Read Online Weapons of Mass Destruction by Margaret Vandenburg - Free Book Online Page A

They compared notes. The adjacent platoon had seen less action. But plenty of insurgents were retreating across their quadrant, just out of range. It was time to figure out where they were going.
    “Spotted any Iraqi police uniforms?” Sinclair asked.
    “One about three hours ago,” Eddy said. “Leading a group of four or five thugs.”
    “Did you nail them?”
    “They keep slipping through the cracks.”
    “Must have their own lookouts.”
    “Could be a cell nearby.”
    “That much traffic?”
    “All in the same direction. South by southwest.”
    Sinclair reported these traffic patterns to Radetzky. Several other platoon lieutenants had fielded similar reports. Together they were able to map out a web of retreat routes converging on a sector just west of their location. Radetzky contacted Captain Phipps, requesting permission to temporarily suspend independent search-and-destroy missions. He proposed consolidating as many platoons as possible to execute a sting operation. Phipps passed the recommendation on to battalion headquarters.
    “Permission granted,” Colonel Denning said. “But you’d better make damn sure it’s a cell and not a sewing circle.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “Civilian casualties. Bad press. You name it, Phipps. We could use a clear-cut victory to silence the doves.”
    “Doves? I thought all the hawks in Washington were on the warpath.”
    “Just as many doves in Baghdad. Tell Radetzky to find that cell and make it snappy.”
    “Yessir.”
    “I’ve got tanks all dressed up with nowhere to go. Let’s fill their dance cards.”
    Colonel Denning and Captain Phipps were divided over how to negotiate the persistent presence of civilians on the battlefield. It was up to Radetzky to figure out how to execute conflicting orders. Captain Phipps had all but told them to shoot everything that moved. The colonel’s more prudent approach was more in line with Radetzky’s own disposition. But the question remained whether he could protect civilians while at the same time safeguarding his men. Too often, prudence and safety were mutually exclusive.
    Captain Phipps could only spare one other platoon. Its commander, Lieutenant Lloyd, had served with Radetzky in Afghanistan. Both had classical music collections. They bonded over the Ring Cycle. Though neither of them broadcast their love of opera, they were privately gratified when PSYOP units blasted “Ride of the Valkyries” to rally the troops. What their sound systems lacked in acoustics they made up for in volume.
    The two lieutenants deployed five squads to form a circle around the suspected cell site. Radetzky attached Sinclair’s team to Wolf’s squad. The action might be too fast and furious to involve sharpshooting. But Sinclair could still act as the eyes and ears of the offensive, monitoring the results of feints designed to confirm the target location. Every time a squad advanced toward what Radetzky called the beehive, a team of enemy drones emerged to protect the queen. What had once been a luxurious townhouse was now a terrorist cell, the sinister version of what marines called tactical operations centers.
    Once they advanced far enough into East Manhattan, American troops also commandeered family homes. They were instructed to treat them with respect. Heirlooms were neatly stacked in corners and covered with tarps to protect them from fallout. China closets were searched without breaking a single sugar bowl. This kind of fatuous politesse scandalized McCarthy. Taking time out for what he called tea parties jeopardized men’s lives.
    “We’re marines, goddamnit. Not Avon ladies.”
    McCarthy was a disciple of General Sherman, an icon of the no-nonsense school of American military history. Declaring that war is hell was his way of acknowledging the brutality of battle. Pretending otherwise tended to exacerbate rather than ameliorate the devastation. One way or the other, precious cups and saucers were bound to