Shot out, over

The U.S. Army offers a wide variety of cans of whoop-ass to the enemies of America, so after some deliberation, Danelo eventually decided the best way to deliver retribution was with 33-pound high explosive rounds from an M119 howitzer. He joined a field artillery unit, serving among the proud soldiers of the 82nd Airborne Division. He learned not only how to jump out of planes safely but also how to parachute the big guns. Hardcore.

Eventually, of course, Danelo was deployed to the Middle East. In 2003, his battery of four guns was established in a firebase in Iraq, a circle smaller than a football field that had once housed one of Saddam Hussein’s paramilitary groups. His job was radio operator, relaying targeting information from the forward observer or radar to the gun crews.

One night, early in his deployment, two of Danelo’s guys were playing spades. His officer, Lt. Spencer, was reading a Dan Brown novel, and Danelo himself was playing a shoot-em-up game on a PlayStation. (For some reason, the Army placed a high priority on sending video game consoles to forward areas.)

Suddenly, over the radio, the radar operator screamed, “Counter fire! Counter fire!” Before the man finished, Danelo heard a whoosh over his head and the sound of a rocket exploding 100 meters from the firebase. Danelo dropped his controller and took three steps toward his duty station. Another whoosh. The enemy was sending these rockets in close.

Danelo reached the radio. The two card players rushed to the computer in the back of the Humvee, ready to figure the return shot based on the radar information about the incoming rockets’ origin. Danelo sent the firing information to the gun line.

“Are we really firing?” one of the gunners asked.

Lt. Spencer was “a firecracker” former guardsman from Tennessee. “Hell yes!” he said. He wanted to light up the enemy. “Fire when ready!”

They fired for effect. “Our gun crews were on point,” Danelo said with pride. “Two guns each fired eight rounds in 30 seconds.”

Lt. Spencer ran back to Danelo, pointing with his whole hand, all fingers extended, in what’s known as the “knife-hand” style. “Shot out, over.” This was by-the-manual language to let Danelo know the guns had fired.

“Roger, sir.” At any other time, the private would have laughed. Of course the guns had fired. They are incredibly loud — nobody needed a lieutenant to let them know what had happened. Spencer was just falling back on training.

“You could hear the booms of the rounds landing,” Danelo told me. “It was just a beautiful sound. Just knowing your rounds are reaching the target is a very motivating sound for any artilleryman.”

After the eight rounds exploded, all fell silent. The men stayed at battle stations, adrenaline pumping, for a long time. Finally, they relaxed. There were handshakes and high fives. Only two minutes had passed from the moment they received fire and shot back.

“It was the longest two minutes of my life,” Danelo admitted.

The next day, Danelo’s battalion commander went out with his security detail to document the damage the howitzers had unleashed.

“We had rained fire and hell down upon them,” said Danelo. There were four or five trucks and a mix of carnage that made counting bodies impossible.

Like any good soldier, Bennett Danelo longed for peace and wished the enemy hadn’t attacked. But he remains justifiably proud of himself and his unit. “The training worked. Our motivation worked.”

My friend Bennett Danelo was sent to a dangerous place to fight a ruthless enemy. He controlled his fear and answered their attack by helping to blast those monsters. He’s a great American.

*Some names and call signs in this story may have been changed due to operational security or privacy concerns.

Trent Reedy served as a combat engineer in the Iowa National Guard from 1999 to 2005, including a tour of duty in Afghanistan.