|
We are approaching the outskirts of the city where our target compound is. The infiltration has been relatively easy enough; no farmers' fields and out in the middle of the desert, where we can walk comfortably and quickly without sacrificing security. The only unnerving thing are the pop shots in the distance. They know we're coming; they heard our helicopters, and they're mocking us. Just days earlier, two conventional US forces were killed in this city in a basement ambush after falling through a trap door in a house. The insurgents are getting more confident.
We surround the compound and my squad is behind a large wall facing the inner city. There is no cover. If an insurgent in possession of night vision and the aptitude to make do with what he sees (aside from inaccurate pop shots ) wants, he could kill some or all of us easily. I think about my proposed funeral song, Standing Outside a Broken Phone Booth with Money in My Hand. I wonder if it's the right choice.
"GRENADE!" somebody yells. I fall on my stomach and put my arm on the exposed part of my face.
Bang. Sounds like a small penny cracker. Nobody calls that they're hit, though sometimes people don't realize it until seconds or even minutes later. We get back up and keep our eyes peeled to kill anybody dumb enough to try and maneuver on our assault force. It's fucking on now; anybody with the audacity to attempt to take the life of a man in our platoon is hostile and isn't given a second chance.
There are shots fired immediately into the courtyard of our target building, and calls of one enemy killed in action buzz over the radio and is disseminated. Justice. There appear to be more insurgents barricaded in the tiny house that we are to assault, but that is no longer our priority, because elsewhere in the city are reports that huge bonfires , which are the signals for the insurgents to gather in order to smash Coalition Forces in the area, are starting to spring up everywhere quickly. Time to get the fuck out.
We decide to nuke the compound we were to assault before we leave. This was before the stringent rules for close air support were put into effect, when larger munitions were used a bit more liberally. We haul ass about 500 meters away and get down behind a wall.
The vibrations from the bombs dropped on the compound rattle the entire wall that we all are leaning against. More bombs. More vibrations. After thousands of dollars in the form of bombs dropped by the Air Force level the target building, we get up to exfil before the insurgents perform something bold and potentially lethal for us. We don't bother walking kilometers out into the desert when we leave, as our presence has been made loud and clear.
The birds land just a few meters from where our assault force is huddled on the outer rim wall of the city. The helicopters are on the ground for not longer than a minute before taking off back to home base. Flying home, we are given a clear view of the city we were just in. It is punctuated with bulbs of bright orange lights where the bonfires are. On the outer rim of the city is an even bigger flame: the smoldering ruins of the compound we just obliterated. Fuck those guys.
  
|
One of my mentors, an Air Force security forces Captain, gave me the same sentiments once about a truck driver he and his Airmen had to neutralize because he wouldn't stop at their checkpoint. With a 50 caliber bullet. To the face.
Passenger got grazed. His skull cap was blown off in the back.
Totally understand it. "Fuck that/those guy(s)."
|
wow, read your other blogs too and huge respect to you sir.
This is.. intense to say the least. A few years ago my brother served in Iraq and he said all he did was sit in a tower guarding a base all day. But you seem to have done the "real deal" in the War.
We decide to nuke the compound we were to assault before we leave. This was before the stringent rules for close air support were put into effect, when larger munitions were used a bit more liberally. We haul ass about 500 meters away and get down behind a wall.
tbh after reading this part I thought this was a fictional story until I read your other blogs :D you must have been very high-up in the Army to be in this type of elite Unit / have this type of firepower. what you accomplished is very awe-inspiring to say the least
mad props/ respect!
|
Even reading stuff like this is too real for me  i don't feel so good.... I wonder if me thinking I'd never be able to do anything like this makes me a coward or just a good person, i suppose it could be either depending on the situation.
|
Its kind of interesting how you view the enemy, I'm sure they view you in just the same way. You're coming in with choppers to take them out, they're probably thinking "It's fucking on now; anybody with the audacity to attempt to take the life of a man in our platoon is hostile and isn't given a second chance." Either that or they're all taking revenge for *their* fallen comrades. I think its a bit sad that the motivations for war are the same on both sides.
Although I understand the broader reasons for entering the war and everything (which are decidedly not the same for both sides), it just seems that on the smaller scale its reduced to a simple sense of justice/revenge that is mirrored on the other side.
|
On May 10 2012 23:46 radscorpion9 wrote:
Its kind of interesting how you view the enemy, I'm sure they view you in just the same way. You're coming in with choppers to take them out, they're probably thinking "It's fucking on now; anybody with the audacity to attempt to take the life of a man in our platoon is hostile and isn't given a second chance." Either that or they're all taking revenge for *their* fallen comrades. I think its a bit sad that the motivations for war are the same on both sides.
Although I understand the broader reasons for entering the war and everything (which are decidedly not the same for both sides), it just seems that on the smaller scale its reduced to a simple sense of justice/revenge that is mirrored on the other side.
I had a very similar thought when I first read this. I guess that in the small scale whatever bigger reasons countries are fighting doesn't really matter. It's probably more of a "get back home alive" sort of "game".
Saying this, reading on of the earlier posts, I found this line particularly sad:
"If your family allowed a machine gun to be nested on your roof to try and kill coalition forces and you end up dying because of daddy and his buddies, then your parents fucking failed you. End of story. I'm sorry, but I'm not going to lose sleep over it."
I suppose that war desensitize you, but this seems particularly cold. The girl, through no choice of her own is affected. Similarly, I think if someone came and told me they are going to put a machine gun on my roof, there is probably very little I could do to stop them(I happen not to own machine guns).
I knew someone who served in Iraq and Afghanistan through the British army, whose job was to call artillery/air strikes on enemy positions and so on. He mentioned that a common tactic was to force a family to stay in their house while they would use it as shelter and if you bombard the position you take the whole family out. This puts you in awful position, and the one time it happened, it made him feel pretty bad. I would hope, if I was in this position I would also care.
I realize this is more of a ramble than a specific point but oh well.
|
|
|
|
|
|
EPT
