Jack Terral - Seals (2005)

"Allah is great!"

"Death to the infidels!"

Over in the village, the women had gotten the gist of the warlord's speech, and now shrilled their warbling encouragement to the men.

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WEST RIDGE

19 AUGUST

0545 HOURS LOCAL

THE mujahideen had gone en masse to the base of the ridge, looking toward their objective at the top. They moved quietly and slowly into what cover they could find in the rocks, to await the order to charge. There was no unit integrity among them, although they tended to congregate with special friends on this holy mission. The previous night had been spent fasting and praying as each prepared himself for the glorious struggle ahead.

Bashar Abzai was among the fighters. This man who had been made a sergeant was by himself in the crowd. His best friend, Sayed, had died on the wall, and now Abzai turned his thoughts to this departed comrade. Neither one of the young men had ever had a woman. Once, back when they were teenagers, an itinerate camel driver passing through with a caravan had photographs of naked females for sale. The sight of the rounded feminine bodies, with breasts, wide hips and hairy triangles between their thighs, caused them to tremble with a strange desire they could not fully understand. As they viewed the images, their penises grew hard and extended with a throbbing that was somehow as pleasurable as it was troublesome. This thing with women was confusing. By Islamic law the young men were forbidden casual fornication, yet Allah had made women so alluring.

But Sayed, now in his eternal life, knew all. At that moment he would be among seventy houris, and all would be naked as he enjoyed them to his heart's content under the blessings of Allah. Every day and night in the endless spinning passage of eternity, Sayed's secret passions would no longer be smothered. Instead he would have endless hours of the greatest pleasure known by man.

Abzai turned his thoughts to Paradise. It must be a wonderful place, where it was never too cold or too hot; where succulent meats, fruit, breads and cakes were available in unlimited quantities; and where sweet nectars and cold clear water slaked one's thirst. No hard winds drove gritty dust into one's face in Paradise. No hard work exhausted one's muscles until they cramped and burned. And those houris! Those wonderful, beautiful houris!

Abzai's reverie was suddenly, broken by a loud shout from the rear. "Allah akbar! God is Great!" That was the signal to advance upward to kill Satan's demons. The young mujahideen leaped to his feet and began moving toward the summit of the ridge, joining the shouting of the other warriors of Islam.

"Allah akbar! "

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THE BATTLE

JOE Miskoski was on the morning watch, looking out through the diminishing gloom of the night, when he heard the noises below. He looked downward, then grabbed his binoculars. Dozens of mujahideen moved up the side of the ridge toward him, looking like animated rag dolls.

Over to his right, Kevin Albee and Milly Mills reacted by firing down into the human targets bobbing among the rocks and boulders as they progressed upward. At almost that exact moment Chief Matt Gunnarson appeared among the trio of SEALS. After one quick look, he hurried over to the CP to alert the platoon.

BACK on the top of East Ridge, Warlord Ayyub Durtami and his entourage watched the attack across the valley. Ahmet Kharani held a pair of Soviet binoculars to his eyes. He spoke softly but in good spirits. "The fighters are doing well, Amir. They are filled with the holy spirit as they work their way upward toward the infidels."

Durtami was satisfied just looking at the distant figures of the mujahideen moving among the concealment of boulders and brush as they made a rapid advance to close with the enemy. 'Today is our day, Brother Kharani," he said with uncharacteristic friendliness. "I hope we will find many weapons and ammunition bandoleers among the corpses of the infidels. Our stocks have shrunk over the past weeks."

LIEUTENANT Wild Bill Brannigan was at the firing line, moving from position to position as the SEALs fired single, aimed shots at the enemy advancing up the ridge in an uncoordinated, ragged assault. It was obvious the mujahideen planned on overwhelming them by sheer numbers. Automatic fire, even three-round bursts, would have been a waste of ammunition at that range. The platoon, with each man working within his individual field of fire, picked out targets of opportunity that bounded among the boulders. Now and then, after firing a well-aimed round, they were rewarded with the sight of an attacker suddenly staggering back and falling to the sloped ground as the strike of a bullet ended his life. Some rolled a few meters down, until their corpses collided with the rocks and brush scattered over the terrain.

Bruno Puglisi had no opportunity to set up the French mortars because Connie Concord, the other fire support man, was covering the opposite side of the ridge with Bravo Team. But Puglisi was able to use his M-203 to advantage when groups of mujahideen inadvertently congregated. Occasionally, the 40-millimeter grenades did a lot of damage, throwing shrapnel and shards of rock into the groups. But most times the targeted individuals had dispersed by the time Puglisi could get off a shot.

The attack pressed relentlessly upward, and the platoon began to have the disturbing sensation of shoveling sand against the tide. The ragged figures advancing toward them were rapidly closing the gap between the two battling groups of desperate men. Brannigan shouted encouragement to his men, urging quick, but carefully aimed firing.

Bravo Fire Team suddenly showed up from the other side of the base camp. Senior Chief Buford Dawkins threw himself down beside Brannigan.

"Sir:' he reported, "they ain't nobody coming at us from the other side. They must be concentrating their whole effort on this part of the ridge."

"All right," Brannigan said. "Get your guys out on the perimeter here. The pressure is building."

"Bravos!" the senior chief shouted. "Follow me."

Within moments, four more weapons began firing into the attackers.

BASHAR Abzai hit the ground and rolled, ending up behind a large bullet-streaked boulder. He waited a moment, then stood up and fired two long fire bursts upward toward the infidel positions. His third salvo was cut short when the final bullet in the weapon was fired.

He pulled out the empty magazine and inserted a fresh one stocked with thirty rounds. The used one went into his bandoleer for reloading later. He glanced downward and could see mujahideen sprawled among the rocks. A couple were stirring slightly, while another sat up tending to a leg wound. Abzai turned back to the business at hand. He picked out some brush ten meters away to use as concealment. After a deep breath, he leaped to his feet and ran toward it.

Something hit him hard in the chest, and his legs gave out. He fell face first, rolling over on his back to gaze up at the morning sky. He knew at that moment that he was dying. He thought it strange that he should recognize the fact so quickly after being hit. It was also extraordinary that he was completely at peace about leaving the world of the living. Abzai thought about his friend Sayed. It would be good to see him again. Sayed would be interested in hearing about this day's battle, and would rejoice in the victory as much as if he had fought in it.

The dying mujahideen also thought about the houris even now anticipating his arrival in Paradise. As he lay on the mountainside with his life's blood leaking out into the hard-packed rocky terrain, he decided he would pick out one houri to be his favorite. She would be the most beautiful one, of course, and she would be delighted to be the number one. Abzai decided he would give her a name. Khesta Bibi. Au--yes! A perfect name: Beautiful Lady.