Downs watched as the squad settled itself along the fence marking the western perimeter of the BLT compound. Most of the sentries on duty had remained at their posts after the explosion, anticipating an attack about to be mounted against them. When the attack had failed to occur individual Marines began to leave their posts and attempt to aid their comrades in the downed building. Only a few, manning every third position along the perimeter, now remained.
Most of the men manning the wire would normally have been considered walking wounded and pulled from the line. To a man they had suffered punctured eardrums, and a few had been wounded by flying debris from the explosion.
Downs scanned the boulevard for movement and then the positions of his fireteams. He was satisfied that he had placed them in defensible positions in the event of an attack. He realized that the two corpsmen had been detailed to a hastily designated battalion aid station and that he wouldn’t see them again until the wounded and dead were treated or tagged. Already a long row of bodies had been placed at the southern end of the compound just inside the fence. He looked quickly in their direction, trying to will himself not to look again, but the sight of the poncho-covered forms lying sedately on the dirty concrete captured his gaze.
Downs counted silently to himself the number of bodies in the growing row. When he reached twenty he stopped. He waited for the anger to come and realized somewhat apathetically that it wouldn’t. He wondered if he knew any of the dead Marines, then realized that virtually the entire H&S company of the battalion must have been killed by the explosion. He was certain to know most of the dead men.
Already, heavy equipment from the MAU Service Support Group was beginning to arrive and Marines were being directed to stand clear of the rubble while engineers attached cables and attempted to lift the larger pieces of concrete. Men working in the wreckage of the building were quickly covered by a fine powder and took on a sickly light gray appearance.
In several places Marines were digging furiously with whatever tools were available, attempting to open air shafts in the hopes that those trapped below would not suffocate while the rescue work progressed. On what had been the western face of the building Downs had seen a Marine crawl into the rubble to emerge grimly a few minutes later shaking his head negatively. The squad had watched the man’s entry into the rubble, then issued a collective moan when it became apparent that his attempt had failed to locate any survivors.
Downs continued to watch the rescue effort as an engineer in greasy green coveralls walked purposefully in his direction and spoke with one of the Marines at the far end of the line. Downs watched as a Marine pointed to him and the engineer nodded and headed in his direction. He stood as the man approached and nodded hello.
“Morning, Corporal. I need some help if you can give me a couple of your men. We opened a shaft on the other side of the building and we can hear somebody down there but we can’t get to him. The hole is pretty small and there’s no way to make it any bigger right now.”
Downs nodded and asked, “Okay. What do you need from me?”
“I need any of your men that are small and will go down the shaft and help dig. We’re trying to enlarge the opening or dig past some concrete, but it’s so tight down there only the small guys can get to it. It’s pretty hard to breathe down there, too. They don’t last long once they’ve started. Think you’ve got anybody I could use?”
Downs looked down the line of Marines that formed his squad. Only Tiger would have any hope of getting into a small opening between tons of concrete. “I’ve got one guy. Let’s go and get him.” Downs strode off toward the center of the squad where he had positioned Tiger’s gun. He noticed that Tiger and Samson had opened extra cans of ammunition and laid out their fields of fire, coordinating this last action with the machine gunner from another squad that had arrived and positioned itself north of their squad.
Downs approached Tiger and said, “Tiger, give your gun to Samson and let him designate one of the riflemen to be the new assistant. This corporal needs you on the other side of the compound for a while.”
Tiger opened his mouth to speak, then looked at Downs who spoke to Samson, “Get whoever you think can handle it, but get someone and have the gun back up in a hurry. If you need me, come find me. And make sure whoever you get knows how to change a hot barrel and clear a jam, especially a failure to extract. When this gun gets hot it’ll do that every once in a while, so go over the procedure with him. Got that?”
Samson nodded his assent and Tiger began to climb from his sandbagged hole. The corporal from MSSG looked at Downs and said, “Hey, Corporal, this is kind of risky. I won’t force anybody down one of those tunnels, you know? Maybe you want to tell the lance corporal what I need and he can make his own mind up.”
Downs grabbed Tiger by the wrist and pulled him from the hole. When Tiger was up he looked at the other corporal and nodded, “Okay, that’s fine,” he said. “This is the deal, Tiger. The corporal here is from MSSG and they are moving heavy equipment in to lift the rubble off. Before they can do that they are tunneling down to the survivors and wherever they think there might be some people left alive to make sure they have air. There’s a guy on the other side of the building that they’ve found in the rubble, but the shaft down to him is so small only the little guys can get down it to work. I told the corporal you are the only guy from my squad who could help. Any questions?”
Tiger looked at the MSSG corporal and asked, “Is he still alive?”
“He was a few minutes ago. We want to try and tunnel down to him and bring him up so we don’t shift the rubble and crush him with the heavy equipment. It’s really tight down there, and there isn’t a lot of air, so you’ll only be able to work a few minutes at a time.”
Tiger looked back at Downs and shrugged. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, Corporal Downs. Make sure Samson goes over the extraction procedure like you told him.”
“Yeah. Just do whatever you have to, then get back here. I don’t want an inexperienced crew on this gun if we get into the shit. Okay?”
“Yep. I’m clear. I’ll be back in a little while. Soon as I show these guys how to dig a hole. See you, Corporal Downs.” Downs nodded to the other corporal and watched only briefly as Tiger and the other Marine crossed the compound in the direction of the building. Without giving Tiger another thought, Downs jumped into the hole with the M-60 and ran his eye over the weapon. He noted that Tiger had set the gun up on its tripod and weighted each leg with sandbags. In that configuration Downs knew that the gun could deliver a deadly accurate fire by control of its traverse and elevation mechanism. All the gunner had to do was swivel the weapon in the direction of its intended target, fire a burst, and wait as the assistant gunner adjusted the mechanism to correct elevation and bring the rounds into the target.
Downs noted the field of fire designated for this gun and nodded to Samson, who a few minutes before had been Tiger’s assistant gunner. “You clear on what I want?”
“Yeah, Corporal. I got it. Pick a new assistant gunner and show him the extraction and barrel changing procedure. Anything else?”
“Yeah,” said Downs, “don’t forget to show him the designated fields of fire and be sure he understands how the traverse and elevation adjustments work. The principles, not just the mechanical adjustments. I want both of you to know how to do everything. Practice feeding the gun with him. You’ve got time to show him everything while nothing’s going on. If the shit hits the fan we’re going to need this gun to be up and it’ll be too late to break him in then.” Downs hesitated, looking into Samson’s eyes in an effort to see that his instructions had registered. “Understood?” he asked.
“Yeah. I’m clear. I’ll get somebody who’s familiar with the gun.”
“Okay,” nodded Downs. “Let me know if you have a problem or if Tiger gets back.” Downs climbed out of the hole and strode off to find the radioman. After making his situation report to Captain Rock he jumped into a hole with Ferris and Smith. “How’s it going,” he mumbled not really expecting an answer. The two cousins shifted to acknowledge his presence but said nothing.
From across the compound Downs heard the shouts of “Incoming!” and watched as Marines took cover. He glanced at Ferris and Smith and said, “Helmets,” as the three of them donned the heavy steel pots and lowered themselves into their hole. Downs crouched on one knee and looked over the lip of the hole as the first mortars impacted the compound, the explosions leaving greasy clouds of black smoke in their wake.
The first series of three explosions was quickly followed by three more which straddled the rubble of the downed headquarters building. Downs heard Ferris mutter “motherfucker” and wasn’t sure if it was due to the fact that wounded Marines were being shelled or because the gunner was walking his rounds in their direction. He lowered himself into the hole and crouched against the damp dirt walls waiting for the explosions. They came quickly, followed by three more that were all long shots over the compound and into the street beyond. Downs heard the metal fragmentation pinging against the iron rails of the fence to their front and silently willed the gunner to shift his aim.
Downs cringed waiting for the next series of mortar rounds as the air was torn by a volley of 155mm fire from the Marine artillery to his north. Before he realized that the fire was outgoing and directed at the enemy mortar position a second volley had been fired and Marines were on their feet and cheering. Across the compound Marines broke from their cover and screamed with a mixture of rage and pleasure as two more volleys were fired by the battery.
Downs looked on without emotion as the radio crackled to life in his pocket, “Corporal Downs, this is Samson. Do you copy?”
Downs pulled Smith back into the hole with one hand and keyed the mike with the other. “I copy, Samson. Go ahead.” He shot a glance at Smith and said, “Stay down, you asshole.”
“We’re takin’ sniper fire up here. Two rounds already during the mortar attack. Do you copy?”
“I copy. Anybody get hit?”
“Negative. But this guy can shoot. He almost got my A-gunner. We think we know where he’s at though. We saw some movement in the buildings across the street. Those office windows just west of our position. At the top of the MEA hangar. You know the one I’m talking about?”
“Roger,” said Downs, resisting the impulse to lift his head over the rim of the hole and look at the building. He looked quickly at Smith and said, “Samson’s got a sniper across the road in the big hangar building. Load your grenade launcher with a smoke round and make ready to assault the building. After we lay down two rounds of smoke the three of us will cross the street and go after the sniper or whoever is in that building. Load with bee-hive for the assault, Smith. I’ll be first out of the hole, then Ferris, then you. Everybody clear?”
The two nodded and checked their gear as Downs explained the situation to Samson, then shouted orders for the rest of the squad. On his command the three squad grenadiers fired smoke rounds from their grenade launchers and all three of the squad’s corporals threw a smoke canister directly in front of their position.
Downs waited for the smoke to reach its maximum density then lunged out of the hole and sprinted for the other side of the street as the rest of the squad laid a suppressing fire on the building where they thought the shots were coming from. As the three ran across the street Downs saw a flicker of movement in the windows of the tallest building. Any doubts about the origin of the movement were erased a split second later as a round cracked past, then struck the concrete of the roadway and whined off.
The three reached the safety of the far side of the street and flattened themselves against a hanger wall. Without looking back Downs instructed the other two, “I got him. He’s in that building just ahead of us. He was on the top floor as we crossed, but he’s bound to have some sort of security down below. On my command let’s put some 40mm on that door and then we’ll rush it. I’ll take the point. Smith you reload while we cross. Clear?”
“Let’s do it, Steve. That guy can shift positions and either get an angle of fire on us or get out of the building.”
“Yep,” said Downs, “let me ready the squad.” Downs again spoke with Samson via the small radio in his flak jacket pocket. “Samson we’re going to assault the hangar you said the guy was in. We got some movement on the way across and drew some fire. When you hear Smith’s 40mm go off lay down suppression fire on the face of that building. Be careful not to go too low, we’re going to enter from the south side. If you copy, acknowledge. Then pass the word to the rest of the squad. Over.”
“Roger, Corporal Downs. I copy suppression fire on the upper stories of the hangar after we hear your grenade. Give me thirty seconds to pass the word and we’re set. Over.”
“Okay,” said Downs, “that’s it then. Smith get up here with that grenade launcher and give the door a round of HE on my command. As soon as it goes Ferris and I will rush it. You two set?”
“We’re ready, Steve,” said Smith. “My reload is bee-hive. I’ll be right behind you.”
Downs edged away from the wall and took a quick glance at the door some forty meters away. He noted the absence of windows in the flat hangar wall and the single small window in the door. Failing to detect any movement he motioned Smith up and said, “Do it.”
Smith stepped quickly away from the wall where the three had been sheltering and aimed his rifle with its 40mm grenade launcher at the small door. He eased back on the trigger and the grenade sailed toward the door in a low arc, arming itself on the third rotation. The bulbous aluminum nose of the grenade struck the door high in the center and blew it off its hinges. Before the smoke had begun to clear Downs and Ferris were running toward it.
Downs gained the wall two strides ahead of Ferris and threw himself against it. He paused, momentarily listening for any movement inside the building. Hearing nothing, he stepped inside, the acrid smell of the explosive stinging his eyes. He realized instantly that he was in a stairwell that led to the upper stories of the building. Roughly finished concrete steps led upward to the office spaces of the huge hangar. Downs guessed that this must be a service entrance and that it probably had doors opening onto a central corridor on each floor of the office space that served the huge hangar.
He eased himself away from the wall, his neck arched as he looked up the darkened stairwell. The only light filtered in from windows in the exterior walls, and Downs’s eyes slowly adjusted to the dim interior light. He edged closer to the steps and continued to strain for any sign of movement. Hearing nothing he gained the center of the small room and peered up the rectangular space between the flights of stairs. As his eyes became fully adjusted to the dim light he heard the empty metallic ringing of a grenade spoon hitting the concrete flooring on one of the upper stories. Without hesitating he took two quick steps back toward the door and collided into Ferris. Catching him full in the chest with his rifle, Downs shoved with his arms and succeeded in throwing Ferris back out the entrance. Both rolled away from the open doorway and sheltered behind the concrete wall as the grenade exploded and threw its deadly shrapnel in every direction.
Before the smoke could clear Downs had regained his feet and was again in the small room. He carefully settled his rifle in his shoulder and aimed it almost vertically, then slowly advanced toward the stairs. Checking to ensure that the sights were aligned, he positioned himself under the steps and again looked for movement in the space between the flights of ascending stairs. Downs continued to look over his sights until the top portion of a head appeared in the narrow rectangle of light. He waited a fraction of a second longer, then shifted his focus to aim the rifle through its sights, acquiring his target and squeezing the trigger in the same instant.
The report of the rifle seemed deafening in the concrete confines of the stairwell and in the back of his mind the tinkling of the expended brass casing on the floor dimly registered. Downs continued to eye the upper flights for any sign of movement, then signaled Ferris and Smith into the room. As soon as the two cousins surmised what he had been doing he bounded up the steps to the first flight.
Downs gained the first landing and was confronted by a heavy gray metal fire door. He debated the wisdom of trying the door to see if it would open, then decided not to. The noise would only alert anyone who was waiting for him, either in the corridor or higher on the stairs. Reasoning that he had the initiative, and knowing that he had inflicted at least one casualty, Downs knew it would be better to remain on the attack. The problem with any advance up the stairs was that it would allow the defenders the first shot at him, or they would simply throw another grenade down the steps, at the very least forcing him out of the building.
Downs quickly decided to try the door. The knob spun freely in his hand and he slowly opened the door and peered into the empty corridor. He brought Ferris and Smith up to the first landing and explained his plan to them. Since it was logical that the sniper and the rest of his comrades were on the top floor and they were expecting an attack up this stairwell, Downs would cross to the far side of the building and ascend the stairwell on that side. In that way he would maintain the initiative and have a reasonable chance of attacking the enemy position from an unexpected direction.
He moved the selector lever on his rifle to full automatic and stepped into the corridor, his back pressed against the wall. Moving from door to door in the long hallway he quickly gained the far end where he observed a door identical to the one at the other end now guarded by Ferris and Smith. Downs leveled his rifle and reached for the knob, expecting his entry into the stairwell to be met by a hail of fire from an unseen adversary.
Easing the door open he could not detect the presence of anyone in the stairwell and turned to give a thumbs-up signal to Ferris who nodded nervously. Downs softly shut the door and began ascending the steps. He paused every few seconds to listen for movement from above. Remembering the small radio in his flak jacket pocket and fearing that it might emit a burst of static or a friendly transmission he felt for the knob and turned it off. Downs realized that he was now completely isolated from the squad. Even the act of communication would have to be preceded by turning the radio back on and hoping the signal would penetrate the concrete walls of the building.
He thought of the possibility of his rifle jamming and paused long enough at a landing to fix his bayonet. The click of the handle locking onto the lug on his rifle seemed to be deafening. He again began to ascend as the sound of a shot rang out from above. He was now convinced that the sniper would be on the top floor of the building, and that the man was aware of his presence.
Realizing that his squad was under fire and that the sniper had enough daring and presence of mind to fire even after he had seen them cross the road to assault his position, Downs began to grow angry. He crouched against the wall and debated his next move. Once he gained the top flight of stairs he would almost surely be confronted by the sniper’s security force. He guessed that they would number between two and four men, probably poorly trained militia. As he sat debating his next move he heard the door two flights above open and an exchange take place in Arabic.
The men continued to talk as Downs rose and began to quickly but silently ascend the steps. The pungent aroma of sulfur floated down to him as the man struck a match and undoubtedly lit a cigarette. Downs hesitated one flight below, just out of sight of the men. He had heard only two voices, and now the men were probably enjoying a smoke. He tried to imagine the scene above. They would be standing by the door, cigarettes in their hands, not expecting him to materialize on the landing below.
He knew the cigarettes could only last a few moments more, and all his training told him that this was his moment. Without further thought Downs swiftly rose and rounded the corner, his rifle already in his shoulder, his feet seeking the steps that would bring him into the view of his prey.
The two men came into his view as Downs pointed his rifle at the chest of the nearer one and squeezed off three rounds. The man’s mouth formed a perfect circle and the small deadly projectiles slammed into him with terrific force. The sound of breaking glass reached Downs through his excitement as the second man released his small coffee cup and reached down to pick up his rifle that was leaning against a wall. Before the man’s hand met the weapon Downs fired and the man slammed into the wall, the rifle clattering noisily to the floor.
Without hesitating Downs raced up the remaining steps and flung the door open. Two men stood in the narrow hallway looking in his direction and he quickly fired a long burst at them. Both fell and Downs ducked back inside the door and changed magazines. Without exposing himself he pointed the rifle around the door jamb and into the hallway and emptied a second magazine in the direction of the men.
He quickly changed magazines, careful not to let the empty drop to the floor and alert any remaining militiamen to his predicament. Praying that Ferris and Smith would not now assault the other end of the hallway he stripped a fragmentation grenade from his flak jacket and laid it carefully on the floor next to the door. He then switched on the small radio in his pocket and said, “Samson, this is Downs. Do you copy?” His heart stopped as he waited for Samson’s reply. After a few moments of silence he again said, “Samson, this is Downs. Can you copy me?”
His second request was met by a long burst of static followed by silence. Downs detected movement in the hallway and fired twice down the corridor. He then stripped a smoke grenade from his vest, pulled the pin and tossed it into the corridor. A heavy curtain of yellow smoke began to fill the hallway. Downs again keyed the small radio and said, “Samson, this is Corporal Downs. I’m on the top floor of the hangar and I’ve got the sniper pinned between me and Ferris. If you can hear me I want you to put down some suppression fire on the window where you think he’s at. You should be able to see yellow smoke any second now. If you copy give me three short burst on the radio. Over.”
Mercifully, the radio crackled three times with a heavy cloud of static and Downs muttered “shit” under his breath. As Sampson began to fire the machine gun at the window where he imagined the sniper to be, Downs crawled down the corridor, grenade at the ready. Rounds from Samson’s firing penetrated the walls and ricocheted wildly down the corridor. Fearing that one of the stray rounds would hit him, Downs rose to his feet, trotted down the corridor to the door where he knew the sniper to be, and tossed the grenade in through the transom window. He backtracked down the hallway and gained the safety of the stairway, fighting the urge to cough and gag on the acrid smoke that filled the hallway.
The grenade went off with a resounding explosion and shattering of glass, blowing the door completely off its hinges and tearing ragged holes in the smoke. Downs again keyed the radio and ordered Samson to quit firing. In a few seconds the firing stopped and Downs strained to hear any indication of movement in the corridor.
Hearing nothing he leaned out of the doorway and glanced briefly at the scene in the darkened corridor. The bodies of the two militiamen remained where he had last seen them, and a heavy pall of smoke hung in the passageway. Ceiling tiles were strewn across the floor and electrical wiring hung in loose loops down the walls in several places. Downs inserted a fresh magazine and stepped into the corridor, his eyes fixed to the front, searching for the slightest movement.
In the back of his mind a warning came to him that militiamen might still be behind the other doors along the corridor. He decided that the best course of action would be to clear the room where the sniper had fired from, then return to the other rooms and clear each one individually. He silently hoped that no doors connected suites, but logic told him otherwise.
Downs gained the edge of the door and eased around it as it flopped lazily on its broken hinges. The interior of the room emitted a sharp, acrid smell from the explosion as Downs froze just outside and listened for any sign of life. With one quick movement Downs rounded the door and stood in the broken frame, sweeping his rifle from one side of the room to the other. In an instant his eye took in the crumpled form of the sniper against a far wall, his rifle smashed against the overturned desk he had improvised as protection from the fire of the Marines below.
Downs quickly drew back into the corridor and checked to see that none of the doors had opened to reveal a rifle muzzle pointed in his direction. The corridor remained a silent scene of devastation. In the next instant his mind’s eye replayed the scene in the ruined room and Downs knew that he had gotten a glimpse of a half-opened connecting door and a large blood trail leading into the next room.
Downs searched for the proper solution. If he reentered the room and followed the trail he was very likely to walk straight into an ambush. A wounded enemy might still be alive and waiting for him on the other side of the doorway. Downs had no desire to confront such a situation. He also reasoned that the rest of the Marines across the street would be watching the window for any sign of movement and would fire at the slightest provocation. Using the radio to let them know would be impractical as he wasn’t sure that they would be able to clearly copy his transmission.
The obvious choice was to assault the room through the door that opened onto the corridor. This would still leave the wounded man with a number of advantages. He would hear the door being opened and simply shift his aim to that entry point. Even assuming that the door was unlocked, or could be kicked in, Downs was no better off with this point of entry. It also occurred to him that perhaps the man in the other room wasn’t wounded at all, but had merely taken a wounded comrade across the room after the grenade had exploded. Downs realized that the man might have been in the other room when he threw his grenade and had not been even slightly wounded.
Without further hesitation Downs decided on his course of action. He couldn’t descend either flight of steps as he had already alerted any other militia in the building to his presence. Ferris and Smith would have to hold their position while he cleared this floor himself, then he would signal down to them.
Downs took two quick steps across the open doorway and again glimpsed the shattered interior of the office. He edged away from the wall and peered into the room, focusing on the partially open door with its menacing trail of blood. Downs searched the grimy floor and an icy chill ran through his stomach as he saw the footprints in the powder of dust on the floor tiles. There had been another man in the other room and he had moved his comrade to safety.
The plan now hardened in Downs’s mind and he removed another fragmentation grenade from his flak jacket and shifted his rifle to his left hand. Reaching through the trigger guard of his rifle he removed the pin of the grenade, holding the spoon fast to the cool metal canister. Downs’s lips moved slightly as he muttered the word “Jesus” to himself and he grasped the spoon with his left index finger and began counting down the seconds of the grenade’s fusing device.
With the peculiar coordination born of a thousand summer days spent on the ballfields of his hometown, Downs stepped away from the wall and into the doorway of the room, all the while facing the half-open door leading to the connecting office. His left boot made a slight crunching noise as he planted his foot eighteen inches inside the room and his right arm moved forward in a low graceful arc toward the opening between the door and the wall. As Downs rolled the metal sphere off his fingertips he knew intuitively that the grenade would strike the wall just where he had aimed and bounce obliquely into the next room. If the grenade had been fused correctly it would explode in the room, hopefully while it was still in the air.
After hesitating a fraction of a second to watch the grenade sail toward the wall Downs shoved off with his left foot and spun out of the room and back to the far side of the wall. He knew the blast from the grenade would send shards of glass and metal debris through the door and the concussion would echo around the room searching for an outlet. From this side of the doorway he would at least be out of its direct path. As he knelt to cover the other doors in the hallway with his rifle Downs heard an exclamation from inside the room.
The explosion ripped through the room, sending a shower of debris through the two doors. Before the concussion had fully subsided Downs was on his feet and racing for the corridor door that had mercifully been blown open. He stepped around the metal door and fired a quick burst into the room. Realizing that Samson would shortly open up on the front of the building he knelt and peered into the smoke along the floor. Seeing two bodies Downs quickly pumped rounds into each of them, then swept the room with fire before retreating to the corridor. As he flung himself against the wall Samson began to rake the front of the building with fire from his machine gun. Downs prayed that the grenadiers from his squad and the other squads would have enough presence of mind not to put rounds through the windows of the offices.
Within a few seconds Samson had sprayed the entire front of the building with fire from his machine gun and Downs reentered the small room with the bodies of the two men prostrated obscenely in death. His eye followed the muzzle of his rifle around the room looking for any sign of life. Seeing nothing Downs backed into the corridor and keyed the small radio, “Samson, this is Downs. Do you copy?”
“Roger, Corporal Downs. I copy. Go ahead. Over.”
“Hold your fire on the top floor. I just cleared the room the sniper was in and I’m in the corridor now. If you see movement up here it will probably be me. I don’t want you to fire on me by mistake. Make sure the other squad tied in on your north knows I’m up here. Got that?”
“Roger, Corporal Downs. I copied your last. Also be advised that a squad from Bravo Company is across the street and sweeping the building bottom to top. They are aware of your position and Smith and Ferris have already made contact with them. Their squad leader wants you to move to the top of the southern ladderwell and sit tight. He says they’ll come up to get you. Do you copy? Over.”
“Yeah. I copy. The southern ladderwell. Tell him I’ll be there, Samson. Unless you have further traffic for me I’m going to move now. Over.”
Downs quickly stepped inside the room and checked the two bodies for movement. Both of them lay in the exact position he had last seen them and the office was barren other than overturned and shredded furniture. Downs debated disabling the two rifles carried by the men then quickly decided not to. He realized that to break them he would have to put his own weapon down, a thought he didn’t relish since other rooms in the corridor might still hide some militia. Before leaving the room he grabbed the long Soviet-made sniper rifle and slung it across his back, then headed for the southern end of the building.
He opened the door at the top of the stairs and peered at the deserted landing through the narrow crack between the door and the jamb. Assured that the landing was empty he stepped through the door and listened for movement. His heart froze as he detected sound below. He waited for a few moments before deciding that it was the squad from Bravo Company moving up the ladderwell. Downs could now hear the team leader directing his Marines up the narrow concrete steps.
He edged the door open and stepped back inside the hallway. He prepared to yell down to the other Marines but was afraid that a nervous rifleman might fire straight up the ladderwell, the rounds ricocheting wildly off the concrete walls. Leaving just a crack in between the door and the jamb Downs said in a loud voice, “Hey, Bravo Company. Is that you down there?”
A long pause was followed by a voice echoing up the concrete, “Yeah. Who the fuck are you?”
Downs suppressed a chuckle and answered, “Corporal Downs, First Platoon, Alpha Company.” Another pause followed and Downs detected murmuring below as the four Marines no doubt discussed their next move. He struggled to remember a name of someone in Bravo Company that he could use as an identifier. The same voice came back to him, “Okay. If you’re Corporal Downs, then who is the baddest fucking Marine to ever live?”
Downs knew he should give the pat answer of Chesty Puller or Dan Daly, but instead he said, “I’m the baddest motherfuckin’ Marine you’ll ever meet. Are you comin’ up here or not?”
He heard laughter below followed by, “Okay, smart-ass, then who is the biggest asshole in the battalion?”
Downs smiled and answered, “Easy. The Alpha Company First Shirt.”
“Okay. Don’t move. We’re on our way up,” said the voice. Downs stepped back inside the stairwell and lowered his rifle to point at the flight of steps below him. If some militia were trapped between him and the Bravo Company fireteam he wanted to be ready. To his relief he saw the helmet of one of the Marines appear, followed by the three others.
Downs smiled at the corporal and said, “I’m glad to see you. This corridor still hasn’t been properly cleared. There’s rooms off both sides of it and only two of them have been cleared. What’s the rest of your squad up to?”
Without hesitation the corporal answered, “We’re clearing all the floors by working south to north. All we have to do is hold here until they tell us the floors underneath have been cleared. Then they’ll come up and we’ll clear this floor. Any hostiles left will be pushed toward the northern ladderwell and allowed to go out the north side of the building. We’ve got a fireteam in place down there for when they make their exit.”
“Yeah, that sounds pretty good. I don’t think anybody is left on this floor, but you can’t tell. They could be hiding in one of the rooms. Are your guys securing the doors down below us?”
The corporal nodded and said, “Yeah, and we’re using your two guys to hold one of them. Did this guy get one of your fireteam? You’re short a man.”
“No,” said Downs, “we came over with only three.” Downs motioned toward the door and said, “Let’s open that up and put your rifleman there in case anybody breaks for the ladderwell on the far side or has any ideas about assaulting us. At least we’ll see them coming.”
“Yeah, sounds good.” He nodded toward the door and the rifleman and grenadier opened it and took up positions observing the corridor. “You can head back down if you want, Corporal. We’ll take it from here.”
“Okay,” said Downs. “Why don’t you use your radio to let them know below that I’ll be coming down.”
“Yeah. Good idea. See you later.” Downs paused while the corporal notified the fireteam leaders on the lower floors that he was coming down, then nodded and descended the stairs. When he reached the second story he found Ferris and Smith had already been relieved and were waiting for him outside.
Downs nodded to them and the three crossed the street back to the compound in silence. The great shattered mass of rubble that had been the BLT headquarters building loomed over them as they reentered the compound. Downs walked directly to Samson and asked, “Any of ours get hurt during the shooting?”
“No,” said Samson. “One of the guys from Bravo Company got nicked, but he didn’t even come off the line. The round just passed between his flak jacket collar and his web gear.”
“No shit,” responded Downs. “He’s a lucky bastard.”
“Yeah, that’s for sure.” Downs indicated the M-60 with a nod of his head and asked, “The gun give you any trouble?”
“Nope. Worked just fine.”
“Well, that’s yours until further notice, Samson. Understood?”
“Yeah. I’m clear,” answered the big Marine. “Uh, one other thing, Steve,” said Samson as Downs turned to go.
“Well, what, Samson? I need to go check the squad and see how Tiger is doing.”
“Yeah, I know.” Downs stood by and watched as Samson shuffled his weight from one foot to the other. “They found Sergeant Slocum over by the fence line there,” said Samson. “They need an NCO who knows him to go over and ID the body. I guess he’s pretty fucked up.”
Downs struggled to control his thoughts. He let a long sigh out and asked, “Where is he?”
“They’ve set up a temporary morgue in front of the BLT for all the bodies without positive ID. NCOs are required for the ID, then they tag ’em I guess. He’s over there on the fucking ground, man. Not even a poncho on him.” Samson wiped his face with his hand and continued, “This is just all fucked up, man. You know? They wouldn’t even have known it was him except he had a dog tag laced into his boot.”
Both Downs and Samson reflexively looked down at the dog tags laced into their left boots, the silent emblem of the infantry. “Why don’t they get one of the NCOs from Dragon Platoon to ID him? Jesus, what the fuck is going on around here anyway? Sergeant Slocum left the platoon before we even deployed.”
Samson shook his head and said, “It won’t work, Steve. Dragons were billeted in the BLT building. They all bought it, man. Maybe some of them are alive in the rubble, but they ain’t gonna be in no kind of shape to ID him even if somebody can dig down to them. One of us has to do it. H&S company is gone, man. Fuckin’ wasted. The whole company. Can you believe it?”
Downs turned and silently regarded the mound of rubble. Marines swarmed over it carrying whatever tools they could find to dig and break away rubble. On the north slope of the dirty mound a cluster of men were gathered in a tight circle around several huge slabs of broken concrete. Cables and ropes stretched away from the circle of men and were attached to a truck at the base of the north face of what had been the BLT building. Downs nodded to indicate the group and asked, “What’s going on up there?”
Samson shook his head and spat. “There’s a guy trapped up there between the sheets of concrete. They say his legs are pinned and almost cut off by the weight of the concrete. They’re afraid as soon as they lift it away from him he’ll bleed to death before they can tourniquet what’s left of his thighs. Right now they’re just givin’ him morphine to ease the pain.” Both Downs and Samson turned to look at the group before Samson continued, “Awhile ago he was screaming for them to kill him, then he started asking for his mother. This situation is totally fucked, man. We ought to form up and go out in the ville and kick some ass. I’ve had all the bullshit I’m gonna take from these assholes. Fuck the Rules of Engagement, I say we get some payback. ASAP.”
The two stood in silence for a moment before Downs asked, “Where did you say they had Sergeant Slocum?”
“East side of the building. Over by the access road is what they told me.”
“Okay, then. I’ll go and get it done. You make sure everybody here stays in their holes and alert. Don’t let anybody pull us out of the line for any reason. From the way it looks we’re the only thing between the battalion and the whole fuckin’ city.”
Downs turned to go then added, “Hey, Samson. One more thing, and pass the word on this. They probably hit the BLT with the same type of car bomb they used on the embassy. So any vehicle moving down that boulevard is fair game. None of that bullshit about waiting to be fired upon before engaging. Just fire the fucker up and don’t worry about asking any questions.”
Samson shook his head and said, “No shit, man. Fuck ’em anyway with their stupid rules. They passed the word a little while ago that the French headquarters got hit this morning, too. Jesus, this is crazy.”
Downs strode off and headed south of the BLT building planning to stop and see Tiger. As he made his way past piles of rubble and twisted hulks of jeeps and other vehicles that had been parked in close proximity to the BLT building Downs began to get a better idea of the destruction. The building itself was now less than one third of its original height, the upper stories having collapsed onto the lower ones. Huge slabs of concrete ringed the mound and Marines had strung ropes to enable them to pull themselves up the sides.
All over the rubble men were burrowing between the slabs and attempting to locate comrades. Less than an hour after the explosion wounded men were being pulled from the rubble and rushed to the Battalion Aid Station that had been hastily erected and staffed by whatever corpsmen and doctors could be scrounged from the rifle companies and the fleet offshore.
Everywhere the ground was littered with the debris of the five-hundred-odd men who had been billeted in the headquarters or had slept in the tents and temporary shelters around the base of the building. As he made his way to the far side of the compound Downs stepped over the remains of magazines, web gear, clothing, official documents from the battalion administration section, and letters from wives and families back home.
The thoroughness of the destruction began to sink in. Samson had been right. H&S company had ceased to exist. The Marines who had comprised the company were now dead or trapped in the rubble. The battalion’s tactical planning section was destroyed, as was the communication section, and the specialized combat units like the dragon and TOW missile platoons. The navy corpsmen who made up the bulk of the battalion’s medical personnel would also undoubtedly have been lost. The rifle companies were now without direction. They would act with whatever coordination they could manage, but the system for the operation of the battalion had been effectively destroyed within seconds of the explosion.
The residue of the lives that had focused around the building was strewn over the area and dusted with a fine gray powder. Downs stared in disbelief as he walked past huge pieces of the building’s concrete flooring that now rested precariously on the rubble pile. From each piece of concrete, steel reinforcing rods extended, stripped of the masonry that had surrounded them by the force of the blast.
Downs reached the far side of the compound and approached a long line of bodies laid side by side along the road. He nodded to a dazed lance corporal and said, “I’m Corporal Downs, First Platoon, Alpha Company. One of my Marines said you needed somebody to come over and ID one of our old NCOs, Sergeant Slocum.”
Downs waited for the boy to answer but he said nothing. Downs took in the vacant look on the boy’s face, then realized he was in shock. He looked around and saw an older Marine who looked in his direction after a moment and asked, “Came to ID one of ’em?”
“Yeah,” answered Downs, “I’m looking for Sergeant Slocum. He was with the dragons. You know where he is?”
“Couldn’t tell you, Corporal. Just look for yourself, and when you find him let me or one of the other staff NCOs know. We’ll set you up with a toe tag and you’ll be on your way.”
“Okay,” said Downs as he turned to confront the silent line of young men laying before him. Not wanting to lift the cover off the faces of those with ponchos over them he began to walk down the row of bodies and read the names on the tags laced into the dead men’s boots. When he reached the one imprinted with “Slocum, Robert, P.” he stopped. Downs silently peered at the body, searching for some sign of the jaunty, wise-cracking boy he had known. He knelt by the dead man’s feet and again examined the tag. He was sure that there were no other Slocums in the battalion, and it was logical that Sergeant Slocum would have been in the area at the time of the explosion. Downs hesitated, not wanting to again look at the boy’s face. He didn’t see Slocum there.
“That him?” called out the staff sergeant.
“Yeah. I think so,” answered Downs. “It’s kind of hard to tell.”
The staff sergeant walked over and offered Downs a small paper tag with a string laced through it. “Do you recognize him, Corporal? We need to have a positive ID if you can.”
Downs began to fill out the blanks on the tag with Slocum’s personal information. “The tag’s his,” said Downs, indicating the small metal disc bearing Slocum’s name and laced into his boot. “And he’s the right size and all. But Jesus, he’s so fucked up I can’t tell for sure.” Downs stood and handed the tag back to the staff sergeant. “That’s the best I can do, Staff Sergeant.”
The older Marine nodded. “You said he was in dragons, right?”
“Yeah,” said Downs, “he transferred over from our platoon during the past year.”
The staff sergeant nodded knowingly and added, “Well, I don’t expect that too many of dragons platoon is going to be left alive. It’s more than likely him. We’ll go ahead and tag him as your sergeant.”
“Yeah. Okay, Staff Sergeant. Anything else you need from me?”
“Not unless you see somebody else you recognize that hasn’t already been tagged.”
“No,” said Downs quietly, “I should be getting back to my platoon.”
“Okay, Corporal. Thanks for your help.”
Downs headed in the direction of the squad, making his way along the south side of the building so that he could stop and see Tiger on his way back. Men and equipment continued to swarm over the rubble in increasing numbers as the intact units of the battalion reacted to the loss of the BLT building and its Marines.
Spotting the same corporal that had earlier asked him for his smallest men to tunnel into the rubble, Downs walked up to the man and nodded hello. Downs stood silently by while the corporal gave orders for an earthmover to pull away a huge section of concrete. When the job had been done the corporal turned to him and said, “Your man is down there now. I hope you don’t need him back because we’re shorthanded as it is and we really need the little guys.”
“No,” said Downs. “I just came by to see how he was doing.”
The corporal shrugged and answered, “Stick around about five minutes and you can ask him for yourself. I’ve got them on twenty minute shifts and your guy is due to come up in a few more minutes.”
“Yeah, I’ll wait for a while,” said Downs, glancing apprehensively in the direction of the squad.
“Suit yourself,” said the corporal. “I’ll be over here with the heavy stuff if you have any questions.”
Downs stood idly by while Marines around him moved equipment into position or attached cables to pieces of rubble. He spotted three smaller men stripped to the waist, sitting in a group away from the rest of the Marines working on the rubble. Downs surmised that these were the men who were working shifts with Tiger in the shaft. He walked over and asked one of them, “Are y’all the guys working in the tunnel?”
“Yeah, Corporal. Don’t tell us you got somebody in another part of the building?”
“No,” said Downs. “The other guy who’s down there now is one of my troops. Tiger.”
Two of them nodded and the third again answered, “Yeah, he’s down there now. We’ll go and get him up in a couple of minutes.”
Downs noted that at the mention of Tiger’s name one of the others checked his watch. He guessed that this man would be Tiger’s relief. He looked in the direction of the building then back to the smaller Marine. “So how is it coming down there?” The boy shook his head and took a long pull from his canteen, then spat the water out on the ground. “Not too good, Corporal. The tunnel is really tight and it’s got a couple of nasty turns in it. One of us has to stay at the bend just to help get the dirt we dig around the corner, otherwise the rope gets hung up and the guy who’s diggin’ has to back out and free it.”
“Are you getting any closer to getting the guy out?” asked Downs.
“Maybe. It’s hard to say. Every time we think we’re close we run into another big chunk of concrete and we have to tunnel around it.”
“Is he still alive?”
Downs noted the exchange of glances between the Marines. After a moment the one shrugged and said, “He was last time I was down there. But he’s hurt pretty bad, you know? He keeps passin’ out and we lose him for a few minutes at a time. You never fucking know if the guy bought it or what.”
“Does anybody know who he is?” asked Downs.
“Yeah,” answered one of the other Marines. “He’s the guy they had up here for a court-martial, Sergeant Griffin. I think he’s from one of the rifle companies. You know him?”
Downs swallowed hard and tried to digest the information. It all began to fall into place. Griffin would have had to have been in the building at the time of the attack, Downs knew. He was being held for court-martial. Where else would they have held him? He had been relieved of duty.
He turned away from the others as he felt the bile rise in his throat. He tried to imagine Griffin trapped below the surface, pinned by tons of concrete and unable to move in the choking dust and grit. Downs asked the group, “Where is the entrance to the tunnel?”
“Right over there,” pointed one of the Marines. Without hesitating Downs set off for the entrance. At least he could find out from Tiger if Griffin were still alive and what kind of shape he was in.
He arrived at the entrance to find it manned by two Marines who were pulling sandbags of dirt and debris from the hole at the end of a long rope. He walked over and asked, “How much longer until Tiger comes up?”
One of the boys turned to face him without losing his grip on the rope and answered, “A few more minutes. What’s the hurry?”
“Nothing,” said Downs, “I’m his squad leader.”
The two Marines looked at each other. The one who had spoken shrugged and said, “Let’s bring them up. They been down awhile.” As the two finished bringing up the next sandbag of debris one of them grabbed a metal mess kit and held it over the entrance to the tunnel. He beat on it with a short piece of pipe and Downs knew the sound would travel down the tunnel to the two Marines working below. The prearranged signal resulted in Tiger and another Marine emerging from the tunnel a few minutes later, both filthy and bleeding from scratches along their faces and arms.
Tiger emerged cursing and spitting and then spotted Downs. “How you doing, Corporal Downs?” he asked.
“Okay, Tiger. How’s it going down there?” Downs handed Tiger one of his canteens and waited while Tiger alternately drank and spat water, splashing some over his hands and face.
“You heard?” asked Tiger, not looking at Downs.
“Yeah. Are they right?”
Tiger poured the remainder of the canteen over his head and answered, “Yeah. They’re right. It’s Sergeant Griffin. We got close enough to talk to him a few minutes ago, then he passed out. He’s fucked up, Corporal Downs. He don’t even know who I am half the time.”
Downs looked at Tiger and asked, “Can you tell what kind of shape he’s in? I mean, is there any way he’ll make it if we get to him?”
Tiger turned and cast a furtive glance at the other Marines who remained near the entrance to the tunnel. “Let’s take a walk. Okay?” Downs nodded and they began to walk away from the others, Tiger continuing in a subdued voice. “He ain’t got a chance, Corporal Downs. He is all fucked up, man. Before he passed out I asked him how bad he was hurt and he started laughing and told me not to bother digging, just pass him a forty-five and he’d save me the trouble.”
Downs considered the information for a moment then shrugged and said, “That’s just Sergeant Griffin. He’s a tough motherfucker and he just won’t give in like that. Besides, if he can talk he can’t be hurt that bad, right? And if you’re close enough to talk to him how much longer can it take to get him out?”
Tiger shook his head negatively and continued, “Listen to me, Corporal Downs. I been down there and I know what it’s like. The only reason we can talk to him and see a little bit of him is that there is a crack between two big pieces of concrete. We have dug almost all the way around it and there ain’t no way to get to him without lifting the shit off from the top. Are you following me so far?”
“Yeah,” said Downs.
“Good,” continued Tiger, “the other problem, and Sergeant Griffin already has this figured, too, is that the pieces of wire they used to reinforce the concrete are exposed and have him pinned to the stuff below. As soon as we touch the stuff above him we’ll move the rebar that’s stickin’ him and he’s a goner. He’ll bleed to death while we’re up top screwing around with the heavy equipment and tryin’ to figure a way to get it off of him without moving the wrong piece and causing an avalanche down below.” Tiger shook his head again and said, “He said it himself, he’s fucked. The only thing now between him and buying it is the pain from havin’ that iron stuck through his abdomen.”
Downs walked on in silence for a few steps before asking, “So what’s the deal, Tiger? What are we supposed to do now? Just sit up here and wait for him to die?”
Tiger grabbed him by the arms and spat, “Hell no! He ain’t no wimp, but this is too much. The fucking guy is gonna die, man. He knows it, I know it, and you know it. He already asked me to get him a forty-five, so let’s do it and let him go out without all the extra pain. What’s the point in letting him suffer? So he can live a few extra minutes down there?” Tiger looked around at the scene of destruction before him and wiped his face with a hand. “It’s fucked, Steve. It’s all fucked, man. Look at this shit. H&S is gone.”
Downs stood by in silence for a few seconds. His mind brought to him an image of Griffin trapped below in the darkness. Tiger’s argument made sense to him. If what he said was accurate then Griffin was as good as dead and even he knew it. He shuffled his feet and looked toward the entrance to the tunnel as Tiger said, “You’re his friend, man. What are you gonna do?”
“The right thing, Tiger. I’m gonna do the right thing for once in my life without worrying about the consequences.” Downs turned to face Tiger and asked, “There’s no doubt in your mind that we can’t get to him in time?”
“No way in hell, man.”
“Okay then. Can you get back down there out of turn without causing any attention?”
“Yeah. People aren’t exactly fightin’ to get down there. Anyway, the other guys know I was in Griffin’s platoon. They heard me talkin’ to him down there. They’ll just think it’s cause I want to help out a buddy.”
“Good, that’ll help.”
“We still gotta have a forty-five. Where are you gonna get that?” asked Tiger.
Downs shrugged and said, “I know where I can get one that won’t be accounted for, if that’s what you mean.” Downs glanced across the compound at the long row of dead men. “I’ll take care of it, Tiger. Just wait here and I’ll be back in a few minutes. I’ll meet you over by the water bull and you can tuck it under your flak jacket and go down with it like that. Will that work?”
Tiger considered for a few seconds then answered, “Yeah, it sounds good, but let’s hurry up. The longer we wait the more he pays down there and the more officers and staff NCOs are gonna be nosing around up here.” Tiger glanced back toward the tunnel leading down to Griffin. “Let’s just do it and be done with it. It’ll be better for everybody that way.”
“Meet you by the water bull in ten, Tiger,” said Downs as he strode off in the direction of the morgue.