Chapter 2: Mike and Paul
The Tal Bez Valley
Ten years ago
Alexander, the Great’s soldiers, were formed and ready to combat the ragtag fighters who had plagued his army for months. Everything was in place as Alexander’s army stood at the south end of the Tal Bez Valley, prepared to end the Afghani insurrection. His calvary would fan out from the narrow entrance, cover the soldier’s flanks, and scout for the enemy. A column of four ranks, hundreds of soldiers deep, would march into the valley. They would follow a narrow dirt path through the length of the long narrow plain. The trail led north into the hills and mountains beyond. For months Afghani insurgents had harassed and looted the Greek King's supply lines. He'd had enough.
In the weeks preceding the Tal Bez, Greek troops fought running battles with the Afghanis. The insurgents slipped away every time the Greeks closed on them. Alexander wanted a pitched battle, so his disciplined and experienced troops could destroy the Afghani forces. The Afghani troops knew Alexander’s desires and chose not to cooperate. But, it was of little concern one way or another, his victorious soldiers, who had campaigned across half the known world, would destroy the Afghani’s will and take their lives.
His troops maneuvered the Afghani retreat to the north into the Tal Bez Valley, identified by his scouts with only one entrance, the rest of the valley surrounded by steep and rough hills and mountains beyond. A perfect place. With no way to retreat, the Afghani’s would be slaughtered, and Alexander could continue his conquest of the world. Sunrise would witness the final battle with these rugged farmers and hillmen.
Allegedly.
Twenty-four hundred years later, Mike wasn't so sure. But, the village elders in Nary, the closest town to the valley, were positive of it. They believed Alexander suffered a significant defeat in the Tal Bez. The Elders said their distant relatives baited Alexander's Army into the valley. The Greeks followed the Afghani warriors into the valley and attacked. Once the battle began, the rest of the Afghanis charged out of the hills. His Army surrounded by warriors and the Hindu Kush the Greeks fought in the only direction they could, north. Cut off from retreat and unable to maneuver his large army in the restricted terrain, Alexander’s men huddled together in defense for a week. At the same time, another age-old combatant harried the Greeks, disease. They awoke on the last day to discover the Afghanis had disappeared. The only remaining Afghani’s were the dead and wounded and the spies in the hills to keep watch on the Greeks. Demoralized, sick, and hungry, Alexander’s men wearily marched out of the Tal Bez, Afghanis in the hills above, raining insults down on his defeated troops.
Word of the Great Afghani victory and Alexander's army’s retreat spread far and wide, the tale passed down from father to son for generations. Of course, these same elders also told Mike there was a pit of death somewhere in the valley. Oh, and you won't be able to find it. Time's flow covered the pit many centuries ago. Regardless, they were adamant. Anyone near it became infected with a hideous disease and died shortly afterward. And they infected others who also died quickly and horribly. It made Mike grin. Unverifiable rumors always made for the best stories. It also made for some historical perspective, except for the last part. His Team of Special Forces soldiers was ready to do what Alexander's men couldn't.
His Team wasn't that different from the Greek soldiers who predated them. They wore uniforms, helmets, and body armor, like the Greeks. The weapons had changed. The tactics, mounted or dismounted, had changed. His Team had technological advances, but things weren’t that different. They had to maneuver against and fight the enemy. And, here they were, ready to enter the Tal Bez to fight Afghani farmers/soldiers as Alexander’s army did. This war wasn't much different from all the previous ones this country had suffered. The Greeks, the British, the Russians, Mike was sure there were others who’d made the disastrous decision to fight here. For whatever reason, this desolate land was coveted, and despite the invaders' skill, technology, and persistence, they always ended up marching away. Mike had once heard of Afghanistan as being, The Graveyard of Empires. After each of his Afghanistan deployments, the undeniable truth was further reinforced. There was no reason to believe it wouldn't end any other way, the U.S. would tire of the unending fighting and leave. The Afghanis would rejoice and soon go back to fighting among themselves.
None of it mattered, not to the politicians, not to the generals it would be inconvenient, and they would move on to the next emergency. It didn’t matter to his Team, either. They had a job to do and would do it to the best of their ability. They were there to do one thing, fight the bad guys, and the Tal Bez was where the enemy was.
At dinner time, years from now, he might tell the story of how he stood on the same ground as the famous Greek. But, today, Mike, his three gun trucks, and ten soldiers were going into the Tal Bez to do battle with this generation of Afghani guerrilla fighters.
Only one thing, one unique thing about this mission, made it noteworthy for Mike, Gunnery Sergeant Paul Mason, Mike's brother. Paul and his Marine Infantry Company waited in the hills around the valley, ready to support Mike’s Team.
There had always been a good-natured rivalry between the brothers, Army and Marine, who was the best.
The Marine gung-ho culture was strong among its jarheads while not a thing for Army doggies. A point Paul would always voice at any moment when the two got together. Mike smiled. He couldn't remember a time when the subject didn't come up. Quite often, alcohol was somehow involved in the mix. This day would be the first opportunity they'd ever got the chance to work together. There was a lot of inter-service pride on the line, and of course, there was something extra about finally working together. Mike’s time at the tip of the spear was almost over, he’d get out of the service and do something else, now was the right time. After this insignificant battle, he and Paul would fight their country’s enemy together and win.
Everyone else on the Team was more than ten years his junior. In fact, he was the only one of them to have grey in his beard. Grey would have stuck out from his helmet if he hadn't shaved his head. Before this mission kicked off, Mike told himself this was his last deployment. In some respects, it was a young man's game. They all kept fit even in Afghanistan. They ran, lifted weights, and did calisthenics. Special Forces was a demanding occupation. Everyone knew that extreme amounts of physical hardship would be the norm. They all felt it. But Mike found the altitude and heat had a much more burdensome effect on him than the others. Back at Fort Bragg, he always pushed himself. In Afghanistan, he became fanatical about his physical preparedness. Mike had always done everything he could to be in top physical condition. But it didn't matter how hard he pushed himself. The young bucks on the Team continued to creep up on him. A few of his top guys were faster and stronger than him, which hurt his ego a little. He would never admit it to them. His body slowing down almost felt like a failure, and there was nothing he could do about it. It's hard to be at the apex looking down and suddenly realizing that you were now looking up no matter what you did.
Team Sergeant of a Special Forces Team, Master Sergeant Mike Mason, was technically second in command. But, sometimes, doctrine and reality didn't always match up. In all aspects of running the Team, Mike took the lead. Part of that was his personality. More to the point, the Captain, though a Special Forces officer, was more interested in the allure of representing as a Green Beret officer more than acting as a Green Beret officer. Captain Wheat should have led the mission. In fact, he tried to stay back on the firebase, nursing an injured toe that he hurt, kicking a hesco bastion full of rocks. However, the medic had his doubts about the toe’s condition and the circumstances behind the injury, so Mike pressed him. The Team would need every able body when they drove into the Tal Bez.
It wasn't the first time the Captain tried to beg out due to some excuse. It would have suited Mike just fine if they could have left him and saved himself the hassle, and if the Team were at full strength at twelve men, he would have. But, Mike sent two of his men home on two weeks' leave to be with family. The wives of his two troops were pregnant and ready to deliver. With ten men, the Captain was one-tenth of his combat power. The Team needed him.
Without any other option, Mike put the Captain in the lead vehicle for the Team’s movement to the Tal Bez. No one on the Team was pleased about it, but they all understood. And since the Captain was with them, they had to respect his rank though maybe not so much the man. The only thing that Mike wouldn’t put up with was if the Captain didn’t pull his weight. As the night wore on and they navigated the hard-packed dirt roads, fording rivers, and through narrow ravines he had. But that was the easy part. The real test was yet to come s they waited at a bend in the road out of sight of the valley entrance.
Standing next to the last truck in line, Mike checked the time. The night would soon turn to day, and his brother hadn’t checked in yet. One reason to plan a raid at night was surprise, it would be a lot harder to do if the sun was blazing overhead and harder still if the Marine company his brother was bringing didn’t hurry up and get in their overwatch positions.
Three GMV's waited, lined up and ready. The GMV was a gunned-up version of the Humvee. They should have been driving the fully armored replacement of the soft-skinned GMV, but that didn't happen. So, like every soldier in history since the beginning of warfare, they complained among themselves and made do with what they got. On the roof of each GMV, a heavy machine gun acted as the primary weapon system for the vehicle. A 240 Medium MG mounted on a pedestal arm beside the passenger seat backed up the big gun. In the back of Mike's truck, his best friend on the Team Tom manned a pedestal-mounted SAW to cover their rear. As part of each man's kit, they all carried an M9 pistol and an M4 rifle. Finally, also in the back of the last GMV, a 60mm mortar, and ammo was accessible to send indirect fire at the enemy. This was how they traveled every time they left the firebase, they were always ready for bear.
Outfitted in desert camouflage uniform, body armor, a vest with full magazines, and helmet, he resembled everyone else on the Team. The differentiator was the salt and pepper beard. Above him, Tom fiddled with the night vision device attached to his helmet. It was almost that time of morning when the sun hadn't come up, but there was enough light to see unaided.
One way or another, this mission would happen, late Marines or not. He and his Team put too much time and effort into the planning and resourcing to not go because of a few things out of his control. When this was over back in the world, there would be years of good-natured ribbing at Paul's expense. Paul’s Marine Company was new to Afghanistan, and Mike tried to tell him the mountains of the Hindu Kush were unforgiving, especially at night. But no, Paul insisted his Marine Company was the best there was. They would move through the mountains with their full kit, like shit through a goose, Mike’s words. No worries. Never mind, they would be lucky to find anything better than goat paths to travel on. Then, they would have to find their assigned positions around the valley. And all before morning. After the helicopters infil'd them, Paul expected his Marines to be ready in four hours. Good luck, Mike had told him. Paul sorely underestimated the challenges of the terrain, Mike knew he would and planned a little extra leeway in the timing.
Mike nervously walked to the front of the truck, feeling uneasy about the approaching sunrise. The delay stretched his timeline nearly beyond breaking, soon, his Team would have to go it alone. The enemy wouldn’t wait for the Marines to get their shit together.
A voice squawked from the hand-mic on the green canvas seat, jolting him with a shot of adrenaline.
Reaching down from the driver’s seat, Steve grabbed it and held it to his ear.
"Iron 6 5, this is Stallion 2 6, over."
"Roger, 2 6, this is 6 5."
"Roger, inform 6 5 Xray that Stallion 2 6 is in position and all guns are laid in and in position. 1st Platoon is set up to the East. 2nd Platoon is on the West side of the valley. 3rd Platoon is in its blocking position to the north. All as planned, no issues. Over."
"2 6, standby." Steve, the junior communications sergeant, tossed the radio's hand-mic onto the passenger seat of the gun truck. "Mike," he whispered.
"I heard," Mike whispered back and picked up the radio's hand-mic. "Stallion 2 6, this is 6 5 Xray, so you finally made it?" Subdued laughter passed through the hand-mic with his voice. "And only six hours late."
"It took my Marines longer to move into position than I thought it would." The voice on the other end didn't acknowledge Mike poking fun at him. "This is some heavy-duty terrain."
Mike winked at Steve. They heard the chagrin in the voice on the other end of the radio transmission. "If I remember correctly, as stated in the mission brief, I made that very fact known to you. I told you to double your movement time estimate and then add some. But, you and your superior Marine Corps attitude chose not to believe me." Mike smiled, enjoying himself. "You suggested your Marines could handle it. You told me that your troops were hard-charging Marines, not the namby-pamby soldiers I'm used to." Mike released the transmission button. Steve made himself busy checking on a piece of equipment, but he smiled ear to ear. While waiting for a reply, Mike leaned against the truck and thought about how much enjoyment he would get from this moment.
After a few long seconds, a, "Roger that," came from the other end, Paul accepted defeat with grace. There'd be another time.
"You're not getting away with it that easy." Mike glanced at Steve. "Say it."
"Roger that, 6 5 Xray, you were right," the voice broke for a moment, "and I was wrong, over."
The laughter in 2 6's voice made Mike smile.
"I want you to remember, never forget," Mike said into the hand-mic. "You should know by now after our long years together. I'm never wrong. Your big brother does know some shit."
"Roger that, big bro."
"Stand by." Mike lowered the hand-mic all business now. "Steve, call the FOB, and tell them the Marines are set up, and we will be moving in about fifteen."
"Will do." Steve grabbed the hand-mic for the SATCOM radio and made the call.
Mike lifted his head and looked at the man in the gun turret. "Get everyone up. Tell Rick and the Captain to meet me back here."
"On my way."
"Stallion 2 6, this is 6 5 Xray."
"Go ahead, Xray."
"We will be on the road in approximately fifteen minutes." Mike looked east, then at his watch. "It looks like we're going to hit the objective at about sunrise."
"Roger. Sorry about messing up your plans with our tardiness."
"No worries, bro, we'll make it work."
Paul passed on his Marines' grid locations, possible enemy locations, their disposition, and other relevant information.
"I'll give you a heads up when we're ready to enter the valley."
"Good copy and good hunting."
"Thanks, 6 5 out."
Mike tossed the hand-mic onto the seat. The men behind him were busy preparing their trucks and themselves for battle. Facing forward, the dark road meandered into the barren hills and mountains until, out of sight, it disappeared between two steep hills overlooking the entrance. So far, everything prior to this moment had been easy. The hard part was about to happen, kill the enemy and capture the High-Value Targets.
The intel was solid. The HVT's would be in the valley. Every available asset confirmed the HVTs in the Team's area would be in the Tal Bez. It had almost seemed unbelievable they would all get together in the same place. Paul's Marines confirmed it. The enemy's tents occupied the valley's center, and guards were seen around the camp. They were there.
It hadn't taken much in the way of effort for Mike to convince Paul and his Company Commander to get on board. Mike's Team needed the support. It got the Marines off of the base they pulled guard at and out to do what they were supposed to do, combat. And Mike and Paul spent the weeks before during the planning phase being brothers again.
They were like kids all over again, inseparable. It was rare to see a soldier and a marine paling around as they did, and they got a few looks. They went from office to office, always together all over Bagram. The mission needed filled-in requests for support, air, ammo, fuel, and everything they would need to make the mission a go. And they got it done together.
Born a year apart, their age made running around and playing together easy. They were close, so much the same people mistook them for twins. Inseparable was how relatives described them after their parents died in an automobile accident. If one brother was getting in trouble or involved in sports, or girls, or anything else, the other was right there with him. These days with deployments, family, and the rest of being adults, they rarely saw each other. Mike wasn't emotional, but it felt good to be with his brother after going through so much as kids. It had been a merry-go-round. Live with one set of relatives, then live with another, and so on. Mike and Paul would be the first to admit they were not the easiest boys to handle as they grew up. Each of them was enthusiastically taken to the recruiting office as soon as they were of age. That enthusiasm was matched by their own.
After this mission, this deployment, Mike didn't know what life would have in store for him. Being closer to his brother would be a big part of it.
"Uhh." The small trench Mike rolled out of was barely deep enough, but it provided enough protection from the concussive blast. Pushing off, he levered onto his side and looked around. Dust and gray smoke slowly rose into the blue sky above.
"That sucked,” he mumbled and brushed the dirt off the back of his neck, then pushed up to his hands and knees. Dirt, clumps of grass, and pebbles slid off his uniform and body armor to add to the rest, the explosion kicked up. Fine bits of dust continued to rain down from the cloud above the bomb strike. The trucks and men who operated them were barely visible, but he could see them. That was a positive. More dirt and grass fell from his uniform as he stood the remainder he tried to brush off.
"Best laid plans," Mike said aloud though no one was around to hear him.
It couldn't have been more the thirty to forty-five minutes since the Team's three trucks entered the valley. He was only guessing. At different points it had felt like time wasn’t moving forward at all. In that time, the perfectly laid plan based on the vetted and triple-checked intelligence turned into a shit show of monumental proportions. The enemy's plan, Mike conceded, was a lot more effective than his, and it nearly worked.
The bad guys set up the biggest and most elaborate ambush Mike had ever heard of in Afghanistan, including the things they pulled on the Soviets. Without the Marines and the B-52's dropping bombs way too close for comfort, the ambush would have succeeded. Army Chaplains would have visited all the families of his guys.
The Captain, the ODA’s Team Leader, to his left, tentatively moved his arms and legs. He remained face down, covered in dirt, grass, and dust kicked up by the 1,000 lb bombs.
"Coward," Mike muttered under his breath and turned away. He didn’t have time for it now.
The cloud of dust finally dissipated, and he had a clearer view of his trucks. Truck Two was on its side where the Captain had flipped it and nearly killed the man in the turret firing the 50 cal. In his blind fear, the Captain didn't warn the gunner, Dave, what he was doing. Instead, he left his Team pinned down in the middle of enemy machine-gun crossfire. He jumped in, drove away right into a partially buried boulder, and flipped it, ejecting Dave from the top of the truck.
Truck One was shot to hell. It would only move again by sling load under a cargo helicopter. Truck Three was the only one undamaged. Scott climbed up into the turret to man the MK-19 grenade launcher. The Marines who maneuvered against the last of the enemy holdouts might need the support.
The rest of his Team pulled themselves from under trucks or out of ditches.
"Medic," Mike shouted.
Dwayne stumbled up from under Truck Three, a large aid bag in one hand and his rifle in the other. Rob, his other medic, pulled himself off the ground with his aid bag and rifle. They were both ready to help a team member in need.
"Dwayne, go check on Dave." Mike pointed to Truck Two's gunner. “Rob, go check on Rick." Rick was the driver of Truck One. "If you need help, let me know, and I'll send someone."
They both glanced at Tim, the Captain. "What about him?" Dwayne said.
Mike looked back. The Captain sat up, his hand rubbing the back of his head. His helmet lay next to him.
"Low priority. Get to him when you can."
"Roger that." Dwayne nodded.
The two medics had seen the Captain drive off like he had somewhere else to be. They would be in no hurry.
"Get to it." Mike watched the two men jog off in the direction of their respective patients.
Around the front of the truck, Mike followed Tom’s voice.
hand-mic at his ear, Tom turned and then handed off the mike. "There you are. I've been trying to reach you. 2 6 Actual wants to talk to you."
Mike traced the cord from his headphones down to his radio with his thumb and finger. Parts of the screen fell to the ground as he pulled the handheld radio out of a magazine pouch on his vest. A few more of the plastic pieces fell out, a bullet landed on his boot. A dime-sized hole occupied the space where the viewscreen had been. He grunted when he saw the damage and showed Tom the radio.
Tom grunted back. "Shit happens."
He hadn't felt a thing. There's something to be said for body armor and adrenaline. He put the radio back in the pouch and took the hand-mic.
Before he could speak, they all turned to the east. Several bursts of rifle fire broke the relative silence. One of the guys jumped into the turret of Truck Three and reloaded the 50 cal.
"Sounds like M-16's." Tom faced the sound. "I guess the Marines are still in it."
The gunner rotated the barrel of his 50 cal toward the noise.
"See anything?" Mike said.
"Nope. I got a good idea where they are though it looks like there's some low ground between the valley and hills."
"Keep your eyes open." Mike glanced at Tom, pointed at the mortar, then pointed toward the sound of the rifle fire. "2 6 Actual this is 6 5 Xray, over."
"Xray, it's good to hear your voice again. I was hoping you hadn't gotten blowed up, over."
Mike took the lightheartedness in 2 6 Actual’s voice as a good sign. "My teeth are still rattling from those B-52's, but other than that, I'm good." He released the transmit button and then pressed it again. "What's our situation, over?"
"East and West Platoons drove off, killed, or captured the enemy troops in the hills. We got about twenty prisoners between the two platoons. North Platoon has set up a blocking position on the north side of the tunnel. They didn't capture any prisoners, but they do have a bunch of dead bad guys."
2 6 Actual's voice changed. "North's Platoon Leader is dead." North Platoon's LT had been one of the best Marines in the company. Well respected by his men and the officers who served with him, he would be missed. The Marine Captain kept his voice professional, but Mike knew how good a friend the LT had been.
"We haven't seen any movement from the area around the tunnel mouth. That bomb did a number on them. If you're good with it, I'm going to send two squads from North Platoon through and have them sweep the area for survivors."
"Roger. We've got a couple of injured men down here. I'll set up a casualty collection point here and send for a medevac once my medics get back to me. If you have any casualties, bring them here, and we'll get them taken care of. Bring all your prisoners down here as well. You'll need to leave some of your guys to guard them over."
"Good copy. I'm still waiting, but so far, I've got walking wounded and two litter cases, but nothing critical, over."
"I'll get my medics on them as soon as you get them down here."
Mike pulled the hand-mic from his ear and looked east. M-16 fire erupted from the low ground. The lower-pitched sound of automatic AK-47 fire and a light machine gun spoke back.
"2 6 Actual, what's the rifle fire, over?
"Roger, that's my Head Quarter's guys. It looks like they have the HVT's cornered, over."
More rifle fire erupted from both M-16's and AK's and as quickly ceased.
"2 6 Actual, we're close enough we can send a couple of guys and be there in about two minutes, over."
"Roger, appreciate it. I'll let them know you're on the way."
A long burst of machine-gun fire erupted from the low ground to the east. M-16's responded to it.
Mike handed the hand-mic back to Tom. "I'm going to take Frank and Hunter over there and see if we can help out those Marines. Get on the horn and call the FOB. Tell them I want the QRF out here. Get a bird with MP's for prisoner pick up and tell them to get a couple of medevac birds prepped and on their way."
"I'm on it," Tom said.
"Hunter, Frank, on me. We're going to go see if we can help the Marines out." Mike checked his rifle as he walked toward the low ground. His two teammates fell in behind him to his left and right in a modified wedge.
They covered the distance as quickly as tactically feasible, following the sound of gunfire as it spiked then fell off.
Hunter made a clicking noise with his tongue. Mike knelt and looked back. Hunter put two fingers to his eyes and pointed across the narrow ravine. Men in camouflage uniforms maneuvered downhill through the trees opposite them. Spread out and quiet, their attention stayed on the low ground between Mike and the Marines.
A glance at Frank and Hunter and the three soldiers stood and moved toward the lip of the ravine. The last of the Marine formation moved out of sight. Mike hadn't seen any bad guys, but the Afghanis had to be between his group and the Marines. Large boulders, thickets of trees, and bushes surrounded a large grove of bamboo at the bottom of the ravine. The bamboo was a first for Mike, bamboo in the Hindu Kush. Who knew? There was no telling how it got there, but the cluster was taller than any two men, and it was thick.
Marines organizational structure would dictate that Gunnery Sergeant Paul Mason would lead that HQ platoon across the way. That suited Mike fine, they had always wanted to work together, and now they were not only on the same mission but the same action. After they wrapped this up, they'd talk trash to each other for a long time. Who performed better, Paul's Marines or Mike's SF Team? Who had a claim to bragging rights?
Mike dropped to the ground near the ravine’s edge, and the three of S.F Soldiers low crawled forward. As they got close to the downward sloping ground, automatic fire roared out from below them. The sound echoed off the ground and boulders. It was louder than it usually would have been. A machine gun, fifty meters in front of them, Mike guessed. He figured there were four or five rifles, but he couldn't be sure. Marine rifle fire responded but was barely audible over the big gun. Mike's mouth twitched in grim satisfaction when he heard a SAW. The light machine gun opened up with a long burst, followed by more Marine M-16's joining the fight. AK fire punched up out of the ravine. The Afghani's fired short disciplined shots. Rifle fire cracked through the air while the machine gun switched targets or reloaded. The bad guys weren't beaten yet.
Ricochets snapped overhead. Face against the ground, Mike waited for the last round to whine off into the distance, then gave a quick nod, and they moved forward. His chest dragged across the rough earth for the few seconds it took to get to the crest. Three more rifles from behind. The bad guys didn't stand a chance. Mike aimed down into the low ground. Five Afghani's fired at the Marines. The High-Value Target's they'd come to capture or kill knelt behind several boulders. The rocks were all large enough to hide a man. The large clump of bamboo grew to their left.
The ammunition vests on their chests marked them as combatants though they were dressed like typical civilian Afghanis, with cotton pants, long cotton shirts, vests, and roll-up hats. Closest to the bamboo grove, Mike spotted the leader of the group. The scar across his forehead made him easy to identify. They practiced excellent fire discipline for irregulars, aimed and sporadic enough to keep the Marines' heads down. Mike centered on the rifleman doing the most shooting. The man looked like he used hair gel to keep his purple hair and beard in place. It wasn’t a common look, but he’d seen it before.
Grim satisfaction crossed his mind. There would be five fewer bad guys real quick.
One of the men, Mike, didn’t remember him in the intelligence report, was a giant. The Soviet PK 7.62 mm machine gun in his hands looked like a toy. The big man lunged over his rock cover, swung the weapon up, and fired at the Marines. The giant was the largest man he'd ever seen, not just Afghani, but any man. There was more to him than his size. A feeling. There was something about him, an aura. It was the only way to characterize how Mike felt. The giant reeked of it. It hit him the second he'd seen the man. It was menace, evil, vicious, something he couldn't explain, but he sure as shit felt it. His Teammates felt it, too. He could see it in their eyes. The giant was a freak of nature. Long black hair fell past his shoulders. The man's beard was short and as raven black as his hair. He wore a long shirt, baggy pants, vest, and hat like the others. After that, there was no comparison. The man stood at least a head taller than any of his fellow Afghani's, maybe six foot ten, Mike guessed. His arms and legs bulged with muscle. The material of his clothes stretched tight against his skin. The PK with the attached ammo weighed twenty-plus pounds. He also wore several hundred round bandoleers strapped across his chest. It didn’t matter. He moved with an ease that shouldn't have been possible carrying that much extra weight. Mesmerized, Mike watched the giant move with effortless grace under that load, shift, fire, move, and fire again. Deep down, he had to admit to himself, he was a little intimidated.
Some men would have shriveled up and backed away, leaving the Marines to their fate. Mike had crossed paths with a few. He wasn't one of them. The only running he would be doing was forward.
Of the Marines, he could see some were prone behind rocks or trees firing while the others low crawled to cover. Expertly trained, they moved well under pressure. Excellent work, Marines, fire, and maneuver, by the book. Time to lend some help.
Frank and Hunter sighted their weapons in, aimed downhill, and waited for him to initiate. The Afghani with purple hair popped up and fired at the Marines, then hid behind the boulder he and another man sheltered behind. The other two Special Forces men would fire as soon as he did. He’d let one of them kill the giant. Mike fired, and the purple-haired guy dropped. Frank and Hunter squeezed their triggers immediately after. Only one bad guy went down. Without time to coordinate, Hunter and Frank shot the same guy. Shit, Mike thought. Everyone assumed the other would hit the big man with the machine gun.
The giant wheeled around and fired his machine gun faster than Mike would have believed. A long burst chewed up the lip of the ravine, kicking dirt and rocks into the air. Pebbles and dirt rattled off Mike'd helmet. Scrambling, the side of his helmet scraped against the ground as he struggled to push himself back. An eternity later, the giant eased off the trigger. Five long seconds Mike figured. He used up a quarter of the hundred-round belt. The rounds had impacted inches from his head. None of the three Special Forces Soldiers dared peak. The big man was deadly accurate.
The wait felt long but was the briefest of seconds. Mike crawled forward and caught sight of the machine gunner as he ran into the bamboo grove chased by Marine rifle fire. The giant had been the last to follow the narrow trail into the tight-packed vegetation. The two dead men stayed put. Those two would never ambush another American.
There was a sudden quiet as the Marines ceased fire. The silence was a shock after the rifle fire's intenseness and the machine gun rounds that had struck the ground right before him.
There wasn't a target to shoot, just bamboo, but the clump wasn't that big.
One thing the bamboo grove was, Mike noted, it was an excellent place not to be seen. The bamboo grew so thick there was no way through it except by the path the enemy had taken. The giant’s machine gun barrel was undoubtedly ready if they went in after them. That wouldn’t work, and anyone who tried to hack their way through was sure to catch a bullet.
They could shoot into the grove and hope to get lucky. Not a great plan. The Marines and his guys would quickly run out of ammo and probably not hit a thing.
Mike rolled onto his back and looked at the blue sky above. What a shit show.
“Top?”
“I’m good.” Mike told his teammates and reached down to his leg pouch. "Marines," he shouted across the ravine.
"Yo!" A Marine shouted back.
"Stay where you are, find cover, and stand by. I got an idea. If anyone tries to make a break out of that bamboo, blast them."
"Who's over there?"
"Master Sergeant Mason."
"Roger, Master Sergeant. Standing by."
Mike caught the eyes of Hunter and Frank. "I'm going down there. Cover me." They both nodded and rested their cheeks on their rifle stocks.
If he couldn't see them, they wouldn't be able to see him. Right? With a slow, deliberate exhale to prepare himself, he sprang to his feet and ran down into the ravine. The downhill slope helped increase his speed to the point he felt himself losing control. Fortunately, if you could call it that, the weight of the body armor, helmet, rifle, ammunition, and everything else he carried prevented him from maintaining much of a sprint for too long. His boots slipped on some loose gravel, but he stayed upright enough to fall into the first boulder large enough to offer protection. Only allowing himself a second to recover, Mike jumped forward to the next big rock until he made it to the rocks the enemy used for cover. It hadn't been pretty, and it hadn't been silent, and he sure as hell was going to win any medals for speed, but he made it.
His body armor which had saved him earlier had become a pain in the ass in the downhill sprint. It had ridden up onto his neck during the run, trying to choke him. Pulling it down, he could breathe a little better, but he was still breathing hard. On one knee, he caught his breath and glanced around him. A pile of expended brass fired from the PK machine gun littered the ground around him. He gulped and held his breath to try and calm his heart. The trail into the bamboo was clear, nobody shot at him as he peered over the boulder. Nothing to see and nothing to hear, but they were in there.
His lips twitched. At least it hadn't been an uphill run.
It was time.
The bad guys weren't going to like this. He pulled an incendiary grenade out of the pouch on his leg. The path into the grove was about ten meters from him. Pin wrapped around one finger, he pulled, reached back and threw. The spoon flew off, angling away as the grenade arched over the bamboo. A snapping noise came from the grenade, and white smoke poured out of the bottom as it descended. The grenade hit the bamboo and bounced through the vegetation until it settled.
Rifle ready, he glanced around the rock. A plume of white smoke wafted up. The incendiary grenade would burn through most things, bamboo wouldn’t be a problem. It would be an inferno soon.
"Marines!"
"Yo!"
The Marines and his men would make short work of the HVT's. The grove was only about twenty-five meters by thirty-five meters. Another quick look around the rock, and he settled down to wait. There was a lot of smoke now. It had changed color, black smoke drifted skyward. There was no wind, and the plume reached straight up into the sky. Some of it hovered around the thick branches of nearby trees. Heat pushed out from the bamboo and caused Mike to hunch behind the rock. If the intense heat was getting to him, the bad guys must have been really feeling it. The smell of the cracking bamboo made him smile. Get some.
Only a small section of the bamboo at the far end wasn't burning. It would soon. Mike shouted over the noise of the fire.
"Marines, anything yet? "
" Not yet, Master Sergeant."
A frown formed on his face. No one chooses to burn alive, and soon there wouldn't be anywhere to hide. There'd been no screaming. It didn't make sense. They'd get shot trying to run out of the bamboo, but that was a damn sight better than the alternative.
He peeked over the rock. Not a scream, not one. Why hadn't a single one of their rounds cooked off? He took a long look at the fire, searching for any clue. Something was going on in there. But what?
Not worried about the consequences, he stood in full view of the fire. The heat passed through his clothing, his skin became uncomfortably warm, but he continued to stand there. The heat and smoke began to do a number on him. Tears ran down his face as he stared into the bamboo, trying not to breathe the hot air, but he couldn't turn away. Most of the bamboo was gone, black stumps, withered and smoldering. Only the far edge of the clump was a raging fire. Uphill he saw his two men stand. Mike put the hand-mic from the borrowed radio to his ear. "Hunter, what do you see?"
One of the men pulled out his hand-mic and shook his head. "I don't know Top. They never came out. We'd have seen them."
Mike took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.
"Alright, keep your eyes open. I'm going to link up with the Marines."
"Roger that, out." Both men took a knee, keeping watch on the fire.
One more glance at the fire, and he started uphill to the Marine’s position. A couple of them stared down at him a few others turned away. Something came over him. Some dread. It was more than the disappearing bad guys. He felt an uneasiness he'd never felt before in combat. He stowed the hand-mic in his shirt and made his way up.
"Marines."
"Yo."
Mike didn't recognize the Marine's voice. "I'm coming over."
One of the Marines said, shit, in a low voice. Not shit, he's coming over to chew us out for letting the bad guys go. More like shit, something's happened, something terrible. The hairs on his arms shot up. He picked up the pace to the Marine line keeping his rifle ready. He didn't expect any smoldering Afghanis to pounce out of the flames, but better safe than sorry.
The first Marine he saw was lying behind a tree, his rifle pointed toward the fire. The Marine waved his hand to the right directing him farther uphill. The kid didn't look up. His head was firmly glued to his rifle eyes on the burning bamboo.
He passed several more Marines before seeing one move to him, a Sergeant, his head down. Everything in Mike started to tingle, his breath caught in his throat. The Marine's head lifted as he stood in front of him. Old tears stained his dirty face.
"I'm sorry, Master Sergeant." The Marine paused. "That machine gunner, he got Gunny about the same time you guys showed up over there. The Corpsman tried to save him."
Mike cleared his throat and swallowed. "Paul?"
The Marine dropped his head. "I'm sorry, he didn't make it."
Tears filled his eyes as Mike turned and started down toward the burnt-out bamboo groove. Everything went numb. His hands dropped from his rifle the sling across his chest prevented it from falling. The barrel hit his knee every other step as he stumbled downhill.
The only reason the Marines were here was because of him. He'd talked his brother, the Marine Infantry Company Gunnery Sergeant, into supporting his A-Team. He'd told Paul it would be another easy operation. The Marines would set up blocking positions and provide supporting fire. And then, the whole mission turned into a cluster fuck, and now his brother was dead. Paul was dead because of him.
Thank You for Reading!
Wrath’s Pit is a serial story. It is ongoing even as you read. The table of contents, with links to existing portions of the story, can be found at the link below.
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