Able Fire: The Next War - 2025 and Beyond

Chapter 13

The crump of mortar fire was heard, the rounds coming in very close, close enough to kick up dust and dirt against the side of the Humvee, with the hard chink of shrapnel.

“Oh, great… They got the artillery.”

“That’s just a goddamned mortar,” King growled. “Duran, what’s it look like?”

“Thick and getting thicker, Sarge. At least a couple companies out there now, and they’re forming up.”

“They’re going to attack us?” asked the Weasel.

“Sure is lookin’ that way, said Duran, pulling back the bolt on his 50-Cal MG.

King swore and got out of the vehicle, slamming the door. He raised his field glasses, frowning at the distant Iraqi soldiers.

“They’re setting up an MG position. Three more teams are digging in. Hell, they ain’t comin’. If they do, we’ll kick their asses half way to Texarkana. Murphy!”

“Sarge?”

“Get on the comms and tell Falcon-2 to make sure that M-19 is up and ready to rumble.”

“Will do,” said Murph. The M-19 was the 40mm auto grenade launcher that could churn out M430 grenades at a brisk clip and lay down terrible suppressive fire against infantry and light vehicles. With a practical range of 1500 meters, it could hit the Iraqi positions now, and so could the 50-Cal MG’s mounted on the Humvees.

“Falcon-1, this is Harrier. Hold positions. Falcon-3 is on the wing. Over.”

There were three company sized units, or Squadrons, in the battalion. Falcon-1 had the light troops in Humvees. Falcon-2 were the Strykers, and Falcon 3- had the heavy troops, with Bradley AFV’s.

“Hey Sarge, we got orders to stand pat on this one,” said Murphy. “The Bradleys are coming.”

“Hell, we don’t need no goddamned Bradleys . We could roll right through those Hajis in a heartbeat.”

“Right, but we got orders to hold positions.”

The King shook his head, giving the reporter a sideways glance. “They send us out here, but do they want us to fight the Hajis, or merely observe them in their natural habitat?”

“Durnford!” said the Weasel.

“What?”

“That was Durnford’s line in the movie Zulu Dawn. Great flick. I always loved those days of the red jerseys and white helmets, and the good old Martini & Henry.”

“What’s he talking about, Nash?”

“Beat’s me, Sarge.”[3]

The Sergeant frowned. “This is just a stare down contest for us, and Charlie Company gets to bring the whoop ass. There ain’t no justice in this man’s war. That’s a fact.”

The King strode off, ignoring another incoming mortar round and small arms fire scudding off the ground near the Humvee. He walked along the line of his dozen odd vehicles, making sure all the men were at the ready. Impatient, he waited for a sitrep or new orders, and in time the men all heard the sound of the 25mm Bushmaster chain guns firing. Charlie Company had arrived from the north, finding the enemy ATGM positions, mortar teams, and it was chopping them up. Hearing that, the Sergeant ran back to his team and shouted an order.

“Light those bastards up!” The MG’s started firing, and the 40mm auto grenade launcher joined the chorus of fire. When the rest of the line saw that team lit off, they started opening up too, and the entire line was pouring it on.

“Hey Sarge, trouble on your six.”

King looked over his shoulder and saw the squadron commander, Captain Nedelman, tromping up from the rear. The “Needle Head” as the men called him, was on the move, and he had the troop commander with him, Lt. John Ranes,

“Sergeant King,” said Nedelman, “nobody gave orders to engage the enemy.”

“With all respect, sir, that is not correct. Charlie Company has engaged the enemy’s rear with the Bradleys, and I gave orders to put out supporting fire with my squadron. Take a look, sir. Hajis don’t like it one damn bit.”

They could see the dark uniformed soldiers down the road withdrawing under that fire, several men hit and falling as they ran to the rear. Nedelman pursed his lips, looking at Ranes to let him do the honors.

“Sergeant, before engaging the enemy you are to wait for orders from this headquarters. Is that clear?”

“Sir, yes sir!” King nodded. “Shall I stand the men down?”

“Yes, cease fire.”

King put two fingers to his mouth and whistled hard, and the whole team stopped firing. The vehicles on the far ends shouted out the cease fire to the rest, and soon the line settled down again.

“Fine afternoon, sir,” said King. “We’ve got the Hajis on the run.”

Needle Head nodded and went stomping back to the end of the column on the road to phone home. He would deliver a sitrep on the situation so Battalion knew that road block had been removed.

Highway One was now wide open to the east.

Down south of the Euphrates in Ramadi, there was heavy fighting underway all morning. The Thunder Horse Battalion had taken the Al Jazeera Bridge, also called the Island Bridge, and they had subsequently fought their way through the Medical College and Hospital, deep into the Al Warar District. Two companies moved east along the southern bank of the Euphrates, towards the Abu Faraj Bridge where elements of the Lancer Battalion were on the north bank, attacking that crossing point. The enemy had a company that had taken up defensive positions in and around a Mosque, which complicated matters as the US infantry came up that road. Word went back to Brigade, and the Raven’s call was quick. If the enemy was using a mosque as a defensive position, then it was fair game.

Further south, the Stallions pushed down from the Med College, and the Black Knights of 2 BCT had crossed the canal at the Qassam Bridge to pushed into the Al Huz and Al Andalus districts towards the heart of the city. There, in the heavy concrete government buildings, the enemy resistance stiffened, but it was slowly being squeezed from two sides.

This was the main battle for control of the city, and nearly all the remaining infantry of the Ramadi Brigade was involved. That Brigade was slowly being ground up by the superior tactics and fire power of the US ground assault teams. Their companies shattered in the fighting, the remnants of the Ramadi Brigade filtered back through the cover of the dense urban setting, trying to reorganize a new line of defense near the soccer stadium and a factory site to the north. They had been reinforced by the last battalion west of Fallujah, the Habbaniyah Mech Battalion which had rumbled into the city around noon.

Unable to hold their exposed blocking position on Highway-1, the 3rd Al Anbar Special Forces Battalion retreated around a sharp bend in the Euphrates, falling back on the Ajaas Salim Bridge. They would take up positions there, where they could cross to enter the city fight to the south if need be. Those battalions were the only cohesive fighting forces remaining in the Ramadi area, the territorial brigade units being largely shattered. As the sun lowered, the Light Company of 1/7th Cav got orders from the Raven to press on up Highway-1.

“Zip it up and mount the ponies,” said King. “We got orders to hump it.”

They were going to move up the highway to link up with the Bradleys. The men had been resting the last three hours, much to the unsettlement of Sergeant King. In his mind, they should have aggressively pursued the enemy special forces when they withdrew, but the Needle Head was darning other plans.

“Needle Head is just sitting on his pin cushion,” King complained. “We could have put enough pressure on that Haji Battalion to bust it up. Now they’ll be digging in somewhere down the road tonight, and we’ll just have to kick some more ass like we did this afternoon.”

“Needle Head gets his orders from the Raven,” said Corporal Neal, a cooler head when the Sergeant got steamed. “Who knows what’s up, Sarge. We don’t see the big picture.”

As the sun began to set, Lieutenant Nedelman had been summoned to the Raven’s Nest for a briefing, and the tall dark haired BCT Commander was pointing to the map.

“Gentlemen,” he said. “Today’s operations were just outstanding. As of this moment we’re sitting on all our objectives, and the enemy in Ramadi is badly disorganized. The Recon Squadron has cleared Highway-1, and now we’re going to move out—tonight.” His finger landed heavily on the next large urban center.

“Fallujah,” he said. “3rd I.D. is coming in to relieve us in Ramadi, and we are heading east on that long lovely highway. We move tonight, with your Squadron in the vanguard, Lieutenant Nedelman. Your next objective is the bridge over the Tharthar Canal, about 20 klicks from your Light Troop’s current position. I want you to get out there by midnight tonight, and take and hold that bridge. That canal runs south to the Euphrates near Maalahma and Habbaniyah, and just south of that city is the big Al Taqaddum Air Field, the old British RAF Habbaniyah when they had the duty out here. 101st Air Mobile wants that field for its major forward staging base in the operations against Baghdad.” He folded his arms, and looked over the assembled officers, smiling.

“Both BCT’s are pulling out of that rats nest in Ramadi and we are Oscar Mike at 20:00, no ifs, ands or buts. When Recon gets to that canal, we halt for a sitrep, as I’ll need to hear from the 101st. We may have to send 2 BCT south into Habbaniyah, but Division has tasked 1st BCT up here on Highway-1 all the way to Fallujah. Intel has it that elements of the Al Medina Republican Guard Division are in that city, a much tougher lot than the troops we faced here. Whether we get an order to take the city remains to be seen, but 1st Armored Division will be right behind our 2nd BCT, we may keep moving east along this road here, strait as an arrow south of this lateral canal, right into Taji north of Baghdad. If we get in there in force, we cut off anything they have in Baghdad and stop a withdrawal north on this side of the Tigris River. But gentlemen, Al Taji is an old haunt of Qusay Hussein, and we’ve also learned that at least one brigade of his personal division is assigned there. So we may have a fight on our hands, and a big one. That’s the plan, because if we break these guys now, the rest is done with mirrors. Let’s get to it.”

The sheer weight of force at Ramadi had decided the issue by midnight on the 20th of January. There were simply too many US brigades in the long line coming up Highway-1 for any resistance there to be sustained. The two BCT’s of 1st Cav pulled out and reformed on Highway-1 north of the Euphrates, and 3rd I.D. moved into the city to clear out any pockets of resistance or would be jihadis. They had been surprised to find men that had entered Iraq from Syria weeks earlier, veterans of the long civil war there looking for a new war to fight the heathens of the West.

The plan for the next day was for 3rd ID to continue to push east south of the Euphrates, while 1st Cav and 1st Armored did the same to the north. When these ground forces drew near Fallujah, the 101st would move a brigade in by helicopter to attack that airfield they wanted.

Meanwhile, far to the south, beneath the big Razzazah Lake, the European contingent had finally reached the vicinity of Karbala. That city was famous for the Shrine Imam Husayn, which was burial site of Husayn ibn Ali, the third Imam of Shia Islam. Its two golden minarets and great onion dome could be seen from all over the city, and it was one of the holiest sites in all of Iraq.

The question of what to do if the Iraqis chose to defend the site came up in the planning, and it was determined that a parley should be called. The Iraqis would be told that if they deployed troops there, the Shrine could be destroyed, but if they withdrew to fight elsewhere, Coalition forces promised they would not enter the site unless fired upon from those facilities. The Iraqis were wise enough to agree, making the site a demilitarized zone for both sides, though faithful Fadayeen would remain in those high minarets, reporting movements of British troops in the city when they entered.

Karbala was defended by a territorial brigade as in Ramadi, augmented by Iranian irregulars that had gone there specifically two see to the wellbeing of that shrine. With strong and well equipped European brigades attacking, the defense would not hold for more than a day once the fighting got started.

Brigadier Wilson and the British Brigade deployed on the left, closest to the city, with Berg’s 21st Panzer on his right, and then the French 7th Armored under General Lemont. The Italian Ariete Brigade was the general reserve of this contingent, which would be tasked with taking Karbala, and Hillah, another 40 kilometers to the southeast. That accomplished, they were to converge on Alexandria, about 50 kilometers south of Baghdad, but the Brigadiers were aware they might have a tough fight on this flank. The Hammurabi Division of the Republican Guard was reported to be at Alexandria.

Chapter 14

When the three troops of the Light Squadron reached the Habbaniyah Canal, they found it occupied by the 3rd Mech Battalion of the Al Medina Division. The Iraqis had old Chinese wheeled AFV’s that were east targets when the rest of the battalion came up. This time, they were content to let the Strykers, Bradleys and Abrams tanks sit and pick those vehicles off at range. There were no enemy tanks present, and the Recon Squadron soon commanded the canal bridge.

“Hey Sarge,” said Sanchez. “Why the hell aren’t they blowing these bridges? Don’t they have any demolitions?”

“Maybe not,” said the King. “Suits me just fine. Are you getting enough photos, Mr. Weasel?”

The reporter had been a quiet observer, taking notes on a pad device and lots of photos. “Getting it all,” he said.

“But nuthin’ classified,” said the Sergeant. “No shots of these interior screens and such.”

“Scout’s honor,” said Todd, though he had warmed to the men calling him the Weasel, and almost preferred it to his real name, which was never uttered. “Will there be a big fight for Habbaniyah?”

“Not after the 101st swooped down and stormed the Al Taqaddum airfield. Habbaniyah is surrounded on three sides by water, which means anyone trying to defend it hasn’t got anywhere to displace when they get hit hard—and they will. So my guess is that if the Iraqis can read a map, they’ll fall back east of the Euphrates, and make their stand in Fallujah.”

“We going there?”

“That’s up to the Raven. Harrier says we were to take this canal and sit tight. 101 is mopping up at that airfield, and 3rd I.D. is coming up from Ramadi south of the river. 1st Armored is behind us, and I heard they sent a Stryker Brigade up to get the Tharthar Dam. That’s what controls the flow of water in this canal. Hoowee, if the Hajis blow that, they could flood this place so bad we’d have to sit here for weeks. The only problem is that if they do that, they’ll flood out all the sewer rat Fedayeen in Fallujah too. But I wouldn’t put it past the mothers.

Before sunrise, 1/7th Cav went north on Highway-23, well north of Al Taji. They had been relieved of their positions on the canal and ordered to scout the way, and now they were the northernmost unit in the Army, deep inside Bad Guy country. The route took them along the Tharthar Canal, and without any enemy contact for almost twenty kilometers. Reporter Todd Resel managed to doze off for some much needed sleep until he heard Sergeant King’s voice.

“Slow down here, Sanchez. There’s another canal on our right—Ishaki Canal.”

“Gee, Sarge. I didn’t know any Japanese were here in Iraq.”

“It ain’t Japanese, Sanchez. But there’s supposed to be a checkpoint up here where the two canals run close. We need to stay frosty. Duran, get ready on big fifty.”

“Roger that, Sarge.”

The two canals were now creating a bottleneck ahead, the dry ground between them compressing to as little as 80 feet. Sergeant King didn’t like it. If they continued, they would be unable to maneuver, stuck in that narrow corridor for nearly ten kilometers.

“We stop here,” he said. “No way we’re going into that rats tunnel.”

At that point, they started taking incoming fire, the red tracers zipping past the vehicles. There was a hard chink, and they knew they had been hit.

“Duran, get some suppressive fire going. Sanchez, turn around!”

The Humvees started growling, and they were lucky they had stopped. Up ahead, elements of a battalion of the Qusay Mechanized Division had taken up residence in a small walled compound where the canals approached one another, squeezing the road between them. It was a perfect place to block that highway, and when they heard a big gun firing, they knew the enemy had at least one tank, and probably more.

“Harrier, this is Falcon-1 on point. We have contact at the bottleneck. Taking heavy fire, and the enemy has tanks, over.”

“Roger Falcon-1. Strongpoint that position and hold. Help is on the way. Over.”

“Strongpoint? Shit, Sarge. That’s heavy gun fire coming our way. They got tanks.”

“I can see that, Neal. So we back it off, that’s all. They probably can’t see shit in the darkness, so we fall back a thousand meters out of gun range and strongpoint there.” He gave them a wicked grin.

It wasn’t a fight for light recon infantry in unarmored Humvees, and they were very lucky they had stopped when they did. The ground between the canals was about 800 meters where they were, but it would narrow with each meter forward on that road. Now they were taking flanking fire as well, as the Humvees rumbled about and powered away to the south. If the enemy had waited, they might have hit the mined roadway ahead, but someone on the other side got jumpy, fired, and gave what would have been a perfect ambush away.

They raced south again, the last tracers of enemy fire zipping past them in the dark. A kilometer south, the King stopped again, and put his troop into a line abreast formation. The Tharthar Canal was about 650 feet wide at this point, but an exposed mud flat hugging the far side actually narrowed that water width to about 300 feet.

They would wait, edgy, and expecting enemy tanks to come lumbering down the highway towards them any minute, but none came. Instead a Stryker came up behind them, and Lieutenant Nedelman got out to look for someone in charge. He saw King’s Humvee and leaned in the driver’s side window.

“What have you got?”

“Tanks ahead, sir, and we took plenty of MG and small arms fire. These buggies weren’t cut for that, so we backed off.”

“Good call. Did you get the grid spot on that fire?”

King looked at his digital map. “Has to be 43.8 East, 33.9 North. Right there. Map shows outbuildings east of the smaller canal, but we took fire in here where the two canals compress to flank the road. That’s a doomsday road, sir. You can’t maneuver in there. We need to be on the other side of this smaller canal on the right, and that means we’ll need engineers to lay down a bridge.”

“You say they have tanks?”

“Lobbed at least three rounds at us, but they didn’t hit anything. I don’t think they expected us. We must have surprised them.”

“Alright Sergeant, good collar. We’ll need something heavier to make the arrest, so stay put. I may have to call in a fire mission.”

“You might want to wait on that, sir,” said King, “at least until something heavier does come up behind us. Hit them now and they’ll have two choices. They can either skedaddle up Highway-23, hemmed in by canals on both sides, or they can come down here where there’s room to fight. Hell, my guess is that their main body is east of the canal on our right. That’s probably just a road block up ahead.”

The Needle Head simply nodded. “I’ll take that under advisement. Carry on, Sergeant King.”

He walked away, back to the Stryker, and Sanchez gave the Sergeant a bemused look. “What’s he mean, Sarge? Is Needle Head going to call for artillery?”

“He’s thinking about it.”

“Well that will piss those guys off.”

“It just might. Reporter, if this thing starts going south on us here, that’s where you head—south. Bug out and run to one of the vehicles at the rear.”

A report of enemy tanks is always a sure fire way to get some heavy metal heading your way. Needle Head kicked the can up to Battalion, and they kicked it up to Brigade. That ended up diverting 2/5 Combined Arms Battalion up that same road, and they had 28 M1-A2C’s with them, and engineers. At the same time, 2/8 CAB deployed east of the narrower Ishaki Canal, and the two heavy battalions were going to sweep north and see if the enemy wanted a fight.

There was a brief, sharp exchange of fire, and to Sergeant King and his men, the sound of those Abrams tanks firing was a great relief. They weren’t going to try and blow though that position in Humvees with HMGs, but the Abrams got the job done.

Just before dawn Lieutenant Nedleman, came over and told them they had fingered a battalion of the Qusay Division, and that Brigade had sent them packing north towards Samarra.

“That’s where the brigade going,” he said. “But we’ve got another mission. From here we head east to a big airfield they have up here….”

Balad Air Base was a huge complex, measuring four by six kilometers, with two 4000 meter runways. Code named “Anaconda,” it had been the 2nd largest US airfield complex in the war fought in our history, and would likely be developed in the same way here.

At that hour, no one had any firm intelligence on just what the Iraqis might have there. They had no air force worth the name to base at the many airfields in the country, but denying their use to the Americans was always a good play. Situated 50 kilometers to the east on the Tigris River, it would be a long ride through hostile country, for this was the proverbial “Sunni Triangle,” the fertile ground that had spawned Iraq’s ruling Baath Party and the Hussein regime. Half that 50 kilometers would be over sparsely populated arid ground, but as they approached the Tigris, the terrain would become a patchwork quilt of cultivation and small farms fed by small canals, with occasional larger villages. They would make for the town of Dejail, on Highway-1 less than 15 klicks from the base.

“Sarge, we’d better get some intel before we get to that air field,” said Corporal Neal, always thinking of complications that might lie ahead.

“That’s what we’re out here to do, Neal. We’re Recon.”

“Right but the air force could at least clue us in as to whether the place is even occupied. What if we run into a situation like the one we just left? What if the Hajis have tanks on that field?”

“Well, we ain’t alone, Neal. We got the whole battalion. All we have to do is lead the way and let the Stryker and Bradley boys know what’s up ahead.”

“Assuming we don’t get our asses blown off.”

“Don’t worry, Corporal. We’re going to time the approach to the field at night, so they won’t see us coming.”

“But Sarge, this whole region is Sunni Arabs. Someone’s going to see us. We’re not going to sneak the whole squadron up on that field unnoticed.”

The Sergeant didn’t like irritating facts like that, and just grumbled, chewing on some tobacco that he spit out the window from time to time. Neal wasn’t wrong, he knew, but that didn’t make this mission any easier, or his sour mood any better.

Balad AFB was about 45 kilometers southeast of Samarra, and that town was known to be the deployment zone for the entire Samarra Mech Division. As it happened, there would be more than one Iraqi battalion near the airfield by the time the light recon troops got close. On the field itself was 5th Battalion Samarra Mech, which had 27 squads of infantry in older Chinese APC’s and a lot of supporting elements, including six BM-21 rocket launchers, three 122mm guns, and three heavy 120mm mortars. There were no tanks, but that heavy ordnance alone was bad news for the leading recon units if they were spotted and identified.

The 1st Mech Battalion of the Qusay Division that had been chased from the blocking position on Highway 23, had also retreated towards the Tigris and was only about seven kilometers from the airfield. On the other side of the Tigris, the Karukh Mountain Brigade had come down from the Kirkuk region, with four infantry battalions, one guarding a ferry site on the Tigris just five klicks from the base.

They made the approach to the airfield keeping to small secondary roads and avoiding hamlets and farm buildings. Any they strayed near drew occasional AK-47 fire, which they ignored as they pressed on in the dark. Moving into the greenbelt closer to the river they came to a position about 5000 meters from the airfield, and that was when the heavy weapons in that Iraqi mech battalion opened up.

They hears the distant crump of artillery fire, and then the rounds sailing through the grey dawn until they fell heavily about 500 meters down the road. That was danger close.

“Goddamnit,” said the King. “They got artillery. That was unaimed fire, just warning shots, but they damn well know we’re out here.”

Yes, all it took was a curious Fedayeen farmer taking a look at what was moving in the night, and then getting on a radio to Balad. Darkness was not really reliable cover when you were rolling in Bad Guy country, where every hovel, hamlet, and farm was filled with hidden, unfriendly eyes.

“Falcon-1, this is Harrier. What was that fire we just heard?”

Needle Head wanted to know what was up.

“Harrier, this is Falcon-1. Be advised, the enemy is lobbing artillery—five rounds, unaimed fire, but danger close, sir. They’ve got guns.”

“Roger that, Falcon-1. Egress two klicks if it gets any closer and stand by. The rest of the battalion is coming up, and be advised, we have Black Jack at three. Over.”

“Black Jack?” said Neal. “That’s 2nd BCT.”

“Yes it is,” said King, with a satisfied nod.

“Well what did he mean, are they coming at three, or are they at our three-o-clock position?”

“Damn it Neal, if they were coming at three, then Needle Head would have said 15:00. Right? So that has to mean they’re coming up on our right flank at three-o’clock.”

“Not 15:00 o’clock, Sarge?”

“Don’t get cute, Neal. Remember, we’ve got a reporter with us.”

Another three rounds came in, this time only about 200 meters out—danger close, and then some.

“Sergeant,” said Sanchez, leaning over the wheel. “That artillery just got closer. Right?”

“They obviously corrected 300 meters, but they still couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn door, even if they were standing next to it!”

“But shouldn’t we … what did Needle Head say… egress?”

Before the Sergeant could answer, three more rounds came whistling in and this time they sailed right overhead, and straddled the road about 100 meters behind them.

“Damn, Sergeant. They can walk that shit right up that road. Those are just spotting rounds, but we just got bracketed. What if they fire for effect?”

King leaned out the window and spat. Then he reached for the comms with some reluctance and contacted Needle Head again. “Harrier this is Falcon-1. Moving to grid 37-47 as ordered. Over. The heat is on.”

King folded his arms, frowning. “Alright Sanchez, get on with it. Egress… Egress. But stay off that goddamn road. Move off to the right.”

“You got it, Sarge.”

Chapter 15

They fired up the Humvees, and were Oscar Mike—to the rear, a 2000 meter withdrawal as ordered. That was the lot of the Light Troops. They would often take point, because they were fast, light, and maneuverable. Their mission was to sniff out enemy opposition, determine what it might be, and then report to Squadron HQ. After that, it was up to Needle Head to determine what to do. Their problem was that light unarmored Humvees could rarely deal with any real opposition, so their war was one part bravado and dash, but two parts caution. There was no way they were going any further towards Balad AFB that night, not until that artillery settled down.

If the Iraqis had been more offensive minded, they might have attacked with four battalions and given 1/7th Cav a run for the money. As it happened, the mountain troops stayed north on the Tigris, digging in to guard the few bridges there, and that battalion from the Qusay Mech Division stayed put too. So there was nothing else to do but wait for the sun to rise, when they saw some welcome contrails in the sky.

The US Army always had a friend upstairs in the USAF. The routine now was to recon that airfield from above, and then drop some eggs on that nest before Black Jack came up to join the party. The first two battalions of that brigade to arrive were 4/9th Cav, and 1/9th CAB, and they had artillery too.

The battle for Balad AFB was tougher than anyone thought. 1/7thCav got orders to deploy west of the field, with its heavier elements attacking from that direction. But it was 2nd BCT of the division that would put in the main attack with its combined Arms Battalions. The Iraqis were well dug in, fighting from the concrete revetments that had been built for their nonexistent fighters, so the hardest fighting was in the south, where as many as 100 hardened revetments were clustered together. Just north of those were a series of great concrete mushrooms designed to house bigger planes, each one becoming a strong point for the Iraqis.

The Combined Arm’s Battalions each had 30 tanks, so there was plenty of firepower to do the job of breaking those positions. More often than not, it needed that heavy direct fire from the tanks, and on occasion, an air strike was called in to toast any position that was particularly stubborn.

Up in the northwest end of the field, 1/7th Cav moved out of the farmland known as Arab Ajil, and into an area with many storage huts, and a big squarish water pool near an old shooting range. There were four mushroom strong points there, and the first was fronted by three big tin roofed workshops for the planes and helicopters. A few old, broken Iraqi helos sat on the field, but they would never fly again. As Falcon-1 was basically light infantry, the troops were ordered to dismount and take those three workshops.

“You’d better stay put here, Weasel,” said the Sergeant. “You ain’t trained for infantry fighting. Stay with Duran.”

That suited the Weasel fine, but as the sound of small arms fire rattled away, he found himself straining to see what was happening so he could get some pictures. But he had to stay out near a barrel storage area near the water pool, watching the infantry advancing across 500 meters of open ground. Half way to those three workshop buildings, they started taking fire, and went to ground. Then all the Humvees, opened up to give their comrades heavy supporting fire with the big MG’s. The heavy rounds pierced the metal sided buildings, and caused a lot of mayhem. Then Todd saw the soldiers flinging smoke grenades, and the whole scene was awash in white fog.

It was a classic infantry attack, and Falcon-1 was getting some as they stormed the first workshop, driving the last of the Iraqi soldiers out and gunning down three others. When that fell, the troops in the other two shops fell back towards the big aircraft bunker, their retreat peppered and harried by fire as they went.

The Light Troops held the workshops but that was one heavy concrete shelter up ahead, and they had nothing bigger than a 40mm grenade launcher or a Javelin, so that was what they used. The Iraqis were trying to get the big metal doors closed, but that autogrenade launcher just pounded the entrance with grenades, and then they hissed in a Javelin round.

Designed to pierce the armor of tanks, it blew through that door, and it wasn’t long before they saw a white flag waving from the smoky entrance. These Iraqis did not really want to die in that concrete bunker, slammed by Javelins with a deafening roar when they exploded. So that night Falcon-1 had that bunker cleared, while Falcon-2 was fighting for the others a little to the southeast.

Before sunrise, the Recon Squadron would clear all four positions, and Lt. Ranes was quite pleased with what his Squadron had accomplished. So was Sergeant King.

“See there, Weasel? Light troops can still rumble when we have to. Kicked some Haji ass out there tonight, and damn good. LT is naming this road out there Texas Avenue. We own this end of the field now, and 2nd BCT is mopping up in the south.”

They had no immediate orders other than to sit on that airfield for the time being, though the heavier elements of the Squadron were pulling out to the south.

“Hey Sarge,” why are we still sitting here? Aren’t we supposed to be the tip of the dick out here?”

“Goddammit, Neal. There you go desecratin’ a time honored battle motto. We’re the tip of the spear. Leave your dick out of it. Now we got orders to sit tight, and if you have questions about them, why don’t you just go see the Needle Head yourself?”

At mid-day, the mystery was solved when a helicopter came in low and hovered over the field briefly before it landed. They watched as a man in dark camos crouched low beneath the rotor wash, carrying a small satchel. He spied the row of Humvees and came running in their direction, so Sergeant King got out to see what was up. The man had bars, so the Sergeant proffered a salute.

“Don’t mind the rank, Sergeant,” said the man, a tall, lean, but well-built soldier, yet curiously with a lot of odd looking equipment that wasn’t regulation Army.

“Captain Jason Dunn,” he said “at least for this assignment. I’m CIA—Paramilitary, and I understand you’re going to Baghdad.”

“Well your understanding is better than mine, Captain. I’ve no orders at the moment. We’re just sitting here.”

“Waiting for me,” said the Captain.

“Sir?”

“I’ll be riding to Baghdad with you, as I have business there.”

“Of course, sir. My vehicle is full up, but you can ride with C- Troop. They’ll be right over there. Just ask for the Jackal. That would be Sergeant Jekel, or Mister Hyde as we sometimes call him. You’ll know him by his laugh.”

The Sergeant had a haw, haw, haw laugh that sounded like a jackal, which mated perfectly with his name. King thought he might get some intel from this man, so he asked him where, exactly, they were supposed to take him.

“That’s classified, Sergeant. When we get to Baghdad, I’ll let you know.”

The man turned and headed for number C-Troop, and King shook his head as he went back to the Humvee. “Now get this,” he said. “We got us another visitor, only this guy looks like bad news, a real ice cube, only with fire in his eyes. He’s CIA Paramilitary, a goddamned Captain too, and we’re supposed to take him to Baghdad.”

“Then we are going to Baghdad,” said Neal. “I guess we’re supposed to wait here for the plane. Oh, that’s why they had us take this airfield, which is … well, 50 miles north of Baghdad. Because we get first class seats on the next plane. Right Sarge?”

“Wrong, Neal. This here was a goddamn seize and hold operation for a key mil-I-tery asset.”

“Well, does that mean were not flying first class today? That would be a shame, because I was just warming up to the idea of easing back in that nice big seat with a cocktail while all the rest of the squadron gets stuck in coach.”

“Dream on, Neal. Dream on. Well, now we’ve got us a bona fidee[4] Spook riding with three troop. What do you figure he wants?”

“Probably wants to get into all the defense ministry and intelligence buildings,” said Murphy. ‘There’s probably all kinds of documents in there he’ll want to get his hands on. Wasn’t there some talk about the Hajis hiding some WMD shit before this war?”

“If they had it, they sure forgot where it was,” said the King. “We ain’t seen so much as a smoke grenade from these guys, let alone any weapons of mass de-struction. Well, this complicates things. This guy could be taking’ notes out here, which means we can’t go free wheeling and pissing about this place like you’d have us doing, Corporal Neal. We gots to mind our proverbial P’s and Q’s.”

“What in god’s name is that supposed to mean, anyway?” Asked Corporal Neal.

“P’s and Q’s,” said the Weasel. “It dates back to the days when they used to set type for printing with small lead letters. The lowercase P and the Q looked almost identical, only they were facing in opposite directions. So minding your P’s and Q’s just meant you had to watch what you were doing when laying that type—so you wouldn’t get those letters mixed up.”

Neal just looked at him, frowning. “They fixed that,” he said. “The P and Q are on opposite sides of the top letter row, at least on the screwed up QWERTY Keyboards.”

“Never mind,” said the Weasel. “But it is odd that we suddenly get tasked to ferry in a CIA special agent.”

“This guy ain’t no James Bond,” said King. “He’s probably going to do just what Murph says, and dig through all the stuff in the Defense Ministry. Well, that’s fine by me, and long as he stays out of my underwear. I expect we’ll be Oscar Mike soon now that the Captain has arrived.”

“Did he have a Terp with him?” asked the Weasel, remembering that he had been asked if he had one himself earlier.

“Not that I could see, unless we have to wait for another helicopter. But these guys know languages. I’ll bet he speaks Haji.”

“Alright,” said Neal. “If we don’t get first class seats, I’ll settle for the helo. It get’s a bit drafty, but it sure beats riding through this lovely farmland getting popped at by AK-47’s.”

“Well, that’s what we’re going to do, Neal,” said King. “Unless you figure a way to get this here Humvee into a helo. Any which way you skin this cat, it looks like we’re going to Baghdad after all. So pull up the maps to the south and get familiar with the road net. I don’t want Sanchez making any wrong turns and getting us in a world of shit out here.”

Neal and Sanchez would look over his digital map, and see that if they did roll south through the tall sunflower fields, they would follow the twisting course of the Tigris, but it would not be easy to get to Baghdad on the west side of the river. The roads would take them to Al Taji, just north of Baghdad where they heard the Qusay Division had a full brigade. That was where the US 1st Armored Division would be called in to handle the fighting, but if they went that way, it would be a long time before they got through what was left of that city.

“Any other way we might get there?” asked Sergeant King.

“Aside from flying first class? Well Sarge, we could take this other highway here, straight as an arrow and right into northern Baghdad.”

“That’s east of the river, Neal. We’re on the west bank. See any good crossing sites?”

“Nope. We might find something down here—At Tarmiyah”

“I don’t see any bridges there.”

“No, but the river thins out quite a bit. Maybe we could wade over, Sarge?” Neal gave him his shit eating grin.

They would wait for another hour before they saw the Needle Head riding up in his vehicle, and that prompted them to quickly get mounted in the Humvee, hoping he would visit one of the other troops. Thankfully, number C-Troop was farther back, and the Needle head stopped there first.

King leaned out, squinting, through a small hand held optical device, and he saw that CIA Spook shaking hands with the Needle Head. Something was up, he knew. The reporter was one thing, but now they load us up with a Spook. What is this now, limo service? Who else were they waiting to pick up? He voiced that, and Neal cocked his head to one side.

“Think of us as a kind of military Uber,” he said. “Hell, if we’re supposed to ferry the silver bars into Baghdad, then we might not get tasked with heavy fighting orders.”

“Just what I was worried about,” said Sergeant King. “That explains why the heavy troops pulled out south over an hour ago. They got us bringing up the squadron rear now, and all because of this shmuck from CIA.”

“Ours is not to reason why,” said the Weasel.

Luckily, no one in the troop had died yet, and they wanted to keep things that way. They thought they would get orders to move, but lingered there at the airfield, watching more helos come and go, until a truck was brought up at the back of number three troop.

“Something’s going on back there,” said the King. “I think I just may well get the courage up to go see the Jackal and find out what’s up. That last helo was a Ghost Hawk. Did you see that?”

Wondering was one thing; finding out was another. Information usually flowed one way in the military, from the bottom to the top, and not the other way around until an operation started. The King figured he could see what the Jackal may have learned, but not now. Now was a good time to sleep, until they got real orders. He settled in, closing his eyes and thinking of better times.