Killing Ground

~Mornings breaking woke us long enough, we were sure we could see,

The whole of some older birds

Riding to the ground on the falling leaves,

Riding to the ground on the falling leaves,

One last time

One last time, to feed… ~Widespread Panic~

One of the first things they teach infantry soldiers, any country’s infantry soldiers, is a strategic concept called an L-Shaped Ambush, or just “The L”. The reason for this is twofold. First, the move is almost just as effective run with two troops as it is executed at platoon strength. This quality puts it on the menu no matter how the tactical scenario shapes up. The second reason, probably more important although you’d never hear the brass admit it, is that the L, when trained and drilled down correctly, is almost failure-proof. In armed combat, where so much raw possibility is brought to bear and the stakes are so high, a failure-proof option is a welcome relief. Relief becomes morale, and on the battlefield, morale is coin of the realm.

The L is based on a ground force’s natural tendency to bunch up, even if it’s just slightly, when walking single file through canopy jungle, or any type of terrain where visibility is hampered by obstacles specific to that area. Even the most battle hardened soldiers have trouble avoiding this. Especially on down-sloping path coming off a ridge or hill. Soldiers know instinctively that topographical height, though tactically favorable during engagement, brings exposure. The men don’t feel good knowing their silhouetted against the sky up there. They rush to get back to the perceived safety of the low-ground and the protective brush.

And that’s where you wait. You split your force into two even sides, and then take one soldier out of one of the teams. If, for example, your force numbers six, then you take three guys and drop them, hidden in deep camouflage beside the trail facing the way the enemy will be walking. Five meters forward of that position lay down the next fire team, hidden in prone firing position facing the trail from as close as they can on one side (doesn’t matter which) without being seen. Now you take one guy and advance him almost out of the play. He moves way up, 20 yards or more. Stays hidden as far off trail as he can be and still get an effective field of fire. If there’s an automatic weapon in the element, this is his position.

Now the three elements wait for contact. If it’s a ten man unit walking at the ready, the SAW guy waits until the first guy is almost on top of him, maybe ten yards, and then opens up. Long loud scary bursts just over everybody’s head. It’s a fucking loud surprise, and one of two things will happen. Ideally, the forward enemy will fall back a bit, and turn firing when they reach a favorable position with cover. This will put a bulk of enemy force in or around the trail, paying close attention to the enormous bullets cutting the jungle right over their heads. They will look for muzzle flashes and begin returning fire. When that happens, when there’s commitment, that’s when the rearward element opens up. It’s fish in a wide barrel and you’ll be raking at guys who thought they were fighting someone else. Now the ranking officer, provided he’s not dead already, will respond in the only way there is: He’ll send men out toward the flanks to clear his area and scout the scene while he gets on comms and starts relaying info. As soon as this happens, the last element, the one point blank facing trail, opens up, walking the rounds in and out of tree line at low level. If you’re nasty, there’s nothing left but dinner.

Every army training protocol in every first, second or third world country in the world teaches this movement. Yet, even with all that awareness, the thing still works. Mostly because once you realize what’s happening, it‘s already happened.

***

I knew this in April of 2008 when I lead a small mobile special forces element in Afghanistan’s Koringal Valley. I’d read the manuals. I’d trained my men. I drilled for contingency and tried to solve problems before they presented themselves. None of it was worth a shit. We walked into the L and we got sliced apart quick-fast. Text book. I’m just glad I was killed right away. It saved me the agony of watching the men in my chalk get racked with machine gun fire even as they lay on the ground in pieces. When it was over, and the choppers came in to get us, the only thing left was bloody meat and unused ordinance.

***

That was twelve months ago, and I was dead, they tell me, for almost a week. Not just dead, awesomely dead. Totally dead with forty-three lead paperweights in my abdominal cavity. Dead like Latin.