The warrior code, p.22
The Warrior Code, page 22
part #2 of Seal Strike Series
An orbit had been established one mile away. The Blackhawks would now shift to the role of emergency casualty evacuation and air gunnery support, should Jared need more than the two little birds to get the job done.
The young guerrilla leader sat watching in awe as the Americans appeared directly over his ten-man escort. He was even more surprised when he saw bodies sliding down ropes into the jungle only yards away from his position on the trail. They were after Chavez!
The Americans obviously found out about the linkup with Chavez and were here to kill or capture him. The patrol bringing Chavez couldn’t be far away. It was his duty to eliminate the threat and protect Chavez.
One hundred yards away, a nine-man protection team stared up at the helicopters in amazement; not one had his weapon at the ready. The young leader turned and whispered his battle instructions to the Colombians, directing them to protect Chavez. He directed six of his men to follow him up the path and quickly deploy around the curve of the trail.
Not far away, Chavez and his patrol stopped abruptly as the helicopters passed overhead. The drug lord glanced up and instantly recognized the aircraft for what they were: American special operations helicopters, MH-60 Blackhawks.
Were they after him, he wondered with alarm, or were they after the hostages? He suddenly realized that his sweet revenge could be thwarted by the arrival of the Americans. He was too close to let this happen.
Chavez owed it to his dead son to finish the job, to have final vengeance. He ordered the three men guarding him to follow him up the trail and toward the camp. One protested that it wasn’t safe, but Chavez wasn’t listening. In a minute he’d caught up with the leader of his detail, and he quickly gave him orders to advance and kill any Americans they found on the way to the camp.
The patrol leader nodded. He had some reservations about fighting the Americans. He gave the command for his men to follow quickly. Chavez and the ten guerrillas jogged down the trail with their weapons at the ready. They were only thirty yards from the bend in the trail.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
FARC Base Camp–Ariari River
Matt halted the four SEALs after they’d covered forty yards. He turned around and watched the two little birds spinning in orbit around the camp. One was hosing down everything that moved with a Squad Automatic Weapon or SAW light machine gun and the other was directly opposite in the orbit, selectively shooting key targets. It was textbook, and he second-guessed his decision to get far away from the camp.
He considered the odds JSOC would half-ass the assault and decided that wasn’t possible. His best bet was to stay close to the target area. That’s where all the surveillance and communications attention would be focused.
He looked at his GPS and found a landmark that was easy to find on the ground and in the air: a sharp bend in the jungle trail that paralleled the river. It was only sixty yards away, and they’d still be putting more distance between them and the camp.
Jungle insertion point - Colombia
When the hot blast of ripping lead screeched across the trail, the tail end of the FOXTROT’s Platoon formation had spun backward, immediately going to ground and returning fire. Chief Sampson’s troop was fully engaged and Jared had to make a decision. Fight here or pull back toward the target objective.
He decided to reinforce his second troop and gave the command. His troop jumped to their feet and ran to the right side of the firing line established by the second troop. Jared ran in behind them and made the call to the Blackhawks.
“CYCLOPS FOUR TWO - troops in contact - I say again TANGO INDIA CHARLIE - OVER.”
The pilot in command of the lead Blackhawk checked hi swatch. The SEALs were in trouble, and the two little birds would run out of ammo and fuel if the assault didn’t happen pretty damn quick.
“DAGGER TWO - give me your status. Do you need emergency evac? OVER.”
Jared didn’t have time for all the radio protocol. “We were hit in our six o’clock immediately after your departure. We have not advanced to the target. Standby.”
Jared paid attention to the fight. The attackers were backing off; they’d had enough for now. Chief Sampson called a ceasefire and the jungle went quiet, all except for the constant sound of gunfire back in the camp. Jared wasn’t going to waste any more time.
“Let’s go! We need to get to the camp, now!”
Chief Sampson grabbed two M-240B heavy machine gunners and pushed them into the point position. Jared approved. Everybody knew they were there now. Better to come in with their heavy guns forward. The men of FOXTROT Platoon started running down the trail.
Chavez screamed at the patrol leader. He was a coward, an idiot. But Chavez knew the call was the right one. A few more minutes and his entire protective team would have been wiped out. Chavez grabbed the unit leader by the lapel and growled new orders.
The man saluted, a gesture lost on the drug lord, and barked out instructions to the six men left who were capable of fighting. He formed them up into a file formation and began a wide fishhook movement back to the camp to avoid the Americans.
Chavez still had a chance. The Americans were on the trail and not in the camp. It was a race to see who would get to Alexander first. With the sunlight pouring through the trees it was easy to jog through the trees and bushes, eating up the two hundred or so yards to the perimeter of the camp. His fatigue had vanished; he was full of energy and determination. Time was still on his side.
The guerilla leader halted at the sound of the engagement ahead. He directed his men to melt into the jungle on the right side of the trail. They were only fifty yards from the bend in the trail, and a thousand crazy thoughts ran through his mind. Did the Americans ambush the patrol? Was Chavez alive or lying dead on the ground? He had to make a decision, but what was the best move to make?
The sound of men running made the decision for him. A patrol wouldn’t be running and certainly not with Chavez in tow. So far, his instincts have served him well. By pressing back into the jungle, he was in a perfect position to ambush the approaching men. He whispered instructions not to fire if they were friendly, but hit them hard if they weren’t.
The two machine gunners burst from the bend in the trail and kept running. Behind them were many American soldiers. The patrol leader said a prayer and raised his rifle. The burst of automatic fire caught the SEALs by surprise.
The two machine gunners from FOXTROT Platoon had been located on the far left of the kill zone when the ambush was sprung and didn’t get a scratch. They immediately hit the ground, firing into the trees.
Jared felt a hammer hit him in the left side, knocking him to his knees. He struggled to get flat on the ground while the rest of the platoon deployed in a skirmish line on the opposite side of the trail from the attackers and let loose a withering fire. Chief Sampson grabbed two riflemen and pushed out to the left of the ambushers, moving three to four feet into the jungle.
He trusted that the rest of the platoon saw his maneuver and were ready for what came next. Jared saw the chief swing out and started to remind his men to shift fire once the chief and his two riflemen opened up on the Colombian’s right flank. As he opened his mouth to give the order, he was struck in the neck.
One of the M-240B gunners also was hit and lying on his side. He took his belt of ammo and shoved it toward the other machine gunner, then he rolled over and kept firing until he lost consciousness.
The Colombians were located behind a four-foot-high ridge paralleling the trail. It was a great defensive position, elevated slightly above the path. However, once the Americans went to ground, most of the ambusher’s bullets flew high and over their heads. This little problem required the Colombians to stand up in order to aim down at the road where the platoon lay.
A few of the SEALs figured this out right away and began lobbing fragmentation grenades into the trees, aiming for the backside of the ridgeline. Several others picked off the Colombians whenever they stood up to take a shot.
The SEALs also were at a disadvantage. From the trail, they were unable to apply heavy, direct firepower on the ambushers, at least not without standing up themselves.
The platoon’s 18 Delta corpsman crawled to the wounded M-240B gunner, who was close at hand. The wound wasn’t life-threatening, and with a minim of prompting, the SEAL regained consciousness. He pushed the corpsman away and opened fire. The two belt-fed weapons were critical in a firefight, and this firefight wasn’t going their way, at least not yet.
On the flank, Chief Sampson took a deep breath and opened fire. The entire ambush was only sixty seconds old; but to him, it felt like an hour had gone by. The three SEALs advanced at a walk, their bullets finding the prone bodies of the guerillas as they cowered behind the dirt ridge. No one even tried to fire back.
The rest of the platoon heard the chief open up and they shifted their fire to the right. The two SEALs closest to the chief crawled on their bellies up to the dirt ridge and tossed frag grenades on the other side.
A few seconds later, the guerillas broke, running back toward the camp through the jungle. The chief continued his sweep through the ambusher’s position and yelled for the rest of his platoon to cease fire.
The pop, pop sound of the chief finishing off the few guerillas still moving echoed through the now still jungle. The chief held up his hand and the two riflemen stopped firing. It was over. Chief Sampson walked straight out to the road announcing his intention.
“COMING OUT!”
“COME OUT!” several men replied, completing the standard communications drill.
When the chief stepped out onto the trail, he took a quick inventory. The machine gunner on his left had passed out again. The other machine gunner was oriented down the trail looking toward the camp and holding security. The chief became irritated that no one was working on the wounded machine gunner. He turned his gaze to the right and spotted the reason.
Jared was on his back. The corpsman had removed his combat vest and body armor to get access to the wound in the lieutenant’s side. Another SEAL was trying to apply pressure on the neck wound, but there was so much blood it didn’t seem to be working.
The chief snapped out of his momentary fog and looked around the trail. His men were deployed appropriately. He had three hundred and sixty-degree coverage, but he knew they couldn’t stay there.
Sampson walked up to Jared and kneeled down. The lieutenant’s eyes were wide open and afraid. The chief looked at the corpsman, who had just finished examining the wound in Jared’s side.
“Chief, if we don’t get him to surgery, he’ll die. We need a casualty evac bird in here now!”
Chief Sampson nodded. He looked at Jared again. The officer grabbed his chief with his left hand and pulled him closer. Then he raised his right hand and pointed in the direction of the guerilla camp. His eyes said it all. Continue the mission, save the hostages.
Chief Sampson removed Jared’s hand and stood up. “Roger that, sir! You get better, you hear me? I’ll have no quitters in this platoon.”
Jared began to smile, but the smile faded before it was fully formed. Jared Stone, United States Navy, was dead.
Matt hit the ground when the crazy firefight erupted sixty or so yards in front of them. Bullets ripped through the trees all around them. The shooting went on forever, and all Matt and his patrol could do was hug the jungle floor and hope nobody started lobbing heavy stuff their way.
After two minutes, the engagement petered out. A few pops here and there indicated someone was cleaning up the opposing unit.
“That’s five five six ammo, LT,” Boone whispered. The goons use seven six two in their AKs.”
“The guys in camp were carrying all kinds of different weapons; there’s no way to know for sure if the survivors of that fight were friendlies or not,” Oby countered.
Matt pulled the UHF radio from his vest. “CYCLOPS FOUR TWO - this is DAGGER ONE - interrogative - do we have blue forces on the ground? OVER.”
“DAGGER ONE - this is CYCLOPS FOUR ONE - that is affirmative. They just called in the two little birds for an emergency CASEVAC. One KIA and one WIA - OVER.”
Chapter Forty
Matt considered the ramifications of what he heard. Were the engaged Americans the rescue force? If so, were they still an effective fighting unit? Were they at least capable of continuing the mission?
“Guys, I’m going to try and link up with the American unit that was just engaged. They have one KIA and one WIA. The little birds are breaking off their attack and heading to the place where the fight happened. Once I get a communications relay between us and their officer in charge, we’ll be moving to link up with that unit. Any questions?”
Nobody had any questions, so Matt called the airborne command post again and worked with them to coordinate a linkup. The last thing he wanted was to surprise a unit that just lost men and start a blue on blue engagement in the jungle. It was hard enough to tell friend from foe as it was.
A minute later a new voice erupted on the UHF radio. “DAGGER ONE - this is DAGGER TWO. What is your current position? OVER.”
“We are fifty to sixty yards from the attack site. We’ll be coming in on a bearing of two four seven degrees. Three frogs and one rescued frog hostage - OVER.”
“Roger that. I’ll brief you on the situation when you get here. No need to patrol; just beat feet here and we’ll link up. It’ll be a regular frogman reunion.”
Matt realized the casualties were team guys, maybe even people he knew. It was great that SEALs were the rescue force, but one was dead and one wounded. He passed the linkup information to Oby, Boone, and Auger, then directed Oby to move out on the bearing he’d given the rescue force leader.
Oby pushed hard, and before long the four SEALs were close enough to hear people talking. Matt signaled for Oby to stop and he went down to one knee.
“DAGGER TWO - this is DAGGER ONE - we are twenty yards from your position. Sending my point man forward - he’ll be whistling - OVER.”
Chief Sampson had just finished briefing the little birds for the emergency CASEVAC. The Blackhawks were racing in from their off-target orbit to pick up the aerial gunnery support role ceased by the smaller helicopters. He almost forgot to switch back to the linkup frequency. As he did, he heard enough of DAGGER ONE’s callout to understand.
“DAGGER ONE - this is DAGGER TWO. Understood - go ahead and send your point man forward.”
Chief Sampson heard the roaring sound of the Blackhawks as they arrived on station over the camp. His men were in a defensive circle with the casualties in the center. He walked around the circle briefing each man on the CASEVAC plan and on the linkup. When he was finished with that, he positioned himself on the edge of the jungle and waited.
He saw Oby before he heard the whistling. The chief waited patiently until he clearly saw four men, three heavily armed and one who was not, exiting the trees.
The Colombian watched the Americans step out onto the trail and embrace the man waiting for them. He immediately recognized the prisoner. Where was the tall American?
He’d held his men back during the firefight to make sure he knew what was going on. They’d snuck forward a few yards at a time until they were able to barely see the Americans as they finished off the survivors of what he assumed was the escort patrol. Was Chavez dead?
He wasn’t afraid of dying, but he didn’t know if fighting here was the best choice. His welcoming committee crouched behind him, some with concern etched across their faces and others showing grim determination. That was the problem; his group was a mixed lot, good fighters with experience and others who had never faced fear in combat.
The sound of a helicopter came closer and closer until he spotted the small aircraft hovering over the trail. He wasn’t sure what the Americans were up to, but he’d made a decision.
The camp commander needed to know what happened here. He also needed to be aware that Chavez might be dead. The patrol leader moved back and his men followed suit. They would fight these intruders, but not now and not here.
Matt surveyed the perimeter and took a knee next to the SEAL chief. “I’m Matt Barrett. This is Oby, Boone, and Senior Chief Auger. We were able to snatch him after the guerillas moved the general into the center of camp.”
The little bird arriving drowned out the chief’s response. He held up a finger to pause the conversation, then moved over to the center of the defensive circle. As briefed, the SEALs stretched the circle out to twice the diameter to allow for the little bird to land. There wasn’t really enough room, but the slow descent allowed the titanium blades to cut a path down to the trail.
FOXTROT’s sniper jumped out of one side and the army SAW gunner exited the other side of the helicopter. Sampson directed his men to place Jared’s body and that of the wounded machine gunner into the aircraft. They strapped them down and gave the pilot a thumbs-up. The bird rose into the air, pivoted, and darted away.
The second helicopter appeared, acting like a hummingbird as it flitted around looking for a good place to land. Sampson waved and pointed to where the first one had landed, and the pilot pushed the stick to center his aircraft over the spot. It repeated the crude landscaping exercise as it landed. Cutting more of the tree branches and leaves on either side of the trail.
The second FOXTROT sniper and door gunner exited the little bird and joined the SEALs on the ground. Sampson gave the okay signal, and the pilot rose up into the air. It spun around one hundred and eighty degrees then took off to join its partner, already en route to the DEA refueling camp.
Matt took a head count. FOXTROT was down two shooters, but they’d gained two armies SAW gunners. Adding Matt’s recon team brought their strength up to nineteen men and Senior Chief Auger, who wasn’t armed and didn’t have body armor.
