Outlaw Platoon: Heroes, Renegades, Infidels, and the Brotherhood of War in Afghanistan

by Sean Parnell

BAKE

Late

July

2006

“Uh, sir, that’s pretty nasty.” “What?” “That shit coming out of your ear.”

I’ll get a scan at Bagram in a few days when I head home on leave.”

I was having bouts of double vision and frequent migraines,

“Jeff Hall. I’m your new squad leader, sir.” He stuck out his hand. I shook it and nearly had my fingers squashed like

sausages.

When battalion told me we were getting a staff sergeant to permanently replace Waites,

Here’s the thing, you’ve been too fuckin’ soft on the enemy.”

Badass, without a doubt, but Jeff Hall was a man who was comfortable with that designation without taking himself too seriously.

they were avoiding the Green Skull platoon again.

But

they were out there, watching us ...

slip behind Rakhah Ridge at dusk to establish snap traffic-control points and observation posts along

the

main

r...

to Pak...

I recalled that a goat track ran east from the village of Malakshay. It intersected our main infil route just outside our destination.

The column stopped in the middle of the burned, roofless dwellings. “I thought I saw an RPG team running on Hill 2522,”

split second

later,

rocket-pr...

prop...

gr...

exploded next to our column. Before we could react, the hills to the southeast flared with muzzle flashes. Red tracer rounds zipped...

By taking a different route, we’d bisected an ambush they’d established for us.

We’d thrown them off guard, and they had reflexively opened fire.

The enemy seemed content to spray us from a distance. We hammered back at them with our crew-served weapons,

Hall, whose rig was on the eastern side of the perimeter, said calmly, “Sir, they’re rushin’ us. Comin’ at our hill now.”

instead they ran straight for us.

two insurgents grabbed their fallen comrade and whisked him to the rear.

Their casualty evacuation was stunningly

f...

they stumbled over roots and rocks, making a headlong rush into the teeth of our firepower.

The gunners called this deadly mixture “Shake and Bake.” The high explosives shook the ground, while the Wiley Pete cooked anything it touched.

Desperate now, the trapped insurgents bolted for us, their wounded and dying carpeting the hillside in their wake.

The enemy closed to twenty-five meters.

A

lull had

descended on the battlefield as the enemy’s...

been killed almost to...

man.

“They’re coming again, sir.”

The slaughter continued unabated for almost three

hours.

Again and again, the insurgents threw themselves blindly...