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They had miscalculated, thinking they were safe sitting on the Pakistani side of the border. Once again they had underestimated their enemy. They thought America lacked the courage and resolve to take them on. They were bullies and thugs blinded by their misguided righteousness. War was the only thing that would ever dissuade them of their ways, and they'd picked a fight with the wrong enemy.
THE FIRST60MMmortar shell came inbound, its high-pitched, ominous whistle giving anyone experienced enough in battle a second or two to find cover. Corrigan was one such man and he got small quick, hitting the ground and curling up in a ball. The Ranger mortar teams were good, but until they were zeroed in on a target anything could happen. Fire support and close air support were the number one cause of fratricide amongst American forces.
Thankfully the shell exploded three full blocks away. There was a brief pause followed by the cry of a second round on its way in. This explosion was a bit closer and was followed a few seconds later by yet another one. Corrigan raised himself up to one knee and looked out the window in time to see the light show swing into full gear. The mortar teams were zeroed in and were bracketing his position with lethal indirect fire.
For the briefest of moments the sergeant felt sorry for the men on the receiving end of the barrage. War was infinitely unpleasant with all of its hardships and death and mayhem, but to a foot soldier, there were few things more frightening than being shelled. The entire method of indirect fire was frustrating. Someone who was far away, too far away to shoot back at, was dropping high explosives on your position. With no way to fight back, your instinct for survival kicked in and your brain told you to run.
There was only one problem, however. If you tried to run you'd almost certainly get cut to shreds by shrapnel, if not pulverized by a direct hit, so you were left to wrestle with one of your strongest survival instincts. You had to learn to ignore and override thousands of years of human evolution and stay right where you were. If possible, you had to try to squeeze your body into some depression or behind a heavy object. Crawl if you must, but never stand up and run.
Corrigan saw a muzzle flash across the street and down a ways. He shouldered his rifle and looked through his night vision sight. The scope was able to pierce the shadows just enough to catch some movement, and he let loose with a three-round burst, knowing that the guy on the receiving end was either dead or seriously wounded. Not wanting the same thing to happen to him, Corrigan moved to the other side of the window.
Over the rooftop of the building across the street the sky was alight with strobelike flashes from the mortar barrage that was hitting the southern edge of town. Between the explosions he could make out the building staccato of gunfire that meant the Rangers were joining the battle.
Corrigan relaxed just a notch, taking comfort that things were proceeding as planned. Then his momentary relief vanished when he heard one of his men let loose with a string of expletives. The sergeant craned his neck skyward to look up at the ceiling. The swearing didn't sound like it had come from inside the house and he thought he recognized the voice. "Brian," he called out over his radio, "what's going on up there?"
The reply came back as a torrent of profanity that ended with the dreaded phrase, "I'm hit."
Before Corrigan could respond, Danny Goblish, one of the two medics that was with the team said, "I'm on it, Cor."
"How serious is it?"
"Direct hit to the shoulder. I'll know more in a minute."
"Roger. Keep me in the loop." Corrigan took a sip of water from his camel pack and walked back to the front door.
"Hey, boss, it's Lou."
"What's up?" asked Corrigan.
"I think one of these tangos was trying to get at a trap door in the floor before I pasted him."
Corrigan frowned, momentarily wondering if any of these houses were connected by tunnel. That could be a pr
oblem. "I'll be right there."
The master sergeant looked at the other troopers in the front room. All three of them flashed him the thumbs up sign. "I'll be back in a minute," he snapped, as he headed down the dark hallway.
* * *
Thirteen
Rapp watched as the rifle teams moved into the city, leapfrogging their way from one building to the next. The forty-two Rangers that made up the first platoon were in the middle, out in front of the other two platoons. Their mission was to head straight for Rattle Snake One's position and secure a perimeter. In the process they were also supposed to secure a two-block corridor from the target house to the southern edge of the village. The other two platoons were to act as flanking forces driving just one block into the village and then digging in. Each platoon had one squad in reserve to use as a reaction force if a particular area of the battle got too hot, but ideally the mortar teams would take care of any stiff resistance.
The first sign of an exodus was reported by the Apache pilot as he made a quick pass over the northern edge of the town. Men were seen moving on foot for the mountain pass. Rapp checked one of his monitors, and could just make out the shapes of people walking up a trail. As he looked at the streets of the village he counted another dozen or so individuals making their way toward the mountains. The general's prediction was proving true.
Rapp watched his monitor as the lead element of the Ranger force cut through the village with little trouble. It took them no more than two minutes to reach Rattle Snake One's position, where they quickly set up a perimeter. Rapp smiled with satisfaction. If things stayed on course, they would begin evacuating the prisoners shortly.
Individual units began reporting in that their sectors were secure, and as the enemy resistance began to fade, the exodus for the mountains gained momentum. Rapp was caught slightly off guard when he heard himself referenced over the command net. It was Master Sergeant Corrigan talking to General Harley.
"Eagle Six Rattle Snake One here. We've found something down here that I think our visitor might want to take a look at."
General Harley looked at Rapp and asked, "What've you got, Rattle Snake?"
"We found a room under the house. A couple of computers, a lot of videos, some files, and a couple of maps."
General Harley was surprised by none of this. They almost always found stuff on these raids. As to why the master sergeant thought Rapp would want to take a look, he was not sure. "Why would our visitor be interested in what you've found?"
Corrigan's answer caused Harley and Rapp to exchange nervous glances. "Say again, Rattle Snake."