drove rapidly up to a nearby compound. Three men ran inside, and minutes later a few RPG rockets arced toward the Marine position and exploded short of the target. Garcia felt a twinge of doubt. He had brought his platoon two miles inside enemy territory. If he took a casualty, evacuation after dark was doubtful. He needed help, something to shake up the Taliban before they gathered enough force for a night attack.
“Driftwood, this is Sledgehammer 3,” he radioed to Kilo’s ops center. “I’m in compound 13 in Quebec One Alpha. Under fire from Compound 12 due west. Got anything on station?”
Driftwood was the call sign for Capt. Chuck “Spokes” Beardsley, whose lifetime dream had been to be a pilot. Motivated by 9/11, he had joined the Marines and for three years flew the KC-130 transportation workhorse. Then he volunteered to serve as an air controller with the grunts and was assigned to Kilo Company.
Spokes told Garcia that two F-18s were on call. Marine squadron VMFA-232, “Red Devils,” was stationed at Kandahar air base, a hundred miles to the east. Whenever Red Devils were airborne, Kilo and the other companies were alerted via a digital chat room.
Garcia turned the air mission over to Staff Sgt. Nick Tock, a forward observer. Tock radioed to Beardlsey the standard 9-line brief, describing the target location, nearest friendly troops, direction for the bomb run, and other vital information.
Spokes passed the data to the pilots and to the battalion senior air officer, who consulted with the battalion lawyer. Both authorized astrike and notified the pilots that rules 421 to 424, set down by General McChrystal, had been satisfied. This meant that Garcia could not retreat safely, that no civilians were observed, and that hostile fire was coming from the target compound. Gen. David Petraeus had taken over from McChrystal in July. He had left the rules in effect, but also let the Marines employ Marine air without interfering.
Although a videotape of every bomb run was later reviewed by a lawyer, the pilots dropped bombs based on faith in what the grunt on the ground reported. During their six-month deployment, the twelve F-18s in VMFA Squadron 232 dropped 80,000 pounds of high explosives. Across Afghanistan, nine out of ten strike aircraft returned to base with their full load of ordnance. For the Red Devils squadron down in Helmand, nine of ten aircraft expended their ordnance supporting the ground patrols.
Hovering 10,000 feet above 3rd Platoon were Capts. Jimmy “Postal” Knipe and Taj “Cabbie” Sareen. Cabbie rolled in first.
“Sledgehammer, this is Stoic 74,” Sareen radioed. “Off safe. One away. Lasing.”
Lasing meant that the bomb was following a laser beam from the aircraft to the compound.
Third Platoon kept their heads down. They were inside the “danger close” radius of shrapnel from the GBU-12 500-pound bomb. The compound shuddered under the explosion, but did not collapse.
“That’s a shack,” Tock radioed, meaning a direct hit.
The two F-18s circled, waiting. Both were equipped with day and night cameras that could distinguish between a man and a woman from 10,000 feet. Watching the video feeds at 3/5’s ops center, the air officer, Capt. Matt “Squeeze” Pasquali, had often seen men running from the rubble. The lead F-18 bombed the compound, while the second F-18 trailed behind and twenty seconds later delivered another 500-pounder that burst in the air to scythe down any squirters. This was called “shake and bake.”
Knipe, trailing in Stoic 73, was poised to roll in when a secondary explosion rocked the compound, probably RPG rockets cooking off. No squirters emerged. The aircraft loitered hawklike above 3rd Platoon for the next fifteen minutes. No enemy fired at the 3rd Platoon. The F-18s returned to base.
After it was dark, Garcia occasionally called for illumination rounds above the platoon’s compound, demonstrating that the 60mm mortar crew back at Fires
“Driftwood, this is Sledgehammer 3,” he radioed to Kilo’s ops center. “I’m in compound 13 in Quebec One Alpha. Under fire from Compound 12 due west. Got anything on station?”
Driftwood was the call sign for Capt. Chuck “Spokes” Beardsley, whose lifetime dream had been to be a pilot. Motivated by 9/11, he had joined the Marines and for three years flew the KC-130 transportation workhorse. Then he volunteered to serve as an air controller with the grunts and was assigned to Kilo Company.
Spokes told Garcia that two F-18s were on call. Marine squadron VMFA-232, “Red Devils,” was stationed at Kandahar air base, a hundred miles to the east. Whenever Red Devils were airborne, Kilo and the other companies were alerted via a digital chat room.
Garcia turned the air mission over to Staff Sgt. Nick Tock, a forward observer. Tock radioed to Beardlsey the standard 9-line brief, describing the target location, nearest friendly troops, direction for the bomb run, and other vital information.
Spokes passed the data to the pilots and to the battalion senior air officer, who consulted with the battalion lawyer. Both authorized astrike and notified the pilots that rules 421 to 424, set down by General McChrystal, had been satisfied. This meant that Garcia could not retreat safely, that no civilians were observed, and that hostile fire was coming from the target compound. Gen. David Petraeus had taken over from McChrystal in July. He had left the rules in effect, but also let the Marines employ Marine air without interfering.
Although a videotape of every bomb run was later reviewed by a lawyer, the pilots dropped bombs based on faith in what the grunt on the ground reported. During their six-month deployment, the twelve F-18s in VMFA Squadron 232 dropped 80,000 pounds of high explosives. Across Afghanistan, nine out of ten strike aircraft returned to base with their full load of ordnance. For the Red Devils squadron down in Helmand, nine of ten aircraft expended their ordnance supporting the ground patrols.
Hovering 10,000 feet above 3rd Platoon were Capts. Jimmy “Postal” Knipe and Taj “Cabbie” Sareen. Cabbie rolled in first.
“Sledgehammer, this is Stoic 74,” Sareen radioed. “Off safe. One away. Lasing.”
Lasing meant that the bomb was following a laser beam from the aircraft to the compound.
Third Platoon kept their heads down. They were inside the “danger close” radius of shrapnel from the GBU-12 500-pound bomb. The compound shuddered under the explosion, but did not collapse.
“That’s a shack,” Tock radioed, meaning a direct hit.
The two F-18s circled, waiting. Both were equipped with day and night cameras that could distinguish between a man and a woman from 10,000 feet. Watching the video feeds at 3/5’s ops center, the air officer, Capt. Matt “Squeeze” Pasquali, had often seen men running from the rubble. The lead F-18 bombed the compound, while the second F-18 trailed behind and twenty seconds later delivered another 500-pounder that burst in the air to scythe down any squirters. This was called “shake and bake.”
Knipe, trailing in Stoic 73, was poised to roll in when a secondary explosion rocked the compound, probably RPG rockets cooking off. No squirters emerged. The aircraft loitered hawklike above 3rd Platoon for the next fifteen minutes. No enemy fired at the 3rd Platoon. The F-18s returned to base.
After it was dark, Garcia occasionally called for illumination rounds above the platoon’s compound, demonstrating that the 60mm mortar crew back at Fires
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