Joint Task Force #1: Liberia Read Online Free PDF Page A

screaming and after several minutes, only silence. As the Taliban leader watches the top of the hill, the lone Marine appears again and shouts down that one Marine is worth more than a hundred Talibans. This time, the Taliban leader sends one hundred fighters over the hill. Same thing, lots of screams, shouts, bullets, and explosions, followed by silence. The Marine appears again. This time the Taliban leader is angry. He orders a thousand fighters over the hill after the Marine. Screams, shouts, bullets, explosions follow, and then over the hill comes a lone Taliban fighter, wounded and crawling toward the leader. As he reaches the leader, he tugs on the long Taliban robe and whispers, “It’s a trap; there’s two of them.”
    Dick laughed. Behind him, the quartermasters winked at each other. They nodded at each other. Even the admiral found Captain Upmann’s antics amusing.
    On the beach, corpsmen, dressed in Marine Corps combat utilities, carried simulated wounded on stretchers toward the three landing craft. Belowdecks in the main medical compartments of the USS Boxer , doctors and nurses would be waiting for the simulated injuries to arrive. Developing triage experience was very important in military operations. Many believed triage was the medical management procedure for identifying the most critical who needed immediate attention. Most failed to realize that triage also meant identifying those who were so critically wounded that others might die if necessary medical personnel and equipment were diverted in an attempt to prolong the lives of the dying. War was cruel, and cruelest of all was knowing that your survival could depend on how badly wounded you were, balanced against available medical personnel and supplies.
    Leo appeared unexpectedly by his side. “Admiral, the third wave is ready to go, sir. Though the way they are handling those landing craft, I expect them all to capsize before they’re a hundred yards to the beach.”
    Dick lowered his binoculars and looked up. “Leo, they’ll do fine. The exercise is going as well as can be expected. This is the third wave, right?”
    “Right, sir, but the helmsmen of this wave must still have their learners’ permits.”
    A steward stepped onto the bridge wing with fresh cups of coffee and a plate of fresh pastries. The young petty officer handed the first cup to Dick, who thanked him, and offered the second to Captain Upmann. The plate with the pastries he placed on the shelf that ran below the lip of the bridge wing.
    Captain Upmann reached over and took two of them.
    Dick shook his head and grinned. “Leo, how do you do it? Every time I see you, you’ve got a mouthful of something— about the only time I don’t hear your words of doom —and you’re probably the only officer on my staff who has a negative body-fat ratio.”
    “Six percent,” Leo mumbled through the raisin bread.
    “And for me,” Dick continued, patting a stomach that hung slightly over the belt line, “I can look at that stuff and put on weight.”
    Leonard Upmann swallowed. “You’ve lost weight, Admiral,” he replied, taking another big bite.
    “A little maybe, but only because an old friend of mine, Rear Admiral Duncan James—a Navy SEAL—made me work out with him when he and I spent our four weeks at CAPSTONE.” CAPSTONE was the military executive training for new flag officers held at the National Defense University at Fort McNair in Washington, D.C. Everyone who made the stars eventually sat through the series of lectures on what it meant to be a flag officer or general officer. Lectures given most times by those who had never made the rank.
    “I’ve met him,” Leo said, reaching out and taking another cake. “Nice man.”
    “Nice man? If you had read the reports of his rescue of the Algerian President, you would say ‘trained killer’ more likely. Which is why I made sure I kept running when he so ordered. I didn’t want to find out if the SEAL rules for