The six men moved quietly through the woods. Moving with purpose they stepped over fallen trees and around rocks as they moved towards an unknown destination. Not a word was spoken as they made their journey; communication was by hand signals and gestures. It was clear the men had traveled like this before.

Drenched in sweat, they moved forward, rifles in hand and packs laden with supplies. At first glance, one might assume these were professional fighting men; their discipline, demeanor and weapons all led to a seemingly the logical conclusion. But on closer inspection, their uniforms were a quilt work pattern of mismatched camouflage patterns and in some cases simple Carhart work pants. Some of the men wore modern gear, some with gear dating back to the first Gulf War while one had gear that would have been appropriate to South East Asia in the late 1960’s.


The trek continued for nearly an hour as they silently pressed on to their unknown goal. Their leader, sensing an opportunity for a quick break, held the men in position just before a clearing that was neatly dissected by a shallow, but fast moving creek.

The woods had thinned from nearly impenetrable cover to a more sparsely wooded area with tall grasses and many different thickets of bramble. The clearing represented the transition from wooded area to almost completely open ground. The men would have to move far more carefully and with purpose despite being in tall grass.

Gathering them all in he spoke in hushed tones.

”Alright, we’ll cross the creek by twos. Spread out so we’re not stepping into each other’s line of fire. Keep your eyes open. This could be a good spot for an ambush”.

The men all nodded in agreement and three groups of two men each spread out and began preparing to make their crossings. The sporadic woods on one bank, and tall grasses on the other afforded the men some level of concealment. For ten yards on either side of the creek, however, they would be exposed and left little place to hide should they encounter any enemies.

The first two men slowly but purposely began their low walk out of the woods and into the clearing just before the creek. Their eyes, constantly scanning for any sign of enemies, never blinked and nearly bulged out of their skulls. The team leader held his breath and steadied his rifle should the worst occur. His fears were relived somewhat when the two men traversed the creek and ducked into the tall grass on the far bank.

Nodding at the two men to his left, the team leader and his partner began their walk to the river. Sweat burned at his eyes as the sun beat down on his floppy pattern hat. He too scanned the horizon, rifle ready to respond should trouble emerge. He nearly tripped on a rock as he and his partner covered the open ground leading up to the creek bed. Knowing his luck, he’d fall and break his leg leaving him with a less than impressive war wound.

His luck held and he made it to the creek bed. The team leaders partner, seven or eight yards to his right, was almost through the creek bed when he made his first step onto a slippery rock to begin the crossing. Here his luck changed and his boot slipped and he stutter-stepped into the ankle deep water, splashing as he attempted to regain his balance.

“Oh great, I’m the team leader, and here I am flailing about like an idiot” was the thought the raced through his mind as he finally found solid footing.

It would be the last thought he’d ever have.

As he found a more secure purchase in the creek bed, the team leader froze to allow the flurry of sound to subside. Just as he did this, a loud boom, distinctive of the .50BMG Barrett Rifle, erupted across the clearing, and the team leader’s torso erupted in a cloud of blood and entrails. His lifeless body collapsed into the water, which rapidly turned red as his remaining lifeblood drained into babbling water.

At that exact instant, a hail of automatic rifle fire burst out from the men’s left. Several rounds caught the team leaders partner before he could respond. The projectiles spun him to the ground and removed him from the fight.

The fears of the team leader had been tragically prophetic. It was an ambush and it had been executed perfectly. The crackle and pop of small arms fire raked the tall grass where the first group to cross the creek had chosen to position themselves. While the men futilely tried to return fire, round after round pummeled the ground and grass around them. They had precious little ground to hide behind and each man desperately attempted to utilize as much of it as possible.

The two men who hadn’t crossed yet faired somewhat better from the cover of some trees and a slight mound of dirt. One man, laying prone and armed with an old SKS fired off ten rounds in rapid succession in the direction of their attackers. Satisfied that he had provided his friends a scant bit of assistance he reared to his side to remove another ten round stripper clip of ammunition from his web gear. To accomplish this, however, he had to raise himself up slightly to gain access to his ammo pouch.

In doing this, the man unwittingly opened the door to his own demise. Just as the stripper clip broke free of the pouch, the titanic boom of the Barrett rifle again thundered across the clearing. At the exact instant the noise down out the chatter of the small arms fire, the man with the SKS pitched backwards and landed in a heap.

As he heard his friend grunt he turned to see what was the matter. He was greeted with the shocking image of his friend, missing a large portion of his left side and staring blankly at him.

The situation was deteriorating rapidly.

As rounds sailed overhead and the chatter of rifle fire bludgeoned their senses, the two men across the creek agreed in silence that their only chance was to dash back across the creek.

Exchanging glances the men nodded, sprang to their feet and fired rapidly as they began their zig-zagging sprint back across the creek. If they could brave the hail of bullets and find safety on the opposite bank, they and their remaining cohorts could attempt to break contact and escape.

Seeing his two friends rise, the man behind the small mound of earth began placing rapid but aimed shots in the direction of the enemies fire. Swearing to himself, he remembered the smoke grenade hanging at his side. Quickly he retrieved it, pulled the pin and threw it as best he could between his friends and their attackers.

Had the men running across the river communicated their intentions, the smoke screen might have been more effective. As it was, the smoke cloud wasn’t developing in such a way to afford them much concealment.

But at that point, they weren’t going to argue.

Both men slashed through the creek as fast and low as humanly possible, trying to return fire as they went. Their legs protested under the strain as they pumped in a frantic attempt to propel close to two hundred and fifty pounds of man and equipment forward. Neither man seemed to notice as his body screamed in agony in response to the sudden call for maximum output.

The water and slippery rocks seemed to suck at their boots as the men dashed for safety. Rounds pinged off rocks and whistled through the air around them. One man found footing on the opposite bank of the creek and uttered a silent prayer of thanks. While he was still a long way from safety, the more solid footing promised him a better chance of moving forward.

He never saw his friend fall behind him. The man also made it to the far side of the creek, just before a round caught him in the leg. Screaming out in agony he fell to the ground, momentum causing him to roll to a stop in a heap. He scrambled to his good foot and continued the quest for safety. He was now a sitting duck for the man behind the Barrett rifle. With another mighty blast the man was dispatched.

From behind the mound of dirt, the man keep returning fire towards the unknown assailants until his friend, about twenty yards to his right, ran slightly past his position and dove behind a fallen tree. He did so with seconds to spare as a spate of rifle rounds crashed into the tree and ground around it.

Sensing the time to break contact was upon them, the men, without communication, fired off a few shots and began sprinting for cover further back. Miraculously, they both were able to dodge and weave their way further and further from the group of men attempting to kill them. Soon they were able to get into a position where even the hidden sniper with the Barrett could not reach them.

Shedding their heavy packs, the two men ran, almost wildly, through the woods, attempting to put distance between themselves and the ambush. Should their attackers pursue them, they wanted as large of head start as possible. Fate smiled on them, and their attackers chose to close out the ambush and inspect the fallen men instead.

Nearly a full hour later, the two men collapsed into a heap, tucked into a small depression hidden in a small ravine. They were nearly safe from detection and the timely refuge allowed their exhausted and battered bodies to rest.

Neither man had to say it. They both knew who had just killed four of their friends: Troopers.