Zach’s voice had an edge to it, yet he managed to sound confident and collected. Jogging out of the Quonset hut, he looked for Slick, his primary radio operator, saw him working the SCAMP, and instead told Teller to strap the radio onto his back and follow him. Teller gladly accepted the mission, grabbing the radio and his M4. Zachary first ran over to Kurtz, who was only thirty meters away, having had his men spread out and move into the prone position. The lieutenant had acted exactly as he had trained him.
“Mike, I want you to take your men and move about two hundred meters to the west. Have them put their goggles on and watch that area from Barker’s left flank to the tit,” he said, pointing at the volcanic shape to the rear of their position.
“You can array your men any way you want. I would prefer some depth, but you’re still my reaction force, and you’ll need to have a tight string on your guys in case I need you.”
“Yes, sir,” Kurtz said, a big wad of chewing tobacco stuffed in the side of his mouth looking like a large tumor beneath his cheek. He spit half saliva and half tobacco onto the ground. Not having had a chance to shave that morning, his face was ragged with stubble growth. He had rolled his combat uniform sleeves a quarter of the way up each arm, so his huge, bulking forearms strained the material.
He looked at the captain with steely gray eyes and said, “No sweat.” He rounded his men up and made a plan as the captain ran to Taylor’s position, holding the radio handset in his hand, with Teller running behind him tethered like a leashed dog.
Kurtz used a portion of a weapons-cleaning rod to sketch a plan in the dirt quickly. He drew a picture with the water in the south, the “tit” in the west, the airfield and mountains beyond in the north, and the barracks behind them.
“Look here, men,” he said over the booming sound of mortars exploding to the east. “I want first squad to hold down the right flank by linking up with First Platoon’s left flank and angling back toward the barracks, kind of from northwest to southeast. Make sure you tie in with First Platoon, though. I don’t want a gap in the line. Second squad, you move to the edge of the water about two hundred meters up and angle back to the barracks as well.” He drew two lines, one for each squad, forming a neat V, with the base meeting near the barracks area. Meanwhile, the mortars continued to pound the First Platoon’s area.
“This will be our engagement area,” he explained, circling the area between the V. To avoid fratricide, I want everyone to pop an IR chemlight right now and stick it under your camouflage band on the back of your helmet.” The soldiers began to shuffle and dig the small plastic devices out of their rucks.
“There’s not much cover out there. Find what you can and make the best use of it. I want you guys to call me when you’re in position and set up. Also, I want all of you to lock a full magazine in your weapons right now.” They did so, the process creating several loud metallic noises as the soldiers slapped the magazines to ensure they were properly seated.
“Third squad, I want you to jump down on the pier and guard against any kind of water assault. Since it’s least likely, you’ll probably be reacting to something else, so keep your guys in tight. But first, I want you to cover the other squads as they move,” he said, echoing the commander’s words. “I’m gonna give y’all five minutes to get in position, then come check your lines. Now get moving and kick ass,” he said. The squad leaders huddled briefly with their squads, laid out a movement technique, and drifted into the darkness.
“Sir,” Slick yelled to Lieutenant Kurtz from the CP, sticking his head out of the door frame, “CO wants me to cut these lights, so find your stuff. It’s gonna get real dark.”
“Got ya,” Kurtz said, grabbing his ruck off the ground and hooking it onto his back. With his rifle in one hand and the ruck hanging loosely over his shoulder, Kurtz moved with his radio operator and platoon sergeant to a position behind some old tires that had been left by the Navy. It was a good position for Kurtz to get prepared to control the battle.
He had a distinct sense, though, that he was short on time.
Chapter 33
Ayala’s men moved swiftly through the night. They scampered single file along one of the ravines cut into the side of the old volcano. The men wore a variety of uniforms, mostly whatever they had worn to their lousy jobs the day before. Most of them had cinched red bandannas around their foreheads and carried old Chinese assault rifles or Japanese-manufactured M16s from the Mindanao plant. They were grateful to the Japanese for giving them the opportunity to achieve victory.
On the minds of every soldier were the oppressive Americans and how their own actions that night would allow them to form an Islamic nation and also grant them freedom from imperialism, feudalism, and capitalism. Although they weren’t quite sure what that meant, it sure made a good rallying cry.
They ran in synch, as if someone were calling cadence. At the front was Ayala directing his men with hand and arm signals. The mortars continued a slow but steady harassment of the eastern flank. He knew they would soon exhaust their entire allotment for the operation. Resources were scarce, and the Japanese had told them they did not have the capability to develop mortar rounds for them, having been out of the arms-production business for over fifty years.
Pouring from the ravine, they could see the lights around the Americans’ command area. About a hundred meters toward the water, he could see the large ammunition pile waiting for him and his soldiers. Once again, the Americans have underestimated us, he said to himself.
Suddenly, the lights went out, causing Ayala a momentary blackout. He had been focusing on the yellow-and-white haze, and his pupils were too constricted to gather enough of the surrounding starlight to let him see. Seconds later, the world came into focus again, like turning on an old television set.
After a brief pause, he motioned his men forward through the high scrub. Reaching the fence that surrounded the base, they quickly cut through it in five locations, using large bolt cutters. The men scurried beneath the fence, some ripping their clothes. One had a piece of the fence snap back and tear into his eye. He let out a short scream, but stopped when he realized the pain was insignificant compared to the suffering the imperialists had wrought on his country for decades. One band of men broke off to the south to move along the pier and approach the ammunition from that direction. Another band moved toward where the lights had shone only minutes ago.
Ayala lowered his head and sprinted toward the American positions.
Chapter 34
Captain Garrett reached Taylor’s platoon about the time the mortar firing slowed, finally grinding to a halt.
“Sitrep?” Zachary asked, lying behind Taylor’s fighting position, looking down into the bunker beneath the plywood and sandbags that were the overhead cover. He could hear one soldier screaming loudly and saw through his night-vision goggles the blackened figures of two soldiers running to the wounded soldier’s fighting position.
“That’s Sergeant Cartwright, sir. He received a direct hit on his bunker. I’ve checked him. Pretty bad leg wound. The medic’s with him right now. Do we have any kind of medevac support or anything?” Taylor said in a hurried and nervous voice.
“I’ve got Slick calling the embassy right now. We’ll get a medevac here ASAP. You stay here and command your platoon while I go check on Cartwright.”
“Yes, sir,” Taylor said, eyes darting back and forth in the darkness. The thick haze of gunpowder was a phantom wafting through the air, devilishly grinning at the young lieutenant. So you thought you wanted to be a soldier, he could hear it saying. Welcome to the real world.
Zachary told Teller to call back to Slick and have him contact the embassy and order a dust-off immediately. One of the few morsels Fraley had thrown Zachary’s way was medical support.
He then high-crawled to Sergeant Cartwright’s position. The screaming served as an audible beacon in the darkness. The fighting position had been reduced to rubble, splintered plywood, and dirt. The medic had pulled the squad leader from his foxhole and placed a dressing over his upper thigh area.
“You gonna be all right, man,” he heard the medic saying, confidently. “Nothin’ but a little cut. Old doc here fix you right up.” The screaming continued into an otherwise momentarily, yet dangerously, silent night as the mortars failed to repeat their previously voluminous fire.
“Hey, Wheels,” the captain said, referring to one of his best squad leaders. Cartwright was exceptionally fast, having made it to the last cut for the Washington Redskins and losing out to another wide receiver. Captain Garrett laid a hand on his soldier’s knee and could feel it trembling. Zachary looked at the medic, whose face he could see in the moonlight. The medic looked at the captain with reassuring eyes, indicating that he really would be fine with some proper medical attention, that his words to Cartwright were not just shock prevention.
“That you, sir?” Wheels said, comforted by the sound of his commander’s voice. His voice was raspy, punctuated by rapid breathing. Sometimes all a soldier needed to hear was the calm and reassuring voice of his commander. Surely the commander knew things that he did not, and if the captain was in control, then the situation must be under control.
“Yeah, Wheels, it’s me. Doc says you’ll be fine,” he said, glad that Cartwright had recognized him. It was a good sign that he was not going into shock. Still, it was unnerving for Zachary to see one of his own soldiers writhing on the hard-packed dirt.
“You believe him, sir?” Cartwright asked, half-joking, looking at the commander with white eyes illuminated by the contrast to his black skin.
“Yeah, Doc gave me a behind-the-scenes thumbs-up. Only a scratch,” he said, personally inspecting the bandage and acknowledging the fact that everyone knew the game. The medics were trained to reassure the wounded no matter what their condition. “I’m gonna check on the rest of the company. We’ve called the embassy for a medevac, and they should be here shortly. Doc, stay with him until the helicopter gets here.” The medic nodded.
“Sir,” Cartwright said, before Zachary could stand up, “thanks for being here.” Zachary slapped Cartwright on the shoulder, noticing the medic starting to elevate the leg to slow the blood flow, and ran back to Taylor’s foxhole. When he updated Taylor on Cartwright’s condition, the lieutenant stared blankly and nodded with a glazed look in his eyes, as if some part of his brain had been fried momentarily.
Zachary wanted to talk to him, but did not have time as he heard the first gunshots ring out in the western part of his sector.
I know those sounds too well. He grabbed Teller by the shirt collar the way a football coach snags a player’s face mask before sending him into the game, and they ran toward the fight.