Chapter 7

Mission Two, Day -1

Cpl Pistochini and Captain Borden were a silent third party, observing the discussion among the two senior Marines. The platoon was 24 to 36 hours away from their next mission, so Pisotchini was becoming increasingly concerned over Lt O’Connell’s choice to be ignorant of the practical limitations for the Afghan battlefields.

“Sir, the lieutenant must understand that all my teams are independent operators. Their knowledge and skills and abilities enable a sniper team to operate without direct supervision or logistics support. These two army medics have been members of a surgical team. They are used to being told what to do and when to do it. That ain’t gonna get it, sir. My teams need people that can do it all - lead and follow and operate independently. That and they are some non-shootin mother fuckers. Shit sir, I would feel perfectly fuckin safe if those two soldiers were shootin at me.”

O’Brien’s last comment forced a momentary grin onto Pistochini’s face.

“The two ranger medics are probably over a week away. We have no other options.”

The army medical officer stepped forward to address Lt O’Connell. “Bryan, you have me...”

O’Brien’s head snapped around to stare at the captain. “Sir? That would not be our decision. The lieutenant and myself would have to see the major and Mr Jensen.”

Borden, still addressing O’Connell, “that’s not the question at hand for Sergeant O’Brien. The question is if he would allow me to go outside the wire with your people. What say you, sergeant?”

“Aye, sir. Fuckin-A-skippy, sir. The captain can shoot, run, and talk shit with the best of us. But what I wanna know, sir, is where did the captain learn to shoot? Other than your high-speed people, the Army ... well, sir, the army just doesn’t emphasize individual marksmanship.”

“The woman I dated while stationed at Benning was a black hat at jump school and an IPSC competitor. Most of our dates were the shooting range and then dinner.”

“Lieutenant? The captain’s our man, sir ... Corporal, don’t just stand there playing with your dick, get the captain a kit.

Pistochini gave one of his signature shit-eating grins to O’Brien before responding, “aye, sergeant”, then took a short walk across the hanger deck to the gear pallets.

Mission Two, Day Zero

Major Tisdale continued his love affair with drawing diagrams and lists on white boards. Sgt O’Brien was calculating the SOCOM officer’s monthly consumption of dry-erase markers when the major asked, “sergeant, will there be any changes to your kit or organization?”

“Aye, sir. Need to talk to Lieutenant O’Connell, but am thinkin ‘bout two two-man contact teams and a third four-man team for cover and reserve and medical. We’ll want M249s in Team Three. Teams one and two will be a M4 and a M40, sir. Also, sir, disagree with Mr Jensen’s time allowance. I’m gonna plan for five days; and two separate extractions depending on the captain’s medical eval of the pilot.”

The DIA agent was visually perturbed by O’Brien’s last statement. O’Brien, and his whole platoon for that matter, particularly enjoyed when Jensen became upset, causing his complexion to became a bright-red airport beacon.

“Why two egress routes, sergeant?”

“Not two routes, sir. Two extractions. If the pilot can’t handle walking 10 or 15 clicks, were gonna clear and control the mouth of that ravine into the valley and extract him and the package on the spot. Also, your package should be quickly secured before any bad shit happens on the way out. After that, we’ll hump it to one of the two LZs that Mr Jensen has designated.”

“Okay. Why five days?”

“Sir, the assumption that the switch and bait mission...” O’Brien paused and noted the DIA agent’s pained expression with smug satisfaction, then continued, “removed most of the tangos has no supporting data. Mr. Jensen’s intel for the first mission indicated ‘bout one hundred active insurgents from the AO to the border, of which thirty were ‘principals’. Assuming the fifteen or so we got were principals, we’re still up to our assholes in tangos.”

O’Brien increased his level of happy when he noted that the DIA agent was, still, radiating a bright red face. He wondered what his face would look like in an IR scope.

“Were gonna have no more than three or four hours from the first extraction to tango reinforcements on site. They’ll probably approach up that same alluvial plain that we’re gonna attempt to use for insert and extract. So its a runnin gun battle on the way out if we can’t sneak by the hajis, sir.”

The logistics back and forth between Maj Tisdale, Lt O’Connell, Sgt O’Brien, and Agent Jensen continued for another hour until O’Brien recognized the growing unrest among his troops. Boys will be boys.

“Excuse me, sir ... Corporal Pistochini, take the platoon back to the hanger and get shit ready. Gear inspection at 1230.”

“Aye, boss.”

After O’Brien’s Marines exited the conference room, the ‘battle’ between Lt O’Connell and Jensen continued. The exchange devolved into a glaring example of circular reasoning, much to the amusement of O’Brien and to the frustration of Tisdale.

‘Mr Jensen! If you refuse to accept Lieutenant O’Connell’s tactical plan, and cannot offer any further alternate ideas, then we are at an impasse. So we scrub the mission and call CENTCOM for a ranger platoon. The window for the extraction is ending. Decide now.”

Jensen, mentally frazzled from countering the Marine’s barrage of proposals, became more disoriented at the Major’s ultimatum.

“Damn! Okay, major ... You got it, Lieutenant. We’ll do it as a four-day mission and plan for two extractions. We’ll be open to options for different LZs. And I’ll allow for the different insertion point.”

O’Brien had not expected the spook to fold, and neither had he expected the special forces major to issue an ultimatum. The politics and power struggle intrigues had formed clear divisions among the senior members of the ‘project’.

Mission Two, Day One

O’Brien knew that his team members’ individual loads well exceeded any reasonable limits for a fast-rope into the insert point, so Lt O’Connell had struck a last-minute ‘deal’ with the CH-47 pilot while they were on the deck at the FOB. O’Brien figured that, with NVGs, it would be reasonable to jump from a 1 to 2 meter hover, as the sat images showed that the upper alluvial plain, which was chosen by O’Brien, to be strewn with boulders and large rocks, but with small random clear areas in the plain’s drainage ‘braids’.

O’Brien did not allow his people to pack most of the ammo and water in their rucks, but instead had them packed separately in large carry bags to be tossed down preceding the teams’ exit from the bird. The theory was to avoid sprains and other injury from a two-meter jump with too much weight.

Lt O’Connell stood by himself on the tarmac as he watched the CH-47 pivot then depart the airfield to the South, back-lit by the moon. He was still regretting that he allowed Sgt O’Brien talk him out of going on this mission.

O’Brien signaled ‘eyes’ to indicate donning of the NVGs as the bird started its descent into the broad braided drainage plain a kilometer after it passed over the river. Looking forward, the crew chief’s left hand indicated a ‘two’. O’Brien went aft, placed his hand on Pistochini’s shoulder and relayed the two-minute alert to his Tits One team. Pistochini and Digger pulled their pistols to jack a round into the chamber, and Digger did the same with his M4.

After watching team one put their weapons in condition one, O’Brien faced forward to signal the seven Marines and one soldier to stand and make ready. The bird flared into a hover over narrow ravine, less than four meters width. Pistochini and Digger pushed two bags over the aft ramp then jumped into the ravine. Team two, O’Brien and Crammer, waited about three seconds for the bird to creep forward, and repeated the process.

Cheeseburger waited almost ten seconds before tossing three equipment bags into the light of the setting moon. Cheeseburger smiled as he led the three members of his team and the medical officer down the ramp and into the ravine.

Teams one and two had climbed up to the ravine edges to form a semi-perimeter while team three emptied the gear bags and packed equipment into their rucks, then made ready several belts of machine gun ammo for their M249s. Jammer and Digger, having started their first foray into the FMF as 0331s, cherished the solid feel of their guns. After tossing the empty equipment bags behind some boulders, the third team climbed out of the ravine to establish another perimeter further south and over-watch while teams one and two returned to their gear bags and prepared their rucks.

Pistochini and O’Brien opened the map, faced south and shot two azimuths to two obvious peaks silhouetted by the setting moon. Pistochini nodded as O’Brien pointed to a lower ridge to the southwest. Pistochini headed in the direction of the ridge at a brisk pace. The slow rise of the plain to the south was a jumble of braided drainage, boulder fields, marshy areas, and other terrain features that impeded any attempt to travel directly to an objective.

Pistochini had turned off his NVGs immediately after dropping into the ravine. They had planned on reaching the first reference point about the time the moon set behind the mountains, which would allow traversal of the plain in moonlight, and the final approach up the side valley in darkness.

After less than two kilometers, Capt Borden was somewhat surprised at the Marines’ pace, considering their loads of 35 to 45kg. After noticing that Hartman was not breathing hard, and that he could not even hear the two Marines with machine guns that were to his rear, the medical officer was annoyed with himself, thinking that he had over-estimated his aerobic capacity.

Hartman suddenly stopped, and if not for the 4 to 5 meter separation, Cheeseburger would have been rear-ended by the army captain. As Hartman did an unrecognizable signal to Jerry and Malone, Borden crouched down, his M4 at ready. Jammer and Digger both turned to face their machine guns to the rear, oblique to the direction of travel.

Captain Borden noted that, somehow, the two teams at the head of the column, were aware of Hartman’s tactical pause when teams one and two quickly sunk to their knees and faced outboard. Borden heard a scraping sound followed by rustling of brush. A few seconds of careful observation revealed several small mammals that resembled a weasel. Cheeseburger gave an unseen hand signal to the front of the column. The Marines rose from the croutch and continued south/southwest. Borden was thankful for the brief rest.

As Pistochini approached the reference point on the ridge, he could feel the wind speed and direction change, and the faint and intermittent, but distinct, smell of a human settlement. Halting the column, Pistochini and O’Brien climbed the ridge. The top of the ridge-line where the two Marines ascended was less than 100 meters above the floor of the plain, and provided a broad view of the mouth of the side valley and the target ravine, about 500 meters across the valley.

O’Brien set his channel select to Pistochini’s individual freq and whispered into his headset microphone, “wind down the canyon; they won’t smell us. Moon going down; we’ll be dark. Directly across?”

“Yeah. Looks good. We taking the captain to the contact site, boss?”

“Yep. Why you ask?”

“Cheeseburger says he’s winded.”

“Like fuckin exhausted?”

“Negative sarge. Just breathing hard.”

“Let’s take shit outa his ruck. No grenades or extra ammo or extra water. We’ll need the captain to look at the pilot. If the army jock is too fucked up, we’ll have to send Captain Borden back with the first bird.”

“Roger that. What’s going to be the LZ?”

“Dunno.” O’Brien pulled the map out of his ruck pouch, then ducked below the ridge-line using the low-illum light with a red lens. Stabbing at the map, “was thinkin ‘bout here. But lookin at it now, gonna say we need to find another spot. We’ll look for something on the way in, but its gotta be 100 meters from the mouth of the ravine.”

“Boss, what about a pinnacle landing at the base of the ravine?”

“Maybe. Dunno ‘bout the rotor clearance for a 47; maybe the captain knows. But we may be limited by wind conditions. Have the Team Three set up and do the sat repeaters first. Don’t wanna go in until we have comm with control.”

“Aye, Boss.”

Teams one and two, plus the army captain, quickly crossed the base of the narrow valley, or wide canyon, then formed a North-facing arc at the mouth of the side ravine.

Pistochini and Malone waited at the mouth of the ravine while O’Brien and Mybar climbed the nearly vertical rock face to find a position overlooking the ravine. About 20 meters above the canyon floor, O’Brien pointed to a ledge that sloped west and into the ravine. Mybar nodded and assumed a kneeling over-watch to the west while O’Brien continued to climb up and to the west to have a visual further down the ravine. After almost 100 meters west and 25 meters above Mybar, O’Brien found a jutting rock on which to perch.

Pistochini heard three clicks on his headset, the signal that Tits Two was in place. Tits One slowly climbed up and into the ravine with Captain Borden in loose trail. Pistochini ceased forward progress when he saw a small rock wall and a dug-out embankment, apparently intended to blend in with the sides of the ravine wall.

Popping the goggles up and away from his eyes, then turning them off, Pistochini pointed to the man-made structures less than 10 meters to his front. Pistochini froze in place and crouched; listening, smelling, and scanning the area. After 40 or 50 seconds, Pistochini did a very low decibel whistle that was more of a chirp, waited then whistled again, then waiting and whistling one more time.

O’Brien was almost directly over the hiding spot and had the person emerging from the artificial rock-face in his rifle sight immediately. Mybar tracked the second, larger person to emerge. The second person stumbled over the rocks under the load of a canvass satchel. As Captain Borden rose to rush up and assist the stumbling man, Malone grabbed the soldier by his ruck straps and forced Borden back down. Crammer was pissed and angrily gestured for the medico to stand fast.

The smaller person that had emerged from the rocks was knocked down by Pistochini as he approached team one. Digger stepped forward to control the person by pressing his boot onto the small of the unknown person’s lower back. Pistochini closely watched as the second, adult-sized person hobbled to his position. When the person’s hand disappeared behind the body, Pistochini leaped forward about a meter, with ka-bar in hand, to knock the second person down. As the second person yelped and started to speak, the corporal was momentarily stunned when he heard a female voice.

“Shut up or we’ll kill you. Hands away from your body.”

Pistochini picked up the dropped satchel and handed it to Digger, whom then searched the bag. Digger nodded to his team leader, handed the bag to the captain, then searched the smaller person. Digger again nodded to his corporal. Pistochini proceeded to search the prone adult person. Pistochini kept saying ‘fuck, fuck, fuck’ to himself when he realized that the adult body was, in fact, a female. He removed the M9 pistol from her holster and passed the weapon back.

In a barely audible whisper, “Name and ID phrase, you move until we say so and I’ll cut your throat.”

“Warrant Three Sandra Halley. Hotel Alpha X-Ray.”

“Good enough, Ma’am. Stay put.”

Pistochini signaled to Malone, who pointed Captain Borden to the person on the deck for examination.

“I’m Maury Borden, I’m a nurse. Need to look at you. So how are you doing?”

“I’ve done better. Think my left wrist is broken, right leg may be broke or something, but I can walk slowly, have a few cuts, bruises. That’s about it...”

“Any blood loss?”

“Not much. Used clotting bandages; the leaks are plugged.”

While Team One concerned themselves with the child, Borden completed his examination that took all of five or six minutes.

“What do we have sir?”

“Tibia fracture. She’s not ambulatory. She could walk, maybe, one or two kilometers. In any case, too dark to eval. Need to immobilize her left arm and right leg, which will take about fifteen minutes.”

“Okay, sir. Please work on the pilot, but we need Sergeant O’Brien down here, So I’m going to break the silent waves and call the boss.”

“Understand, Corporal.”

“Tits Two, this is one. We have the pilot and the package. And one other person.”

“What’s the pilot’s status?”

“Some shit is broken. Captain says negative on her humping out.”

“Her??? Other person??”

“Roger that, boss. And the second person is male child.”

“I’ll have Tits Three call control. I’m at your pause in ten mike.”

“Roger that, boss.”

O’Brien switched to the higher powered group channel.

“Tits Three, this is one.”

“Go One.”

“Inform control to standby for separate extractions. Pilot is broken. The captain and a civilian child will also be in the first extraction.”

“Coordinates, boss?”

“Will advise shortly, Cheeseburger. Also, the three pax have gotta be outa here within 60 mike.”

“Roger that, boss.”

As fast as possible but remaining silent, O’Brien and Mybar descended back down the rock face and started up the ravine. They made it to team one’s position in less than 15 minutes.

O’Brien watched as Cpt Borden bandaged wounds and splinted and wrapped broken bones, further impressed with the speed at which the RN/NP was able to stitch a 12cm gash on the pilot.

“Sir, we need to carry her?”

“If possible, would prefer it, but we have no litter or other body-carry equipment.”

“We’re gonna try to find an LZ within a few hundred meters, sir. So what ‘bout I just do a fireman’s carry?”

“Not with a broken lower leg and wrist.”

“Baby carry, sir?”

“That would work. Who is going to carry her that way for hundreds of meters?”

“No problemo, sir. The pilot is not big. Will be like another gear bag. Stand by, sir.”

O’Brien pulled his number two away from the gaggle. “Gonna use your pinnacle idea. See anything suitable on the way in?”

“Negative. Want to look further up the valley?”

“Yep, let’s go.” O’Brien immediately started walking up the valley using NVGs.”

Pistochini keyed his radio twice to get Malone’s attention. “Digger, stay here. You need to be LOS for both Crammer and Cheeseburger. We’re going up the valley.”

“Roger that.”

Pistochini fast-marched after his sergeant in search of a suitable LZ.

Unaware of the guilt that O’Brien had for leaving a child behind in Fallujah over three years past, Pistochini was not able to understand why his sergeant did not question the reason that the pilot was asking that the civilian boy must be extracted with her.

O’Brien had allowed himself a small level of atonement by allowing the boy to be extracted in the first LZ without further ado. But he decided that if the boy freaked when being put onto the bird, that he would end the boy’s tactical exit with his ka-bar.

“Crammer, the captain, the pilot, the boy, and me to the LZ.” Talking directly to Pistochini, “if the bird gets hit on the deck and we all go with it, don’t go to any of the LZs, ‘cause the hajis will be waitin. Get into the mountains to the South or to the West. Stay the fuck off of that plain.”

“Understand, boss. We’ll be waiting here.”

“Crammer, if the boy can’t keep up, carry him. If he freaks or causes trouble, cut his throat.”

“Aye, boss.”

O’Brien pulled the strap covering his wrist-watch face. “Listen up, people. Fuckin bird in 28 mike. Stand up, ma’am. Pull your pistol out and keep it ready while I carry ya. We’ll be in the lead. Ya ready, sir?”

Cpt Borden shrugged, “let’s go, sergeant.” O’Brien literally swept the pilot off of her feet. She was not used to being handled like a light-weight sack of groceries.

The pilot, being carried like a baby by Sgt O’Brien at a brisk force-march pace, was doing her level best to maintain a forward scan and maintain a tactical grip on her weapon despite the sharp jolts with each of O’Brien’s rapid steps.

With O’Brien setting the pace, the group required about 10 minutes to circuitously navigate 200 meters of boulders to the small sloped clearing. The slate-like rocks forming the intended LZ were at a 3% to 4% slope to the east.

Setting the pilot down on a large rock, O’Brien fished his red-lensed light out of his ruck. Mybar set his young charge on the deck next to the pilot when his sergeant demanded his flashlight, “Gimmee your red flash, Digger. We need to face this shit to the east.”

O’Brien turned back to the pilot. “Ma’am, what’s CH-47 rotor diameter and the distance from end of aft ramp to aft gear?”

“Radius of blade arc is about nine meters. Uh ... the rear landing gear to end of an extended cargo ramp is from two and a half to about four meters, depending on the ramp angle.”

“Digger, we need to clear the big rocks in that area. ‘bout four by five meters. Captain, please watch the boy. If he runs, shoot him.”

The three non-Marine people watched their shadowy figures while Mybar and O’Brien cleared a patch behind where they assumed the aft landing gear would touch in a pinnacle landing. Retrieving and slinging his rifle, O’Brien heard the distant clatter of the CH-47’s approach into the valley.

“Turn on the lights, Crammer. Everyone else behind those two boulders. O’Brien flipped his NVGs down to watch the bird descend, its ramp partially deployed, with the crew chief standing on the end of the ramp while directing the pilot. As the 47 pilot quickly placed the two aft gear on the landing pad, O’Brien picked up the wounded soldier and led Captain Borden and the male child onto the bird. Setting the woman down on her feet, O’Brien did a quick half-salute to Borden then exited down the ramp before the captain could respond.”

“Let’s get the fuck outa here, Mybar.”

Malone and O’Brien were leaving the area before the bird lifted its rear landing gear off of the rock perch. The CH47 pilot scanned the area around the ad hoc LZ as he rotated clockwise for an East departure. The 160th SOAR pilot was surprised when he could see no members of the rescue team.

Remaining on the local low-power channel, O’Brien thought that it was imperative to immediately start the hump out. “People, start heading back to Tits Three. We’re outa here.”

Pistochini keyed his radio twice to acknowledge and signaled to Mybar to exit. Looking up the valley before turning North, Pistochini was not happy that he still had no visual with his sergeant.

O’Brien determined that the best route for himself and Mybar was directly to the opposite side of the valley then follow it out to the plain and link back with his Marines.

Hartman and Pistochini were huddled around O’Brien and his maps, listening to his plans while the the other four Marines formed a southwest facing arc for overwatch.

“The first LZ is only six clicks. But ya can see its shit.”

“Yeah. We’d be dumbshits - caught in the open with no cover for two clicks if the hajis are waiting or come after us.”

“Agree, Hartman. And we’d better fuckin assume that they heard the bird and are lookin for us. The village is only a few clicks down the river, so they gotta know we’re here.

“You’re sure as shit right, boss. But the other two LZs don’t offer anything other than a better line-of-sight down the plain. But we can’t get to either before sunrise.”

“Yeah, was thinkin that. Fuck me. Fuckin spooks didn’t give us anything but shit for options...” O’Brien paused to absently do a 270-degree sweep of the area. “Ya know what? We fuckin go up into the mountains. We have extra frogs, chow, and water. Then we sneak back down in a day or two for pick-up.”

“Sounds good to me, boss.”

“Malone, call it in. Don’t ask. Fuckin tell ‘em. Then everyone shut down all comm gear and pack it up. Wanna get outa here and be in those rocks before light. Let’s get ready.”

When Cheeseburger informed control that the transmission would be the last comm for at least 24 hours, they all could hear Maj Tisdale starting with follow-up questions when Malone turned off the repeater and removed his comm gear for packing in his ruck. Pistochini and O’Brien exchanged yet another shit-eating grin at the major being cut off. These shit-eating grins were becoming the trademarked signature response by the Marine S/S platoon to the increasing level of stupid the Marines were getting from SOCOM and the spooks.

Pistochini returned to Marines scattered among the rocks on the side of the small mountain ridge. “All three LZs got hajis in the area. They’re still looking, boss.”

O’Brien sighed with no small level of dismay from the DIA spook’s piss-poor planning.

“We’re ‘bout 50 from Gardez. The DIA puke’s intel reports said the local government is pro-American and approved for contact. The seven or eight villages to the Southwest of us, on the road to Gardez, all have active tangos. Going back Northeast over the mountains would be about 70 to 80 to the FOB, but would have to go across some broad flat shit until we could get pickup. There are supposedly minimal, at least per the fuckin spook, tangos in the area just South of Jalalabad.”

The idea of the long mountainous walk to the Northeast, for some bizzare reason, appealed to Pistochini.

“If we go across the mountains, what weather can we expect?”

“Dunno. Its still summer below 2500 meters, but its now fall above 3000 meters. The weather for mission intel said clear for the next three days. I didn’t see any snow when we were flyin up the plain towards the valley, except that big mountain on the border. We’re ‘bout 1600 to 1900 meters here, and its still warm. We should avoid any technical climbin. It’ll be a tough hump, but more likely to be a bullet-free walk.”

“I say fuck going South through those taliban fuckers. Cross the mountains and call for a pick-up 40 or 50 clicks below the FOB.”

Ostensibly asking for input, Pistochini was looking for support of his mountain expedition. “Cheeseburger? Digger? Ideas?”

“Mountain route okay by me. But what about water? You think them clouds are dropping anything?”

“Don’t know, Malone.” O’Brien pointed down the ravine to a copse of trees where they had found a contact spring. “But we could fill up all of our shit here. And we got Captain Borden’s canteens and bladder. We could probably find some springs on the North slopes as we come outa the mountains ... What the fuck. Let’s do it. Get your shit ready. We’ll sleep some then head out before 2400. Don’t plan on stoppin ‘til tomorrow evening - once were over the first ridge, should be ok to travel during daytime.”

Mission Two, Day Two

Climbing down the opposite side, O’Brien estimated the first mountain ridge to be between 2400 and 2700 meters altitude, which later matched his radio’s GPS reading of 2660 meters. The air was cool but not cold and he felt no humidity. He had convinced himself that any hajis in the area would conclude that his people had exfiltrated with the bird, and that their circuitous route into the mountains would defy anyone other than an expert tracker. All reasonable assumptions.

O’Brien took the first watch, and Pistochini the second. Their troops slumbered soundly, as only Marines and soldiers are able, juxtaposed just beneath the ridge-line, in awkward angles against their packs and the rocks. O’Brien and Pistochini traded off listening, smelling, and watching the bright band of the Milky Way rotated over them.

O’Brien had been sleeping for less than two hours when Pistochini prodded his sergeant to a quick waking state sometime after 0730. “Boss, we have company.”

“What!?! The hajis track us up here?”

“Don’t think so. Listen. They’re talking loud. Not very tactical.”

“Passin through? Eyes?”

“Negative, boss. Maybe they’re further up the canyon. Maybe over the next ridge.”

“Cheeseburger, get a ghillie on. No body armor. Get on the next ridge - backtrack about 200 meters before you go down. No radios. Keep LOS to me. Corporal, everybody drop their body armor and into ghillies. Noise discipline.”

Pistochini moved down the line of Marines to implement Sgt O’Brien’s orders as Hartman scrambled down the North mountain slope on his way up to the next ridge.

O’Brien lay semi-prone on the mountainside watching the progress of L/Cpl Hartman through his binoculars. The occasional voiced sounds from the hajis were faint and intermittent. It could not be determined if they were getting more close or their location other than that there were hajis to their East and were probably headed South or West.

Watching Hartman crawl up the last two meters to the top of the next ridge to the North, Pistochini signaled to O’Brien that he was in place. O’Brien pointed his binoculars to the next ridge, watching Hartman watch. Hartman edged down the lip of the mountain ridge then rolled over to face back to the general direction of his platoon.