Victory Point (8 page)

As the Marines of ⅔ pushed through the weeks of training at Twentynine Palms and their Afghan deployment loomed ever closer on the horizon, the battalion emerged as a motivated, fully capable unit. The ever-thoughtful Lieutenant Colonel MacMannis worked closely with the battalion’s executive officer, the hawklike Major Rob Scott, to ensure a smooth transition from training to the Afghan fight, mulling over a broad spectrum of details from travel to ammo, to how to disperse the battalion once in-country. Working closely with Scott and MacMannis, Major Tom Wood, the battalion’s brusque and tirelessly ultracommitted operations officer, further refined his already crack tactical skills through planning, replanning, and then observing—eagle-eyed—the performance of the Marines on the ground in the training area.

And as ⅔ trained, 3/3 carried on the Afghan fight—feeding information (invaluable for ⅔’s preparation for the fight) back to the Island Warriors in the form of classified after-action reports, which ⅔’s intelligence officer, the brilliant Captain Scott Westerfield, inhaled, poring over every minute detail of the documents. Having developed a solid overall picture of the area of operation to which ⅔ would soon deploy, Westerfield quickly began to take interest in a number of the area’s Islamic extremist terrorist and insurgent cells and their respective leaders; and while not particularly conspicuous on the surface of the pool of information, ripples of one insurgent leader kept nudging his attention more than any other . . .

The training at Twentynine Palms would reach a feverish pitch throughout the four-week training cycle at the Combat Center. Every one of the 820 Marines of the battalion—from administrators, to supply officers, to the all-important logisticians, the vital Navy Corpsmen (medical specialists attached to Marine units), and of course the grunts themselves—worked day and night amid the tan, chiseled mountains and sweeping plains of the Mojave Desert training base. They undertook a diverse series of regimens that included culture, convoy operations, intelligence gathering, and advanced weapons training. While much of the work to be done on the ground in Afghanistan would be COIN in nature, ⅔’s leadership knew that the fight would undoubtedly go heavily kinetic, especially after the spring thaw that would allow the enemy easier movement throughout the peaks and passes of the Hindu Kush. And the way to best prepare the grunts for a dynamic, harsh fight, was not just to provide specialized training, but to immerse them in the heart and soul of modern USMC ground combat—to give them live-fire, combined-arms MAGTF immersion.

Located deep within the confines of the Combat Center, a broad sweep of rolling desert known as the Delta Corridor stands as a training theater for the “bread and butter” of the Marine Corps’ hard kinetic fight: the combined-arms assault. In a training exercise called the Mobile Assault Course, ⅔’s infantry would maneuver onto a set of “notional” targets in the Delta Corridor, fully supported by integrated Marine Corps aviation assets, artillery fire, mortars, and Abrams tanks. Mounted on large 7-Ton trucks like they’d have in Afghanistan, the Marines (a company at a time) would speed toward the distant target as U.S. Marine F/A-18 Hornets and AV-8B Harriers roared high overhead, M1A1 Abrams tanks tore across the desert on their flanks, AH-1W Super Cobra and UH-1N “Huey” gunships skimmed above the area’s rocky crags, and an “arty” battery of six M198 155 mm howitzers shimmered under the rising sun far in the rear, awaiting a “call for fire.”

Carefully monitored by the “Coyotes” of the base’s Tactical Training Exercise Control Group, who oversee, coordinate, and augment training, a small group of the battalion’s Marines known as the FiST, or Fire Support Team, positioned themselves on a small rocky outcrop about a mile distant from the target complex. Composed of a team leader, a forward air controller, an artillery forward observer, 81 mm mortar observer, and their respective radio operators, the FiST represents the “eyes” of the attack. Located a few hundred yards below the FiST, Marines of the “nerve center” of the combined arms assault—the Fire Support Coordination Center (FSCC)—would “deconflict fires” as the assault progressed. The concept behind the combined-arms attack—throwing a massive volume of coordinated “fires” onto a target as an infantry unit maneuvers onto that target—requires an extraordinary level of detail and tactical acumen to work the medley of platforms of air and ground elements into an integrated assault package. With so many muzzles about to flash, bombs about to drop, and arty rounds about to go downrange, the FSCC must carefully plan all aspects of the attack, including “deconfliction,” by vertical and horizontal offsets for aircraft so as not to cause a collision with a mortar or artillery round, deconfliction by time (shutting down mortars just before an aircraft drives in for an attack run), and of course, they must manage the battlefield to absolutely mitigate the chance of any friendly-fire “blue-on-blue” incidents.

About a half mile from the FiST—hidden within a cleft of two large boulders—a five-man scout/sniper team kept close watch on the target area, adding to the overall SA (situational awareness) for all elements of the attack. In actual combat, the snipers would scan for any enemy attempting to egress from or carry in more supplies to the target, and if confirmed by higher to proceed, they would interdict them—either directly through the finely rifled barrel of an M40A3, or through a call for fire from artillery, mortars, or even from an aerial platform. With all elements in place and in “good comms” with one another, the range goes hot, and the spectacle of a U.S. Marine Corps assault unfurls in a dusty, explosive drama.

With the Coyotes having developed a practice scenario where an enemy has both well-entrenched fighting positions and a small antiaircraft defense system, the Marines of the Fire Support Coordination Center begin the attack with both 155 mm howitzers and 81 mm mortars to suppress those air defenses, allowing the helicopters and jets to roll in unencumbered by a ground threat. Because both the arty battery and the 81 mm mortarmen lie in positions where they cannot see the target directly, their forward observers within the FiST act as their “eyes on.” These supporting fires are called indirect fire assets (because their users cannot typically see the target directly), and the Marine Corps maintains a strict doctrinal approach to utilizing them—including attack aviation assets, which are also considered indirect assets—where the FiST and the FSCC maintain tight control of them while they are in direct support of infantry.

Peering at a hulk that the Coyotes have identified as an antiaircraft missile battery through a high-power binocular system, the arty FO calls for a single round of high explosive—“HE”—to go downrange. Ten miles in the rear, the gun team plugs in the coordinates the FO has passed them, and the M198 tube belches a thundering fireball, loosing a hundred-pound projectile downrange. Seconds later, the round sails past the FiST, and with a bright yellow flash, sends a fountain of desert into the air—about thirty meters from the target. Then the 81 mm mortar team, directed by their FO, barrages another antiaircraft piece; the forward observers for each call back to their respective teams over secure radio networks with “fire adjustments.” After a few more cycles, both the arty and 81 mm mortar rounds hit dead on—the Coyotes make the call that the threat has been neutralized. Now it’s TACAIR’s turn. Two F/A-18s, call sign Smoke-21 and Smoke-11, have been holding at a point about ten miles to the west. The arty FO calls for two final rounds to be fired—illumination rounds. The “illums” burst directly over the target area, each releasing a parachute-slowed chunk of burning phosphorus, marking the “back door” of the suppression package, and laying the welcome mat for the jets at their front door of the assault.

As the infantry speed toward the target—still miles away—the illum rounds slowly drift down toward the target buildings—the forward air controller, or FAC, who goes by the radio call sign Venom-11, gets Smoke-21’s eyes on the target using the burning illum rounds as reference. With both the FAC and the pilot looking at the same piece of ground, the controller passes a nine-line brief—a list of essential information for a close-air-support attack—and then once Smoke-21 confirms he has received the information correctly, Venom utters the phrase all USMC aviators crave hearing, “Smoke-21, you’re
cleared-hot
.” In this case, Venom has cleared-hot Smoke-21 to drop six five-hundred-pound MK82 “dumb” bombs. Out of the southwest, Smoke-21 dives toward the target—and at around two thousand feet, pulls the roaring aircraft’s nose up and releases all six. Seconds later, the target erupts in a wall of fire the length of a football field. The Marines of the FiST cheer as the concussive
whump-whump-whump
echoes throughout the range, and then hustle to work Smoke-11 into the attack—just as the FSCC reports that two AV-8B Harriers are inbound. Four strafing runs and two bomb drops later, the TACAIR components return to base just as the infantry approach the target and prepare to dismount, and the Abrams tanks—considered a direct maneuver element augmenting the infantry and thus not requiring a forward observer—send red-hot 120 mm sabot rounds into the target at thousands of feet per second with deadly accuracy. The 81 mm mortars restart their barrage, then the arty FO calls for a smoke screen to obscure any “enemy” from getting their eyes on the grunts. More 155 mm rounds sail past, followed by a wall of thick white smoke rising from the shells’ points of impact, visibly barricading the target zone. Marine combat engineers, riding in a massive Hercules tank, prepare to clear a notional minefield with one of the Marines’ favorite tools of the warfighting trade, the M58 Mine Clearing Line Charge, or MICLIC. Towed behind the Hercules, once armed, the Marine engineers “button up” the tank, ensuring the hatches of the beast are secured, then let the MICLIC rip. The hiss of a rocket motor directs everyone’s attention to a long “rope” unfurling over the minefield—the rope, 350 feet in length, is made of Composition-4 high explosive; five pounds per foot, for a total of 1,750 pounds. The line of C-4 flops on the ground, then detonates, blasting the Hercules with a concussive shock wave and sending a mushroom cloud of pulverized desert about a thousand feet into the air. In an actual minefield, any explosives would have been obliterated.

With the minefield cleared, the 81 mm mortars shut down as the Marines dismount and prepare to overrun the target complex as AH- 1W and UH-1N attack helicopters emerge from a bank of drifting smoke. With the Abrams tanks continuing to light up individual targets with their turret-mounted .50-caliber machine guns, the Cobra and Huey gunships make pass after cleared-hot pass, slamming the target area with rockets and guns—even an air-launched TOW missile from the Cobra. With the supported Marines now approaching the “danger close” zone of the gunships’ attacks, the birds are called off, and the Marines themselves put rounds downrange onto specific targets with their M16s, SAWs, and M240s. With “boots on deck,” the grunts secure the area—something no bomb, rocket, or missile can do, regardless of its level of technology or how many slam into a target. In an actual combat scenario, double-rotored CH-46E Sea Knight “Phrog” helicopters would soon be hitting the deck, either to extract the grunts or to add reinforcements, as massive CH-53E Super Stallion helicopters pluck the artillery pieces—one per helicopter—from the desert, either to carry back to a ship or to move to another part of the fight.

With the combined-arms training complete, ⅔ traveled four hundred miles north to the Mountain Warfare Training Center, their last—and arguably most important—predeployment destination before heading to Afghanistan. Initially established in 1951 in the wake of the Frozen Chosin campaign to train Marines for cold-weather combat and survival, the Mountain Warfare Training Center today is one of the most important in the Department of Defense because of the ongoing war in Afghanistan. While at the MWTC, the Marines of ⅔ undertook training in cold-weather survival, mountain mobility, steep-earth climbing, high-angle sniper training, even mule packing—and like their combat training at Twentynine Palms, their mountain workup had them immersed in the harsh realities of their environment and tasks. At an adjunct training area in the mountains outside of Hawthorne, Nevada—peaks that bear stark physiographic and meteorological resemblance to those of eastern Afghanistan—the Marines of the battalion learned firsthand just how difficult moving from one mountainous point to another—even just a kilometer distant—can be, burdened with heavy body armor and under the press of a multiday combat load. Navy Corpsmen kept busy with hypothermia victims at night and heat-exhaustion and dehydration during the day, not to mention twisted and sprained ankles.

The final exercise at the center had Marines undertake a five-day field operation that culminated in their meeting with “village elders” played by local role-players in a mock Afghan village erected by MWTC personnel. Instructed by Marines of the training center who had recent Afghan experience under their belts, the role-players gave many in the battalion their first direct taste of the subtleties and frustrations of counterinsurgency work in an austere land. Marines struggled to communicate with the “elders” using their issued language cards and Dari and Pashto phrases they’d already memorized. Then they struggled even harder to get simple answers to what they felt to be the most basic of questions. “How many people live here?” “Where is the nearest village beyond this one?” Stymied throughout all their attempts, the Marines quickly realized that gaining the trust of the locals—a cornerstone of the COIN fight—would be far easier said than done.

As the Marines of the battalion finished their training and looked ahead to the real deal, Rob Scott, Tom Wood, and Scott Westerfield pondered the months ahead and the list of hurdles the battalion would face. They’d undoubtedly be difficult times, not just because of the brutal terrain and deadly enemy, but also for the challenges posed to them by rolling into a combat command structure where they would not be fighting as a component of a MAGTF, but as part of a “combined joint task force.” The Marines’ MAGTF/combined-arms training had them prepared for the most complex and dynamic of combat situations, but while in Afghanistan, they wouldn’t have access to Marine aviation assets or to Marine artillery—and they’d be answering to the Army as their higher. They’d be fighting in an area where a slew of other services’ units—American, Afghan, and European—would be undertaking missions as well. Further complicating matters, MacMannis would be leaving Afghanistan after just one month as part of a scheduled change of command where he’d pass the battalion to Lieutenant Colonel Jim Donnellan, who would be literally thrust not just into the Afghan fight (without having trained with ⅔), but into the position of commanding Marines already deep in the throes of war.