Continued from Part 1 http://wp.me/p3euWn-75Vzrz

 

Once inside, a quick inventory showed two good pieces of news. A brace of nades was found and no one was seriously hurt. Alonso came charging in with Randy our (scout), he tripped and fell face first in the remains of Crazy 8’s demolition party.

“Dam it…..come on 8’s you dip shit. Why you do that amigo? Whats wrong with your gun? Why you gotta be blowing people up all the damn time?

 

Despite the volume of fire we all burst out laughing…hysterically. We were alive for now.

The bad news was we had no exit. Except 2nd Street were we came in. The shouts outside were getting louder, the Tangos knew too, they always did.

“8’s while your blowing holes lets go that way like a hawk to Yankee zone [safe zone]. “ I pointed straight thru the wall behind us.

He got to it. As he leaned against the wall listening he signed 2-3 Tangos . “ok fellas room clearing lets roll.”

“Hit it 8’s. “

Bentz our sniper took a covering position at our newly created entrance and Randy covered the other window.

I rolled through with 8’s as the sound and dust made the entrance nothing like the training rooms, but we knew instinctively our covers and angles. Before any of the insurgents of them could turn they were down, with popped melons. Ammo was going to be precious for the next 30 minutes. Especially after being in the field all day we were real tight on ammo.

Once Weston and Bentz re joined us we took stock of the street.

I noticed Bentz was hit. “hmm he gunna be able to roll with us Tony?” Tony was already applying gauze to a fleshy hole the size of 2 quarters on his left shoulder. These AK-47 su rounds make a mess so he was lucky, Bentz gave me a thumbs up, wincing, but thumbs up. At 6’4” 250 Ibs he was a beast of a man. Not your typical big boy either. He liked it loud, rough and hard, and that was just his sex life. He bore the scars of the serious fighter, the killer, the warrior. He was the rock of our small team.

Alonzo was looking thru the window, as the sound of the fearful and sicken thwack of red hot metal on flesh came my way, I turned towards him. He stumbled backward collapsing on the floor. I knelt beside him to check his wounds.
I was pressing hard on the wound in his throat, but blood was racing out. Fingers flexed on his hand against my other palm. From the gore on him and from his less than graceful entrance, minutes ago I could not tell what was his or the bastard that died.
His eyes were full of tears. He gurgled, spat and said “Amigo”.
He went limp.
I gently laid his head on the ground, I wiped the dust from his face. It smeared with the tears. Dam it. Dam it …shit.

Struggling with my composure I looked up at Tony, who grimaced and squeezed my shoulder. “Lets get his gear off him. He said softly to me. “Who is gunna carry Alonso?” I said to the squad. I looked around. Alonso had been short, but reasonably stocky you guy. He was a funny Don Julio drinking fucker, we all loved Alonzo. This is one letter that is not going to be easy to write to Marisol. Her daughter now has no daddy.

Bentz stepped forward and agreed to take Alonso home.

We all faced 3rd Street. The guys who shot Alonzo were right across from us. Jeering shouting, slogans and epitaphs. I want some ones arse…. But I had men to get safely back to base.

Crazy 8’s shouted in surprise as a heavily armed enemy spun into the room firing wildly. 8’s rolled back out of the stream of bullets that sprayed into the room. Bullets, cement fragments, dust, and plaster sprayed everywhere. Bullets kicked up at my feet. I saw a spray of blood from 8’s leg.

Click,click click went the dark skinned grimacing enemy. For all that he was well armed, bitch obviously couldn’t count.

8’s started laughing, from his belly, he had a deep baritone voice, “Boy” he said chuckling “you are a dead man” he had dropped his hand from his weapon when he was hit. His hand slapped his side arm and in one swift motion he drew and fired into the sweaty faced enemy man’s face.
8’s slid down the wall, applying pressure to his wound, after he holstered. Tony rushed to his side. “streets clear 8’s, lets look at that leg”.

The crunch of boots on gravel drew my attention. I drew a bead on the door, gunfire cracked from the insurgents across 3rd street. “friendly, friendly “came the call as a young GI dove thru the door and ass slide to a stop at my feet. “ Hi there son, can we help you?” I said. “PFC Genty sir. He gulped in some air. “ I’m lead scout on the recovery for you guys.

“Listen up. We are just 2-3 blocks from help. We can hole up or we can hit the street and meet the help, that’s got to be coming our way, according to Genty here.

Sarge said to tell you guys to get your asses down 2-3 blocks if your all mobile. He is fighting his way to you, but something’s going on and the streets are full of Tangos. “

I took stock of the guys. Tony the medic had taken shrapnel in his arm. Weston our official ‘scout’ had nary a scratch. 8’s was covered in God knows what, and Bentz had his wound and a load to carry.

“We were just leaving. Ok fellas lets follow this young man the hell outta here, Weston grab one of 8’s nades and pop it into those three across the street. Then I’ll hit some smoke?

Ok?

Good then on me lets go.”

We covered Weston as he lobbed his grenade and I wounded another across the street from us with a snap shot.. In the distance thru the haze of sunset and dust I could see one or two of our troopers moving up. Help is on the way.

to be continued