Black Hawk Down (41 page)

When it came time to climb aboard, Squeglia picked up his pistol and his CAR-15, which he
had rigged with an M203 grenade launcher. He made sure he got in the truck after most of
the others. He figured the safest spot in the flatbed, if anyplace was safe, was toward
the rear where the spare tire and muffler came up. He crouched down behind that. Maybe it
would stop something. The sandbags certainly wouldn't.

Just before the convoy left the base, Specialist Chris Schleif dashed back into the
hangar, rooted through Squeglia's pile of weapons, and fished out Dominic Pilla's M-60 and
ammo. The gun and ammo can were still slick with Pilla's blood and brain matter. Schleif
ditched his own weapon and boarded the Humvee with Pilla's

“He didn't get a chance to kill anybody with it,” Schleif explained to Specialist Brad
Thomas, who like Schleif was heading back out into the city for the third time. “I'm going
to do it for him.”

It was 9:30 P.M. when the rescue force left the airport and drove north to the New Port
to link up with the Malaysians and Pakistanis. Most of the Rangers, all of the D-boys,
SEAL, and air force combat controllers who hadn't been killed or injured, and both
companies of the 10th Mountain Division made up a force of nearly five hundred men.
Waiting for them there were Malaysian APCs, German-made “Condors,” rolling steel Dumpsters
painted snow white with a driver in front and a porthole in the back for a gunner. Each
was built to hold about six men. The Paki tanks were American-made M-48s. The armor was
lined up and ready to go when the long convoy of trucks and Humvees arrived, but
coordinating movement of this strange collection of vehicles-Lieutenant Colonel David
called it a “gagglefuck”-was going to take more time.

He plunged right into it. With a mop spread out on the hood of his Humvee, and with
soldiers gathered around holding up flashlights to illuminate it, he began improvising a
plan. To David's relief, most of the Malaysian and Pakistani officers spoke English. There
was little argument or discussion. The Malaysian officers at first balked at removing
their infantry from the APCs, but relented when David agreed to let each vehicle retain a
Malaysian driver and gunner. The various units did not have radios that were compatible,
so American radios had to be placed with all the vehicles. They worked out fire control
procedures, steps to prevent friendly fire incidents, call signs, the route, and a host of
other critical issues.

David felt a sense of urgency, but not an overriding one. He knew there were critically
injured soldiers at the first stash site for whom every minute was important. On the other
hand, this convoy was it. If they screwed up, failed to reach the crash site, and got
broken up or bogged down, who was going to come in and rescue them? If one or two soldiers
died waiting it would be tragic, but rescuing the other ninety-seven men, and getting his
own in and out safely, had to be the priority.

To the Rangers and the 10th Mountain Division soldiers eyeing the Condors for the first
time, they looked like caskets on wheels. Choosing between the APCs and the sandbagged
five-ton trucks was like choosing your poison: You could get riddled with bullets in the
back of a flatbed or toasted by a grenade dropped into the turret or poked through the
skin of an APC. The men reluctantly began to board the Condors an hour or so after they'd
aimed at the New Port. There were only little peepholes in the sides, so most of the force
would be riding blind. The idea of being driven out by Malaysians didn't make them feel
any better.

As the hours crept by without action, the Rangers stewed with impatience. As they saw it,
they were being held back by this slow-moving, by-the-book regular army unit that didn't
fully appreciate the urgency of the situation. Farther back in the column it looked like
nothing was being done. Some of the 10th Mountain guys were dozing in the back of
vehicles. Sleeping! Ranger Sergeant Raleigh Cash couldn't contain himself. His buddies
were dying out in the city and these guys were taking naps? Why the hell weren't they
moving? He had made peace with himself riding out with the cook convoy in that aborted
effort to rescue Durant and his crew. If he was going to die today, so be it. The pull of
loyalty felt stronger in him than the will to survive.

He had thought it through methodically. He was wearing body armor, so if he got shot, it
would probably be to the arms or legs and there were medics who would take care of him. It
would hurt, but he had been hurt before. If he was shot in the head, then he would die. He
wouldn't feel any pain. His life would just be over. Just like that. The end. His friends
would take care of his family for him. If he died then that was what was meant to happen.

When word came that Smith was dead, that be had bled out waiting for rescue, Cash lost
it. He vented his anger and impatience on a 10th Mountain Division officer. He told the
officer that before the Rangers had gotten saddled with his unit they'd had no trouble
finding the fight.

“Look, we're not holding things up,” the officer protested. “We're ready to go just as
much as you are. You have to have a little faith in your leaders.”

“It's taking too long,” Cash said, his voice rising with anger. “My friends are dying out
there! We need to get going now!”

Cash's platoon leader came over and quieted him.

“Look, we all want to get going.”

By about 11 pm, David had the “gagglefuck” set to go, and was feeling pretty good about
it. He regarded the organizational effort as one of his major life accomplishments. The
Paki tanks would lead the convoy out into the city.

Behind them, each platoon would have four APCs interspersed with trucks and Humvees. The
QRFs Cobra gunship would provide air support. They'd roll out to a Staging point on
National Street, then one half of the force would steer south toward Durant's Super Six
Four crash site and the other would push north to Wolcott's Super Six One, where the bulk
of the task force was pinned down. They had commo links established, liaison officers
dispersed throughout the convoy . . .they were good to go.

Then one of the Pakistani officers ran up. His commander objected to the tanks leading
the convoy. This was a problem because tanks were needed to plow through the formidable
barricades (ditches, abandoned shells of cars and trucks, heaps of stone, burning tires
and debris) the Somalis had erected to block most of the main roads leading out of the UN
facilities. Since the New Port was home base for the Pakis, and they were the ones who had
proposed the route to the holding point, a compromise was reached. The tanks would lead
the way out to the K-4 circle, then fall back to the midfront of the column.

Then new problems surfaced. It was easy to see how, with enough commanders, a battle
could be debated into defeat. After conferring with their superiors, the Malaysians said
they had been ordered to keep their APCs on the main roads, for the same reason that
Garrison had earlier judged Mogadishu the wrong place to fight with armor. It was hard for
tanks and APCs to maneuver in the city's complex web of narrow streets and alleys. The big
vehicles were vulnerable when they moved slowly through streets where the enemy could
creep up close or drop grenades down from rooftops and trees, or fire armor-piercing
rounds at close range.

David got back out of his Humvee and huddled with the officers again. He told Captain
Meyerowich, “Look, Drew, here's the situation. I need for your company to lead us out.”

The Pakistanis agreed to lead the convoy as far as the K-4 circle, which was the
borderline of Aidid's turf. At that point Meyerowich's company, most of them riding in the
Condors, would pull through and take the lead.

It was now 11:23 P.M.

3

As he heard the guns of the giant convoy approaching, Captain Steele knew this was the
most dangerous time of the night. The moon was high and shooting in the neighborhood
around the first crash site had all but stopped. There were a few pops every once in a
while. The air had cleared of smoke and gunpowder. Now there was just that musky stink of
Somalia. The trace of desert dust in the air, and the slight aftertaste of the iodine
pills in their canteens. Sammies would still inexplicably wander right into the middle of
their perimeter up the street. The D-boys would let them walk until they reached a
cross-fire zone and then drop them with a few quick shots. Every once in a while the
Little Birds would rumble in and unleash a rocket and spray of minigun fire. But now the
only noise that concerned Steele was the intensifying thunder of guns as the rescue column
moved closer to their position. With that much shooting, with two jumpy elements of
soldiers about to link up in a confusing city in darkness, the biggest threat to his
pinned-down men were their rescuers.

-Romeo Six Four [Harrell], this is Juliet Sir Four [Steele]. How we gonna keep from
running out of the building and getting smoked?

-They're looking for your position to be marked with an IR strobe. If there's any doubt
in your mind, flash a red desert flashlight at them.

Up the street, Captain Miller had his own concerns.

-Okay, this task force is made up of Malaysians and who, over?

-Malaysians and Americans. They have Rangers with them, over.

Miller added hopefully:

-Okay, so every vehicle should have some type of NODs so they can ID the strobe, over?

-That was the instruction sent back, over.

Then, a few minutes later, the command helicopter reassured Miller.

-Yeah, they're moving. The lead element has night vision devices so they should be able
to pick up your IR strobe, Scotty, over.

Miller was also informed that members of the Delta unit, including Major James Nixon,
John Macejunas, Matt Rierson, and Chuck Esswein, would be leading the column in, which to
him and the other Delta team leaders was an enormous relief.

The rescue convoy was coming from the south. By the sound of it, they were moving along
the same route the Rangers and D-boys had taken that afternoon, east from the Olympic
Hotel, which meant they would reach Steele's position first. They were coming steadily but
slowly, and from the sound of it they were just shooting at everything.

It was about ten minutes before two in the morning. Without the NODs nobody could see
that far down the street.

They just had to hunker down and wait and hope the convoy did not come blasting its way
down the middle of their street.

-Romeo Six Four, this is Juliet Six Four. We're going to put IR strobes out in front of
the buildings here. We plan on throwing a red Chemlite as well to mark for casualties. If
we can have the APCs pull in as close to those red chems as possible that will facilitate
the loading of the casualties, over.

-Roger, but you better be real careful with those red Chemlites or the bad guys will
start shooting at them, over.

-Okay, but you're saying all the guys will have NODs, right?

-They've got people in the lead element with NODs and they should be homing in on your IR
strobes, over.

It was tense. Nearly an hour had gone by since Steele had been told the convoy would
reach him in twenty minutes.

-Romeo, this is Juliet. I understand now they may have turned north. The ground reaction
force turned north. Do they have an ETA at this location?

-No, they are moving slowly, taking their time. It is going to take them a while, Mike.
Probably fifteen to twenty minutes based on where I think they are, over:

-Okay. We are fairly secure here. I think the Little Bird runs dampened the rebels'
spirits.

Word came from the command helicopter at about two o'clock.

-Okay, start getting ready to get out of there, but keep your heads down. Now is a bad
time.

-Roger, copy. Positions are marked at this time. We are ready to move, said Steele.

-Roger, they are going to be coming in with heavy contact so be real careful.

-You better believe it, over.

“We're about to link up,” Steele radioed Perino. “I want everybody to back up out of the
courtyards, and to stay away from the doors and windows.”

So the Rangers drew back like hermit crabs into their shells, and listened. They were all
terrified of the 10th Mountain Division, whom they regarded as poorly trained regular army
schmoes, just a small step removed from utterly incompetent civilianhood.

Five minutes passed. Ten minutes passed. Twenty minutes passed. Then another radio call
from the command bird.

-Just to give you an update. They are still at that U-turn off. They had a little bit of
a direction problem amongst themselves. They should be moving now. Will let you know as
soon as they start rolling northbound.

Perino called Captain Steele. “Where are they?” he asked.

Steele said, “Any minute now.”

Both men laughed.

4

Captain Drew Meyerowich was with the Delta operators who were leading his portion of the
rescue convoy toward Steele and Miller's position. It had been a pitched battle much of
the way in. Two of the Malaysian drivers had taken a wrong turn and driven about thirty of
Meyerowich's men off in the wrong direction. They'd been ambushed and caught up in a
severe firefight, and one of their own, Sergeant Cornell Houston, had been mortally
wounded.

For all his careful planning, Specialist Squeglia ended up in a Humvee. The banging was
constant, most of it coming from the convoy, which stretched so far in both directions
Squeglia could not see the front or rear. No one had lights on, but muzzle flashes and
explosions lit up the whole line. In the reflected light he saw two dead donkeys by the
side of the road, still strapped to carts. The air was filled with diesel fumes, and
through the open side of the Humvee Squeglia smelled the gunpowder from his weapon mingled
with the burning tires and trash and the general pungent, rotten smell of Somalia itself.
He was out in it now.