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Authors: L. Douglas Hogan
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still engaging people on the ground when the .50-caliber machine guns began to ring out from the rooftop of the building. It wasn’t long after they began shooting at the target that a missile from the rogue Black Hawk struck it and the Marines watched it as it just fell to the ground, as if it had been swatted out of the sky. The assisting Black Hawk retreated southward. It landed alongside Highway 100 in a subdivision area just south of their location.
“Captain up,” Buchanan requested.
Captain Riley was working with the Combat Engineers setting up a place for the fallen Marines and civilians.
“Yes, sir?” Riley said as he was headed towards Buchanan.
“The fallen will be there twenty minutes from now. Those prisoners are going to head south, down the river, if they aren’t freed.”
“I’ll take care of it, sir.”
“Gunny up,” Buchanan called out.
The gunny came walking from around the back side of a building and said, “I’m here, sir.”
“Get your men, and get me a status on that rogue Black Hawk.”
“Yes, sir,” Franks replied.
It wasn’t long before several Force Recon Marines returned with three men dressed in black fatigues. Two Recon Marines were in the lead with weapons at low-ready. Behind the three prisoners were the remaining FORECON Marines that went to spy out the rogue chopper. Gunnery Sergeant Franks approached the two leading Marines.
“Report,” Franks said to Sergeant Banks with his commanding voice.
“Gunny, these men report to be Army Rangers,” he replied.
“And they didn’t put up a fight?”
“No, Gunny. They were lying prone about fifty yards from the Hawk. They surrendered voluntarily and had no weapons on them.”
“They were searched thoroughly,” Corporal Smith said from the rear escort position, and then added, “The pilot was shot in the head. He’s dead in the pilot seat.”
Franks looked at them sternly and then turned his attention towards the sergeant first class.
“Are these your men?” Franks asked him.
“No. They’re America’s sons, as I am.”
Franks perceived he was speaking to another patriot like himself, but the fatigues and the attack choppers threw him off a bit. He rolled the idea around in his head that maybe they were just in a bad situation and found a way out.
The man appeared “saltier” than the others, and that intrigued Franks the most, especially because he was the same rank as Franks.
“We’re going to see our CO and you’ll get a chance to talk your way out of this mess,” Franks told him.
With that, Franks stepped aside and motioned the Marines to continue marching their prisoners toward Lieutenant Colonel Buchanan.
Sergeant First Class Reynolds was, indeed, a salty Army dog. He had seen quite a bit of action in the Middle East wars against the jihadists. He generally chose his words wisely, carefully thinking ahead and making sure his words couldn’t be miscomprehended. When he was escorted to Lieutenant Colonel Buchanan, he knew one of two things would happen. Either he would be killed, which he felt was the most unlikely of scenarios, or he would be spared and closely observed to determine his motives.
Lieutenant Colonel Buchanan was helping to locate the bodies of the fallen Marines. When Franks arrived with Reynolds, he counted upwards of thirty fallen Marines. Buchanan was laying the Marines in a neat row along the highway, in the grass. Buchanan had just crouched to lay a Marine down when Franks arrived with Reynolds. Buchanan took one look at Reynolds and asked, “Does he speak English?”
“Yes, sir, and he’s an American,” Franks replied.
Buchanan walked away towards the flat-roofed building. Buchanan wasn’t ten feet away when he called out, “Gunny, bring our friend into this fine establishment.”
Gunnery Sergeant Franks escorted Reynolds into the building, leaving behind the other two soldiers, who were being placed in a sitting position on the ground.
By the time
“Captain up,” Buchanan requested.
Captain Riley was working with the Combat Engineers setting up a place for the fallen Marines and civilians.
“Yes, sir?” Riley said as he was headed towards Buchanan.
“The fallen will be there twenty minutes from now. Those prisoners are going to head south, down the river, if they aren’t freed.”
“I’ll take care of it, sir.”
“Gunny up,” Buchanan called out.
The gunny came walking from around the back side of a building and said, “I’m here, sir.”
“Get your men, and get me a status on that rogue Black Hawk.”
“Yes, sir,” Franks replied.
It wasn’t long before several Force Recon Marines returned with three men dressed in black fatigues. Two Recon Marines were in the lead with weapons at low-ready. Behind the three prisoners were the remaining FORECON Marines that went to spy out the rogue chopper. Gunnery Sergeant Franks approached the two leading Marines.
“Report,” Franks said to Sergeant Banks with his commanding voice.
“Gunny, these men report to be Army Rangers,” he replied.
“And they didn’t put up a fight?”
“No, Gunny. They were lying prone about fifty yards from the Hawk. They surrendered voluntarily and had no weapons on them.”
“They were searched thoroughly,” Corporal Smith said from the rear escort position, and then added, “The pilot was shot in the head. He’s dead in the pilot seat.”
Franks looked at them sternly and then turned his attention towards the sergeant first class.
“Are these your men?” Franks asked him.
“No. They’re America’s sons, as I am.”
Franks perceived he was speaking to another patriot like himself, but the fatigues and the attack choppers threw him off a bit. He rolled the idea around in his head that maybe they were just in a bad situation and found a way out.
The man appeared “saltier” than the others, and that intrigued Franks the most, especially because he was the same rank as Franks.
“We’re going to see our CO and you’ll get a chance to talk your way out of this mess,” Franks told him.
With that, Franks stepped aside and motioned the Marines to continue marching their prisoners toward Lieutenant Colonel Buchanan.
Sergeant First Class Reynolds was, indeed, a salty Army dog. He had seen quite a bit of action in the Middle East wars against the jihadists. He generally chose his words wisely, carefully thinking ahead and making sure his words couldn’t be miscomprehended. When he was escorted to Lieutenant Colonel Buchanan, he knew one of two things would happen. Either he would be killed, which he felt was the most unlikely of scenarios, or he would be spared and closely observed to determine his motives.
Lieutenant Colonel Buchanan was helping to locate the bodies of the fallen Marines. When Franks arrived with Reynolds, he counted upwards of thirty fallen Marines. Buchanan was laying the Marines in a neat row along the highway, in the grass. Buchanan had just crouched to lay a Marine down when Franks arrived with Reynolds. Buchanan took one look at Reynolds and asked, “Does he speak English?”
“Yes, sir, and he’s an American,” Franks replied.
Buchanan walked away towards the flat-roofed building. Buchanan wasn’t ten feet away when he called out, “Gunny, bring our friend into this fine establishment.”
Gunnery Sergeant Franks escorted Reynolds into the building, leaving behind the other two soldiers, who were being placed in a sitting position on the ground.
By the time
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