Rolling Thunder (2007) s-4 Page 7

  Peake was later joined by another Brit ranker, Major John Glubb. This latter officer was an excellent field commander, and further improved the Legion by organizing the Badieh the Desert Patrol. The fighting force battled rebellious desert tribes and infiltrators from Palestine and Syria. By the time World War II started, Peake Pasha had retired, and Glubb Pasha took over command. The next two leaders were Sidney Cooke Pasha and N.O. Lash Bey. The titles Farouk used confused Sikes, until the Arab explained that officers who held the ranks of second lieutenant and first lieutenant were called effendi. Captains through brigadiers were addressed as bey, while pasha, the highest, was reserved for major general and above.

  As Farouk told of the fighting against Germans and further combat in postwar Palestine, Sikes's imagination churned up new fantasies for him. Now his boyhood dreams of becoming a field marshal in the British Army were replaced by those of becoming Sikes Pasha after leading the Jihad Abadi to a smashing victory and throwing the infidels out of the Middle East. Not only would he have high rank and glory, but he would be incredibly rich by owning thousands of acres of oil wells.

  When the arms dealer Harry Turpin came on the scene with the EE-3 Jararaca armored cars, Sikes's fortunes took another turn for the better. The Iranians commissioned him in the rank of captain and gave him command of the vehicles with orders to organize them into a fighting force. Sikes and Harry became good friends during the turnover and checkout of the cars. Sikes asked the dealer if he could get him some British rank insignia. He wanted to have it on the uniforms of his men. Getting a few chevrons and pips was child's play for a man who dealt in all sorts of military goods, such as bombs, vehicles, and weaponry that could be as large as heavy artillery. The Iranians thought it would be a good idea. Conspicuous signs of rank would increase discipline and the desire for promotion.

  .

  1900 HOURS

  NOW the inspection was over, and Captain Sikes stood in front of his men with Warrant Officer Shafaqat at his side. I compliment you, Sikes said in Arabic to the armored car crews. Your vehicles and weapons are ready for action. I also wish to make an announcement. Rather than be addressed as Captain Sikes, from this moment on, I will be called Sikes Bey. Do you understand this?

  The well-drilled men replied in unison, loudly shouting, Aiwa, Sikes Bey!

  Tomorrow we will have reveille an hour earlier than usual, Sikes continued. After mess call, we will mount the vehicles and go directly into Afghanistan. If the UN camp is still standing, we will attack it without mercy. They have been warned to leave the area. The infidels must learn it is a deadly error to defy the Jihad Abadi!

  Aiwa, Sikes Bey!

  Chapter 7

  OPERATIONAL AREA

  10 APRIL

  0645 HOURS

  THE Command Two vehicle with Mike Assad and Dave Leibowitz sat some two and a half kilometers southwest of the UNREO camp. Mike straddled the roll bars above the M-2 .50-caliber machine gun, balancing precariously on the steel tubes. He peered through his binoculars in a southern direction, every nerve alert and tingling. Combat was imminent, and his prebattle nerves had kicked into a higher gear.

  Dave stood on the hood of the DPV, where the M-60 7.62-millimeter machine gun would have normally been mounted if they were using three-man crews. He was performing the same watch chores as his buddy, and their viewing fields swept back and forth in opposite directions, overlapping on a bearing of 360 degrees from the front of the vehicle.

  Over to the north in Command Three, Frank Gomez and Doc Bradley did the same, while Green Two, manned by Chief Matt Gunnarson and Chad Murchison, was on guard to the east. The side to the direct west of the large perimeter was only given cursory attention because that was where the impassable salt marshes that led into Iran were located. Intelligence analyses indicated that attacks from that direction were impossible.

  .

  UNREO CAMP

  THE remaining six DPVs were scattered among the tents with all weapons personal and vehicular locked and loaded. The dozen SEALs were the only human beings present within the bivouac. Every member of Dr. Pierre Bouchier's UN staff was now in the hangar at Shelor Field, waiting for Brannigan's Brigands to deal with the mysterious Englishman and his trio of armored cars.

  The nearby Pashtun village was quiet and subdued, as if the population anticipated some calamitous event to occur at any moment. Although the SEALs kept the place under surveillance, they had not spotted one living creature other than a couple of mangy curs who trotted among the huts, scavenging for scraps of food. Guy Devereaux stood behind the machine gun on Command One, while Brannigan sat in the driver's seat with his legs dangling out the side. The Skipper checked his watch, then pressed the transmit button on the LASH headset. Watch vehicles, this is Command One. Report. Over.

  This is Command Two, came Dave's voice. Negative report. Out. Command Three and Green Two made similar transmissions.

  This is Command One. Stay on your toes out there. We don't want Lawrence of Arabia and his bumbling Bedouins to sneak up on us. Out. Green One, this is Command One. What's your situation? Over.

  Nothing but empty country out there to the east, Jim Cruiser reported. Out.

  Guy Devereaux patted his machine gun. Maybe they ain't coming, sir.

  It's early yet, Brannigan said. Dr. Bouchier said the guy had given them until noon to get out of the area.

  Oh, well, Guy said, yawning. I figure the son of a bitch will be anywhere from two to twenty-four hours late. Them fucking camel-jockeys ain't exactly the saints of punctuality.

  This guy's a Brit with an obvious military background, Brannigan said. He'll be on time. Maybe early.

  How many are they? Guy asked. I forgot.

  Three, Brannigan replied.

  Hooray! Guy exclaimed with just a touch of sarcasm in his voice. For the first time I can remember, we'll outnumber the bad guys. And at three to one!

  Yep, Brannigan said, the gods of war can't shit on us all the time.

  .

  1125 HOURS

  IT was quiet and still within the UN camp. The calm had lulled the Brigands into a lethargic state of near-dozing. Now and then, someone would yawn widely out of sheer boredom.

  BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM!

  Heavy automatic fire suddenly erupted from the western side of the camp, sending hundreds of slugs slapping into the tents, shaking the SEALs out of their collective doldrums.

  Senior Chief Petty Officer Buford Dawkins yelled into his LASH even though he could have easily been heard if he whispered. Red Section! Port around starboard! Return fire!

  Red One, Two, and Three's motors were quickly started, and the drivers whipped the DPVs to the right, swinging 180 degrees around to face the incoming rounds. The machine gunners began pumping out spurts of slugs even though they had yet to spot any obvious targets. The idea was to throw out a heavy fusillade to get the unknown attackers to duck down or pull back.

  SIKES Bey had been standing in his command hatch as the UN camp's tents first came into view. The sight of the structures still standing infuriated him. He had brought all twenty of his EE-3s with him, and they were well positioned in a line of attack. He grabbed his microphone and pressed the transmit button.

  Atlak! he yelled. Open fire!

  The gunners, peering through their periscopes with gunsights etched on the lenses, quickly aimed into the center of the tents. The twenty Dashikas blasted the heavy 12.7-millimeter slugs straight into the area in combined bursts of 180 rounds a second.

  Now unexpected return fire splattered among the EE-3s, smacking and clanking on the armored hulls. Sikes Bey and the other vehicle commanders quickly dropped down into the interiors, slamming the hatches shut.

  .

  UNREO CAMP

  THE exchange of machine-gun fire built up in intensity, the choppy detonations echoing off in the desert sky. Brannigan ordered the vehicles to the west side of the defensive perimeter to find good fighting positions. At the same time, transmissions over the headsets
came hot and heavy.

  This is Red One. I can count twenty of the bastards. Out.

  This is Green Three. They are starting to curve around our right flank. Out.

  This is Red Three. Same on our left. Out.

  This is Command One, Brannigan said. Section leaders spread your vehicles out to avoid letting the enemy outflank us. Out. Then he turned his attention to the DPVs out on watch. Hey! You goddamn three blind mice, what're you doing out there? Sitting around with your heads up your asses?

  The first reply came from Mike Assad. Command One, nobody's slipped through this position. Command Three and Green Two gave the same reports, the dismay evident in their voices even over the radios.

  Alright, Brannigan said. Get your asses in here and come in shooting! There's more than six times the number we anticipated. Out.

  .

  THE BATTLE

  THE fighting opened up as Sikes Bey sent his command into an enveloping maneuver. The SEAL DPVs responded by extending their formation, keeping the armored cars constantly moving in an outward direction.

  COMMAND One! Our bullets is bouncing off the bastards! Dawkins reported.

  Brannigan silently damned the Station Bravo S-4 for not providing them with armor-piercing rounds. He instantly reached the conclusion they were going to have to cut and run. There was no way that patrol vehicles with a single machine gun loaded with ball ammo were going to be able to knock out armored cars. But he couldn't order a retreat until the three watch DPVs had rejoined them. All units! Fire at their tires!

  That's what we been doing, sir, Milly Mills said. But they keep coming.

  Brannigan knew that meant the enemy had run-flat tires. But they're slowed down, aren't they? Over.

  I don't know. Wait, Milly said. A moment passed, then he came back. By God! They sure as hell are! I don't think they're as fast as we are anyhow. And it looks like they have a tough time steering when the tires on one side are hit.

  All vehicles! Brannigan said. Dodge, dart, and shoot! We gotta take advantage of our superior speed. Out.

  OVER in his vehicle, Sikes Bey bounced and swung in his seat with each movement of the EE-3. He had now determined his command was impervious to the enemy's fire as he viewed the fight through his periscope. But he also noticed his foes were faster and more nimble, making quick, short turns that the armored cars could not match. And the fact that several tires had been shot up slowed down his vehicles' speed and maneuverability even more.

  JIM Cruiser whipped the steering wheel to the left, bringing Green One alongside an armored car some twenty meters away. The guy quickly spotted them and swung his turret and machine gun in their direction, firing long bursts. Bullets cracked and whined around Bruno Puglisi as he lowered the muzzle of his M-2 .50-caliber and made quick pulls on the trigger. Both tires on that side of the enemy vehicle were hit, causing it to lunge violently to the right. That spoiled the bad guy's aim, and Jim went back the other way, breaking clear as Puglisi cut loose with a couple more fire bursts.

  Over on the other side of the fight, Red Three, with Milly Mills and Andy Malachenko, managed to come in on the rear of one enemy vehicle. Unfortunately, the ground was uneven in the area, causing the DPV to bounce. This spoiled Andy's aim and his bullets whipped off into empty air. Neither he nor Milly noticed the armored car driving obliquely toward them on the port side. A burst of four heavy rounds slammed into Milly's torso, twisting him violently in the seat belt as he collapsed across the steering wheel. The DPV rolled, tossing Andy out onto the hard-packed desert ground.

  Now Command Two and Three arrived on the scene and joined the fight. They had monitored all the transmissions, and the drivers Dave Leibowitz and Doc Bradley moved smoothly into the rolling, circling maneuvering of the battle. It had evolved to the point that the situation was like fighter planes battling it out in dogfights as they sought to gain the advantage over each other. But in this case, there was not the added dimension of height.

  The two tardy DPVs immediately opened fire at the exact time.

  ONE of the armored car platoon leaders reported that additional fire was suddenly coming in. Sikes Bey's mind raced as he made a quick decision. That could mean reinforcements were arriving. He had already determined these were Americans, so there was a very good chance that air strikes had already been called in. It was time for a strategic withdrawal. He reached for his microphone. Dauwir retreat!

  The fighting broke off with the same abruptness it had begun.

  .

  1235 HOURS

  BRANNIGAN decided a pursuit was useless. It would only result in a battle of attrition the Brigands would eventually lose even if they were faster than the bad guys. The ammo loaded into the M-2 .50s was not going to penetrate into the armored car interiors. The Skipper also vetoed following after them to see which direction they headed. That could lead to an ambush by a stronger force joining the original attackers. This was one of those maddening situations where a guy was damned if he did and damned if he didn't.

  The sad thing was that Milly Mills was dead. He had been one of the original members of the old platoon from which the detachment had evolved in three bloody operations. His vehicle, Red Three, lay on its side as the other SEALs drove up to the site. They quickly unassed their vehicles and rolled the shot-up DPV back upright. Senior Chief Dawkins and Gutsy Olson gently removed Milly's body from the restraints of the seat belt. The corpse was placed in the back of the vehicle under the machine gun. Andy Malachenko, sprawled out on the ground, was badly bruised and dazed, but Doc Bradley said he would be okay within a short time. He was unable to drive, so he would ride shotgun with Dawkins on the trip back to Shelor Field. Pete Dawson would drive Red Three in the convoy.

  Now, with the afternoon desert winds picking up, Brannigan and Cruiser stood looking out over the UN camp. All the tents were down and tire tracks had torn up the ground. Valuable medical equipment was smashed, torn up, and scattered across the area. This would bring the camp's humanitarian mission to a sad finish. Cruiser glanced toward the Pashtun village. They're not even out of their houses.

  All they want is for everybody to leave them alone, Brannigan said He sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets. It's shitty as hell about Milly, huh?

  Everybody's really down, Cruiser commented.

  Yeah, Brannigan said. Well, c'est la guerre, as the French say, though that doesn't offer much comfort.

  We stymied the bad guys pretty good by hitting their tires, Cruiser said. I wonder why they didn't shoot ours up. We don't have run-flats on the DPVs.

  The muzzles on the turret-mounted machine guns don't lower fast enough, Brannigan said. They had to concentrate on shooting at the guys in the vehicles. He took one more look at the battlefield. Well, let's mount up and head back to Shelor Field. Everything's about as fucked up around here as it's gonna get.

  The two officers walked toward the detachment to get things moving.

  .

  SHELOR FIELD

  1435 HOURS

  THE mood in the hangar was grim. Randy Tooley and his new DPV were present. The enterprising airman had quickly painted the purloined vehicle Air Force blue and stenciled on phony registration and unit numbers to make it appear legal. He had already made arrangements to have Petty Officer First Class Michael Mills flown to Kuwait, where the mortuary center would prepare him for his final trip home. Randy had done this sad duty on numerous occasions as part of his job. He was an emotional little guy, and had seen that the corpse was treated with utmost respect as it was prepared for transport.

  This is an American serviceman, he told the C-130 loadmaster, not a piece of equipment.

  Now, in the partitioned office in the back of the hangar, the Skipper, Jim Cruiser, and Senior Chief Buford Dawkins sat around a battered desk drinking cold beers. A refrigerator, furnished by Randy as an extra gesture of gratitude for the DPV, sat in the corner of the room. Dawkins lit a cigar, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke. That UN doctor was fit to be tied, wasn't he
?

  I quieted him down, Brannigan said. As soon as he started bitching about his camp getting ripped apart, I reminded him that he told us the bad guys had three armored cars, but twenty of the sons of bitches attacked us. If we'd known the enemy was that strong, I would have advised him to haul ass like he was told to do the first place. Then I could have made a report to Berringer.

  I still can't figure out how they snuck up on us, Cruiser commented in irritation. Not one guy on watch saw them come into the area.

  They had to come from the west, Dawkins said.

  That's an impassable salt marsh, Brannigan retorted. It would be difficult as hell for men on foot to cross it. It's absolutely impossible for vehicles to negotiate mucky terrain like that.

  I wonder what the S-Three at Station Bravo is going to have us do, Cruiser mused.

  I sent an AAR to Carey, Brannigan said. I told him we need armor-piercing ammo for the fifties along with some Javelins to give us a solid antiarmor capability. And anything else the headquarters weenies could spare us to help take care of this situation.

  Dawkins took a sip of beer, then shoved his stogie back in his face. They'll need about twenty-four hours to digest that report before they take action. Then we'll either get equipped right and given a definite mission, or they'll pull us the hell out of here.

  Brannigan shook his head. Let me tell you for sure, Senior Chief, they're not going to pull us the hell out of here.

  EVERYONE else was in the hangar, moping and speaking softly among themselves, as Chad Murchison and Penny Brubaker sat together on a bench outside. They could look out past some parked aircraft to the barren desert beyond. Chad was quiet, and Penny sensed his deep sadness over the loss of his SEAL buddy.

  Did your friend have any family? she asked.

  He wasn't married, Chad said. I think his father is dead, but his mother lives in a small town in Iowa. She works in a bank, he said, a teller or something.

  She's going to be heartbroken when she hears the news, Penny said. She glanced over at the dented DPV that he had died in. A large discolored spot caused by his blood was visible. I want to get out of here.