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VIKING HAMMER (AND THE UGLY BABY)

VIKING HAMMER (AND THE UGLY BABY)

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01.Masters of Chaos Pages 8/17/04 12:00 PM Page 319<br />

Viking Hammer (and the Ugly Baby)<br />

was falling apart around them. It was suicidal to call in an air strike and<br />

then change position. The team would have to fall back first.<br />

The team sergeant, the medic, and the communications sergeant<br />

grabbed the M2 .50-caliber gun and ammunition canisters and started<br />

hauling them to a nearby hut to be able to cover the others’ retreat. As<br />

they ran, rounds plopped into the mud around them, making the same<br />

smacking sound as that of bullets hitting flesh. They reached the building<br />

and quickly placed the three-foot-long gun on its tripod and<br />

threaded the belt of finger-sized bullets into the chamber. The team sergeant<br />

cocked the gun and turned it on full automatic, emptying one canister<br />

after another as his teammates withdrew. The DShK rounds tore<br />

away the flimsy wall shielding them. In just a few minutes Grit shot perhaps<br />

700 rounds, until they had to leave too. As they moved the heavy<br />

M2 the tripod slipped, and the scorching hot barrel landed on the<br />

medic’s hand, searing it. He grabbed the components anyway and ran to<br />

rejoin his comrades.<br />

The captain had already called for air support. They were fish in a<br />

barrel in the narrow pass; only air strikes could rout their attackers. The<br />

minutes ticked by—fifteen, twenty minutes passed before jets were<br />

diverted from the Green Line. It seemed like an eternity to the men<br />

under fire. The planes arrived and dropped a half-dozen 500-pound<br />

JDAMs on positions that the team had been able to identify. Then all<br />

went silent.<br />

There was no question of pursuing the Ansar remnants at this hour.<br />

It was after five o’clock and getting dark fast. The Kurds were not<br />

equipped for night fighting; they had no nods, laser pointers, or aiming<br />

devices on their guns. So the men returned to Sargat for the night.<br />

They were exhausted by the day’s intense combat. Adrenaline had<br />

spurred everyone through the past twelve hours, but now the men<br />

gratefully anticipated sleep. When they reached Sargat a hot meal of<br />

chicken and pita awaited them. The team bedded down in what had<br />

been the house of the Ansar chief. It was largely empty, which did not<br />

surprise the team sergeant. They had seen the convoys leaving for Iran<br />

after the air strikes the week before.<br />

319

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