As Charlie Company continued its advance, rolling up the Klowns with judicious use of firepower, Murphy suddenly stopped firing.
“Sir, we’re going to have to move forward—Charlie’s in my lane of fire. I can’t keep firing without the chance of blowing away some of the good guys.”
“Hold your fire for a moment. I don’t want you moving just yet,” Lee said.
“Six, Wizard. Over!” Walker was back, and he sounded mighty excited—but not in a good way.
“Go for Six, Wizard. Over.”
“Six, we’ve got a good-sized element of Klowns rolling up on us from the east-northeast. On foot, several hundred in number, coming out of the barracks on Fifth Armored Division Drive, heading down Fifth Division toward Euphrates. Looks like a good portion of their force was taking a nap while the other portion was pressing the attack. I’m going to uncage Echo on them. Over.”
Lee turned and looked down the line. “Muldoon!” When he didn’t get the response he was hoping for, he loosened the straps of his face mask and lifted it, exposing his face. The tang of combat hit him like a sharp slap, making his nostrils burn. “Muldoon!”
Muldoon stepped around one of the trucks and trotted over.
“Don’t tell me—you need me to save the day again. Right, sir?”
“We’ve got another force coming. Get ready to jump out. Get your team together.” Lee lowered the mask back over his face. “Wizard, Six. Hold Echo in place. Order Thunder to redirect fires for three minutes on that formation on command. I’m sending out a harassing force to slow them down. Over.”
“Roger, already passed word on to Thunder. They’re standing by to shift fires away from Sexton Field. Not so sure holding Echo in place is a good idea. This is a big dismounted force, we need to bring enough firepower to bear to stop them. Over.”
“Walker, we don’t need to stop them, just hold them up. Hold onto Echo. Break. Wizard Seven, Wizard Six. What’s your pos? Over.”
Sergeant Major Turner responded almost instantly. “Six, this is Seven. We’re providing security for the trucks standing ready to evacuate Mountaineer. This area is secure for the moment, and we are in line of sight of Echo. Where do you need us? Over.”
“Seven, this is Six. Say equipment. Over.”
“Six, Seven has five uparmored Humvees ready to go, mix of TOWs, Ma Deuces, and Mark Nineteens. Over.”
“Roger, Seven. Displace to Tenth Mountain and Riva Ridge. Stick close to the trees. Don’t expose your vehicles unless you have to. I’m sending a silver bullet element led by Sergeant Muldoon to link up with you. They will engage the Klowns from the trees and slow them up. Over.” As he spoke, he looked at Muldoon. The big sergeant shrugged and nodded, then turned and started yelling at the remainder of his element.
“Roger, Six. Seven is on the move. Over.”
“Muldoon, you clear on the mission?” Lee asked.
Muldoon gave him a sardonic thumbs-up. “Crystal clear, sir. You just stay here and make sure Mountaineer gets out. We’ll save your bacon.”
“Murphy, Foster, go with him,” Lee said.
“Fuck, sir, you’re already saddling me with Turner. You want me to take your personal chauffer and luggage porter, too?” Muldoon asked.
“Knock off the shit, Muldoon. You’ll need the firepower.”
“Yeah, Muldoon. You might’ve noticed I’ve got a SAW, man,” Murphy said.
“And I’ve got really bad gas,” Foster added. For effect, he rolled onto his side and let a big howler rip.
Murphy groaned. “Thank God we’re already in MOPP.”
Muldoon looked over at Lee and shook his head. “Seriously? These guys? With me?”
“It’s the Army of One, Muldoon,” Lee said. “Embrace the suck, and get going. You don’t have a lot of time, so take one of these trucks with you. And remember, shoot the fuckers in the face.”
THIRTY-SIX.
Onward, Christian soldiers.
Muldoon hunkered down in the darkness with the rest of the troops remaining under his command, a total of thirteen, including Lee’s personal footmen and the Nasty Girl, Rawlings. The soldiers had spread out in the trees, which provided substantial conceal-only cover that would prevent them from being easily seen but would do virtually nothing to shield them from being shot. Turner’s Humvees sat lights-out a couple of hundred feet behind them, hidden by the same trees. Despite his personal dislike for Turner, Muldoon was glad to have the old man around. Turner knew his way around a battlefield, and having him in charge of their heavy weapons made Muldoon feel a little better.
He heard the approaching Klowns ahead—cackling, hooting, and chanting some sort of incomprehensible bullshit that kind of resembled a cadence. For Muldoon, that last increased the pucker factor. If they were trying to sing cadence, there was a lot of military in the mix. Or maybe it was just his amped-up mind fucking with him while he lay beneath a huge, leafy canopy in the dark, waiting to die.
They had two remaining Claymores, which they’d placed well in advance of their position. The idea was to kill or maim a lot of the Klowns right off the bat then hit them with everything they had to fix them in position. Once that happened, Turner’s grenade units would open up with indirect fire, lobbing forty-millimeter rounds over the trees and into the middle of the Klown element while Thunder dropped some sixty-six-millimeter antipersonnel badness right on their heads, as well. And if that didn’t work, Turner’s machinegun units would unmask from the terrain and go to guns on the crazies with their fifties. There was no way they would be able to kill all of them—though it was technically possible, Muldoon was convinced they weren’t going to be that lucky—but they could keep them bottled up long enough for Mountaineer to be evacuated, and then maybe one of the lightfighter companies could roll up and put paid to the Klowns before the battalion hit the road.
The sounds of combat still rent the air as the battle for Hays Hall continued. Through his night vision goggles, Muldoon could see his troops in their fighting positions. Nutter was to his left, Rawlings to his right. Muldoon considered the irony of having a woman as his right-hand man. While he was far too young to be considered a Cold War relic, Muldoon had never much fancied women participating in combat, and he had certainly never expected to serve with any, especially not a National Guardsman. But he had to admit that she handled her small slice of warfare just as well as his men did, perhaps better. While the rest of the troops bitched about everything—soldiers loved to bellyache—he didn’t hear so much as a peep from her.
Finally, a woman who can keep her trap shut. Not that it means anything now.
He turned his attention back to the chuckling and shuffling Klowns as they headed toward them. He pulled the Claymore clacker closer.
Around him, the sounds of his troops shifting were barely audible as they prepared for the engagement. They hadn’t had much time to discuss tactics, other than him giving orders to maintain their firing lanes and not let up. In other words, “Let go, and let God.”
The Klowns advanced toward the trees the team hid in, on their way to 10th Mountain Division Drive, where they expected to turn right and continue on to attack the battalion from the rear. There was no caution in their approach. They believed they were safe for the moment, and they were moving as quickly as they were able.
Muldoon let the first group get well inside the kill zone before he hit the M57’s trigger. The Claymores dutifully detonated simultaneously, and fifty Klowns dropped dead while another sixty or seventy staggered around or flopped about on the ground, direly wounded.