Walding had made it to the top of the mountain. But that was easy compared to his next task: trying to sneak back down to rescue his trapped unit. The team was depending on him and Sanders. Ford had just told him over the radio that they were needed to provide cover. Behr and Morales were wounded, and Carter and Shurer were treating them. It was hectic for Walton and Rhyner, who were trying to call in air strikes. And Ford was coordinating security and trying to find a way off the mountain. The commandos? They weren’t doing much. They returned fire now and then. But for the most part, they hugged the rocks, trying to stay out of the line of fire. Things were not going as planned.
But Walding was about to face his own set of problems. This was the most sustained regular fire he had ever encountered during a deployment. He was surprised at just how much ammunition the insurgents had at their disposal. It was just like the movies. And now the HIG fighters were firing in their direction. At first, Walding and Sanders and their commandos had been unnoticed. But not anymore.
Now they were being asked to edge down the rocks to reach their fellow soldiers who were trapped halfway up to the compound. Not an easy task. But Walding had never turned away from a challenge. In high school, he wasn’t the tallest or strongest player on his football team. But he sure as hell hit the hardest. Knock him down and he jumped back up to this feet.
So as difficult as it was, Walding began carefully descending the mountain, followed by Sanders and some of the commandos. He didn’t want to slip. If he fell, he would be of no use to anybody. He didn’t want anyone to have to scale the mountain to rescue him. Come on, you can do this. Keep going, he thought.
Climbing down was no easier than going up—and there was more pressure. He had to move faster. His hands hurt as he lowered himself from terrace to terrace. The jagged rocks on the cliff face poked into his body. But by now, like always, he was oblivious to the pain. Mind over matter.
After about a half hour, Walding reached the area where the men were clustered. From the distance, he saw Shurer working on Behr and Morales. Carter was helping them, too, and Walton and Rhymer were on the radio. He immediately provided cover for the casualties, firing his M4 at the direction of the compound across the wadi.
Moments later, Ford joined him and the two of them fired in unison. “Damn, they’re right on top of us,” Ford shouted.
Walding knew that. It was an ambush and it seemed like the insurgents’ weapons—and snipers—were fixed on this tiny patch of scrubland. It was a miracle anyone was still alive.