Once that was crossed, and the palace was occupied, the first phase of the operation was complete. The night assault had been a great success thus far, storming the western rail station and rail yards, the Ramadi Silo, Ceramics Factory, Power Station, Palestine and Al Jazeera bridges, and three of four canal bridges. The last was secured by 09:00.
Resistance on the western edge of the main city now stiffened at two locations. Within that narrow triangle near the palace and Al Jazeera Bridge, the Iraqis had fallen back to occupy the hospital and medical college buildings in the Al Warwar district. Four companies of US infantry were now forming to reduce and clear those strong points, preparing the operation with artillery. A well-aimed barrage smashed the supports on one wall of the medical college, sending that entire half of the building into a tumultuous collapse, and that broke the resistance there. The second battle was in the south near the East Rail Station. That sat astride a secondary road running beside the rail line east, and controlling that road would enable US forces to encircle the main city. A mix of Ramadi Brigade infantry units and a light battalion of Iraqi special forces were trying to contain the US bridgehead over the canal, but they were badly outgunned. It was only a matter of time, and lives, as smoke rose that morning over the western end of the city to mark the places where all this fighting had occurred.
Corporal Neal was sitting with his MRE lunch, the same as yesterday’s lunch, and likely the same for tomorrow until they finished off the case they were working through. They had scouted up the west bank of the Euphrates all morning, but saw absolutely nothing. Then, at 10:00 a helicopter went over them from the 101st, which had been operating up river at Hit. Eventually word came to return to the Palestine Bridge, and for the next two hours they bumped along, singing their favorite ‘oldies’ from a few years back. They were all millennials, born at the dawn of the 21st century, and the songs they were singing hadn’t topped the charts yet in our day, and would not be released for another three years.
“Falcon One, this is Harrier. You are tasked to move up red route to grid three-seven-zero-fiver, dash four-four. Scout and report.”
“Roger Harrier, we are Oscar Mike.”
That was going to send them up Highway-1 to a point about four klicks south of the village of Talal Jurashah, a location that was reportedly occupied by Iraqi special forces. They mounted up, moving quickly down the four lane highway, and thinking that they wished all the freeways back home were this empty. Passing through the hamlet of Shayk Hadid, they waved at the locals who watched them with guarded attention. Along the way they saw a venerable A-10 Warthog roar low overhead, bank sharply right and unleash its metal snot at the city of Ramadi. The brrrrr of its main 3-173mm Avenger autocannon was so distinctive that anyone would know that plane was in action when it fired. The old “warthog” as it was called was still one of the best close support aircraft in the world, a veritable flying tank, and that autocannon could chew up top armor on AFV’s and enemy tanks with its snarling report.
They passed a company of Abrams tanks, which were heading in the same direction they were going. A little over five klicks out, the lead vehicle suddenly stopped. Sergeant King immediately got on the comms and asked what was happening.
“Sir, we have eyes on foot mobiles up ahead. Looks like a road block. Iraqi infantry, in black uniforms.”
“Damn, that has to be those I-Racki Special Ops that were supposed to be operating out here. Get opticals on them. See if you can find out what they’re packing.”
“Looks like assault rifles, sir. Light infantry. Don’t see any heavy weapons.”
“Right up our alley,” said Sanchez. “We can take-em, Sarge. Manos de Piedra will chop those bastards up.”
“Right,” came Duran’s deep voice from above.
“What about those tanks we just passed a while ago?” said the Weasel.
“Tanks?” said Corporal Neal giving him an incredulous look, “We don’t get tank support, Weasel. Those are for the better armored, up-gunned assholes in the Strykers and Bradleys. Us wee folk in unarmored Humvees just fend for ourselves. Besides, they’re probably on mission too. There’s a secondary bridge south of us. Says new construction on the map, and I’ll bet the armored company is headed there.”
“Alright,” said King, “let’s see if these I-Rackis want to mess with us. We’ll have at ‘em, just like we did at that airfield yesterday.”
“This is crazy,” said Neal looking at the map updating the battalion unit locations on a pad device. “Strykers are south of us at that new bridge I mentioned. And yup, D Company Armor turned off the highway and that’s where they’re headed. Charlie Company is north of us, which is where these black ops guys are supposed to be, and here we are, Light Recon, good old Alpha Company, going right up the middle. That’s like trying to score with third and three with the quarterback running the ball.”
“Can it Sanchez. We got work to do.” Sergeant King twirled his finger and pointed east up the highway towards that roadblock position. “Guns, guns, guns,” he said on the comms. “Engage.”
They began to move on the enemy position, the vehicles in line abreast, all the 50-cals thrumming away and sending thick streamers at the roadblock. The Iraqis fell back 250 meters, and as they reached the roadblock, Sanchez hit the brakes.”
“Whisky Tango Foxtrot!” said Neal, meaning WTF? “Why’d you stop. We got them on the run.”
“Take a look!”
They could see demolition charges on the abatis that had been set up to block the road, and off in the distance, more dark uniformed Iraqi soldiers.
“We try to bust through that on the run and it’ll likely blow sky high,” said Sanchez.
“Alright,” said the King. “Comm this sitrep to Harrier and see what he wants to do. Maybe we can get some artillery.”
“Ha!” said Neal. “No Sarge, we don’t get arty either, just like the damn tanks. Bradleys went to that town up north, and all the Iraqis just came down here to crash our party. Isn’t recon fun?”
Part V
Recon
“Combat is fast, unfair, cruel, and dirty. It is meant to be that way so that the terrible experience is branded into the memory of those who are fortunate enough to survive. It is up to those survivors to ensure that the experience is recorded and passed along to those who just might want to try it.”
Chapter 13
The crump of mortar fire was heard, the rounds coming in very close, close enough to kick up dust and dirt against the side of the Humvee, with the hard chink of shrapnel.
“Oh, great… They got the artillery.”
“That’s just a goddamned mortar,” King growled. “Duran, what’s it look like?”
“Thick and getting thicker, Sarge. At least a couple companies out there now, and they’re forming up.”
“They’re going to attack us?” asked the Weasel.
“Sure is lookin’ that way, said Duran, pulling back the bolt on his 50-Cal MG.
King swore and got out of the vehicle, slamming the door. He raised his field glasses, frowning at the distant Iraqi soldiers.
“They’re setting up an MG position. Three more teams are digging in. Hell, they ain’t comin’. If they do, we’ll kick their asses half way to Texarkana. Murphy!”