Albanian Rescue

I'm Specialist Mark Decker, just shy of making Sargent. My platoon was moving in to recover some captured US soldiers from a small village in the mountains near the border of Kosovo and Albania. These four guys were stationed inside Kosovo and were patrolling along the border of Albania when they got ambushed. The attackers, ethnic Albanians, had certainly gotten eager.

Getting to the edge of the forest nearest the village was easy, the next hundred yards was a little tricky. There was a gully along the side of the road, if you could call it that. Where the deep woods here were tall pines that hid almost everything in the shadows, the final stretch to the outpost was open ground. There was no cover or concealment except for a small gully along side of the road in.

We crawled through a frozen ditch dug along the side of the road. The ice cracked under us as we low crawled. Stones and shards of ice stabbed at me. Although they didn't cut into me, the cold made it feel so much worse. There was some water under the ice, it soaked through my uniform. My skin was so cold that I barely noticed the wetness.

There was a burnt out tank near the road going past this place and the small street along which all the buildings were situated. Clearing out these buildings and getting to the captured soldiers was our job. Once in position we waited and hoped. It was complete radio silence so we had to wait and not get noticed while the rest of the platoon moved into over watch positions.

The sky showed the first hints of daylight, time to move.. Leaping out of the ditch we made for the tank without getting spotted. A couple of smoke grenades were tossed, moments later the air was filled with swirling red, yellow, and green clouds. It looked like a giant tie dye.

Weapons were firing from up and down the street. We had to move. Two fire teams started laying down suppressive fire. How effective that is through smoke, I don't know. "Moving!" I shouted over the gunfire and the ran while crouching. We got to the first hut on the left and I bellowed out, "Here!" Our turn to cover their movement.

Kicking the door open I fired around the room while my battle buddy watched from the door. He gets to enter the next one. I smash a hand grenade through the window and wait until it explodes. Anyone who does not get killed in the blast gets stunned by the concussion. Sterling kicks the door in and sweeps the room with gunfire while I watched crouching at the door. A shadow of movement from the far corner and Sterling was down. He was fighting from his back to live. Running in I kicked the attacker in the ribs. He grunted as he rolled off Sterling. “Aim-Quick-Kill!” A voice shouted in my mind and that is precisely what I did. This was training and drilling coming together.

On and on through the smoke, dust, and gunfire we went. Gunfire from the smaller buildings had stopped. We stood there looking up at the walkway on this two level building. There was no way we could go in through the ground with that heavy machine gun going. Still, I tossed a grenade through the front window.

Meanwhile, Sterling had knelt down to give me a boost up to the walkway. As I was scrambling up there were some gunshots behind me. Sterling was yelling and there was automatic gunfire, both from a Soviet AK and the American AR-15. My leg felt as if it had been hit with a sledge hammer! Rolling from the edge and looking at my leg I saw the blood stain spreading. I had been shot.

Again, in my mind there was that instructor's voice yelling at me to pay attention and get my head in the game. It was only a few moments, maybe a second or two, and I was looking at Sterling,, he was down but not dead. He waved me on. The gunman was also laying there. It didn't matter if he was dead or not, he got another couple of rounds in him for good measure.

The body does some awesome things when in awful situations. The dopamine production and adrenaline had gone through the roof. Not only did the wound in my leg stop hurting, but it felt like I could take on the world and win. Checking my gear I had two grenades and three mags left.

“Drive on and accomplish the mission,” I said to myself. The glass on the windows had already been shot out. The grenade flew in through the opening and exploded inside. I jumped in through the open door and stepped to the side so as not to silhouette myself. I started to sweep the room with bullets when my weapon jammed. Swearing,

I started to clear the jammed round when, from behind a pile of sandbags, came an attacker. He charged me at full speed. The room was bigger than the ones we cleared on the street, but still not that big. He was on me in an instant, slamming me up against the wall. I slammed my knee hard into his chest. I kept doing this until his grip loosened enough that I could get an arm out and to my knife. I slammed the sharp point into the side of his neck. Once he fell to the floor I picked up my weapon, cleared the jam, and surveyed the situation. There were stairs leading down on the far side of the room.

Crouching down at the edge of the stairs I used a small metal mirror to look over and around the edge of the stairwell. There were several people in the room below and all with assault rifles. The heavy machine gun was either out of commission or of no use now that my platoon had gotten in so close. I could hear the US troops hollering. I couldn't use my last grenade on this room.

I crept down the stairs with my rifle against shoulder. Damn! Coming down these stairs hurts like hell. Oh yeah, I was shot in the leg. Some of the Albanians were in view. Each time I squeezed the trigger my rifle kicked into my shoulder a little. Two, three, four Albanians now lay on the floor dead.

Once I was on ground floor more of my platoon were coming up to the windows to survey the situation. The troops we were to rescue were hollering something. I couldn't hear them. Everything had gone silent. I could see that there were things going on around me. I could see my buddies were yelling, jumping, and pointing in slow motion. What were they pointing at? Spinning to look around me felt like I was moving through mud. In my peripheral vision there's another Albanian. He was coming out from behind another pile of sandbags. The pistol in his hand coughed smoke and jumped a little, and then again. I felt a searing heat in my side. Now, things started going black. The floor just smacked me in the face! I'm being rolled around. I see my Pocket Doc, but it's all fading into darkness.

My eyes open slightly. The room is white and it's bright. Am I in a hospital or dead? Suddenly, there's a nurse beside me, “Take it easy, honey. You've had a rough run. We almost lost you.” She was straightening my bed sheets.

“Sterling?” was the only thing I could say.

“He's fine now. The boys you recovered are fine. Now, don't you worry about anything, just rest.”

My eyes closed and I went back to sleep. Mission accomplished.

Geo-Political Summary

This piece is more in line with what I have done professionally.

Syrian Rebels Massacre Christian Enclave (Reported May 2013)

My summary below 9/13

In April the Obama administration publicly announced that it would send nonlethal aid to the Syrian rebels. This is also an admission that the administration had already been aiding the rebels for some time.

It was a public secret in Washington that Benghazi was the key to arming the rebels fighting Assad. A view that has not been looked at closely.

But, what is going on with the rebels? How have they been using the aid provided by the US?

In May 2013 the UN was looking at evidence that the rebels used sarin gas. Sarla del Ponti, a human rights expert at the UN, called the evidence strong, concrete suspicions that fell short of incontrovertible proof.Concrete suspicions? That sounds suspiciously like conjecture, or them saying they do not know who did what.

John Kerry recently questioned whether the Assad regime had used the gas on the rebels, thereby lending the appearance of credence to the administration. Credence, that is, to some.

It all sounds about as clear as mud. What's clear is that there are chemical weapons in Syria. The Assad regime had manufactured chemical weapons and stockpiled them.

What is also clear is that rebels and Assad supporters have both held chemical weapons compounds. Also, neither group has shown any great care towards the non-fighting civilians or what happens to people in the crossfire.

What is our return on this investment so far?

MEMRI.org posted and detailed a video of Syrian teens armed with assault rifles. The teens were singing "We destroyed America with a civilian plane." This shows their allegiance to al Qaeda.

Alright, you say, these teens were just dancing and singing. This rebel coalition, the the Free Syrian Army (FSA) and their affiliates, have also slaughtered a Christian village.

The Assyrian International News Agency (AINA) reported in June of this year that “The armed rebels affiliated to the Free Syrian Army (FSA) raided the Christian-populated al-Duvair village in Reef (outskirts of) Homs near the border with Lebanon today and massacred all its civilian residents, including women and children. The Syrian army, however, intervened and killed tens of terrorists during heavy clashes which are still going on in al-Duvair village.”

They used te arms we gave them and the money we provided to slaughter the men, women, and children of a small Christian village trying to just survive. To practice their right to choose how to worship. 

Now, the Administration wants to go on the ground with US Troops supporting al Qaeda and the Muslim Brotherhood.

(C) Copyright Marcel Trepanier 2013

Bihac FOB

Mark was sitting on the back porch of the small building that housed the office and living spaces for the intelligence team for the Kladusa and Bihac areas. Bihac, it was pronounced BEE-atch and, yes, almost every US Troop wanted to work in BEEatch. Mark had not been happy about being taken from Prijedor and Banja Luka. He was not happy about being up in the Bihac Pocket. He also wanted to run his own team. Sure, he was a Second Class Petty Officer, a junior NCO for the Navy. He also looked at his leadership training and experience from when he was in the Army. Hell, an E-5 in the Army was an NCO and had the respect and responsibilities of an NCO. In the Navy, he was considered a junior NCO and not affprded the same respect or authority. It also had other amenities that spoke of it being a newer construct. Josie stepped out onto the porch area. She was wearing some light cotton shorts and a loose t-shirt. On second glance Mark noted that she was wearing one of his t-shirts. That made him smile.

Josie was not smiling. She had too many things on her mind. Their relationship was the topmost. After the fight last weekend Mark kept his head down around the office, so to speak. She was glad to see that he wanted to avoid staff officers here until things had quieted down.

While the sex was great, Josie felt that it was becoming too much for both of them. Although she wouldn't admit it, even to herself, it was becoming too much for her, too. Their relationship was becoming too close for either of them to handle and do their jobs properly. Bosnia was still a hostile fire zone and still dangerous. There were armed patrols out regularly, but, for the intelligence collectors, it was different. They were largely on their own. Two operators, an interpreter, and some emergency supplies in their vehicle. They only had their personal weapons. For most teams this was two 9mm pistols.The distraction factor that was developing between Mark and Josie concerned her. Mark, too, was mulling these same things over.

Mark stood up and stepped to the railing. Buster, the house mutt, raised his head to watch Mark then put his head back down. Josie put her feet up on the railing. They were quiet for most of the evening, saying almost nothing to each other.

Even though he did not want to have this conversation he felt better about opening it up than haveing it opened on him.“I don't know why I let my feelings take control. It's like something else comes crawling up out of me.”

Josie took her time in responding. She was thinking back to her observations of Mark as a field operator. He often stepped up to take charge, was protective of the team, and looked after thiings as a good Sargeant would. Sometimes, too many times, he got overly protective of what and who he was calling 'his team'. “I know, Mark,” she paused for a few seconds. This was a quality that was both good and bad for anyone, not just an NCO. It concerned her now for the obvious reason of one fight.

Josie gets up from her chair and moves behind Mark. She quietly considers his body, looking him up and down. She knew every inch of the back of this man. He was powerful. The shoulders and back were broad and thick. She had watched him lifting when they were in Sarajevo together. Now, as then, she marveled at this man. Josie reached out as if to touch him, but stopped short.

“You have got to keep yourself under control. Not just at parties, but also in the field.” She wanted to see him get into a leadership role in the field, but that was never going to happen if they stayed together and if he lost his temper again. “Your time in the Ary and B-NOC make you uniquely qualified as a leader her and in the Navy.” B-NOC was how it was pronounced, what it was was an Army training acadaemy for noncommissioned officers, NCOs. The Navy had some leadership courses, but those were more administrative duties than fundamentals of actually leading younger enlisted. “That leadership will never happen if you get into another fight. I'm a big girl and I can take care of myself.”

Mark lowered his head and stared at the ground. Being protective, jealously so, of someone who he was not supposed to be involved with was something that he would have to avoid at all costs if this was to carry on at all. But, he did not know how to do that. “I suppose that's why they call it 'making love,' the feelings come once the sex is happening.” He sighed heavily, still looking towards the ground. “I simply want to enjoy the time we have and what we can share.”

Josie lowered her hand onto the small of his back. “Me. too, but we have to be very careful.” No, she had to make some distance happen. She was feeling the same things. She was enjoying his body as well as his tenderness. Yes, she was admitting to herself that he was becoming more and more distracting. Josie squeezed Mark in a gentle one armed hug and turned away. Walking through the kitchen her bare feet made no sound. The kitchen floor creeked. That little creek let Mark know precisely where Josie was.

“Josie, I know that you are risking as much as I am with 'us', and, yeah, I do have a possessive streak.” He was thinking also about taking command of a collection team himself. He had heard the banter and discussions going on in Captain Lathrop's office. One benefit of these trailer offices was that sound traveled decently. “I also know that there is talk about putting me into The Cray Norseman's slot.” The only response was another squeak from the kitchen floor. Mark knew Josie had left the kitchen.


(C) Copyright Marcel Trepanier 2013