Mark Bowden - Black Hawk Down: A Story of Modern War

CHAPTER 1: HAIL MARY, THEN DOOM

CHAPTER 2: DAZED, BLOOD-SPATTERED AND FRANTIC

CHAPTER 3: A TERRIFYING SCENE, THEN A BIG CRASH

CHAPTER 4: AN OUTGUNNED BUT RELENTLESS ENEMY

CHAPTER 5: 'MY GOD, YOU GUYS. LOOK AT THIS!'

CHAPTER 6: TRYING TO GET IN SYNC AMID THE CHAOS

CHAPTER 7: ANOTHER GRENADE, ANOTHER CHOPPER HIT

CHAPTER 8: A SECOND CRASH, AND NO ESCAPE

CHAPTER 9: ALONE AND AT THE MERCY OF AN ANGRY MOB

CHAPTER 10: AT THE BASE, BRAVERY AND HESITATION

CHAPTER 11: BESIEGED, DISORIENTED AS THE BULLETS FLY

CHAPTER 12: LEFT, RIGHT, LEFT - LOST AND BLOODY

CHAPTER 13: NO COVER FROM THE FLYING GRENADES

CHAPTER 14: HAMMERED, AND STILL NO SIGN OF HELP

CHAPTER 15: AMBUSH AFTER AMBUSH; FIGHTING JUST TO STAY ALIVE

CHAPTER 16: FURIOUS ATTACKS ON A SECOND CONVOY

CHAPTER 17: AT FIRST HELICOPTER CRASH, MORE BODIES

CHAPTER 18: RESCUE TEAM COMES UNDER FIERCE FIRE

CHAPTER 19: A DESPERATEBATTLE TO HOLD THE CRASH SITE

CHAPTER 20: UNEASY PARTNERS UNDER HEAVY FIRE

CHAPTER 21: A SHARED QUEST: PUNISH THE INVADERS

CHAPTER 22: A RANGER'S PLEA FOR HELP AS THE BODY COUNT CLIMBS

CHAPTER 23: AS DARKNESS NEARS, A DREADED FEELING

CHAPTER 24: DISARRAY IN COMMAND, AND TRAPPED

CHAPTER 25: BESIEGED, DISORIENTED AS BULLETS FLY

CHAPTER 26: AT RESCUE, RELIEF TINGED WITH SORROW

CHAPTER 27: DURANT'S ORDEAL OF AGONY AND TERROR

CHAPTER 28: ON TV, THE BATTERED FACE OF DURANT

CHAPTER 29: THE FINAL CHAPTER: FREEING A PILOT, ENDING AMISSION

STAFF SGT. Matt Eversmann's lanky frame was fully extended on the rope for what seemed too long on the way down. Hanging from a hovering Blackhawk helicopter, Eversmann was a full 70 feet above the streets ofMogadishu . His goggles had broken, so his eyes chafed in the thick cloud of dust stirred up by the bird's rotors.

It was such a long descent that the thick nylon rope burned right through the palms of his leather gloves.

The rest of his Chalk, his squad, had already roped in. Nearing the street, through the swirling dust below his feet, Eversmann saw one of his men stretched out on his back at the bottom of the rope.

He felt a stab of despair. Somebody's been shot already! He gripped the rope hard to keep from landing on top of the guy. It was Pvt. Todd Blackburn, at 18 the youngest Ranger in his Chalk, a kid just months out of aFlorida high school. He was unconscious and bleeding from the nose and ears.

The raid was barely under way, and already something had gone wrong. It was just the first in a series of worsening mishaps that would endanger this daring mission. For Eversmann, a five-year veteran fromNatural Bridge,Va. , leading men into combat for the first time, it was the beginning of the longest day of his life.

Just 13 minutes before, three miles away at the Ranger's base on theMogadishu beach, Eversmann had said a Hail Mary at liftoff. He was curled into a seat between two helicopter crew chiefs, the knees of his long legs up around his shoulders. Before him, arrayed on both sides of the sleek UH-60 Blackhawk helicopter, was Eversmann's Chalk, a dozen men in tan, desert camouflage fatigues. He had worried about the responsibility. Twelve men. He had prayed silently during Mass at the mess hall that morning.

Now he added one more.

... Pray for us sinners, now, and at the hour of our death. Amen.

It was midafternoon,Oct. 3, 1993 . Eversmann's Chalk Four was part of a company of U.S. Rangers assisting a commando squadron that was about to descend on a gathering of Habr Gidr clan leaders in the heart ofMogadishu,Somalia . This ragtag clan, led by warlord Mohamed Farrah Aidid, had challenged theUnited States of America .

Today's targets were two top Aidid lieutenants. Commandos, the nation's elite commando unit, would storm the target house and capture them. Then four helicopter loads of Rangers, including Eversmann's men, would rope down to all four corners of the target block and form a perimeter. No one would be allowed in or out.

Waiting for the code word to launch, which today was "Irene,'' they were a formidable armada. The helicopter assault force included about 75 Rangers and 40 Commando troops in 17 helicopters. Idling at the airport was a convoy of 12 vehicles with soldiers who would ride three miles to the target building and escort the Somali prisoners and the assault team back to base.

The swell of the revving engines had made the earth tremble. The Rangers were eager for action.

Bristling with grenades and ammo, gripping the well-oiled steel of their weapons, they felt their hearts race under their flak vests. They ran through last-minute mental checklists, saying prayers, triple-checking weapons, rehearsing their choreographed moves. They had left behind canteens, bayonets, night-vision devices (NODs) - anything they felt would be dead weight on a fast daylight raid.

It was3:32 p.m. when the lead Blackhawk pilot, Chief Warrant Officer Michael Durant, announced:

''F-in' Irene.''

And the swarm of black copters lifted up into an embracing blue vista ofIndian Ocean and sky. They eased out across a littered strip of white sand and moved low and fast over the breakers.

Mogadishuspread beneath them in ruins. Five years of civil war had reduced the once-picturesque African port to a post-apocalyptic nightmare. The few paved avenues were crumbling and littered with mountains of trash and debris. Those walls and buildings that still stood in the heaps of gray rubble were pockmarked with bullet scars and cannon shot.

In his bird, code-named Super 67, Eversmann silently rehearsed the plan. When his Chalk Four touched the street, the boys would already be taking down the target house, arresting the Somalis inside.

Then the Americans and their prisoners would board the ground convoy and roll back for a sunny Sunday afternoon on the beach.

It was the unit's sixth mission since coming toMogadishu in late August. Now Maj. Gen. William F.

Garrison, their commander, was taking a calculated risk in sending them in daylight into the Bakara Market area, a hornet's nest of Aidid supporters.

The commandos rode in on MH-6 Little Birds, choppers small enough to land in alleys or on rooftops.

In the bigger Blackhawks, Rangers dangled their legs from the doorways. Others squatted on ammo cans or sat on flak-proof panels laid out on the floor. They all wore flak vests and helmets and 50 pounds of gear and ammo.

Stripped down, most Rangers looked like teenagers (their average age was 19). They were products of rigorous selection and training. They were fit and fast. With their buff bodies, distinct crew cuts - sides and back of the head shaved clean - and grunted Hooah greeting, the Rangers were among the most gung-ho soldiers in the Army.

Inside Super 67, Eversmann was anxious about being in charge. He'd won the distinction by default.