The Fear That Haunts Me

CHAPTER 12

Rules Of Engagement

• Purpose: The purpose is twofold:

1. Provide implementation guidance on the application of force for mission accomplishment, and

2. Ensure the proper exercise of the inherent right of self-defense.

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Good Form

"Target suppressed," said Red. The familiar sounds of our M4s disrupted the sound of the AKs.

"We've got contact at the stone wall. We're in the fight. How copy?" Viking had that sound in his voice, excited.

Theo was quick at the reply. "Stay your sectors and stay frosty. Call your contacts for effect." He was calm and professional. His Marines were doing what the Corps bred us to do. Be as lethal as possible when the time comes. And it's now.

To my right was Kilo Two mobile, sprinting towards the poppy house. They were moving blindly and without orders. I saw one fall, the muzzle flash like lightning. They immediately took cover against the blind house, another taking a hit. I had no visual or contact. I was merely an observer waiting to get into the mix.

"Theo, we've got hostiles moving into the stony reeds. Kilo Four is engaged. They're taking casualties. Over," said Red. He was in the fight's thick and taking the brunt of it for now, T-Man hitting us in coordinated waves. Both our right and left. There was only one place left to attack. I knew it, and that's where I found them.

"Red, I have contact at your one o'clock. About eighty meters out, cutting the poppy and blind house. Looks like eight bad guys, over," I said as I saw them running from the berm, the moon giving them away. Several headed for the back of the Elder's hut. The others toward the blind house and Kilo Two. Red saw the T-Man runners and lit them up.

Holy shit. I saw Red's muzzle flash and several T-Man bodies fall.

A furious fight erupted as they ran into Kilo Two. It was brutal, hand-to-hand. The moonlight showed a gruesome scene of breaking bone and flesh. They were savage, using fists, knives, and point-blank shooting. I didn't have a clear shot and couldn't distinguish between the two forces. Within a minute, the Taliban, the apparent winner, drove Kilo Two back. All but those dying on the ground scattered into the night. Two of them ran past me with T-Man on their heels. I finally had my chance.

"Gotcha." Eight trigger pulls, three hits, at least two who would never again draw a breath. I stopped them in their tracks. Viking then opened up on them as we interlocked our fields of fire. Our muzzle flashes seemed to unite, peppering them and the poppy house.

I brass-checked my rifle, seeing no round in the receiver. I released the magazine, took another from my pouch, and reloaded. My movements were smooth, second nature to me. There was no urgency, and I never lost my line of sight.

I returned to the trigger, using my infrared designator to target a T-Man. Two pulls but no hits. Suddenly, two of our friendly combatants ran through my line of fire. I would have killed them both if it weren't for the white bands on their arms.

"Mountain hillbilly sons of bitches," I shouted.

They ran from the rear of the poppy house, making a beeline toward me. I couldn't fire, couldn't do anything. When they finally rushed by me, they fell on my back. Someone tugged at my arm. Whoever it was, was rambling. I never took my eyes off the fight, combat discipline. I tried to shush and ignore him as the fight came to us.