G Hopf: The End

Gordon looked to the rear of the TOW. He didn’t see anyone and yelled back, “Back blast area all secure!”

“Gun up,” Bivens hollered, and not a second later he bellowed, “Fire in the hole!”

After its familiar pop and whiz, the missile propelled out of the tube. Almost instantly, it reached its target, a minaret of a mosque. The missile struck the minaret squarely, and it crumbled and fell to the ground.

The Marines cheered, but the engagement wasn’t over. They had taken out the insurgent in the minaret, but were still taking small arms fire from the mosque.

Gordon and Bivens worked to get the TOW back up while the remnants of 1 stSquad were engaging, slowly eliminating the Iraqi hostiles holed up inside the mosque.

As Gordon and Bivens readied the TOW for more action, the second vehicle in his team pulled up. Gordon looked up to Corporal Nellis, who was manning the “Ma Deuce” .50 caliber machine gun affixed atop the Hummer.

“We have some Muj in the mosque that is located on the left about a block and a half down. Provide support with the 50 to the grunt squad,” he instructed Nellis before running back to his vehicle to grab a radio.

He contacted Battalion Forward Headquarters to request additional support and another medical evacuation team.

Gordon was really starting to feel the toll from the blast. After radioing the headquarters, he noticed blood on the handset. He checked his hands, discovering that they, too, were covered in blood. He glanced down, wiped them off on his trousers, and saw more blood drip from his chin onto his boot. He wiped his face with his hand and looked at it. A thick layer of blood again coated his palm. He examined himself in the side mirror of his Hummer, discovering bloody pock marks all over his face. He had taken shrapnel from the blast. He used his sleeve to wipe off more blood. Knowing there was no more time to waste on his face, he headed back into action.

The .50 caliber, with the help of a few M203 grenades, did its work on the mosque. The area fell silent, save for some gunfire in the distance.

“What do you see, Bivens?” Gordon asked.

“No movement, but you know those motherfuckers.”

The mosque stood eerily quiet, no movement or gunfire came from it. Looking up the street, Gordon could see what was once a thriving marketplace on the right and a soccer field on the left. Now, debris littered the street, all the buildings were shot up, and a few small fires burned on the vacant sidewalk. Gordon wanted to ensure the mosque was secure, but the only way to do that was to take it.

“Stay in the gun and provide support if we need it. I’m going to take these Marines up the street and take the mosque,” Gordon said to Bivens. He reached into his Hummer and grabbed a few more magazines and as many high-explosive grenades he could carry.

“Roger that,” Bivens confirmed.

“Actually, change that. Turn the gun around and watch our six,” Gordon commanded Bivens. He then turned to Nellis and ordered, “Nellis, provide over watch as we move up the street.”

“Roger that,” Nellis responded.

Gordon ran up to Smitty, “You and these Marines okay enough to go take that Hajji temple down?”

“Yes, we are!” he said with a smile.

Gordon led the Marines through the commercial buildings on the right side of the street, clearing each one. He navigated up-down, down-up, crossing over from one building to the next from the rooftops. The front glass of the last building had been blown out and the entire structure was riddled with holes. He grabbed one of his high-explosive grenades and tossed it through the open window. The explosion was followed by a scream from inside. While the Marines were stacked up along the side of the building, waiting to go, Gordon stood back, kicked the door, and ran inside. The Marines followed, each peeling off into a separate room.

Gordon had gone in and immediately went left into the remnants of a café. Tables and chairs were scattered, along with empty brass casings.

“Sergeant Van Zandt, Sergeant Van Zandt!” Smitty hollered from a room further inside the building.

Gordon could hear Marines shouting and someone yelling in Arabic. Upon entering the room he met Smitty, another Marine, and two Iraqi insurgents. One was alive, wearing a white, but deeply blood-stained, thobe. The second insurgent lay motionless on the floor. The room had pock marks from shrapnel and bullets, there was debris and trash all over the floor and three AK-47’s leaning up against a wall. Smitty and the other Marine shouted to the wounded insurgent, demanding he keep still with his hands in the air.

The insurgent shrieked back in Arabic. Gordon couldn’t know for sure, but after already spending a tour in Iraq, he had picked up some of the language and he thought it sounded like “Don’t shoot.”

All the yelling was becoming distracting; Gordon knew he needed to take charge and process the prisoner ASAP.

“Everyone shut up! Smitty, process the guy and check him out for any intel. The rest of us will head upstairs.” The Iraqi kept screaming. Gordon turned and yelled, “Shut the fuck up! That’s enough! No one is going to shoot you!”

The Iraqi fell silent, as if he understood Gordon’s words perfectly. He quietly sobbed as he rocked back and forth, shaking in fear.

Gordon left the room and started slowly upstairs. His progress was interrupted by Smitty’s panicked voice, “The other fucker—”

A loud explosion shook the room.

Gordon whipped back around. Chaos had erupted downstairs; the two Marines who had been following Gordon were now yelling, though he couldn’t make out their words.

Gordon headed back downstairs, into what was left of the room. The wounded Iraqi was now blown apart. A Marine had also been torn up by the explosion, but he couldn’t tell who it was.

Gordon heard a voice from the hallway, “Sergeant!”

Gordon turned and saw Smitty lying on the ground, covered in the blood of four people including his own.

“What happened?” Gordon asked, kneeling next to him.

“The motherfucker on the ground wasn’t dead. He turned over and had a grenade. He blew up Grebbs.”

“Dirty motherfuckers!” Gordon cursed.

Just then, another squad of Marines emerged from the entrance of the building. They were followed by an imbedded reporter and his camera crew.

A corpsman followed behind and immediately started to look over Smitty.

“Suicide bomber killed a Marine in that room,” Gordon informed the new squad of Marines, pointing to the room, “Upstairs is not clear yet. Let’s go.”

Gordon and the new squad proceeded upstairs and cleared the area. On the roof, they could see the mosque. There was still no apparent movement.

“Let’s go take it,” Gordon said to the Marines. They rushed back downstairs and out across the street. The reporter and his camera crew followed closely.

Smoke flowed from a few windows on the south side of the mosque. The entire south and east sides were riddled with bullet holes. Gordon and the squad approached the front door, and stacked up along the east side. Gordon kicked the door, but it did not break down. He kicked it twice more. Nothing.

“Sergeant, I have a shotgun,” a Marine in the squad offered.

“Okay, get up here.”

The Marine shot the door handle twice with his 12-gauge shotgun and backed away. Gordon took a step back and kicked the door; this time it flew open. He tossed a high-explosive grenade through the open door and stepped back, leaning against the wall. The grenade tumbled and rolled down the narrow hall and into the large great room of the mosque. The explosion shook the ground. As was standard operating procedure, he and the Marines proceeded into the mosque after the grenade detonated. The reporter and camera crew followed right behind the last Marine.