Hunters: U.S. Snipers in the War on Terror (10 page)

He befriended soldiers from the sniper section, and after a few discussions, they gave him insight about the selection process for sniper school and how to prepare for it. He did not try out for it there, however, because he wanted to better his chances by waiting to return stateside. Getting into sniper school is hard for soldiers overseas; it is a privilege that most units cannot afford to extend.

Over a year later, Stan was at Fort Campbell, Kentucky, as part of the Second Battalion, 187th Infantry, under the Third Brigade of the 101st Airborne Division. He was a Rakkasan, translated in Japanese as
falling down umbrella man
. The name was given to men in the 187th by the Japanese after World War II, to signify the unit’s airborne ability. They are capable of deploying anywhere in the world within thirty-six hours, which excited Stan. He was also satisfied to be carrying on a family tradition of serving in the 101st Airborne Division, as many of his relatives had done before him. There, he seized the opportunity to become a sniper when he learned that a selection was coming up.

Physically, Stan was short and stocky. Lifting weights was a passion he had carried over from high school, and his muscular build helped with the heavy packs. Mentally, he was always focused, always serious, and willing to study when others would not. These attributes helped him to pass selection and to be chosen as a part of the Reconnaissance/Surveillance and Target Acquisition platoon, or R/STA platoon. That first year in the platoon, he faced his first real test in the Army.

Stan’s unit and SOTIC, the Special Operations Target Interdiction Course, were located on the same base, and the course had an extra slot, allowing him to walk on. At first, Stan felt overwhelmed; it is not very often that a young infantry soldier is given a chance to attend such a prestigious class. His peers were mostly seasoned Special Forces veterans with badges and patches that Stan could only dream about, but still he was there and he knew that he had to make the best of the opportunity.

Soon young Stan was rubbing elbows with the best of them at SOTIC. He first noticed the professionalism of everyone, particularly the instructors. They were helpful in every aspect and were adamant about guiding Stan toward success, which was different from a regular Army course. Regular Army courses seemed to make everything hard for the students, as if they wanted them to fail, but not the SOTIC instructors.

Instructors humbly explained their real world experiences and sincerely wanted the students to learn the art of sniping. Stan noticed that whenever he needed advice, the instructors were there. They helped him understand the concepts without his having to worry about being disciplined. It made for less stress during his especially favorite portion of training, the marksmanship phase.

His first lesson during marksmanship was “optics magnify errors.” This simply means that without the fundamentals of shooting, a scope only proves a shooter’s inability. To understand this, the students were restricted to iron sights on their sniper rifles for the first two weeks. With no scope or bipods and only a sling and a shooting glove, the snipers set out to learn the basics. They shot in the standing using just a sling, slow fire, and rapid fire, as well as different shooting positions at each yard line, ending at six hundred yards. In the end, the training paid off, because once they mounted optics, Stan was dead-on.

After graduating SOTIC, Stan was back with his unit, and then 9/11 happened. Within months they learned that the rumor about Afghanistan was true, and his brigade packed and readied for deployment. Stan hoped all the training and all the shooting would pay off, because now he was headed for war.

By the time Marine Corporal Josh Rush deployed to Afghanistan, he had been through extensive sniper training. He’d arrived to the Second Battalion, Third Marines scout/sniper platoon in 2003 and was a PIG (Professionally Instructed Gunman) for two months before earning a seat at Third Marine Division’s sniper school on Marine Corps Base Hawaii. The odds were against him, though, as a private first class, and after months of sniper training he went to the school only to fail the first event, land navigation. Luckily the instructors allowed him to finish the course, but in the end, he was not given a certification.

Rush considered the sniper training a bonus to begin with. He had joined the Marines to be in the infantry, and when he found out about snipers, he jumped at the chance. After high school, he enrolled for a semester of college and quickly realized that it wasn’t the right thing for him and considered the Marines. Both his grand-fathers and an uncle had served in the military, and his uncle had been a Marine infantrymen. When Josh told him that he wanted to be a military policeman, his uncle spoke sense into him.

“If you’re anything but a grunt, I’ll disown you,” he said. After that, Rush signed up for the infantry.

After sniper school Rush returned to his battalion. Of course he was punished by his senior snipers for not graduating, but he would make it up a few years later. As soon as he was back, a team from the Marine Corps Special Operations Training Group arrived in Hawaii to instruct in urban sniping. They allowed the entire sniper platoon from 2/3 to attend, regardless if they were school certified or not. It was a rare opportunity that the snipers relished. To add to their basic understanding of sniping, the urban course brought about new concepts of shooting and operating in a city environment. Rush learned shooting from multiple positions, helicopter shooting, timed shooting concerning windows of opportunity, and glass penetration, all in two weeks. By the end of the course, Rush had received news that his battalion was deploying to Afghanistan, and they began pre-deployment training.

For the work-up, Second Battalion, Third Marines headed to California. The battalion stayed in Twenty-nine Palms to familiarize themselves with the desert and to practice large-scale exercises. The sniper platoon, however, traveled north to Bridgeport to attend the mountainous scout sniper course.

The snipers arrived in the Toiyabe National Forest, one hundred miles from Reno, Nevada. The altitude and terrain simulated the environment in Afghanistan, giving the snipers a feel for what they would be up against. There, Rush learned the effects that high altitudes had on his bullet, and how to shoot at extreme angles. Another important factor for operating in small teams was the immediate action drills, how to react if caught by surprise. In the mountains, especially in Afghanistan, where the enemy has home field advantage, being caught in an ambush is likely, and for Rush, this training was the factor that saved his life.

With three sniper courses under his belt, and other training, Rush was shipped to Afghanistan. His battalion flew into Bagram Air Base near Kabul and met the Marines that they were relieving. The snipers discussed their new area of operations and exchanged stories. The outgoing Marines didn’t give Rush an exact picture of what to expect. Some of the snipers had seen a lot of action while others had seen very little, if any. None of that would matter, though, because Rush’s experience would be different from theirs, and soon he found a temporary home in the Kunar Province.

In early 2002, Stan flew to Afghanistan. The long flight gave him time to reflect. As the team leader, he wanted his men to make it back safely. His seriousness had been the butt of many jokes, but now that combat was near, he was glad that he had paid attention during training. The brief that they had received before leaving kept playing through his mind.

When the soldiers passed through Germany, they were given ammunition. Stan realized the magnitude of how close to combat he was later in flight, while gazing through the window. Gone were the bright blue ocean and green carpets below. Instead, Stan fell asleep to the sight of desert tan as far as the eye could see.

He was awakened one hour before landing. As the plane touched down, the soldiers were welcomed by U.S. Marines who had occupied the area with rows of tents and a command post building farther off. The airport had been secured by guards and concertina wire, and for the marines, the soldiers were a sight for sore eyes, symbolizing just how close they were to going home.

Within hours, the soldiers were briefed. Their new home was the Kandahar International Airport, just south of the city of Kandahar. The area was the last stronghold for the Taliban, and still a very dangerous place. Al-Qaeda had been driven to the mountains, but they still fought, using guerrilla tactics, hit-and-run style.

Afghanistan was a new world to Stan. The temperature was cold, close to 45°F, with a constant twenty- to thirty-mile-an-hour breeze during the day. At night the temperature dropped dramatically. The environment around them was worse; Stan thought he was in the Dark Ages because the area looked to be the result of a nuclear holocaust. The land was barren, especially near the airport. Hills, natural water beds known as wadis, and flat plains surrounded the airport. Though civilians were only a few hundred meters away, Stan would never come in contact with them. In fact, the only locals he would meet would be men of the Northern Alliance.

Two weeks after arriving, Stan and his partner, Justin, were sent on their first mission. The plan called for a raid on a terrorist safe house in Khost, north of Kandahar a few hours, and Stan’s team was to provide over-watch for the soldiers. They were to fly in on four CH-47 Chinook helicopters, hit the house, capture the men, and return home. But from the very beginning the mission was doomed.

On January 28, the raid force departed in the middle of the night. It was cold in the back of the bird, and Stan tried resting during the ride. Night illumination was great and the pilots could see the ground below perfectly. A few minutes passed before the door gunners tested their weapons into a dry lake bed. Stan was up front near the pilots and was crammed next to fuel bladders, which pressed against his knees. He dozed off a few times, but the sleep was temporary.

As the helicopters neared the target area, everyone was on alert. Stan found his gear and weapons, but he was not prepared for what happened next. As the pilots descended, sand, dirt, and debris were picked up by the rotors and engulfed the area. The pilots could not see anything, including the ground. This phenomenon is known as brown-out. With the loss of visibility, the pilots had no clue when to brake and they landed the helicopters at full speed.

Stan was looking to the rear hatch just before impact. He felt a strong jolt and then all went black. The impact had knocked everyone out. Minutes later, Stan opened his eyes and heard screams around him. It was dark inside, but when he turned his head, Stan noticed that a fire was beginning.

“Did we just get hit?” he thought, while his adrenaline pumped.

It was cold, and the right side of Stan’s head was numb. His entire body was wet. Then he remembered the fuel bladders that had been pressed up against his knees earlier, and he knew that he was soaked in diesel. As he gained consciousness, he knew that he needed to get out of there.

In his mind, they had been hit by an RPG, and he believed that they were in a fight. His M4 was still attached to his body, as was his chest harness full of ammunition. He did not have time to worry about the other gear.

The helicopter lay on its right side. Stan gripped his weapon and crawled for the rear opening, but he stopped before stepping out. Outside, others had formed a perimeter around the wounded. Stan was on his way out, but with one last glance inside the helicopter, he saw someone else.

He went back and pulled the soldier out by the drag handle on his vest. Stan’s head ached and it was hard to breathe, but he still pulled the man sixty yards to the others. Behind him, flames consumed the bird and suddenly a medic approached.

Stan knew right away that he was a Special Forces medic. His appearance was different from that of the other soldiers, and Stan felt relieved knowing that Eighteen Delta-qualified medics, the best, were out there. The medic grabbed Stan and shined a light on his face.

“You need to get on that helicopter over there,” he said.

The last thing Stan wanted to do was get back on another helicopter. His face was swollen and bleeding, and he could not open his right eye because the side of his face had been crushed. A piece of metal from inside the helicopter had slammed down on his face and into his eye socket, tearing muscular tissue. It was fortunate the metal stopped when it did, because less than an inch farther, it would have gouged his eye out.

Stan obliged the medic and was evacuated. Shortly afterward, he was flown to Germany for reconstructive surgery. Weeks later, the surgeon asked if he wanted to go home or back to combat. He could not believe that his first mission had gone the way it did, and he hoped that it would not be a sign of what was to come, because he had decided to get back into the fight.

In 2005, the Second Battalion, Third Marines unit entered the Kunar Province. This northeastern region of Afghanistan would prove to be beautiful and untamed. Bordering Pakistan, the province let fighters move to and from the adjoining country, and the mountains in the region made it hard for U.S. forces to stop them. It was June, ushering in good weather and more enemy activity from Anti-Coalition Militias (ACMs) who emerged from their winter caves now more willing to fight. ACMs were bands of fighters with ties to the Taliban and al-Qaeda, but not specifically part of the groups. They were typically tribes or groups who were not fond of the Coalition and had lived their entire lives in Afghanistan, giving them an edge over foreigners.