9.11 Seven Trilogy

9.11 Seven Trilogy
Part 1
The Stranger
An original short story by Kit Dalton

No one knows where he came from, he came riding in on a mount that would have made Seabiscuit proud. Everyone at the little Wyoming Church who had gathered for this special 9-11 service took notice, no one had ridden a horse into town for some time, much less to this little Chapel outside of Cody.

The man sat tall & straight but graceful in the saddle, his every move was in harmony with the steed and their surroundings. He wore a white Stetson type hat that sat square on his head, his long hair was as white as fresh fallen and as fine as that of a new born. He had a long handlebar mustache, his face was weathered with deep lines of long experience but pleasant to admire, his hands told of long labor. His expression was somber; it was readily apparent that he was on a serious mission.

He had on a blue and white stripped shirt of a yonder style, around his neck was a large red bandanna that hung loosely off to one side, his trousers were gray tweed, his vest a dark wool plaid that complimented his attire, from the vest pocket hung a gold watch chain. His boots were of fine Laredo leather, his spurs of polished Mexican silver but the jingle bobs made no sound when he moved. His long coat was snow dusted like he had ridden a long ways. His saddle of dark brown was tooled El Paso style and on the side hung a scabbard that secured an old Winchester lever rifle.

As the congregation watched he dismounted with the grace of a matador , opened his coat and removed his holster belt which held two long barreled, richly engraved, single action, nickel plated Colt’s with aged ivory stocks. No one was alarmed because such hardware was often seen in Wyoming and the man most certainly was a gentleman. He hung the gun belt on the saddle horn, removed his hat and entered the Church.

As he walked to the podium his footsteps made no sound, when he spoke his voice was as soft and tender as that of a summer breeze. He told the Parson that he had come for his blessing and forgiveness for the deeds he was about to undertake. The Parson asked that he please explain. He said, “ Every few years someone comes along who takes away the rights of others through deceit, propaganda, lies and force. Over time these tyrants begin to believe their own rhetoric; they force their way of thinking upon all those who disagree, falsely accuse, imprison and put to death all dissenters. After they have secured their position of absolute power with their own people they set out to inflict their ideology and power upon all other peoples using the same tactics.

When they become totally consumed by power and greed and commit mayhem and genocide, then, those who still believe in liberty and freedom of choice call upon men like me to form a posse to rid the land of the pirates. It’s been that way for a long, long time and my services are once again needed.

The Parson looked the stranger in the face and said, “ My Brother, our Father allowed his Son to be taken so that all the people could be free. No forgiveness is needed for those who seek to rid the people of their chains. If those who are captive are unable to free themselves, then, it’s only fitting that those who can offer assistance come to their aid and it’s no sin to undertake their strife in their behalf for freedom. My friend you have my blessing but forgiveness is not warranted so long as you conduct this unpleasant but needed business honorably.”

With that the stranger knelt before the cross, lowered his head for a few moments, rose and walked out of the church. He mounted his steed and rode off westward into the light falling snow. As his likeness started to fade it appeared that other riders rode in to join The Stranger. The organist began to play “Just A Closer Walk With Thee,” the small congregation joined in but their voices sounded like thousands in place of only a few.

Dateline Baghdad: Members of the 101 Airborne on the road North out of Baghdad known as " The Gauntlet" reported seeing men in western style hats riding horses along the ridge line. Their C.O. passed it off as a desert mirage or phantasm caused by fatigue and combat. No enemy hits were reported on their convoy.
kd 9-11-03

9.11 Seven Trilogy
Part 2:
Fire, Smoke & Thunder

Maj. Garrison drove out alone to meet the armored column as it approached the base. He had ordered the APC transporting Staff Sgt. Bob Barnes to park well outside the gate. When he reached the unit the rear hatch was open, the only person inside was Barnes who sat rigid against the firewall, his eyes reflected the 100 yards stare.

Sergeant Major Bob Barnes was a career soldier, a seasoned veteran of Panama, Columbia, Somalia, Lebanon, The First Gulf War, Croatia, Afghanistan and now this repeat theater. He had been baptized under fire more than once and was not easily shaken.

The Major sat down across from the Sgt. and locked onto his gaze, Barnes acknowledged by blinking.

The Major acknowledged back by saying, “ Sergeant, Bob, I’m not here to reward or reprimand. What I need to know, in your own words, is what the hell happened out there?”

The Sgt. Relaxed and his eyes now focused on the Major who, like himself, was a career soldier who had on several occasions commanded men under heavy fire. He and the Major had shared the same muddy ditch and fought side by side several times in the Balkan’s, he had great respect for the Major and his leadership skills.

“Well Sir, my squad was on night mobile recon about 50 km west of base. About midnight we lost all AC & DC power to our LAV. Without power our NAV, COM and GPS uplinks were all INOP. We had handheld but the terrain and bad weather restricted range. Our standby magnetic compass was swinging wildly due to uncharted mineral deposits in the area. We hunkered down in a swallow ravine until dawn. At first light we headed north until we found a road running east.

As we approached the Takiah pass escarpment we ran into a large group of combatants who immediately attacked us with small arms and PGLs. The first grenade took out the LAV steering, the second penetrated our port side causing severe injury to Pfc. Owen and Pvt. Waddell, that round also started an internal fire that spread fast. Sgt. Goodale covered our evacuation with the top gun, he received severe burns on both arms.

At our 5 o’clock was a deep swell that afforded us protection from the enemy. Cpl. Smith and I drug and carried the wounded to the swell under the cover fire of Goodale. Just before the unit exploded the Sgt. Jumped and started crawling towards our position, he was hit twice in his left leg from fragments and once in his right arm from AK fire, Smith pulled him into our ditch.

Cpl. Smith attended to the wounded as best he could while I surveyed our position and took stock of the enemy. At first there was only about 50, then, another 200 plus came out from behind the hill. It was hard to estimate their numbers, they just kept coming. It was clear that they were preparing for a frontal assault and a swift over run. Large number were firing in our direction and into the air while chanting.

There wasn’t much time to organize. We took a voice poll, surrender was out of the question, no one wanted to be taken prisoner. We began to make ready; the wounded were propped against the far side of the swell, we put what arms were available in their hands with spare magazines on their chest. As the chanting and rifle fire increased and got closer Pfc. Blackburn and Maddox went to opposite ends of the ditch for flank coverage. Sgt. Grodin, who had been hit in the thigh during EVAC but who was in good spirits otherwise and Cpl. Smith were to stay with the seriously wounded. I made ready to take my place atop the berm.

Just then the wind and sand picked up in intensity reducing visibility to just a few feet. Fire from the enemy increased as they charged forward; then, there was a big change in the reports being heard. As the sand and wind subsided I saw seven men standing atop our berm facing the enemy. Each held a long barreled, shiny pistol in each hand, we knew they were friendly because they were shooting at the enemy and their aim was positive, the chants of the charging combatants now became cries of pain.

The seven men all had on black BDUs that I could not ID. Their boots were more like riding or engineer boots than combat issue. They did not wear helmets, in their place was a type of western hat like you see in Texas or Wyoming. Each had on a long black overcoat that almost touched the ground, up the back was a long split, across the top a protective yoke.

Fire from the 14 pistols crushed the attack, each of the seven had stood fast but the enemy still had hundreds in reserve. As each holstered their pistols they swung into battery a short, double barreled shotgun that hung on leather under their coats along with crossed bandoleers holding a hundred or more rounds.

When all seven had made ready they formed a close, tight line and proceeded down the slope into the enemy mass. As they moved forward their timing of ordnance was such that there was just one continuous muzzle roar. I climbed to the top to get a better look and to offer rifle support.

Sir, as the seven men moved forward with their doubles they were walking fire, smoke and thunder, El Deguello was their cadence.

Their stride and pace did not alter. As they neared the center of the insurgents rank the enemy took stock of their plight and became fanatical, throwing themselves in front of the seven where they were immediately neutralized. One of the combatants holding a long, curved sword in one hand and a staff with a burning American flag in the other charged the line. When he was within arms length the man in the center withdrew from his belt a large, thick knife, the blade reflected a thousand points of light.

With one swift thrust he terminated the charger lifting from his cold, dead hand the flag and staff which he planted firmly in the ground. Around the flag the seven formed a circle that was so tight their shoulders were touching. From this position the battle continued. The smoke was so thick that it obscured the seven men, the only way you could tell they were still there was by the flash of their muzzles and the glow from their barrels. It was like a dark Texas thunder & lighting storm - only on the ground. Seeing their numbers being decimated by a impregnable dark cloud the attackers started to wane. Some put down their arms and went to their knees on prayer rugs, these men were not harmed. Others ran for the open desert, some throwing down their arms. Now with fewer targets those who stayed to press the attack were now being dispatched by four or more barrels.

As the battlefield sounds subsided I could hear the tracks of armor approaching fast from the west. As the tanks from the 3rd. came thru the pass they spread out on the down sloping plateau and while running full power toward the enemy, they commenced firing at what was left of the retreating combatants. As the thick smoke cleared from where the seven had stood on the battlefield there was only sand and rock, there was no sign of the men who had saved us, none at all.

Major, there’s one more thing - for the first time in battle I failed to fire my weapon. I was negligent in my duty and to my men, I put them in great danger.”

Maj. Garrison thought for a moment and then stated in as compassionate voice as he could muster, “ No Sergeant, you didn’t fail your men, not at all. They, along with yourself, were in far better hands than you could ever have provided. You kept your wits, your men and their convictions together, it was the best and right thing for you to do. However, as you know the brass will issue the final report which as professional soldiers you and your men will unanimously support. You did good Bob, a fine job, everyone survived, now go and be with your men - they’re asking for you.”

Dateline Baghdad, 12-25-03: Men from the 1st. Recon group who had fought a fierce open desert firefight and hand-to-hand battle with the enemy, holding them off until advance special infantry forces of the 3rd Armor Division could arrive and join the battle, were recovering from their wounds this Christmas day at the base hospital. When the Chaplin passed out Christmas presents each received a small box containing a fine neck chain. Attached to the chain was a brass shot shell inscribed with 23rd. psalm. They had told the Chaplin that the battle ground was strewed with the casings. He said the gifts must have came from someone of very high rank. As the men held hands the Chaplin read the words of the 23rd.. When asked, Military spokesman could not state what type of modern weapon the casings came from or what Special Forces unit might use such experimental equipment.

kd 12/24/03

9.11 SEVEN TRILOGY
PART 3
Last Ride West

Operation Teresa was a joint Army Marine task force, its mission was to rescue Kurdish refugees off mountain top # 913 near the Iraq Iran boarder.
.
The tribe originally numbered about 1,200 but after months of being relentlessly pursued by remnants of the Red Guard it now totaled about 200, half of which were women and children. If they retreated into Iran military forces loyal to the old militant régime would attack them from the rear and they would be caught between the lines with no retreat possible.

Operation Teresa was under the command of Major Lee wild of the 7th Air Cavalry division of the army, a veteran career flying officer who had seen action in many theaters. He would lead the attack & rescue mission from his AH-64A/D Apache attack helicopter.

I would lead the group of 5 Marine CH46 Sea Knight’s designated to pick up the women, children & seriously wounded; all able bodied men in the tribe would stay and hopefully mop up what was left of their tormentors after the Major and his men did their job. We were also flying in a SO team & gear who would stay with the free fighters. I didn't ask.

The plan was to have my group of CH46’s come in low & fast over the mountain top to draw fire from the enemy below. The Apache’s would be 3 minutes behind and flying even lower so as not to be seen. A USAF RC-135V/W surveillance aircraft equipped with an extensive array of sophisticated infrared digital heat gathering equipment circling high overhead would pinpoint the arms fire with laser designators. When the targets were acquired the Apache’s would climb up to launch altitude and fire missiles that would lock onto the target tractor transponder beam, a form of TADS. Major Lee and his men would then take up a position below the mountain top and cover our retraction maneuver.

The flight north was uneventful . When we neared our objective we lit up the area for any signs of radar locks, none were detected. As we got a visual on hill # 931 we made a low and fast pass over the top, the enemy took the bait and started firing at us with small arms and light AA. We circled just out of range, darting up to 931 and then turning back before being hit. Major Wild & his group got target confirmation on their fire control displays and immediately climbed to launch altitude. The FFAR missiles tractored in, turning a good part of the hillside into rubble.

This time we took our CH46’s down and landed, the Kurd leaders had been well briefed, 180 seconds was the max down time. Onto each 46 our gunners packed in about 25 people of all ages, as soon as the floor space was filled we were off again, usually in under 120 sec. It would have been less but some were wounded, some held children in their arms and one was expecting.

Major Wild and his men were moping up the hill side and gorge below with rocket and M230 systems. he was well below the top of Hill 931, deep down into the ravine. As he did a 360 looking for opportunity he noticed a cave with a large opening. His heat cameras picked up several men deep inside, they were loading a missile tube. With no time to target the Major let go with all armed assets on board. The resulting avalanche sealed the cave just as the rocket fired, it didn’t clear the opening.

We were on the way home, so far the mission had been like a chocolat Éclairs - sweet. Our load consisted of women and children. One young Kurdish girl of about 17 was late in her 3th. trimester , she was hurting but didn’t make a sound. Only one male, a free fighter, was with the group, he was their assigned body guard. It was hard to tell his age, like his father he had been fighting someone, somewhere over a patch of dirt since he was 10 years old, age was hard to judge. He was well equipped for his job; from out of the past he had secured an old M1 M1A1 Thompson Tommy Gun with a drum magazine. Using camp fire technology an AK folding stock replaced the original. In a shoulder rig he carried a Red Star knock-off of a Colt straight back 1911 and another in a hip web belt holster. Stuck in his waist sash was another 1911 and on the opposite side a long curved sword. Also stuck in his sash was a short but wide knife. No question, the man did love his 45s. His name was too long & hard to pronounce so the gunners just called him Ishtar, he didn’t seem to mind which was probably a good thing.

We were avoiding over flying all towns, villages and hot zones by 3 to 5 miles. About half way home we made visual with a small town that we had flown north around on the way to our objective. The flight plan now called for a southern pass around the town at minimum safe altitude, we dropped down to about 100’ and picked up airspeed.

The radar lock-on alarm sounded at the same time as I saw the flash, I kicked right and lowered the nose, Lt. Gibson, the second pilot, hit the flare launch and SOS code transponder unlock at the same time. It was too late, the missile exploded just off our starboard around 4 o’clock.

Flak tore into the #2 GE, the compressor started shedding blades, some struck #1, smoke filled the cockpit, the rear rotor was hit as well. The ship shuttered from the impact and moaned as only a sinking vessel can. We were spiraling in fast. Just before impact I kicked hard right, pulled full up and added power to what was left of #1. She shook hard but it worked, we didn’t crash; as hard as it was we landed right side up. From instinct I shot both bottles into the engines, pulled both firewall E-handles and gangbared the ele system while getting out of my belts.

The gunners & crew chief were doing what the could to get the people out of the ship. Lt. Gibson went out his side door and started looking for a place to defend. I was looking around for whatever emergency equipment I thought may come in handy. Off our port about 200’ was a stone wall that looked secure, Lt. Gibson started moving the people in that direction - time was important as soon they would be upon us. The gunners were removing the door guns and the crew chief was collecting ammo. So far, so good - all things considered.

As soon as I made it over the wall I called Major Wild on the handheld, he was circling overhead with his ships. He had seen the flash and had wanted to shoot it down but we were too low and close for a safe shot. He and his men did neutralize the shooter and sanitize the area. The 135 overhead had recorded the incident and alerted command. The plan in place called for half of Maj. Wild’s force to catch up with and escort the other 46s to base where they would refuel and return to pick us up. The other half of his force would fly air cover for as long as they had fuel. During the short time between we were on our own. The key word being the military definition of short.

Major. Wild, who was already low on fuel, would leave with the first group. Capt. Mike Steele would take charge of the remaining force, his first order of business was to have his birds all reduce power and speed to save fuel and to increase the radius of their circle. As the ships reported in it looked like they could hang around for another 30 minutes or so. As each reached min fuel two would return to base. In just over a half hour we were on our own.

Looking out over the wall to the east we could see the gates of the town. A small stream ran around the near side. Our stone wall was about 5’ tall and 2’ deep, it ran for well over a mile. About 6’ behind the wall and running parallel to it was a thick vine like wall also about 5’ high. We knocked down part of the stone wall, reinforced our breastworks and sealed up the ends of our perimeter. We set up our guns and placed stone blocks around them until we had a crude bunker, It kept us busy. The young Kurdish girl went into labor, the other women looked after her.

Some 30 minutes after the last Apache left the gates to the city opened and out came armed men riding camels and horses, they weren’t friendly. They kept riding around in circles and firing in our direction, they kept getting closer and closer - they were seeking our effective range, we held our fire. Ground troops came out to join them, it looked like we faced a couple of hundred or so. We hunkered down. The stronger Kurdish women picked up guns and took their place with us along the wall, they knew the drill. When they were about 800 yards out they formed a line 10 deep and started forward in our direction, their rate of fire increased as did their speed until they were at a fast gait. The speed and dexterity of the camels surprised me, they made good gun platforms.

From behind us we heard what sounded like thunder. Looking thru the vine we saw nothing, not a thing, still the thunder grew louder and louder just as the enemy moved closer and closer, they were now at a full run. The ground under us shook as the thunder rose and still we saw nothing, not even wind or blowing sand. Just as it sounded like it couldn’t get any louder, it stopped and the ground no longer shook.

For just a second the sky went dark. Looking up we saw seven albino pale horses, they jumped our position as if on wings and headed straight towards the advancing combatants. On the back of each steed sat a rider with long flowing white hair all dressed in black. The stallions weren’t true albinos, their large eyes were as black as coal as was all their tack. The seven riders were well armed, each carried two nickel plated revolvers in shoulder rigs, two in hip leather and two in saddle pommels. As soon as their mounts hit the ground the seven released their reins which fell over the back side of the horn and each pulled two revolvers, one for each hand. The animals instinctively knew what to do and moved accordingly, they charged the line at full gallop.


No sooner had the stallions touched ground than that crazy Ishtar jumped the wall and took off after them. He was overcome by the insuring sting of battle and went yelling and shooting at the troops in front of him. The battle commenced but we held our fire for fear of hitting one of our own.

Each of the seven horsemen cut a path straight thru the advancing enemy line leaving the combatants in disbelief. As soon as that pass was complete they did a 270 and again cut the enemy line, this maneuver split the combatants into small groups of 20 or more. Each of the riders then engaged one or more of these smaller groups, it was classic divide and conquer. Ishtar found himself surrounded by a large number of fighters, seeing his peril one of the riders rode directly into the fray. Ishtar took hold of the tail and let the stallion drag him to safety. As he was being drug he held on with one hand and fired back at his attackers with a 1911 held in the other. As soon as he was clear he again advanced & disappeared into the thick of it.

The camels proved to be no match for the trained and experienced riders, they were too slow for a close quarter skirmish. Some sat down and refused to get up; if agitated by their riders they would turn and bite them. The smaller Arabian horses sensed the danger of the much larger pale stallions; some threw their riders and some took off for the safety of the open desert carrying their riders with them. The seven pale horses & their riders carried the field.

When a rider was confronted by a number of troops in front of him his horse would rise on his rear legs and strike out with his front. Any one left standing was gripped in the teeth of the steed and thrown aside like a rag. When a rider was surrounded his stallion would jump up off all four and strike out with flaying hoofs front and rear until the danger was gone. All the while the horsemen kept up a steady rate of fire.

The battle on the desert floor continued in this fashion until there was only one man left standing. Although bleeding and exhausted Ishtar, holding a 1911 in one hand and his sword in the other, was truly victorious and he let out a yell to claim his championship. Those not converted had taken off running for the open desert. The seven riders had all gathered at the far end of the valley floor as if standing guard over their domain.

As Ishtar faced the village out of gates came six small trucks with light machine mounted in the back. As they cleared the bridge they lined up and turned towards the seven horsemen, their gunners firing wildly as the trucks bounced over the desert rocks.

The seven horsemen formed a straight line facing the oncoming trucks. Each withdrew from a side scabbard a Winchester lever rifle. With the butt resting on their leg the seven started advancing . The rider in the center withdrew a worn, torn and scorched American flag from his kit which he affixed to the rings of his rifle that he now held upright as a staff. The horses started forward at a slow walk which became a trot and then a canter which soon became a three-beat gait. They were now running hell bent for leather; the nostrils on their stallions flared wide open, ears laid full back, their large eyes shown like wet coal, the Stars & Stripes beating in the wind - the charge was on.

As the distance between the two decreased to about 300 yards the riders stood up in their saddles and raised their rifles, at about 200 yards they fired. The first volley took out all six gunners, the second did the same for the drivers. As the trucks flipped and spun around in the air the riflemen fired again hitting the gas tanks; all the trucks erupted into giant fire balls. The anarchist left in the village made a mad run for the open desert.

The charge came to rest right in front of Ishtar. The riders returned their rifles to leather and with the standard high they raised themselves up in their saddles and saluted the crazy Kurd standing there. Still saluting they then turned in our direction and smartly terminated the laudation. Ishtar straightened himself as best he could and raised his sword in accolade. Then, the seven horsemen turned and in single file started riding west.

Major Wild called on the radio long before we heard the rotors beat. From the distance he could see the smoke and wanted to know how best to enter the battle. I told him that it was all over, that we were clear for extraction. As the Major & his group circled overhead he said that the engagement must have been some hair ball, how many did you loose? I replied back, “ none, we actually gained one, a baby boy. He acknowledged back with an “affirmative, let’s go home captain.”

Looking back to the west one last time I saw the seven horsemen top a barren desert hill, the sun was setting brilliantly directly in front of them. As each reached the crest they appeared to just fade away into white light. I had been in that part of the ancient world long enough not to ask questions about things not understood, and none of us did. The Kurd's just seemed to know.

Dateline Baghdad: 7-4-04 (Independence Day) Kurdish refugees arrived this day at the airport Red Cross station after being airlifted off hill # 913 and then shot down near Dukan where a fierce fire fight took place between on-board Marine SO group and mounted rebel insurgents. During the battle a baby was born to one of the refugees, mother and child are both OK.
Upon disembarking no one could say how the new born Kurdish boy child came to be wrapped in a pristine American flag .
End

Addendum:
Wave on wave America, wave on.

Thus ends my venture into creative writing which I found is best left to those with talent. I had an idea in my head for this trilogy and the outline looked good. Puting it down on paper for others to read proved to be another matter. However, you never know unless you try.

Ride easy amigos.

"Yeah, I’ve seen that Dalton boy work – he shoots like a blind gunfighter."

"Almost everyplace that (John Wesley) Hardin went, he found a reason to kill someone."

Link to Kit's SASS/CAS photo albums

Trinity River Desperados Old West Re-enactment Society

Link to Bank Robbery re-enactment script

Link to Jail Break (El último hombree) re-enactment script

Kit Dalton Cowboy

Link to TRD (Trinity River Desperados) Old West Reenactment Troupe Dallas Heritage Village

Jerry D. Gore (1929- 2006) of the 327th. Heavy Bombardment Squadron