Champions Vol. 01

Popping the quick releases on his rucksack, he shouldered his rifle and crawled to a nearby rock that would give him some cover, while still allowing him to fire safely past Doc and Mother. He settled the crosshairs of his 4x32 Trijicon ACOG® on the spot where the ANA PSD were popping out of cover behind a boulder the size of a delivery van to take pot shots at his teammates. David steadied his breathing.

Bang.

The report of his rifle was barely discernible to his ringing ears, but the spray of pink mist from behind the rock face was all the confirmation that he needed. His single shot had done its job.

"Doc, Mother and I got this. Get your ass down the trail and check on the rest. Tongue-punch and Pappy ain't moving, and I didn't get eyes on the captain before I decided to bail your asses out." He could barely hear himself, but the soreness in his throat told him that he was screaming his voice to hoarseness to get Doc's attention.

Doc ducked down behind the rock he was using for cover, and yelled something back to David.

"I can't hear shit Doc. Just get moving and do what you can."

Doc called out in the direction of Mother, who nodded his head emphatically and pointed back towards the rest of the team. Nodding in agreement, Doc shouted something to Mother then sprinted from cover to cover back up the trail towards the fallen members of the team while Mother lay down suppressing fire for his move. As soon as Doc cleared his position David added his own contribution to the suppression.

Once his first mag was empty, David reloaded from his vest while he scanned his field of fire for targets, but apparently no more of the PSD were willing to risk his and Mother's fire at the moment. Keeping his rifle shouldered, David moved from cover to cover, closing the distance to Mother's position. Stopping at the best cover he could find near his teammate, he dropped down and clenched his jaw a few times, trying to pop his ear-drums and clear the ringing.

"You with me Kenny?" David could barely hear Mother shouting to him.

"Yeah man, I'm back in the fight. Hearing is still a little fucked up. Kinda wished I had the boss's fancy ass Peltor™ ear pro right now. But, then again, it might make it easier to ignore what your sorry ass is nagging me about from now on."

"Fuck you and your bitching. Your narcoleptic ass was napping the day away while Doc and I were keeping these assholes from interrupting your beauty sleep," Mother said with relief in his voice. The harsh edge of worry crept into his tone with his next statement, "I couldn't get you, Captain Epps, Bragg, or England on comms after it went down. How are they?"

"I don't know Mother," David replied, shaking his head. "Tongue and Pappy are down, and I didn't see Hollywood on the trail before I came here. You know Doc will sort them out if he can, what's the story with these assholes?"

Mother grimaced in anger. "Captain Motherfucker and his PSD opened fire on us and your observers as soon as the donkey pulled a Wile E. Coyote. Your guys went down fast, but they gave us a second to get in cover and return fire. After that the PSD and the captain ducked back around that large boulder where the trail curves around, and started popping out and shooting. I got one earlier, and either you or Doc got a second one."

As Mother finished explaining the situation he turned and looked back up the trail, so David turned his head to see what had caught Mother's attention. Epps came sliding into cover beside him, carrying Pappy's Mk 48. "Pappy is down and in bad shape, but Doc is doing what he can. Sergeant First Class Bragg is dead," Epps announced with barely restrained rage in his voice. "Mother, keep a close eye on that rock. Put a round in anything that even looks like it might have hostile intent, Kenny and I are going to clear these fuckers out and find an LZ for medevac." After this announcement he turned to David and said, "You're on the clock Kenny, move out."

The bounding overwatch is one of the most basic tactics in the Army arsenal. It is so simple it could easily be compared to a child's game of leapfrog. But in its simplicity lay a symphony of precision, where all extraneous movement is discarded, leaving efficiency born of repeated practice. Had the PSD been brave enough to even try firing at either David or Epps moving forms, they would have had little more than a second or two to acquire them as targets before the American soldiers were back under cover. Meanwhile the target's two pissed off and lethally armed compatriots were set and prepared to return fire in an instant. Taking turns, Epps and David moved from cover to cover; kneeling, crouching, or lying prone behind any rock big enough to serve the purpose. They covered the nearly 100 meters from Mother's firing position to the bend in the trail defended by the PSD in less than two minutes.

Stopping at the last patch of cover big enough to deserve the name, David signaled to Epps that he was set. As Epps moved up to David's position, he knelt down and aimed at the near edge of the boulder, giving his subordinate final attack guidance. "Kenny, I'm going to move into position on the near side of the boulder. Once I'm set, I want you to move up to my position, prime your frag, and toss it over the boulder to those assholes. Give it a half second after it pops, then step out high around the boulder. I'll go low, and we hose anything that's still moving, or even looks like it might move. Got it?"

David nodded his head in confirmation.

Captain Epps stalked forward smoothly, establishing a kneeling firing position next to the large boulder, and signaled David to move up. David crouch walked up to his patrol leader, lowering his rifle to hang from its clip, and pulled his M67 fragmentation grenade from the pouch on his vest. He thought about the regulations against soldiers "cooking" grenades [the practice of pulling the pin and releasing the spoon for a set length of time before throwing it] and then compared the time it would take for him to throw it over the boulder, and have an Afghan pick it up and throw it back. Fuck regs. He pulled the pin and released the spoon, cocking his arm back and started counting . . . one . . . two . . . and he threw it over the boulder.

Boom!

Before David had reached five the grenade had detonated, but he had enough time to return his hands to his M4 and shoulder it, prepared to fire. Taking two steps out, he swept left to right, identifying the bodies of two PSD laying at the edge of the boulder. These were the ones they had shot previously. Further down the trail about fifty feet he could see two more PSD crouched down from the grenade's detonation. They had apparently decided to make a run for it. David aimed center mass on the first target and fired twice rapidly, double-tapping his corrupt betraying ass in the chest. Before his second round had left his rifle's muzzle, Epps had opened up with the Mk 48, sending a burst of 7.62mm 'freedom' into both opportunistic jihadists.

David began visually scanning the back trail for the captain and his two adjutant soldiers. "There sir," David called out, pointing at a bend further down the trail. "About three hundred meters out and running fast down the trail."

Hollywood moved to the nearest appropriately sized rock, and popped out the front bipod legs on the LMG, resting them on his new shooting platform. Tucking in behind the Mk 48's 4x magnification scope, the captain steadied his breathing and prepared to engage a moving target at what was now over four hundred meters with something that was less than a precision sniping weapon. Breathing in and out, he questioned the morality of shooting a fleeing enemy in the back. Then he thought about Bragg's wife and two children back at Campbell, and how she was going to have to explain to them their daddy was never coming home from this trip.

Bang.

The Mk 48 bucked in Epps hands, and David watched as Captain Massood, the architect of this attack, fell down face first mid run.

"Check the bodies for any pocket litter that seems important Kenny, then get your ass back to us pronto. We need to get Pappy stabilized, on a stretcher, and lifted the fuck out of here ASAP, "said Epps with a tight voice. "Where is your radio, I need to call this in?"

"It's on my ruck, I dumped it to move up and support Doc and Mother."

"Alright, hop to it. We're burning daylight here," Hollywood responded, walking back along the trail.

Looking back toward where Massood's body lay, David couldn't see where the Afghan captain's two adjutant soldiers had gone. He wondered why Epps didn't bother engaging them as well, and then wondered if they even knew anything about what was going to happen today. Sighing, David stopped caring. If he saw them again they were dead men, but they weren't worth the effort right now. Moving to each of the slain PSD, he checked their pockets, vests, and packs for their cell phones and any paperwork that looked important. He found a bunch of useless trinkets and other crap, but only a few papers on one of them. Not surprising really, most Afghans can't read. Finishing up he walked back along the trail to where Mother had moved up to cover him.

"I grabbed everything that might be important, but the papers are probably just Afghan erotic literature. And you know they only use the cell phones to download porn," David griped to Lieutenant Hilliard as he walked past him.

"Naturally. Now get your rucksack on and get ready to move out. Captain Epps can't reach anyone on the radio and we can't get line of sight communications to lower Jubai or Able-Main from here. We need to move back along the trail until we can get someone on comms and figure out what the hell is going on," Mother passed along the situation report and his marching orders.

"What do you mean he can't reach anyone? We heard Gator 27 right before this whole shit show kicked off," David asked him, puzzled.

"No clue dude. But nobody's talking right now, and Pappy needs more help than Doc can give him. Standing here ain't getting it done."

"Roger that. Then let's get this done," David said. Pissing on about the unreliability of Army communications wasn't getting Pappy to the field hospital any faster, and that was the only thing that mattered now. He moved to his rucksack, and wrangled it back onto his shoulders. He had a passing thought about tossing any non-essential crap out of it to lighten the load, but he would have to dig through it to get to the MRE's and water he had packed in the middle, and there was not enough time for that. Turning to see if Doc needed help, he heard the zip of the first of many rounds pass by his left ear a millisecond before a powerful tug on his rucksack caused him to overbalance and fall backwards. Barely a second later he heard the cracka-cracka-cracka of an AK-47 firing a burst at his position. Turning his head toward the gunfire, he saw three insurgents taking up position on the high ground next to the trail leading toward the upper OP, where the mission was originally headed.

As David struggled to free himself from his rucksack so he could return fire, he watched two of the insurgents spray Doc with bursts of AK fire. David screamed in rage and denial as he was forced to watch while Doc was hit multiple times as he crouched over Pappy, trying to protect him. Epps shouldered the Mk 48 and unloaded a full ten second burst of 7.62mm hatred, screaming in anger at the enemy insurgents who had just stolen two more of his men from him. David could hear Mother returning fire from behind him on the trail. Finally freeing himself from his rucksack, he rolled over and crouched to run for the nearest cover. He wanted in this fight. He wanted payback for Doc, for Pappy, for Tongue-Punch, for every other soldier that these zealots had stolen from their families for no good damn reason.

Just as David spotted the cover he was looking for, he felt a sharp pain in his head and his body was thrown forward to the ground. But he never felt himself impact.

*** Chapter 3: Picking Up the Pieces ***

10????MAR13 LOCAL

Approximately 2.5KM SW of ANA Lower Observation Post (OP) Jubai, Kunar Province, Afghanistan

There was a rock poking him in the face.

Also, his scalp felt like a million angry fire ants were crawling through his hair and biting him. And his head was pounding worse than the most painful migraine he had ever had. But, yeah, at the moment the most significant thing he could think of was there was a rock poking him in the face.

Why was a rock poking him in the face?

David wracked his throbbing skull for the answer to this conundrum. He was on a mission...something bad happened...he took a nap?

That wasn't right.

He had gotten knocked out. Wile E. Coyote had attacked them with ACME TNT.

Nope, still wrong. His team didn't have the Roadrunner in it. Can't blame the bird though, there was no reason for the Roadrunner to be in Afghanistan. Wait a minute, Afghanistan! He was on mission in Afghanistan. The donkey, The Kid, THE IED!

David groaned as he rolled over to get away from the rock poking in his face, and cracked his eyes open. The light hurt his head even worse, but he needed to figure out what was going on. The first thing he saw was Mother, slumped over a rock ten feet away. As he continued to scan about he saw Hollywood, lying on his side, the Mk 48 on the ground in front of him. Further down the trail he saw Doc's body lying over Pappy's, where they had both died in the second surprise attack of the day.

David quickly turned his focus to the surrounding area. The three insurgents up the hill were still there, and they were definitely dead. Next, he checked the trails in both directions, but couldn't see movement either way. Finally, he looked down in the valley. It looked peaceful. A handful of Afghans were walking back and forth along the roads and amongst the fields, but there was nothing hurried or fearful about their movements. Moving his head with caution, he cast his gaze a little closer and saw a puddle of blood on the ground where he had landed earlier. Realizing he probably had a head wound, he crawled slowly to the nearest rock formation that would best cover his movements from the valley and further up the mountain. Once there he took off his gloves and gingerly removed helmet. Pulling out his signal mirror, he checked to see how bad the damage was.

His helmet had saved his life, or damn near taken it, depending on your interpretation. A high velocity round had clipped the edge of the helmet in the back, and had then deflected it around the inside surface. The round had burrowed a trail across half his helmet before lodging in the interior side wall. The Kevlar weave was torn and deformed on the edge where the round had slipped in, and had bulged out the right temple where its path had finally halted. Checking himself in the mirror David discovered a path of clotting blood in his hair.

Looking at his watch he realized it was almost noon, and nearly four hours had passed while he was knocked out. He hoped the clotting would take care of the wound, but he also knew head wounds bled the worst. So he decided to treat it just in case. Opening his Individual First Aid Kit (IFAK), he looked for materials to care for the wound. Tearing open the package of Quick Clot infused sterile gauze; he carefully wrapped it around his head and taped the ends once he was finished. Closing the IFAK pouch he then put his helmet back on. It wasn't comfortable, but it would keep the bandage in place. It also might end up saving his life again today.

Self-aid complete, he went to check on the bodies of his teammates. Mother was draped across the rock he had been using as cover. As David got closer he noticed that Mother had been shot in the throat. From the sizes of entrance and exit wounds he surmised that Mother had been shot through the back of the neck, exiting through the jugular by a high caliber rifle round. Looking at where and how his body lay, David realized that the round had come from the south eastern edge of the village, 500 to 600 meters away. Looking that direction he saw a few houses scattered about, and realized a second shooter, or group of shooters, had been watching their team from one of the houses the whole time.

Next he moved to Epps' body. The captain had been shot four times, once in each leg, once in his left arm, and lastly in his left shoulder. David checked for a pulse hopefully, but found none. Epps had bled out, unable to treat all four wounds on his own. David stared at the guts of Epps' IFAK strewn around his body, shame and rage welling within him. His captain had died alone, needing his help, while he lay unconscious and useless twenty feet away. Unwilling to look at Captain Epps' body any longer, David walked further down the trail to Doc and Pappy. Doc had multiple bullet wounds on his body, and David refused to count them all. He had died trying to save his teammate, but had failed. The burst of AK fire that killed him had also killed Pappy.

Walking another twenty feet further down the trail to the final member of the team, David saw the body of Sergeant First Class Bragg next to the body of the interpreter Khan. He realized the team's other interpreter for this mission, Haseeb, was missing. He hoped the man had run off during the fighting, but suspected he had been a part of it. David had never felt totally comfortable around any of the interpreters, but he hated working with Haseeb. The man always reminded him of a ferret.

Moving back to his rucksack, he keyed his radio's mike to see if anyone could hear him now, but the radio wouldn't key a signal. Thinking the battery may have died he opened his rucksack to inspect it, and saw that the first burst of AK fire that had just missed him had hit something. His radio had a bullet hole in it, and small broken bits of electronics had been blown out the back of it. Tossing his rucksack down in disgust, he unclipped his rifle from his vest, and pulled the sling from his pocket. His little custom rig for his rifle worked great for a Fires Observer, who needed both hands free to call fire missions, but would also have to drop everything in a second to be able to return fire. Unfortunately it meant his rifle always got in the way if he wasn't holding it; and right now he had work to do.

Slinging his rifle over his back, he reached down and grabbed Bragg by his rucksack shoulder straps. He had to drag the deceased NCO along nearly forty feet of rocky trail, but refused to stop until he was resting next to Epps. He wondered why he was now thinking of them by name, and not nickname. He realized that he never really liked the nicknames Tongue-Punch and Hollywood. They were the products of crassness and jealousy respectively. He reflected on this as he dragged Doc's, and then SSG England's bodies back as well. Doc was just Doc. No one called him Specialist Simmons. Finally David stood next to Lieutenant Hilliard's body. No, he was still Mother. He cared about everyone on the team, wanted to see everyone succeed, and protected his team with his life. He would always be Mother to David. Unhooking Mother's rucksack, he lifted his teammate into a fireman's carry. He refused to drag his friend through the Afghan dirt.

After laying his final teammate with the rest, he collected Mother's and Epps' rucksacks, setting them next to their motionless forms. Kneeling next to his fallen team he said a quick prayer, beseeching God to guide his friends to the next life and grant peace and comfort to their families. Then he wracked the patchwork pieces of his damaged brain to figure out a way out of this mess. Thinking deep thoughts was hard as hell when your head felt like it was being crushed in an industrial vice.