His watch chirped at precisely 0430 hours. His eyes were already open. He lay on his cot anticipating the chirp. Finding the raised button on the side of his Timex with his thumb, he pressed it. The chirping stopped. The early morning darkness was cut by the blue light of his time piece. There really wasn’t much light, but just enough for him to see the switch at the base of the desk lamp sitting atop a desk made of plywood. He made the desk himself. It wasn’t a very large desk, but it served well enough for sitting at to write letters home to his family when he found the time. He switched the desk lamp on, swung his legs off the cot and sat for a minute rubbing his eyes.
Corporal Pieter Witkowski is a soldier in the United States Army. CPL Witkowski is not an American citizen. As his name implies, Pieter Witkowski is a native of Poland. His parents packed him and his three sisters up when he was eight and moved to New York. Brooklyn, New York. Greenpoint, New York actually. They lived in a modest apartment above a small, family owned Polish bakery along brick row on Larimer Street. His mother worked in the bakery downstairs, starting her day at four each morning, busily preparing fresh baked goods. She would sneak upstairs to wake him for school at about six o’clock, bringing him hot from the oven baba cakes before returning to work. On special occasions his mother would bring home a bag of chruscik, bow-shaped fried pastries dusted with confectioner’s sugar for him to bring to school. He never knew that she paid for these treats out of her meager weekly salary.
CPL Witkowski finished up a short 30-minute run and an even shorter 7-minute shower before heading to the mess hall for breakfast. He wanted to keep up with his workout routine and eat something before going out on mission. They always started early, the presence patrols did. He was the TC for Guardian 22, an up-armored humvee assigned to second patrol. He had a good crew.
Private First Class Marco Estrada was the driver. The 21 year old native-American from Arizona was probably the best driver in the entire platoon.
Private Kelly Hendricks, “Machine Gun Kelly,” was the team’s gunner. She had joined the Army a year previously to be an aircraft fueler but volunteered for the QRF as soon as she heard about it. PVT Hendricks was a crack shot with the M240B machine gun. She took exceptional pride in keeping her “hog” clean.
Specialist Maurice Williamson, born and raised in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, served as the team’s “Number Two.” Number two sits in the rear left seat of the vehicle, behind the driver, and is prepared to assume any position on the team, including the truck commander, if need be.
Guardian 22 has trained together since day one, back at Fort Campbell, when the platoon was formed some eight months before deploying. Guardian 22 was the second vehicle of five in today’s presence patrol. They followed Guardian 21, the lead vehicle. Guardian 26 was number three behind them. Guardian 20 and 28 finished out the order of march.
CPL Witkowski heard the explosion a split second before his headset filled with the piercing screams of Private First Class Horace James. Guardian 26 had been hit.
“Turn it around Marco NOW!” the TC instructed his driver before going on. “Gunner, bogeys 4 O’clock, take them out!”
Guardian too zero this is Guardian too too, we’ve turned around and are going into the kill zone. Bogeys right side next to an old red brick building, over.
Guardian too too, this is too zero, negative, negative on turning around. Take up defensive position and engage enemy, do not return to kill zone, how copy over?
“What do I do Wit?” PFC Estrada asked his TC.
“Continue on to 26, stop just to the rear of the victor at an angle facing away from the bogeys. Kelly you got the bad guys?” he responded.
“I’ve got them boss, laying down suppressive fire,” she said as her finger squeezed the trigger for 3 to 5 second bursts.
Too zero this is too too, dismounting to render aid to too siks.
Dammit too too! SSG Wright transmitted. Too wun, too zero, cut off the street, nobody, nothing passes. Too ait, close the back door.
Too wun roger.
Too ait, back door is closed.
“Let’s go Mo!” CPL Witkowski said just before pulling his headset off, grabbing his M4 Carbine and exiting the vehicle, making sure to close and lock his armored door.
Camelot base this is Guardian too zero, fife victors twenty-wun pax, vicinity sector ait, tree clicks west of IBIZ, IED detonated, wun victor diasbled, status of pax unknown this time. Currently tic with too bravo gulfs, repeat, tic with too bravo gulfs, over.
Guardian too zero, Camelot base, roger. Will send cavalry time now. Send sitrep soonest, over.
Guardian too zero, roger out.
CPL Witkowski and SPC Williamson returned fire as they moved towards the disabled, burning hulk of metal that was once a moving armored vehicle. Exposing himself to enemy fire, Pieter Witkowski climbed on top of the truck to gain leverage on the Number Two door with his foot. Pushing the 300 lb door open wide enough to squeeze himself between it and the frame, he ignored the whizzing sounds of ricocheting bullets as they narrowly missed him. Witkowski held the heavy door open with his back for several minutes while Williamson helped drag out the wounded occupants.
“Hurry!” he yelled as his legs trembled from fatigue.
Too too this is two zero, we’re coming up on your left side to take position on your flank over.
Nearly 20-minutes after the IED detonated, CPL Witkowski and SPC Williamson returned to their vehicle with the injured soldiers. “Call in a 9-line, Ho’s gone and SGT Walters is in bad shape, arterial bleeding from his right leg.”
Camelot base, Camelot base, this is Guardian too too with a nine line, over.
“Kelly, you got enough ammo?” the TC yelled up to his gunner.
“I’m good boss!” she replied, not taking her blue eyes off of her target. She had two bad guys pinned down behind a brick wall 50 meters away; sure that they had no avenue of escape.
“Mo, stay with the injured,” Witkowski shouted before running back to the damaged humvee.
CPL Witkowski leaned against the spare tire attached to the rear hatch and took careful aim at a spot just above the waist high brick wall. He waited. The chaotic sounds of battle faded. He heard only his breathing, his heart beating though machine guns fired and people screamed around him. Minutes passed. Suddenly a figure popped up with an RPG on his shoulder, aimed directly at Guardian 22. CPL Witkowski exhaled. He waited until his lungs completely emptied, paused, and squeezed the trigger.
The enemy fighter fell backwards, firing the RPG into the brick wall immediately to his right as he fell. The grenade exploded, killing his partner next to him. In a single shot, the battle was over. All the noise and chaos returned as Witkowski ran back to his fallen comrades.
“Chopper’s on the way Wit!” PVT Estrada informed his team leader.
“Good shooting Wit.” SSG Reginald Wright said as he kneeled down beside the Polish immigrant, placing a reassuring hand on his soldier.
Sgt Hook out.
Previous Installments of The Guardians…
Fallen Guardian
Guardian Mourning
In view of a recent tendency to identify characters in fiction with real people, it seems proper to state that there are no real people in this volume: both the characters and their names are ficticious. The names or designations of any military units are ficticious. There are no living people nor existing military units presented in this book. -Ernest Hemingway
Posted by Hook @ 1417 zulu | | Permalink
This post is filed under: Guardians
pamibe linked with
Wednesday Linkage
