anything even remotely resembling a safe place where Kilo Three could hunker down. Though he didn't like doing so, the Special Forces officer decided he had to order his driver to stop. "Things aren't looking any better between here and there," Aveno said to Amer before ordering the halt. He drew in a deep breath. "We'll have to leave her here and hoof it the rest of the way."
The Palestinian-American said nothing. He dreaded wrhat lay ahead. The stress and anxiety lingering just below his conscious thoughts was already twisting his stomach into knots. Both would grow by leaps and bounds from this point on as they adbandoned what little protection Kilo Three offered from hostile fire. Once out of the vehicle and on the ground, Amer would have no protection at all, with only the darkness as a shield.
Amer brought his humvee to a stop and climbed out.
Sergeant Funk wasted no time sliding in behind the steering wheel. Like all the members of RT Kilo the medic was cross trained in other duties. Funk could fill in for Amcr as driver as well as operate all of the team's communications equipment except some of the more specialized air force stuff that was crammed into Kilo One. The fact was he had done just about everything else he had been trained to do except be a medic, something for which everyone in the team, including Funk himself, was quite thankful.
It always took several minutes for Aveno to collect his gear and steel himself for the coming ordeal. Besides taking his MP-5
MORE THAN COURAGE
49
from the bracket where he kept the weapon while on the move, the XO had to remove the laser designator from its carrying case and inspect it as best he could in the dark to ensure that it was functional. He also needed to check the small radio he carried, placing the earpiece in his right ear and adjusting the volume.
During these preparations Ken Aveno reflected on how things had changed during their unending deployment in Syria. He recalled how excited he had been in the beginning. Like a child fumbling with gifts on Christmas morning, he had been all thumbs as he tried to do everything at once. Now such enthusiasm was only a memory, lost weeks ago in the monotony and strain of their daily routine and the harsh environment in which they lived. He tried hard to justify ifo his own mind that the time it now took him to prepare was necessary lest he overlook something.
But he knew that was not the real reason. He was putting off going forward, delaying for as long as possible advancing into the heart of a hostile village in the faint hope that Captain Bur man discovered their target first, thus sparing him the necessity of doing so himself.
That he harbored such feelings and thoughts shamed him. He was a professional, a West Pointer. Officers weren't supposed to think or feel like that. Yet, as their extended deployment had dragged on he found himself questioning his own fitness to be an officer, wondering if he needed to reexamine his priorities. Perhaps it was time to find a new career. His slow departure from the relative safety of Kilo Three only reinforced his self-doubt about his commitment to his current line of work.
When he had reached the end of his mental checklist and there was nothing more to keep him from leaving, Aveno turned to Amer. "Ready?" His throat parched by his own growing fear, Amer simply nodded.
Aveno turned his back on Kilo Three and slowly stepped off, advancing toward the village on foot. Amer took up his post five meters to the left and a little behind the XO. Whatever fears or 50
HAROLDCOYLE
apprehensions the two felt were hidden by the same darkness they relied upon to conceal their presence.
Even though Dee Dee Davis, protecting the rear area of Kilo Two, was facing in the direction of the Syrian recon vehicle, he was not the first one to become aware of its presence when it broke cover in the darkness, and began to advance on Davis and Kilo Two, and the air force team in Kilo One.
From
The Palestinian-American said nothing. He dreaded wrhat lay ahead. The stress and anxiety lingering just below his conscious thoughts was already twisting his stomach into knots. Both would grow by leaps and bounds from this point on as they adbandoned what little protection Kilo Three offered from hostile fire. Once out of the vehicle and on the ground, Amer would have no protection at all, with only the darkness as a shield.
Amer brought his humvee to a stop and climbed out.
Sergeant Funk wasted no time sliding in behind the steering wheel. Like all the members of RT Kilo the medic was cross trained in other duties. Funk could fill in for Amcr as driver as well as operate all of the team's communications equipment except some of the more specialized air force stuff that was crammed into Kilo One. The fact was he had done just about everything else he had been trained to do except be a medic, something for which everyone in the team, including Funk himself, was quite thankful.
It always took several minutes for Aveno to collect his gear and steel himself for the coming ordeal. Besides taking his MP-5
MORE THAN COURAGE
49
from the bracket where he kept the weapon while on the move, the XO had to remove the laser designator from its carrying case and inspect it as best he could in the dark to ensure that it was functional. He also needed to check the small radio he carried, placing the earpiece in his right ear and adjusting the volume.
During these preparations Ken Aveno reflected on how things had changed during their unending deployment in Syria. He recalled how excited he had been in the beginning. Like a child fumbling with gifts on Christmas morning, he had been all thumbs as he tried to do everything at once. Now such enthusiasm was only a memory, lost weeks ago in the monotony and strain of their daily routine and the harsh environment in which they lived. He tried hard to justify ifo his own mind that the time it now took him to prepare was necessary lest he overlook something.
But he knew that was not the real reason. He was putting off going forward, delaying for as long as possible advancing into the heart of a hostile village in the faint hope that Captain Bur man discovered their target first, thus sparing him the necessity of doing so himself.
That he harbored such feelings and thoughts shamed him. He was a professional, a West Pointer. Officers weren't supposed to think or feel like that. Yet, as their extended deployment had dragged on he found himself questioning his own fitness to be an officer, wondering if he needed to reexamine his priorities. Perhaps it was time to find a new career. His slow departure from the relative safety of Kilo Three only reinforced his self-doubt about his commitment to his current line of work.
When he had reached the end of his mental checklist and there was nothing more to keep him from leaving, Aveno turned to Amer. "Ready?" His throat parched by his own growing fear, Amer simply nodded.
Aveno turned his back on Kilo Three and slowly stepped off, advancing toward the village on foot. Amer took up his post five meters to the left and a little behind the XO. Whatever fears or 50
HAROLDCOYLE
apprehensions the two felt were hidden by the same darkness they relied upon to conceal their presence.
Even though Dee Dee Davis, protecting the rear area of Kilo Two, was facing in the direction of the Syrian recon vehicle, he was not the first one to become aware of its presence when it broke cover in the darkness, and began to advance on Davis and Kilo Two, and the air force team in Kilo One.
From
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