The commander uttered a fine Polish profanity. “They’ll go for the communications center first. Unfortunately, most of my people here are cadets. My instructors have taught them ‘silent alert’ procedures but we’ve never practiced it.” He studied the clock on the wall for a moment and made his decision. “We still have some time.” He picked up the phone and set the alert in motion.
The communications center responded first. The duty officer prepared an attack message and opened a line to the Army’s central command post. The two sergeants on duty secured the bunker doors and opened the weapons safe. Inside the barracks, two instructors moved silently from bed to bed waking cadets. The commands were simple. No lights and no noise. Wear battle fatigues, vests, and helmets. Stay low and gather by the door. On command, run for the armory and draw your weapon. Go to a defensive position as instructed. This is not a drill.
Duncan followed the commander to the armory where they had to wait for a weapons custodian. It seemed an eternity before the sergeant arrived. The commander told Duncan to stay and help pass out weapons until more custodians arrived, then join him in the command post. The commander was issued a side arm and a Heckler and Koch MP-5 submachine gun. A smooth bolt action and long silencer made it the perfect weapon for close-in fighting. Then he disappeared into the night. Duncan felt the tension slowly coil like a spring being wound up.
The first batch of cadets piled through the door and were rapidly issued weapons. An instructor sent them to guard the command post and the communications center. “Try not to do yourself any injury,” he said, motioning them into the night. He swore when they collided with the next group of arriving cadets. Two more weapons custodians arrived and Duncan was issued a side arm, vest, and helmet before he too left for the command post.
Outside, he paused for a moment to let his eyes adapt to the night. He wished he had night-vision goggles, but the limited number available were going to squad leaders. The third group of cadets ran past him, heading for the armory. Duncan took a deep breath as primeval instinct emerged from its hidden niche. Adrenaline surged through him and he was more alert and alive than he had been in years. He looked around, now fully accustomed to the night. Instinctively, he looked up. Four dark shadows drifted across the darkened sky.
Parachutists! Duncan raged to himself. His heart raced as the shadows passed overhead and drifted over the trees south of the compound. For a moment, he couldn’t move, frozen with fear. He had never been trained for this type of combat and it was totally beyond him. Run! he told himself. Another thought came to him. These are my friends. I’ve got to warn them. He ran for the command post.
A cadet stopped him with a challenge. “I don’t know the fuckin’ password,” he growled. “Look up.” The cadet did as two more shadows passed overhead. “Those are parachutes. Pass the warning.” The cadet ran into the command post and the heavy steel door banged shut, stranding Duncan outside. “Ah, shit,” he moaned, his fear back. Another dark shadow drifted over, this time much closer to the ground, obviously about to land. Duncan crouched in the shadows as the parachutist touched down. The man gave a little grunt on impact, his feet protesting in pain after the long exposure to the cold. He expertly collapsed his parachute, his back to Duncan.
Duncan never hesitated. He glided across the thirty feet separating them as he drew his weapon. He held the automatic low on his waist as he poked the rigid forefinger of his left hand against the man’s neck, just below his left ear. “Freeze, asshole.”
The man’s reactions were quick and sure, the result of years of training and conditioning. He whirled on Duncan as his left arm came around in a sweeping motion. His right foot was a blur as he aimed a kick at Duncan. Normally, it would have been all over. But adrenaline was still pumping through the American and he stepped back, rattlesnake quick, avoiding the kick. The man was almost as quick and his knife was out, a blur coming at Duncan.
Duncan shot him in the stomach.
The single shot echoed over the compound and into the trees. The loud shriek of a mortar round echoed back. Duncan grabbed the man by the collar and dragged him toward the command post. The mortar round tore into the first barracks and exploded, sending a bright pulse of light over the compound. In that split second more than forty cadets were framed, some running for the armory, others away. Round after round pounded the compound, killing and wounding cadets caught in the open. Duncan was also caught in the open and he rolled under the body he was dragging, the only protection available. Shrapnel tore into the dead body, but he was safe.
As quickly as it started, the barrage stopped. Shrieks of pain and cries for help shattered the sudden silence. Duncan knew what was coming next and scrambled to his feet. He was a mess, caked with blood-soaked dirt but unhurt. He dragged the body the last few feet to the command post and banged on the steel door. “I’ve got one of the bastards!” he yelled in English.
Duncan’s adrenaline rush crashed just as men dashed from the nearby trees, firing on the run. The distinctive rattle of AK-47s filled the air, filling him with terror. Duncan fell to the ground and fumbled with the AK-47 still strapped to the dead parachutist’s side. The buckles were unfamiliar and it took a moment to free the weapon. He worked furiously as a sapper reached the door of the command post, unaware that Duncan was only a few feet away. The sapper planted an explosive charge against the door as Duncan came to his feet and charged the AK-47. He squeezed off a short burst and cut the sapper down before he could set the detonator.
Duncan fell to the ground and rolled into a deep shadow as more men charged into the compound. But it was only a matter of moments before one of the attackers spotted him through night-vision goggles. He was as good as dead and knew it. An uncontrollable rage claimed him. He came to his feet and emptied the AK-47. He slapped another clip into the weapon and kept firing. He never saw the grenade rolling across the ground toward him.
Duncan’s fire had delayed the attackers long enough for six cadets to move into position and block the attackers from moving past the command post. For a few moments, the firefight hinged on the low concrete structure and the attackers were unable to move past it. Finally, another sapper reached the door and set the detonator. A cadet poked his submachine gun around the corner and cut him down before he could retreat to safety. A blast knocked the heavy door off its hinges and an assault team of four men rushed inside the darkened bunker.
But the command post was empty. The commander of the SPS had ordered its evacuation through an escape hatch in the rear wall. Contrary to popular belief, night-vision goggles do not work in total darkness and the four men were essentially blind. One of them lifted his goggles and flicked on a flashlight. He saw the escape hatch in time to see four grenades tumble out. The last thing he heard before the explosion was the hatch clanging shut.
Flames from the burning barracks cast an eerie light over the compound as the firefight dissolved into chaos. There was no coordination, just pockets of resistance fighting for their lives. Suddenly, a helicopter flew across the compound at full speed. It made no attempt to slow or turn. But it was enough.
A series of frantic radio calls demanded to know if there were more helicopters inbound. Lacking an answer, an assault team trying to flank the command post withdrew to the trees. In itself, it was a trickle. But the team next in line stopped advancing, made a radio call, and finding they were on the flank, decided to withdraw. That was when the SPS commander ordered a counterattack by the twelve cadets on the opposite side of the compound. The trickle turned into a stream and the attackers were in full retreat, rushing for the trees.