3
AS HE GUIDED RAZOR 04 IN TO LAND, FRIEL LOOKED off the nose and saw muzzle flashes in the early twilight, about 100 yards out. He maneuvered the Chinook to a level spot on the ridge to the west of the low rock outcrop, the bunkers, and the fir trees. Through his NVGs he saw the rapid muzzle flash of the DShK about 75 feet off the left front. He hovered 40 feet over the snowy ground and pushed down the thrust to position the Chinook in a swale with a ridge partly protecting the bird from machine-gun fire.
“We're taking fire from the eleven o'clock,” the left door gunner reported.
Friel and his copilot continued to lower the huge aircraft. “Is it effective?” Friel asked.
“Hell, yes,” the gunner replied.
“Then return fire!”
The gunner fired only a few rounds before his gun jammed.
The ramp went down. MAKO 30 went out, and Friel pulled power. In a hail of bullets, the Chinook dropped off the edge of the peak to the north and in seconds was gaining altitude out of the enemy's gun range. As they waited to see whether they needed to go back down for MAKO 30, the cockpit crew watched the fuel gauges, until they were down to 1,000 pounds, and then vectored for Gardez, which they reached with empty tanks, only later realizing that bullets had punctured their tanks in several places, as well as a bundle of circuits that controlled the left engine. At Gardez, the shot-up helo was declared non-mission-capable and brought back to Bagram on the end of a hook.
On the LZ, MAKO 30 went out while the ramp was going down—Turbo and Randy moved to the high ground off to the west, while Kyle and Brett, carrying an M-60 machine gun, walked (thigh-deep snow prevented them from running) along the right side of the helo and up the slope to the low rock outcrop on the peak. Slab was the first to leave the helo off the right ramp. He took one step, sank in the snow, and fell on his face. Chapman, paired with Slab, jumped over him and headed toward what he probably thought was cover on the high ground in which to hunker down and get communications with the gunship. He walked up roughly on line with Kyle and Brett to his left, then veered at a slight angle to his right, unknowingly heading straight to bunker #1 on the peak. The trees looked like they would provide cover. To his rear, a fairly broad snowfield offered nothing to hide behind; Turbo and Randy were running under fire. Chapman was doing what he was told to.
At first, the enemy shot only at the helo. But the instant Friel dropped the bird over the northern peak and toward the valley below, the enemy's guns went silent for several moments, as if they were assessing this new threat. In this silence, MAKO 30 made quick progress toward cover in three directions. As they moved, the enemy opened fire with intense bursts of automatic weapons and a recoilless rifle from three different directions—from the command and control area to the northwest, from the southwest, and from the north.
Chapman moved up in the direction of the peak. When he reached the top, he came on a bunker (bunker #1) hidden under a canvas tarp, and he poured 5.56 mm fire at three enemy hiding there. He was shooting at very close range. If Chapman had not taken this initiative and cleared the bunker when he did, the enemy almost certainly would have opened up on Slab, Kyle, and Brett, who were coming up the slope, Kyle and Brett on line with Chapman and to his left, and Slab some twenty paces behind. The whole team might have been killed outright if not for Chapman's actions.
After he'd wiped the snow off his face, Slab ran after Chapman. He caught up with him after Chapman had cleared bunker #1 and was kneeling on its ledge. A belt-fed machine gun erupted seemingly out of nowhere. The fire came from another concealed bunker, only about 20 feet behind bunker #1. Slab sought cover behind the right edge of the low rock outcrop. A few feet away from Slab, Chapman ducked behind a stubby tree, and the bullets split the air between them. Branches and dark-colored tarpaulins helped conceal the gun, but the muzzle threw yellow-orange flame in their direction. Chapman was on one knee inches to the right of the line of fire, and Slab was the same distance to the left, behind the outcrop.
“What do you have?” Slab yelled at him.
“I'm not sure,” Chapman said.
Turbo and Randy found themselves a fight about 75 yards down the slope from Slab and Chapman and slightly to the west of their position in an area behind a hill. Kyle and Brett were fighting to Slab's left by only a few feet. They also were seeking cover behind the low rock outcrop, but they were firing to their left while trying to move around the left side of the outcrop to flank bunker #2. Slab and Chapman were facing a murderous hail of bullets trying to give Kyle and Brett suppressing fire, which would allow them to get around the rock and fire into the second bunker, but the intensity of the machine-gun fire pinned Slab and Chapman down, giving them little opportunity to fire their guns. Kyle and Brett sheltered behind the outcrop instead of flanking, and engaged to their direct left, over near the DShK emplacement and the command and control tents.
Slab was thinking, Hey, there's got to be more than six dudes up here.
Slab knew that he had to take out bunker #2. He tried firing a fragmentation grenade; the frag exploded but the machine gun kept shooting. His second grenade hit the canvas covering the bunker, rolled down behind the bunker, and blew up without effect. Slab looked over at Chapman. He was on his knees firing at bunker #2.
Suddenly, Chapman yelled, “Who did that?” or “Where did that come from?” loud enough for Slab to hear him over the gunfire. Slab looked and saw the glow of Chapman's NVGs looking back at him. He was thinking, What the hell is he talking about?
Chapman was down.
At first, Slab did not know what had happened to his radioman. He was distracted, trying to load his M-203 grenade launcher. In another instant, he looked again and saw Chapman lying on his side with his gun across his body, the muzzle pointed in the direction of bunker #2. The red aiming laser was moving up and down with his labored breathing. It was unmistakable in the dark. He was wounded but alive. Where a tree split the tiny red beam, the movement of Chapman's chest splashed fractured light in the branches. Chapman had his legs pulled up under him in a fetal position, and he was not moving or talking.
Slab's instinct was to help Chapman, but first he had to win this fight. For him to risk his life now to check on Chapman, Slab felt, was taking a chance with everyone else's life. There would be time to go back and check him in a few minutes. Slab was not afraid of what odds he faced now. The moments turned in slow motion. He thought, One thing at a time.
He fired the M-203, knowing that bunker #2, about 20 feet away, was inside the 40 mm grenade's arming range. This was a safety feature that had no place where Slab was now. The grenade had no effect. He hoped another shot might explode, so he fired again and ducked back behind the rock to avoid enemy fire. The grenade went straight through the tree branches beside bunker #2 and detonated harmlessly. He loaded a third grenade, put the launcher's sight right on the enemy's muzzle flash, and pulled the trigger. He watched the round hit in the snow underneath the muzzle. It too didn't go off.
He had six grenades left. He turned to his left and shot four grenades at the enemy firing from his left and rear, down near where Turbo and Randy were engaging the enemy. He turned right and shot two grenades to his upper left, toward the DShK position. Then, with the rounds spent, he threw the M-203 down in the snow.
What went through his head was, This isn't working.
What wasn't working was Kyle and Brett's flanking maneuver. Enemy fire from near the DShK emplacement stopped them from getting around the rock outcrop and in line to fire into bunker #2. Rounds were hitting around them from their left, and they had to stay low behind the rock to avoid being hit; therefore, they still could not attempt a flanking maneuver on bunker #2. Slab heard the cracks of the bullets against the rocks. He knew what was happening to Kyle and Brett. Snow was popping up around him. Kyle and Brett were trying to suppress two points now—near the DShK and bunker #2—at the same time. Everybody had their own fight, and nobody was winning.
Slab went over to Brett. “Get up on top of the rock and fire point blank into the bunker,” he told him. If the M-60 machinegun fire did not kill them, it would at least force the enemy in the bunker to hunker down, and Slab was going to peel around the left side of the rock with Kyle, shooting into bunker #2 and, he hoped, taking it in one quick assault.
Slab told Brett, “When you see us with our lasers over there, shift your fire.”
Brett replied, “Roger that.”
Brett started shooting from the top of the rock, kneeling down, pouring M-60 fire on the bunker. The hot brass from spent 7.62 mm cartridges hit Slab in the face. He waited to come out firing from behind the rock. Brett was kneeling down but stood up to get a better downward angle. He leaned into the gun, firing at point-blank range.
Slab came out from behind the rock with Kyle to assault the bunker. At that instant a frag grenade thrown from bunker #2 exploded in front of Brett and wounded his foot. Slab looked up as an enemy fighter rolled out of bunker #2 with an AK-47 and shot Brett twice in the legs. The bullets pierced the flesh in his thighs without striking bone, and Brett tumbled off the rock, yelling, “I'm hit!”
“Are you hit in the chest?” Slab called. If Brett was wounded there, the odds were even that the wound would be critical. Slab knew what he was doing. If he had to break contact under intense fire, he could not take anyone with him who could not move under his own power.
Brett replied, “No, I'm hit in the legs.”
For the second time, Slab thought, This is not working.
He looked over at Chapman, on his right, through his NVGs. The laser beam across his chest was no longer moving with the labor of his breathing. Slab rolled closer to his right to see, utterly to his surprise, a donkey. He thought, Jesus Christ, there's a fucking donkey? The gunship didn't see his heat? He shot twice, and it slumped, its breath going out with an ommmppphhh. Cruelty played no part—Slab needed the donkey for cover from fire from bunker #2. He took a round in his pants cargo pocket that shattered his medical kit. A bullet grazed Kyle's knee, burning the skin above the cap; another round shot an eyelet off his boots.
“Man, I think I got hit,” he told Slab.
Slab thought, We are taking way too much fire from the DShK and the bunker. There are more than six dudes up here. I don't have Chappy or Neil anymore. And I got Brett wounded with the 60 down.
He called for the team to break contact, without knowing the terrain; he was taking fire from three directions, and east was the closest way out. He would have to send Brett first. He asked him, “Can you move?”
“Yeah.”
Slab moved behind a tree and crawled over Chapman's feet in front of bunker #1. He did not have time to check his pulse and did not yell to see if he was conscious because he was apprehensive about identifying his exact position. He looked at Chapman closely, thinking that with the position he was lying in, he must be dead. He saw no movement. He took a last look and decided that Chappy was dead. And even if he wasn't, Slab couldn't drag him where he was going. He was worried whether Brett had broken contact. They were taking fire from the south to the left and from bunker #2.
Slab was experiencing a high-speed stream of consciousness. Chappy's there. Those guys are there, engaging there, and we need to deal with this first, Chappy's down, OK, looks like he's still breathing. OK, back engaging this problem here, flank this way here, with Brett up on top, engaging this here, tell Brett we're going to roll off the back, get with Kyle, Brett gets hit, OK, what's up with that? OK, Chappy's over there. Crap. His laser is not moving now. All right, I'll try . . . one thing at a time. Muzzle flashes and bullets overhead, past my head. We're not winning this one here. We're not going to do the same thing again; time to move. Go back over to Chappy's position. OK, he is still not moving. I crawl right over him. There probably is a possibility that . . . Yeah, maybe he got wounded in the legs and he was just lying there regaining his breath 'cause it hurt like a motherfucker, you know, but he would have been breathing like crazy, you know? Heck, I crawled right over the top of him. I mean . . . you'd think he'd say something. Give me something, a grunt, a groan. Give me some sign of life. There's nothing there. There just isn't.
An open space between Brett, Kyle, and Slab and the eastern ridge, about 20 feet away, provided the enemy machine gunner in bunker #2 with a direct line of fire at MAKO 30 as they broke contact. Slab threw a smoke grenade to disguise their movement. He saw Brett disappear over the edge and to safety. He looked down below to the southwest about 80 yards. Randy's NVGs shone in the fading darkness. Slab gave him a hand signal and pointed out the direction east. Randy understood what he was telling him. Slab continued firing at the bunker while running for the ledge. If he could get his team together again out of the line of fire, they could regroup. As things stood, the team was not going to survive. He and Kyle were likely to be the next two casualties. And that would leave only Turbo and Randy to carry on the fight. Slab wanted to get out of the way for the moment, the gunship could give them covering fire, and then, after assessing Brett's wounds, he'd restart the fight.
From his position, he gave covering fire to Kyle, who moved through the grenade's smoke. Then both Kyle and Slab turned their guns to cover Turbo and Randy, who had to cross the open saddle south of the peak to reach the ledge, 50 yards across open ground through deep snow. The machine gun in bunker #2 fired through the smoke. Slab heard Turbo yell and saw him fall into Randy, who grabbed him and dragged him over to a tree stump near the ledge. A few minutes later when they joined up, Slab looked at Turbo. He was in immense pain. The bullet had nearly amputated his leg above the ankle.
Together again, Randy took a head count. “Where's Chappy?”
Slab said, “He's dead.”*
MAKO 30 had fought on Takur Ghar for twenty-two minutes.