More Than Courage (7 page)

Only the failure to get any sort of response to his call for a situation report and a fresh burst of gunfire in the distance kept Burman in place. For all he knew there could be Syrian soldiers lying in ambush, waiting for them to make a run back to their humvee.

As dangerous as it was to stay where he was, it was even more hazardous to jump up and charge off into the dark totally ignorant of what was going on out there. Crushing the push to talk button on the small hand mike, Burman frantically repeated his call to his subordinates. "Kilo, Kilo, this is Kilo Six. Sitrep, over. I say again, give me your sitrep, Now!"

While someone with each of Kilo's scattered detachments heard Burman's call, all were busy responding to the same threat that had sent Burman to ground, whether they could see it or not.

The members of the air liaison team in Kilo One were the last to catch on to the acute danger that faced them, or, more correctly, was rushing up at them from behind. As was his habit, Airman Jones had turned down the volume of the tactical radio net that linked all of Kilo's humvecs so that Lieutenant Ciszak could better monitor those nets upon which the AWACs and strike aircraft were operating. It wasn't until Jones noticed the frenzied activities of Kannen, Harris, and other members of Kilo Two's crew, punctuated by bright orange flashes streaking through the MORE THAN COURAGE

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night sky, that the airman turned to Ciszak. "It, we've got a problem."

Jones's statement took several seconds to cut through Ciszak's mental haze. Confused, the air force officer was about to ask Jones what he was talking about when the sharp pow-powpow of the BRDM's 20-mm cannon provided the answer. Startled, Ciszak looked over to where Kilo Two sat. In a scene that reminded him of an old silent movie, the flash of the BRDM's cannon lit up the night, illuminating the army humvee and its crew. Ciszak watched as Harris frantically swung the TOW missile launcher around to face the threat barreling down on them. Two other men, whom Ciszak couldn't identify, had thrown themselves on the ground and opene'd up with their individual weapons. That they were having no effect was obvious as the unseen intruder continued to hammer away with a slow, steady pow--p ow--p ow.

"Lieutenant, shouldn't you be calling for support?"

Ciszak turned to face Jones, who repeated his plea almost as an order. "Sir, you need to inform Rainbow we're in trouble."

Rainbow was the call sign for the AWACs. The code word for

"team in trouble, send immediate air strike" was Cherokee.

Unfortunately, Ciszak found he wasn't able to recall that particular code word. The ones he used day in and day out were on the tip of his tongue. Those that he had no need for during the course of normal operations such as Cherokee had been stored away somewhere in his memory and quietly forgotten. Completely rattled by what was going on outside, Ciszak didn't think to ask Jones if he remembered what the call for assistance was.

Instead the harried officer flicked on his small penlight and looked down at the sheet where all the code words, call signs, and frequencies for that evening were listed.

Already shaken by the surprise enemy attack, it took Jones a moment to catch on to what his officer was doing. When he did he yelled at Ciszak. "Cherokee, for Christ sakes! The word is Cherokee."

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Embarrassment added to his befuddlement as Ciszak fumbled with his hand mike while he attempted to make the call. Unable to hold back any longer, Jones snatched the mike, mashed down the push to talk button, and screamed repeatedly into it, "Cherokee, Cherokee, Cherokee."

Two hundred fifty miles away the word "Cherokee" had the same startling effect on the crew of the E-3A AWACs that the fire from the BRDM had had on Ciszak and Jones. Caught totally off guard the AWACs controller asked to confirm their requests for assistance.

The controller's call for confirmation was heard by a number of other aircraft throughout the region as well as the operations center responsible for monitoring the day-to-day activities of Razorback in Turkey. But neither Ciszak nor Jones heard or responded to the call. By then events on the ground had spiraled out of control and overwhelmed the crew of Kilo One.

The BRDM that had initiated the frantic call for assistance was not alone. At a minimum recon vehicles traveled in pairs, allowing one to go forward and search while the other hung back and quietly watched, just as Sergeant Kannen and the crew of Kilo Two had been doing.

The sudden appearance of Kilo One and Kilo Two was as much a surprise to the Syrian lieutenant commanding the pair of BRDMs as his unit's appearance was to the members of RT Kilo.

The Syrians had been returning to the village after having finished a routine mounted patrol when the gunner of the lead BRDM

called out that he thought he saw something on the horizon.

Startled by the sight of combat vehicles where there should not have been any, the Syrians automatically reverted to established battle drill. While his lieutenant radioed his observations to his superior, the commander of the lead BRDM continued to press on in order to investigate. With his duty of reporting his discovery fulfilled, the commander of the Syrian recon team ordered his MORE THAN COURAGE

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driver to come to a halt as he prepared to support his lead vehicle.

That BRDM continued to roll on, opening fire on the target nearest to it, which happened to be Kilo One. The presence of a second enemy vehicle in the area, Kilo Two, didn't become apparent to either BRDM until- after the Americans manning it sprang to life and prepared to return fire.

Because the recon vehicle was parked, the gunner seated next to the Syrian officer took his time laying his sight on his intended mark with care, unlike the other BRDM, which was in motion and spewing its fire about like a drunk trying to urinate in a jar.

That they were a target was not readily apparent to Ciszak or Holton. Their vehicle's hard exterior shell as well as the supplies, equipment, and radios that Jones was using to call for help shielded them from the initial burst of 20-mm cannon fire. Only when they felt their humvee begin to rock and shake did they realize they were not only being shot at but were being hit Jones tossed the radio hand mike to his lieutenant. "Keep trying to get them. Send them our location." As Ciszak groped in the dark interior for the hand mike that had hit him, Jones faced forward, grabbed the steering wheel with one hand, and reached for the ignition with the other. Getting out of the line of fire, if, even for a moment, seemed to be a vastly superior option to simply standing fast and being chewed to pieces.

The wild spray of fire from the lead BRDM was screaming over the top of Kilo Two as Sergeant Harris brought the TOW missile launcher to bear on the advancing Syrian vehicle. Those rounds were not wasted as they managed to find a totally unexpected mark that neither Syrian BRDM had yet spotted. The shower of small explosions impacting around Kilo Three were both spectacular and unnerving to Sergeant Ramirez, who had been topside banning the 40-mm grenade launcher, and to Funk, seated at the 56

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steering wheel. The attention of both men had been riveted on the village ahead. The unexpected hail of fire directed at them from somewhere in their rear was a shock. Twisting about, Ramirez caught sight of the BRDM for the first time. When he saw the bright orange tracers of incoming rounds looming larger and larger, he naturally assumed that Kilo Three was their intended target. Dropping down into the humveev Ramirez screamed, "Get the fuck out of here, NOW!" as loudly as he could to Funk, who was still frantically looking backward trying to figure out what was going on.

Without the slightest hesitation the team medic started the engine, engaged the gears, cut the wheel to the left, and stomped his foot on the accelerator until it bottomed out on the floorboard.

Moving through a cloud of dust thrown by Kilo Three's wheels, Ramirez and Funk chose flight over fight, totally unaware that the 20-mm rounds had been meant for Kilo Two and not them.

Though Sergeant Kannen knew his rifle fire was having no effect and the 20-mm shells weren't even coming close to hitting Kilo Two, he continued to blaze away at the Syrian recon vehicle barreling down on them. To have lain there on the ground, doing nothing as the Syrian gunner made the necessary corrections to his aim, was simply not in Kannen's nature. Only when he'd emptied the weapon's magazine and was reaching for a fresh one did he take the time to look up at Harris and yell out to his weapons expert. "What the hell is taking you so long?"

Harris ignored Kannen. With his right eye shoved against the TOW's sight he took one more second to refine his aim before bracing himself and unleashing the wire-guided antitank missile, momentarily blinding Kannen with the ignition of the missile's rocket motor. Harris stayed focused on the oncoming BRDM.

Inside the Hummer Davis was already in the process of trying to unstrap a reload for the TOW launcher while Mendez squirmed in the driver's seat, waiting for someone to give the order to take MORE THAN COURAGE

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off. None of them were paying any attention to Kilo One when it suddenly disappeared in a ball of flames.

Hearing one massive explosion in the distance, followed shortly thereafter by another explosion of equal force, Erik Burman realized the battle had intensified significantly, thus magnifying the risk he ran if he and Hashmi remained where they were much longer.

Still, he once more delayed taking any action, waiting and listening a few moments longer until he was sure he and Hashmi were in no immediate danger. Only when he was absolutely sure that it was safe to do so did Burman rise and cautiously begin to make his way along the wall that had provided a modicum of protection and concealment.

Without having to be told, Hashmi followed crouched low in an effort to make himself as small a target as possible.

They had not gone very far when a burst of small-arms fire from around the corner caused them to flatten on the ground once more and bring their weapons up to the ready. After it became apparent that the AK gunfire had not been directed at them, Burman said to Hashmi. "What are they firing at?"

Hashmi's response was short and to the point. "Not us."

Taking a second or two, Burman listened. When he was confident that Hashmi was right he pushed himself up off the ground and continued to snake his way through the back alleys of the village, hugging walls and staying as low as he could. They had not gone far before a second burst of small-arms fire broke out from somewhere behind them. This time Hashmi did not hesitate as he called out as loud as he dared, "It's not us. Keep going, sir. Keep going."

Both Dennis O'Hara and John Laporta had heard the opening burst of fire on the far side the village. Both men had heard their commanding officer's desperate plea for situation reports. When

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from Burman, the two special fours prepared themselves for the worst. Wrapping his hands around the spade grips of the M-2

machine gun he was manning, O'Hara called out to his companion.

"Well, amigo, it looks like we're finally going to get a chance to kick some ass and take some names."

Laporta clutched his steering wheel as he peered into the darkness in the hope that he would catch sight of Kilo Six's other occupants headed back their way. "I don't know if I'm ready for this, Dennis."

O'Hara said nothing for a moment as he slowly traversed his weapon back and forth, taking his time to scan the dark outline of the village up ahead in a vain effort to understand what was going on out there. "Ready or not, we're in it."

"Maybe we should go forward a bit, get closer so the captain and Yousaf can find us easier."

O'Hara shook his head even though his companion couldn't see him. "The CO knows where we are. If he wants us to move, he'll tell us. Best we stay here where we can cover them when they reach the edge of the village and make a break for it."

"And if they don't?"

"Have a little faith, Johnny," O'Hara replied without hesitation.

"Don't worry about that. "They'll make it. You can bet on that."

The destruction of the first BRDM by Sergeant Harris brought no respite to the men of Kilo Two. Even before the stricken Syrian recon vehicle had rolled to a dead stop, Sergeant First Class Kannen was up off the ground and running to where he had seen a body land after being forcibly ejected from the blazing Kilo One, the air liaison team's humvee. As he ran the only thing that kept running through his mind was the hope that his efforts weren't in vain.

As he approached Kilo One Kannen saw the driver's door on the left side of the humvee fly open. A sheet of flames leaped from Bi1'

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the open door, followed by the most horrific spectacle imaginable, a living person totally engulfed by fire struggling to climb out. Stopping in midstride, Kannen watched in horror as the human torch struggled to free itself from the inferno that had once been a tactical vehicle. Once on the ground the stricken figure stood upright with legs apart and arms held out at its side, twisting this way and that as if in a forlorn effort to escape the flames that covered it from head to toe.

There was nothing Kannen could do. The man before him was dying, dying in unimaginable agony. As he watched, the grotesque figure managed to take a step, one last faltering step away from its own funeral pyre before toppling over in a heap of burning flesh and rags.

,

It had never occurred to anyone in RT Kilo that having cans of diesel inside was a bad idea. No one had ever given much thought to the risk they were running by carrying spare cans of fuel inside their vehicles. They all merrily believed that because diesel had very low volatility and the Hummers had thick metal walls that were difficult to pierce, carrying fuel in the cargo bay posed no threat to the passengers. This supposition, based on the assumption that most of their foes would have only small arms, was never challenged even as Burman was arming one of the humvces to fend off tanks. No one took into account what an exploding 20-mm high explosive round would do to fuel cans wedged in between cases of spare ammunition.