A large group of Taliban fighters is moving down a ravine in the Korengal Valley, in southern Afghanistan, when they hear a hoarse voice call from behind a sand-dune in a mocking tone, "Yo, muj, did you know that one Marine is better than ten of you smelly Talib?"
Insulted to the quick (though he did indeed smell), the Taliban commander sent ten of his best men over the rocky hill, whereupon a gunbattle broke out immediately. The gunbattle was short, but vicious, punctuated by screams of agony and fear in Dari and Pushtu. Then there was silence.
A moment later, there was a snicker, then the same voice called out, "Bad Muj! Didn't you know one grunt is better than any hundred so-called Taliban fighters?"
Furious now, the Taliban commander sent his next best hundred men up and over the incline and instantly a terrible gunfight ensued. The sharp chatter of M-4 fire barked out in counterpoint to the dull clatter of the Kalashnikovs, interspersed with the detonations of grenades and screams of agony and fear in Pushtu and Dari. After a full five minutes of battle, silence reigned heavily across the valley.
A moment later that same mocking voice called out, though to be fair to the muj, the grunt was obviously breathing at least a little bit faster. The voice called out, "Bad Muj, silly muj, you have to know that one grunt is better than one thousand sheep-loving Taliban!"
Thoroughly enraged now, the Taliban commander mustered a full thousand of his fighters and sent them into the fight. RPGs hissed and boomed, hand grenades exploded, echoing down the Korengal Valley and even PKM fire rattled and roared over all the small arms fire. At last, one badly wounded muj fighter appeared, crawling down the military crest of the ridge.
"Don't send any more men," he gasped as the life fled his body, "It's a trap. There's two of them."
Insulted to the quick (though he did indeed smell), the Taliban commander sent ten of his best men over the rocky hill, whereupon a gunbattle broke out immediately. The gunbattle was short, but vicious, punctuated by screams of agony and fear in Dari and Pushtu. Then there was silence.
A moment later, there was a snicker, then the same voice called out, "Bad Muj! Didn't you know one grunt is better than any hundred so-called Taliban fighters?"
Furious now, the Taliban commander sent his next best hundred men up and over the incline and instantly a terrible gunfight ensued. The sharp chatter of M-4 fire barked out in counterpoint to the dull clatter of the Kalashnikovs, interspersed with the detonations of grenades and screams of agony and fear in Pushtu and Dari. After a full five minutes of battle, silence reigned heavily across the valley.
A moment later that same mocking voice called out, though to be fair to the muj, the grunt was obviously breathing at least a little bit faster. The voice called out, "Bad Muj, silly muj, you have to know that one grunt is better than one thousand sheep-loving Taliban!"
Thoroughly enraged now, the Taliban commander mustered a full thousand of his fighters and sent them into the fight. RPGs hissed and boomed, hand grenades exploded, echoing down the Korengal Valley and even PKM fire rattled and roared over all the small arms fire. At last, one badly wounded muj fighter appeared, crawling down the military crest of the ridge.
"Don't send any more men," he gasped as the life fled his body, "It's a trap. There's two of them."
.
