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By Root 1414 0

voice of one of Shah’s men boomed from a nearby mosque, attempting to incite the locals to take up arms against the Marines—and as Shah lay in a dirty, makeshift “hospital” somewhere outside of Peshawar, the once up-and-coming ‘Taliban commander’ not even able to stand on his own feet—the convoy carrying Fox-3 emerged from the Chowkay Valley into the Kunar Valley, occasionally taking sporadic AK-47 fire along the way, to which the Marines immediately replied with a tsunami of M240 as well as M16 and SAW bursts. Meanwhile, back at Amrey, Grissom, Pigeon, Middendorf, and Fox-1 awaited their convoy. But learning of the destroyed road—impassable to Humvees—and hearing an increasing volume of ICOM chatter, the four reasoned that they should just stack their nonessential gear on the side of the road, throw thermite incendiary grenades on the pile, then sprint to the awaiting Humvees at the RPG-created roadblock—a recourse to be taken only in the most dire of situations. As they pondered their options, though, a Toyota Hilux, stuffed with fifteen men, suddenly rounded the corner before them. Reasoning that they were locals the last of Shah’s men had incited to attack the Marines, Grissom fired a warning shot their way. They immediately turned tail and ran— prompting a torrid rage of ICOM chatter, the new on-site “commander” furious that the locals didn’t proceed with an attack on the infidels.

Isolated by a long stretch of roadway and out of food and water, the Marines realized that their only option was to hightail it down the road—for five kilometers—and meet up with Whiskey Company’s second convoy when they arrived. The situation seemed so dire, with ICOM chatter indicating that the enemy was massing, that at one point they considered resorting to hand-to-hand combat. Then four Hiluxes appeared from down valley, speeding toward the Marines.

“Another attack?” Geise wondered aloud.

“They’re empty—just drivers,” Middendorf responded.

“Suicide car bombs?” Grissom speculated as he raised his M16 and prepared to fire.

Suddenly the lead Hilux stopped, its driver hopping onto the dirt of the road, holding a piece of paper in his upraised arms. Middendorf approached the fearful man—he clearly felt the gravity of the situation—then grabbed the paper. On it was written: Sir, you can use these to carry your gear as you walk out, signed—Todd Lohstreter. The battalion’s assistant logistics officer had saved the day.

“Forget using them to carry our gear while we walk—they’ll carry our gear and us, and get us out of here.” The Marines piled into the trucks—completely overloading them, with some grunts clinging to the vehicles’ bumpers as others, including Middendorf, locked arms with the hangers-on to keep them from flying off—which then began to move. But the second vehicle, with Lieutenant Geise in the front passenger seat, slowed to a crawl, as the driver worried about damaging the truck’s suspension.

“Tell him to fuckin’ haul ass, Geise!” Middendorf barked over the radio.

“He won’t move!”

“Then you drive. Or better yet, make him think that you’re gonna shoot him if he doesn’t drive.” Geise, pointing to the upper ridges, mimicked an explosion with his hands, took a deep breath, and roared, “VROOOM!” Then he pointed to the gas pedal and slapped the side of his M16. The driver got the message and gunned the accelerator, racing down the road. After slowly navigating the very narrow strip of the road that remained after the RPG hit, the Hiluxes delivered the grunts and their gear to Whiskey’s awaiting Humvees. With every last Marine on the second convoy very well aware of the attack on the first caravan that left the Chowkay that day, they readied their weapons for an intense firefight—when a couple of shots rang out. As Whiskey’s Humvees navigated the sinuous road, an overwhelming return volley slammed into the bare ridge from where the enemy shots had split into the air. There were a few more potshots from above, then the enemy’s barrels went cold. It looked like Shah’s belatedly enlisted soldiers just didn’t have the conviction,