The long november, p.5
The Long November, page 5
With a toddler in hand, the troubled face of the first woman in the tense gathering was right inside the main gate. The young mother peered at the confusing world in front of her, unable to make out much. Finally, all was ready. With the last of the combat equipment in each helicopter removed, the order was given. Infants cradled in their arms or small children and their older siblings in tow, the struggling assembly started walking in single file along the outside of the staid facility’s high western facade. With the exception of a dozen or so crying infants, silence was the order of the day. Each moved as rapidly as the conditions would allow. One by one, the furtive figures headed for the King Stallions. Gray’s heavily armed team took up strategic positions around the hurrying women and children. As each helicopter’s engines roared to life, the hundreds of departing evacuees rushed through the threatening world and scurried up the rear ramps. With a mixture of absolute relief and lingering concern, they settled in for the dismaying ride across the fearful landscape.
Freedom awaited. If all went as planned, in little more than a day, even those from the most distant of countries would be back on their native soil. Hopefully, in scarcely more than a handful of worrisome dawns, the husbands and fathers they’d left behind would join them.
Four hours from now, with the oppressive darkness and unrelenting gray still seizing the early morning, all six whirling aircraft would return with their holds filled with thousands of pounds of food and water. Every helicopter’s second load of critical cargo frantically emptied, they would grab another four hundred and roar away. The first eight hundred would be gone by the time the initial hours of November’s gloom disappeared.
As they ended their second scrambling run, the primal hints of the coming dawn would be upon the lumbering helicopters.
It would be far too late for another restive sprint into Pakistan’s life-consuming strife before the sun’s betraying rays fully appeared. While the impatient King Stallion crews waited at Spinager for night to fall again, the CH-53Ks would be filled with more supplies for those remaining in Islamabad. When the faltering day’s light finally relinquished its grip, the Americans would begin the rescue process anew. They wouldn’t stop as long as darkness masked their efforts.
Even with a nearly moonless world in a twinkling black sky to conceal them, the helicopters’ swift flights would be filled with risk as they roared into a vicious whirlwind. None could foretell what fates awaited their brash missions to swoop in and save thousands from the heartless extremists’ swords. Yet, if all went as planned, in days—a week on the outside—the last of the trapped evacuees would abandon the beset city. Their mission complete, Erickson’s surviving Marines, the final Americans remaining in Islamabad, would make their escape on the same King Stallions that had ferried them into harm’s way on this foreboding night.
The loading of the women and children complete, the lead helicopter, filled with grateful beings, slowly rose into the air. Five others soon followed.
In seconds, they disappeared.
6
1:41 A.M., NOVEMBER 1
ALPHA COMPANY, 3RD BATTALION, 6TH MARINE REGIMENT, 2ND MARINE DIVISION
UNITED STATES EMBASSY
ISLAMABAD, PAKISTAN
While the earnest six rushed away, Erickson took a final look at the last of his gathered men. Satisfied that everything was ready, he spoke into his headset. “All right, 1st and 2nd Platoons, move out.”
Ever alert, Ambrose’s most trusted four-man fire team, the company’s lead scouts, started west down the constricted roadway south of the embassy. The fearsome team consisted of two Marines holding M4 assault rifles, a third with an M4 equipped with a grenade launcher, and a final member cradling a .30-caliber light machine gun.
The entire formation would head in this direction for half a mile. The trudging Americans would then turn right onto Constitution Avenue, the primary boulevard in the northeast portion of Islamabad. They’d remain there for the bulk of the harrowing pilgrimage. On the broad roadway they’d be out in the open for over twenty minutes of the quest.
On their right, for the initial portion of the northern march, they’d be passing the deserted embassies of those retreating to the protection of the American defenses. To their left, a few hundred yards distant, would be a line of ghostly government buildings of various shapes and sizes. There could be no denying the threat those structures posed. Under normal circumstances, each would have been a perfect ambush spot. The potential for a fierce attack on this spanning section of the roadway was unmistakable. Still, it couldn’t be helped. This was the most direct route to the Marines’ destination. Even if highly hazardous, there wasn’t time for anything but a bold advance down the swiftest passage to the hotel. They’d be risking their lives every step of the northern journey. Nonetheless, it was a gamble Erickson had to take.
Despite the company commander’s concerns, they’d received a significant stroke of good fortune. Even with the betraying sounds from the Humvees’ engines, the ground-hugging clouds that swallowed whole the world around them would help to conceal their size and location. While the Marines’ night vision equipment would aid their efforts, their far less sophisticated opponent would have no such advantage. The struggling insurgents would only be able to see for the scant distances the crippling conditions would allow. In order to engage the Americans in the flickering, fire-shaded darkness the fanatics would have little choice but to brave the open areas closer to the imposing roadway. The fight, should it come, would be up close and personal if the dogmatists hoped to prevail. With the oncoming platoons’ superior equipment and advanced technology, any such attempt would be identified and negated long before the jihadists got within a few hundred yards of the convoy.
Even so, the vaunted rescue party had every right to be apprehensive. What the platoons would encounter, they hadn’t a clue. The entire length of their fitful venture could be quiet and uneventful. Or multitudes of swarming insurgents could be waiting.
If Erickson’s unit was successful in traversing the open boulevard, as they neared their journey’s end they’d turn left onto Aga Kahn Road and head west once again. In one thousand feet, they’d reach the entrance to the hotel.
Satisfied that the point element was far enough away, Ambrose signaled for the remainder of his platoon to follow. With the lead fire team thirty yards ahead of them, the spreading procession started to move. Six on each side, evenly spaced throughout the formation, the Humvees crept forward. All but two of the small combat vehicles were armed with powerful .50-caliber machine guns. The remaining Humvee pair carried TOW antitank weapons.
They didn’t anticipate a significant armored threat appearing. Yet it was better to be safe than sorry. The Fedayeen Islam’s conquests had included seizing over one hundred top-of-the-line Al-Khalid tanks and a generous number of armored personnel carriers. Where those armored forces might be, the Americans were unaware. In case the absolute worst were to happen, the Marines would need the protection of the tank-killing TOWs.
At a highly aggressive pace, Erickson’s remaining men began walking down the narrow street. Every Marine was on edge. All knew the next halting breath, the next stilted movement, could be his last. The fearful sounds of gunfire were much too near. The disconcerting, fog-hewn blazes raging throughout the city provided an ominous backdrop none of the rescuers could ignore.
They had to hurry. They also needed to make no mistakes. Step by furious step, the Marines undertook the steadfast mission. Thirty inches at a time, the sodden pavement passed beneath their feet. In minutes, still unchallenged, the vigilant Americans turned right onto Constitution Avenue. So far, things were proceeding exactly as planned. Even so, their bile rose as they entered the wide boulevard. Rifles and machine guns at the ready, they continued on, steadily eclipsing the abandoned embassies’ ghostly images. So far, they’d encountered no one.
Forward, ever forward, the slow-moving vehicles and persistent boots moved. Ten endless minutes passed for the wary assembly. The lead elements were one-third of the way to the Marriott. Not a single Marine could deny that things were going far better than any had anticipated. Yet suddenly, to no one’s surprise, the grievous stakes were about to be raised.
Corporal Genovese, the company radio operator, rushed up to walk next to Erickson. “Sir, we just got word. The hotel’s under attack.”
Erickson stopped dead in his tracks, the words sinking in. “How bad is it?”
“Bad enough. The British are fully engaged with a significant number of insurgents hitting them on both the northern and western ends of the facility. The hostiles are presently attempting a flanking movement to encircle the defenders and break through to the Marriott’s main entrance. There’s complete chaos both inside and outside the hotel. The moment the fighting began, a number of evacuees panicked and tried to escape. Those who elected to run were gunned down by the attackers. The sergeant in charge of the British forces believes at least fifty men, women, and children are dead or severely wounded. There’s flowing blood and dead bodies everywhere he looks.”
“Did he give any indication of what they’re up against?”
“He estimated the attacking force his thirty men are facing numbers at least three hundred and could easily be twice that. More are arriving every minute. So far the Fedayeen assault has involved only small-arms fire, but that could change at any moment. The British detachment has three dead and twice as many wounded. Every second things are growing more desperate. They’re uncertain how much longer they can hold on against such overwhelming odds. They’re requesting immediate assistance.”
Erickson responded without giving it a second thought: “Relay to the British that we’re on our way.”
7
1:51 A.M., NOVEMBER 1
ALPHA COMPANY, 3RD BATTALION, 6TH MARINE REGIMENT, 2ND MARINE DIVISION
ON CONSTITUTION AVENUE
ISLAMABAD, PAKISTAN
Erickson would have to risk it all to reinforce the British detachment. There was only one way to do so. Even on the run, weighed down by their weapons and equipment, it would take the Marines on foot too long to arrive on the scene.
He’d scant minutes to change the outcome of the assailed hotel’s one-sided battle. He knew he couldn’t wait for those on the ground. He’d have to split his force. The Marine captain keyed his headset. “Change of plans,” he said, trying to sound as calm as possible. “The Marriott’s under attack. Without immediate action, we’re going to be too late. Humvees are to leave the formation, rush to the hotel, and reinforce the British. I’ll lead the assault. We need to be there in three minutes, no more. Two would be even better. The rest of you are to begin double-timing toward the hotel. Lieutenant Ambrose, take charge of those on foot.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” was Ambrose’s response. “First and 2nd Platoons double time,” the lieutenant ordered. The men on the ground, all in magnificent shape, began running through the tortured landscape.
Erickson turned toward the nearest Humvee, identifying which fire team it carried. “Sergeant Zepeda, have one of your men exit the vehicle to make room for me.”
“Yes, sir.”
In seconds, Erickson was inside the Humvee and racing toward the front of the formation. The five vehicles behind his rushed to join them. Those ahead picked up speed. All twelve quickly reached the front of the extended force.
The moment they were free of those on foot, the company commander was back on his headset. “Humvees forward,” he ordered.
A dozen well-armed vehicles raced away, disappearing into the swirling haze.
“Sergeant Mayfield,” Erickson said. “You’re team’s got point. I want you to take a position fifty meters in front of the rest.”
“We’re on it,” Mayfield responded as his driver pulled farther ahead of the trailing convoy. “How fast do you want us to proceed, sir?”
Erickson knew their counterattack would need to be undertaken on a murderous razor’s edge. In the middle of the fiery city’s disarray, they’d have to maintain an accelerated pace, bordering on suicidal, if their frantic efforts were to stand any chance. It was a huge gamble in so tenuous an environment. But there were far too many lives at stake to consider any other alternative. “Take her up to forty and leave her there.” A pedestrian speed under normal circumstances, but—given the blanketing fog and possibility of a waiting enemy force—it was an exceptionally precarious one.
“Will do, sir.”
The lead Humvee surged forward. The rest of the desperate procession did the same.
The furious twelve plunged deeper into the leaden world. They soared down the broad boulevard. In little time they were charging past the first of the Pakistani government buildings. The damp asphalt spun beneath their wheels. Yet to those in the surging vehicles it felt as if they were standing still as they sprinted through the engulfing night. In the suffocating conditions, each yard of passing pavement was identical to the one prior and the next to come. Every languishing cloud bank was the same as the ones they’d previously endured.
The initial minute elapsed without incident for the speeding Humvees. It felt much, much longer. Every tick of the clock was a tortured eternity in their riotous attempt to reach those in need of their assistance. One kilometer remained. As the Marines hurried forward, chewing up the distance, Erickson’s confidence grew. Little could he anticipate that their peril-filled venture was about to take another turn.
“Sir, we’ve got extensive movement ahead!” Mayfield suddenly cried out. “I’m picking up a number of images headed this direction. They definitely appear to be armed.”
“In vehicles or on foot?”
“On foot. No sign of any vehicles.”
“Where?”
“Ten o’clock, right past the final government building on the left. They’re about thirty yards from that scattering of trees next to the roadway. I’d estimate they’re no more than about three hundred meters from my Humvee. They’ve got to be hostiles.”
The relentless invaders’ forward elements had chosen this moment to find their way into this portion of the city. At their present speed, in twenty seconds the Humvees would reach the oncoming enemy. Through his night vision, Erickson scanned the morbid landscape in the direction Mayfield had indicated.
“Roger, I’ve got them,” the Marine leader said. “Got to be at least fifty, maybe more. Everyone cut your speed to ten miles an hour while we get organized.”
The Humvees slowed to a crawl. Erickson knew doing so would chew up painful seconds on an exceptionally critical clock. Nonetheless, it couldn’t be helped if the Marines were going to survive to reach the struggling British. Even though he recognized the delay could cost additional suffering at the besieged Marriott, it was far better for his Humvees to be a minute late than to not arrive at all.
“We’ve spotted another group, even larger, moving through the open field beyond the first formation,” Mayfield added. “What’re your orders, sir?”
“Can you identify if any are carrying RPGs?”
Erickson understood the biggest threat to his nimble teams’ swift vehicles would be the existence of shoulder-fired rocket-propelled grenades. The ability of an RPG to destroy a Humvee and kill all inside had been documented far too often in the decades of war in the Middle East.
“Can’t tell for sure, sir,” Mayfield said. “None of my guys have spotted anything but automatic rifles in either group. But in the darkness and fog, our observations are not much more than a guess.”
The danger to his force was unmistakable. If the enemy had a significant number of RPGs, the entire formation could be destroyed. They might all die in the coming moments without ever coming near the hotel. Under normal circumstances, prudence and restraint would’ve been the correct approach. They’d have fallen back and identified precisely what they faced before deciding upon the appropriate action.
But their commander never gave such an approach the slightest consideration. Once more, he had little choice. The consequences of a further delay were beyond anything he wished to contemplate. Four thousand lives were going to be lost if his Marines didn’t soon appear on Aga Khan Road. They needed to intercede in the assault on the Marriott. They needed to do so now.
There’d be no hesitation. His Marines would attack with blinding speed. Their maniacal response would, by necessity, be filled with bravado and a great deal of on-the-spot ingenuity. Exactly the kind of thing Marines throughout history had been exceptional at executing.
To succeed, he’d have to split his force further. Erickson knew there’d be no opportunity for the entire formation of Humvees to confront and destroy the oncoming jihadists if they were going to make it to the hotel in the brief moments remaining. With an ever-increasing, depraved force nearing the roadway, even if they prevailed in the impending conflict, it would take far too long to eliminate the threat. It was possible they’d get pinned down in a protracted struggle from which they couldn’t extricate themselves as the horrifying minutes passed. An hour from now, the unrelenting fray might still be underway. If that happened, they’d be much too late in reaching those in desperate need of assistance.
When they arrived at the hotel, an unutterable scene would welcome them. Their delayed appearance would be greeted by the haunting silence of uncountable corpses. All four thousand would have perished in the most hideous of manners. A surging sea of fresh blood would wash over the Marines, drowning them in its essence. The hotel’s vast fires would be roaring. The lingering imprint of death’s gnarled hand would be everywhere.
