The situation mirrored the old military saying of Hurry up and wait!
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0645 HOURS
BRAVO TEAM
PETTY Officer Pete Dawson held the binoculars to his eyes with the same intensity he would have used if standing watch aboard a ship. He had been on duty for forty-five minutes since relieving Pech Pecheur at 0600 hours, and his vigil had not relaxed an iota. However, the image in the viewing device showed nothing more than the blending of the brown terrain to the east with the dirty white of the salt marshes on the west.
This place sucks, Pete murmured to himself, thinking how great it would be if insurgencies broke out in places like the French Riviera or Tahiti. And, of course, there were also the beautiful Italian beaches on the Adriatic Sea. His mind snapped back to the job at hand when a slight purring sound reached his ears. It was very faint at first, but grew louder until he recognized it was motors. Wake up, sleepyheads, he whispered in the LASH. We got visitors coming in from the west.
Everybody into position, Jim Cruiser ordered.
Gutsy Olson's voice came over the commo system. Bravo Two ready.
Ten minutes later, a column of armored cars some fifty meters away could be seen moving from west to east, heading straight to where the Skipper had set up the Alpha and Charlie vehicles. Alpha One, Cruiser transmitted, this is Bravo One. The bad guys are moving toward you. I count five . . . eight...twelve...seventeen, and now twenty. That's all. Total of twenty. Over.
This is Alpha One, Brannigan replied. Let 'em pass well through your position before you head for your vehicles. We don't want 'em to spot you. And remember to hang back while you're following them. It's going to be up to you to stop 'em if they turn and run. Over.
Roger. Out.
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ARMORED CAR COLUMN
CAPTAIN Arsalaan Sikes Bey was in the middle of his company's formation as the unit traveled almost due east at seventy kilometers an hour. He sat up with his head and shoulders outside the hatch, enjoying the morning air. The commanders in the other nineteen Jararacas did the same. All were alert and anxious, remembering the Americans and their fast little vehicles from the sharp battle they had fought ten days before. This time, they would respond with tactics devised by Sikes Bey. Each platoon of four would fight as a single unit, combing the firepower of their Dashika heavy machine guns under the platoon leader's direct command.
Sikes turned to observe his outfit, not liking what he saw. Platoon leaders, madd! Spread your formation! You are too close together!
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THE SEAL VEE
GUY Devereaux, Mike Assad, Joe Miskoski, and Bruno Puglisi had moved to individual locations outside the formation. Each of the four carried a Javelin and two extra loaded tubes. The quartet of armor-killers assumed kneeling positions, poised to fire. They had to be careful about where they situated themselves, since the back blast from the weapons was deadly several yards to the rear. Anyone directly behind them would suffer serious injury or even death if the strong burst hit them.
Assad and Puglisi were the farthest out and the farthest apart. Devereaux and Miskoski were situated between the two vehicles of their respective teams. Brannigan had given strict orders that the Javelins were not to be fired until he gave the word. Then, it would be done in turns by individuals.
The commanders and the M-2 gunners stood by, ready to leap onto their DPVs and join the battle as quickly as possible after the Javelins fired their initial missiles. The Skipper listened in the silence that was interrupted from time to time by gusts of wind. But eventually, the unmistakable sounds of diesel engines could be discerned. When they came close enough to be identified by the naked eye, Brannigan issued his first battle commands. Assad! Puglisi! Stand by!
Both men strained their eyes until they sighted the approaching column. The range of the AT weapons was 2000 meters maximum. They couldn't be fired from a prone position because if the gunners were too close to the ground, the fins on the missiles wouldn't have the necessary space to unfold before reaching the targets. That meant that during the time for aiming and locking on the target, they would be exposed to the enemy. Now the pair of SEALs peered through the sights, lining up on the two closest armored cars.
Assad! Puglisi! Fire!
They were already locked onto the targets by the on-board processing system when they pulled the triggers. The fire-and-forget missiles streaked across the 500 meters and straight into the unlucky vehicles chosen by the gunners. They punched through the armor and exploded inside, the force of the detonation held in for no more than the briefest of milliseconds before violently and instantly expanding with enough force to open up the Jararacas like cheap sardine cans.
Devereaux! Miskoski! Fire!
Two more of the armored cars blasted apart.
Javelin gunners! Fire at will!
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ARMORED CAR COLUMN
SIKES was too shocked and surprised to immediately react to the explosive destruction of the four armored cars. The easy movement across the desert had suddenly been interrupted by a series of unexpected detonations. From his position in the middle of the column, he could see the orange flashes and black smoke. Hunks of armor and debris flew through the air as six more blasts crashed through the area.
Now his mind snapped back to the present.
The first thing he thought of was tanks. Surely, the Americans had sent an armored battalion into the area to take on his vehicles. He forgot Arabic and the smattering of Farsi he had learned. Get the fuck out of here! he yelled in his radio microphone. He dropped back into the interior and viciously cuffed his driver on the back of the head. Turn around and go like hell, you blowsy bastard!
The man couldn't speak English, but the tone in Sikes Bey's voice most definitely indicated it would be a good idea if they got out of the area as quickly as possible.
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THE BATTLE
ALPHA and Charlie vehicles were quickly manned as the men threw the camouflage aside and jumped aboard. They slowed down only enough to pick up the Javelin team, who threw the weapons into the backs with the M-2 gunners as they leaped into their own seats in front. They immediately took off the safeties of the M-60s and began hosing armor-piercing rounds at the fleeing armored cars. The four SEALs were happy campers. Although they hadn't had time to fire all twelve Javelin rounds, they managed to kick off ten. And every single one had resulted in a kill.
The Bravo vehicles bounced across the terrain at close to seventy miles an hour. It was only a matter of a minute before they sighted what looked like ten of the enemy cars heading westward as fast as possible. Now the M-2s and M-60s began spitting out combined fire bursts at the fleeing bad guys.
SIKES had now fully regained his composure. He began issuing orders calmly in Arabic as he peered through the command periscopes to check on his force. He counted ten, cursing the fact he had actually taken fifty-percent casualties in a disastrously short period of time. His gunners in their turrets, while shaken up by the pounding they had endured, had now recovered enough to sight in on the enemy patrol vehicles behind them. They squeezed the triggers rhythmically to send fiery spurts of the heavy 12.7-millimeter slugs streaking toward the pursuers.
The First Platoon leader, who had lost all his subordinate vehicles, was now alone. His gunner called on Allah's help as he tried desperately to hit one of the swift, dodging enemy DPVs. Suddenly, a salvo of .50-caliber armor-piercing bullets penetrated the hull from the rear, sweeping across the interior. All three men in the crew were ferociously buffeted by multiple heavy blows as the ammo plowed into them. The armored car veered off to the right, running out into the desert as the trio of ripped corpses rolled back and forth in the interior.
In another Jararaca, there was only the driver alive. The gunner had been the first to die when machine-gun fire ripped the insides of the car. He slumped down, held onto his seat by the belt. His blood ran from a half-dozen gaping wounds, soaking his uniform until it oozed through the material and dripped on the deck. A couple of minutes
