Free Into the Fire: A Firsthand Account of the Most Extraordinary Battle in the Afghan War by Bing West, Dakota Meyer

room, Kerr tromped around the hills like an angry bear, and his platoon adopted his edgy style.
    Early on, his platoon was sent to Dangam to stop the infiltration from Pakistan. Kerr’s soldiers had hiked up to every
khol
, or small knot of houses, along the road from Monti out to Dangam, to offer jobs to pave the road and build schools. Kerr spread the pay equally among small competing tribes. In turn, the work crews, not wanting to be blown up, pointed out where the IEDs were hidden. In short, Kerr knew how to play the tribal game.
    In retaliation, the Taliban sent a raiding party to attack the Dangam district office. Tipped off, Kerr had a machine-gun crew waiting on a nearby hill. Three attackers were killed, and the others retreated back into Pakistan. In appreciation, the local Mushani tribe invited the Americans to a feast, where they welcomed Kerr as a tribal member and gave him the name Zelaware Zelmae, or Brave Son.
    Kerr persuaded the local Askars and police to help his platoon build a fort. Once that was hardened, he planned to set up ambushesalong the trails leading to Pakistan, a mile farther east. But when a nearby outpost was overrun in May, Army headquarters pulled Kerr’s platoon out of Dangam because it was “too exposed.” The platoon thought headquarters had overreacted.
    Staff Sgt. Kenefick and I took fifteen Askars and drove out to Dangam. We settled into Kerr’s old fort on top of a small hill with sheer sides protected by triple rows of barbed wire. The fort was a small patch of flat ground surrounded by a deep trench line, with bunkers at each corner—impossible to assault on foot.
    But several hundred meters away on all sides were towering mountains. The dushmen could climb higher than the fort and fire down RPGs. It’s hard to find the highest peak in a country jammed full of mountains. You’d have to go all the way east to Everest if you didn’t want any higher ground around you.
    Kerr had compensated by pre-plotting every visible slope, so he could call in artillery fire like calling for a takeout pizza. So I did the same. Before leaving Monti, I plotted a half dozen Kilo Echoes. KEs are pre-calibrated impact points for artillery fire. If we came under attack, I could radio a command like, “Left one hundred meters from KE 3366, fire for effect.” The artillery rounds zoomed the five miles over the mountain to that exact spot. Targeting in mountainous elevations is tricky, but I had sufficient practice during sniper training to feel comfortable.
    When we arrived about noon, after a long drive without saying much to each other, Staff Sgt. Kenefick and I assigned two Askars to each bunker. I then took out my binoculars, map, and compass to recheck the Kilo Echoes. I had been doing this for about half an hour when a sheep or goat herder in a bluish man-dress walked into plain sight, about four hundred meters away on a higher hillside. He was waving a walking stick at his invisible sheep, while looking right atme. His cover was so pathetic that I almost waved back at him. Then he ducked behind an outcropping, stuck the barrel of an AK out of the rocks, and fired off four or five rounds.
    Staff Sgt. Kenefick was standing outside a bunker about a hundred feet from me.
    “Meyer, we’re under attack!” he yelled.
    Technically, yes. But the shepherd was shooting without poking his head up to aim. He had one chance in a thousand of hitting us. A second harmless burst followed, the bullets cracking more than ten feet above our heads.
    “Call for arty! NOW!” Staff Sgt. Kenefick yelled, holding the radio headset out toward me.
    Oh, nice. Staff Sgt. soon-to-be Gunnery Sgt. Kenefick needed the lowly corporal’s help. I trotted toward him, stopped, assumed parade-rest posture, arms locked behind my back, chest pushed forward in the wide open, and pasted a respectful expression on my face.
    “What does the staff sergeant wish the corporal to do?”
    Another burst from the AK.
    “This is no time