Champions

"You ready Kenny?"

1LT David "Kenny" Kennisham turned to see 1LT Mark "Mother" Hilliard looking at him questioningly.

"Almost Mother. I'm all packed, but I gotta run past the TOC and do a commo check before I'm ready to roll," David replied.

Mark nodded in confirmation, "Alright, once you're finished head over to the office and check in. Patrol brief is in the Dog House in an hour, but the Major wants to do a quick SFAAT only brief first."

"Yes Mom," David replied sarcastically, grinning.

"Alright smart ass, you're wasting the Almighty Army's time sassing me when you should be moving out."

"Sir, yes sir. Moving sir," David faux shouted, quick stepping to the door. As he exited the hallway he heard a sleepy voice grumbling from one of the closed rooms "shut the fuck up Carl."

As he walked to the Tactical Operations Center (TOC), David went over the mission plan in his head. His SFAAT was sending six advisors along with a security squad from Alpha Company 2-327. They were traveling by vehicle with a platoon of ANA soldiers approximately ten kilometers to an Afghan Observation Post (OP) at the mouth of the Korengal Valley. From there they would separate, and the six SFAAT members and two interpreters would trek another four kilometers up the side of the valley wall to the overwatch position. Travelling with them would be four ANA Artillery observers that David had trained, and the ANA company commander that was in charge of the clearance operation. Naturally the ANA commander had to travel with his four-man personal security detail (PSD), and his support staff, an additional two enlisted soldiers. So it looked like his SFAAT was taking eleven ANA with his six-man team four clicks into Indian country for a nature hike. This mission was so FUBAR. No wonder the Major opted out of it.

David shook his head at that thought. Knock that shit off asshole. David thought to himself. The Major was an exceptional leader, and a damn fine trigger-puller to boot. If he could have gone on this mission he would have.

Arriving at the TOC, he punched in the access code, and walked in. Passing the weapons rack he unclipped his M4, and stowed it with the other six rifles already resting there. He always thought weapons racks were retarded. What was the point of giving a soldier a loaded weapon in a combat zone, and then forcing them to store the weapon so it was out of reach if and/or when they actually needed it? He walked further on to the Fires Desk, waving at the night battle captain on his way through.

"You here for a commo check LT?" asked the Sergeant manning the desk.

"Roger that Sarge" replied David with a wry grin. "Gotta prove it works before we leave, so when it craps out five clicks from anyone who can fix it I can swear on a stack of Bibles that it wasn't my fault."

"Better hope not sir" replied the Sergeant with a snort.

Dropping his rucksack near the desk, David opened up the side of the main pouch and turned on the radio to the TOC frequency. Keying the mike he announced clearly "Angel Main this is Axemurder 95, radio check, over."

His transmission came through loud and clear on the TOC speakers.

"Axemurder 95 this is Angel Main, we read you Lima-Charlie, how me, over" came the Sergeants reply through the speakers, his own radio, and the chair right next to him.

"Angel Main this Axemurder 95, read you Lima-Charlie, out" David replied. He then secured his rucksack, running the radio mike down the left shoulder strap, and clipping it to his harness. "Thanks, Sarge. I'll leave you to it then."

Returning to his computer display, the Sarge responded "no prob LT. That's what I'm here for."

Leaving the TOC, David retrieved his rifle and moved to the SFAAT office. He was planning to check in with Major (MAJ) Deanore and the patrol leader Captain (CPT) Epps before the main patrol brief with Gator Company's security element. Entering the office he realized he was the last to arrive, the other five SFAAT members of the patrol and MAJ Deanore were all waiting on him.

"Commo check done?" inquired MAJ Deanore when he noticed David enter.

"Yes sir, we're golden. And I packed enough spare batteries we don't need to be stingy with it either."

"Good man. Now drop your ruck and pull up a chair, I got some last minute intel before you head out," the major replied.

David stowed his rucksack in the corner of the office by the miniscule desk he shared with his Fires NCO and the Commo Officer, and sat in the only empty chair left. Looking up he noticed that someone had set up one of the laptops and linked it to a TV to show the mission briefing PowerPoint slides. He began praying this wasn't another briefing before the briefing situation. That had happened more times than he could count, but he was sure that CPT Epps had finally convinced the major that the a two hour operations briefing the week before, and the single patrol brief later this morning was enough.

Clearing his throat MAJ Deanore checked something he had in a file, and then looked at the men scattered about the table. "Gentlemen, this is a fairly simple op. But, getting the Afghans to leave their bases and OPs [Observation Posts] to do any form of patrolling has been such a pain that we are going to continue to hold their hands as long as we have to, so long as they are actually doing what we ask.

"This clearance mission is small potatoes for us, but the ANA don't do them very often; and there are a lot of brass up at Brigade hoping this will be the start of a trend. So if CPT Massood asks for Fire Support while he is up there with you, give it to him. Kenny, make sure you pay close attention to his observers. I know you trained them, but they don't have as much experience with live rounds as we do.

"Last item before we wander over for the patrol brief. This is the first mission since we found out about the bounties, and I'm glad none of you are wearing your ranks. Just be careful out there, and pay close attention to the ANA. Green on blue [Afghan government soldiers attacking US forces] is rare, but it does happen. CPT Massood came to us highly recommended, but he is still new here. If something feels off, call it out. And CPT Epps, if it feels even the least bit unsafe up there, pull out and come back to base. Victory or Death."

At MAJ Deanore's last words all the team members at the table stood and sounded off in reply "Victory or Death." It was the motto of 1-32 Cavalry Regiment; the parent unit for all of the SFAAT members on COP Able-Main, and most of the SFAAT officers, NCOs, and soldiers throughout Kunar Province. When the 1^st Brigade of the 101^st Airborne Division was tasked with supporting ISAF operations in Kunar, 2-327 Infantry Battalion "No Slack" and the other infantry battalions got the security and COP defense jobs. 1-32 Cavalry Regiment "Bandit Squadron" got fucking babysitting. But like every other mission Bandit Squadron got, they would do this one to the absolute best of their abilities. So they got separated, broken up piecemeal into small 10 to 16 man advising teams, and were sent to every corner of Kunar where the Afghan Security Forces were trying to establish control of the country.

David grabbed his rucksack, and followed the other six occupants from the room. MAJ Deanore would walk with them until they left out the front gate, then he would keep an ear glued to his radio the entire two days they were away. He was a merciless taskmaster at times, but he really did care about his team. After the major wrenched his knee coming off the helicopter on that last mission, the COP doctor told him no more missions till he was healed. David noticed his limp was finally improving. Knowing the major, he was probably already trying to figure out a way to sneak out for a mission anyway.

After they arrived at the doghouse (the nickname for the COP's mission briefing room), David scanned the room, and saw that the entire security squad from Angel company first platoon was already there. Checking his watch he realized the mission briefing was supposed to start in five minutes, and his team was technically late, since by Army logic they weren't there ten minutes early. Good thing we walked over with the major, David thought to himself. I guess that's one of the perks of being the highest ranking officer in the region. As the Angel platoon leader began the briefing, David focused on the team he was going to spend two days with.

Captain (CPT) Vance "Hollywood" Epps was a West Point graduate. He was also built like a soccer player, and was movie star handsome. David wasn't sure how he was so damn good with women, but the man was so well known among the female officer corps that the whole team nicknamed him Captain Hollywood. Fortunately, he was also Ranger qualified, combat experienced, laid back, and a common sense leader. He could sit around and joke with senior officers, junior officers, NCOs and enlisted alike. He made everyone feel important and included.

First Lieutenant (1LT) Mark "Mother" Hilliard was an ROTC grad from the University of Ohio. He had worked for both MAJ Deanore and CPT Epps in the past, and was one of the most professional and knowledgeable junior officers that David had ever met. While he liked to joke with Mark about being the team's Den Mother, David knew that half of the mistakes he had made in his first few weeks with the team were fixed by Mark long before the captain or the major ever found out. But that was just Mark. If he knew you were trying hard he would make sure you succeeded, and then make sure you could succeed on your own the next time. He was also a hell of a shot with the M14, and was one of the SFAAT's two Squad designated marksman going on this hike.

Sergeant First Class (SFC) Ray "Tongue Punch" Bragg was a sarcastic hard-ass. Twelve year veteran of the United States Army, Bragg had seen two combat tours in Iraq, and one in Afghanistan before finding his way to the 101^st for another trip to "the Stan". Bragg could show you how to operate any weapon in the US and Afghan arsenal, and probably a few more that neither army had ever seen. He was the other squad designated marksman for this trip, carrying the team's second accurized M14 rifle. Everyone on the team flatly refused to explain to David how he got the nickname Tongue Punch, but he was called it often.

Staff Sergeant (SSG) Jason "Pappy" England was the oldest member of the SFAAT. Over forty, he had gotten a late start in life, joining the Army after his 38^th birthday. He was an exceptionally cynical man, but still in great shape for his age. At six feet four inches tall, and 230 pounds he was the team heavy gunner. He carried the Mark (Mk) 48 light machine gun (LMG) and spare ammo easily with the rest of his gear.

Specialist (SPC) Bill "Doc" Simmons was the SFAAT medic, and the youngest member of the team. Currently only 20 years old, he had enlisted as soon as he turned 18 and had spent the next year and a half becoming the US Army's own franchise on the Angel of Mercy, the combat medic. Doc went on every SFAAT mission. Long or short, near or far, two hours or two weeks, it didn't matter. If even one SFAAT member had a chance of getting shot at, Doc made damn sure he was there just in case. So far the team had been in a handful of dust-ups with the local insurgents, but thankfully the worst injury sustained so far was the major's knee.

Lastly there was himself, 1LT David "Kenny" Kennisham. He had completed a degree in Psychology from the University of Tennessee, but postponed his Masters to go home and help run his parents' farm when his father died of a heart attack. He had always planned to do something else with his life, but only a few years after his father's death, his mother was diagnosed with cancer. Facing mounting hospital bills and not able find reliable help to run the farm, he had convinced his mother to sell it. Then he heard about the Army offering signing bonuses for recruits, so he decided to enlist to help his mom out. Her cancer had responded to the chemotherapy / radiation double tap, and she was starting to recover so he figured he could make enough in the army to take care of them both as an officer instead. He still remembered how proud she was when he graduated Officer Candidate School, and pinned his gold Second Lieutenant bar on. She died less than a month later. Her cancer had returned with a vengeance, but she refused to tell him because she didn't want to distract him from his training. With no family, and nothing else to focus on, he had decided to master his chosen profession. In the process he learned he was very good at calling in fire support from artillery and aircraft, as well at teaching those skills to others. He also loved guns, and could operate nearly every weapon system assigned to his SFAAT.

Jolted from his reflections by Doc's tap on his shoulder, David walked with the rest of the SFAAT out to the MRAPs they were riding to the ANA OP. As they loaded up and stowed their gear for the ride out, David wondered how boring this mission was going to be. There was a very slim chance the insurgents hadn't been tipped off by the locals or the ANA yet. If so, he might actually get a chance to do his job for once, and blow some shit up.

*** Chapter 2: Betrayal ***

100716MAR13 LOCAL

Approximately 2KM SW of ANA Lower Observation Post (OP) Jubai, Kunar Province, Afghanistan

They had barely travelled two kilometers along the path to the overwatch position at Jubai Upper OP, and David was already tired as hell. He had started regretting all the extra food and water he had packed about a kilometer ago, and he was now starting to regret the extra clothes and fleece. He figured he would be cursing the radio and batteries in another kilometer.

"How you doing sir?"

Looking over his shoulder he saw Doc grinning at him, and began cursing his medic's ever cheerful disposition. "I feel like a bag of smashed assholes Doc, thanks for asking" he replied.

"That's because you stuck to the packing list they put out for that December mission sir," Doc replied with a grin. "After those four days of freezing your ass off and running out of food, you overdo it now."

"Well observed Captain Obvious. You bucking for a promotion Sonny?" David replied. "What's your grand survival strategy for when snow rolls in and we get stuck up here for a few days?"

At his question Doc broke into an enormous, shit eating grin. "I'm gonna borrow from you sir," he said.

"Mooching, shit-bagging, motherfucker..." David grumbled.

After a few minutes, just as David was starting to think about how nice it would be to stop for a quick break, Doc piped up again.

"I never asked sir, why does everyone call you Kenny?"

Smiling David cast his thoughts back to Boot Camp. "Laziness Doc. When I was in Basic all the other knuckle-draggers in my platoon didn't like bothering with my full name, Kennisham. So they just called me Kenny. By graduation the whole company was using it, and two of the guys I graduated with accompanied me to OCS. When I showed up they kept calling me Kenny, and everyone just assumed that was my first name. It stuck. When I showed up at the 101^st I kept running into guys that knew me by that name from OCS and Field Artillery BOLC [Basic Officer Leadership Course] and it just kept going. Does it amuse you to know that one of the nicknames your officer's use was born of the laziness of Basic Training Privates?"

Breaking into an another shit-eating grin Doc replied with laughter in his voice "Absolutely sir. It's good to know that some of you high falooting officers can't escape your humble beginnings."

David appreciated the sentiment. He also appreciated Doc's less than subtle attempts at keeping him distracted from the pain in his back and legs from hauling so much weight up a damn mountain. Returning his full attention back to the task at hand, he noticed the team ahead of him had stopped. Calling up to the next man in line David asked "Hey sir, why are we stopping?"

"Got a kid leading a donkey down the path ahead. He must be returning from a resupply run from the upper OP. We're gonna hold up and let him go past," replied CPT Epps.

David nodded his head and held his arm up to signal the halt. Taking a knee and visually scanning his sector of fire for the short halt, he started searching the path nearby for better, and hopefully more comfortable, cover. Out of the corner of his eye he caught movement up the line, and turned to see a boy of six or seven leading a laden donkey down the path ahead.

David still had trouble with this country. A kid that age shouldn't be doing supply runs to military outposts in the mountains at seven in the morning. Hell, that kid was barely old enough to be in school in the states. But early during the deployment their interpreter Khan had explained how Afghanistan really worked. The insurgents would steal the supplies and kill any adult that tried to support an ANA OP. The only way the villages could provide the government required support to the military, and avoid reprisal from the insurgents, was to use children for the supply runs. The insurgents wouldn't attack the kids, and even the most corrupt ANA soldier would think twice about stealing from a child. Yeah, this country was FUBAR.

Taking a second look at the donkey, David started to wonder why it was carrying so much if it was returning from delivering supplies to the OP.

"Sir, stop me if I'm wrong, but isn't that donkey riding a little heavy for 'after' a supply run?" David inquired of CPT Epps.

Turning to look closer at the child and beast duo that was now about twenty feet from their point-man SFC Bragg, CPT Epps reached up to key his mike, "Tongue-Punch this his Hollywood, does that donkey seem like it's riding a little low for a return trip, over?"

"Looks like it Hollywood, I'm about to have the terp [interpreter] ask the ankle biter what's up, over," came SFC Bragg's response over the net.

David went back to scanning his sector, but could hear the interpreter Khan, calling out in the distance.

Less than a minute later SFC Bragg's voice came back over the net "Hollywood this is Tongue-Punch, the kid says the ANA refused to pay him for the supplies, so he has to take the whole delivery back down to the village. He seems legit. The kid's crying his eyes out over it."

At this last message David's spider sense started shouting at him. This was totally wrong. The ANA didn't plan for missed resupply runs. They were logistical idiots 75% of the time, and he would have bet his next paycheck that without the food on that donkey, the soldiers at that OP would go hungry by tomorrow. Sure they were greedy, corrupt, deceitful assholes who would certainly have refused to pay for a supply run; especially if someone had been embezzling the money from the ANA government, which happened all the time. But they would have still taken the supplies.

Turning to CPT Epps again, David voiced his concern, "Sir, you know that doesn't sound right. These ANA are more corrupt than Chicago politicians, but they would never let food and fresh water walk back out of an OP. What if it's an I.E..."

Boom .

The loud, far off, thump of a large explosion in the direction of Jubai Lower OP was followed by the sound of small arms fire and a burst of radio chatter on David's PRC-117F. "...this is Gator 27, our lead vick just got hit with a VBIED [Vehicle Born Improvised Explosive Device, pronounced Vee-Bid] and we are under fire from the north. We need QRF [Quick Reaction Force] and any Air Assets ASAP. I say again, Gator Main this is Gator 27, our lead vick..."

BOOM!

Whatever else Gator 27 had to say on the subject was rendered undecipherable to David by the sound and shock wave of a much closer explosion about one hundred feet away. Knocked from his feet, blinded and deafened David noticed a few things at the same time once his vision returned.