Carnivore by Dillard Johnson

Author:Dillard Johnson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins

CHAPTER 15

REPO MEN

I can’t see for shit!” Soprano yelled as he began engaging the BMPs with DU rounds. There were too many fires to use the thermals, but the day sight wasn’t much use either. This was going to get real ugly, real quick. The armored tracks moved out of the woods and began advancing down a road toward my position.

My radio crackled. “Red 2, roger that, we have aircraft back on station above you, just call out some targets when you have them.”

God bless McCoy, talk about nick of fucking time! If he’d been in the Brad with me I would have kissed him.

“Sir, I have twenty BMPs in the woods approaching my position, and have grid coordinates for you RIGHT NOW.” I gave him the coordinates, and we waited. We didn’t have long to wait.

A B-1B dropped four 2,000-pound bombs in a line right down the row of BMPs. The bomber’s aim was perfect. The explosions were huge skyrockets of dirt in a swirling maelstrom. When it cleared, there were a lot of things on fire where the column of BMPs had been, and nothing was moving. We couldn’t tell how many BMPs had actually been destroyed, but any crews left alive were either combat ineffective or pretending they were dead.

The BMPs handled for the moment, we turned our attention back to the road in front of us. Truck after truck kept rolling down the road, and while I’d been on the radio with Captain McCoy, Broadhead had been burning through 120 mm HEAT rounds like they were on sale, but the Iraqis kept coming. The trucks at first would drive around the burning hulks to get closer to us, but that just resulted in yet another truck on fire. That seemed to be a lesson each new wave of trucks had to relearn. They finally wised up, stopping at the far edge of visibility to let their troops out. The Iraqi soldiers began moving toward us in the ditches en masse. The amount of incoming fire was insane—forget “target-rich environment,” we had more guys in front of us than we had ammo left in the Bradley. I got back on the radio and requested another air strike on the trucks, on the soldiers, on every square inch of dirt in front of the bridge.

McCoy was back on the radio seconds later. “Roger that. Aircraft are inbound, and you are danger close. Get your ass out of there.”

I didn’t need to be told twice. “JDAMs are inbound,” I told Sperry and the whole crew. “Let’s get the fuck back from this bridge.” JDAM stands for “joint direct attack munition,” which you might know as a smart bomb.

“Shit yeah.” Scared as hell, he cranked the steering so we would straighten out and then hit the accelerator, thinking we were in reverse. We were still in drive, however, so we jerked forward off the steep bank at the end of the bridge and began to roll over. Somehow, we didn’t, and the Carnivore teetered there, ready to roll at any second.

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