Seals (2005) s-1 Read online

  26 AUGUST

  0630 HOURS LOCAL

  LIEUTENANT Bill Brannigan recognized that any attacks on the base camp would most likely come from the east. To make sure it was the strongest point of his defense, he placed the entire First Squad along that side of the perimeter. Connie Concord and Bruno Puglisi set up the 60-millimeter mortar in a circle of sandbags fifteen meters down from the OP. A camouflage covering across the top of the position could be quickly pulled off in the event of fire missions.

  Charlie Fire Team has been assigned to cover the western side of the ridge top. Chief Matt Gunnarson and James Bradley, now the only available members of Delta Fire Team since Puglisi was assigned to the mortar and Adam Clifford was KIA, had situated themselves in a fighting hole near the mortar position. These two SEALs were ready to move to any side of the fighting line where their extra firepower would be needed.

  Everyone in the platoon knew that combat was imminent and unavoidable. They waited with dry mouths and sweaty palms as a combination of anticipation and apprehension dominated the SEALs' collective mood. However, the tension was relieved from time to time when one of the Brigands told a joke that had suddenly come to mind, or made a humorous remark to cut the tension. There was also some very creative bitching about life in the Navy, headquarters pukes, staff weenies and ragheads.

  On the practical side of the situation, the platoon had ammo bandoleers with fully loaded thirty-round 5.56-millimeter magazines laid out in handy spots near their positions. Each man also had a half dozen deadly M-67 fragmentation hand grenades within reach. These nasties blew steel pellets out some fifteen meters from the point of detonation. This made the explosive devices excellent defensive weapons.

  As everyone did his best to settle down, the butterflies in the stomachs were worse than those prior to a parachute jump. Senior Chief Buford Dawkins summed it up with one simple remark:

  "This is what they're paying us for, but at times like this we should go on time-and-a-half."

  .

  0645 HOURS LOCAL

  THE mortar shell ripped through the sky, going completely over West Ridge before slamming into the valley on the western side. The explosion was sharp, the sound echoing in waves across the open country below. It was immediately followed by a second that hit on the western slope of the ridge. Everyone in the platoon hunkered down, their jaw muscles tense and teeth tightly clenched.

  A mujahideen mortar was zeroing in on the ridge top.

  A couple of moments passed, and the SEALs knew the raghead gunners were using the time to adjust elevation and traverse knobs. The third explosion was dead in the center of the SEALs' position. Over on East Ridge the mujahideen forward observer was satisfied. He got on the old Soviet field radio to let the chief of the mortar battery know they had the range.

  A half dozen detonations announced the arrival of the first real barrage of the exploding inferno to come. From that point on, the rounds began coming in separately, but spaced close together, giving evidence that the mortar battery was now doing independent fire. The ground shook like dozens of California earthquakes as the bombardment went into high gear. Sharp pains and a ringing in the ears dulled everyone's hearing as the incoming hell continued. Sometimes the nearness of a hit would create a vacuum that seemed to suck the air out of the lungs of anyone in close vicinity of the detonation. The spraying shards of shrapnel struck sandbags with hundreds of loud thuds and ripping sounds.

  Lieutenant Wild Bill Brannigan checked in with Mike Assad, Frank Gomez, and Dave Leibowitz over his LASH headset, then spoke into the PRC-112 to his team leaders. "Report!"

  They in turn contacted each man over the LASH headsets, then responded to the skipper in the proper order. "Bravo Team okay," Senior Chief Buford Dawkins said. "Charlie Team okay," Lieutenant Jim Cruiser stated. "Delta Team okay," Chief Matt Gunnarson said, then added, "All two of us."

  "Mortar Crew okay," Connie Concord reported. "How about some counterbattery fire, sir?"

  "Negative," Brannigan said, knowing their 60-millimeter mortar was outgunned and outnumbered. "This is the place, but it sure as hell isn't the time. Everybody stay down!"

  .

  0715 HOURS LOCAL

  THE sudden silence caused the buzzing in the men's ears to intensify. The incoming from the enemy mortars had suddenly ceased, leaving the SEALs with concussion headaches to go along with the discomfort of their punished eardrums. Then new sounds erupted from skyward. Three helicopters came in at an altitude that would take them a couple of hundred feet above the ridge top. This aerial attack was obviously coordinated with the mortar barrage.

  The aircraft were in a tight echelon right formation, and as soon as the first passed over the SEAL positions, the gunner in the front cockpit cut loose with the 12.7-millimeter heavy machine gun, pounding the SEAL positions with slugs. Within a beat his two buddies joined him.

  Dozens of large steel bullets smacked into the shell-pocked ground, ricocheting off boulders with angry whines. Like the shrapnel from the mortars, these smaller projectiles ripped into sandbags, making the dirt within spurt out in dusty gushes. The SEALs had no choice but to maintain their crouching positions with heads down. The choppers pulled away and turned for a second run. Senior Chief Buford Dawkins took a chance for a quick look to the east. He ducked back down and got on the PRC-112.

  "Skipper, this is Bravo," he said. "They's a shitpot full of them ragheads coming over the top of East Ridge! The sumbitches is headed right for us and they's spaced out proper as skirmishes. These ain't crazy-ass suicide shitheels. Them bastards is coming on like proper soldiers!"

  "Roger," Brannigan said. He and his men were caught in a classic situation of being pinned down flat while the enemy maneuvered to close with them. The next time he took the platoon on a mission, he Was going to make sure there were at least a couple of Stingers in their arsenal to handle aerial assaults.

  If there was a next time.

  Once more the trio of Mi-24s began their attack in nose-down positions to give the gunners the best view of the target area. They swept in, firing sweeping salvos that once more splattered the ridge top. Kevin Albee of Charlie Fire Team looked up through his camouflage netting just as the second passed over his position. He impetuously stood up and cut loose at the departing Hind with his CAR-15 on full-auto. The range was less than fifty yards, and the 5.56 slugs bit into the old aircraft, punching into the engine and transmission behind the pilot. The helicopter veered off to the right and dove downward on the west side of the ridge, hitting the steep terrain and exploding.

  Kevin had no time to see the result of his quick shooting. The third chopper's gunner gave a long burst that hit the SEAL in the back, slamming him with the intensity of a dozen sledgehammers. Kevin was kicked forward, falling half in and half out of his fighting hole.

  "Corpsman!" Lieutenant Jim Cruiser said over his LASH system. "Albee's down!"

  James Bradley leaped up and rushed toward the Charlies' positions, taking no notice that the two surviving helicopters had pulled away. He stopped at the hole, kneeling down to examine the casualty. The 12.7-millimeter slugs had done their worst. Kevin was raw, bleeding hamburger between his neck and waist. The hospital corpsman looked up as Cruiser joined him. "He's dead, sir."

  "Fuck!" Cruiser said. "A good kid. Man! A good fucking kid. He got himself killed to destroy an enemy aircraft." He got on the LASH. "Skipper, one of the choppers is down, but we've lost Kevin Albee. He shot the son of a bitch out of the sky."

  "Are you under ground attack on that side?" Brannigan asked.

  "Negative, sir."

  "All right," Brannigan said. "Get back to your position, but first tell Bradley and Chief Gunnarson to get their asses over here. We're about to engage what looks like a two-company force!"

  "Aye, sir."

  "I'm real sorry about Albee, Jim." "We all are, sir."

  .

  0730 HOURS LOCAL

  CHIEF Matt Gunnarson and James Bradley were both loaded down w
ith bandoleers and grenades, and they rushed to the First Squad's perimeter, sounding like a couple of pack horses. The two members of Delta Fire Team took a couple of auxiliary fighting positions that flanked those of Mike Assad and Dave Leibowitz.

  "Glad to see you," Mike said to James. He pointed below. "Take a look."

  James glanced in the indicated direction and could see mujahideen skirmishers moving steadily up the slope toward them. These men were not shrieking zealots engaged in a running suicide charge. They moved carefully under the command of squad leaders as they took advantage of all the cover and concealment offered by the rugged terrain:

  James studied them, and commented, "They're still out of range, aren't they?"

  "Yeah," Mike said, "And I kind of wish they'd stay that way."

  Lieutenant Bill Brannigan was over on the left side of the line, between Frank Gomez and Mike Assad. He had taken time to figure out what routes the different attack elements of the mujahideen were taking in their approach toward the top of the ridge. Now he spoke into the LASH. "Mortar Crew, we need some rounds dropped on the eastern slope. It's minimum range, so your tube is going to be almost vertical. Fire one round for effect."

  In less than thirty seconds the sound of a sharp "crump" came from the mortar position: A couple of beats passed, then an explosion came from below. Brannigan liked what he saw. "Give 'em two dozen more."

  Now Connie Concord and Bruno Puglisi went to work.

  .

  WARLORD KHAMAMI'S CP

  EAST RIDGE

  0745 HOURS LOCAL

  WARLORD Hassan Khamami held the Soviet Army polevoi binoculars to his eyes as he watched his troops make their way up the side of the mountain opposite his CP. Several moments before, he had received an oral report via radio of the skeletal remains of Ayyub Durtami's dead mujahideen that lay scattered across the rocky slope. Such a situation was abhorrent to any Muslim. The dead of the faithful must be properly buried according to the dictates of the Holy Koran. Even the secular Khamami considered this important and respectful to those who died.

  Now his radio operator, wearing an R-100 pack radio, spoke up. "Amir, the chief helicopter pilot has entered the net desiring to speak with you."

  Khamami let the binoculars dangle around his neck by the strap as he took the handset. "Yes, Captain Sheriwal?"

  "Amir!" Mohammed Sheriwal said in his Russian-accented Pashto. "We have lost the number two Mi-24. It was shot down by the infidels."

  "May they rot in hell for two eternities!" Khamami hissed angrily, using a traditional Pashto curse. "Do they have Stingers?"

  "I don't think so, Amir," Sheriwal replied. "It was either a lucky hit from infantry arms or they have an automatic antiaircraft weapon."

  "Ground the other helicopters and do not fly them over the objective," Khamami said. "I shall let the ground fighters take care of those interlopers."

  "How goes the battle, Amir?" Sheriwal asked.

  "Our men progress upward in a proper, prudent manner," Khamami said. "They continue toward a sure victory. I must turn my attention back to the attack." He gave the handset back to the radio operator, and once more gazed across the valley through the binoculars.

  .

  MUJAHIDEEN ATTACK FORCE

  WEST RIDGE

  0750 HOURS LOCAL

  THE platoon and section leaders kept in close contact with the men as they moved upward, firing well-aimed volleys toward the area where the infidels were dug in. Mortar shells had been coming slowly but regularly, and caused a few casualties, but the barrage did not amount to much. It was quite evident that the unbelievers had no more than one such support weapon, and it was of a minimum caliber. However, they had managed to slow the assault with accurate drops of shells in key locations.

  But now the warlord's fighters were getting closer to the crest of the ridge, and the effect of the small arms fire from above was beginning to tell. The incidents of mujahideen crumpling under the impact of rifle bullets grew more numerous with each passing moment.

  The commander, Major Karim Malari, ordered a halt when they reached a place where numerous stands of boulders offered good cover. At that point, the men settled in and began trading shot-for-shot with the defenders.

  Malari gestured to his radio operator to join him. He took the handset and raised the warlord. "Amir, we have reached a place where it is most perilous to continue the advance without suffering very heavy casualties."

  "I understand, Major," Khamami replied. He had total faith in whatever tactical decisions or opinions his field commander might express. "Are you completely stopped?"

  "Not at all, Amir," Malari assured him. "We could score a victory here within an hour or an hour and a half, but I fear our casualties would be close to fifty or even sixty percent."

  "What is it you wish to do?"

  "I respectfully request that you send the two companies in reserve around to the opposite side of this mountain, Amir," Malari said. "When they are in position, we can launch simultaneous attacks from both directions. The infidels' volume of fire would be reduced by having to defend two sides. I estimate a victory could be accomplished before dark even if we are most sensible and cautious. By carefully advancing upward, our losses would be more acceptable."

  "I will issue the necessary orders to Captain Tanizai immediately," Khamami said. "Hold your position and keep the enemy busy. I suggest a few rushes up toward them to keep the dogs distracted."

  "I hear and obey, Amir," Malari said. He switched over to his own command net. "All units began rapid fire at the enemy for a period of ten seconds, then cease. Platoon Two and Platoon Four! As soon as the firing stops, make a bold attack to test the mettle of the enemy. Begin immediately!"

  The sound of firing picked up in intensity as all mujahideen began shooting at the enemy above them. As soon as the fusillades lessened, the two platoons ordered to attack leaped from their positions and rushed upward toward the infidels' defenses. They immediately came under fire, and several of them were hit by the accurate shooting from above. Then three hand grenades were tossed by the defenders. The explosive devices hit the rocks, bounced once, then detonated. A half dozen attackers wilted under the solid steel hail of the M-67 grenades' deadly pellets.

  "Platoons Two and Four!" Malari radioed. "Break off the attack and return to your original positions." The field commander now realized that the infidels were much more desperate and skilled than he had at first thought.

  The surviving mujahideen gladly broke contact and stumbled back to where they had launched the attack.

  .

  0910 HOURS LOCAL

  THE convoy of ten Soviet ZIL-157 transport trucks came to a stop a kilometer southwest of West Ridge. Each vehicle had twenty mujahideen packed into the back, and when the tailgates were dropped, the fighters quickly leaped to the ground, forming up by platoons.

  The commanding officer, Captain Lakhdar Tanizai, wasted no time in facing the men toward the mountain occupied by the unbelievers. "Double time!" he bellowed. "March!"

  The double column moved out quickly, anxious to do their part in changing the assault to a two-pronged operation.

  .

  WEST RIDGE BASE CAMP

  0925 HOURS LOCAL

  LIEUTENANT Jim Cruiser spoke rapidly but calmly into the PRC-112. "Charlie Papa, this is Second Squad. Approximately two companies of enemy troops have moved into the area just below our positions. Expect an immediate attack. Over."

  "Roger, Second Squad," Lieutenant Bill Brannigan radioed back. "I'm sending over the reserves." Then he added, "Both of 'em. Out." He pressed the throat mike of the LASH. "Chief Gunnarson! Bradley! Get over to Second Squad and report to Lieutenant Cruiser. Out."

  The two grabbed grenades and bandoleers, then rushed from the First Squad's perimeter to dash across the open space to where their squad mates were preparing for the impending mujahideen blitz.

  .

  1015 H0URS LOCAL

  THE attack from the west side of the rid
ge was carried on like the one on the east side. The mujahideen took advantage of the cover to fire-and-maneuver their way upward. And like their comrades on the opposite side, they became bogged down under the intense and accurate fire of the SEALs. Hand grenades and the sporadic mortar shells that came from Connie Concord and Bruno Puglisi also slowed their advance.

  Khamami, back on East Ridge, knew he could overwhelm the defenders anytime he wished. The problem was that it would cost him dearly in casualties. As the general of a private army, he did not have the luxury of a draft board or the populations of large cities from which to draw replacements. If he behaved rashly, he could well end up almost as bad off as his idiot brother-in-law who stupidly sacrificed almost two hundred men and gained nothing for it. He turned to his radio operator and took the handset.

  "Major Malari! Captain Tanizai! Pull your men back to more secure positions and hold them there until further orders." Khamami paused long enough to take a deep breath before continuing. "Mortar Battery! Renew your fire mission! Fire at will! Twenty-five rounds each gun! Commence firing!"

  .

  1600 HOURS LOCAL

  THE day's fighting had been unmitigated hell for the SEALs. A total of three mortar barrages had pounded them into near insensibility while the time between the shellings was occupied with fighting off probing attacks by the warlord's infantry. These assaults, though not pressed to completion, ate up valuable ammunition and grenades.

  Empty cloth bandoleers littered the fighting positions and those that held full magazines were rapidly becoming fewer. The SEALs, for all their amazing physical conditioning, were close to exhaustion. If the mujahideen kept up the pressure through the night, Brannigan's Brigands would be reduced to a token force barely able to defend themselves. Senior Chief Buford Dawkins, as usual, summed it up with one of his sardonic Alabama country-boy comments that were not meant to be humorous:

  "By tomorry morning we're gonna be reduced to throwing rocks at them raghead sumbitches."

  But the fighting suddenly came to a halt. Mike Assad in the OP could see the mujahideen withdrawing farther down the slope, then stopping and digging in.