The valley had erupted in an unrelenting wall of fire.
A few minutes earlier, Morales had reached a position where he could see the village. Before he took another step, he glimpsed a man running between buildings with a sandbag over his shoulder—a sign he had an RPG. Seconds later, he observed three more people running—and they all had AK-47s.
Man, I just went through this thing two weeks ago when I shot the dude in the gut, Morales thought.
He knew what to do. He propped up his M4. Zeroed in on the targets. He took a second to warn his team: “I got three bad guys running with guns,” he said over the radio.
Then Morales squeezed the trigger and fired several rounds, hitting two insurgents.
Now his team was in the middle of a firefight—unlike anything he had ever experienced.
“Holy shit,” Morales shouted.
Bullets were flying everywhere, mostly coming from the surrounding high ground. Morales turned and saw Carter standing next to him. Instinctively, he slammed Carter against the rocks for protection. He knew they had to find cover fast because there was no protection where they were standing.
“You climb up and I’ll cover you,” Morales told Carter.
Morales kept firing while the team moved to a ledge above. I hope there’s cover up there, he thought. The attack was extremely well coordinated. He could hear the sharp, nonstop crack-crack-crack-crack-crack of AK-47s and PKM machines guns, and the thunder of RPGs exploding below. The rounds came from all directions. The insurgents had been waiting for them.
In training, Morales was taught that in a firefight, you move forward not back. So when all the men were up on the ledge, he climbed to the next terrace. But when he made it, he glanced at Carter, who was trying to drag a soldier in a tan uniform. The soldier was facedown in the dirt. Bullets were kicking up dirt near them.
Morales’s heart was racing. What the fuck? he thought.