Read Online Ambush Alley: The Most Extraordinary Battle of the Iraq War by Tim Pritchard - Free Book Online
Book: Ambush Alley: The Most Extraordinary Battle of the Iraq War by Tim Pritchard
Read Free Book Online
Authors: Tim Pritchard
Ads: Link
on a prominent mound in the desert. The commander of the 1st Marine Division, Major General James Mattis, told his artillerymen to pound it so that after the bombardment “it would be a foot shorter.” Robinson looked at the sky above and watched the Patriot missiles dueling with the SCUDs.
“Yeah. All right. Up yours, Saddam.”
Marines around him cheered and yelled. Robinson whistled to himself. It was like being off his head on the Fourth of July.
In front of Robinson, inside the belly of the track, Lance Corporal Edward Castleberry, the driver of track 201, jiggled his legs in anticipation. Castleberry’s position was just in front of the bank of radios so he could listen in to what was happening on the battalion tactical net. He heard explosions and people getting real excited on the radio. Unlike Robinson, he could tell from the radio transmissions why the tanks had set off at such speed.
“We need to evac. We’ve got several wounded soldiers. Some of them are real bad.”
He was confused. The Army was not supposed to be there.
The Army
beat us here? Are you fucking insane? No fucking way.
He didn’t say anything out loud, but in his head he made fun of the Army.
They must have fucked up badly. They can’t fight anyway. They are
screwed. It’s lucky we showed up.
In the back, some marines were trying to sleep, but others were desperate to know what was going on. They could hear nothing but the screaming motor and the odd sound of gunfire. He tried to keep them informed.
“Army is up in front and they’re all shot up. Alpha is helping them out right now.”
Some of the marines joined in the jokes about the Army. He felt their excitement mounting.
“Come on, let’s go and join in the fight.”
Castleberry would have liked to oblige, but he was a lowly lance corporal.
“Sorry, guys. It’s not my call.”
Just behind track 201, sitting in the troop commander’s hatch of track 208, was First Lieutenant James “Ben” Reid. He was tall, with earnest, adult eyes that chimed wrongly with his lanky, almost adolescent way of carrying himself. He was in charge of Charlie’s weapons platoon and was Charlie’s FiST leader. It was a crucial job, and he took it seriously. Charlie was a long way to the rear of the column so he sat, huddled over the radio, listening to the battalion net. The information was coming through clearly and simply. The net wasn’t clogged up, and he had time to put red and blue dots on his map board, propped up on the edge of the hatch, to mark the positions of friendly and enemy forces.
In his weapons platoon he had heavy machine guns, shoulder-launched multipurpose assault weapons known by the acronym of SMAWs, and 60 mm mortars. He had divided his mortar squad into two parts. He put two mortars in the company commander’s track with enough ammo to do a quick hip shoot if necessary. He had his FiST and a third of the mortar squad and ammo with him in 208. What he had done was unorthodox, but he figured that it was safer to split up the mortar squads just in case one of the tracks got hit.
He’d picked up the news about the Army over the radio.
What the hell
is going on? I thought we were supposed to be out in front here.
He stayed plugged into the battalion and company net and he switched back and forth between the two to maintain his situational awareness. He heard Lieutenant Colonel Grabowski come over the net and talk to the commander of the tanks.
“Hey, Panzer 6, you need to stay in the tanks so that I can talk to you.”
Reid thought the order was a good one. His battalion commander spoke up when he needed to and yes, the tank commander did need to stay in his tank.
But then came a radio transmission that worried him. Over the battalion net he heard Staff Sergeant Troy Schielein, one of the CAAT marines fighting up ahead alongside the tanks, say he was going to launch a TOW. There was a loud explosion, and then his voice came back on the radio.
“I just took
“Yeah. All right. Up yours, Saddam.”
Marines around him cheered and yelled. Robinson whistled to himself. It was like being off his head on the Fourth of July.
In front of Robinson, inside the belly of the track, Lance Corporal Edward Castleberry, the driver of track 201, jiggled his legs in anticipation. Castleberry’s position was just in front of the bank of radios so he could listen in to what was happening on the battalion tactical net. He heard explosions and people getting real excited on the radio. Unlike Robinson, he could tell from the radio transmissions why the tanks had set off at such speed.
“We need to evac. We’ve got several wounded soldiers. Some of them are real bad.”
He was confused. The Army was not supposed to be there.
The Army
beat us here? Are you fucking insane? No fucking way.
He didn’t say anything out loud, but in his head he made fun of the Army.
They must have fucked up badly. They can’t fight anyway. They are
screwed. It’s lucky we showed up.
In the back, some marines were trying to sleep, but others were desperate to know what was going on. They could hear nothing but the screaming motor and the odd sound of gunfire. He tried to keep them informed.
“Army is up in front and they’re all shot up. Alpha is helping them out right now.”
Some of the marines joined in the jokes about the Army. He felt their excitement mounting.
“Come on, let’s go and join in the fight.”
Castleberry would have liked to oblige, but he was a lowly lance corporal.
“Sorry, guys. It’s not my call.”
Just behind track 201, sitting in the troop commander’s hatch of track 208, was First Lieutenant James “Ben” Reid. He was tall, with earnest, adult eyes that chimed wrongly with his lanky, almost adolescent way of carrying himself. He was in charge of Charlie’s weapons platoon and was Charlie’s FiST leader. It was a crucial job, and he took it seriously. Charlie was a long way to the rear of the column so he sat, huddled over the radio, listening to the battalion net. The information was coming through clearly and simply. The net wasn’t clogged up, and he had time to put red and blue dots on his map board, propped up on the edge of the hatch, to mark the positions of friendly and enemy forces.
In his weapons platoon he had heavy machine guns, shoulder-launched multipurpose assault weapons known by the acronym of SMAWs, and 60 mm mortars. He had divided his mortar squad into two parts. He put two mortars in the company commander’s track with enough ammo to do a quick hip shoot if necessary. He had his FiST and a third of the mortar squad and ammo with him in 208. What he had done was unorthodox, but he figured that it was safer to split up the mortar squads just in case one of the tracks got hit.
He’d picked up the news about the Army over the radio.
What the hell
is going on? I thought we were supposed to be out in front here.
He stayed plugged into the battalion and company net and he switched back and forth between the two to maintain his situational awareness. He heard Lieutenant Colonel Grabowski come over the net and talk to the commander of the tanks.
“Hey, Panzer 6, you need to stay in the tanks so that I can talk to you.”
Reid thought the order was a good one. His battalion commander spoke up when he needed to and yes, the tank commander did need to stay in his tank.
But then came a radio transmission that worried him. Over the battalion net he heard Staff Sergeant Troy Schielein, one of the CAAT marines fighting up ahead alongside the tanks, say he was going to launch a TOW. There was a loud explosion, and then his voice came back on the radio.
“I just took
Similar Books
