Chapter 5

Bravo 1/5 CP, Afghanistan

“Sir, kill this person?”

Capt Olsen remained quiet as if considering an answer. Lt Garza was the first to speak.

“Not now. Maybe later...”

Sgt Pistochini safed and holstered his pistol.

“You ever approach my officers like that again, I won’t ask permission. I will kill you and take any charges that follow.”

Capt Olsen commanded, “Sergeant, stand down.”

Pistol stood at parade rest, in front of the young CIA field officer, maintaining his position between the CIA agent and his S-2 officers. O’Brien and Mark Cameron walked into the hutch, immediately noting the tense body language and the position of Pistochini directly in front of the junior CIA officer.

Cameron surmised his man had insisted on being stupid.

“Jason get out of here. Pack your stuff and get ready to go.”

Turning to the Olsen, “Captain, I apologize, but he is inexperienced and was foisted on me literally just before we departed for Germany.”

Smiling at his friend, “Juan, thanks for the reprieve. You saved me a lot of paper-work. And is your Sergeant getting lazy? I would’ve thought that he would have chosen the dramatic effect of a ka-bar. Really, conventional handguns and rifles are so pedestrian.”

“Did Mr. Cameron just call me a dirty word, sir?”

“No Pistol, it’s just how we college boys like to talk. Why don’t you run along and sharpen your ka-bar or fondle your ammunition for a while? We’ll just have to find you another CIA agent to kill.”

“Aye, Aye, sir.”

Pistol exited to the blank reactions of all else. Lt Garza noted the contrast between his sergeant, that almost skipped out the hatch, and that of the Mark Cameron’s pained expression. Garza had learned to enjoy these deadly charades.

“So staff sergeant, what did you and our resident spook have to say about your contact with the village elders?”

“Several things, sir. One, our translators are lying sacks of dog-shit. Two, we saw not only AK47s, but a few had 74s and I saw the stock of a dragunov sitting on a shelf at the meeting place of the elders. We think that we now know the general location where those Russian 82mm mortar rounds are being stored. And I have three recommendations - we need to speak Spanish around the locals and the translators, and we need to keep it secret that Mr. Cameron and his people speak Pasto and Dari. And we may want to consider having the line companies speak Spanish over the nets that the ANAs have access to.”

Captain Olsen was thinking to himself aloud.

“So why is this particular Taliban group so well supplied? Where are they getting the 7.62 rimmed and the 5.45 mil ammo? Is this a distribution point? What would be the likely supply routes? Why are there no mullahs or imams in any of this AO’s villages? Where the heck is the agriculture?”

Snapping his head up, “Staff Sergeant, what do you feel that the elders were trying not to say? Were they trying to lead you away from an idea or a place?”

“Uncertain, sir. They have discovered our over-watches and were not happy about our team and the rifle squad on the next ridge watching the two villages. And they knew enough to ask about the presence of our people, in that they asked if our people on the ridges were snipers.”

“Your reply?”

“I gave him my best bullshit, sir. Told him that all marines are good marksmen, so we do not need snipers. They also asked some rather pointed questions - I think they are attempting to understand our organization and tactics. As for what is not being said, sir, I have nothing to compare this AO with.”

Capt Olsen resumed his pensive look. “Understood ... Juan, is the platoon set up per the support requests?”

“Doing it as we speak, sir. Staff Sergeant O’Brien and myself are still setting up the teams to support the three AOs. I will remain at this AO for a few days, and Opie is going with Cheeseburger’s team to the 11-5 AO tomorrow.”

“Just a single team to the northern AO, Juan?”

O’Brien stepped in to answer for his LT, as it was his idea.

“Yes, sir. Their company is still getting established, so anticipate a week or two of just static overwatch. maybe a patrol or two. Anyway, I had planned to form a temp team of a DM and myself, so when I wander around, maybe the differences you referenced will pop out at me and help answer some questions. Also, sir, as Captain Karel’s company will be static at this AO for a while, I’m gonna ask the captain about Pistol and a DM and Doc Sanders moving to the ridge next to 19-27 for a few days. We know the mortar rounds are somewhere on the two or three adjacent mountain ridges of that AO. Maybe we’ll catch them transporting shit out and be able to ID the storage cave.”

“Captain, can I go with O’Brien?”

“Mr. Cameron, I would rather that Staff Sergeant O’Brien not have to worry about your security while he is gallivanting around these hills ... but I will leave the decision to him. And if he does allow it, you will do exactly what my Marine says or he will stick his ka-bar in your kidney.”

Mark Cameron followed O’Brien out the hatch and into the open area beneath the sand-bagged roof with the two M249 gun teams sitting atop. O’Brien stopped to look at the machine gun teams then looked at the other posts that surrounded the ad hoc CP for Capt Karel’s company, along with some S-2, S-3, and combat engineer personnel.

O’Brien had known that his platoon had to support 2 or 3 AOs, but the reality of it was becoming too real and a bit crazy. O’Brien thought that each company, and sometimes a platoon, being on their own was a mark of insanity, or desperation.

The CIA officer, still following O’Brien, stopped when he stopped. He looked where O’Brien was looking. It appeared to Cameron that O’Brien did not like what he saw. Cameron wondered what it was that O’Brien found wrong with the camp set-up. Cameron was not a SAD operator, he needed to learn this stuff. Cameron was determined to convince the platoon sergeant’s team to allow attached CIA.

Without looking behind himself, O’Brien knew the CIA officer was on his ass.

“Mr. Cameron, I can smell you behind me, fuckin literally. The reason that I will not allow you to tag along with me to the other AOs would be obvious to any reasonable soldier or Marine. Field-craft. Situational awareness. Tactics.”

O’Brien turned to face Cameron.

“These are not just words out of training manuals, they are how we survive in this fucked-up place. I will suggest that if you want to play Johnny Commando, that you or your other guy find a way to work with Sergeant Pistochini and the rifle company that he is supporting. Watch him. Learn from him. Have yourself and your people be available to Captain Karel and Captain Olsen as translators. Help them see the nuances of what the locals are saying. Be Captain Olsen’s ears. Let him know when the Afghan guides say bullshit to Marines. If you help us accomplish our mission, we’ll probably enable your access to my teams and their Taliban contacts. It is either that, or we let Pistochini kill you to get you out of our way. And if you or your people complain to Captain Karel, I am certain that he will be annoyed enough to ask his first sergeant or company gunny to kill you. Its a small exaggeration when I say that Gunny Rogers would probably suck his captain’s dick for his permission to kill you. Your agency has no friends in Captain Karel’s company.”

Notwithstanding fellation, Cameron concluded that these comments and threats were not hyperbole.

Bravo 1/5 AO, Eastern Afghanistan Mountains

It was the early afternoon of the second day for Pistochini’s team in the mountains. Both days were consumed by crawling over and climbing up and down the mountain ridges east of the two main villages. The had observed intermittent foot traffic in the valley for two days, but no obvious munitions transport.

Doc Sanders ate a small portion of his MRE, almost more than he could tolerate, and crawled back up into place just below the ridge line and about two meters from Pistochini who then passed the binos back to Doc Sanders. Pistol picked up his M40 to resume his scan of the second ridge over, using his rifle scope.

Sanders concentrated on the lower half of the first ridge across the narrow valley, while L/Cpl Charles, the DM from Bravo third platoon, was also just below the ridge line and about 4 meters on the opposite side of Doc Sanders, scanned the top half of the mountain ridge using the spotter scope.

As Charles traversed his view across the ridge, he saw a darker brown area not previously noticed. Staying within 15 to 20 meters of that differential coloration, he concentrated on the very top, where the background colors easily contrasted with the ridges foreground features.

The principles of awareness, of processing what is seen, and other such lessons on observing and reporting remained strong in his memory. He could hear the voices of Sgt Pistochini and SSgt O’Brien citing important principles during his 15 days of the battalion DM course. The 20 year-old L/Cpl, crawled the short distance to Pistol, while careful to remain below the ridge line. Charles addressed his sergeant softly.

“Sarge, have something you need to look at. First ridge at about 1030. Two boulders then a smooth strip, then some different colors of soil or rock sloping diagonally down. Maybe the top of an exposed trail?”

Pistol took the spotting scope offered by Charles. Pistochini noted the two boulders, and saw that the young Marine was right. Contrasting colors. Pistochini could think of no good reason he should be able to see a linear structure of unoxidized surface rocks or lighter dirt.

“Doc, let’s take turns watching the first mountain ridge from about 1000 to 1230.” Handing the spotting scope back to the lance corporal.

“Okay, stud, lets determine some ranges and reference points. Make a range card that we can also use to for calling 81s, even if they are probably out of range. Find a terrain feature where we can get a good grid coordinate to start from. Between the corpsman and Charles, the range cards were done well before the end of twilight.

There were two NVGs, so the schedule for the night was two on watch while one slept. The two on watch alternated using NVGs to avoid vision fatigue and nausea. Pistol awoke about 0400, hearing his two team members talking.

“You got something?”

Doc Sanders handed the NVGs to Pistochini.

“Goat herder out at zero-dark thirty? Makes no sense.”

Pistol put the goggles on and scanned the valley floor until he found a lone figure with three goats walking up the valley.

“Yeah, that goat-fucker is a tango scout. No matter what he does, just watch. Do not call anything in or shoot until I say so. Charles, crash for the next 45 minutes or so. I’m gonna watch for a while then give them back to you if nothing happens. Even if he is a scout, can’t see them wanting to use that trail to transport shit in the dark.”

At about 0425, the goat-man stopped and sat down with his animals. When the ‘herder’ started scanning the sides of the canyon, Pistol signaled the corpsman to stay down; and after ten minutes, Pistochini further relieved Doc Sanders for sleep.

Pistochini removed the NVG goggles, then moved to his left so that his head was between two small boulders. Sgt Pistochini used most of the early morning to think about O’Brien’s instructions, and to look at the incredible night sky. The sky was magnificent. The moon was a setting pre-gibbous that failed to dim the stars. He could see the actual colors of the brightest stars. Orion was setting. Vega was rising. Arcturus and Regulus were high in the sky. Regulus was deep sharp blue with no ‘twinkle’, and Arcturus appeared as a bright red disk, not a point-light source. Pistochini thought about how he had to drive out to Anza Borrego to see anything close to this show in Southern California. Pistochini silently thanked Odin and Jesus and The Prophet for the outfuckingoutstanding light show.

Pistol watched the rising and setting of various constellations, devising an easy way to eliminate about 70% of the Southern Californian population. With much less people, Pistochini agreed with O’Brien that the Southern California night sky would be glorious. Pistochini thought of O’Brien’s conclusions that the Joshua and Borrego parks need much fewer people, and that then, maybe, Wilson and Palomar observatories would be more usable. Pistochini was convinced that the world was fucked up by an excessive population.

As twilight erased the stars, Pistochini was startled by a short whistle. He immediately woke his two team members and signaled silence and for eyes down the canyon. Pistochini pointed his rifle to the short portion of exposed trail on the ridge across the valley. Through his rifle scope, Pistochini watched as two people popped up from behind the ridge and looked down towards the supposed shepherd. Another short and sharp whistle and two more popped up from beneath the ridge, and fully exposed themselves as they crossed down the mountain slope into the valley. Pistochini could only think that their back-lit forms presented a beautiful textbook-perfect long shot.

The first Afghan over the ridge had an AK47 and was scanning the area. Turning to his rear, the man signaled to the next man whom signaled to another, unseen person. Soon there was a number of men, each bearing several cylindrical loads, packed in dark green tubes, hanging off of their torso. It was obvious that the Marines had found the supply route for Taliban small arms and IED munitions. L/Cpl Charles held the handset of the radio in a questioning manner. Pistochini gave a negative signal followed by the all-silence signal, as he deemed it necessary to remain undetected so the team could track the hajis to the storage caves.

As a group of 11 men reached the valley floor, the shepard turned his small flock towards the west and followed the line of burdened men. Pistol was impressed with their discipline and awareness; none were talking and the two men bearing AK47s were continually scanning their surroundings. Pistochini had to determine their route soon, at least before the column was at the mouth of the valley, which would be less than an hour at their current rate. If they turned north to the next valley, the team would have to do a quick scramble to re-position on next ridge, or ridges.

Pistochini decided that 81s would suffice, but was moot as most of the column remained out of range. Determined to track them to their caves, Pistochini realized he was going to need ANGLICO, and would have to get the big-bang people started within next 60 minutes. Pistochini signaled Charles to come down the slope to his position and for Doc Sanders to remain. About 15 meters beneath the crest, Pistochini motioned to Charles for the radio handset.

“Golf this is Sierra Golf one, over.”

“Go sierra golf. Be advised I am reading you two by three.”

“Roger, golf. Not able to move to better position. Need golf actual ASAP, over.”

“Roger, sierra golf. Standby.”

Pistochini quietly informed Charles, “We need to track them to their storage holes. And when we find them, doubt that we can use 81s, so am asking Bravo CO for the ANGLICO team.”

“Wow, sarge. What do you think we’ll need to get to their ammo storage?”

“Not certain - that’s for the ANGLICO genius to determine. But am guessing it would be arty, or GBUs if we can get air.” The radio broke squelch.

“Sierra Golf, this is Golf actual. Go.”

“Sierra golf actual, we are tracking a tango column carrying 82 mil rounds. Current pos is at grid reference 192 and 051. The column will be at base of that canyon in less than 25 mike. Intend to track to storage. Request fict ASAP to the ridge three point five clicks bearing 355 of our reference.”

[writer’s note - FCT is a small ANGLICO FO team. Marines call it ‘fict’]

“Sierra golf, standby.”

Charles grinned, “The skipper sounds very interested. Guessing that he is yelling for Gunny Robbins about now. But how will the fict team get outside the wire during daylight without being watched or tracked?”

“Yeah, fuck me. That’s true. We’ll have to be the fuckers to adjust arty fire, but will have to do it through the company net. And we sure as shit do not have any radios that can talk to the fast movers or other birds; so that’s a dead idea - I would not even know how to call those jets in...”

“Sierra golf, this is golf actual.”

“Go, golf actual.”

“Negative fict. We have an 81 team on standby.”

Pistol quickly answered. “Negative 81s, sir. Storage in caves and out of max range. Need arty penetration. Golf can call for fire, sierra golf can adjust. But will need arty to advise on defilade penetration requirements. Repeat, Sierra Golf will only adjust fire. Be advised we may need 81s to provide cover for sierra golf exit.”

“Roger sierra golf. We will standby. Golf actual out.”

Pistol, giving the radio handset back to Charles, did his Zen thing to concentrate on planning for multiple scenarios. Pistol returned to real time a few minutes later.

“Let’s get back up there. Would seem that we’re gonna be scrambling up and down these rocks.”

Pistochini’s team reached the crest of the second ridge in time to observe the line of men turn back west. Doc Sanders slumped down and leaned against a boulder to recover and pay off a large oxygen debt, exarcerbated by the high altitude. The corpsman was dissapointed in himself, and saw that Pistol had only slightly elevated respiration, and was barely sweating. Doc Sanders figured that Pistochini must have some awesome cardio-pulmonary capacity, knowing that they were close to 2000 meters elevation.

“Charles, continue up the ridge to just past that saddle. Keep below the crest. Call the captain with our grid numbers and start a range card. Be careful with that laser.”

The Charles was breathing hard, but had not accrued a significant oxygen debt. He was looking at the corpsman while Sgt Pistochini was giving him instructions. Pointing at Doc Sanders with a questioning look, Charles repeated Pistol’s orders.

“Aye, sarge. Past the saddle, coordinates to company, and range card. Will do...”

Pistochini waved off his Marine’s concern. L/Cpl Charles noted the sergeant’s unspoken instructions and moved out.

“Doc, stay here for about five mike and look for anything in the canyon. If the storage cave is on this slope, or is at the mouth of the canyon, we’ll have some problems calling in arty. If you don’t see anything, join up with Charles. I’m going west to watch their entry into the canyon.”

Pistochini abruptly pivoted and scrambled west, keeping just below the ridge. Pistochini decided that he will have to talk to O’Brien about Doc Sanders. Pistochini was worried that unless his pack load could be reduced to about 20 kilos, he did not see him being able hang with this Afghan mountain shit. Pistochini further concluded that his staff sergeant had been in an Iraqi mind-set when he approved the doc for this shit.

Pistochini dropped his pack and crawled up the slope to a notch in the crest that was about 100 meters from the canyon mouth. The line of men were moving slower as they entered the canyon to the north. The two tangos with rifles were less vigilant, thus being obvious to Pistochini that they must be close to the storage points. When Pistochini realized that he was on top of the caves, he scanned for another site from which to call for fire. But the time required to find another suitable another over-watch site made any solution non-obvious.

Doc Sanders saw Pistol approaching from several meters below the rock rim. Arriving at their OP, Pistol un-assed his gear for access to his pack contents. Two cardboard boxes of Lake City match ammo, a roll of duct tape, a canteen, a Glock 23 and three magazines, and a small desert ghillie were removed and placed next to his M40 rifle. His pistol rig was removed and stuffed into the pack, and all of the 147 grain ammo in the rifle and on his gear was extracted. The 174 grain ammo was loaded into his rifle, along with another magazine. Attaching the Glock rig to his MOLLE system, he rose and signaled to Charles. “Last report to the company?”

“About 10 mike, sarge. The boss wanted to talk to you. Looks like they have the 81 team ready to go, and some big army guns. Told ‘em we need to know about their round types and ammo settings, but no info yet.”

“Ok, we’ll talk to daddy shortly. How are batteries? How is doc?”

“Doc is ok. Took him a few to catch his breath, he thinks he saw something here in shadows of a boulder, here...” Charles pulled out his range card. Pistol inwardly smiled with smug satisfaction, knowing that himself and O’Brien made this unlikely combination of a junior Marine and a sailor into a ‘real’ scout and shooter team.

“What do we have left on the batteries?”

“We have about two days, probably three if we do not transmit much...”

“Good, don’t think we’ll need more than 20 to 30 hours. Let’s talk to doc about this...”

While Doc Sanders was explaining to Pistochini about the two possible target sites, both in shadows of a boulder, Charles was watching the tangos carry their burdens up the canyon. When they stopped, with a soft whistle, Charles signaled Pistochini with eyes on target signals. Pistochini crawled to Charles, looked over the rim of the ridge and saw that the tangos were stationary and talking among themselves. Pistol signaled for the handset.

“Golf, this is Sierra Golf.”

“Sierra Golf, standby for Golf actual, over”

“Sounds like Daddy has been waiting.”

Charles silently laughed, “Yeah they called twice during last 20 or 25 asking for you. Daddy misses you...”

The radio broke squelch with a weird pop.

“Sierra Golf, this is Golf Actual.”

“Go Golf Actual.”

“We will do call for fire for your team. Arty sends following. HE, only PD and delay. 25 meter ECR in open. 5 meter error at less than 19 clicks. Delay fuse to facing slopes only, due to range.”

“Roger that Golf. Please have 81s standby for possible parallel fire to support our ex-fil. Sierra Golf out.”

“That sounds ambitious, sarge.”

“Yeah. Since the canyon is almost perfectly in line with the 81s at the company, there is no reason you cannot call that in. We can call in the 81s to shut down the west end if the tangos attempt to exit the canyon. After the initial grid numbers, just provide absolute polar numbers for left/right and up/down. Let the cannon cockers figure it out; I couldn’t do it anyway - don’t have a plotting board ... You will also have to do this on the run, because I will probably have to shift fires to several different slopes. When we start, It will be like ants streaming out of a kicked over nest.”

Pistol quietly whistled up to Doc Sanders and signaled him to come down the slope.

“Doc, Charles will control 81s, and I’ll do the big guns. You need to over-watch. Once it starts, they’ll know that controllers are near, so those fuckers will be looking for us. Someone in these mountains is likely to find us. If they are just individual tangos blasting with their AKs, spot for Charles or myself, whoever is not directing fire at the time and we’ll take the target. If a group over two or three is shooting at us and they are close to the west end of the valley, they’re probably in range, so spot for Charles and he will call 81s. Charles, be sure to tell them troops in open if they are not shooting from caves. In any case, our extended mission is to remain on site long enough to direct the big guns to the ammo storage. Keep that in mind - we are not a shooter team right now, we are playing FO today.”

Pistochini’s team watched the ‘freedom fighters’ move up the canyon. As they rounded a small bend, the lead haji signaled stop and blew a short staccato, but loud, two-toned whistle. Another whistle replied, but the multiple echoes off of the canyon walls made it not possible to identify the source.

Less than a minute elapsed when Charles pointed to two men descending from a shawdowed area about 5 meters above the canyon floor and less than 100 meters down the canyon. About half of the men bearing loads walked to the edge of the floor and deposited the Russian 82mm mortar rounds on the deck. The other half continued up the canyon about 30 meters to the opposite side of the canyon floor and did the same with their burdens. The second group climbed about two meters above up the canyon side, then returned several minutes later with two AKs per each person and some mags. One rifle was slung and the other was laid on the rocks. The two groups proceeded to form a bucket-brigade line to pass the rounds up the slope and into the storage caves.

Pistol pulled out his map, moved down the slope with Charles following, and signaled for the radio hand-set.

“Golf, this is Sierra Golf. Fire mission, over.”

“Go Sierra Golf.”

Pistol read the grid coordinates of the two locations, and offsets, to the captain. Pistol thought about it for less than a second.

“Break, request fuse set for max penetration, and advise that both impact zones are 50 to 70 degree slopes.”

About 20 seconds later, “Sierra Golf, call for fire complete, will advise when shots out.”

The message was not acknowledged because the three team members were scrambling back up the slope to observe impacts and look for other emplacements.

About six minutes later, “Sierra Golf. Shots out.”

“Roger, Golf actual. Standby.” Charles asked Pistol “How long?”

“Dunno, not certain where the gun is, and what barrel declination they had to use, probably 60 to 80 seconds.”

Less than one minute later, two rounds impacted just above the entrance and right at the cave entrance that was just below. The ground shook, followed by the blast, then the pelting of small rocks. After another 15 seconds, two rounds hit about 15 meters above the second targeted cave entrance. Pistol delayed calling in the corrections.

Thinking aloud, “Fuck me, no secondaries. We are not getting into the ammo storage. We may not be able to do this without something like big GBUs. We’ll do one more.”

As Pistol was calling in corrected fire, Charles pointed his M14 at the first of three insurgents scrambling up and down the canyon side, knocking them down. He had shot the other two by the time Pistochini had completed his corrected call for fire. Another off-color spot opened up across the canyon, less than 900 meters distance and almost straight down to the mouth of the canyon from the S/S team. Doc Sanders had observed their cave exits and alerted Pistochini.

“We have at least four, sarge. Range 870. Five down. 12 o’clock.”

Amid the intermittent chatter of AKs, Pistol ordered, “Charles, get the 81s on that, that is number six on your card. We may get lucky.”

Doc announced three more had since exited a cave directly across the canyon when Pistol shot the first man in line down the opposite side of the canyon.

“Doc, they wearing armor?”

Doc had been watching them through his spotting scope.

“Shit, it sure looks that way. Looks like a mix of the old soviet shit and some other stuff. There may be a seam top center.”

Pistochini was, momentarily, smug that he had decided to use the heavier bullet. The drop really sucked past 250 meters, but fuck it. He used 500 meters as the range for the next three shots. The remaining insurgents to the west were of no concern after five rounds, set for aerial burst, peppered the area with shrapnel and blast, exploding directly above the hajis.

“Sierra Golf. Shots out.”

Pistochini and Charles hunkered down to observe the effects of adjusted fire. Two 155mm rounds impacted exactly where Pistol had corrected for the far-side target, but still no secondaries. Less than 20 seconds later, Two more impacted on the near-side target. Almost immediately after the first round hit, secondary explosions rocked the mountain-side and shook Pistochini’s team. The second round finished the process as the secondary explosions continued.

“Golf actual. That was damn good shooting. But effective for only one side of the canyon. Gonna need jay-dams unless the big guns can change position. Break. Mission complete for arty. 81s need to standby next 200 mike to cover our exit. All 81 calls will be for aerial fusing. Sierra golf out.”

“To quote our leader, vamos muchachos.”

They half slid, half ran down the back side of the mountain to get their gear and head back over the first of several ridges before turning west. As they crested the next mountain ridge, Pistol was increasingly concerned about Doc Sander’s condition. After they were below the back side of the ridge. Pistol stopped the team.

“Doc, remove one of your camels and give me your two grenades ... Let’s see what the fuck you got in there...”

Charles and Pistochini started rat-fucking the corpsman’s pack.

“Holy fuck, doc, you got three medical bags crammed in the bottom. What the fuck, man? You doing surgery on a rifle platoon?”

Doc’s head popped up in surprise.

“Sarge, I am somewhat certain I’m not crazy; I only put one med kit in my pack. It had extra clot bandages and sutures, but was otherwise a normal kit.”