“What about General Ayad in the south? What about Kuwait?”
“He must retain command of 1st Army and fight to hold what we have taken, particularly Kuwait. Nothing inside Saudi Arabia matters now, but if we can retain the oil fields in Kuwait long enough, we might negotiate to keep them permanently.”
“Respectfully, sir, they did not move all these brigades into Jordan to negotiate. The time for that is long gone. We should have sued for peace when they first started landing in Israel, and launched this operation against Suez.”
“Perhaps,” said Qusay. “But we must fight the war we have, not the one we might wish to have. They were very bold. We thought they would build up in the south, and only strike at Kuwait to liberate that place. This is something entirely different now. The very survival of Iraq and the Baath Party is on the line—so do not disappoint me, General Bakir. You now command 2nd Army, directly under me, and you must fight!”
Chapter 11
The night move by the 101st Airborne went off without a hitch, and though it wasn’t entirely unexpected, it was still a shock to the Iraqis when the scope of the lift was revealed at sunrise. 1st BCT had gone in to take the Al Asad airbase on the middle Euphrates, rooting out a battalion of Iraqi Special Forces in fortified positions. The Apaches provided cover fire against the enemy bunkers, which had been built as aircraft revetments, but otherwise, the air base was empty. Once under the fire of those Apaches, the Iraqi units bugged out and looked for safer climes.
2nd BCT landed 40 kilometers to the south at Hit, setting up road blocks on the road that ran parallel to the Euphrates, Highway-12, and then organizing an attack to seize the bridge over the river. Hit was an ancient Assyrian frontier outpost, and Bitumen wells there yielded an asphalt like substance that was used to help build the Ziggurats of old Babylon. So as the troops entered, they were driving in to thousands of years of history in that place. The air was cool and crisp, and they could smell the river. It was winter on the Euphrates, with daytime highs around 55 degrees Fahrenheit, and it was the rainy season. That said, the place would average less than an inch of rain per month. It was as balmy a winter as many in the battalion ever had.
The bridge leading northeast into the hamlet of Bakr was a minor objective, taken only to control movement across the river. The real objective was the pipeline that crossed the river there, continuing up to the H-Line that would eventually reach the Mediterranean Sea. The pumping station was taken undamaged, and the reporting Lieutenant sent the welcome message up the chain of command that “Pushpot-1 was in allied hands and secured.
Pushpot-2 would take just a little more before if it was going to change hands….
“Resel the Weasel,” said Sergeant King. “I like it. We got the short straw when the order came down to take you on, but you got lucky. This here is the Wild Bunch, Corporal Neal, main gunner Duran, our driver Private Sanchez, and that’s Murphy. He’ll be riding with you in the back seat.”
The men gave the newcomer a cursory glance, looking busy with their equipment, and then Neal wandered off.
“Now you could have asked for a ride in a real armored vehicle, so you’ve at least got the balls if you wanted to roll with us. This here is armored cavalry, so we have a couple dozen Bradley AFV’s, and over 30 Strykers in the battalion. That’s a lot more protection than a Humvee.”
“Yeah, but once you get stuck inside, you can’t see much. That’s why I asked for a lighter vehicle like a Hummer.”
“Well that’s what you got, but this ain’t no goddamn Hummer. That’s the civilian model. This here is a genuine High Mobility Multipurpose Wheeled Vehicle, a bona fide Humvee. It’s been a long time since we had a Pogue along for the ride.”
“What?”
“Pogue—P.O.G. That’s People Other than Grunts, which is you. I suppose you had to pass muster with Major Philips, so we’ll take you on. But make sure you look after all your own Battle Rattle when we move. I’m not carrying extras.”
“Right… Battle Rattle.”
“You know, helmet, vest, weapons, and all the rest.”
“Yes, I got the lecture from the Major.”
“Good. That’s a slick vest. You got Sappy in there?”
“What’s that?”
“Small arms protective plates—SAPI.”
“I think so.”
“Well, you’ll know if someone takes a shot at you. Anyone else with you? No Terp? No Photographer?”
“Did you say twerp?”
“Terp… interpreter.”
“No, I’ll look for one later. As for photos, that’s my job too.”
“Alright, I hope you hit the chow hall hard and got some sleep, because from here on in, it will be MRE’s and sleepless nights in this old buggy.”
“M.R.E’s” said the Weasel. “That’s one I know. You guys invented a whole new language out here.”
“Oh there’s more. You’ll pick it up in no time.” The Sergeant looked at his watch, his round, ruddy cheeked face smiling. Here’s another one, we’re Oscar Mike, on the move, and that in five minutes. Kapish?”
“Gotcha,” said the Weasel. “The Major taught me that one.”
“Hey,” came a voice. “We Oscar Mike, Sarge?” It was the top gunner, Alphonso Duran back again, climbing up to man the big 50-Cal, MG when they moved.
“Any minute now,” said the Sergeant. “This here is manos de piedra, hands of stone. He’s a cold hearted shit kicker on that fifty.”
“Cold hearted and freshly farted, Sarge. Just took my first combat dump. We heading up to Al Wafa? Sanchez is calling it the waffle house.”
“A little more than ten Klicks on,” said King.
“Say,” the reporter ventured. “What’s your nickname, Sergeant.”
“Take a good guess. The name is King, but anything appropriate will do. I tend to like Your Royal Highness, but your majesty will do.”
“You mean your royal hind ass,” said Duran. “How you lug all that Battle Rattle about when you’re already packing so much armor on your backside, Sarge?”
“Can it, Duran.” The Sergeant gave him a disparaging look. Then he put two fingers to his mouth and whistled. “Where the hell is Neal? Mount up!”
Neal came running up when he heard the whistle, along with Murphy, a veritable red haired Irishman the others simply called Murph. The Sergeant got into the front right seat next to Sanchez, twirled his finger in the air and pointed dead ahead. Neal and the other men jumped in the back with the Weasel, and soon the Humvee was growling down the road, headed for the Waffle House, but there would be no breakfast served there that day. When they got there they found the place was already crawling with tough looking infantry, but at least they were friendlies. Todd thought they were hostiles at first, but the sergeant clued him in.
“That’s Task Force-1,” he said. “Tango Foxtrot One, the Black Lions. They were air mobile in here last night. Bastards fired the first bullets from any American rifle in WWI, and they probably want to fire the first one here too. They’ll have four companies in here, Aztec, Battle, Crusher, and Destroyer.”
“They sound like friendly guys,” said the Weasel.
“Goddamn welcoming committee,” said the King. “They were supposed to set up a blocking position here until we arrived. Then we start the rough stuff. Up ahead is the Al Muhammadi Air Field, and that’s our first objective. Take that, and then it’s just another 25 Klicks to the Ramada Inn.”
“You mean Ramadi?” The Weasel shook his head.