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Operation "Charlie Foxtrot" *** Private Nassiri crouched at the ready, with his rifle pointed butt first at the wooden portal, and bayonet fixed. He planted his feet, grinding the treads of his boots into the dusty concrete of the step in front of the door. Scream leveled his M-4 carbine at about chest level for a normal man and kept it there, ready to fire as soon as the way was made clear. Right behind the first pair, Angel and Dim stood by with their rifles ready to go in hot. Smoke held a position in the street - back to back with Doc - where he could spray the entry with his M-249. Mrs. B and Doublewide took up flanking positions just close enough to the house's front windows to hear suspicious movement inside, and were ready to cover the door when the rest of the squad busted in. *** Meanwhile, in the narrow alleys behind the Wakhar house, Wahil Wakhar and two other insurgent fighters from Syria worked their way silently, thinking the house wasn't under the Americans' magnifying glass. The men cradled loaded AK-47's, and were laden with knapsacks of excess bomb making equipment. They reached a small cellar door that led to the house's crawlspace, a three-foot high space between the hard-packed foundation and the subfloors. Steeled away under the floors of the Wakhar house by day, the Syrians constructed their car bombs for planting at night. Other tiny cells of the Al-Musharraf group stored the fertilizers and explosives in different safehouses, to avoid detection of their entire operation. Wahil unlocked the access door to the crawlspace, handed his AK to one of the Syrians, and waited for them to slip inside, before shutting the door and proceeding into his home. *** Mehal Wakhar hoped she was dreaming - that the muffled THUMP was just Wahil tottering around on the first floor or stumbling around the kitchen to scrounge for an early breakfast. She clutched her thin cotton sheet up against her body and sat still, wondering what was going on as fear began to creep into her mind. She nearly screamed when she felt a touch on her shoulder, but suppressed the yelp when the face she saw belonged to Wahil. The insurgent had bounded up the back steps, which ended at a landing outside their bedroom door. The thump was toward the front of the house. Maybe, Mehal thought, she was just hearing things. "Where were you?" Mehal whispered hastily. "Did you hear the loud bang in front of the house?" "I was doing my duty," Wahil grunted. "It's none of your business anyway. And I heard the sound. Stay here, and if it is the Americans, you will tell them that we were together all night." *** Private Nassiri swung his rifle with one hefty blow against the door knob in front of the house, smashing the lock to bits and dislodging the door. At the same moment, Scream kicked hard, throwing the door open far enough for the two soldiers to storm in, one high and the other low. Each man swept a sector of the first room of the house, a sitting room, according to the MOUT house clearing training they received from the Special Forces and Intelligence hermits at Camp Victory. Other than Scream's terse "Do it!" command to Nassiri, the men stormed the house silently. The second pair of Dunphy and Angel trotted in on the heels of Scream and Nassiri, executing the same enter-and-sweep drill. Smoke and Doc entered last, with the platoon medic nervously fingering the trigger guard of his weapon. Scream had mandated before the break-in that there would be no shouting to arouse the neighborhood, in case an ambush was nearby. Once inside the house, he pointed to his eyes and then to Smoke, motioning for the machine gunner to cover the front stairway leading to the second floor. Angel and Dim took up position at the hallway leading to the rearmost rooms on the main floor, and Nassiri turned over some of the furniture to see whether anything was hidden underneath. "Clear?" Scream whispered. "Clear," Tariq replied. "Okay, listen up," Scream whispered once more, to the whole squad. "Dim and Angel, sweep to the back door and check out the alley. Smoke and Doc, stay here and watch for trouble. Be ready to pull Mrs. B and Doublewide inside for cover if the street gets hot. Tariq and I are goin' upstairs. No unnecessary chatter. Sing out if you spot a warm body, and secure 'em fast." The rest of the squad nodded before attending to their tasks. *** The two Syrian bomb makers were used to skulking in dank crawlspaces and hiding under inhospitable conditions. They were hunted men in Lebanon where they fought the Christian-centric Amal militia. They were on the run from marauding Israeli and Druze soldiers in the Beka'a Valley, and had been in semi-retirement at an Al-Qaeda terror camp in western Iraq when the invasion came. American troops expelled them to Syria, but they snuck back across the border, even barely avoiding a Special Forces hunter / killer team that had to have included a MOSSAD assassin-advisor, judging by how quickly the unit had identified the pair of infiltrators. Both men froze when they heard the multiple footfalls echoing through the subflooring mere inches above their heads. They counted at least five pairs of feet, and could tell by the steady, deliberate movements that the owners of the heavy boots had tactical training. They weren't policemen, who often predicated their raids with lots of shouted warnings in Arabic, and frenetic, random stomping characteristic of people not accustomed to working as a coordinated team with mutual cover. The Syrians silently charged their rifles, but didn't opt to risk revealing themselves by shooting up randomly through the floorboards and hoping to hit someone. Instead, one of the bombers rigged a hand grenade to the cellar door. The Syrians were ready to sacrifice Wahil to the Americans, so long as he or his wife didn't reveal their hiding place. It didn't feel good to be trapped like a city rat in a sewer, but they did what they felt was the best way to pick their battle. *** Scream followed Nassiri up the stairs, and both men crouched instinctively when they saw Wahil heading their way. The Iraqi man seemed startled and let out a scream of surprise upon seeing the soldiers charging up to the second floor. "Hold it right there!" Nassiri yelled in Arabic, loud enough for the other soldiers in the house to hear. Scream drew a bead on Wahil, leveling his assault rifle for a clean head shot. "What are you doing in my house?" Wahil shouted in Arabic. "Get out of here!" "Security sweep!" Nassiri replied. "Put your hands up and lie on the floor!" "Do what he says!" Scream shouted in English, motioning toward the floor with his rifle barrel. "Tariq, get the flex cuffs!" "You guys okay up there?" Smoke called up the stairs, as a crash on the first level came from Angel and Dim's direction. The men were smashing through doors on their way to the back of the house. "We got one!" Scream shouted back. "Continue the sweep!" Wahil hit the floor quickly, as he was ordered, and Nassiri cuffed him with the hard plastic restraints. Scream tested the fit of the flex cuffs, and then called for Doc to come up and haul Wahil into the sitting room. Eventually, Scream and Nassiri reached the Wakhars' bedroom and found Mehal cowering behind the bed, scrambling to locate her clothing in the dark. "Come out!" Nassiri yelled, flashing his rifle's infrared targeting light around the room and catching sight of Mehal's shape in his goggles. "Who's in there, Tariq?" Scream asked, scanning the hallway for trouble. "Looks like one more. A woman." "Get her out of there, so we can call this floor clear." "Come out now!" Nassiri repeated. Mehal inched away from the bed, raising her hands clear to show Nassiri that she wasn't carrying a weapon. She sobbed with fear as the Americans stormed into the bedroom to cuff her and hustle her down to the first floor. "Top floor's clear," Scream said, upon reaching the entry room. "Where are Dim and Angel?" "They went back to sweep this floor," Doc replied. Scream checked his watch. The assault on the house had only taken five minutes so far. "Okay," he said. "Watch these two while I call the platoon." SSGT Silas glanced out the door to make sure Mrs. B and Doublewide were still posted at their places, and received a nod from Private Mitchell in reply. "We're okay, Sarge," Private Del Rio whispered from next to the door. Scream clicked on his radio and spoke into the boom microphone affixed to his helmet. "Rawhide Six Actual, this is Rawhide One. SITREP. Objective One is secured and clear. I have two possibles in custody for interrogation. Over." The squad leader could hear pops and the chattering of an M-240 over Lieutenant "Underpants" Hunter's reply. The platoon commander's voice was stressed and rushed as if he was losing his breath. "Set up a hasty ambush, Silas!" Hunter shouted into his radio. "We've flushed five hostiles with AK's and an RPG, and we're driving them your way. Your objective was a suspected safehouse. They'll probably hole up there, and I want your squad to take them down!" "What happened to protecting the civilians, Six?" Scream asked. "Hang the orders! Tag these motherfuckers before they get away! I want 'em in a crossfire on the main street or you'll have hell to pay!" "Roger that, Six," Scream replied. He yanked on Mrs. B and Doublewide's web gear to get their attention. "Get inside, now! We have to prep an ambush!" "What's going on?" Nassiri asked, looking up from the two cuffed prisoners who had very scared looks on their faces but tried not to go into hysterics at their home being invaded. "Gag them with your kerchiefs or towels, Nassiri. I don't want 'em revealing where we are, or shouting a warning. Doc, you help Tariq out, an' then you two find cover upstairs. Smoke, you, Mitchell and Del Rio will cover these windows. There's five hostiles comin' our way, and they might try to take shelter here. Our job is to kick their asses till they surrender or die." Scream looked around for a moment, and caught Smoke's eye. "Smoke, did Angel or Dim check back?" "Nope," Smoke said tersely, checking his ammunition supply before shoving a large chair against the front door and crouching behind the small opening he left to fire from. "I'm going to find them," Scream said. "All of you sit tight here. Don't wait for my orders if you see anyone with guns running our way. Underpants wants us to open up and ask questions after the smoke clears. Got it?" "We gotcha, Sarge," Mrs. B replied. *** The Syrians couldn't hear much besides the stomping of boot soles on the floorboards of the house above them. In hushed whispers, they agreed that should anyone find the entrance to the crawlspace, they would detonate the booby trap set at the door, and the two Arabs would open fire until an escape route was cleared. The veteran terrorists checked their pouches of ammunition and reshuffled the contents of their musette bags and Israeli military knapsacks. Only choosing the bomb components that could not be readily replaced, the men left much of what they had been prepared to carry behind. Having some evidence to find after the house was cleared might even take the heat off as the terrorists sought their next safe house anyway. *** Scream caught up with Dim and Angel at the house's back door, the two privates crouching in the doorway and peering cautiously out into the alley that ran behind all the buildings in the neighborhood block. "Anything?" Scream whispered. "Nothing, boss," Dim replied. "But, there's a small trap door that is covered with plywood a few feet over. Think they've got anything good hidden down there?" "Dunno," Scream said. "We've got two possibles cuffed up, and Underpants says they flushed out five insurgents who are running our way." "Want us to secure this door then?" Angel asked. "My thoughts exactly," Scream replied. "I'll go have a look at that trap door. You two cover my ass. Sing out if you hear fire from the front of the house, or see someone comin' our way. The lieutenant is trying to drive them down the street instead of the alley." "You got it, boss," Dim added. He withdrew a 40mm nonlethal flechette grenade for his M-203 and loaded the grenade launcher with a hollow thunk. Scream inched his way along the back wall of the house, one of his ears attuned to his surroundings, while Hunter's orders rang loudly in the earpiece of the other. The uncovered insurgents were on their way. In moments, he might hear rifle fire as his squad prepared to subdue the fleeing enemy. He wanted to move fast, clear the crawlspace and then block the alley, so he, Angel and Dim could stand with their teammates. However, no one could afford to be bushwhacked, and he didn't want to warn anyone hiding under the floor that he was coming. So, he moved slowly and carefully. Scream could hear individual breaths rolling in and out of his lungs. He could hear the crunch of the loose gravel and rubble under his boots as he moved inch by inch toward the crawlspace door. He could hear Angel gruffly whispering to Dim to stop cracking his chewing gum in his ear as they crouched back to back in the alley door. One leather gloved hand reached out to clear the pieces of pressboard that were left to cover the door, while the other held his drawn sidearm ready to shoot... *** "Shh! Someone is coming!" one of the Syrians whispered to the other. Both men tucked their AK-47's into their armpits and gazed along the iron sights at the crawlspace door. Someone was outside, unlatching the door. Both men thought they could see the grenade wedged under the wooden door, its spoon ready to pop and start the three second detonation fuse. When it blew, they would use the confusion among whoever was out there to run. They hoped the grenade wouldn't catch them, and there wasn't enough people outside to stop them cold in their escape attempt. The door rose a fraction of an inch, not enough to release the spoon of the grenade. Then it rose another, while the Syrians squinted to shield their eyes from the eventual blast... Next Part: Mayhem All Around |