Monday Night Jihad

We tried assigning a columnist to tackle this story, but really, why do we even need to put a spin on it?

Apparently, Denver Broncos kicker Jason Elam has authored a book about a football player named Riley Covington who goes into combat. Jason co-wrote the book with his pastor and they settled on the clever title of Monday Night Jihad. Wih the deft touch of Tolstoy, Jason weaves together stories of football games and combat battles in the Middle East.

The Rocky Mountain News article has an excerpt from the book. In our opinion, it reads like a Hardy Boys book, mixed with the fictional stylings of Jerry Bruckheimer's little brother. We will just go ahead and close by posting it below for your enjoyment. Jihad on, Jason!

Excerpt, Monday Night Jihad
Bagram Valley

Helmand Province, Afghanistan

His count was off. Second Lieutenant Riley Covington of the United States Air Force Special Operations Command was on watch at a perimeter security post. He had been lying at the top of a low rise, watching his sector, for four hours, and each time he had counted the boulders on the hill across the small valley, he had come up with 36. This time, however, the count reached 38.

"You seeing anything, Taps?" Riley whispered into his com. At the other security post, located on the opposite side of the harbor site, Airman First Class Armando Tapia was stretched out behind a small, hastily constructed rock wall.

"Everything's good to go," came the reply.

WHOOMPF! The unmistakable sound of a mortar tube echoed through the valley below.

"Incoming!" Riley yelled as he opened fire with his M4 carbine at "boulders" thirty-seven and thirty-eight, causing one to stumble back down the hill and the other to remain permanently where it was.

A flare lit up the night sky as heavy machine-gun fire, rocket-propelled grenades, and small arms rounds targeted Riley's ODA. Riley looked to his left and saw an anticoalition militia approaching from the north, right over Tapia's position. Riley, seeing the size of the enemy force, let off a few more three-shot bursts, then bolted back down to the harbor site.

Off to his left, about fifteen meters away, an MK19 automatic grenade launcher was mounted on its low tripod. Riley rocketed out from safety and across the dirt. He stumbled forward, launched himself behind the Mark 19, and let loose.

It took him just under a minute and a half to empty the ammunition can of sixty grenades. The sound was deafening, and the explosions from the shells hitting the enemy positions lit up the night. But RPGs and mortar rounds kept dropping into the camp.

Riley half ran, half staggered over to what remained of his ODA. The rest of his team huddled around him and he took a quick head count. Not good. They would be outnumbered if a second wave came.

Riley drew his team close. "Okay, men, we have two options. We dig in here and try to hold off another attack, or we surprise them while they're regrouping."

"Tell ya what, Pach," said Kim "Tommy" Li, a man with an itchy trigger finger and way too many tattoos, "if there's gonna be target practice going on here, I'd rather be the shooter than the bull's-eye."

"Okay, then, here's how it's going to work. Murphy and Li, I want you to belly out to those boulders twenty meters north to meet their feint. Logan, you and Ross remount the Mark on the Humvee and circle it around east; then everyone open up with everything and blow the snot out of these desert rats. Got it?"

An excited mixture of "Yes, sir" and "Yeah, boy" was heard from the men.

"We've got five of our guys down, with at least one probably out - that's unacceptable. Let's make 'em pay." Riley locked eyes with each member of his team and tried to draw from them the same courage he was attempting to instill. "Ready . . . go, go, go!!"