Full Battle Rattle by Changiz Lahidji

Author:Changiz Lahidji
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: St. Martin's Press

9

BLACK HAWK DOWN

One week after the downing of COURAGE 53, the incident continued to haunt us members of Task Force Ranger. As I did PT, trained, or passed idle hours playing gin rummy, hearts, or blackjack in the hangar by the beach that served as our barracks or endured nightly mortar attacks, I wondered how we had quickly gone from heroes to villains in the eyes of the residents of Mogadishu and if the diplomats and generals who were guiding our mission really had a grip on what was going down in war-torn Somalia.

Most of the guys I talked to had as much interest in going into the city as entering the white-shark-infested ocean to our east. If the Somalis didn’t want us here, what the fuck were we doing?

The place was hot, uncomfortable, dirty, smelly, and swarming with disease-bearing bugs, rats, and mosquitoes; the water was undrinkable; the food sucked; and the militants who controlled the city were trying to kill us. In no way, shape, or form was it a friendly environment. What were we trying to accomplish? Keep them from killing one another, when they seemed to be directing most of their hatred at us?

As soldiers we weren’t privy to the strategic thinking of UN envoy Admiral Howe or other decision makers in Washington. So we sucked it up and tried to make the best of what was an increasingly dangerous situation.

Sunday morning, October 3, I ran into my old buddy Master Sergeant Tim “Griz” Martin, who was with Delta. He’d arrived in August and, like many of us, was counting the days until he got orders to return to the States.

“Hey, Changiz. How’s it going?” Tim asked. “What’s the word from home?”

Tim was an easygoing guy from Indiana with a good sense of humor and a seen-it-all, dealt-with-everything attitude. We’d met in Okinawa in 1990 when we were both assigned to 1st Group Special Forces. Tim, who had previously been in Delta and wanted to be promoted from E8 (First Sergeant) to E9 (Command Sergeant Major), took a year-and-a-half assignment in ODA 116, while I was with ODA 113. After getting his E9, he transferred back to the Dreaded D (Delta).

Friday nights at Okinawa, he and I chowed together with a group of guys at the base cafeteria, where Tim would talk about his wife and three daughters and plans for retirement. He’d been in the Army since graduating from high school in ’74. There was a lot of wear on his military tires.

But they didn’t show that Sunday morning outside the hangar. He looked as affable and confident as ever as he stood smiling and waiting for me to respond.

“All good, Tim,” I answered. “I’ve got thirteen years in, another seven at least to go. How about with you?”

“My girls miss me, and I miss them. This coming June I’ll hit twenty years active service. Probably pack it in and start a business.” While at Okinawa, Tim and I had trained at the firing range together.

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