"Troops in contact!" The crack of a sniper rifle triggers a dozen different stories from a dozen different perspectives. Simultaneously I hear the impact and see a bright flash as the bullet slams into the armored shielding protecting the gunner in the vehicle directly in front of us not 15 meters away. The gunner spins his turret around and begins firing. The air in front of my vehicle ripples with the thunder of machine gun fire, as spent brass rains down on the asphalt. "Where is it coming from?!" Adrenalin surges through the bodies of every soldier.
"He's right there!! That building right there!!" This is not much help over the radio.
"Hey, just calm the f--k down! I need distance and direction."
"My three o'clock!! Three o'clock!!" The radio crackles with voices reflecting a dazzling array of emotion.
Moments before the street was packed with cars, busses, trucks, pedestrians and donkey carts. Children were clustered around our vehicle joking with the soldiers and begging for more of the soccer balls that we'd been tossing out. In the blink of an eye the streets are clear, as if the world were startled awake and the bustle of daily life was nothing but a dream.
Then it is over.
Nobody is hurt. All that remains are smoking brass, a wicked scorch mark where the sniper's bullet splattered across the armor plate, and a vacant house newly redecorated in a charming contemporary Swiss cheese motif. By the time we'd regrouped to maneuver, it is believed that the sniper - if he survived our guns - rapidly displaced and fled the area. The gunner who was the sniper's primary target fumbles for his lighter and tries to smoke a cigarette to calm his nerves. A driver borrowed from battalion HQ realizes that he'd been using the wrong call sign on the radio the whole time, contributing to the confusion. I hear Bob, our gunner, mumble to our machine gun, "Dammit. Now I've got to clean this thing." Duane grins as he complains that he didn't get to launch any of his grenades. There is an exhilaration that follows, and good natured ribbing.
It is short lived. About twenty minutes later we learn that soldiers just a couple of miles away also encountered a sniper. They were not so lucky.
The flags are flying at half-mast yet again.
3 comments:
Kick some butt, but keep your head low man. Before reading your entry I was reviewing photos from the trip we just took with your family and hated that your smile was not gracing the pictures along with your family. Get back quick so we can do it again and replace those photos with ones of everyone together. That being said, I proud of what you and your men are doing.
The flags were flying half-mast at school all week. Thanks for letting me walk past them to the coffee shop every day Lee, I get to pursue happiness while you guys protect it! Thank you.
Wow Lee, how wild! Please be safe you guys! Loved reading your blogs.
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