as though struck down by a Nordic god's invisible hammer. Those who had the wits and ability to crawl far enough to escape the spreading pool of burning fuel or the effects of secondary explosions that inevitably followed a successful attack suffered broken eardrums, shattered bones, and crippling concussions.
The soldiers assigned to RT Kilo never saw any of this. At most they witnessed the initial explosion and its attendant fireball.
On rare occasions one of them caught a glimpse of a corpse being thrown through the air. But that was all. Once the bomb had struck home there was no time for the men who had guided it to its mark to celebrate their achievement or measure the bomb's effects. They had to swiftly turn from finding and designating to escaping and evading, for another tenet of the American way of war is to do unto others without giving them the opportunity to do it to you.
Like his predecessors, Captain Erik Burman never questioned the political wisdom of what he and his men were doing. That was not in his job description. He was an American soldier, a commissioned officer sworn to uphold the Constitution of the United States and follow all orders from his duly appointed superiors. If those orders placed him and the soldiers entrusted to his care in harm's way, so be it. Regardless of their personal motivation, everyone in RT Kilo had volunteered for some form of service at MORE THAN COURAGE
47
least twice--when they joined the armed forces and later again when they had chosen to become members of the army's Special Forces. Only the two men belonging to the air liaison team were part of RT Kilo against their better judgment. Joe Ciszak was fond of reminding everyone-who cared to listen that he had joined the air force to thunder along at mach one plus, not sneak about in the night like a Bedouin raider. This attitude, shared by Airman Jones, tended to isolate them from the rest of the team.
What the air liaison officer thought was the last thing Ken Aveno was concerned about. At the moment his entire focus was on finding a spot that offered anything that came close to offering cover and concealment behind which he could halt his vehicle. In this he was having no luck. Nothing resembling a textbook hull down defensive position seemed to exist in this region. When this was the case, both he and Burman in Kilo Six had to settle on creeping forward as far as they dared from different directions before simply stopping in the flat open country just outside the village they were approaching. Such compromises of acceptable doctrine were both hazardous to the max and completely unavoidable.
Sometimes
RT Kilo got lucky, and the object of their search was discovered on the periphery of a village or installation hidden in the lee of a building. On the nights that the officers found their mark exposed in this manner they were able to stand off and designate the target right from their vehicle. This did not prove to be the case tonight. As they drew closer to the darkened village where they hoped to find a chemical warfare lab the usually unflappable Ramirez assigned to Kilo Three began to wonder just how far they would go before Aveno ordered him to stop.
Ramirez's position during these cautious advances was up top, training the 40-mm grenade launcher on the village ahead. From there he had an unobstructed panoramic view of the village as well as its environs. With his right index finger never more than an inch away from the trigger, Ramirez watched and waited for 48
HAROLDCOYLE
trouble he prayed would not suddenly pop up from out of the shadows. When they did stop, he would remain with Kilo Three to provide cover as the XO continued on foot into the village with his driver, Amer.
Inside the humvee, Ken Aveno was also becoming nervous as he squirmed in his seat and leaned forward until the brim of his cap touched the windshield. He was pushing his luck. They were already far too close and still he saw no sign of
The soldiers assigned to RT Kilo never saw any of this. At most they witnessed the initial explosion and its attendant fireball.
On rare occasions one of them caught a glimpse of a corpse being thrown through the air. But that was all. Once the bomb had struck home there was no time for the men who had guided it to its mark to celebrate their achievement or measure the bomb's effects. They had to swiftly turn from finding and designating to escaping and evading, for another tenet of the American way of war is to do unto others without giving them the opportunity to do it to you.
Like his predecessors, Captain Erik Burman never questioned the political wisdom of what he and his men were doing. That was not in his job description. He was an American soldier, a commissioned officer sworn to uphold the Constitution of the United States and follow all orders from his duly appointed superiors. If those orders placed him and the soldiers entrusted to his care in harm's way, so be it. Regardless of their personal motivation, everyone in RT Kilo had volunteered for some form of service at MORE THAN COURAGE
47
least twice--when they joined the armed forces and later again when they had chosen to become members of the army's Special Forces. Only the two men belonging to the air liaison team were part of RT Kilo against their better judgment. Joe Ciszak was fond of reminding everyone-who cared to listen that he had joined the air force to thunder along at mach one plus, not sneak about in the night like a Bedouin raider. This attitude, shared by Airman Jones, tended to isolate them from the rest of the team.
What the air liaison officer thought was the last thing Ken Aveno was concerned about. At the moment his entire focus was on finding a spot that offered anything that came close to offering cover and concealment behind which he could halt his vehicle. In this he was having no luck. Nothing resembling a textbook hull down defensive position seemed to exist in this region. When this was the case, both he and Burman in Kilo Six had to settle on creeping forward as far as they dared from different directions before simply stopping in the flat open country just outside the village they were approaching. Such compromises of acceptable doctrine were both hazardous to the max and completely unavoidable.
Sometimes
RT Kilo got lucky, and the object of their search was discovered on the periphery of a village or installation hidden in the lee of a building. On the nights that the officers found their mark exposed in this manner they were able to stand off and designate the target right from their vehicle. This did not prove to be the case tonight. As they drew closer to the darkened village where they hoped to find a chemical warfare lab the usually unflappable Ramirez assigned to Kilo Three began to wonder just how far they would go before Aveno ordered him to stop.
Ramirez's position during these cautious advances was up top, training the 40-mm grenade launcher on the village ahead. From there he had an unobstructed panoramic view of the village as well as its environs. With his right index finger never more than an inch away from the trigger, Ramirez watched and waited for 48
HAROLDCOYLE
trouble he prayed would not suddenly pop up from out of the shadows. When they did stop, he would remain with Kilo Three to provide cover as the XO continued on foot into the village with his driver, Amer.
Inside the humvee, Ken Aveno was also becoming nervous as he squirmed in his seat and leaned forward until the brim of his cap touched the windshield. He was pushing his luck. They were already far too close and still he saw no sign of
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