Over There fanfic: Operation "Charlie Foxtrot" Part 4
Here's the latest for Sergeant Scream and company.
Operation "Charlie Foxtrot"
Part 4
***
Al-Musharraf Neighborhood
0550 hours, local time
Sergeant Silas tensed as he began lifting the house's cellar door, but stopped when his tactical radio earpiece buzzed.
"Rawhide Six Actual to all Rawhide elements! We've flushed the assholes out! Driving six men in civilian clothes and armed with five AK's and an RPG toward Rawhide One's position! Everyone get into your "A" game!"
"Those insurgents comin' our way?" PFC "Angel" King asked, casting his squad leader a sideways glance.
"Yeah. They're on the run," Scream replied. "Smoke'll open up on them soon as they get into range. We have enough guns in the street. Just you two make sure we don't get flanked when we close the bag. I'll clear this cellar and then we can get down to business."
***
Random pops of small arms fire echoed along the street as Smoke, Mrs. B and Doublewide crouched behind the upturned furniture barricade they used to reinforce the front wall of the Wakhar house for the ambush. One floor above, Doc and Tariq trained their rifle barrels down from the street facing windows, ready to shout when anything suspicious came into visual range.
"Jesus," Private Brenda Mitchell whispered. "I can't stand the waiting."
"Keep your eyes peeled," Smoke growled, locking back the cocking handle of his M-249 squad automatic weapon. "The shit'll hit the fan soon enough."
"Hey, Smoke!" Tariq yelled through the floorboards from the upper level of the house. "You got the prisoners under control? Seen anything?"
The Wakhars continued to struggle against the plastic flexicuffs that were binding their wrists and ankles, trying to call out and plead for mercy through the thick gags jammed into their mouths. The noises they made annoyed Smoke, who kept casting angry glares in their direction as he checked to make sure they weren't breaking loose.
"I'll shoot these fuckin' prisoners in about a second if they don't stop squirmin' and bitchin'!" Smoke yelled back. "The Sarge is still out back with Angel and Dim... and we ain't seen shit of these insurgents!"
Tariq was about to yell for Scream when he felt Doc tapping on his shoulder. "I see weapons," the medic said. "Looks like some bad guys gettin' sucked into our gauntlet."
"Guns up!" Tariq shouted down to Smoke. "They're in sight, about two hundred meters down the street to the east! Hold your fire till we can pin 'em all down and chew 'em up!"
"Get ready ladies," Smoke said to Doublewide and Mrs. B, snapping off the safety of his weapon. "Time to kill some camel jockeys..."
***
Scream turned his attention back to the cellar door after acknowledging Lt. "Underpants" Hunter's radio transmission. He took one fast glance at Angel and Dim, still hidden behind the cover of the house's back door and watching the alley for trouble. Then he reached for the door once more.
As the door lifted, the pressure of its weight on the spoon of the Syrians' grenade was released, and the explosive device's fuse started with a tinny, metallic ping.
Scream heard the soft sound under the door and immediately knew what it was. In the split second he had, he chose not to shout a warning to his squad mates. Instead, he released the cellar door, which fell with a hard thump back into its place, and then the sergeant tried to put some distance between himself and the eventual blast.
The Syrians had rigged the grenade to blow like a shaped charge, and when it detonated, it blew out the cellar door enough to tear it free of the hinges and throw it across the alley, where it gouged an oddly shaped impression in the opposite masonry wall. The force and concussion of the explosion hit Scream from behind like a forty-pound sledge hammer, throwing him face down into a pile of stone rubble.
Private "Dim" Dunphy poked his head around the house's door jamb, his ears ringing from the sound of the grenade cooking off, and spotted Scream lying face down in the dirt. He also saw two men with heads shrouded in dirty kefiyeh, storming out of the cellar with their AK-74 rifles at the ready and laden with knapsacks. He jabbed his elbow into Angel's back, hoping that his partner wasn't as disoriented as he was.
"Angel! Two unknowns are comin' outta the cellar, and the Sarge is down!" He turned to level the barrel of his rifle at the fleeing Syrian bombers but didn't fire because the men were already climbing over Scream's still form and picking their way through the smoky remains of the grenade burst.
"Stop 'em, Dim!" Angel said, his eardrums registering Dunphy's voice as if it were speaking through a long tube and barely intelligible. He twisted in his place to draw a bead with his own rifle on the Syrians, but found Dim hogging the available narrow space. "Jesus, Dim! I can't get turned around!"
Scream stirred, his head pounding hard and vision very dark from still being slightly unconscious. His mind registered nothing, except for Lieutenant Underpants' voice shouting in the earpieces of his radio. "Rawhide Six Actual to all units! Open fire! Fire at will!"
***
"You hear that, Smoke?" Mrs. B asked when she heard the muffled THUMP of the grenade cooking off in the alley behind the house. "I feel the floor shakin'..."
"The mortars supporting our platoon are probably throwin' the kitchen sink at these raghead fucks runnin' our way," Smoke replied. "Stay focused so we can wax us a few."
"Our guys are firing, Smoke!" Tariq called out from the second level. "What're we gonna do?"
"Scream's got the fuckin' radio, Tariq!" Smoke yelled through the floorboards, as he watched the insurgents racing down the street toward their position. "Let's just open fire! We can't hear the orders comin' from the El-Tee without the Sarge!"
Smoke broke into a sweat as he nervously twitched his trigger finger, sighting in on the insurgents who were zigzagging between parked cars and putting as much of the available cover between themselves and the Americans giving chase. They were smart to have chosen a much narrower street in the residential neighborhood to retreat along, since it forced the American soldiers in pursuit to follow on foot instead of their wide vehicles.
***
"Son of a bitch!" Lieutenant "Underpants" Hunter swore as he threw the handset of his tactical radio to the ground and fumed from his platoon command post, which was advancing just behind two of his rifle squads under the cover of the platoon's sniper team. "Where the fuck is Sergeant Silas?"
Sergeant 1st Class Murphy, the Platoon Sergeant under Lt. Hunter's command, shrugged as he cinched the straps tighter on his Kevlar armored vest, clutched his M-4 carbine, and prepared to break cover and follow the two squads chasing down the fleeing insurgents. "I dunno, sir. We're kinda busy chasing your bad guys, sir."
"I don't have time for this bullshit, Murphy!" Underpants shouted. "I don't hear American weapons firing from in front of those bastards! We can't cut 'em down if First Squad isn't engaged! Find Silas!" The lieutenant retrieved his radio handset and kept shouting into it. "Rawhide Six Actual to Rawhide One! Respond immediately! Rawhide One! Where the fuck are you, Silas? Anyone listening in First Squad! Open up on these bastards! That's a direct fuckin' order!"
***
The Syrians realized that Dim and Angel were just inside the Wakhar house's back door, so they retreated in the opposite direction, stumbling a second time over Scream's limp body as they ran away from the two American soldiers. All Scream could do was groan as the soles and steel tips of the Syrians' military grade boots smashed against his ribs and legs.
"Shoot them, Dim!" Angel shouted, finally extricating himself from his back to back place with Dim and rolling out into a crouch in the alley. "Waste these motherless bastards while I get to the Sarge!"
Dim realized that Scream could be hit by a stray round, so he triggered off his 40mm grenade launcher, realizing too late that the load was still a nonlethal round. The hard rubber darts of the flechette burst from his launcher barrel like double ought buckshot from a bird-gun. Unfortunately, the range on flechette rounds was purposefully short, and only a few darts even stung the running Syrians. Most of them bounced harmlessly off the walls and ground.
"Dammit!" Dim swore, unsafing his M-4. "I had flechette loaded!" He cooked off several short three-round bursts into the dust and smoke cloud that was billowing around the enemy terrorists, still limiting where he aimed so as not to hit his squad leader. It was already too late. The bombers rounded a corner and were already evading the soldiers' fire.
Meanwhile, Angel slid along the ground, crouching low to stay out of the line of Dim's covering fire. He reached Scream and struggled to roll the sergeant onto his back. Resting one of his gloved hands on the stricken soldier, Angel breathed a quick sigh of relief when he felt Scream still breathing under all of his webbing and gear. He tried to scan Scream for injuries, but the smoke and dust was still thick, even though the airflow of a breeze blowing through the alley was dissipating it. He was able to find the sergeant's radio headset and yanked it out from under Scream's helmet. Putting the device up to his own ear and making sure the boom microphone was near his mouth, Angel tried to cough an emergency call out. The stinging dust and Angel's own fear dried out his mouth, making it hard to form the words.
"Rawhide One to any friendly element!" Angel shouted into the mic, squeezing the transmit button on the unit. "Our squad leader is down! We need a medic! We need extraction! Can anybody hear us?"
Angel never realized that the grenade blast had shattered the transmission circuit of Scream's radio, where it hung near the small of the sergeant's back. The Syrians had also unknowingly dislodged the unit's battery pack while they made good on their escape.
Angel's frantic call for help went nowhere beyond the sound of his own voice.
Next Part: Where's the Beef?
Operation "Charlie Foxtrot"
Part 4
***
Al-Musharraf Neighborhood
0550 hours, local time
Sergeant Silas tensed as he began lifting the house's cellar door, but stopped when his tactical radio earpiece buzzed.
"Rawhide Six Actual to all Rawhide elements! We've flushed the assholes out! Driving six men in civilian clothes and armed with five AK's and an RPG toward Rawhide One's position! Everyone get into your "A" game!"
"Those insurgents comin' our way?" PFC "Angel" King asked, casting his squad leader a sideways glance.
"Yeah. They're on the run," Scream replied. "Smoke'll open up on them soon as they get into range. We have enough guns in the street. Just you two make sure we don't get flanked when we close the bag. I'll clear this cellar and then we can get down to business."
***
Random pops of small arms fire echoed along the street as Smoke, Mrs. B and Doublewide crouched behind the upturned furniture barricade they used to reinforce the front wall of the Wakhar house for the ambush. One floor above, Doc and Tariq trained their rifle barrels down from the street facing windows, ready to shout when anything suspicious came into visual range.
"Jesus," Private Brenda Mitchell whispered. "I can't stand the waiting."
"Keep your eyes peeled," Smoke growled, locking back the cocking handle of his M-249 squad automatic weapon. "The shit'll hit the fan soon enough."
"Hey, Smoke!" Tariq yelled through the floorboards from the upper level of the house. "You got the prisoners under control? Seen anything?"
The Wakhars continued to struggle against the plastic flexicuffs that were binding their wrists and ankles, trying to call out and plead for mercy through the thick gags jammed into their mouths. The noises they made annoyed Smoke, who kept casting angry glares in their direction as he checked to make sure they weren't breaking loose.
"I'll shoot these fuckin' prisoners in about a second if they don't stop squirmin' and bitchin'!" Smoke yelled back. "The Sarge is still out back with Angel and Dim... and we ain't seen shit of these insurgents!"
Tariq was about to yell for Scream when he felt Doc tapping on his shoulder. "I see weapons," the medic said. "Looks like some bad guys gettin' sucked into our gauntlet."
"Guns up!" Tariq shouted down to Smoke. "They're in sight, about two hundred meters down the street to the east! Hold your fire till we can pin 'em all down and chew 'em up!"
"Get ready ladies," Smoke said to Doublewide and Mrs. B, snapping off the safety of his weapon. "Time to kill some camel jockeys..."
***
Scream turned his attention back to the cellar door after acknowledging Lt. "Underpants" Hunter's radio transmission. He took one fast glance at Angel and Dim, still hidden behind the cover of the house's back door and watching the alley for trouble. Then he reached for the door once more.
As the door lifted, the pressure of its weight on the spoon of the Syrians' grenade was released, and the explosive device's fuse started with a tinny, metallic ping.
Scream heard the soft sound under the door and immediately knew what it was. In the split second he had, he chose not to shout a warning to his squad mates. Instead, he released the cellar door, which fell with a hard thump back into its place, and then the sergeant tried to put some distance between himself and the eventual blast.
The Syrians had rigged the grenade to blow like a shaped charge, and when it detonated, it blew out the cellar door enough to tear it free of the hinges and throw it across the alley, where it gouged an oddly shaped impression in the opposite masonry wall. The force and concussion of the explosion hit Scream from behind like a forty-pound sledge hammer, throwing him face down into a pile of stone rubble.
Private "Dim" Dunphy poked his head around the house's door jamb, his ears ringing from the sound of the grenade cooking off, and spotted Scream lying face down in the dirt. He also saw two men with heads shrouded in dirty kefiyeh, storming out of the cellar with their AK-74 rifles at the ready and laden with knapsacks. He jabbed his elbow into Angel's back, hoping that his partner wasn't as disoriented as he was.
"Angel! Two unknowns are comin' outta the cellar, and the Sarge is down!" He turned to level the barrel of his rifle at the fleeing Syrian bombers but didn't fire because the men were already climbing over Scream's still form and picking their way through the smoky remains of the grenade burst.
"Stop 'em, Dim!" Angel said, his eardrums registering Dunphy's voice as if it were speaking through a long tube and barely intelligible. He twisted in his place to draw a bead with his own rifle on the Syrians, but found Dim hogging the available narrow space. "Jesus, Dim! I can't get turned around!"
Scream stirred, his head pounding hard and vision very dark from still being slightly unconscious. His mind registered nothing, except for Lieutenant Underpants' voice shouting in the earpieces of his radio. "Rawhide Six Actual to all units! Open fire! Fire at will!"
***
"You hear that, Smoke?" Mrs. B asked when she heard the muffled THUMP of the grenade cooking off in the alley behind the house. "I feel the floor shakin'..."
"The mortars supporting our platoon are probably throwin' the kitchen sink at these raghead fucks runnin' our way," Smoke replied. "Stay focused so we can wax us a few."
"Our guys are firing, Smoke!" Tariq called out from the second level. "What're we gonna do?"
"Scream's got the fuckin' radio, Tariq!" Smoke yelled through the floorboards, as he watched the insurgents racing down the street toward their position. "Let's just open fire! We can't hear the orders comin' from the El-Tee without the Sarge!"
Smoke broke into a sweat as he nervously twitched his trigger finger, sighting in on the insurgents who were zigzagging between parked cars and putting as much of the available cover between themselves and the Americans giving chase. They were smart to have chosen a much narrower street in the residential neighborhood to retreat along, since it forced the American soldiers in pursuit to follow on foot instead of their wide vehicles.
***
"Son of a bitch!" Lieutenant "Underpants" Hunter swore as he threw the handset of his tactical radio to the ground and fumed from his platoon command post, which was advancing just behind two of his rifle squads under the cover of the platoon's sniper team. "Where the fuck is Sergeant Silas?"
Sergeant 1st Class Murphy, the Platoon Sergeant under Lt. Hunter's command, shrugged as he cinched the straps tighter on his Kevlar armored vest, clutched his M-4 carbine, and prepared to break cover and follow the two squads chasing down the fleeing insurgents. "I dunno, sir. We're kinda busy chasing your bad guys, sir."
"I don't have time for this bullshit, Murphy!" Underpants shouted. "I don't hear American weapons firing from in front of those bastards! We can't cut 'em down if First Squad isn't engaged! Find Silas!" The lieutenant retrieved his radio handset and kept shouting into it. "Rawhide Six Actual to Rawhide One! Respond immediately! Rawhide One! Where the fuck are you, Silas? Anyone listening in First Squad! Open up on these bastards! That's a direct fuckin' order!"
***
The Syrians realized that Dim and Angel were just inside the Wakhar house's back door, so they retreated in the opposite direction, stumbling a second time over Scream's limp body as they ran away from the two American soldiers. All Scream could do was groan as the soles and steel tips of the Syrians' military grade boots smashed against his ribs and legs.
"Shoot them, Dim!" Angel shouted, finally extricating himself from his back to back place with Dim and rolling out into a crouch in the alley. "Waste these motherless bastards while I get to the Sarge!"
Dim realized that Scream could be hit by a stray round, so he triggered off his 40mm grenade launcher, realizing too late that the load was still a nonlethal round. The hard rubber darts of the flechette burst from his launcher barrel like double ought buckshot from a bird-gun. Unfortunately, the range on flechette rounds was purposefully short, and only a few darts even stung the running Syrians. Most of them bounced harmlessly off the walls and ground.
"Dammit!" Dim swore, unsafing his M-4. "I had flechette loaded!" He cooked off several short three-round bursts into the dust and smoke cloud that was billowing around the enemy terrorists, still limiting where he aimed so as not to hit his squad leader. It was already too late. The bombers rounded a corner and were already evading the soldiers' fire.
Meanwhile, Angel slid along the ground, crouching low to stay out of the line of Dim's covering fire. He reached Scream and struggled to roll the sergeant onto his back. Resting one of his gloved hands on the stricken soldier, Angel breathed a quick sigh of relief when he felt Scream still breathing under all of his webbing and gear. He tried to scan Scream for injuries, but the smoke and dust was still thick, even though the airflow of a breeze blowing through the alley was dissipating it. He was able to find the sergeant's radio headset and yanked it out from under Scream's helmet. Putting the device up to his own ear and making sure the boom microphone was near his mouth, Angel tried to cough an emergency call out. The stinging dust and Angel's own fear dried out his mouth, making it hard to form the words.
"Rawhide One to any friendly element!" Angel shouted into the mic, squeezing the transmit button on the unit. "Our squad leader is down! We need a medic! We need extraction! Can anybody hear us?"
Angel never realized that the grenade blast had shattered the transmission circuit of Scream's radio, where it hung near the small of the sergeant's back. The Syrians had also unknowingly dislodged the unit's battery pack while they made good on their escape.
Angel's frantic call for help went nowhere beyond the sound of his own voice.
Next Part: Where's the Beef?