Jack Terral - Seals (2005)

"I spotted the dogs of the West in their little crater as I flew over," Khamami said. "What are your tactical plans, Major?"

"I have ordered Captain Tanizai to rush his company here," Malari said. "As soon as he arrives and is in position, we will launch a final attack."

Khamami looked around. "What about Durtami and his men?"

"They are all martyred, Amir," Malari replied. "They did not last long when they attacked the infidels. They accomplished their mission by forcing the nonbelievers to expend much ammunition:'

"I had only a brief glance at the enemy," Khamami remarked, "but it appeared from the air that there are no more than a dozen or so of them."

"That is true, Amir. And when Tanizai arrives, we will be more than four hundred to go against them. The final attack will be quick and decisive."

"I am pleased with your decision to wait for Tanizai," Khamami said. "I want to keep our casualties down. We cannot replace our losses by recruitment or conscription as can regular armies?'

"Tanizai has a mortar section with him:' Malari said. "We could use that to blast the infidels to bits without spilling a single drop of Muslim blood."

Khamami shook his head. "I want the men to attack and destroy the enemy by fire and maneuver. Thus, they will see that these overfed Westerners are not supermen."

"As you command, I obey, Amir!"

"And another thing," Khamami added. "Take no prisoners."

.

THE DEPRESSION

THE sun was now bright in the cloudless sky, sending down waves of radiating heat on the SEALs. Everyone had eaten an energy bar and popped one of James Bradley's pep pills. There was no shortage of water and they continued to drink unlimited quantities from the mujahideen canteens. The pills were also a sort of mood elevator that took at least a little of the edge off the gloomy mind-set of the platoon. They stayed at their positions, not conversing among themselves, as a constant vigil was maintained on the bleak horizon surrounding the position. Now and then a sporadic shot could be heard that either whined overhead or sent up spurts of dirt when the bullet struck the ground. The mujahideen were letting them know there was danger all around.

Bruno Puglisi, brooding with a dark anger, finally left his position to crawl to a small stand of thorn brush a few meters out in the open. Although he had no scope on his M-16 rifle, he was determined to nail one of the ragheads who were firing at the depression. Fifteen minutes passed before a couple of mujahideen heads bobbed up into view from what seemed to be an OP. Bruno aimed carefully at the one on the right, then gently squeezed the trigger. The man was jolted out of sight by the bullet's strike. The SEAL quickly shifted the barrel and fired again. The second man's skull exploded and he too was knocked out from view.

"Ha! Whacked the rat bastards!" Bruno said, grinning in grim satisfaction as he scooted back to his place in the depression.

.

0630 HOURS LOCAL

THE platoon had sunk into emotional doldrums. There were no exchanges of words or gestures as they sat in the heavy silence of the hopeless situation they faced.

When chanting abruptly sounded in the distance, the Brigands raised their heads slightly to gaze out toward the enemy who surrounded them. They could not make out the words of the foreign language except for the repetitious call to Allah. The mujahideen were psyching themselves up for a massacre, using their religion to build up all the hate and mercilessness in their souls. The SEALs instinctively gripped their weapons, making silent vows to sell their lives dearly and kill as many of the enemy as possible before they drew their last breaths.

Frank Gomez, with his commo gear beside him, felt the awful pressure of a heavy, pressing grief. Thoughts of his wife and child had been with him constantly since they climbed out of that valley the day before. There was a chance that Linda was pregnant again, and he wondered if he would leave two orphan children behind. He'd always known he might be killed in action and, like most military professionals, had learned to face up squarely to the unhappy potential. But he never thought he would be sitting around in some distant foreign land waiting for death to come to him, at the whim of a half-civilized enemy. He reached in his pocket and retrieved the photo of his family that he had taken from his wallet. The radio operator kissed it lightly, then looked up when his PRC-112 unexpectedly came to life. Frank, puzzled, spoke into the transmitter, answering the call that had come in.

"This is Brigand One, over."

"Brigand One, this is Ears Three," came back a voice.

"We've picked up your beacon and are following it to you. What's your problem? Over."

Frank's mind spun like a kid's top, and he stared stupidly at the small radio in his hand.

The voice spoke once more. "I say again. What's your problem? Over."

Frank recovered from the shock. "Who the hell are you? Over."

"U. S. Navy aircraft," came back the answer. "We're on a routine patrol. Now, what's your problem? Over."

"Wait!" Frank said. He gestured over to Brannigan. "Sir! We've been raised by a Navy aircraft. He picked up our homing beacon."

Brannigan leaped up and ran over to grab the handheld commo set. "This is Brigand One," he said. "We need air support fast. We're surrounded in a valley at--" He stopped. "I got to get out my GPS. Wait."

"We know where you are," came back the aircraft. "In fact we're closing in now according to the signal." A moment passed. "We see some sort of military force arranged in a circle. Is that you? Over."

"Negative! Negative!" Brannigan said. "We're the poor dumb bastards in the middle. Those others are about to attack. I say again. We need air support fast! Over."

"We work with an F-16 squadron outside of Kabul," the pilot said. "Hang on. They have a patrol in the air not far from here. Out!"

Brannigan stood up and yelled so loud the mujahideen in their front lines faintly heard him even if they didn't understand his words. "Air support coming in! Hang in there, you guys!"

A combined spirit of optimism and relief swept through the Brigands. They leaped to their feet and cheered hysterically, waving their weapons over their heads. Senior Chief Buford Dawkins was the only one who kept his head besides Brannigan. He bellowed, "Shut up! There's about a million ragheads about to charge in here whether we got air support or not. Get back down in your positions and keep your eyes peeled on your fields of fire! Now!"

.

0650 HOURS LOCAL

THE shouting from the mujahideen positions had grown steadily louder. To the SEALs it sounded like every Muslim in the entire Middle East was out there ready to charge across the flat land to the depression. Then a skirmish line appeared from the north, running straight at the American positions facing that direction.

Senior Chief Dawkins and Chad Murchison responded to the threat with carefully aimed three-round automatic fire bursts. A couple of the mujahideen crumpled under the salvos before the rest made a quick withdrawal out of range. The next attack came out of the west. It was up to Chief Matt Gunnarson, Bruno Puglisi and James Bradley to deal with that threat. Once more, after a couple of casualties, the rag-heads pulled back. Almost immediately the next assault was launched by the enemy. This one came in from the south with Lieutenant Jim Cruiser, Milly Mills, Joe Miskoski and Gutsy Olson answering the threat. It also faded away, as did the next one, from the east, which was handled by Brannigan, Frank Gomez and the Odd Couple.

"Stay alert, guys," Brannigan said. "They were just probing us to satisfy their curiosity about our exact positions and strength on the different sides of the perimeter. The next assault will be carried out by their varsity."