None Braver: U.S. Air Force Pararescuemen in the War on Terrorism
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From award-winning journalist and combat veteran Michael Hirsh comes the thrilling inside story of the Air Force’s pararescue operations in Afghanistan. The first journalist to be embedded with an Air Force combat unit in the War on Terrorism, Hirsh flew from Moody Air Force Base, Georgia, with the 71st Rescue Squadron to their expeditionary headquarters at a secret location in Central Asia. Unparalleled access to the PJs, as well as to the courageous men and women who fly them where they have to go, often under enemy fire, allowed Hirsh to uncover incredible stories of courage.
attempts by Al Qaeda to move on Self ’s platoon. Several SEAL observation posts were in contact with the Rangers. And while the action was taking place, even Hotaling, who had been atop a ridge about two miles south of Takur Ghar for more than a week, said that despite intel reports that some seventy enemy soldiers were heading toward the downed Americans, he never saw anything more than small groups of men trying to get into the area. When he saw them, he bombed them. None got closer than
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in the dining facility, and with regard to breakfast, our senior airman will deliver to your door. You’ll note that neither aperitifs nor other alcoholic beverages are offered on the menu. That is definitely not an oversight, for as anyone who has met them knows, the PJs are a cultured group and have a deep appreciation of fine spirits, wines, and cigars. (S.Sgt. Rob Disney personally recommends the Rose-mount Shiraz from southeastern Australia, which, he says, at twelve dollars is a very good
five feet deep—up to his armpits. Moving through it is a struggle, not a stroll. He estimates it took him ten minutes to get to the guy with the radio. On the way down he passes a string of special ops troops coming uphill who stop him and ask if he’s okay. Langston’s response is a mantra: “CSAR bird, REDS kit.” Every time an SOF soldier looks at him, he says, “CSAR bird, REDS kit.” Finally he reaches the crewman with the radio near the back of the helicopter. “Hey, we need to call the CSAR bird
Victoria, or Leonid Brezhnev, they’d all tell you the same thing: Afghanistan is an especially rotten place to fight a war. The climate is inhospitable, the topography brutal, and the indigenous tribes won’t run from a good fight. Just consider the terrain. The southern third of the country is an unforgiving, desertlike plateau. Nomads and the occasional gaggle of Taliban flowing unhampered across the Pakistani border in both directions populate it. In the central two-thirds of the country are