explosion & there was a secondary
explosion,” he wrote. “Today the flag was at half mast for 3 101st pilots who died in the
crash, they were shot down by an RPG.... Later they had a ceremony for our fallen comrades
as they loaded their bodies on the bird home, makes you realize your mortality.”
Eight days later, in a Humvee turret behind his .50 cal, Othic didn't have time to ponder
his mortality. He was waiting around the corner a block south of the target building,
listening to the escalating gunfire and itching to get his gun into the fight. But his
vehicle was the last one in the ground convoy, so he was pulling rear security, with his
gun facing down the road away from everything. He was mostly worried about missing out on
the shooting. Then the convoy started moving. As his Humvee made the turn onto Hawlwadig,
he bagged the chicken.
There was so much confusion it was hard for Othic to orient himself. There were lots of
unarmed people in the streets, so he started off trying to be careful. He hit a Somali
with a gun in the doorway to the hotel. He blasted another down the alley looking west
from the hotel. The man stopped in the middle of the street and looked over his shoulder,
locking eyes momentarily with Othic. The big .50-cal rounds, which could punch head-size
holes in cinder block, tore the man apart. Othic aimed a few more rounds at the man's gun
in the dirt, trying to disable it. Down the street to the south he saw people dragging out
tires and debris for a roadblock, so he swung his turret and put a few rounds down there.
They ran.
There was just too much shooting from all directions for Othic to sort out what was going
on. Bullets were zinging around him and RPGs had started to fly. He would see a cloud of
smoke and a flash and then track the fat arc of the grenade as it rocketed home. Brass
shell casings were piling up around him in the turret. A Somali round hit the pile and one
of the casings flipped up and stung him in the face. When two more rounds hit ammo boxes
right next to him, Othic was alarmed. Somebody had a bead on him. He began shooting
everywhere. There was a Ranger saying that went, “When the going gets tough, the tough go
cyclic.”
Othic's Missouri buddy Eric Spalding was in one of the five-ton trucks farther up the
line. The truck had sandbags on the floor in back to shield those riding back there from
mines, but other than that it wasn't armored. In the passenger seat, Spalding figured his
best defense was a good offense, so he started shooting as soon as the convoy rounded the
corner toward the target building. He shot a man with a gun on the steps of the Olympic
Hotel, and after that targets just kept on coming as fast as he could line them up and
shoot. There wasn't any time to reflect on what was happening. The gunfight started fast
and accelerated.
For Sergeant John Burns, riding in a Humvee behind Spalding's truck, it was hard at first
to grasp the severity of the fight. He and the rest of the Rangers had expected what they
usually found on these missions, a Somali gunman or two taking potshots and running. So
when he saw a Somali man fire an RPG from behind a crowd of women, Burns leapt from the
Humvee to give chase, catching his foot on the lip of the door and falling flat on his
face in the dirt. He scrambled up and ran after the man with the RPG tube, and when he had
a clear bead on him he dropped to one knee and shot him. The Somali fell and Burns,
completely caught up in his own little chase, ran out and grabbed the wounded man by the
shirt, figuring they'd haul him back with the other prisoners. But as he began dragging
the man he became aware of how much shooting was going on, and then, to his horror,
spotted ten armed Somalis around the corner of the hotel.
It dawned on Burns that he was in the middle of a much bigger fight. He released the
explosion,” he wrote. “Today the flag was at half mast for 3 101st pilots who died in the
crash, they were shot down by an RPG.... Later they had a ceremony for our fallen comrades
as they loaded their bodies on the bird home, makes you realize your mortality.”
Eight days later, in a Humvee turret behind his .50 cal, Othic didn't have time to ponder
his mortality. He was waiting around the corner a block south of the target building,
listening to the escalating gunfire and itching to get his gun into the fight. But his
vehicle was the last one in the ground convoy, so he was pulling rear security, with his
gun facing down the road away from everything. He was mostly worried about missing out on
the shooting. Then the convoy started moving. As his Humvee made the turn onto Hawlwadig,
he bagged the chicken.
There was so much confusion it was hard for Othic to orient himself. There were lots of
unarmed people in the streets, so he started off trying to be careful. He hit a Somali
with a gun in the doorway to the hotel. He blasted another down the alley looking west
from the hotel. The man stopped in the middle of the street and looked over his shoulder,
locking eyes momentarily with Othic. The big .50-cal rounds, which could punch head-size
holes in cinder block, tore the man apart. Othic aimed a few more rounds at the man's gun
in the dirt, trying to disable it. Down the street to the south he saw people dragging out
tires and debris for a roadblock, so he swung his turret and put a few rounds down there.
They ran.
There was just too much shooting from all directions for Othic to sort out what was going
on. Bullets were zinging around him and RPGs had started to fly. He would see a cloud of
smoke and a flash and then track the fat arc of the grenade as it rocketed home. Brass
shell casings were piling up around him in the turret. A Somali round hit the pile and one
of the casings flipped up and stung him in the face. When two more rounds hit ammo boxes
right next to him, Othic was alarmed. Somebody had a bead on him. He began shooting
everywhere. There was a Ranger saying that went, “When the going gets tough, the tough go
cyclic.”
Othic's Missouri buddy Eric Spalding was in one of the five-ton trucks farther up the
line. The truck had sandbags on the floor in back to shield those riding back there from
mines, but other than that it wasn't armored. In the passenger seat, Spalding figured his
best defense was a good offense, so he started shooting as soon as the convoy rounded the
corner toward the target building. He shot a man with a gun on the steps of the Olympic
Hotel, and after that targets just kept on coming as fast as he could line them up and
shoot. There wasn't any time to reflect on what was happening. The gunfight started fast
and accelerated.
For Sergeant John Burns, riding in a Humvee behind Spalding's truck, it was hard at first
to grasp the severity of the fight. He and the rest of the Rangers had expected what they
usually found on these missions, a Somali gunman or two taking potshots and running. So
when he saw a Somali man fire an RPG from behind a crowd of women, Burns leapt from the
Humvee to give chase, catching his foot on the lip of the door and falling flat on his
face in the dirt. He scrambled up and ran after the man with the RPG tube, and when he had
a clear bead on him he dropped to one knee and shot him. The Somali fell and Burns,
completely caught up in his own little chase, ran out and grabbed the wounded man by the
shirt, figuring they'd haul him back with the other prisoners. But as he began dragging
the man he became aware of how much shooting was going on, and then, to his horror,
spotted ten armed Somalis around the corner of the hotel.
It dawned on Burns that he was in the middle of a much bigger fight. He released the
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