Through the Fire: A Soldiers Life

THROUGH THE FIRE

A Soldiers Life

David Stickler

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© 2011 by David Stickler. All rights reserved.

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First published by AuthorHouse 12/22/2011

ISBN: 978-1-4634-4270-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4634-4269-9 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4634-4268-2 (ebk)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011913617

Printed in the United States of America

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Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 1

Wow! I can’t believe that a small town boy from Ashford, Alabama is on his way to the tiny Caribbean island of Grenada. Where the hell is Grenada? Yeah, I know it is in the Caribbean, but where? That’s a mighty big place with thousands of islands. Oh well, I guess I will find out soon.

Just six weeks ago I was suffering through the heat and humidity at Fort Benning, Georgia at the U.S. Army Jump School, or should I say the whole U.S. Military Jump School. I had Navy Seals, Air Force Para-Rescue, combat controllers, Marine ANGLACOs, good ole U.S. Army Infantry, and soon to be Rangers in my class, even cadets from West Point and various ROTC units across America.

Now here I am sitting in this C-141 with a sixty pound pack, sixty-eight pounds of parachute and twenty pounds of ammo, grenades, and water. All bangs me in the ass every time I try to move or my pack cuts into my legs. I have to piss, but the only place to go is in my pants and I will be damned if I am going to piss my pants. I am scared, but not enough to piss my pants and I am not about to give everybody more reasons to pick on me. Hell, I was already having problems being called runt or cherry. Sure, I only weigh one hundred and thirty-five pounds and stand five foot six inches in boots, but, damn, I worked as hard to wear those boots as anyone else.

They said that I would be able to bust my cherry at Fort Bragg, North Carolina. As a refresher and to familiarize me with The 82ND Airborne way of doing a mass-tac (mass-attack), before I ever had to jump anywhere but Fort Bragg, North Carolina. Well, they were wrong. My sixth jump was going to be what some of these guys with hundreds of training jumps dreamed of doing. Jumping into combat and I still don’t know where that damned island is. Man, am I scared. It seems that everyone is sleeping. How can they sleep? Don’t they know people will be shooting and trying to kill us in less than two hours? How do they do it? I have to talk to somebody.

1stSgt. Boone is sitting across from me, but I can’t talk to him. He scares me to death. The last time I had to talk to the 1st Sgt., it was to answer a question as he was chewing me a new asshole for having mud on my ammo pouch during last week’s inspection. Please, just someone, anyone open his eyes so I can talk to them. Specialist Fourth Class Finnocio is on my left. We have talked before, but is he asleep? I know. I will act like I am trying to move and I will elbow him.

Damn it, Cherry. Watch your damn elbows. I’m trying to sleep, he growls.

Vinnie, can I talk to you for a little while? I ask.

He replies, Hell, Cherry, it ain’t nothing. Just think about how you did it in jump school. The only difference is this time don’t jump up and roll your parachute. Just lie there on the ground ’till you get your weapon into operation and then grab your pack. Leave the chute where you take it off and run like hell to get off the drop zone and for heaven’s sake, don’t shoot at anything unless you can identify who it is you are about to shoot because I jump right after you and I do not want an ass full of lead.

Thanks, Vinnie. Where are you from?

Motor City. The big ‘D.’ Motown. Detroit. The best little hell-hole on the planet! What about you, Cherry?

Ashford, Alabama. Population three thousand.

Cherry, I bet you even had a gas station and a stop light.

Nope. Gas station, yes, but no stop light.

Well hell, Cherry. What did you do for fun?

Well, we usually went to Old Man Simmons field. We would make a bonfire and we would listen to music, get drunk, or make out. Sometimes we would all go to Dothan together to the old airport and watch people drag race down the old runway, or we would teepee or egg someone’s house, I explained.

Let me tell you about fun in Detroit. We would all get together at the mall, see a movie, and from there we would see who we could talk into buying us some beer, or we would pull a scam on the store clerk. One of us would distract him, while another would steal the beer. From there, we would go to the park and do the same you did. Only difference, we sometimes had to run from the gangs and dodge bullets, so this little jump in two hours will be a vacation. Don’t worry, Cherry. I will be there to cover your ass, so go to sleep. You might not get the chance again for a long time.

Damn, Vinnie. How can you sleep? I am scared shitless! I exclaim.

So am I, Cherry. So am I. So don’t sweat it. You’ll be fine.

Okay thanks, Vinnie.

No sweat, Cherry. It ain’t nothing.

Man, how can these guys be sleeping? Don’t they know some of us could be dead in a few hours? Alright, I will try it.

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

VINNIE, what the hell was that?

It’s the bailout alarm. Something is wrong with the airplane.

Damn. I’m going to die without ever seeing combat.

One hundred and thirty-two men surge to their feet and immediately hook their static lines to the outboard anchor line cable. The jumpmaster and assistant jumpmaster start going through the procedures. These procedures are the emergency jump commands which have five commands instead of the normal jump procedures which have the normal 10.

CHECK STATIC LINE!

There is a flurry of motion as everyone’s hand shoots above his head as he feels to make sure the opening gate clips are properly closed. And since this is an emergency bail-out, there are no safety pins to check. I follow the static line of the trooper in front of me from his shoulder along the loops of the pack tray to where it is secured to the eighty pound cotton cord.

Everything is okay, just like I learned in Jump School. I feel a gentle tug on my shoulder as Vinnie checks my static line. I can’t believe how scared I am. I can feel the sweat roll down my back and legs. Hell, I can even smell the fear, but is it just me, or is it everyone?

CHECK EQUIPMENT, sounds through my thoughts. I touch and try to snap my quick release snaps on each of my legs and the one across my chest. I grab my lowering line quick release fastener. It is secure. I check my snap link connector on my M-1950 weapon’s case. It is also secure.

STAND BY!

What is that? The Air Force crew chief has his hands crossed over the anchor line cable. What does that mean?

Vinnie, what does that mean with his hands like that?

It means no jump, Cherry.

Why? I thought we got the emergency bail-out alarm.

We did, Cherry. Relax. The jumpmaster will let us know.

UNHOOK!

All this loud clicking is heard as the static line opening gates are opened and taken down.

SIT DOWN!

How the hell are we supposed to sit down when it took eight people and thirty minutes to pack us into the aircraft in the first place? Okay, I’ll push and shove like I see Vinnie doing to get seated properly.

ATTENTION TROOPERS, blares over the aircraft intercom system. ONE OF THE DOOR BUNDLES SHIFTED AND HIT THE BAIL-OUT ALARM. THE AIRCRAFT IS OKAY AND WE WILL CONTINUE TO THE DROP ZONE AFTER WE REGAIN OUR ALTITUDE.

Why am I shaking so badly? Damn. Everyone is going back to sleep. Shit! I wish I could do that. Please God, help me get through this. I know you help those who help themselves. I know I can put myself through this because this is what I have felt that you have always wanted me to do, Lord. Please get the rest of the guys and me through this. I can barely keep my eyes open.

SCREECH, the intercom crackles. ATTENTION TROOPERS. THIS IS THE PILOT. WE ARE THIRTY MINUTES OUT FROM POINT SALINAS, GRENADA AND ITS AIRPORT. I HAVE JUST TALKED TO OUR COMBAT CONTROLLER AND THEY SAY THAT THE RANGERS HAVE CAPTURED THE AIRFIELD, SO WE WILL BE LANDING SO YOU CAN OFFLOAD. I HAVE BEEN INSTRUCTED TO HAVE YOU REMOVE YOUR CHUTES. CREW CHIEFS PUT THEM ON THE FLOOR SO THESE GUYS CAN WALK OVER THEM TO GET OUT.

Vinnie, how are we supposed to do this? I ask.

Very carefully Cherry, Very carefully, he tells me.

From the jumpmaster comes, Troopers, pay attention. We have less than thirty minutes to get out of those chutes and prepare for a landing, so follow instructions. Outboard personnel, stand up on the seats. Once you are on the seats, everyone help the man in front of him take off his chute. The last two jumpers will assist each other. It doesn’t have to be neat. Just get them off and put them on the floor.

Well, so much for my first jump with my unit being a combat jump. I feel a pull on my lowering line and my M-1950 weapons carrier as Vinnie unhooks them.

Cherry, hand me your static line.

I hand it over my shoulder as he attaches it to the static line-retaining loop of my park tray.

Alright, Cherry. Unhook your quick release fasteners and let your chute drop. I have it.

God, what a release as it drops from my shoulders. I feel like I can walk on air.

"OUTBOARD PERSONNEL, REMAIN STANDING ON YOUR SEATS AND ASSIST THE INBOARD PERSONNEL IN REMOVING THEIR CHUTES. HURRY! WE HAVE FIFTEEN MINUTES LEFT.

ATTENTION TROOPERS. THIS IS THE PILOT. WE JUST RECEIVED WORD FROM OUR COMBAT CONTROLLERS. THE RANGERS HAVE LOST CONTROL OF THE AIRPORT AND ARE REPORTING HEAVY FIGHTING AT BOTH ENDS OF THE RUNWAY, SO WE WILL BE LANDING ON A HOT AIRFIELD. TWO MINUTES BEFORE WE LAND I WILL GIVE YOU THE INSTRUCTION TO LOAD YOUR WEAPONS. BE PREPARED TO ENGAGE THE ENEMY AS SOON AS YOU EXIT THE AIRCRAFT.

Vinnie, does that mean they could shoot us down on our approach?

Yes, it does, but it is not likely. Most likely whatever is going on the Rangers will have it under control.

SCHREECK, wails through the intercom. WE ARE COMMITTED TO LANDING. LOCK AND LOAD. WE ARE GOING TO HAVE TO LAND HARD AND FAST BECAUSE THE RANGERS ARE ENGAGING FOUR RUSSIAN ZSU23-4 ANTIAIRCRAFT TANKS. (Called that because they are made by Zhukov armament works in the Soviet Union which gives it the Z. Self propelled the SU, and it has 4-23 MM cannons as its main weapons), SO WE HAVE TO GET ON THE GROUND BEFORE THEY CAN ENGAGE THIS AIRCRAFT. PREPARE FOR LANDING.

RAT-A-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT and booms are heard outside the airplane and then I hear, BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!

Vinnie, are they shooting at us?

I don’t think so. If they were, we would have already crashed. This big son-of-a-bitch is a sitting duck. Relax, we will be okay!

"PREPARE FOR LANDING. WE ARE THIRTY SECONDS FROM LANDING. GOOD LUCK AND GOD SPEED. I LOOK FORWARD TO TAKING YOU ALL HOME AND I MEAN ALL! YOU GUYS TAKE CARE OUT THERE!

FIFTEEN SECONDS. TEN SECONDS. FIVE SECONDS. CONTACT. WE WILL DROP YOU OFF AS CLOSE TO THE TERMINAL AS POSSIBLE, SO YOU HAVE SOME COVER.

BANG! There is a bone rattling shock as the wheels touchdown on a hot airfield. The ramp is halfway opened and through the back I can see bluish-green streaks cutting through the air followed by a lot more of the reddish-brown streaks. Then there is a loud explosion and a flash of light.

Cherry, that’s one less tank we have to worry about. The Rangers just got one.

My knees are shaking so bad I don’t think I can walk. Damn, this plane is really moving down this runway. Is it going to stop?

TROOPERS, WE WILL BE STOPPING IN ABOUT ONE MINUTE. THE OTHER SEVEN PLANES ARE BEHIND US, SO WHEN WE STOP WE NEED YOU TO GET OUT AS FAST AS POSSIBLE SO WE CAN UNLOAD THEM.

I nearly fall down as the aircraft puts the brakes on. It stops so suddenly, but as it is stopping, the ramp drops and the crew chief kicks down the ramp additions. As it stops, an Air Force combat controller runs up on the left and a Ranger on the right. The controller heads for the crew chief as the Ranger grabs the mic.

TROOPERS, the Ranger says. EXIT AS FAST AS YOU CAN. THIS AIPORT IS STILL TAKING FIRE. AS YOU EXIT, FIRE TO THE LEFT AND RUN TO THE RIGHT UNTIL YOU GET INTO THE TERMINAL. ONCE THERE, WE WILL TELL YOU WHAT TO DO. ALRIGHT, GO!

I am about halfway up on the starboard side outboard seats. I am really sweating badly as they have the outboard side run off. Just as they hit the ground, their weapons start roaring away into the tree line. Then greenish-blue tracers start coming out of the tree line at us. Just as Finnegan gets down the ramp, he falls. Dammit! I think they shot him. Just then Finnegan opens fire with his M-60 machine gun into the tree line. It looks like a giant chainsaw is ripping through the trees. He keeps firing as the rest of the plane unloads.

Beside him, Burns stops and begins firing high explosive multi-purpose grenades from his M-203 grenade launcher. It is like watching a Fourth of July fireworks show because just before it hits the ground it explodes and it ejects tiny Ball Barings over a twenty-five meter area. It looks like hell on Earth in the tree line. I sure am glad that I am not in there taking that kind of assault.

Just as Vinnie and I charge down the ramp, I hear this thump and Vinnie grunt. I look back and see Vinnie fall. He has blood all over his leg.

Vinnie?!

Run, Cherry, run. I’ll be okay. Take care and get some of the bastards for me!

The crew chief and Ranger jump off the ramp and throw Vinnie onto the ramp as I try to help.

Dammit, Cherry. I said run for it and I mean it. Now go!! Damn, guys. Do you have to throw me so hard? Grace, get that bastard for me.

Wow! That’s the first time he has used my real name. My heart swells with pride. I am no longer a cherry. I am one of them.

Don’t worry, Vinnie. I’ll get him for you. I shout as the ramp is going up and the plane starts to move away. I drop down beside Finnegan and Burns and start firing my M-16 into the tree line. Someone grabs my LBE and jerks me to my feet as Finnegan and Burns get up and start to run for the airport terminal.

Run, son. You done good. He’ll be fine. In four hours he will be in the hospital at Fort Bragg getting fresh with the nurses.

Damn, if that doesn’t sound like Sgt. Boone. As I look over my shoulder, I see First Sgt. Boone running behind me giving Finnegan a hand with the machine gun. We charge through the door of the airport terminal just as the next C-141 starts unloading its troops a hundred yards away. About then we see four flashes of greenish-blue slam into the side of the plane.

Okay, listen up, shouts Captain Walker. "Here is what we are going to do. We have been instructed to assault that wood line and flush out those communist guerillas. First Platoon will attempt to draw their fire as Second and Third attempt to flank them from the left. First Platoon, you will advance to that drainage ditch about fifty meters from here facing the wood line. Be prepared to assault if Second and Third get bogged down by enemy fire. As of right now, we do not know the enemy’s strength over there, so be prepared for anything. Also, be advised that they have Russian and Cuban advisors. They are to be captured if possible, but under no circumstances are you to allow them to escape. We need proof that they are here and are behind this coup.

"Second Platoon, you will be attacking the right flank of the tree line in an attempt to force them to withdraw to the rear where we will have Third Platoon waiting in ambush. Look at this map. See this low ground? This is where we will position Third Platoon. That way, they’re protected from the suppression fire being put down by First Platoon. First Platoon, I do not want you to use your 203s because of the close proximity of friendly troops and also because of the low visibility, Fire high unless you can positively identify your target.

"Second Platoon, because that area to the left is so open and covered by those two Ranger vehicles, one mounting an M-19 automatic grenade launcher, and the other a fifty caliber machine gun so they have that flank covered, that will leave the field to the rear uncovered, or at least they will think it is. In reality they will be boxed in on all sides. Third Platoon, you will only engage once they are in full retreat from the trees and you can catch them in the open. I want prisoners if possible, but do not allow anyone to escape. Offer them a chance to surrender. Take some stun grenades with you to take prisoners. Third Platoon will move out in five minutes. We will give you thirty minutes to get into position. Click your radio twice once you are in position. We will click you three times to let you know we are starting the attack.

"Second Platoon, you have twenty minutes to get into the attack position. I will be positioned with First Platoon. There should be no reason for re-supply. We expect light resistance from them, but in case it gets heavy, the Third Ranger Battalion has lent us one of their platoons as a reserve. Are there any questions? Okay, you have ten minutes from now to brief your men and move out.

We have to do this soon because the rest of the Task Force will not land until we subdue the enemy in the wood line. At the same time, the remainder of the Rangers here at the airport will assault those three remaining ZSU 23-4 antiaircraft guns. They have coordinated their attack to start when ours does. Okay, move out!

Hey, Corporal Smith, How do you want us to get into position? I ask.

Private Grace, we are going to run like hell across the tarmac ’till they start shooting at us. From there, we will do three to five second rushes, or any of the other individual movement techniques until we are safely in our firing positions. We are supposed to let them know where we are so they will concentrate all their fire on us. Alright, do any of the rest of you have any questions? Alright then, ground your packs here and be ready to move ten minutes after Third Platoon moves out.

Hey, Finnegan, Ever done this before? You look like you knew what you were doing out there earlier, I say.

No, Grace. I am as new at this combat stuff as you are. The only difference is that I have been in the army two years longer than you is all, he replies.

Finnegan is a mountain beside me. He stands six feet three inches tall and weighs two hundred and thirty pounds. Beside him, I really feel like a runt. Hell, he carries the twenty-three pound M-60 and the ten pounds of 7.62 mm ammo for it like I carry my seven pound M-16 and 210 rounds of 5.56 mm ammo. He is a bear of a man.

Grace that was cool what you did for Vinnie, You’re all right for a ‘cherry.’ Now we are about to see what we are both made of. Here comes the Sarge now.

Okay, men! Get ready to move when I say go. Run like hell ’till we start getting fired on from the tree line. Once that happens, bound with your battle buddy up to that ditch.

BEEP. BEEP.

What was that?

That was the signal from Third Platoon. They are in position ten minutes early. Okay, run like hell and don’t stop until you’re in the ditch, or they start shooting at us. Get ready. Go!

Thirty black shadows streak across the tarmac on my left and right. Sarge is with me since I am the newest man in the platoon, so he is my battle buddy. Halfway across all hell breaks loose and we dive to the ground. Sgt. Hudson says he is sure now that there are Russian and Cuban advisors with them and they have night vision equipment.

I hear the crack of bullets crossing over my head. This time it’s reddish-orange ripping into the tree line. Captain Walker came through for us. The Rangers in our reserve by the terminal are chewing up the woods. Okay, any time now.

RUN!

I pick my bone weary body from off the ground. I haven’t slept in over twenty-four hours. Sgt. Hudson said I was feeling this way because I was coming off an adrenaline high. I guess I will have to dig down deep and find the energy.

Somewhere off to my left and right, I hear the stomping of heavy running boots and heavy breathing of exhausted me, but no complaints. My lungs are on fire. Every breath I take feels like I am swallowing fire. I feel a stabbing pain in my side as I run like I have never run before and this time I am running with thirty-five pounds of ammunition, water, grenades, and some rations in my butt pack. It all slams into my ass and jerks down on my shoulders as I sprint for the protection of the drainage ditch. As I hit the edge of the runway, I trip and fall forward. Instinctively, I put out my hands to arrest my fall and tear them open on the pavement. The blood is so slick I almost drop my rifle. I am jerked off the ground by my belt. It’s Finnegan.

Are you hit?

No.

Then get up and run.

He is carrying me at one hundred and seventy pounds with my equipment on, and forty pounds of machine gun and ammo. Heaven help anyone that gets in his way. He keeps me on my feet for a couple of meters and then releases me as we hit the ditch. I am lying on my back half submerged in the cool water as the cover fire from the Rangers stops. It looks like stars lighting up the trees. I crawl to the top of the ditch with just my head and rifle above it and I begin to fire into the trees at each flash of light.

Off to the far end of the runway there is a bright flash of lights and a loud explosion. Scratch another anti-aircraft tank. It is hard to believe that we have only been on the ground for forty-five minutes. We have fifteen minutes left to route the enemy troops hiding in the trees before the planes start to land again.

This reminds me of a scene out of Star Wars with all the blue and red streaks cutting across the sky. It would be beautiful to watch if it wasn’t so deadly. Thirty meters to our right front, Second Platoon opens fire and starts to advance on the wood line under heavy supporting fire from us. I still can’t see anything, so I have to shoot high. There are bright flashes of light in the trees and explosions of stun and fragmentation grenades.

I look at my watch. Only seven minutes have passed. Suddenly, we hear some really loud explosions. M-18 Claymore mines are going off from the Third Platoon’s ambush. The enemy in the wood line tried to retreat, but were hit from behind. There is a roar in the sky as the two green star clusters streak into the sky, which is our signal to cease fire.

Second Platoon is in the trees and Third Platoon has captured those who tried to escape to the rear. Lieutenant Ferrell gives us the command to advance on the wood line, so we all pick it up and slowly advance into the trees making sure that no enemy troops are hiding between the trees and us. I pick myself up and wonder what I am going to find hidden in the darkness of those trees. As I approach, it looks like a giant chainsaw has ripped into the trees. Some have been completely cut down, while others have been chewed halfway through as if by some giant animal.

As we walk into the trees, I see dark shapes lying on the ground. The first one I see has no head. It is unreal; it looks like a ragdoll. Sgt. Hudson says he was killed by the M-203 fire from Burns as we were unloading the aircraft. The next enemy soldier we come to is alive, but I don’t know how he could be. I can see his heart beating and his lungs expanding and contracting as he breaths. The whole outside of his chest is gone.

MEDIC!! I scream.

Private First Class Sanchez, the platoon medic, runs over and I point to the soldier. He doesn’t know what to do. He gives him a shot of morphine and the soldier smiles at us and dies. After that, I stop looking for bodies and let the others look. I just look for motion. I look off to my right when there are two quick flashes followed by loud explosions. The last two antiaircraft guns are destroyed. In the distance we can see the aircraft landing lights as the other nine aircraft are coming in to land. Damn, I am exhausted. Lt. Ferrell is coming.

Okay, men. We are to recover the bodies here and load them onto trucks. Just for your information, Third Platoon captured one Russian and two Cuban advisors and nineteen guerillas. We have also located the bodies of five more Cubans and two more Russians, along with twenty-three guerillas killed. Good job, men. Damn Good job!

Sgt. Hudson places me in a position with Finnegan and tells us to pull 50/50 security, so I tell Finnegan I will start watch first. Finnegan lays his head down on top of his arm and starts to gently snore. How can he sleep where guys have just died? I do not know and these damn mosquitoes and flies are eating me alive. The wind blowing through the trees causes me to shiver and raises goose bumps all over me since I am soaked through to my skin with sweat and water. If it wasn’t for my shivering I would probably fall asleep, but instead, I am wide awake and thinking how much I have changed in the last two hours.

Staying awake isn’t that hard. I put on some insect repellant so the mosquitoes stop biting. I can hear the planes landing and taking off again. If everything goes right, they will all be gone in an hour. After they unload, they will load up the wounded and fly them back to Fort Bragg. From what I can hear on the lieutenant’s radio behind me, only seven Rangers have been wounded. They are also loading the captured Russian and Cuban advisors onto the aircraft for evacuation to the states for debriefing. If everything works right, they will probable trade for some of our people, but that’s no concern of mine. I just do the groundwork. It’s amazing how I can see everything much clearer now. I guess risking your life will do that for you.

I can see the stars through the trees and I can see a lot more here than I ever could back in the states. The air is cleaner and clearer. It’s like I can see forever. I wonder what they want us to do tomorrow. I hope it is in the daylight so I can see what this island looks like. Damn, forty-five minutes to go. After my first three hours here, these last two seem to be taking an eternity.

It’s 0330, Time for me to wake Finnegan. I hope I can sleep as well as he did. Kicking Finnegan in the foot, he jerks his machine gun into his shoulder.

Finnegan, it’s your watch.

Cool, Grace. I’m awake. Go ahead and crash.

I’m going to lie on my belly so I am ready to fight like you were.

Stop talking and go to sleep.

I do not even remember lying down. The next thing I know, Finnegan is shaking my boot and telling me it is time to get up, eat something, and get ready to move out. Finnegan tells me that the lieutenant came by an hour earlier and said we would be moving out at first light, leaving the airport under the control of the 508th Parachute Infantry Regiment.

Yum, yum. Good ole meal-ready-to-eat. MREs for short. You gotta love them. So, do I want to eat spaghetti in meat sauce, beef with rice in a spice sauce, or, yes, here we are. Ham and cheese omelet. Sounds like a breakfast meal to me. Thank God Burns told me to buy a couple of bottles of Hot Sauces to kill the taste of the MRE. Tastes like shoe leather, but at least it fills space. Damn, what I would give for a ham and cheese omelet with a side of country ham and a carafe of orange juice. Oh well, I guess I will take what I can get.

Well, it looks like I am going to get what I want. Word comes down that in Georgetown, at the medical university, the guerillas are holding American students hostage and the Rangers are committed on other operations. Since we were only in support of the fight to secure Point Salina’s airport, it is my platoon that gets to go. They are supposed to pick us up at the airport at 0600 in three two-and-a-half ton trucks, or as we like to call them, deuce-and-a-halves. From there they will drive us to within a mile of the hospital and then advance on three different sides, the front and both sides of the university.

According to the locals, there is no way in or out of the back. First Squad is going in the front while Second and Third Squads secure the sides. Second to the east, or left of the front and Third will be securing the west. First squad is to attempt entry from the front. If First Squad cannot force an entry, the Second is to try and then the Third Squad. Only one squad is to enter to prevent friendly fire. Sgt. Hudson is coming to brief us.

Finnegan, you put suppressing fire on the windows. Lawrence and Grace, you will force the door. Greenville and I will enter the building first, followed by Grace. Lawrence, you secure the door.

Lawrence is this skinny black kid from Gulfport, Mississippi who wants to see the world. Well, it looks like his five foot ten inch; one hundred and forty-five pound body is getting an up close and personal view of it now.

Greenville is this short, stocky kid from Des Moines, Iowa who stands tall at an amazing five feet six inches and weighs one hundred and eighty-five pounds. As I am to find out later, his nickname is Bull.

I can see everybody moving into their assault positions. First Squad—my squad—has the farthest to run. We are assembling in the wood line, seventy meters from the front of the university. From where I’m at, this building is huge, with two stories. There are eight British Colonial style windows on the top floor. There are six windows on the ground floor that flank a large arched double door. All of the windows have horizontal blinds and all the top floor blinds are open, so I am able to see through them. That makes it easier to tell if someone takes position in any of those rooms. All of the bottom floor blinds are closed, so we will have to watch closely until we are ready to assault the building. Damn, it’s going to be hard for just three of us to clear that floor.

Here comes Sgt. Hudson to give us the op-order (operations order). Sgt. Hudson is from Pittsburg. At least that’s what the rest of the squad says. He stands a lanky six feet. What he weighs is anyone’s guess. He is as skinny as a beanpole, but he is as strong as an ox and just as mean, or so he seems to me. But everyone says he is cool in garrison. You could have fooled me from everything I have seen of him. Maybe it’s because we are in a combat situation. I guess I will find out when we go back to the world, as everyone says.

Sgt. Hudson calls all of us together for our op-order.

Okay, men, this will be a quick op-order because we have to be able to move out in fifteen minutes. This is what we know. There are an estimated fifteen guerillas that are holding twenty-eight American medical students somewhere in the building. From what we can tell—and from here we are guessing—the students are being held in the basement with the guerillas roaming the first floor and the basement, so be careful and use only stun grenades. If it becomes necessary to use frag grenades (fragmentation grenades), then be absolutely sure there are no students in that room. Also, no spraying the room with automatic fire. Only fire if you can verify your target. Okay, any questions?

Yes, I have one. What do you want us to do if we find the students?

Great question! You are to secure the room they are in and use the orange spray paint to mark the door with an H, instead of a C, so we know where they are. Okay, five minutes and we will assault the building. Now go get ready!

Well, there goes Finnegan, getting ready to put suppressing fire on the building. Here comes Lawrence now.

Ready to go?

Yeah.

Okay, when Finnegan opens up, we sprint for the door. Don’t stop even if they start firing on us. Just start zigzagging until you are by the door.

Got it!

RATA-TAT-TAT-TAT! There goes Finnegan.

Run, Grace!

Damn, it seems like a long way to run with no cover. God, protect me. I brace my left leg under me as I raise up onto my hands. Feet don’t fail me now. I propel myself off in a mad dash for the building. God, don’t let them see me. I’m a sitting duck out here.

Twenty meters down, fifty to go. Forty. Thirty. CRACK! Shit! They are shooting. I see dust from the building as the bullets impact. Damn! I am being shot at from behind. I drop and spin back the way I came from, looking for the shooter.

Lawrence screams, What the fuck are you doing?

There is a sniper behind us.

Shit! He drops and faces back to the tree line.

I see movement and a flash from a rifle and then I see the solid green uniform instead of our camouflaged battle dress uniforms. I start firing and Sgt. Hudson looks at me like I lost it. Suddenly, Lawrence starts firing into the trees. Sgt. Hudson and Greenville look to where we are firing, but can’t engage the sniper because of the danger of hitting one of the other squad members.

I see movement and the flash of green again. I flip my selector switch from semi to auto, then take aim and fire a six round burst. My target crumples and falls out from behind the trees to the ground.

Shit! Did I just kill someone? This sure isn’t like I thought it would be. I see Lawrence get up and make a dash for the door.

He yells, YOU GOT HIM. Now get up and run for the building.

I jump up and run the last thirty meters without any problems. We both drop to our bellies, each facing a different way to support Sgt. Hudson and Greenville, who are starting their dash for the doorway.

Okay. Grace and Lawrence force the door. Greenville and I will clear the hall, then you follow us, Grace.

As we force the doors, shots ring out and strike them from inside. We push them in as Sgt. Hudson and Greenville take a kneeling position to fire down the hall. Lawrence and I lie beside the doors and open them. Then all hell breaks loose.

Automatic rifle fire comes screaming out the door to be answered by Sgt. Hudson and Greenville. As soon as the doors are fully open, Lawrence and I begin to return fire.

All four of us are firing on automatic. We each empty a magazine. As we finish and slam in new magazines, I look down the hallway where all three bodies lay, all in Cuban uniforms.

Greenville rushes down the hallway followed closely by Sgt. Hudson and then by me. We rush down the hall as Lawrence covers us from behind. As we run down the hall, we kick open the doors looking for targets. As I enter my room, I hear Lawrence yell target, fire, and then yell clear. Then I hear someone running down the hall and I look as the rest of the squad charges into the building, minus Finnegan, who is still covering the outside.

As I run by a stairwell, Sgt. Hudson tells me to clear them, so I rush down the stairs sending my rifle around first ’till I see two doors. I go to the one on the left, kick it open, and holler U.S. Army! As I look in, I see a semi-nude girl sitting on the floor with a guy lying in her lap. From what I can tell, the boy has been shot in the leg and she has used her bra as a tourniquet to stop the blood. Her shirt is wrapped around his waist where there is more blood. This girl looks like she is maybe twenty and she has the most perfect breasts I have ever see. She makes no attempt to cover up.

I ask, What happened?

She says, He tried to escape, so they shot him once in the leg and once in the side.

Okay, I will call for a medic. Do you have anything to put on?

No, but I don’t care. Just get him some help!

Okay, here is my shirt. I will be back as soon as I can. Do you know who or what is behind the other door?

Yes. It is a basement storm cellar and the rest of the students are there.

Any gunmen?

Yes, I think four.

Okay, stay here.

I run up the stairs and yell for a medic and that I’ve also found the students, but I need assistance.

Sgt. Hudson, Lt. Ferrell, and platoon Sgt. Boco run up to me and ask where they are and where my shirt is. I tell them what happened.

Okay, Lt. Ferrell says. Sgt. Boco, take Grace, Lawrence, Greenville, and Sgt. Hudson down those stairs and get those students out of there. Use only necessary force. Leave all frag grenades here, so you won’t use one of them by accident. Any questions? All at once we shake our heads to denote no.

Okay. Sgt. Boco, get to it!

Sgt. Boco forms us up on each side of the stairs and prepares us for the assault on the room.

Okay, Grace. Show us where the girl and boy are.

I lead him and the medic to the room. The girl has put my shirt on and smiles at me as the medic comes in.

Thank you. My name is Sandra or Sandi. That’s what my friends call me.

Hi, Sandra. I am David, or Grace as all these guys call me. The medic is here to treat him and stay with you ’till we clear the other room. You okay with that?

She nods yes.

Okay.

Sgt. Boco says, You guys know the drill. We go in hard and fast, yelling ‘U.S. Army, get down!’ Fire on anyone with a weapon.

Sgt. Boco is one hell of a big Samoan, so he charges the door as we prepare to enter. As he crashes into the door, the latch shatters and swings inward. He trips and rolls out of the way, so the rest of us charge into the room and fan out, facing the students and the Cuban soldiers. They are not guerillas, but trained troops from Cuba. Sgt. Hudson yells in his deep, booming voice that could chill you to the bone if he was mad at you.

U.S. Army! Everybody down!

All of the students immediately drop to the floor, leaving six very startled Cubans standing. All six immediately drop their weapons and throw up their hands to surrender. They are searched, cuffed, and escorted out of the building. Sandi insists that I escort her and her wounded brother out of the room. They are led to the trucks we came in and are driven to the airport for evacuation, but before Sandi gets into the truck, she gives me a big hug and a kiss. She thanks me for the shirt and presses something into my hand. I help her to get on the trunk and watch her as they drive away.

Now I have time to look at what she pressed into my hand. It is her student ID, along with her home address and phone number. There is a God after all. I look at my watch. It is 0855. I guess the commercial was right. We do more before nine a.m. than anyone else in America.

The good thing is that we receive orders to stand down while the big wigs decide what to do next. We are allowed to re-enter the university to relax. It is also cooler inside. Our first priority is to clean our weapons and get all the dirt and carbon out of the action because even after more than twenty years in use, the M-16 is still notorious for jamming when you need it the most and I’ll be damned if I am going to let that happen to me. I ask Platoon Sgt. Boco if I can go back to the tree line and search for the soldier that was shooting at me as we were approaching the university.

I go to where I remember him falling. His body is still there. He had a look of total surprise on his face when he died and it is still there. I start to search him and as I turn him over I notice that there are three little holes in his back just below his shoulder blades. I stand there and look at him for about fifteen minutes. 1stSgt. Boone walks up behind me and puts his hand on my shoulder and says, Son, I know what you are thinking and what you feel. I felt the same way in Vietnam fifteen years ago. It never feels good. Just learn to put it out of your mind until a more appropriate time. Let’s get him searched and loaded on the truck, so he can be buried.

I start to search the body when 1stSgt. Boone says, I will do that for you.

No, First Sergeant. I will do it, okay?

Sure, go right ahead. I will get a stretcher.

As 1st Sgt. Boone walks away, I search through his pockets and the rest of the gear. In his shirt pocket, I find his military identification card and some rosary beads. In his pack, I find three letters and two photos. The first photo is of him and a very pretty Latina woman and a baby. The second photo is of the same woman, but very pregnant this time and a baby. I feel like shit. Not only did I take someone’s son away from them, but a husband and a father. 1stSgt. Boone returns with the Jeep to load the body in. He’s accompanied by an interpreter. I hand him the documents, letters, and photos. He looks them over, places them in a plastic bag, and starts to walk away.

I ask him, So, what did you find out about him?

Well, his name was Raul Martinez Ortega. He was from Havana and he was nineteen years old. Married to a girl named Maria, with one daughter and another baby on the way. Other than that, it is all small talk. We just need to keep this stuff to prove that he was really Cuban.

Thank you. I say, and walk away. Damn. This isn’t fun anymore.

After I get back to the university, I sit down and clean my M-16, trying not to think about anything but that. Then I decided to help Finnegan clean his M-60. I hear trucks approaching again. This time they are re-supplying us with water, food, ammunition, and the rest of the company. Once we are re-supplied and have our weapons clean, we are given permission to eat and get some sleep. There is only going to be minimal security. The rest of the company is here to provide it since they already had a chance to rest.

Okay, what kind of meal did I get this time? Another damned beef and rice in spice sauce and a chicken loaf.

Hey, anybody want to trade MREs with me?

Somewhere I hear someone ask what I have. I tell them and everybody laughs at me. Oh well, I guess it’s back to the Tabasco sauce. Sometimes the cure is worse that the cause. Oh well, I guess I will just kill my taste buds and I won’t have to worry about it anymore. Where is a McDonald’s when you need one?

Well, now that my belly is full, I think I will go sit against the wall. At least now I have something to go home to. I pass into oblivion as I look at Sandy’s picture.

I awake with this droning in my head. What the hell is that noise?

The general’s helicopter is landing because he is going to set up his headquarters here.

Damn, so much for a nice comfortable place to sleep. It is 1400. I got to sleep soundly for five hours. That’s a miracle, but the next time I think I will lie down. I have a killer crick in my neck.

Here comes Platoon Sgt. Boco and he’s wearing his pack. No more riding in vehicles. It’s leather personnel carriers the rest of the way.

Grace, go get your pack and link up with your squad. We are moving in thirty minutes.

Great, just another day in paradise. Fifteen minutes later the rest of the platoon and me are sitting out by the road waiting for Lt. Ferrell to tell us what is going on and where we are going. Things aren’t looking good. The lieutenant has his full pack on and besides his two one quart canteens on his LBE and the two quart one on his pack, which we all have, he also has an additional one on his pack. So instead of eight pounds of water we are now going to carry twelve. That can only mean one thing. We are in for a hell of a long walk. Even worse, there is a jeep following behind him full of rations and ammunition. Depending on how much more we add to our packs, which already weigh sixty pounds, they could go to eighty pounds.

As Lt. Ferrell drops his pack in front of us he gives us the instructions to take everything out of our packs, except for ammunition, rations, water, our ponchos and liners, our hygiene gear, and five pairs of socks. He tells us to put it in the Jeep.

Grace, get a damn shirt on.

So, as I load my gear on the Jeep, I take my shirt out of my pack and put it on. Walking back to my pack, I see three bandoliers of ammunition. Great, another four hundred and twenty rounds of ammunition. Three times what we would normally carry. This just gets better and better. I pack them into my pack just as Sgt. Boco and Sgt. Hudson walk up and drop four more grenades, seven more MREs (one for each day), and some additional two quart canteens with water purification tablets.

Okay, everyone, Sgt. Boco says. After you get your packs loaded and top off your canteens, rally around the lieutenant for our op order.

As we assemble around the lieutenant, he gets out his maps and notebook. "Okay, men. Here is the plan. We have chased most of the guerillas into the jungle and mountains, but there are a few Cuban checkpoints around on various roads. We will deal with them as we encounter them. The main threats are at least ten armed reconnaissance vehicles out there somewhere and that is what we are going to be looking for. Intelligence suggests those recon vehicles consist of six BRDM-2s, a four wheel, light recon vehicle armed with a turret mounted PKM 7.54 mm light machine gun. The remaining four are believed to be BTR-60s, which are an eight wheel, heavy recon vehicle armed with a turret mounted 14.7 mm heavy machine gun. We have the weapons to take out the BRDMs, but not the heavily armed BTRs. We will engage and destroy any BRDMs we encounter. If we run across the BTRs, we are to keep them under observation and call in artillery or attack helicopters to destroy them.

"We will only engage the BTRs if they engage us first. We will be supported to the left by Second Platoon and on the right by Third Platoon. B Company will be in our rear for support. Our supporting artillery will be provided by the sixteen inch guns of the Navy Battleship U.S.S. New Jersey and the helicopter support from Marine attack helicopters on board the amphibious assault ship U.S.S. Okinawa. So, I don’t foresee a problem with the BTRs. I have requested ten light anti-armor weapons. You guys know them as LAW rockets, but it looks like they will not be arriving until the next aircraft arrives from Fort Bragg tomorrow. By then we will hopefully be ten miles from here trying to force the rest of the rebel forces to surrender. We hope the reminder of the Cuban forces will surrender now that the coup attempt has been defeated. Offer them every opportunity to do so. Fire on them only if they fire on you first.

As we speak, psychological warfare units are flying over the area with loudspeaker equipped helicopters offering them safe passage to the airfield for return to Cuba. The problem is that we also believe the Russians with them will not allow this, so it is a fifty-fifty chance.

Sgt. Hudson has the same look on his face as I do. Fat chance of that happening. When has military intelligence ever been right?

Squad leaders, you are all going to be given one red smoke grenade and one red star cluster. These are to be used for signaling the medevac helicopter if it becomes necessary to evacuate casualties. Our frequency for the platoon is 38.50. If you cannot reach me, then the company frequency is 54.25. Our call sign is Viper. I will be Viper Six. Sgt. Boco is Viper Five. The rest of you use the number of your squad. If you have to talk to the company commander, he is Cobra Six. You will be Viper One for our platoon and your corresponding squad number. Are there any questions? Okay, be ready to move out in thirty minutes. Squad leaders, tape your equipment and check your men. Let’s be quiet as mice. See you all in thirty minutes formed up on the road and ready to move.

Well, it feels like this pack weighs as much as I do, but it probably weighs around seventy pounds. It’s going to be a long, painful walk.

Walking down the road and looking at the same guys mile after mile could be pretty boring if it wasn’t for the scenery and me having to be constantly alert for anything out of the ordinary. Rising above us on my left is a seemingly impenetrable carpet of green, dotted here and there with houses and small farms. To my right is a beautiful, sugar white beach with an emerald sea that seems to stretch on forever; there is not a white cap to be seen. Seagulls glide up and down the beach, blissfully ignorant of the war being fought around them. If only I could be a seagull right now.

The sounds around me are of the calling of the gulls and the pounding of marching feet. At least it is a nice leisurely pace instead of the mile-swallowing pace of the forced march I did at Fort Bragg. My mind keeps drifting to the image of Sandy and her bright blue eyes, her blond, shoulder length hair, and her breasts. Damn, I gotta get my head back on my job.

Two hours and six miles later, the sun is setting in a magnificent, crimson sky. I see a flash of white off in the distance. It’s a sailboat. I’ll be damned. I wonder if whoever is on it knows that a war is being fought on this island. I doubt it since it only started yesterday.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

All hell is breaking loose in the front of the column. We all dive off the side of the road. As I dive to the side, someone calls back. GUNS UP! Finnegan heads to the front and around the corner with his M-60. Then I hear him cut loose with that RATA-TAT-TAT-TAT, followed closely by the high pitched crack of M-16 rifle fire quickly followed by the deep booming of AK-47 rifle fire. I see Burns take aim with his M203.

It emits a loud THUMP! As he fires, shortly followed by a boom as the round explodes, I hear someone screaming in agony. Someone in the front shouts, Medic! I wish I knew what the hell is going on? Who’s hurt? PFC Sanchez runs by at a sprint with his medical bag. There are a couple more cracks of rifle fire, then nothing but screaming. Sanchez disappears around the corner as Sgt. Hudson forms us up on the road, so we can start marching again. Off we go heading down the road. As I round the corner I have a chance to see what happened.

The first of our platoon was fired on from a checkpoint as they rounded the corner. At least that’s what it looked like. Once they opened up on the platoon, they acted like they were trained to do and fired back with overwhelming suppressing fire until the machine gun and grenade launcher could be brought forward to neutralize the threat. Once they were engaged, Finnegan’s machine gun killed one before they could get behind cover. Once they were behind cover, they were out of hand grenade range and protected from direct fire. Due to the lack of overhead protection, they were vulnerable to the high arch and drop of the grenade from the launcher.

The impact of it killed three and wounded one. He was the one screaming. He lost his leg above the knee and one of his hands. The whole area was covered in blood and Sanchez was putting a field dressing on the stump of his hand. His leg was already done and judging by the glazed look in his eyes, he was most likely in shock and had been given morphine to ease his pain.

Why didn’t they listen to the helicopter guaranteeing them safe passage to the airport? This isn’t even his island. In fact, it isn’t mine either. I wonder what I would do if our roles were reversed. The lieutenant is turning towards the beach to see what that checkpoint was protecting. Looks like we’ll have to wait and see what happens since he is taking Third Squad with him. He gives instructions that if he isn’t back in an hour we are to advance on the beach.

Twenty minutes pass. I hear something that sounds like a freight train. An explosion rattles my teeth. Sgt. Hudson, what the hell was that?

That, Grace, was a main gun shell from a battleship’s sixteen inch gun.

BOOM! BOOM! Two more bone rattlers.

Think the lieutenant found something?

No doubt about it, but the question is what? We will just have to wait.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! Then dead silence. I can’t hear anything. I wonder if it is because the explosions scared everything away or they made me deaf.

The lieutenant returns twenty-five minutes later. I can barely hear him talking, but he is saying to Sgt. Boco that he called in a Navy strike to destroy two BTRs and one BRDM, along with the landing craft they were loading them on. So, three down, seven to go.

Off we go again, pounding leather. At midnight we are ordered to halt because we are linking up with a company of Marines trying to force the rebels into the mountains. Once we link up, we are supposed to wait. So, we wait while the Marines continue to the airport.

I don’t even remember going to sleep, but the next thing I