The platoon made good progress until they ran into some thick vegetation that obscured their view. As they got closer to the Islamic center near the top of the hill, the area eventually cleared until they were presented with a very wide 300-meter open space between the edge of the trees where they now stood and the perimeter of the complex. It was not an ideal place to cross; with no cover, his entire platoon could face machine-gun fire the entire way there.
Eventually, everyone came on line with the edge of the trees and the open field. Slater could see the men looking at the open field with caution, hoping he wouldn’t order them into such an exposed position. Slater made his way over to Sergeant First Class Starr, his platoon sergeant, then echoed aloud everyone’s sentiments. “There’s no way we’re crossing that field until I know what’s on the opposite side of it,” he said.
Those who heard his remark nodded, relieved.
Slater grabbed his radio, hoping they could get some armor support or at least have the gunships make a pass overhead. “Ronan Six, this is Ronan One-Six. Over.”
Slater smiled. When their battalion had left India, their old battalion commander had gotten promoted and taken over command of the brigade. The new battalion commander was a bit of a comics nut, so he’d had each of the companies pick a call sign based on a Marvel character. Lieutenant Slater had convinced Captain Wilkes to choose Ronan as their call sign. Of course, the battalion commander had picked the call sign War Machine. He was a real hard-charging West Point grad who unfortunately had had the bad luck to be assigned to the infantry officers basic course at Fort Benning for most of the war. He had sadly missed out on nearly all of the action up to this point. When a slot for a combat command had opened up, he’d jumped at the opportunity to get out of the schoolhouse and finally lead soldiers.
A couple of minutes went by before Slater heard Wilkes respond. “Ronan One-Six, this is Ronan Six. Go ahead.”
“Ronan Six, we’re approaching the main objective. We’ve come across an open field roughly 300 meters wide. It’s too exposed for us to cross alone from our current position. Are we able to get some sort of armor support?” he asked.
“I know exactly what you’re talking about. We’re looking at a similar situation with Third and Fourth Platoon,” said Wilkes. “Stand by. I’ve put a call in to War Machine for armor support. Out.”
“Copy that. Out,” Slater replied.
He turned to his platoon sergeant. “Tell the guys to stay frosty. We’re going to sit tight and wait to see if we get some armor support. Might as well as grab some chow since it’ll be at least twenty or thirty minutes or more until we move again.”
“Roger that, Sir. I’ll spread the word,” Sergeant Starr answered, and he turned to go find his sergeants.
Standing next to the tree line, Slater pulled out his pocket binoculars. He zoomed in as far as they would allow and scanned the edge of the perimeter. The field in front of them wasn’t completely barren of cover. There were small shrubs and bushes, but it was certainly not enough for a platoon of forty soldiers to bound effectively under fire and reach their objective. Looking more closely though at the minarets that dotted the four corners of the mosque, he thought he saw something glint in the sunlight. He spent a couple of minutes examining that spot and waited. A few minutes into his wait, he was rewarded with another glimmer.
“Gotcha,” he thought. Someone was definitely up in that tower watching them.
“Sergeant Starr!” Lieutenant Slater called out. A few other soldiers echoed his call, and eventually his platoon sergeant came trotting up.
“What’s going on, Sir?” he asked in a curious tone. The rest of the platoon had broken out their MREs and were taking a few minutes to recharge their bodies with some much-needed calories.
Slater handed him his binoculars and pointed at the minaret. “There’s an observer up there. See the light reflecting off something? What I can’t tell is if it’s a sniper, a machine gunner, or just someone spotting for mortars or artillery.”
Sergeant Starr looked at the minaret for a few minutes until he saw a glint as well. He nodded as he handed the binoculars back. “You’re right. There’s definitely someone up there.” He then turned and yelled out, “Corporal Biggs, get your butt over here!”
A minute later, the lanky corporal walked up to them. “Here, Sergeant,” he said calmly.
Corporal Biggs was a rail-thin twenty-year-old from Nome, Alaska. The guy was the best shot in the company and had accordingly been assigned to be their sniper.
“That second minaret to the right looks to have someone in it,” Sergeant Starr explained, pointing toward the tower. “Our binos can’t pick out if the guy’s a sniper or just a spotter, or if they have a machine gun up there waiting to open up on us. I need you to grab that long gun of yours and see what you can see.”
“Roger that, Sergeant. Give me just a second to get set up,” Biggs replied. He turned around and headed back to where he’d dropped his gear. Six months ago, the Army had started issuing the new Heckler & Koch 417 to replace the older, heavier Knight’s Armament M110. The new HK417 had been given the designation M110A1. Not only was it lighter and more compact, it was easier to maneuver with since it was five inches shorter than the rifle it was replacing. The new rifles also hadn’t lost any of the range, accuracy or hitting power of the previous model.
Corporal Biggs saddled up next to Sergeant Starr and put his gear down on the ground near the base of a large tree. He unfolded the bipod and did a quick check of his rifle before peering through the scope.
Specialist Hoover plopped down next to him and pulled out his spotter scope, which also had the range finder built in. He did a quick check. “Target 519 meters out,” he called.
Biggs made a couple of adjustments on his scope and then peered through, looking to identify the potential threat.
It took him a few minutes of surveilling the minaret, checking over each of the windows to see if he could spot anything in them. When he reached the top one, where the imam would usually announce the calls to prayer, he saw several sandbags had been placed on the ledge. Just past the sandbags, he spotted two soldiers. One guy was lying next to a belt-fed machine gun, while the other guy was looking around the area with his binoculars. The duo was clearly hunting for Americans to shoot up.
He turned to Sergeant Starr and the lieutenant. “Found `em,” he announced. “Looks to be two guys. One’s got a belt-fed machine gun up there and the guy next to him is probably the assistant gunner. I’m going to check the other minarets before we engage these guys.”
Slater nodded. He was glad he’d waited for armor support and not continued forward.
Over the next five minutes, Corporal Biggs and his spotter, Specialist Hoover, identified seven other machine-gun positions in the other minarets and along the roof of the Islamic center, and they still had most of the windows of the buildings left to check. While they continued to annotate their findings on a notepad, they heard a small commotion behind them.
A minute later, a call came over the radio. “Ronan One-Six, this is War Machine Six, I believe we’re near your position with a couple of Strykers. Can you send a runner over to help guide us to you?” asked their battalion commander.
Slater looked at Starr and the two of them shook their heads — neither of them wanted War Machine saddled up with them. Then again, Slater thought, maybe he could help them get some air support to clear their objective instead of using the Strykers. Slater had found very few problems on the battlefield that couldn’t be solved with the proper application of explosives.