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Operation "Charlie Foxtrot"
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"Secure this area!" Lieutenant "Underpants" Hunter shouted to his soldiers as they scrambled over the bodies of the six insurgents. One squad established a perimeter around the kill zone while the other searched the bodies for any useful intelligence or a wounded survivor. Meanwhile, Sergeant First Class Murphy escorted Private "Smoke" Williams and Private Nassiri out of their redoubt inside the Wakhar house. The lieutenant scowled as he eyed SFC Murphy and the two members of his first squad. With an angry gesture, he summoned his radio operator and tilted the front lip of his combat helmet up so he could glare at them better. "Would either of you two fuck ups care to explain why your squad went off the air?" Hunter growled. "And how about your buddies? Where have they all gone off to? Where is Sergeant Silas?" Smoke moved his mouth silently and Tariq appeared stone-faced. When Hunter glared at the machine gunner, Williams finally ventured a response. "Sir, Dim - er - Private Dunphy said that the Sarge was down at the back of the house. Doc an' Angel were out back as well, and we had standing orders from Sergeant Silas to perform our squad's part of the objective and set the ambush, sir. We fulfilled our part of the task an' told the rest to get to the company CP with our prisoners and the Sarge... Sir!" "Your squad took prisoners?" Hunter asked, interested all of a sudden at Smoke's revelation. In the back of his mind, he considered that the deaths of the insurgent cell in the street might not be such a black mark on his report after all. "We fuckin' did, sir!" Smoke replied. "We bagged a man and a woman in the house sweep. Mrs. B and Doublewide were in charge of 'em when Doc said he was humpin' the Sarge out to the company aid station." *** A pair of snipers from Alpha Company's sniper squad crouched atop the roof of an empty building, with a commanding view over part of the rifle company's sector. The men breathed silently, only moving in slight, controlled motions to keep from revealing their observation post to potential enemy observers or insurgent snipers. The two-man sniper team was on alert and hunting at all times, with the team spotter watching the movements of the American troops within view and scanning the rooftops for suspicious activity. The team's shooter stayed prone, locked and loaded with a high-powered sniping piece always ready to engage. "Movement," the spotter whispered. Snipers were trained to communicate effectively without a lot of words - it was a skill the two men honed over a long period of training as a shooter-spotter partnership. "Bearing and range me," the shooter replied, raising the barrel of his standard-issue M-21 7.62mm sniper rifle. He snugged the weapon's stock into the crook of his arm and rested his cheek on a padded insert attached to the top of the stock, while his shooting eye adjusted its focus to looking through the rifle's scope. "Alley to our eleven o'clock. Seventy-five yards, two mils down on the sight blade, and no lateral windage." "Sighted. Looks like a squad humping out civvies and a WIA." "I'll call it in," the spotter said with a slight nod, reaching for his radio transmitter. "Thunder Six Alpha, this is Snake One. We have movement to the northeast of Rawhide Platoon's line of advance. They look like friendlies, with a couple of civilians and a wounded man on a litter. Request instructions." The sniper team didn't have to wait long before Captain Baron's voice came on the channel. The spotter also noticed a fire team of riflemen scrambling to intercept the group at the street end of the alley. "Six Actual to Snake One. This is The Duke. Stand down, do not engage. We will identify on the ground. Good job." ***
A number of officers and senior enlisted men stood around map tables and listened to the radio traffic being piped into speakers from the Battalion S-6 section's network message center. The message center was actually in a large 5-ton flatbed truck fitted with a Signal Corps CONEX and festooned with the antennas needed to pull down the radios of all the infantry battalion's operating units. The battalion headquarters had been spread out from its usual compact group of command vehicles and liaison HMMWVs, after the soldiers had taken over a former Iraqi political building in one of the pacified sectors near the intended battle area. Additional American personnel attached to the headquarters milled about, or tried to offer helpful suggestions while the operations staff controlled the movements of their combat companies. Among the additional people hanging about the battalion CP, were five scraggly-looking men and a clean-cut officer, all wearing the latest U.S. Army digital desert fatigues. Despite a "No Smoking" sign hung prominently near the map tables and radio repeaters, one of the men fumbled with an unlit cigarette, pinching it between his fingers and nervously rolling it from one side of his lips to the other. "Dammit, Sergeant, will you quit playing with the cancer stick?" an imposing black man among the group growled from under the four days of rough stubble growing on his face. None of the men wore grade insignia or personal name tapes on their BDUs, but the black man, Sergeant Major Jonas Blane, was obviously the senior operator. Wrinkles, long, healed-over permanent scars, and the deadly serious expression fixed on his face told of the mileage and experience that served him like a battlefield sixth sense. "Sorry, boss," the recalcitrant "Sergeant", SFC Mack Gerhardt, apologized. He pocketed the smoke while the officer turned to talk with the men. With a countenance that hid more secrets than one could discern just by looking, Colonel Tom Ryan looked at Sergeant Major Blane dispassionately. After a moment that may have felt like minutes, Ryan whispered to his brother-in-arms, "I don't like this." "Using the leg infantry to flush our boys out?" Blane asked in an equally stealthy tone. "These sons of bitches are too dangerous to corner with just mud grunts," Ryan added. "They're the ones with nothing to lose, and we have one of these rifle companies just pounding away in their nest to flush them out. The car bombs being set off all over Bee-Dad are nothing compared to what they accomplished in Lebanon. MOSSAD says these guys are hard core, and we need to catch ‘em rikki tik. I don't want to picture what else is up their sleeves." "Well, if we don't bird dog them somehow and try to force their hand, we won't know where to start our own hunt," Blane noted. "Keep your ears out for reports from Alpha Company," Ryan whispered. "They're the ones sweeping the sector that our Intel team thought they pigeonholed the bastards into. I made sure we fed the company commander's OPLAN with the primary objective of turning over the safe house that Chickadee marked during his reconnaissance mission. If the Syrians are there, then we'll pull the company out and start kicking over stones." "Speak of the devil," Blane whispered as a new transmission came into the headquarters. "Alfa Six Five to Turtleshell Six," Captain Baron’s executive officer radioed on the Battalion net. "SITREP. One platoon lost one-third of strength after bird-dogging suspected terror cell. Company is setting a perimeter and commencing a collapsing bag search to contain as many suspected stragglers as possible. Two suspects brought to company CP for interrogation. Most of the cell is KIA as per platoon commander. Request authorization to proceed with lockdown of Al-Musharraf." The battalion S-3, a Major in charge of the battalion’s operations and the third in command of the 600-plus soldier combat force, nodded to the radio re-transmission operator in the command center. "Turtleshell Six to Alfa Six Five. Secure a perimeter and check all possible routes of escape. Search and detain all persons within three blocks of the objective building. Report immediately if you require reinforcements. Relief will deploy within three hours. We will dispatch medical assistance from the aid station if you need it. Turtleshell Six, over and out." "Alfa Six Five, roger that. We’ll hold the perimeter until relieved." "Well, that tears it," Blane whispered to Colonel Ryan. "Are we going on the prowl tonight?" "Sounds like it," Ryan replied without showing any emotion. "Let's get the maps and gear together." *** "Well, lookee here. The prodigals have arrived," Captain Baron said tersely when Angel, Dim, Doublewide and Mrs. B walked into the command post tent with the leader of the weapons platoon's patrol hustling them in ahead of him. The four soldiers lined up along one wall of the tent with weapons slung and saluted. Baron simply nodded in return. "Who wants to go first among you? What the hell is going on with your squad dropping off the radio net and not responding to Lieutenant Hunter? Who ordered you to haul ass out of the engagement zone without calling in? And where is Sergeant Silas?" "Which answer do you prefer first, sir?" Dim asked stupidly under his breath. "What was that?" Baron growled. "Care to say that for everyone's benefit, Mister Dunphy?" "I wondered what answer you wanted first, sir." "Don't get glib with me, Dunphy. I'm not in the fucking mood. First off, where's your sergeant and the other half of your fire team?" "Sarge was the one hurt," Angel replied out of turn, which earned a silent glare from the captain. "Some sort of booby trap went off under the house we were ordered to check out. When the shit hit the fan, Tariq and Smoke were covering the street, while Dim, Doc and I tried to revive the Sarge. Two bad guys busted out after the booby trap went off, but we couldn't tag 'em. Privates Del Rio and Mitchell were guarding our prisoners, the two civilians we brought out of the house. Since Doc was the highest rank, and we couldn't use the Sarge's radio, Doc decided that we pull him and the civvies out of the line of fire. He's with Doc at the aid station now." "That the straight story?" Baron asked the rest of the soldiers. "Yes, sir," PFC Del Rio replied with a nod. Mrs. B concurred silently. "That's the straight dope, sir," Dim replied, "... no bullshit." "Very well. Soon as the other platoons are in place at your engagement site, I'm going to have Lieutenant Hunter get back here, and have you all debriefed by the Intel spook." Baron jerked his thumb in the direction of the company executive officer, who was discussing a block search with the first sergeant. "Cool out with Lieutenant Hutchins, while I go pay a visit to the aid station. Job well done, considering the situation, all of you." "Thank you, sir," Angel, Dim, Mrs. B and Doublewide replied in unison. ***
"Come in, Lieutenant Hunter," Captain Baron said from the cab of one of the HMMWV utility trucks parked outside the tents set up for his headquarters. "I need a moment with you, in private." Hunter glanced about for a moment, nodding at SFC Murphy to take charge of the remnants of his platoon and get them fed. Smoke and Tariq split off from the rest of the soldiers and were quick to find Angel and Dim lollygagging around the command tent, where the four teammates instantly struck up a conversation about the events of the ambush, gestures and all. Shrugging his shoulders, the officer climbed into the passenger seat of the HMMWV and shut the door, not noticing five scruffy-looking strangers looking over the members of Sergeant Silas' squad. "Care to tell me what happened with your platoon, Hunter?" Baron asked matter-of-factly. "Did you achieve your objectives?" "Yes, sir," Hunter replied. "I sent Sergeant Silas' First Squad out ahead of the platoon to secure and search the objective house in our OPLAN. I also gave them orders to set an ambush for when we discovered the members of the cell based there. The rest of the platoon engaged roughly six enemy insurgents, drove them into a kill zone, and when Silas' squad went off the radio net, I had to improvise and deploy my two squads in a pincers to stop the cell without them." "Didn't you discover two members of Silas' squad still following the orders you issued?" "Yes, sir," Hunter replied. "They were telling me some cock and bull story about Silas being injured and most of the squad retreating without authorization." "Did you check out their story?" "It was Private Williams' usual tall tales, sir." "Then why didn't you find Silas in the house?" Hunter began to perspire a bit. "They retreated without authorization, sir." "Hunter, you are a fucking idiot sometimes," Baron growled. "Silas got hit by a booby trap. The people we were supposed to find used it to evade your alleged "West Point" building search tactics. Doc ordered enough people to get Silas out to the command post to haul off. And yet, the squad still obeyed your orders. Williams and Nassiri stood their ground, despite probably questioning whether they should stick with Sergeant Silas." Baron took a swig from his canteen and looked at his nervous platoon commander. "Did you take any prisoners from the six insurgents you were chasing?" Hunter gulped. "No sir. All six put up a fight and were KIA by the time the smoke cleared." "WRONG!" Baron nearly shouted. "Silas came back wounded and his people brought in two suspects to question. You haven't got any of the right answers, all of which you should've had by doing a thorough debrief of privates Nassiri and Williams in the field. Instead, you played the hero to chase down the insurgents, looked to up your personal body count, and swung the dicks of the entirety of one of MY squads by putting them out to ambush without support close by." "Y- yes, sir," Hunter replied, a tone of despondence in his voice. "Here's what I want you to do. I want your report on this by the time we get back to camp. Our visiting Intel troop will debrief each and every member of your platoon, and provide me with their reports. You will be relieved of your command of the platoon and Sergeant Murphy will take over as interim commander until the XO is free to take stock of them. I can't get rid of you because the Battalion is short of platoon leaders right now." "So, I get to be the company XO until the end of the operation?" Hunter almost sounded gleeful at the possibility. "I'll be damned if I put anyone else at risk by putting you in my command post. You're going back to camp on the supply Hummer. We'll make do without you." Hunter's heart sank. He was too proud a soldier to become the company supply officer as penance for fucking up in the field. He mumbled a final "Yes, sir" and exited the HMMWV like a whipped hound. |