┬┴┬┴┤ ͜ʖ ͡°) Papa Rooster 7/24/19  (▀̿Ĺ̯ ├┬┴┬┴

Part One:

The narrow valley had nearly vertical cliffs on both sides that would pose a challenge to most goats, much less myself and my spotter. I sat under my poncho liner drinking coffee from a tin cup. My little alcohol stove and french press were among my only creature comforts out here in the desert mountains. I kept my nose over it, holding it with both hands to keep them warm. The sun would peek over the hills soon and pull us out of the morning shadow and it would become baking hot. Such was the odd back and forth of this Afghani valley.

We’d climbed up here yesterday evening, hoping the twilight would cover our movement. Mostly, it was just an overwatch and recon mission. Business as usual. However, today we had a bit of a show watching the local activities of the little town we were huddled up in. We’d expected some sort of activity today, as today marked the end of some holy holiday for the dark elves whom had come under contract with the Taliban cells here. They used to skirmish, but realizing there were more profits to be made in poppy and cocaine if they worked together, they banded forces and absolutely reigned over this little area of shithole towns and mountains.

All this came from our dwarven informant. It was very rare to see a dwarf, but their hatred of the dark elves, in whom also lived under the hills, made them quick allies of ours. We coordinated with them sometimes to time out attacks above ground with ones they were conducting under, but the majority of our time had been spent sharing quick tidbits whenever he’d decided to come to town. We were happy to have him.

We were making updates to our range card. She had a notebook where she made a list of the fortification plans and fallback areas our detachment commander had laid out the night before. She had grid points marked on the map, but to transfer those to our range cards for quick callout she created a range fan. It was all math and magic to me, I didn’t try to understand it totally, but she was our JTAC. Capable of directing rounds in from anything as small as a mortar team to as large as JDAM’s from B2 Spirits. She did the calculations and noted all the azimuth directions to our points of interest and marked them on my sector sketch. We gave each little position a nickname for quick reference, and I laid my compass on the drawing to visualize my angles in reference to the numbers she fed me. I once asked if she had a computer to do all this for her, but she liked to have the tangibles in front of her in case shit got all pear shaped. Reliance on the computer means you didn’t have the data to work off the cuff if it went down. I respected that.

We were on the southern hill from the town and expected any contact to come from the east. As targets approached the town and I received calls for specific fire, she could use the distances as observed by the town to calculate the distance from our position. From there, I’d calculate my holdover. I had my Leupold Mk IV scope dialed in at 300m currently. If there were multiple targets to engage I wouldn’t bother adjusting my turrets, I’d use my mildot reticle to apply some precision guesswork. My M110 SASS was my go-to for most work. Although I’d pulled up my other rifle in the bag in case longer work was required.

It took a lot of convincing to let me use my own round. 338 Norma Magnum was relatively new, and command wanted me to use the commercially available Sierra Matchkings. I’m sure they were great rounds, but I wasn’t about to trust a mission to something I didn’t load myself. My newly issued Barrett MRAD was already dialed in for my handloads at 800m. That was about as far as my M110 could take it’s 308 and still have force enough to put someone down. The valley wound on forever. I haven’t had to pull out and use the Barrett yet, but it was better to have and not need than need and not have.

She made a radio check and relayed our status back to the command element. There was word that in anticipation for the attack that our priority for an orbiting Block 52 F16 was bumped to the top. If we needed bombs, he’d peel off from whatever was going on to deliver them to us. Time to station would be under five minutes. Pretty damn good. Excited, she began to tell me about the capabilities of the jet. She seemed to know as much as any pilot. Our usual support came from armed drones, so having a fighter was of particular excitement. I just listened, I didn’t know a damn thing about planes.

The conversation stopped abruptly. The streak of an RPG-7 sailed across the valley from the east. It landed harmlessly 50m in front of the town, but acted as the bell that started the first round. The fight was here.

I got on the scope and swiveled around to where I thought the smoke trail led. I scrambled and got my headset over my watch cap and pulled my mic swivel down. She quickly patched me into the main radio to relay my calls back to command, and also allowing me to hear all the plays as they were called.

Our team was small, only 8 members. We were here to train local resistance fighters and help them regain control of their little slice. They poured out of their huts and buildings to fighting positions they’d carved out over the weeks. They had the time. I thought I saw some movement far out, perhaps 400m away. It would take some time to cover that distance on foot. Before I could call my sighting in she interrupted and told me she’d seen this ploy before. Her hand her chin in thought, she advised I look closer to the village, maybe only 100m out. I did, and sure as rain, there was activity.

Little circles swirled in the sand, just in the same way a drain looked when water circled. I called into command that they had contact east, 100m, coming from underground. Not a moment later they sprang with their ugly heads and endless antennas. The dark elves used giant centipedes like we used dynamite. However, they could quickly bore new holes and reuse them. I was damned glad they hadn’t found a way to train them to fight yet. I started to count the emerging, 12 foot bugs. One, two… two more… wait, shit. Total of 8. This assault was serious.

On the horn, she was already radioing in to the jet to arrive. She didn’t bother asking command’s permission, she had the clearance already. The voice of the pilot was confident and suave. I wondered if they trained them to talk like that in school. The crack of a rifle brought my attention back, and the muzzle flash of the first through the tunnels pulled my eyes to them. I swiveled around on my bipod. She dropped the radio, the jet wouldn’t be here for a few minutes. She picked up her accurized M16A4. The armorer had installed a handguard that allowed the new 1/7” twist barrel to float free. Topped with an ACOG, I had taught her how to use the reticle with the 77gr pills I loaded for her. We’d learned her usual M4 SOPMOD just wasn’t cut out for the distances we worked with when we worked together, so we solved the problem with a bit of parts bin swapping back home.

The locals utilized a mix of AKMs left over from previous wars or M16A2’s we bought a crate of to hand out. The old Kentucky Longrifles, as we called them. Stoner and Kalashnikov sounded together in harmony as our villagers started pouring rounds into the holes. I saw a team member of ours, leading the defense on the north flank, run out waving his hands, pleading them to not waste all their ammo immediately. They had a tendency to dump and run in a fight. This strategy would not be useful here.

I saw a head and shoulders standing in a tunnel nearer to us. I ranged it at about 250m and calculated a slight hold under, aiming almost directly at the dirt line where it met his shoulders. He had his sights up, pouring rounds into our defenses. I stopped my breath and squeezed slowly for a surprise break. My rifle barked and my estimations were almost right. I’d intended to hit him in the head, but the round sailed into the top of his neck. Effectively nonetheless.

She was throwing rounds into the two nearest tunnels. At a steady, somewhat slow rate, she was trying to keep effective suppression. Simultaneous attacks was a WWII tactic the US used to assault positions. One group attacked a narrow weakness, while a distracting force attacked broadly elsewhere. It gave the appearance of an equal dual attack, but it wasn’t. Once the weakness had been assaulted, it created a breakthrough. She read their plan like it was a newspaper. The north side, on the far end of the valley from our position, had three tunnels in close proximity, whereas our nearside had 5 spread out. She was hoping to keep two of these tunnels at a slow pace and equalize the attack volume.

I switched my attention to the near avenues of approach. I keyed my mic and let command know what we were seeing. Precision wouldn’t be timely enough here. The closest two tunnels were well below us in elevation, but as the crow flew only 80m and 120m away. On a 45° mount under my scope I had a small Trijicon RMR mounted and zeroed at 50m. This wasn’t the greatest battle zero for my 7.62x51mm rounds, but I chose that distance for CQB in a pinch. I threw rounds into any movement I saw, gauging my hold under on the fly. After my first magazine, I felt like I had it.

Our suppression worked well enough until they got a bead on our direction. It wasn’t wise to shoot uphill into a dug in target, but they were shooting from literally underground. Their backup units must have dug alternative approaches, as basketball size holes started to open up to allow them sight line. Soon, our sandbags started taking around and we slammed backwards in an instant reaction. She jumped on the radio once more. I didn’t hear much of the transmission in the shuffle, but I did manage to make out one part.

Pilot was on station.