Shock Factor (16 page)

After all he'd seen in Ramadi, Adam was determined to build a hide site that could not be seen. He wanted to catch the enemy unawares. No more fuck-fuck games of unarmed insurgents celebrating in the street and mocking the Americans. He wanted to catch them, armed and up to no good, then close them out. Surprise would negate al-Qaida's manipulation of the ROEs.

Like most houses in Ramadi, this one had a three-foot-tall parapet running along the roof's perimeter. After what happened in November, popping up over the parapet seemed like a bad idea. As a result, the spotters had brought periscopes along, and the snipers planned to create loopholes in the wall.

When I was in Somalia in 1993, we encountered the same situation. To stay out of sight and be unobtrusive, we would create loopholes in the parapets, then conceal ourselves behind them. We quickly found that knocking holes in concrete, even the substandard stuff used in the Third World, is no easy task. It took sledgehammers and chisels, or explosives to make the holes large enough to be usable. The problem was, either option tended to blow our low signature. Plus sledgehammers are very heavy, and carrying them around in a combat environment is not something any of us liked doing.

We discovered a work around—long, hand-cranked drills. We used them to bore out a hole, then we'd enlarge it with other tools. The noise they made was minimal, and we could do it while remaining under the parapet and unexposed to the rest of the city—something we couldn't do with the sledges.

Camp Lee didn't have any hand-crank drills, so the only options available to Adam and the other snipers were sledgehammers and C2 charges. Using sledges took a lot of time, plus they made a unique sound that would have certainly alerted any insurgents or observers to the presence of the SEAL element. But in Ramadi, explosions shook the city constantly, even at night. The operators settled on using small C2 packets, known as Ghostbuster Charges. They figured the blasts would blend into the background cacophony. Plus, there would only be two used almost simultaneously, which would minimize the enemy's ability to zero in on their location, should they want to investigate the source of the explosions.

Adam set his C2 charge at the same time the other sniper team emplaced theirs on the far side of the roof. A moment later, they detonated them both. Adam's charge created a perfect loophole, but the other charge must have been placed on a structurally weak spot of the parapet. It blew the entire corner off, which created great visibility, but Uncle Sam's taxpayers would have to pick up the repair bill.

The snipers settled into their spots and went to work improving their hides. Dawn was still a few hours away, so they had plenty of time before the insurgents liked to come out and play. Few risked moving around at night, knowing that the technology the Americans carried gave them a huge advantage in the darkness.

Adam positioned his SR-25 on its bipod, its suppressor set back from the eight-by-eight loophole. Using 550 Cord, he strung a tan screen in front of the SR-25's barrel and then built overhead concealment with his poncho liner. That way, when the sun came up, he would not be backlit to anyone looking at his loophole from ground level.

To counter any insurgent attempt to get on the roof, as they had on November 19, the SEALs set up Claymore mines hung against the outside parapet. Any Jihadist who thought he was Spiderman would climb up the wall and trigger a hailstorm of seven hundred polished ball bearings, each precisely an eighth of an inch in diameter. Setting one of those off was guaranteed to turn a human being into a fine red mist.

A few hours before dawn, Adam and his spotter, Bud, were in position and had already prepped their field of view. Using their PVS-22 night scope, they had eyes on an intersection two hundred twenty-one yards to the south. On the northwest corner of the intersection stood an abandoned school. Across the street to the south was a store of some kind that seemed to still be functioning. The rest of the neighborhood was composed largely of walled compounds, one abutting the other. Most shared at least one common wall. Alleys and side streets delineated each block.

Adam's loophole gave him a good, if narrow, view of the intersection. Around 0400, he detected movement at the intersection. At first, only one military-aged male appeared. He was unarmed, but he was looking around furtively. That made Adam instantly suspicious. He focused in on the man and watched him like a hawk. He didn't seem to have any clue there were eyes on him. A few minutes later a truck pulled up and stopped half in and half out of Adam's field of view. Three more military-aged males climbed out. They all stood together for a few minutes, chatting and looking around, then they went toward the back of the truck and out of Adam's view. A couple of them reappeared as they walked into the store on the southwest corner of the intersection.

Who makes deliveries in Ramadi at 0400?

Nobody.

This smelled wrong. Bud and Adam talked it over. Neither man had a good view of the truck, and they could only see the males in the street from about the rib cage up. And most of the time they couldn't see their arms either. They were able to confirm they carried no weapons, but still this seemed very wrong.

The men came back out of the shop, climbed into the truck, and drove off. Adam swapped out with Bud in order to catch a quick nap. The day would be a long one, and both men would take turns ensuring they had something of a sleep cycle.

At 0500, Adam woke up and spelled Bud on the SR-25. The sun was starting to come up by then, so he pulled the PVS-22 off the SR-25's rail mount and stuck his eye in the scope. Yellow-orange light was just starting to stream across the street and intersection below, casting sharp shadows created by the buildings to the east.

From out of the shadows came one of the military-aged males again. He was scowling with that tough-guy, I'm-in-charge sort of look that he'd seen on insurgents' faces before. He stopped in the street, glanced around, as if he were conspiring to do something. The truck returned, and the others piled out again. They disappeared behind the truck, then reappeared briefly. Bud and Adam could only see them from the ribs up again, but it looked as if each man was carrying something heavy with both arms. They went into the store.

The snipers talked this over. It looked like these guys were resupplying a forward cache, something al-Qaida did all the time. In the heat of a fight, the insurgents knew exactly which building, shop, or house to run to if they needed ammo, water, explosives, or medical supplies. The SEALs had seen it many times, those buildings became focal points of activity during sustained firefights.

Two hundred twenty-one yards. An easy range, but a difficult shot since the men were moving around and Adam could only see them from mid–rib cage to the top of their heads. The elevation would not be an issue this time as the snipers were only two stories up. Wind was light to negligible.

Adam and Bud decided it was doable. If any of the four revealed a weapon or military supplies, the insurgents would fall within the ROEs and they could take the shot. As it stood, they knew something was wrong with the unfolding scene down the street, but both knew if they opened fire, their shooter's statement would be closely scrutinized.

The military-aged men reemerged to gather in the street again. They stood together, talking and taking sidelong glances around the intersection for several more minutes. Adam watched through his scope reticle set on one of them.

Just give me a reason.

No weapons. No military supplies. What if they were bringing in wares for a legitimate business?

As if there were any left in this place.

Adam made the decision. He knew, sensed, and felt these guys were bad. Ordinary citizens didn't act this way in Ramadi. Their scowls, the way they glanced around, the way they postured in that too-cool-for-school sort of way that he'd seen other insurgents mimic, plus their age—it all added up to al-Qaida.

The neighborhood was another indicator. This place was bad karma, one of the P-Sectors that had always been contested whenever the SEALs had gone into it. They'd been given a little more latitude to engage in this area, simply because of the level of resistance typical there.

Adam resolved to engage these guys and close them out. He told Bud, who agreed. The shooter statement remained in the backs of their minds, but this was the right call.

Before they had a chance to open fire, the men by the truck scattered. The truck drove away without at least three of the men.

Minutes passed. The street remained empty, the shop dark and seemingly abandoned.

What were these guys up to?

They hadn't had any visible weapons. Adam started second-guessing himself. Should he have opened fire earlier? Where had they gone? His narrow field of view through the loophole left him frustrated. Bud swept the neighborhood with his periscope, but saw no sign of them either.

Adam checked his watch. Fifteen minutes had passed since they'd last been in the street. Could the truck be going back for another delivery run?

Something black sailed over the west side of the parapet. It hit Bud's leg and rolled onto the roof.

“Mother fuck! Grenade!” Bud shouted.

Adam leaped to his feet to see the device right beside his spotter. Bud kicked it as hard as he could, and it skipped across the roof toward the north wall even as both SEALs flung themselves toward the second-floor doorway.

Adam and the rest of the men on the roof piled into the second-floor main room, but Bud was still trying to get in when the grenade exploded. Shrapnel tore into his leg. He reached the doorway and leapt inside the comparative safety of the main room on the second floor.

Another grenade arched overhead. It landed with uncanny precision in the other sniper team's hide on the southeast corner of the roof, where it exploded.

Adam untangled himself from the pile of pissed-off operators. As he stood up, Bud calmly asked, “Hey, dude, can you look at this?”

Adam went over to his friend and examined his wounds. He'd taken shrapnel in his heel, and his leg had a nasty gash. It looked painful, but not too serious.

“Yeah,” Adam said nonchalantly. “You're okay.”

He set to work bandaging his brother's wounds.

With their cover blown, their OIC made the decision to extract and get Bud medical help. The SEALs called back to the nearest Army outpost and asked for Bradleys that had been standing by again as a quick reaction force.

As they waited for the Army's tracks to come pull them out, the SEALs crept back out onto the roof to collect their gear and disarm and recover the Claymores. All the while, they kept half-expecting another grenade to come sailing over the parapet.

Once again, the Muj's knowledge of the neighborhood played to their advantage. There was simply no way the SEALs could get eyes on every possible avenue of approach. And these guys knew exactly where the blind spots were. They had reached the street the Americans had entered the compound from and used the outside wall to conceal their attack. How they were so accurate with their throws is anyone's guess. They must have had plenty of practice. Or a career in Major League ball in their pasts.

The Brads arrived, and the team prepared to exfil. They gathered downstairs, promised the family they'd be compensated for the damage to their roof, then made hasty plans for their departure. Every other man leaving the front door would take an alternate approach through the compound to the outside gate. One right, next man left, third man right.

Out the door they went. Left, right, left. The men flowed through the courtyard, then reunited by the main gate in the outer wall. They'd pull security around the Brads in the same manner. Left, right, left, set up and cover Bud's exfil into the nearest track. Once he was in, everyone else would climb aboard.

They began to move. Adam went through the gate at a dead run with the EOD (explosive ordnance disposal) specialist. Three feet away from them lay an IED. Both men froze for a split second as they realized what had happened. It was a repeat of the tactic used on November 19. Except this time, the IED was close enough to kill or maim most of the team.

They called it out and sprinted for the tracks. Everyone else did the same. The Bradleys and their armored hulls were the only thing that could protect them at this point.

The bomb failed to detonate. The Americans got aboard the Brads and the Army drivers threw them in gear and lurched back for COP Eagle's Nest.

Heart still pounding, Adam looked over at Bud. His friend offered a wry smile and said, “Hey, brother, no worries. We'll get 'em another day.”

 

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The Kill or Capture Christmas

DECEMBER 24, 2006

Another fucking day.

Adam sat in the rubble of the abandoned building and took a drag on his cigarette. Two days into this op, and so far it was a bust. They'd been covering Army patrols again in one of the P-sectors, fully expecting a fight to develop, only to be confronted with hours of boredom. December in Ramadi was cold as hell, and the men spent most of the time shivering in their filthy uniforms. To make matters worse, when they patrolled into this empty dwelling, they had to wade through ankle-deep sewage that soaked their socks and feet.

After a few days, these overwatch positions always developed a unique funk. Think football locker room meets Porta-John, foul breath with the occasional spritz of cordite and gunpowder.

Adam finished his smoke, flicked the butt into the debris around him, then regarded his boots. His feet had ached with cold for two days. A few hours ago, they'd started to go numb. Bad sign. He unlaced one boot and shucked it off. The stench that poured forth was so foul that he gasped.

When you can stand the smell of your own feet, you know it's bad.

Trying not to breathe, he peeled off the sweat- and sewage-soaked sock. The flesh beneath was blotchy, red, and reeked of decay. His toes were turning blue. The skin was pruned, as if he'd spent hours in a bathtub.