Wurzbach was looking for guidance. He wanted to help the assault team but knew he couldn’t leave his position without permission. So he called for Ford over the radio. He knew Ford was injured, but was still actively involved in the battle.
“Do I abandon my position?” he asked.
No response, but Wurzbach heard ODA 3312 over the radio saying they couldn’t get through to help Ford’s team because of the heavy fire. So he came to the startling conclusion: If another ODA with a platoon of commandos couldn’t get through, neither could his team.
So Wurzbach decided to stay in position. If nothing else, he could keep the bad guys from maneuvering around the back side of the village. That was his goal.
At that point, Wurzbach was pretty much resigned to the fact that no one was getting out of there. The fighters and attack helicopters were either going to kill everybody with bombs or he and his team were going to be killed by insurgents. Not good thoughts.
Hugging the rock wall with his back, Wurzbach recognized Staff Sergeant Plants heading in his direction. Plants dove behind the wall.
“Why didn’t you call me up?” he asked
“This is it, dude. There’s nothing here, as you can see.” Wurzbach replied. “I figured you were in a safe place, rocking.”
Plants glanced at the cover. “I was, and you’re right. We can’t all fit here.”
The explosions were loud and continuous. The Apaches and fighters were trying to level the village. When there was a brief lull in the bombing, Wurzbach decided to see what was going on closer to the action. To do that, though, he had to move across an open field to try to get a clear view of the assault team’s position. There was no cover. He needed his interpreter in case they ran into Afghan commandos. He told Noodles his plan.
“You ready to do it?”
Noodles agreed, but Wurzbach could see the terror in his eyes.
So Wurzbach turned and began running. He bolted across the field—it was about 150 feet long. All he had to do was reach a thicket of tree and rocks. If he got there he would be safe. He was running as fast as his legs would kick. It was all adrenaline—like he had just downed a six-pack of Red Bull. Keep going, he told himself.
He hit some cover and turned around. Noodles hadn’t moved an inch. He was frozen in his tracks.
“Come on,” Wurzbach shouted.
Noodles just stood there.
“Damn it, you can do it.”
Noodles finally mustered the courage and ran. When he reached Wurzbach, Wurzbach asked what happened. “As soon as you took off, dirt was flying at your heels,” said Noodles, trying to catch his breath. “They were shooting at you the whole way. It’s amazing they didn’t hit you.”
Wurzbach had no idea. “Damn, really?”
“Yeah,” the terp, said huffing and puffing. “I can’t believe you didn’t notice. It looked like something out of a movie.” He paused for a moment. “What about me?” Noodles asked.
“When you ran I saw a few pieces of dirt kick up, but it was behind you.”
Wurzbach now had a good vantage point. He could see fire still coming from the compound toward the assault team on the ledge—it seemed to be coming from three different directions. He could tell that the assault team hadn’t made it far up the mountain—and that their flank was horribly exposed.
Wurzbach knew it was time to consolidate and provide cover for the assault team. Maybe then, they would have a chance.