Lions of Kandahar by Rusty Bradley; Kevin Maurer

Author:Rusty Bradley; Kevin Maurer
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9780440423454
Publisher: Bantam
Published: 2011-06-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

“SHOOT INTO THE

BUSHES, DADDY!”

If men make war in slavish obedience to rules, they will fail.

—ULYSSES S. GRANT

My day started with a tug on my foot. It was Jude, waking me up for my guard shift. I hadn’t seen much of him on the road during his stint driving Jared’s truck. It was good to have him back in the fold.

“Nothing going on out there, Captain,” he said.

“I’ve gotta have a cup of coffee today or I’m gonna break something,” I said.

He shrugged and handed me the night-vision goggles. Before I could get out of the truck, he had disappeared into his sleeping bag for a few hours of sleep. I opened the door and pulled a bag of ground coffee and filters from a metal box.

It was just after four a.m., with the sun just below the horizon. While the coffee was brewing, I walked over to check on the ANA. Taz sat with his legs tucked under him, the American-made AK-47 magazine carrier I bought him on the last rotation strapped across his chest, the small squad radio at his ear. He gave me a thumbs-up and grinned.

“Dodee wharlee, Turan?” he asked. Do you want food, Captain?

“Walee na zma, malgaree,” I said. Why not, my friend.

Coughing and a growl issued from a sleeping bag behind me.

“Roostie.” Shinsha jammed a cigarette in his mouth before completely sitting up. He slapped my leg, nearly knocking it out from under me.

“Sahar pakair, Komandan,” I said in Pashto. Good morning, Commander.

We could still see torches flickering down in the valley as the long lines of civilians continued to flee Panjwayi. Taz and Shinsha were clearly disturbed by the refugees and the prospect of their country being torn apart, again.

Operation Medusa was set to kick off in just a few hours, and talk soon turned to the Canadian attack. Shinsha was sure he knew how the battle would turn out.

“This is same as with the Russies,” he said. “They attack and the Taliban will make defense and absorb attackers until they are too weak to go on.”

“This time, though, you’re rooting for the attackers,” I teased him.

By the time the sunrise sent streaks of brilliant gold light into the deep blue skies above the desert, I was nearly full of tea and bread. I hope today is better than yesterday, I thought.

A Canadian special operations unit had infiltrated onto Masum Ghar, five kilometers north of our position, under the noses of Taliban fighters during the night. We heard them on the radio for the first time that morning. Masum Ghar was the northernmost terrain feature, with commanding views of the Canadian objectives. The Canadian plan called for several days of bombing, targeted in part by the Canadian special operations team, followed by a ground attack across the Arghandab River.

The first dull gray A-10 streaked high across the desert overhead, engines wide open. It climbed straight up for several thousand feet, banked hard left, went wings level, then dove like an arrow, belching fire. Like preying birds, bomber after bomber swooped in, pounding Taliban positions.

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