Baptism of Fire

by Todd Mcleod

  “What’re we waiting for, Sarge? Why don’t they send in the rest of our vehicles and let us shoot the crap out of them.”

  “I guess they have something in mind, Winston. Keep calm. This isn’t a street drag race between home-built hot rods. Those bastards up there want our scalps, and we need to do this right. Stay safe.”

  “Okay, Sarge, whatever you say. I see a place up ahead, I’ll get us in there.”

  The Humvee bumped and lurched forward, and Winston had found something most men would have missed. It didn’t look like it would offer them any protection from above, and yet when Eddie looked up, they were hidden from any hostiles up on that slope. All except him. The cupola was higher than the rest of the vehicle body, and his head was sticking out, like he was a target on a fairground booth. Except the guys up there wouldn’t be waiting to lob balls at him. When they opened fire, it’d be a hot lead whining through the air, not lumps of wood. If anyone got hit, it was going to be him.

  I wish I could shoot this damn thing. Hose those bastards down, take a few of them out just like in Call of Duty.

  “Another message coming in, Sarge. They’re sending in fighter-bombers to sanitize that hillside.”

  He heard the relief in Jones’s voice. “Amen to that. If we’d driven into an ambush, they could have chewed us into hamburger meat.”

  Eddie couldn’t help but blurt it out. “Sarge, do you think it’d be that bad?”

  Jones didn’t reply for almost a minute, obviously thinking about his reply. “It’s always bad, private. How’re you fixed on that gun? We’re going to need you to shoot straight this time. When we go in there, it’s them or us.” He chuckled. “In case you’re wondering, I’d sooner it was them.”

  “Gotcha, Sarge. I’m on it.”

  “Make sure you are. You locked and loaded?”

  “Always am.”

  “Good man. Standby.”

  For several minutes, everything was silent, as if the war had gone away. He had time to think, and he had plenty to think about. Wondering about Master Sergeant Dan Jones, and what was in his head. Which Sergeant Dan was the true one? The man he’d seen when he was framing a picture, almost but not quite revealing an inner turmoil, as if he nursed a terror of something. He hid it well, there was no doubt, and he didn’t allow it to interfere with his command. But Eddie was sure it was there.

  Then there was Al Taylor. He’d heard the rumors, and some said he’d wanted to go up through the ranks. They said he’d been to get into action, and yet when it happened it had all gone wrong. Once again, he’d seen the expression in his eyes, especially when he was framing him to snap a covert picture when the subject wasn’t aware of the smartphone pointing at them. Al had a history, of that he was certain. And yet apart from the occasional tremor in his hands, and a strange tone in his voice, it was hard to pin it down. He seemed what he was. Tough, competent and capable.

  Then there was Winston Bellows. A genius at the steering wheel, and the way he drove it was like he became part of the machine. As if he only had to think of a maneuver and the vehicle reacted. As if Winston had some metaphysical power over the Humvee. One thing was for sure, he’d seen other drivers chatting to him asking for tips. Always the question, ‘how did you do that?’ Yet once again there was something in his demeanor, a kind of reserve. Once again it was in the eyes, the windows to the soul. As if he was carrying a dark passenger in his head, a memory from the past that haunted him.

  He glanced up as they came in from the south. A pair of F/A 18 Hornets, they’d approached from behind a distant range of hills and popped up at the last minute to sweep across the plain. They headed toward the hillside and as they drew nearer he could see they were loaded for bear. The underwing pylons each carried a missile, and in the nose a deadly M61 Vulcan cannon waited to thunder it’s message of death.

  It all happened so fast. One moment everything was peaceful and still, and then the roar of the jet engines almost death in him, and the hillside became a writhing mass of smoke and flame. He stared up at the slope, his eyes wide with astonishment. How could anything take so much punishment? The entire hill seemed to be on fire, like the eruption of a volcano. Smoke and flame, and although he saw no bodies, he knew beyond any shadow of a doubt, no enemy could have survived such an attack.

  Chapter Five

  His mind wandered back to his gaming. He often played until late into the night, and for a few seconds, he was back. Hawkins, the guy they had to beat. The enemy came at them in huge numbers, firing their assault rifles, lobbing grenades, and he was engulfed in a cauldron of hot metal. Every second he expected to take a hit, and once, he could swear he felt the smack of a round hitting his armored vest. Even if it was just a game. They were getting close, too close, and around him, his gaming buddies were desperately trying to fight them off.

  The urgent shout came into his headset, “Hawkins, shoot the bastards. Kill them!”

  “No sweat.”

  He swiveled the barrel from left to right, hosing them down like he was watering the front lawn. The enemy went down in long lines, torn apart by his accurate shooting, and it was surreal. Beside him, the other game players were pouring it on. Someone came in from the flank and lobbed a grenade, another player fired a missile, and it was all over.

  He came back to the present when he heard Sergeant Dan shouting an order to Winston.

  “They said to wait another fifteen minutes and they’ll do a final recon of the target area before we go in. They think those fly boys did a good job, and they reckon if they’re any still up there, they won’t be in any condition to put up a hard fight. Let’s hope they’re right.”

  Once again, Eddie heard that strange contradiction between the way Sergeant Dan spoke, the way he acted, and the expression in his eyes. He pulled out his smartphone, intending to capture the image, but the guy turned away. He couldn’t hack it, couldn’t work out how he could be so wrong. He laughed inwardly, stupid Eddie Hawkins, kick ass with a smartphone camera, and he was coming away without a shot.

  He looked up the slope again, and so much was burning, covered in smoke, and he wanted to snap an image. He pulled out his cell, selected the camera app, and started to climb down from the cupola.

  “Sarge, I’ll only be a minute, I want a picture of this to upload to my pals on Instagram.”

  He nodded. “No sweat, Eddie. You heard me say we have fifteen minutes before we jump off, so knock yourself out.” He glanced down at the other two men, Winston and Al. “Hey guys, smarten yourselves up, this guy’s going to take a picture.”

  He was climbing up through the door, and he turned back. “I didn’t mean you guys, I wanted that up there.”

  He pointed to the roiling smoke, flames still leaping in the air, and Jones grinned. “I was pulling your chain, kid. But if you’re recording a slice of the action, you should clear it with intel before you post it online.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  He positioned himself in front of the Humvee with his back to the smoking hillside and selected the front facing camera. He couldn’t get it all in the shot, so he set the timer, propped the cell on the hood of the Humvee, and stood back. After a few seconds, the faint click announced the camera had captured the image, and he glanced at the preview to check. It was okay, but he decided to take another to be sure. He enlarged the angle and tried again. This time when he checked the preview he’d captured a wider area, and he scrawled around to see what he had.

  He almost missed it, and then his eyes widened. He felt his pulse race, and he called to his team, watching him from the Humvee. “I got something, something that shouldn’t be there.”

  “What is it?” Winston chuckled. “A line of Taliban dancing girls?”

  “No, no, I’m serious. This is important. You have to see it.”

  Sergeant Dan waved it away. “Another time, we’ll be moving off in a few minutes.”

  “But…”

  “Save it, kid. I’ll take a look on the way ba
ck.”

  Why doesn’t anyone listen to me?

  He climbed back into the cupola, and watched another Humvee, the command vehicle belonging to Lieutenant Cartwright move toward them. His driver skidded the vehicle to a stop, and the Lieutenant climbed out. He was a decent enough guy, and he looked after the men under his command, which was good enough for most of them.

  He hurried to the vehicle, and Jones stepped down to meet him.

  “What’s up, Lt, something worrying you?”

  He nodded. “That drone is still up there and the operator swears he saw movement. He thinks the airstrike may have hit the wrong target.”

  Jones gave an emphatic shake of the head. “Lieutenant, I was watching it, and believe you me, they gave that entire hillside a roasting. If there’s anyone alive up there there’re in no shape to fight.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Sure I’m sure.”

  He started to turn away. “Okay, if you say so. I’d sooner take your word for it than some drone operator sitting in a cozy control center several thousand miles away. I’ll report back and tell them what you said.” He glanced at his watch. “Five minutes, and we go in.”

  “Copy that.”

  “Sir…”

  He looked up at Eddie in irritation. “Not now, Soldier. Sergeant, on my signal get that Humvee rolling and take it up the slope. We’ll make sure we got all the bastards.”

  Winston was ready for the order, and the engine rumbled into life.”

  “Sir, you need to see something.”

  He glared at Eddie. “I said not now. We’re going to action, and I don’t have time for idle chitchat. Neither does your Sergeant, so get behind that gun and make sure you’re ready to do some serious shooting.”

  Winston Bellows was glancing at them, unsure what to do. Drive away or wait? He blipped the engine twice, and twice more, to remind them they were supposed to be moving.

  “Sergeant…”

  Jones glanced at him, his eyebrows raised. “Eddie, I don’t know what’s bugging you, but you should do like the officer says. Button it and get behind that gun.”

  In desperation, he took out his Galaxy smartphone and tossed it at the lieutenant, who caught it with a startled expression. Winston started to move away, and the officer was still staring at him in astonishment.

  “Sir, take a look at the last image. Enlarge the area in the top right quadrant, and I’ll leave the rest up to you. Believe me, you’ll want to see it.”

  He shrugged and looked away.

  Why don’t they have ever listen?

  The Humvee picked up speed, and the guy was again staring at him, the Galaxy in his hand. As if he’d thrown him something strange, something alien, and he didn’t know what to do with it. PFC Hawkins knew exactly what he should do with it. What he’d said, enlarge the image, and maybe, just maybe he’d understand.

  They hurtled up the slope, and Winston’s driving was skillful as ever, bouncing over bumps and ruts, throwing up clouds of dust, and Eddie concentrated on the Browning. Determined to make a difference this time, yet he wasn’t sure know how. They were halfway up when all hell broke loose. Hostiles, lots of them, hunkered down about six hundred meters away, and they cut loose with a machine gun. There was enough lead flying to turn the vehicle into so much scrap if they didn’t do something.

  Sergeant Dan grunted as a bullet slammed into his armored vest, and in the rear of the vehicle, Al Taylor shouted, “They hit the radio. We can’t communicate.”

  Winston started weaving, swerving from side to side. Which made getting any kind of a shot from the cupola was next to impossible. Yet if he didn’t pull off the impossible, they were about to get chewed to ribbons. Another machine gun opened up from further up the slope, and Sergeant Dan yelled as a bullet tore through his arm. He’d taken enough. Taken too much, and his team was in trouble. Just like in the game, they were relying on him. They’d trained him to stay calm, choose his target and squeeze the trigger. Controlling the juddering weapon as the big .50 caliber rounds spewed out the barrel. He forgot all that. He was angry, his team was in trouble, and he was back in the game.

  He leaned into the gun and lined up on the first machine gun position. Hot lead lashed all around him, and yet he stayed calm. Like in the game. His virtual buddies shouted warnings when the enemy was close, and he was the guy with the high score, he was Hawkins. They logged into the game from all around the world. Pitting their skills against his and losing. He was unbeatable. Almost unaware this was no game as he sent a stream of shells into the enemy machine gun nest, using the skills he learned at home, his remembered target awareness to line up on the enemy.

  He swiveled the gun around and fired again. The breach emptied and he loaded a new belt, as if he’d been doing it all his life. Slick and smooth, just like in the game. He splattered the Taliban gun crew all over the rocks, and yet it was just four openers. A bunch of robed warriors came swarming over the hill, screaming and shouting their war cries, firing their AK-47s from the hip. He hosed them down. A man stood on the summit with an RPG-7 missile launcher, about to turn the Humvee into a scorched crisp with a high explosive rocket. He pointed the gun upward and walked an entire belt of ammo toward the missile shooter and the guy went down.

  The enemy were getting closer, ignoring his withering gunfire, and there were just so many of them. He couldn’t take them all, no way. All he could do was take as many as he could. Stand and fight for his team and if necessary go down fighting.

  The hillside was a nightmare of gunfire and explosions, a cacophony that almost drowned out the noise of the incoming aircraft. A pair of Warthogs, A-10s, ground attack fighters with an awesome mini gun mounted in the nose. They came in fast, and this time they made no mistake. The targets were out in the open and they performed four passes before the leader waggled his wings over the smoking ruin they’d left below. They roared away to the east, probably heading back to Bagram, the vast airfield and military base outside Kabul.

  All of a sudden everything was quiet. Sergeant Dan had a dressing wrapped around his arm. A bullet had chewed flash from Al Taylor’s hairline, and he was dabbing at the blood with a piece of cloth, once white and now a vivid shade of red. But they were all alive.

  Dan glanced at him and gave him a friendly nod. Then he looked at Winston. “Take us out of here, Private Bellows. Our work is done, we’re going home.”

  There were quiet on the way home, with none of the usual after-action chatter. Sobered by their near escape, and when they drove through the gates into the firebase, each man breathed a sigh of relief. They’d made it back. They were alive.

  He climbed down from the cupola and stretched his aching limbs. “If we’re done here, Sarge, I’m covered in dust and I need a shower.”

  “The shower will have to wait, soldier.”

  The lieutenant who’d spoken was handing him a smartphone to him. His Galaxy. “You did good, Private Hawkins. I checked out that last image, and somehow you’d managed to capture a bunch of hostiles sneaking down the slope to intercept us. That’s why I called in the second airstrike, and I’ve seen the after-action reports. We can chalk that one up as a victory.”

  “That’s good to know, Sir.”

  He nodded. “Your team sure saved us from a roasting.”

  They’d climbed out of the Humvee, and they clustered around him. “That’s incorrect, Lieutenant. Eddie saved us. If he hadn’t forced that camera on you, you’d never have known. And if he hadn’t fired that gun like a ten-year veteran, we wouldn’t be here now to tell the tale.”

  “I can’t argue with that, it could have been nasty and yet we came out on top. Well done, Private. By the way, I thought you wanted a transfer to a Photo Recon unit. After today I guess you deserve it.”

  “Lieutenant, you got it wrong. I’m part of a team. I rely on them and they rely on me. There’s no way I’d want to leave these guys. They’re family.”

  His eyes widened in puzzlement. “That’s stran
ge, I thought you’d decided. What changed your mind?”

  “Why, it was nothing really. It was just… someone listened.”

  He nodded and walked away, and Dan grinned at him. “Say, we heard you were a hotshot at Call of Duty, is that right?”

  “Uh, yeah, but it’s just a game.”

  “We heard you used your name Hawkins in the game, is that right?”

  “Uh, yeah I did. But like I said, that was then, and this is now. Eddie is fine.”

  “Not anymore isn’t. Let’s go, Hawkins We owe you a case of beer. Welcome to the team, buddy, and I reckon it’s long past time we had a name.”

  “A name?”

  “Damn right. You’re a hero, Eddie, and you saved our lives. So we’re gonna give ourselves a name they won’t forget.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Hawkins’ Heroes.”

  “Sarge, I don’t know. I mean, I didn’t think I was going to hack it, what with my shooting and all. You guys are different from me, you all know what you’re doing, and I know was letting you down.”

  “We’ve all been there, Eddie.”

  “You have? All of you?”

  “All of us. Winston, get out the paint, I want our new name on the front fender. When the enemy see us coming, I want them to know they’re up against the best.”

  “Sure thing, Sarge.”

  “Al, I got a job for you. I promised this guy a case of beer, and we need something to celebrate. Whaddaya call it, wet the baby’s head?” He chuckled. “Or the Humvee’s head, in this case. Who gives a damn, just fetch the beer.”

  “On the way, Sarge.” He chuckled. “Hawkins’ Heroes, yeah, I think I like it.”

  Eddie couldn’t stop himself from grinning. They were all heroes, every one of them. Who wanted Photo Recon when you could fire a Browning .50 like vet and be part of a great team? Not him.