LIEUTENANT Bill Brannigan crawled through the hole at the top of the headquarters bunker and positioned himself among the shrubs around the opening. He peered down at no-man's-land through his ATN night vision binoculars, moving from one spot to another as he visually scanned the area. The 5X magnification gave him a clear view of each part of terrain he wished to peruse.
Now and then the Skipper caught a brief glimpse of one of the enemy soldiers as he scampered from one position of cover to another. They were professional and skillful, their faces darkened and carrying only the French bullpup rifles and bandoliers of ammo. The Skipper also noted their night vision capability. It was obvious they were under close control, and all their movements were coordinated by a commander and/or subcommanders.
Brannigan started to give some fire direction orders over the LASH when he noted that the enemy was now withdrawing. He waited a moment before sighting a couple heading rearward, toward their own position. "The attackers are pulling back," he said. "Adjust your fire accordingly."
The SEALs responded by moving their volleys farther out, in an effort to catch the unseen foe during their retrograde movement.
SIKES was pleased with his men. No casualties had been reported, and the retirement maneuver was working well. It was obvious the Americans had detected the withdrawal because the incoming rounds were now hitting closer to the slopes beneath the Zaheya positions. But they weren't able to spot any clear targets to zero in on.
"La ajal,"Sikes ordered. "Ala malak!"The Storm Troopers obeyed his instructions by slowing down and adopting a calculated deliberation in their maneuvering.
As the Arabs continued heading back, they were slowed a few times when sweeping gunfire came close to them, but they were able to pick up the pace when the heavy impacts of bullets danced away. Finally Sikes was satisfied he was close enough to the Zaheya defensive positions to call in the support fire from the machine guns and grenade launchers. This part of the attack had been planned carefully, with much discussion among him, Brigadier Khohollah, Captain Naser Khadid, and Captain Jamshid Komard.
"This is Sikes Pasha," he said in stumbling Farsi over the LASH. "Shuru kardeed shellikee. Open fire!"
Immediately the rapid "pow-pow-pow" of the trio of MG-3 machine guns at a collective 3,300 rounds per minute and the "chunk-a-chunk" of the 645 rounds per minute from the three LAG-40 grenade launchers sent sweeping salvos across the American positions. It was a combined barrage of 55 bullets and 11 grenades a second.
OVER in the SEALs' Third Section, the incoming machine-gun rounds pounded hell out of the sandbags, while three rapid grenade detonations tore others apart. Chad Murchison and J. T. Snooker were stunned by the concussion of the explosions, but quickly reacted. They bailed out of their fighting positions and sprinted toward the bunker, diving over the sandbags into the interior. They quickly whipped around to cover their area of fire responsibility from this position, although their angle of fire was drastically cut. But with their cover blown away, they had no choice.
More pounding from the enemy worked its way from both north to south and south to north along the entire American front. The rapidity of the grenade strikes was a nasty surprise, as was the fact that three more fighting positions had been blown to hell in a very short time. Once again several SEALs had to abandon their posts and head for the safety of the bunkers.
The Skipper, still on top of the mountain observing the battle, watched in dismay as the attackers scurried up the slopes to their fortress and disappeared over the defenses to the protection of their trenches. The enemy's heavy covering fire had prevented the Brigands from turning the salvos onto the enemy as they clambered to safety.
The incoming enemy fire suddenly ceased, leaving an eerie silence over the scene.
Brannigan crawled back to the hole and slid in, quickly going down the ladder into the Headquarters bunker. He went outside to check the condition of the detachment personnel and defenses. He gazed around through his NVGs, noting where several fighting positions had been completely destroyed. The sandbags were split and scattered around the immediate area, and the stone walls had been blown apart or had collapsed.
Then Jim Cruiser's voice came over the LASH. "Skipper, we have a KIA here in the First Section. It's Halonen."
"And I have a WIA in the Second, sir," said Orlando Taylor, joining in. "MacTavish has taken some hits in the face with shrapnel. He's pretty dazed. I dispatched Bernardi to help him over to the corpsman."
"Okay," Brannigan said. "MacTavish is your SAW gunner, isn't he?"
"Affirmative, sir."
Doc Bradley came over the air. "I'm on my way back to headquarters to look after MacTavish."
"He and Bernardi are here now," the Skipper said. "They're just walking up." He turned to the two SEALs. "Go on to Doc Bradley's place. How're you feeling, MacTavish?"
"I'm alright, sir," he replied in his North Carolina accent. "I just got some scratches, so I'll be fine directly."
"I'm sure you will," Brannigan said with an encouraging grin. But he noted MacTavish was pretty unsteady on his feet, even with Bernardi's help.
Doc Bradley and Frank Gomez came in together from their shared fighting position. Brannigan nodded to Doc. "Bernardi took MacTavish into that clinic of yours."
"On my way, sir," the hospital corpsman said.
Frank Gomez said, "We had some direct hits on several of the fighting positions, sir.
It looks like we'll be doing some rebuilding."
"That goes without saying," Brannigan said. "You might as well go back to your position until daylight. I want a hundred percent alert until the sun comes up. Then get back here--I'll have some transmissions ready for you. We'll have Halonen flown out. And we might have a medevac for MacTavish."
Bernardi reappeared from Doc Bradley's clinic, hurrying as he left the bunker to rejoin the Second Assault Section. Brannigan looked out over no-man's-land at the enemy positions. They seemed abandoned in the weird view provided by his NVGs. He took the binocular and made a slow sweep of the place. The Iranians and their Arab buddies were staying under cover. He replaced the device in its case, speaking into the LASH. "Section commanders, report!"
"First Section one man KIA, sir."
"Second Section one man WIA, sir."
"Third Section all present and accounted for, sir."
"Fire Support all present and accounted for, sir."
"Okay," Brannigan said. "Stay where you are. Make sure any of your guys who had their fighting positions blown to hell have good cover. Those bastards might start shooting again."
Doc Bradley appeared at his side. "Sir, MacTavish will be in pretty good shape in a couple of days, but we have to medevac him. He wasn't hit by shrapnel; it was by rocks and dirt. I cleaned him up the best I could, but if he doesn't get to more sophisticated treatment all that debris in his skin is going to result in tattooing. At first he didn't want to go, but I told him what he'd look like if he didn't get all that crap cleaned out of his face. That made him change his mind."