Bullets blasting by your head, when somebody's really shooting at you, sound nothing like they do in the movies. That's what Tim Wilkinson thought as he crouched behind the crumpled hulk of a helicopter. Instead of a cinematic whistling zing, it's more of a cracking thwack! like somebody clapping a pair of two-by-four's right beside your ear.
Then a technical sergeant, Wilkinson chanced upon this discovery around 4:30 p.m. on Oct. 3, 1993, during a 15-hour siege on the dirt streets of Mogadishu, Somalia, the longest sustained firefight by U.S. forces since the Vietnam War.
About 120 American commandos from Task Force Ranger had stormed into the city in choppers during a daylight raid to capture henchmen of Somalian warlord Mohamed Farrah Aidid. Plans called for a quick snatch and grab, the mission lasting less than an hour, but the operation quickly fell apart after clan militia men shot down two UH-60 Blackhawk helicopters.
Wilkinson, a pararescueman, circled the city in a holding pattern aboard another helo with fellow PJ, Master Sgt. Scott Fales, when headquarters sent them to pull out one of the Blackhawk crews. The pair belonged to a 15-man combat search and rescue team, and the two had waited until last to slide down the 30-foot fast ropes into the dusty abyss below them. But before the PJs could finish their descent a rocket-propelled grenade slammed into their chopper, rocking it sideways. Luckily, the pilot held his hover long enough for the airmen to reach the bottom, before sputtering back to base and crash landing.
On the ground, the team found themselves outnumbered and surrounded by a ragtag band of Somali irregulars and a mob of angry civilians, heavily armed with automatic weapons, grenades and RPGs. The "unfriendlies" lurked in a labyrinth of crumbling, concrete buildings and fired potshots from rooftops, windows and around corners, pinning the rescue team down near the crashed Blackhawk. Wilkinson felt as exposed as the emperor without his clothes. Shortly thereafter, a bullet ripped through Fales' calf, hobbling him. The PJ stuffed his muscle tissue back in the wound, dressed it and started an IV on himself to slow the onset of shock.
"These guys were playing for keeps," Wilkinson said. "I don't think any training can totally prepare you for combat; however, my training prepared me the best it could. I just fell back on muscle memory. You can rehearse and preplan right down to a gnat's [behind], but in a rescue scenario, you get what you get. You've got to rapidly assess the situation and think on your feet."
While Fales treated casualties and provided cover fire, Wilkinson climbed inside the overturned Blackhawk and carried out the wounded and attempted to free the dead. While inside the helo, a barrage of bullets and flak pierced the aircraft, and shrapnel raked Wilkinson across his face and arm.
"I learned then that life is a matter of millimeters and nanoseconds. If my head was turned a different way, I might be dead," said Wilkinson or "Wilky" to his friends. "Fortunately, all the bullets missed me, and my scars healed up nice."
In a small courtyard across the street from the pararescuemen, another squad of soldiers in the main assault force fought for their lives. Soon, the two PJs heard cries for "Medic! We need a medic!" Instinctively, Wilkinson grabbed his rucksack and an armful of medical supplies, turned to his teammates and said melodramatically, "Cover me," which seemed an impossible request since Somalians drew beads on them from every imaginable angle. Then he sprinted the 45 meters across the open intersection and down a narrow alley. Wilkinson's sudden appearance surprised the Somalians, and they opened fire on him like he was a trophy buck prancing through the National Rifle Association's annual picnic. To survive his sorties through no man's land, Wilkinson borrowed a strategy employed by ball players like Rickey Henderson to steal bases.
"I ducked my head and ran from point A to point B without looking at the catcher trying to pick me off," he said. "But I felt like I was running in slow motion... with cement shoes on. My buddies joked that I run much slower than I look, maybe it's my exaggerated arm swing, so the Somalians might've misjudged my speed and led me too much."
In the courtyard, Wilkinson patched up four seriously wounded Rangers, but quickly emptied his medical rucksack, using up all his supplies. He needed more fluids, meds and bandages, or his patients would surely slip away. So the sergeant made another headlong dash across the alley to retrieve Fales' medical supplies, and then stampeded back with his bounty. This time, though, the Somalians were waiting for him and unleashed a hailstorm of bullets on him. Like in the movies, they all missed.
Army Ranger Capt. A. Scott Miller, an eyewitness to the airman's bravery, later wrote, "It should be noted that these trips across the open street were at the peak of the battle when the enemy fire was at its most intense. We were receiving intense and accurate small arms and RPG fire. His repeated acts of heroism saved the lives of at least four soldiers."
Wilkinson remained with wounded Rangers throughout the night, ministering over them and several other casualties. When reinforcements arrived the next morning, 18 Americans were dead and 80 wounded. For his extraordinary heroism, Wilkinson received the Air Force Cross, an award second only to the Medal of Honor, and Fales and Staff Sgt. Jeffrey Bray, an Air Force combat controller in one of the main assault forces, both earned Silver Stars for their gallantry that day.
"I was just doing the job that I'd expect out of any PJ. To have done any less is unacceptable," said Wilkinson, now 41 and a master sergeant with the 720th Special Tactics Group at Hurlburt Field, Fla. "And it's what the American people pay us to do. It was just my turn up at bat."
Master Sgt. Tim Wilkinson
