Chapter 40: Third Squad

The next morning, we had a memorial service for the four men who had died, with Captain Homer leading it. By then everybody was over the sudden shock, but it didn’t make it any more pleasant. Sergeant Cummings led the Last Roll Call, calling out the names of the unit, and calling for the fallen three times. He did this while standing next to the four memorials, with boots side-by-side, the bayoneted rifle stuck in the ground, and the helmet perched on top.

After that Lieutenant Southerland came out with a few announcements. I was taking over Third Squad and Devi and Fox were being given lateral promotions to Corporal as team leaders. Next came Purple Hearts for all of us who were wounded. Then he told us he had heard from the hospital in Baghdad.

“Good news, both men made it to the hospital in plenty of time to be treated and both are expected to make full recoveries. Specialist Givens was shot in the lower left abdomen, but nothing vital was hit, and he has been sewed back up. He’ll need to heal up for a couple of weeks, but then will return for duty. Private Santiago’s wound was more serious. When he was shot, he broke his leg. He was also treated successfully, but if you’ve ever had a broken leg, you know you end up in a cast for weeks or months. Good news for him, though, since they decided he can recover at home and then get shipped back here. He is also expected to make a full recovery.”

With that he dismissed us, though damn near everyone wanted to know how to go about getting shot in the leg and going home. In our squad room, we talked about it. For the next few weeks, we were going to be down two men. Riley and Nanda would have two men each. In addition, even after they returned, we weren’t going back to five-man fire teams. We had taken too many losses around the company. That was going to be our new normal.

“How long does it take to heal for broken bones?” asked Montoya. The others looked at him and he added, “What? I never broke anything.”

“Well, it took me about two months,” I replied.

“You broke something? What’d you break?” asked Riley.

I nodded. “Oh, yeah, back in high school. Busted an arm and a bunch of bones in my hand and a foot. Must have been five or six years ago.”

“Were you in a car wreck?” asked Nanda.

I shook my head. “Nothing so simple. Some guys went after my girlfriend, and I had to hold them off while she ran. I got the shit kicked out of me.”

“Your girlfriend? Kelly know about this?” asked Riley.

“How do you think Kelly became my girlfriend? I was the white knight rescuing her,” I laughed.

“And you got beat up?” asked Hollis incredulously. “You?”

“Hey, it helps if you’re outnumbered four to one and get hit in the head and knocked out first. I got the crap kicked out of me. I was in casts for two months and then had to do another month of physical therapy. We might not see Santiago again until Thanksgiving or Christmas.”

“Shit!” was the universal response.

In any event, that was for the future. That afternoon, after the memorial service, Brigade sent down an investigation team from Baghdad, to figure out what had happened at Al Qasra. Any action where you lose four soldiers and put two more into the hospital long term was considered significant, and not in a good way. Second and Third Squads were grilled, as was Lieutenant Southerland. Everything about Yankee North was picked apart, from the planning to the forces involved to the execution.

I wasn’t chewed on too heavily, but I did get chewed on. At the start of the mission, I was just the second ranking fire team leader. I wasn’t the guy who planned the mission or thought it up in the first place. I was just the poor asshole who had to live with the consequences when Levi, Bix, and Bruno managed to get themselves blown away. Still, I had to answer all sorts of questions, some good and some stupid, about the actual assault on Yankee Target. For example:

Q: Why did you continue the mission?

A: We had been assigned the mission and the mission was still active.

Q: By what authority did you take command of the mission?

A: As senior surviving NCO I was the ranking soldier on the mission.

Q: Why didn’t you leave?

A: We had no way to retrieve the bodies of our fellow soldiers while under fire, and I would not leave them in enemy hands.

Q: Why did you assault the building when it was obvious that the mission was blown?

A: We were under intense fire from both inside the building and surrounding buildings. We were actually safer inside the building than outside. Once inside, we could take control of the building and reduce the danger to those still outside.

Q: Why didn’t you take any prisoners?

A: They refused to surrender.

And so forth. Everybody, right down to the most junior privates, had to outline on maps and overhead recon photos their position prior to the assault and during it. Worse, they kept trying to trip us up. Why did you go into this room and not that one? Who went first? Why did you change for the next room? Are you sure? What if I were to say that so-and-so said something different? It was like something from a detective show on television.

I remember commenting to Riley that at least Levi, Bruno, and Bix didn’t have to put up with this shit. He replied that Southerland did. That was a big question mark. Shit rolls downhill, and it was piling up on Southerland’s lap. There was actually a small betting pool on whether Southerland would be relieved or not. We really didn’t want that to happen, but there was a definite possibility he would be gone shortly.

The investigation team was still there two days later when Staff Sergeant Willister showed up. He had been the senior squad leader over in First Platoon and was transferred in to be our new platoon sergeant. He flew in on the same helo that the investigators flew out on. Most of us knew Willister from back at Drum, but even so, we would have to get used to him. Levi had been a known quantity, tough but fair, and with a decent sense of humor. We would have to figure Willister out.

When the investigators left, they took Corporal Devi with them. His leave had been interrupted by Yankee North and it was time for him to go. We’d see him again in about three weeks. With Devi gone, and Santiago and Givens in the hospital, that left me with two Privates as Alpha Three, and a Corporal and two Privates as Bravo Three. I simply ran the squad as a slightly larger fire team.

Things started to get back to normal. A directive quickly came down from Brigade and Battalion that ordered all leaders of troop units to decentralize during travel. No more than one NCO above the level of Corporal or one officer was to travel with another unless there was insufficient capacity in the vehicles. Stripped of the military jargon in the order, it prohibited the bunching up of NCOs and officers. During Yankee North we had five sergeants in the assault, but three of them had been traveling in Yankee Two. We should have been split up better among the six vehicles.

Personally, I just figured that we had gotten a bit lazy and dumb. Third Platoon had been doing well and hadn’t taken too many hits. Our missions were successful, and we were killing hajjis, but we got complacent and took one too many shortcuts, and we paid the price. Southerland wasn’t relieved, but I suspected it would be a long time before he made Captain.

As it stood, until I got Givens and Santiago back, assuming I ever did, I was running a very short squad. Alpha Three now consisted of Corporal Devi and Privates Shaniq and Hollis, and Bravo Three was Corporal Fox and Privates Montoya and Gonzalez. It wasn’t much larger than my pre-Yankee fire team. Unfortunately, that left us very short-handed if we were assigned a job that required a full-strength squad. Rather than eleven soldiers, we were now down to seven! The next time Third Squad had to man Outpost Whiskey we had to borrow an automatic rifleman with an M-249 from Weapons Squad to bring us up to a body count that would allow us to do the job. I had been through this before at Camp Custer, but I had never appreciated at the time what being so short-handed would mean as a leader.

I did have an amusing thought, though. I was writing to my family about becoming a squad leader, though I didn’t tell them about the losses we had taken. While I was writing them, I remembered asking my mother where she had gotten the eyes in the back of her head, if she had to special order them or if they were issued with her first baby. I needed them more than ever now, but not for my original reason. Then it was to keep an eye on the guys to keep them from getting into trouble. Now it was to keep an eye on everything else. The guys were good, but there was so much dangerous shit going on we all needed extra sets of eyes.

A couple of weeks later a Blackhawk landed with Captain Vernier and Colonel Barstow on board. More important, Specialist Givens and Sergeant Ferrucci returned to duty with them. They were greeted warmly, but before I even had a chance to say much more than ‘Welcome back!’ I found myself dragged into Lieutenant Southerland’s office.

It was Lieutenant Colonel Barstow’s show. “Sergeant Reaper, it’s good to see you again.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I wanted to fill you and Lieutenant Southerland in on the latest information related to Operation Yankee North.”

“Yes, sir.”

The Colonel nodded. “Good. First off, I want to repeat what I told you before. You did excellent work that day, taking command like that and taking control of Yankee Target. G-2 has been all over the information you were able to capture, and it was a literal gold mine of intelligence on Al Qaeda in Iraq and here in Anbar Province. I can tell you that we have already conducted several additional raids based on what you captured, as well as several more Predator strikes. What you did has saved a lot of lives, a lot.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll be sure to tell the guys, both Second and Third Squads. They’ll appreciate it,” I replied.

“I’ll mention it today as well. One of the reasons I am here is to present some awards and decorations related to Yankee North. Everybody involved will be receiving the Army Commendation Medal,” he continued. “Both you and Sergeant Levi will be receiving the Bronze Star. Levi’s posthumously, of course.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.” I had expected that, of course. It had been a big operation and I figured Levi to get something, but I wasn’t sure what.

“Now, for some personal information for you. Colonel Bellingham was able to keep Lieutenant Colonel Halstead under control. He wanted you court-martialed, drawn, and quartered after Yankee North. That won’t be happening, but we strongly recommend that you don’t try to take a poke at another officer. Are we clear on that?”

“Absolutely, sir. Lieutenant Colonel Halstead? He was Major Halstead two weeks ago!”

Barstow shook his head. “Halstead has some pretty serious juice at G-2, and ever since they got their fingers on the take from Yankee North, he’s got even more. He got himself a promotion and a Bronze Star out of it.”

“A Bronze Star?” asked Southerland incredulously.

“It gets even better. He gets a V for Valor because he actually went to Yankee North.”

“SHIT!” Southerland took a breath and added, “Sorry, sir. That was out of line. I apologize.”

“Accepted. Listen, the two of you, if you are ever in Baghdad, make sure you stay away from Halstead. You don’t need the grief, and neither do I. Are we clear on that?” he finished.

“Yes, sir!” we both said.

“I’ll keep an eye on him in case he tries to cause any trouble, but I doubt it will be an issue. If we’re lucky he’ll use his promotion and medal to get himself sent back home and become somebody else’s problem.”