9SFG(A) - Real American Heroes - Story

NSA

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#1
Real American Heroes
By Paul (NSA)


-
Prologue:​


On the morning of September 11th, 2001 men associated with, and funded by the terrorist group al-Qaeda, hijacked four commercial American passenger jets and crashed two into the World Trade Center in New York, one into the Pentagon, and a final one crashed into a field in Pennsylvania.

Almost 3,000 people from all over the world died in the attacks, and many nations world wide condemned the terrorist act almost immediately. The American people were stunned, trying to figure out who attacked them, and unsure if more attacks were on the way.

I"'ve directed the full resources of our intelligence and law enforcement communities to find those responsible and to bring them to justice. We will make no distinction between the terrorists who committed these acts, and those who harbor them.“ President George W. Bush, September 11th, 2001.

On October 7th, 2001, the United States of America launched military operations against the country of Afghanistan, and began Operation Enduring Freedom. The goal was to hunt down and defeat al-Qaeda and any associated groups of the September 11th attacks, while at the same time eliminate the terrorist training camps as well as liberating the country from the Taliban, who had refused to turn in Osama bin Laden and give up supporting al-Qaeda.

By November of 2001, the United States Special Forces and the Anti-Taliban Forces (ATF) had the remaining Taliban and al-Qaeda on the run. In early December, the US led an assault on the Tora Bora mountain range, where the remaining Taliban and al-Qaeda were thought to be hiding. It was also thought at the time that Osama bin Laden was coordinating the fight from secret bunkers built into the mountainside.

The battle was a success, with no US losses, but due to many factors, including a called cease-fire by al-Qaeda forces, Osama bin Laden and his top commanders managed to retreat into Pakistan. The victory at Tora Bora meant victory over the Taliban for the time being, though the escape of Osama bin Laden and other top Taliban and al-Qaeda meant the battle was far from over.

In early January, 2002, United States Special Operations Command (USSOCOM) activated the newly formed 9th Special Forces Group (Airborne) (9SFGA), and assigned it to Joint Special Operations Command (JSOC) Task Force 11 (TF-11). The 9th SFG(A) was sent to the recently liberated Bagram Airbase with the instructions to assist in the defeat of the Taliban as well as to hunt down and capture high-value targets with information relating to the 9/11 terrorist attacks.


This is their story.


Chapter 1:

20 JAN, 2002 - Bagram Airbase, Afghanistan, 17:30 hours


The evening was already here, and with it came the nightly mortar and RPG attacks. Thankfully most of the time they went wide, as they were literally shots in the dark. The shots exploded out on the tarmac, shaking the roof of the temporary building that was the 9th Special Forces Group's makeshift headquarters.

It's been a month, muttered Master Sergeant Charles Anderson as he looked over a well-worn map. Don't they have anything better to do than rock me to sleep at night?

MSG Anderson knew deep down that if any one of those shells hit the HQ they wouldn't live to tell about it. Though dating back to World War II, the Russian-made 82mm mortars still packed enough punch to destroy the small, mostly wooden building they were using.

"The last memory the mujahedeen have of a real army here was the Soviets back in the 80's" Said Captain Robert Clark. "They remember them running away with their tails between their legs. They think they can show some misplaced half-hearted tenacity and we'll do the same."

Another shell exploded on the runway, hitting the remains of an abandoned Russian IL-76 military transport plane that never made it airborne. Long since scavenged for anything useful, the fuselage collapsed and smoldered in the dark.

"We'll do the same," Clark repeated as he stared out at the darkness. "The same as we've ever done, the same as we've trained for, we'll kick their asses back in their holes and finish off the bastards." Clark took his knife out and stabbed at the map. "This is the Shah-i-Kot Valley, this is where they fought the Russians, and this is where they'll run, where they think they're safe. This is where we'll show them a thing or two about American determination."

The next morning was cold and gray, which was perfect weather for a CIA Special Operations Group (SOG) intelligence meeting thought Clark. These meetings had become almost routine, with the latest satellite photos and human intelligence reports from across Afghanistan coming every day or two. The CIA/SOG liaison was a certain John Skelton, which was a most appropriate name for the CIA spook. The men had given him the nickname "Chuckles" behind his back, since he never, ever smiled.

"We've received credible info from one of our SF teams, call sign 'Texas 14', that the Taliban and al-Qaeda forces are gathering in the Shah-i-Kot Valley, south of Gardez. They appear to be using a network of caves and emplacements to shield themselves from our forces, as well as the winter. At this point there seems to be between 50 to 100 troops massed there, though they do seem to be steadily trickling in. We are awaiting confirmation of high value targets before committing troops." Skelton flipped through his pack nervously. "As some of you may have heard yesterday, the 101st Airborne Rangers took over the base at Kandahar from the Marines."

The men all let out a small laugh, "Yes, the Marines get to go back to their boats at last," joked Skelton as he pulled out some paperwork. "Well, most of them at least. JSOC is assigning one Marine scout sniper to 9th, Gunnery Sergeant Frank Redoubt, and he will be joining ODA-9118."

Clark shifted back in his seat. "We're getting a Marine huh?" he said. "Why, in JSOC's infinite wisdom, do they think we need a Leatherneck? I'm not about to complain about an additional gun, and a marksman at that, but I do love hearing how HQ thinks."

Skelton smiled, which was disturbing by itself. "You'll find out when he arrives tonight".
 
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NSA

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#2
Chapter 2:

21 JAN 2002 - Outside Bagram Airbase, Afghanistan - 20:00 hours

As Gunnery Sergeant Frank Redoubt flew over the Afghan landscape in an Army UH-60 Blackhawk helicopter he was still taken aback at how dark everything was. Flying from Kandahar to Bagram, many of the outlying areas had no central power in the best of days, and now after the invasion many places still had not been reconnected to the central grid. Small lights occasionally flashed below him, mostly campfires and lanterns. Every now and then small arms fire would arc up in their direction, though most of the time it passed by harmlessly.

As the helicopter approached Bagram Airbase, they entered the most dangerous part of the flight. The Taliban holdouts watched all the normal approaches to the base, and they were especially aggressive at night. Base policy had patrols out looking for the Taliban at all hours, but they always managed to slip away after a few potshots.

"We should be on the ground in the next 5 minutes," stated the pilot over the intercom. "Keep an eye out for incoming haji fire, they're getting especially accurate with those damn RPG's. This is definitely going to be a hot landing, when we touchdown you need to jump out and make your way to the 9th battalions HQ on the far side of the tarmac!"

Redoubt double checked his gear and watched out the window as the base quickly came into view. "These hot landings never get old," he said with a smirk. "We'd managed to get the Kandahar approaches somewhat clear while we were there.. I hope the 101st can keep it that way."

"Two minutes out," called the pilot as the helicopter began to descend.

Redoubt stood up and put on his assault pack, attached his M-14 rifle to his sling and grabbed onto the Blackhawk's side door. The Blackhawk leveled out and began a quick decent onto the runway. Just as the helicopter was about to touch down the side-gunner shouted out, "Incoming RPG! 9 o'clock! Evade, evade!"

The pilot tried to bank hard to the right, but the RPG managed to clip the lateral stabilizer, sending the helicopter into an uncontrolled spin. Redoubt was thrown hard against the opposite door of the helicopter as it crashed into the frozen ground.

Redoubt opened his eyes; he hurt, but could tell nothing was broken. At the moment of impact, they had been so close to landing that most of the damage had been done when the blades hit the icy tarmac and snapped, sending ricochets through the fuselage. He climbed to the front of the cockpit to check on the pilot, though he could immediately tell it was too late. A rotor fragment or a bullet, he could not tell, had impacted itself right below the pilot's helmet, hopefully killing him instantly. The co-pilot was alive, though wounded with damage to his leg. Redoubt helped bandage the wound and move the co-pilot into the back of the Blackhawk.

A rescue crew was attempting to approach the downed helicopter, but Taliban small-arms fire was keeping them pinned behind the barricades. It appeared that one of the Taliban fighters had a PKM or RPK because they were laying down some serious suppressing fire.

Looking out into the dark, Redoubt grabbed the co-pilots radio. "Bagram control, this is Gunnery Sergeant Frank Redoubt, are you receiving me?" he said.

After a moment of silence, the tower responded. "Sergeant, this is control. We are receiving you, what is your status? Over."

"I am pinned down in the downed Blackhawk, the pilot is dead, co-pilot has a gunshot to the thigh, and we need to get out of here quick!" As if to strike his point home, another RPG exploded on the tarmac, about twenty feet from the cabin.

The radio crackled to life, "We are sending one of our patrols to flank the Taliban, but they will not be in position for another 10 minutes. They have our rescue teams pinned down good, seems like they rehearsed this one Sergeant."

Redoubt put the radio down; he knew they would not last another 10 minutes in the helicopter. He opened up his pack and grabbed his night vision goggles (NVG). "Stay here, stay low, I'll be back." He said to the co-pilot as he exited the shielded side of the Blackhawk.

Crawling slowly to the rear of the downed helicopter, he did a quick check on his M-14, his optics were thankfully still working and he had four full magazines in his vest. When he turned on the NVGs, the world went from an inky blackness to a coarse green, the fire on the tarmac shone extra brightly in his periphery. Redoubt rounded the tail of the helicopter, rifle at the ready.

The tarmac continued for another forty or fifty feet ahead, followed by a partially destroyed fence and a small hill with large rocks on it. He stopped, went prone and waited. Tracer fire could be seen coming from one of the larger rocks, the Taliban were clearly using light machines guns (LMG), probably two or three from what he could make out. Redoubt continued to crawl away from the helicopter at a slow pace when he spotted a small contingent of Taliban rounding the rocks and heading his way.

"They want prisoners? Trophies? Are they insane?" Redoubt said to himself. He counted four men, two with PKMs, one with an old bolt action rifle, possibly a Mosin-Nagant, and one with an RPG launcher. He took a deep breath, at this range; he'd have three, maybe four shots before he came under fire. They were about thirty feet away now, picking up speed as they approached the helicopter. He took aim at the lead Taliban and squeezed the trigger, just as his world exploded with light."

The spotting flare had gone off right over the Taliban fighters, blinding Redoubt momentarily as he was wearing his NVGs. When his vision returned, he saw that the base patrol had successfully flanked the fighters, killing the two remaining at the rocks and trapping the others in the open. In a blink of the eye it was over, and Redoubt got up and made his way back to the downed helicopter.

"How are you doing?" Redoubt said to the wounded co-pilot as he made his way back into the cabin.

The co-pilot shook her head, "I'll live". She grimaced in pain as the rescue team lifted her onto a stretcher. "Thanks for going out there though, you got balls enough for the both of us."

Redoubt was gathering up his supplies, which were strewn about the cabin when one of the patrol members tapped him on the shoulder. "Excuse me, but that was some fine ass shooting out there. I don't know how you managed to get three of them with one shot!"

He didn't know either, but Redoubt just shook his head. "It's all in the reflexes kid, now where can I find Captain Clark of the 9th SF?"

To be continued...
 
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NSA

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#7
Yeah I'd like to get the story done and then make figures accordingly.. I was doing it all out of order.. Just too many things to focus on really.

I lost all my research notes when my PC crashed, so it's making it a little hard to proceed at the moment.
 

Charade

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Apr 12, 2011
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#17
There's no hiding from the internet, dude.

That's a great story.

As much as I love Cobra, my GI Joe has always been Special Missions...very real soldiers in "Mission:Impossible" being the best possible people they can be to make the world a better place.

When you get situated with your move, I'd love to see the story continue.
 

NSA

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#18
I had it planned out, and lost all my notes in a hard-drive crash last March, kinda took the wind out of my sails.. but I'll try to get back into it.

I envisioned it as a "real world" beginning to GI JOE in the modern ERA. One of my custom tanks around here somewhere is from my 'bad guys' an al-Qaeda aligned group calling itself "Snake"..
 

NSA

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#21
Here are a couple of shorts that I've worked on. Until I get going on the story proper:


Excerpt from AFGHAN-SITREP: SNAKE/Type-98-Prototype
DATE REQUESTED: 22 JAN 2002
Covert Operator Codename: Chuckles


"... The Commander loved his tank. It was probably his most treasured possession in the province. He had money, wives, even young boys at his beck and call, for he was a man of influence in the Shah-i-kot Valley. Above all else though, he cherished the tank. It was a relatively new Chinese prototype for their 'Type-98' series of tanks, and was given to him from a Pakistani weapons broker in exchange for his sisters hand in marriage. He never heard from, or saw her again, but I don't recall him ever musing on if it had been a bad deal.

When it arrived a couple years back, the Commander was as excited as a school child, climbing all over the tank before they had even unloaded it from the Pakistani Air Force's C-130. His elation quickly turned to angst though, when he realized none of his men had any training in actually DRIVING a tank. He started going on and on, and I quietly informed him that the Soviets had trained me to operate some of their armored vehicles during the occupation and that'd I'd give it a try. That certainly brightened his mood.

The Chinese had removed most of their new tech gear, but it was still a fully functional tank, easily surpassing the old Soviet T-55's that still lumbered across the country in service of the Taliban. The Commander had us drive all over the countryside, shooting at whatever he felt like. I think he enjoyed the cramped Chinese cabin, as it probably made him less aware of his own height shortcomings.

The Commander used his tank almost every day, even for trips to the local bazaar, that was until the US started their air campaign. No armored vehicle would survive long out in the open, so he generally left it parked in the entrance to his cave compound..."



Excerpt from AFGHAN-SITREP: NAVY/FOB RHINO
DATE REQUESTED: 22 JAN 2002
Special Warfare Operator Codename: Shipwreck

Date: 23 NOV 2001
Local Time: 22:17
Location: 54 miles S/SW of Kandahar

This late at night, the deserted Afghan terrain could easily be confused with the surface of the moon, except the moon probably had more going on.

"... it's fucking cold," said Petty Officer 1st Class Edgar "Shipwreck" Winick as he scanned the horizon with his night vision binoculars, "we've been at this for 2 days now and all I see is the same empty buildings, and deserted airstrip."

Petty Office 2nd Class Steven "Topside" Rogers smiled in the dark. "Well, as I told you yesterday, Command says to watch this place, so we watch this place. Anyways, you should be happy.. at least out here there's nothing for you to sink..." Rogers trailed off as he took the binoculars from Winick.

"Oh you know damn well those were not my fault," said Winick under his breath. "Just because a guy goes on three tours and just happens to be involved in three.. mishaps.. is no reason to try and nickname someone 'Shipwreck'. Nice try, it'll never stick anyways."

"Sure, sure. We'll see about that," replied Rogers. "Rumor has it that one time in the South Seas you got to spend three days on a tropical beach! You're a modern day Robinson fucking Caruso there buddy. Let me guess, you even had a pet parrot on your shoulder?"

Grinning, "Shipwreck" reached into Rogers ruck, grabbing a MRE. "Yeah, well.. polly's gonna take your cracker for that one, ass!"

Shipwreck's grin disappeared in an instant. "Command, we've got movement at 9 o'clock," he said quietly into the radio. "Looks like one pickup, 2.. make that 3 bodies inside. Can not ID. Repeat, can not ID. Do we take the shot, over."

"Negative," came the reply. "Hold your fire team 1 and 2. That truck has a special guest for you. Rendezvous with them on the road below your position. Command out."

"Great," said Rogers. "Can I have my crackers back now?"
 
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