driver flagged her down. Ordering her driver, Specialist Freedman, to stop, Kozak took her crewman's helmet off and leaned over to hear what Wittworth's driver wanted. Pointing to a cluster of three Bradleys to the right, he shouted above the rumbling of the Bradley's engine that the CO was over there, about to issue a frag, or abbreviated order. Giving Wittworth's driver a thumbs-up to indicate that she understood, Kozak put her crewman's helmet on and radioed Ser geant
Rivera that she was going over to the CO's track to receive a frag order, and that he was in charge until she got back. In her haste, she took her helmet off before Rivera could ask where she wanted him to park the platoon. When he received no response from Kozak, he looked toward her track. By then,"Kozak was on the ground, trotting over to the CO's track with that distinctive and female walk that Rivera now associated with his platoon leader. Mumbling a curse to himself, Rivera looked for a vacant spot to take the platoon that was as far as he could get from the stench of death and from the 3rd Brigade units still eliminating pockets of resistance.
As soon as Kozak joined the circle of lieutenants gathered about Wittworth, he looked at them and asked, "Is that everyone?"
The lieutenants, in turn, looked at each other. It was obvious that he knew they were all there, he had just looked at them. Why, Kozak thought, had he asked that? Strange, she thought. Captains can sometimes be really strange.
After his XO responded that they were all present, Wittworth turned toward the front slope of his Bradley, where his map was laid out. With a marking pen, he pointed to the symbols and locations he mentioned as he briefed his lieutenants. "We are currently located here, on the northern edge of Objective Amanda. The rest of the battalion is spread out south of here. The attack this morning by 3rd Brigade succeeded in penetrating the enemy's main defensive belt and routing the enemy."
Kozak, taking a quick glance at the devastation, wondered who had been routed.
"The battalion," Wittworth continued, "after having completed a passage of lines through the 3rd Brigade, will conduct a movement to contact toward Objective Beth, located just south of this town, named Marin, and then to Objective Carrie. Deployed in a diamond formation, with Team Charlie in the lead, Company B on the right ..."
The sudden thump-thump-thump of a Bradley's 25mm cannon firing less than one hundred meters to their rear caused Kozak to jump. Twirling around, she saw the Bradley, sitting at one end of a trench, firing its cannon into the trench. For a moment, Kozak and the other lieutenants, also caught off guard by the sudden firing, watched as members of the 3rd Brigade carried out the grisly task of "mopping up" enemy positions that had been bypassed. The Bradley was firing in support of an M-i Ai tank.
The tank, with a dozer blade attached to its front slope, was in the process of pushing dirt into the trench, starting at the end farthest from the Bradley. Taking its time, the M-i tank would drop its blade and move forward, pushing a pile of dirt over to the trench where the dirt would disappear from view as it fell. Backing up, the tank would shift over a little, closer to the Bradley, and repeat the process. Every now and then, as the M-i was in the process of backing up, the Bradley would pump a few more rounds into that part of the trench that was not yet covered.
Curious as to why someone would waste time and ammunition doing something like that, Kozak turned to Wittworth and asked. Wittworth took a deep breath. "Well, I guess the Mexicans in the trench don't want to surrender."
Kozak's eyes betrayed her shock. She took a quick glance at the trench, just in time to see the tank push another scoop of dirt over the edge. Looking back at Wittworth, she asked if anyone had tried to talk the Mexicans into surrendering. Wittworth chuckled. "I doubt, Lieutenant Kozak, if anyone in the 3rd Brigade was in the mood to try. It's a general rule of thumb that the longer you defend, the less likely it is that the attacker will be in a mood to accept your surrender. Besides, they're only Mexicans."
After one more long look at the trench, Kozak turned her back to the scene. But she couldn't turn her mind away from it. The laboring of the tank's engine as it pushed more dirt into the trench, and the occasional thump-thump-thump of the Bradley's cannon reminded her of what was going on. What do you call men who would rather be buried alive than surrender, she wondered. Were they heroes? Or fools? Was it courage and pride that made them do such a thing? Or was it insanity? In her wildest dreams, she could never imagine anyone in her platoon, even the most gung-ho soldier, sitting in a trench, calmly waiting to be shot or buried. Taking one more fugitive glance over her shoulder at the scene, Kozak decided that, as for herself, she would rather take a 25mm shell in the chest than allow herself to be buried like that.
With her mind awash with images and thoughts of the trench, Kozak missed most of Wittworth's order. Not that it made much difference.
Company B was on the right, its normal location with the battalion deployed in a diamond formation. Her platoon, the 2nd, would be the right flank guard, deployed 1,500 meters to the right of the rest of the formation. Though Wittworth warned her that since her platoon would be cutting across a series of dry streambeds, or arroyos, forcing the platoon to go slower than the battalion's main body moving on flatter ground, she didn't appreciate what he was telling her. Instead, Kozak's mind was in the process of grappling with the cold, uncompromising inhumanity of war, an inhumanity that enveloped her like sackcloth.
10 kilometers northwest of nuevo repueblo, mexico 0955 hours, 12 September
As more and more American tanks and infantry fighting vehicles came pouring over the trenches of the brigade defending around Nuevo Re pueblo, Guajardo knew the end was in sight. So did the colonel who commanded the brigade being overrun by those vehicles. Unable to watch any longer or listen to the cries for help from his subordinates, cries that he could do nothing about, the brigade commander turned away from the observation slit of the bunker and faced Guajardo. With tears running freely down his cheeks and his great chest heaving, the brigade commander struggled to look Guajardo in the eye. Finally, with the greatest of efforts, he blurted out his apology. "Forgive me, Alfredo Guajardo, for I have failed you and the people of Mexico."
Overwhelmed by the passions of the moment, Guajardo stepped forward, embracing the brigade commander with a bear hug. Then, stepping back but still grasping the commander by the shoulders, Guajardo told his fellow officer that there was no shame. He and his men had done magnificently against terrible odds. His men, Guajardo told him, had shown the Americans, and the world, that Mexico would never bow its head for any man or nation. Theirs, he said, was a victory of the spirit and of the heart.
When he had managed to compose the brigade commander, Guajardo ordered him to break off contact and pull back as many of his units as he could. Their task, he told him, was over for now. It was important that those who could do so rally and prepare for the next battle. With renewed confidence and sense of purpose, the brigade commander saluted Guajardo, then turned to his staff and began issuing his own orders.
Guajardo watched for a moment. It had been, he knew, a long and hard fight. All of them, including him, were nearing the limits of their own endurance. While what he and the brigade commander had been exposed to, physically, bore no resemblance to what the common infantryman in the most forward trench had to face, the stress and strain of command coupled with a lack of sleep qu
ickly took its toll, especially on older men.
It was time, he knew, to bring the battle to a close. It had been a good fight, far exceeding his wildest expectations. They had repulsed one night attack, fought another nearly to a standstill, and, more important, stood their ground. No, he thought, the Mexican people had been well served.
There remained only one more hand to play out in this game.
Satisfied that all was in order again, he turned to his aide. "Contact the Nicaraguan commander. Tell him he may begin his attack toward Nuevo Repueblo. And, Juan, tell him I recommend that he use the northern route, through the arroyos. It is slower, but offers more concealment."
15 kilometers east of marin, mexico
1110 hours, 12 September
The heat of the sun beating on the Bradley was, for Kozak, almost unbearable. How the soldiers in the rear of the vehicle stood it was beyond her. As a vehicle commander, and the platoon leader to boot, she got to stand up in the open hatch of the Bradley's two-man turret and take advantage of the cooling breeze generated by the Bradley's forward motion.
That she was recklessly exposing herself, from the waist up, to enemy fire or bodily injury as she stood in the open hatch, her crewman's helmet cocked back on her head, didn't occur to her at that moment. Even the constant climbing out of and back down into the numerous arroyos they had to cross didn't bother Kozak. All that mattered, at that moment, was that there was a cooling breeze, no matter how slight, and she was able to take advantage of it.
Kozak's enjoyment of the breeze was interrupted by a spot report from Sergeant Maupin, whose Bradley was on the far right side of the platoon wedge formation, that there was a large cloud of dust to the platoon's front right. Looking over in that direction, Kozak saw the dust cloud. For a moment, she wondered what could be making such a large cloud. It was, she knew, definitely dust. But, whose? Looking down at her map, she confirmed that no one was supposed to be to the right or front of her platoon. According to Wittworth's order and the graphics he had given her, her platoon was on the right side. Glancing up from her map, she counted her own tracks. All four were there. Next, she looked to her left, down into the flatter lands below. At a distance of fifteen hundred meters, more or less, she could see the other vehicles of Company A. Although they were a little ahead of her, due to the rougher upland terrain her platoon had to fight, everything seemed to be in order there. Turning back to her right, she studied the dust cloud for a moment before making a decision.
Satisfied that the dust wasn't being created by friendly forces, Kozak studied her map again. She decided that whatever was kicking up the dust was in the next arroyo, which was roughly parallel to the orie her 1platoon was in. According to the map, it was a relatively wide one that meandered and twisted as it ran downhill. Narrow at the top, it widened as it reached the open country below. Deciding that it would probably be unwise to take the entire platoon out of the arroyo they were in and expose them to whatever was creating the dust cloud, Kozak ordered the platoon to halt just before it began its assent out of the arroyo.
Contacting Rivera, she told him to remain there, with the tracks, while she dismounted, with a radioman, in order to go forward on foot to take a look-see.
Without waiting to receive an acknowledgment from Rivera, Kozak took her crewman's helmet off. Sticking her head down and to the left, she opened the turret compartment door that separated the turret crew compartment from the rest of the Bradley and shouted down into the rear for the radioman to dismount. After she was sure he had heard her, Kozak took her rifle, Kelvar helmet, and web gear, tossing them out of the hatch and onto the top of the turret. Climbing out, she stood up, put her gear on, arranged it, then carefully began to climb down.
In the past, she had jumped from the side of the vehicle onto the ground. Since breaking her nose, she had been more careful, especially since even a slight jarring was enough to send a spasm of pain shooting from her nose, across her face, and throughout her head. Every time that happened, she cursed herself. Of all the stupid, childish injuries she could have gotten. Though she wasn't thrilled about the injury, and how she had gotten it, it did, she thought, have its advantage. Through roundabout means Kozak had found out that, in a matter of days, her nickname in the platoon had been changed from Lieutenant Lips to "the Nose." Though being referred to as "the Nose" didn't do much for her self-image and ego, at least her new nickname was nonsexist.
On the ground, Kozak was greeted by Specialist Billy Bell, her radio telephone operator, or RTO. His uniform was soaked with sweat. Still, there was a smile on Billy Bell's face. "What's up, LT?"
Even the fact that everyone called her LT, short for lieutenant, didn't bother Kozak anymore. In the beginning, the soldiers in the platoon, used to working in an all-male world, had responded with "sir" when talking to her. This had, on several occasions, resulted in blushing and embarrassment, followed by apologies that sometimes were sincere.
Though the proper response was "ma'am," the soldiers of 2nd Platoon, somehow, couldn't bring themselves to utter that word. So an unspoken compromise had been reached. The soldiers, from Rivera on down, used LT, and Kozak said nothing. Everyone, she knew, had to make compromises.
Sticking her folded map into the large pocket on her right thigh, she looked at the dust cloud, which appeared to be getting closer, then at Bell. She pointed with her rifle. "We're going to trot on over to the hill and see who's making that dust."
Bell sighed. "Do we have to trot, LT? It's hotter than hell."
Ignoring Bell's glib comment, Kozak turned and began to climb the wall of the arroyo, taking great strides as she did so, and calling back,
"Come on, Bell. You could use the exercise."
Looking down at his stomach, then at Kozak, he shook his head.
Damn, he thought, as he began to scale the wall of the arroyo behind her.
Was she ever going to get off his case about his beer gut? It was only a little one.
Once out of the arroyo, Kozak got her bearings and they began to head for the dust cloud. As they did, neither of them took any great care, standing upright as they jogged toward the crest of the mound that separated the arroyo her platoon was in from the one that the dust appeared to be coming from. Once they reached the crest, Kozak stopped, kneeling as she caught her breath, and surveyed the ground before her. For the first time, she listened. To her front, from the direction of the dust cloud, Kozak could hear the squeaking and popping of tracks being pulled through drive sprockets, mixed in with the low rumble of laboring diesel engines.
Tanks! There were tanks to their front. But whose? The throaty rumble of the engines didn't sound like the whine of an M-1A1 's turbine. Though there was the possibility that the terrain, heat, and distance could be distorting the sound, Kozak didn't think they were friendly. Coming up behind her, Bell shouted, "I'm here, LT. Late but . . ."
Turning, she put her right index finger up to her lips, indicating that she wanted him to shut up. Pausing, BelJ looked at her, then over toward the dust cloud, listening to the sound of the tank engines. Without any need for more cues from Kozak, he understood what was going on. Crouching next to her, Bell held his rifle at the ready as he watched his platoon leader and waited for her next move.
IKozak knelt there for another second, watching, thinking. She could feel her stomach muscles begin to tighten as her heart rate slowly began to climb. With sweat running down her spine in tiny rivulets, Kozak's body prepared itself for fight or flight while her mind pondered their next move. When she was ready in body and mind, Kozak slowly rose and began to advance, her unblinking eyes glued to the edge of the next arroyo. Bell, without a word, followed, his eyes darting from Kozak's back to the edge of the arroyo and the cloud of dust that was being thrown up from it by the unseen tanks.
When they were within two meters of the edge, Kozak paused, then slowly lowered her body to the ground, crawling on her stomach up to the edge. When Bell saw she was at the edge, he did likewise, coming up on
her right. When he reached the edge he looked down just in time to see what looked like the biggest tank in the world pass less than six feet below them. Forgetting their predicament, Bell gasped. "Jesus Christ!
What in the fuck are those?"
Kozak, struggling to control herself as she watched the tank pass below them, didn't answer right away. When she was finally able to talk, all she could get out was, "It's a tank." Then, as an afterthought, "A T-72."
Their attention was suddenly drawn away from the tank trundling on down the arroyo below them as another tank materialized out of the cloud of dust created by the tank that had just passed below them. As if from nowhere, it appeared at the lip of the arroyo across from them and a little to their right, at a range of one hundred meters. The new tank, on reaching the edge, slowed almost to a stop as the driver lost sight of the ground to his front. With the tank commander leaning out of his hatch and directing him, the driver inched forward until he could feel the tank teetering on the edge. When he felt that, the driver nudged the accelerator of the tank ever so lightly, giving the tank enough of a kick to push it over the edge and into the bottom of the arroyo. As the tank came over the lip, Kozak noted that, from where she and Bell were, the entire top of the turret and the back deck were exposed for two or three seconds. Once in the arroyo, the tank turned to the right and passed below them, following the first one that was now beginning to disappear in its own dust further down the arroyo.
Although Kozak had no idea who was manning the tanks, or where they came from, she knew that they were not friendly, and worse, that they were headed downhill and straight into the right flank of 2nd of the 13th. Pushing away from the edge of the arroyo, Kozak and Bell moved to where they could sit up. Pulling out her map with one hand, and grabbing the radio mike with the other, Kozak reported her sighting to Rivera in as calm a voice as the situation and her excited state permitted.