Chapter 39: Squad Leader

The firing outside diminished, but we stayed inside the building. I sagged down to the floor as the adrenaline rush began to wear off. I just hoped the QRF showed up soon, because I think a bunch of Girl Scouts could have kicked our asses right about then. Everybody who had gone into the building was leaking, and inside and outside we had to be low on ammo. It seemed like it was taking forever, but five minutes later Kopie yelled that Blackhawks were coming.

I kicked myself alive and stood back up. I heard the radio calling to me and I grabbed the handset. “This is Yankee November. Go ahead.”

“Yankee Force, Papa Force is two minutes out. Where do you want us?”

I scratched my head for a second, but Riley pointed upwards. I nodded and answered, “Papa Force, no place on the ground. Your best bet is the roof of the building and then come inside and down. You’ll recognize it by the smoke coming out of the bullet holes in it.”

I heard what sounded like a chuckle, followed by, “Copy that, Yankee. I have some backup if you need it.”

“Papa Force, the building is secured but we have taken some fire from the neighbors. I hope you have a medic.”

“Roger that. Papa out.”

I looked around. “Help is coming. Santiago, we’re getting you out of here first.”

“I’m good, Sergeant.”

“You’re going to Baghdad, Julio. Clean sheets and pretty nurses, and it doesn’t count against your leave. You’ll love it,” I replied.

“Kind of a unique method to take leave, though. Especially since you just came off leave three weeks ago!” commented Riley. I snorted and smiled at that.

Givens came over, and he was holding his side. He had blood on his hand where he was holding it.

“Oh, fuck!” I said.

“I caught a little something there at the end,” said Givens, staggering slightly.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” We got Givens down on his back, too, and pulled off his armor. He had a small hole on the lower left side of his stomach, and no exit wound. “Just like I told Santiago, clean sheets and pretty nurses,” I told him.

“I have to stop hanging around you guys. I keep getting shot!” he said, wincing.

Seconds later we heard something delightful outside. A pair of Apache gunships showed up and buzzed the area, and whatever firing was taking place outside suddenly died out. The neighbors who had been protesting decided to take off and leave us alone. Thirty seconds afterwards I saw a Blackhawk approaching out the doorway and a small hurricane of wind hit us as it moved over us. “Safe everything, guys. Let’s not shoot the good guys.” I walked down the hall to the stairwell to welcome them, with Nanda following. Riley stayed with the guys at our little medical station.

“Is it my imagination or was this the most fucked up op we’ve ever run?” he asked me.

“No, it ain’t your imagination. I don’t know how much Bruno told you, but some rocket scientist in G-2 thought it up. Beyond that, I just don’t know.”

“Mind if I use my kukri on him?”

“Yeah, I mind. I plan on stealing it from you and using it on him myself!”

That was the end of that, because we heard some voices at the top of the stairwell. I stepped inside and called up, “We’re down here! We cleared the building!”

“Nothing personal, but I think I want to check on that!” was the reply. I didn’t take it personally because I would have done the same fucking thing. Some things you just didn’t trust to other people. Still, a couple of guys came down the stairs and I waved to them. The leader, a Sergeant First Class wearing the insignia of the Third of the Third came over. “Yankee Force?”

“That’s us. Welcome to the party. You guys Papa Force?”

“Yeah. Glad we didn’t get lost and crash the wrong party. Where’s Yankee Lead?”

I grimaced at that. “He never made it. I’m Bravo Three November. I’m senior.”

“Shit!” he swore to himself. “You guys look a little beat.”

“I hope you brought a medic. We took some hits.”

He nodded and yelled for a medic. “I’m Wexler, by the way.”

“Reaper.”

His medic, named ‘Doc’ of course, came down the stairs and I pointed him down the hall. A minute later a buck sergeant like me came down the stairs and reported, “It’s clear. Lots of hajji bodies but nobody’s alive.”

“How many?” asked Wexler.

“Three dozen, at least.”

Wexler looked at me. “The way we heard it you were just going to have a few live prisoners.”

“We must have lost that memo,” I answered.

He came out to the room where the guys were and said, “This is it? They sent the nine of you in here after a building full of hajjis?” He whistled in disbelief.

“I’d give you a snappy comeback, Sergeant, but right now I am just too fucking beat. We had some fire support outside.”

A second Blackhawk came in and deposited another load of soldiers on the roof. We were no longer in danger of being overrun. I turned it all over to Wexler to organize. I got the impression we had a real clusterfuck on our hands. I took him outside and showed the burned-out Humvee with our men inside. It was still on fire. He looked around and ordered a clearing made to the side, where Spermie was sitting, so we had an actual landing zone. Then he caught a whiff of the smell of burning meat, realized what it was, and went to the side of the building and heaved his guts out.

I didn’t remark on it to him. It wasn’t something all of us hadn’t done ourselves at one time or another. When he came back, he got on the radio and requested another squad be brought in, and ordered up water, rations, ammo, and body bags, lots of body bags. We were going to be spending the night.

Third of the Third was taking control of the building and the grounds, so I ordered Yankee Three and Yankee Four around to the front side. That was when the guys who had been around back saw what had happened to Yankee Two for the first time. The reaction was a mix of cursing and crying. I went back inside, and Kopie yanked all the fire extinguishers he could to put down the flames on Yankee Two.

Wexler came in and said, “Dustoff on the way. Yankee Base wants to talk to you.”

I nodded. That wasn’t important to me right that second. “How are they, Doc?”

The medic said, “They’re stable, Sergeant. We just need to get them to the hospital. The rest of you guys are just bandages and stitches, yourself included.”

“Give me a minute.” I went over to Wexler, who pointed me to his RTO. I was handed the handset. “Yankee November here.”

“Yankee November, this is Yankee Base. Say condition.” It sounded like Southerland on the other end. Great. I was going to have to explain how we had managed to lose four guys and get the rest shot the hell up.

“Yankee Base, we have four KIA and nine WIA. Low on supplies, but the cavalry has arrived.”

“Four ... Understood, Yankee November. We’re coming.”

“Copy that, Yankee Base. If you see that idiot major, bring him. We’re going to hand him to the hajjis and let them put his head on a spike. He sure ain’t using it. Yankee Force out.”

It turned out we had a tenth wounded. Bertha had been hit by an RPG, which had trashed the armor and caused the gunner, Specialist Nataka, to bang around and cut himself. He was directed to our impromptu medical area for some stitches. Ten minutes later another Blackhawk arrived, carrying more soldiers, a lot of supplies, and a lieutenant to take command. The medic ordered us to get Givens and Santiago out to the LZ. I followed them out to the Blackhawk.

“They’ll be fine, Sergeant,” he reassured me.

I nodded and grabbed Givens’ hand. “We all go in, we all come out.”

“Hold the line!” he replied.

“Hold the line!”

I went over to Santiago. He reached out for my hand. “Hold the line, Sergeant.”

“Hold the line!”

I looked over at Nanda, who had walked with Santiago. “It’s a good saying. We liked it, too.”

“Listen, whatever problems I had with Jim Bruno, it had nothing to do with the squad or your guys. It was just personal. You guys were always good. I never thought anything else. You have to believe me!”

“We’re good, Sergeant. He said the same thing. You two were just oil and water.”

I nodded in agreement. Then I went to report to the lieutenant, a guy named Hicks, who had flown in. He was pretty human. “Sergeant, your job here is done. From what I can see, somebody handed you a shit sandwich, and you handled it anyway. Now, go sit down and get some stitches and crack open an MRE. More important people than us will be along shortly. Let us handle it for the moment.”

“Yes, sir. Understood.”

I reversed course and reported to the medic. My left cheek got something to numb it, and then was cleaned, sewn up, and bandaged. My left hand got just a bandage. The rest of the guys all looked like a bandage factory. Riley handed me a canteen and an MRE, and I sat down to eat it. Nanda and a couple of guys were already seated against a wall, and when I looked at them, I realized they were asleep.

The gunships had headed back to base, but I wasn’t really surprised at that. Last I heard, they didn’t have infinite gas tanks. Meanwhile, the QRF was hauling hajji bodies out of the building and stacking body bags outside. Likewise, they had managed to put out the fire on Yankee Two. If there was one thing I didn’t want to do it was bag up the bodies inside. I left it to them.

While some of my guys zonked out, I just couldn’t sleep. As tired as I was, I still felt responsible. My guys, and I now included all of Yankee Force as my guys, were still vulnerable. About two hours after we were rescued, sort of, the brass showed up. Wexler had said we had a clusterfuck on our hands, and he was so right, so right. First to show up was a relief column from Anaconda Three by way of Outpost Whiskey. Iron Claw and Husky rolled in, along with a pair of Humvees. Lieutenant Southerland climbed out of one of the Humvees, and next out was Major Halstead, looking ludicrous in a helmet and body armor. I couldn’t do more than nod to them, however, before another Blackhawk arrived, carrying Captain Vernier and Lieutenant Colonel Barstow. They had brought with them Captain Homer, the chaplain. With them was First Sergeant Cummings, the company top kick, the senior sergeant in the company. Four dead and ten wounded tended to wake up the brass. At least I wouldn’t have to tell what happened more than once.

Halstead demanded to know what happened as soon as he got into Yankee Target. Since Vernier and Barstow were still unassing the bird I replied, “Let’s wait until everybody’s here.”

“You will explain yourself now, Sergeant!” he demanded.

I glanced at Southerland, who said, “Major, with all due respect, we can wait until the Colonel comes inside to hear the report.”

Halstead grumbled at that, and I just nodded to Southerland. In the year since he had taken command of Third Platoon, he had turned into a decent platoon leader. He wasn’t necessarily the world’s greatest tactical genius, but he stood up for his guys and didn’t fuck up very often at all. Speaking as just one more dumbass fire team leader, that was plenty good for me.

It took Vernier and Barstow a couple of minutes before they came inside. First, they looked around the building and the wreckage of Yankee Two, and then they talked to Lieutenant Hicks and Sergeant Wexler. Halstead looked like he wanted to go out and speak to them, but Southerland held him back, which really seemed to frost him. Eventually they broke free and came inside Yankee Target.

First stop was at our infirmary and Doc Jones. “How are you guys?” asked Captain Vernier.

“We’re good, Captain,” answered Riley. Nanda just nodded. Kopie also said his guys were okay.

Doc answered, “These guys are just scratches and stitches, sir. I sent two guys off to the hospital. Specialist Givens took a hit to the abdomen and Private Santiago took a bad hit to the leg. They’ll make it just fine, but they needed a real doctor, sir.”

“Good. Thank you,” said the captain. Colonel Barstow said the same thing. Then they came over to where Southerland, Halstead, and I were standing. The chaplain stayed with my guys. “Sergeant Reaper, it’s good to see you again. You feeling alright?” he asked.

Halstead interrupted, demanding, “Where are my prisoners?”

Colonel Barstow stepped in at that. “Major, the Captain and I will be asking the questions. Thank you.” Halstead turned red at that, but kept his mouth shut. “Continue, Sergeant.”

“Yes, sir. Uh, what was the question?” That sounded so lame, but I figured I was screwed, even though I wasn’t sure why. Probably because Halstead wanted me to be Superman and I was mild-mannered Clark Kent.

“How are you and your team, Sergeant?” said Captain Vernier.

I nodded and sighed. “Sergeants Levi, Bruno, and Bixley are dead, along with Specialist Forstein. They were all in Yankee Two and got hit before they could even unass the truck. Givens and Santiago are in Baghdad. Devi, Shaniq, Hollis, Nataka, Fox, Gonzalez, Montoya, and I are dinged up but okay, mostly.”

“Where are my prisoners?” demanded Halstead.

“Major, you will remain silent!” ordered Barstow.

“Lieutenant Colonel Barstow, I will remind you that I am not under your command, and that this mission was under my command.”

“And I remind you that you are a major and I am a lieutenant colonel and that these are my troops. Watch it!” He looked back at me and said, “Please, continue, Sergeant.”

“Yes, sir.” With that I gave a quick but complete breakdown of what happened. “After Yankee Two was destroyed, I took command and Third Squad cleared the building, sir. I ordered Sergeant Kopemondo to take charge of Second Squad and suppress fire,” I finished.

“And you killed the men who were supposed to be prisoners!” protested Halstead.

“Major!”

“No, Colonel, this is enough. This operation was ordered by Task Force Iraq G-2 and supersedes your authority and I’ve had enough. This entire operation has been a disaster since I turned it over to your Captain Vernier and Lieutenant Southerland. You were supposed to provide me with prisoners and instead you provided me with dead meat. This is on you and your team, not me.”