More Than Courage (48 page)

"Hey, Johnny! You're broadcasting over the squad net." The warning from Specialist Four George Bannon, the squad's SAW

gunner did nothing to mitigate Washington's anger.

"I don't care if I'm going out over Armed Forces Network.

The man's a menace."

Already on the ground and ready to go forward, Jones looked back and caught sight of the lieutenant colonel who had been foisted upon him at the last moment. Like the others who had been sandwiched into the rear of the Hummer, Neil Kaplan was doing his best to regain his balance and sort himself out while simultaneously trying to climb over the side. "Come on, people,"

Jones said in a low voice. "We've got a wall to breach."

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He had no sooner made this statement than he felt the presence of someone next to him. "What's holding you up, Jones?"

Turning to Quinn, Jones did his best to cover the hapless deployment of his men. "We're on it, sir."

Quinn was in no mood to brook any delay. "The hell you are.

The engineers are already at the wall. Now get your people over there and give them cover."

Spinning about, Jones echoed his platoon leader's command.

Grabbing a handful of uniform belonging to the first man he could reach Jones tugged and shouted. "You heard him, people. Move! Move! Move!"

The last of Jones's squad was sliding into position to cover the engineers working at the wall when DeWitt arrived. Pausing next to Quinn and on the opposite side from where Kaplan stood, DeWitt said nothing. Instead he nervously glanced down at his watch. Though it was not meant to, this action did nothing to quell the uneasiness that Quinn felt building up within. For a moment he debated if it would not be better to move closer to the wall and join his First Squad if for no other reason than to escape the proximity of his superior. Then, as quickly as that thought had entered his mind he dismissed it. He had never done that during their rehearsals. Like DeWitt, he had held back in the lee of the Hummers until the first breach had been executed.

Going forward now would only add to the confusion and pass onto his men the same sort of disquieting effect DeWitt was having on him. So he did his best to contain his mounting anxiety and put up a brave front.

The command barked by the senior engineer NCO, "Clear the site," brought an immediate response. Jones's men scattered.

DeWitt, Kaplan, and Quinn crouched low behind the Hummer.

And the engineers, save for their squad leader, sought cover. Even before the last of the engineers had settled in, their senior NCO

bellowed, "Fire in the hole!" as he gave the friction fuse a quick jerk before scrambling to his feet and dashing off.

The detonation, while somewhat less than spectacular, was MORE THAN COURAGE

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more than effective. The roar of the blast was still echoing off the buildings and walls lining the street when Jones was up and charging headlong into the cloud of smoke and dust. "First Squad, go."

After having run this drill countless times this bit of bravado was technically unnecessary. Everyone in his squad was already on his feet and headed toward the breach by the time Jones had shouted. His men knew the order that they would assume as they passed through the freshly excavated hole in the wall. Bannon didn't need to be told that as soon as he was through it he was to rush forward fifteen yards, flop down, and take up a good firing position, ready to engage anything that moved. Pulaski would be next, as he always was moving over to the left of Bannon once through the breach. The lead-footed driver would be followed by Jones, who would shoot off to the right of the vigilant SAW gunner.

Without a word, each and every member of Quinn's First Squad went through the still-smoldering hole and squirted out the other side to a predetermined position from which he would be able to cover the advance to the cellblock. Still, Jones had felt the need to sing out his order, just as he always did, for these were men, his men. In combat as in training soldiers need to hear familiar voices, whether they be giving orders, shouting warnings, or sounding off with words of encouragement. The familiar sounds tended to steel their resolve and remind them that they were not alone.

Within seconds the entire First Squad was set and all was clear, a fact Jones broadcast over the platoon net. Upon hearing this the combat engineers scrambled through the first hole they had created and rushed forward toward the cellblock where they would repeat this feat.

Both Quinn and DeWitt waited until the last of the engineers had cleared the breach at the outer wall before moving up to it.

Standing on either side of the breach, the two officers peered into the open courtyard. Through the lingering smoke and dust they could see Jones's men scattered on the ground. Each man had 372

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taken up a prone firing position from which he could cover his assigned sector. Without pausing engineers rushed through this thin skirmish line, crouching low as they made their way to the point at the prison wall that they were to penetrate.

Stacked up behind both DeWitt and Quinn and crouching against the outer wall were members of Quinn's Second Squad. As soon as the prison building had been breached they would do as Jones's men had, rushing through the second breach forming a tight horseshoe perimeter once they were inside the cellblock itself.

Only when they were set and all resistance within the cellblock had been quelled would DeWitt's Second Platoon, followed by DeWitt himself, go forth and commence their search for the members of RT Kilo. Quinn, with one squad in the alley watching the Hummers, one squad in the open courtyard keeping the escape corridor open, and a third inside the prison covering the search-and-rescue effort, would remain at the first breach site. From there he would be able to directly oversee the activities and control two of his squads. He would also provide DeWitt with a point of contact who could move the Hummers if the need arose. Though no one stated as much, this made Quinn little more than a highly paid horse holder and an officer with nothing to do but watch and wait.

Since he had not participated in any of the rehearsals and no one had taken the time to sit down and discuss his role in any detail with DeWitt, Neil Kaplan was pretty much left on his own when it came to determining where he should place himself during the assault, and the search and rescue. Instinctively he wanted to rush forward in the wake of DeWitt and get right up there where the real action was. As a professional officer, however, he managed to restrain this urge and hold back. Rather than getting in the way he remained behind with Quinn. From there he would be able to concentrate on monitoring the operation using the Land Warrior system he wore and had programmed especially for this. With practiced ease he scrolled through his special menus, calling up data on the status and location of each platoon in turn and then the company as a whole. To his satisfaction he found he MORE THAN COURAGE

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was able to read the entire situation down to the individual soldier from where he sat balled up with his back against the outer wall.

The system was working. And so too, to his satisfaction and relief, was the operation.

h

After a pause of a couple of minutes, the ear-shattering explosions and thunder of low-flying jet engines were replaced by the rattle of small-arms fire, the rumble of nearby explosions, and the hurried thump of boots running. Sergeant First Class Kannen, having resigned himself to the fact that the Air Force wasn't going to deliver him from this hell on earth with a quick and merciful death, suddenly found himself becoming irritated. Not only had the flyboys screwed up by not bringing this entire affair to a quick and merciful end, they had pissed off the Syrians.

Even as he went about picking himself up off the floor and turning to face the door, Kannen could hear the excited voices of guards outside in the corridor shouting back and forth to each other as they made their way past his cell. He was in for a painful round of beatings for sure, he told himself. They weren't the sort to just walk in and shoot him out of hand. No, they were simply too cruel and too callous to be quick. They would make him and whoever else from RT Kilo had survived thus far suffer for the visit the Air Force had paid them before killing them. Having resigned himself to this fate Kannen drew himself up in the center of the room faced the door, and waited. As he did so, he cleared his mind and began to make his peace with God.

He was in the midst of preparing for his final ordeal when Kannen's trained ear alerted him to inconsistencies. The first was the sound of two low-grade explosions. Instead of the shattering roar that a bomb makes, these rumbling detonations reminded the Special Forces NCO of demo charges. And the smattering of small-arms fire didn't sound right at all, either. Some of it was quite near while most seemed decidedly far off and distant, as if it were coming from other parts of the prison complex. Only after 374

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he abandoned his communion with God was Kannen able to note the difference in pitch that some of the small arms gave off Though his surroundings distorted the sound, once he turned his full attention to the matter it became clear to him that most of the firing was not being done by AKs like those carried by the Syrian guards. Rather, the distinctive pop-pop-pop he managed to discern was that of 5.56-mm rounds being fired, ammunition common to M-16s and M-4s, American-made weapons.

Like a thunderclap it finally dawned on him what was happening.

They were coming. They were finally coming for them. After all this time, after all his prayers, after all his suffering, his fellow soldiers were here to save him.

Yet as the din of battle drew nearer Kannen found that this revelation brought him no joy, no relief. Rather, he was all but paralyzed by a sudden rush of contradictory feelings and thoughts. The first response that gripped him was fear. After having survived for so long and endured so many horrors the idea that he could still be killed by his captors to keep him from being saved or even his saviors during a wild firefight in the dark took hold. Shaking his head, Kannen struggled to regain his composure even as tears began to well up in his eyes, and he found himself muttering out loud, "No. Not now."

He was still struggling to maintain his composure and brace himself for whatever came next when he heard a chorus of screams just outside his cell door. "NO SHOOT! NO SHOOT!"

In response to these pleas screeched by the panicked Syrians in the outside hallway, Kannen heard an American bellow out,

"On your knees, motherfuckers. On your knees, and hands behind your head!"

After a moment of shuffling and scuffling in the hallway, Kannen could hear an American who had moved closer to his cell order a Syrian to start opening the cell doors. Still standing in the middle of the floor, Kannen's troubled mind now turned to what he should do. His first thought was to rush to the door and start pounding on it while shouting, "Pm in here! I'm in here!" But MORE THAN COURAGE

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after giving it a second thought he dismissed this as being unwise since the Americans out in the corridor were keyed up and working on a hair trigger. Any sudden and unexpected noise could unleash a hail of gunfire directed at the source. So Kannen decided the best thing he could do was to stand there and wait.

After having endured so much he figured he could hang on a few more seconds.

Then came the sound of something pounding on the door. A rifle butt, Kannen guessed. "Hey! Anyone in there?"

This was a new voice, not the same one that had spewed the profane string of orders to the hapless Syrian guards who had been in the corridor. It took Kannen a moment to clear his throat and respond. When he did, the calmriess and correctness of his reply surprised him. "Sergeant First Class Allen Kannen, U.S.

Army."

After a brief moment of silence, Kannen heard a chatter of voices. "All right!" and "Hey, we found one," were all he could distinguish, as the American on the other side of the door shouted to someone else and then back to Kannen. "Hang on, good buddy. We'll have you out of here in a sec."

True to his word, it took but a moment. After a brief pause, a rattle of keys, and the familiar sound of the steel bolt being snapped back the door swung open to reveal a pair of heavily armed Rangers decked out in full battle gear standing to either side of the doorway peering in through the opening. Still finding it hard to believe that his deliverance was at hand, Kannen moved slowly through the open door taking time to glance to the left and right into the faces of his saviors as he passed them. Once out of his cell, Kannen found he had to step aside in order to avoid the cluster of Syrians who had been corralled in the hallway by the Rangers. One of the Americans whom Kannen assumed to be the senior member of the group standing before him ordered his men to hustle the Syrians into the cell. "Get 'em in there and slam the door."

Like a disinterested observer, Kannen watched as the Rangers 376

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kicked and shoved the frightened guards into his now-vacated cell. When the senior Ranger noticed the expression on Kannen's face, he called to him. "We can't take the bastards back with us, so we're going to lock 'em up."

It was at that moment that the injustice of this struck Kannen.

From the depths of his soul, a voice called out, "This cannot be allowed to stand."

Even as the last of the Syrians was booted into the waiting cell Kannen inspected the Rangers who stood around him. When he saw what he was looking for he walked over to him, reached up, and removed a hand grenade from the strap that secured it to the Ranger's flak vest. In silence the Rangers watched as Kannen walked to the still-open door. As he stood there the Special Forces NCO pulled the pin, let the arming spoon fly, and tossed the grenade into the room that had imprisoned him for so long.

Without having to be told, the Ranger holding the door open slammed it shut and jerked the bolt closed.

After what seemed like an eternity, the first of the search teams from Second Platoon reappeared at the outer breach with a newly liberated American in tow. No one said a word as the four Rangers and their charge made their way through the hole, into the street and over to one of the waiting Hummers.