Seals (2005) (25 page)

"When does the firing halt?" Milly Mills asked.

"When every one of those raghead bastards is dead," Brannigan said. "Now let's climb up there on the edge of this gulley and get set up."

The platoon began scrambling to get out of the ravine.

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0930 HOURS LOCAL

CHIEF Matt Gunnarson had spent a bit more than half an hour keeping an eye on the location where the enemy would enter the ambush kill zone. Now he tensed as he watched a three-man point team of mujahideen walk slowly into the killing area, pausing to take a careful look down the ravine. A couple of beats later they resumed their walk, moving toward the end where the Charlies formed the final firing line.

When the main column of ragheads came into view, they were relaxed and confident with the certainty that their point crew had cleared the way ahead. Gunnarson waited patiently, noting when the last of the group came into view. One of the mujahideen was a tall, lanky guy who reminded the chief of photographs he had seen of Osama Bin Laden. When Gunnarson determined this was the last guy, he aimed carefully at his upper body. At the exact moment the mujahideen came to a point to his direct front, the SEAL gently squeezed the trigger. The jolt of the bullet slammed the SEAL: raghead against the far wall of the ravine, and he crumpled to the ground.

Immediately the First Squad--seven men strong--opened up with three-round automatic bursts of 5.56-millimeter. The salvos whacked into the mujahideen, shaking them violently as they toppled to the ravine's floor. The enemy point team panicked and made a run forward, but the weapons of Charlie Fire Team blasted an instantaneous volley of a dozen shots that cut the trio down before they went five meters. Then the Charlies raised the barrels to blast into the front of the enemy column. The air was filled with the ear-shattering reports of a dozen CAR-15s and two M-16s.

It was all over in ten seconds.

Thirty mujahideen were down, slumped and sprawled in piles of two and three. The sounds of moaning could be discerned coming from the fallen men, while a few twitched in the agony of their death throes.

Brannigan spoke firmly into the LASH. "Cease fire!" He got to his feet and surveyed the scene for a moment. "All right! Assad and Leibowitz on the point. Charlie Team take the rear guard. Let's go, people! Move out!"

The platoon hurried forward a kilometer along the flat terrain before slipping back into the cover of the ravine.

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1000 HOURS LOCAL

CAPTAIN Lakhdar Tanizai watched the wounded being carried out of the ravine, back to a wider area in the gulley for treatment. There were no proper stretchers to transport the stricken mujahideen, so they were rolled onto blankets for an uncomfortable, jarring trek of fifty meters back to where the medics had set up a treatment center. With only the barest of medical supplies available, the injured men were quickly divided into two groups. The first was made up of wounded who might survive to fight another day. They were given top priority. The poor bastards who didn't have a chance for recovery were laid out to survive or die as dictated by Allah the Beneficent, the Merciful.

Tanizai had sent the rest of his company forward of the ambush site to occupy the ravine and the high ground on each side. They went into a purely defensive mode, nervously wondering if the infidel devils would reappear from nowhere to deal more death and maiming to them.

Tanizai heard his name called, and turned to see Major Karim Malari hurrying toward him with his radio operator closely following. The major's distress was evident in his eyes. He looked past the captain at the carnage, then turned to him. "What has happened here?"

"My men were ambushed, Major:' Tanizai said. "I am shamed to report that there are fifteen dead, ten wounded and"--he pointed over to the side--"six dying."

Malari's face reddened with anger. "Why are you not pursuing the unbelievers, Captain? You are letting an opportunity slip by."

"I made an effort, Major," Tanizai explained in a sorrowful voice. "But they went down into another ravine, then into a valley, and finally beyond. I have lost so many men I did not wish to risk another disaster."

Malari sighed. "I suppose you took the best course, Captain?' He got his map out and studied it for a moment before snapping his fingers to signal his radio operator to hand him the handset. He pressed down the TRANSMIT button and made instant contact with Warlord Khamami back on the mountain.

"Amir, this is Malari. I regret to inform you that Captain Tanizai has suffered a great tragedy. Heavy losses, I fear. The infidels ambushed him. He feels the situation is too precarious to risk a pursuit. I must say that I agree with him."

Khamami's voice came back. "I must turn these circumstances over in my mind for a moment. Wait."

Malari looked over at Tanizai. "The Amir is pondering this disaster."

"I appreciate your kindness in expressing approval of my tactical decision," the captain said sincerely.

Malari had started to reply when Khamami's voice came back over the handset. "Here are my orders to both you and Captain Tanizai. You will follow after the enemy, but keep your distance. Do not make contact with them at all costs. If they turn aggressive, you must withdraw as quickly as possible. Do not engage the dogs in battle!"

"I understand, Amir," Malari said.

"That is most important," Khamami emphasized. "Above all, avoid sustaining more heavy casualties. I have a solution to this dilemma that will save us further losses and guarantee a resounding defeat of the enemy."

"Yes, Amir," the major said. "I understand and will pass on your orders to Captain Tanizai."

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OUTCAST CAMP

THE KHAMAMI FIEFDOM

1730 HOURS LOCAL

KHATIB the Oracle strode alone into the camp of former warlord Ayyub Durtami, as he had done many times since their arrival in Khamami's fiefdom. The hungry, miserable people regarded him with fear and hatred. His visits were not to comfort them or deliver them from merciless punishment; rather he came to make sure they were not getting extra food and that the men and women including husbands and wives--lived separately. This self-styled mullah had even ordered a special observation tower, with a platform five meters above the ground, constructed for him in the middle of the wretched bivouac. Each time he came to the place, he climbed up onto the structure to glare down in righteous fury at the sinners.

This time, standing on the obscene perch, he surveyed the people for a few moments, then called out in a loud voice. "I want all males over the age of eleven and under the age of forty-one to come forward and gather around me. I have a special message for you from the Warlord Khamami that was passed to him from Allah the Beneficent, the Merciful. Thus, the significance of what I shall tell you today is the holiest of all that is holy."

All boys and men from twelve to forty years of age dutifully moved forward, crowding around the platform. Their eyes were downcast and they expected yet one more announcement or proclamation that would add even more suffering to their already miserable lives. The Oracle's raspy voice scolded them. "You are under a curse for leaving behind unburied Muslim dead as you made a cowardly flight from infidel devils. You thought more of your mortal lives than the existence you would someday endure throughout eternity after your souls had passed on to either divine reward or retribution. And surely your terrible sins would have caused you to enter Satan's domain and live in fiery agony forever. But Allah the Beneficent, the Merciful, has now provided you with a grand opportunity to save your wretched souls."

The males of the camp felt a sense of hope, but only a faint one. None trusted the Oracle to show them kindness or mercy.

Khatib knew they were pondering his words, and he enjoyed viewing the pitiful pleas in their eyes as they regarded him. He renewed his address in a louder voice. "At this moment the Warlord Hassan Khamami is locked in a mighty struggle with those same unbelievers who disgraced and humiliated you. Allah has decreed that if you join the Amir's army and fight bravely without regard for your lives, He will forgive your great transgression against His laws. If you come back victorious, the married men will once again be allowed to know their wives. If they or any of the bachelors die, they will be granted entrance to Paradise, where the houris will await to pleasure them through time that knows no end."

The men and boys were shocked into stupefaction by the revelation. After a few moments they recovered, breaking into cheers and waving their arms while praising Allah's glory in loud shouts. The horny husbands considered the opportunity for sex with wives or houris particularly attractive.

"You go from here to the other side of the castle," Khatib said. "There you will be strengthened by a great feast, then armed for war. Tomorrow, helicopters will come to carry you to be tested in battle against Satan's warriors. It is there that you will know either the glory of victory or the grandeur of Paradise."

He pointed toward the castle, screaming, "Go! Go now! Now!"

The crowd immediately rushed out of the bivouac, running as fast as they could across the bare, scrubby terrain toward the good food that awaited them. The older men, remaining behind in the company of the women and children, enviously watched them depart.

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BRANNIGAN'S BRIGANDS

THE FOOTHILLS

2145 HOURS LOCAL

THE SEALs were exhausted.

It was more than the physical fatigue of strenuous and continuous activity; they also felt the deep mental bite of nervous weariness that is brought on by a deteriorating tactical situation. They had been forced into a retreat toward safety after the loss of two good buddies whose bodies had to be cached like pieces of equipment. All this while on a mission that had been originally laid on as a simple link-up and extraction operation. But that had deteriorated into a complicated mess in which they battled two warlords without the addition of a single reinforcement. Those are circumstances that do not exactly raise morale.

They had stumbled on relentlessly into the hours of darkness, unspeaking and numb until Mike Assad called back via LASH to inform Lieutenant Wild Bill Brannigan that he and Dave Leibowitz had discovered a small spring. The Skipper told them to wait at the site, and he brought the rest of the platoon up to join them. He didn't bother to put out security right away. Instead, he and Lieutenant Jim Cruiser, with the two chiefs following, went from man to man checking the status of the platoon's ammunition supply. They seemed to be in reasonably good shape, with each Brigand packing an average of ten magazines holding thirty rounds each. This was backed up by the forty-two M-67 fragmentation grenades they had among them. A few had extras, and the devices were evenly divided among all fourteen SEALs, so that each would have three. With the ammunition check done, the senior ranking men of the platoon withdrew for a confab with the Skipper.

Brannigan summed up the obvious. "These guys are dog tired to the point of almost being fed up with this mission."

"I think in the Army this is a situation they call soldiering," Cruiser remarked.

"Whatever it's called, it sucks," Brannigan said. "The next time we're attacked, the situation could easily deteriorate into something worse than a risky battle. It would be a last stand."

"That's another word for massacre," Cruiser pointed out. "We'll have to be careful, sir," Dawkins said. "The guys are going to need a lot of looking after."

"Right," Gunnarson agreed. 'This is one of those times when a word of encouragement or a joke does more than putting a boot in somebody's ass:'

"I can't argue with your logic, Chief," Brannigan said. "So here's the skinny. We're going to drink water from this spring until our bellies slosh. God only knows if there're any more sources available to us. We'll bunk down here on fifty percent alert until oh-five-hundred hours. At that time we want all canteens filled for the ordeal ahead. Then we'll saddle up and move out. Any questions? All right then. Get back to your guys:'

The team leaders walked down the ravine to their men to pass on the word.

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THE KHAMAMI'S FIEFDOM

29 AUGUST

0830 HOURS LOCAL

THE disabled senior mujahideen, taken from active campaigning because of a leg crippled by a Soviet sniper, yelled angrily as he formed up two dozen men for transport in the pair of Mi-24 helicopters coming back for another lift. Forty-eight of Durtami's former mujahideen had already been flown out to the battle area and dropped off. It would take another five lifts to get the rest of the group out.

Every man was armed with an ancient British bolt-action Lee-Metford Mark II rifle. Although the magazines were designed to hold ten cartridges, this group had been issued only three for each weapon. They had no additional ammunition, and after discovering that they would be sent against an enemy with modern automatic weaponry, the men knew that within a short time they would be bedded down with houris in Paradise.