Galactic Council Realm 1: On Station
Page 27
My quandary, my dilemma was between two clear choices. Hold here and wait for Sergeant Celso and his team to call or get the doctor to a small hero who could be me at a long gone age. Children versus adults, ancient loyalty or duty to a sworn oath, who deserved my efforts?
“J-Pop to Base,” I called, “J-Pop to Base.”
Of course, there was not reply, we had gone dark only a little while ago. If I wanted instructions from the Navy I would have to wait hours, and Pirjo Corentin and Winnie Corentin didn’t have that kind of time. Unlike the short wave communications, Doctor Nobu had used, I didn’t have a patch work of Farm to Hamlet to Landing Zone for contact. I could only imagine how long and garbled the message was that he’d received. At least he received a call for help, I couldn’t even send one.
Chapter 50
“Okay Doctor, gather up what you need,” I announced as I stepped into the cargo deck.
“They have a full medical suite at the Farm,” he assured me as he crawled into the copter.
“Why don’t they send a shuttle for the children?” I asked as I climbed into the cockpit.
“Rain and wind,” he stated pointing out of the hatch at the line of low angry clouds.
“Yeah, I see them,” I replied as I pulled on my helmet.
We lifted off into a light wind and sunshine. After a few minutes, we were climbing into rolling grey clouds, being pelted by rain and pushed around by the wind. I fought the controls until we broke through and the skids of the helicopter were skimming along the top of the boiling soup.
It took longer than four hours because of a strong headwind. I calculated the speed and time in flight and began my decent into the messy clouds. We shook and the tail fought me as it attempted to spin us around. I was sweating and my jaw ached from clinching my teeth. Finally, I reduced airspeed and peered through the sleeting rain.
The land around East fruit Farm was covered in orchards. Trees almost of a uniform height swayed in the wind and I searched trying to make out wide spaces between the squares of fruit trees. These were roads and I followed one until it was joined by two, then three others. They converged like spokes on a wheel and I found East fruit Farm in the center of the spokes.
We rocked hard and I almost lost my blades when the helicopter rolled in the wind. I rose a little and waited for the wind to stop gusting. As the bird suddenly steadied, I slammed it into the mud. We were down and safe and hopefully intact.
Before I had time to unharnesses, Doctor Nobu rushed out of the bird and jogged towards a cluster of long temporary buildings. I followed after lashing the helicopter down and checking her for damage. Nothing drew my attention so I counted it as a good landing. It wouldn’t count for anything once Senior Chief Leni Dunya’s team did their inspection, if they found I’d damaged their machine.
I pushed into the building and shook off the rain.
“Coffee Lieutenant?” an older man asked. He was standing at a table that held a large coffee urn, three plates of sandwiches and a platter of fruit.
“Does it come with a sandwich?” I replied.
“You brought the Doctor,” he said getting serious, “You can have anything I have the power to give.”
“Are you related to Pirjo and Winnie?” I asked, “How are they?”
“I’m their father,” he said limping towards me.
I noticed the scars on his neck and together with the limp concluded he hadn’t always been a farmer.
“A pleasure to meet you Mister Corentin.”
“Major, that’s retired Major Corentin,” he said standing a little taller and meeting me eye to eye, “but you Lieutenant, I didn’t catch the name, can call me anything you like.”
“Phelan Piran,” I replied while we shook hands.
“Clan, now I see and thank you again,” he said while warmly wrapping his other hand around our griped hands, “the doctor has them both in surgery.”
“I understand Pirjo protected his sister during the attack,” I stated hoping to take his mind off his children and failing miserably.
“Next year he’s off to the Ritual,” the old Major replied with a mixture of sadness and pride, “It seems like just yesterday I was rocking him to sleep in my arms.”
“From what I hear, he protected his sister,” I said, “so he’ll do fine at the Ritual.”
“Damn coyotes,” he explained, “A pair of old ones and a pup. If they’d been healthy adults, well, my children would be dead.”
I was on my third sandwich and my second cup of coffee and the Major had his mouth open to say something. The Doctor’s entrance into the room ended his conversation and my eating. We both tuned to the blood soaked man. Our mutual horror must have been apparent as Nobu stopped and cocked his head.
“You look like someone died,” he stated taking his time wiping his hands with a cloth.
The Major and I waited for him.
“Winnie took most of the damage to her arm,” he reported, “I was able to seal off the artery and set the break. Pirjo saved her life there’s no doubt about it. You know Lieutenant, I delivered both of those children. Pirjo was scrappy at birth. He fought me and his mother when he came out. Yelling and swinging his tiny fists around as if we were in his way.”
I held my breath and whispered a payer for seven-year-old Pirjo Corentin. One year away from the Ritual, a hero of the East fruit Farm and now, I waited for the Doctor to finish the story.
“The coyotes got a piece of his face but we have surgery for that,” the Doctor explained, “They ripped the muscle of his arm and I reattached it. The real damage was to his leg. I did what I could but he needs specialists. They should able to fix the damage on the fruit Station. So all in all, I expect a full recovery for them both.”
The Major and I were hugging Nobu and pounding on his back. He firmly disentangled himself from the manly embraces and disappeared back through the clinic doors.
An hour later, the Major and I carrying one stretcher, and two farmers with the other climbed into the helicopter. After securing them to the deck, I called Base from the cockpit.
“J-Pop, I have a request from Celso for a pickup in four hours,” Dunya said.
“Base, I had a medical emergency. Call plant Station and have a shuttle meet me at fruit LZ,” I said then returned the conversation to the other matter, “Can Celso wait for seven and a half?”
“I’ll check,” she replied.
I eased us into the calm humid air. Thankfully the storm had passed leaving behind a dampness that permeated cloth and left me sweating as if I’d run a marathon. The helicopter, at full power, climbed to cooler air and we raced back to fruit LZ.
Once Doctor Nobu, the two stretchers and a hovering retired Major Corentin had moved beyond the wash from my blades, I powered up. The flight to the meeting point described by Celso was three and a half hours away. I was traveling west into a low hanging sun so my visibility was poor. It didn’t help that I was fatigued, hungry and had to locate a Ranger team in the dark. The work of the 49th never ended and this was only my first week with the unit.
I spotted the flashing light, then three more, and eased down between them. Celso let his team enter first and once they were in he bolted to the cockpit.
“Get us out of here,” he yelled, “Like now.”
He didn’t have to till me twice. The copter responded by rising so fast the four Rangers were slammed to the floor. Celso was the first to gain a seat and a headset.
“Sorry for the rough ride,” I said.
“That’s not a problem,” the Sergeant assured me, “We followed a trail along the river and stumbled across a Rebel base. They had sentries out. Nala had to take one out so we could vacate the area. A search party was looking for us. Glad you came along.”
“That’s the job of the 49th Air Wing,” I replied, “Where to now?”
“Fishery LZ,” he said, “you okay with that?”
“Sit back and enjoy the ride,” I said with enthusiasm while hiding my achin
g muscles.
We sat down at 0300 hours. I shut down the engine and curled up where I sat. Celso and his team exited without a word leaving an exhausted pilot to his beauty rest.
“Sorry to disturb you J-Pop,” Celso said.
I would have been mad but the aroma of hot coffee stifled the emotion. My hands wrapped around the field cup. Sun light was streaming through the trees. Low but not early, I figured.
“Thanks,” I stammered as I took a sip.
“No problem Lieutenant,” he replied from the hatchway with a cup of his own, “I wanted to thank you for pulling us out last night. It wasn’t a place I wanted to be.”
“Again Sergeant, it’s my job,” I said now half way into the cup and feeling a little more awake.
“No it’s not, Sir,” Celso stated, “You could have denied the request for a night pickup. Other pilots have in the past, except for Javelin. We’d still be out there dodging bad guys if you hadn’t come for us.”
“Where’s the chow hall?” I asked trying to change the subject.
“All ready for you, Sir,” he said stepping out of the hatch.
It was a short walk to the Park Ranger’s mess hall. The smell of steak frying and the aroma of hash brown potatoes washed over me. My stomach growled and I had to wipe the extra saliva from my mouth.
“You Park Rangers eat good,” I teased as I inhaled the aroma of a fine breakfast.
“Not usually Lieutenant Piran,” he replied, “The team and I had a talk with our cooks. And this is the result.”
He led me to a table in the corner and it soon filled up with platters of hot food. At some point, I needed to head back to Base. But, the flight could wait while I refuel the pilot.
“Celso, what are you going to do about the Rebel base?” I asked as I pushed away an empty plate and poured another cup of coffee.
“Not much we can do,” he admitted looking down in disappointment, “We don’t have two Marine assault squads. The best I could do is rig together my team and another made up of Park Rangers. Good guys, but they’re scouts and survivalists. We’d be over matched. What I need are Combat Marines.”
“So, what’s the prognosis?” I asked as I drained the cup of coffee.
“We’ll alert the Marines on plant Station and keep an eye on the Rebels,” he stated as if the idea wasn’t his and he disagreed with it.
“Time to go,” I said pushing back from the pile of empty dishes, “Thank your team for me.”
We walked out of the mess hall. Three streets later, I could see my bird and a crowd of people standing beside her. Four were standing and one was laying on the cargo deck with his legs dangling over the side.
“We need a ride to vegetable LZ,” Nala, Celso’s scout, said indicating Unai, the pointman.
“No problem,” I replied. Turning towards the other two, they were Park Rangers, asked “Where are you headed?”
“49th Air Wing Base,” one replied, “From there its north of protein LZ.”
“I can get you to Base,” I assured the Rangers then turned my attention to the last passenger, “And I know where you’re headed, Lieutenant Ferre Anika.”
Only Ferre’s lips moved.
“Just kick me out when you’re over the LZ,” he stammered, “It’s the only way I’ll ever get over this hangover.”
I reached out and rolled his dangling legs into the helicopter.
“Oh, oh, gently,” he moaned.
Flying northward, the sun rose off to my left. It bathed the landscape in midmorning light allowing me a good view of this area of Nafaka. Below me thin rivers weaved in and out of small islands, finally ending as they dumped their brown water into the sea. Once at cruising height, I spied the east fishery Docks in the distance. Boats plowed the waters between the LZ and the docks leaving v-shaped wakes in the calm ocean.
The delta region soon gave way to rice paddies and fields of fruit. As the damp earth passed beneath me, the land rose and the ground became covered by orchards. Then the orchards became row upon row of vine fruit. From altitude, I couldn’t tell what was growing but the organized geometric shapes of alternating green blocks and brown strips were evidence of planned cultivation.
We set down but I didn’t kick Ferre Anika out. It was Nala who rolled him towards the hatch. As he fell out, somehow he managed to gather his legs under him. One arm, raised in farewell, was all he managed as he staggered away from the lifting helicopter.
About an hour out of fruit LZ, the crops shifted to fields with rows high enough to cast shadows. Vegetables from the air don’t look much different than fruit if you ask me. We flew into vegetable LZ and I planned to refuel and get some rest.
“Thanks for the ride, J-Pop,” Unai said as he rushed to catch up with Nala. The scout had broken into a trot and was already far down a vine lined road.
“Break time,” I told my two remaining passengers.
“Fine with us,” one said in a slow draw, “Plenty of hiking when we get where we’re going.”
The two Park Rangers strolled over to a grassy patch and sank slowly to the green carpet. They left their oversize packs in the bird, taking with them their long rifles and cartridge belts. I felt down for the small caliber pistol on my hip and reminded myself, I needed to acquire more fire power. Nafaka wasn’t turning out to be the pleasant agriculture paradise as reported by the Realm’s propaganda ministry.
Chapter 51
Two hours later, as I watched the vegetable crops fade away, the land became pock marked. It was as if the area had been beaten by a giant chain to antique it. Ridges rose with jagged edges and long depressions ended in steep drops or cliff faces. Set in the middle of these foothills was the 49th Air Wing’s Base of operations. It occupied the only flat plane for kilometers around.
A forest surrounded the Base. Trees climbed from the flat but ended at the top of the nearby hills. It looked as if a giant foot had stomped a hole in a yard and grass had grown on the sloping sides. Only some of these blades of grass were three-meter-tall trees.
My helicopter nosed into the light breeze and I put her down as softly as possible. My text book landing was being scrutinized and judged by two pair of discerning eyes. The two mechanics watching from either side of the pad were more than watching, they were braced with tool kits in hand.
“How’s she flying, Sir?” one asked as the other scrambled into the hatch.
“She’s smooth and didn’t give me any trouble,” I reported.
“That’s good, we’ll have her ready,” he said as he climbed the fuselage to the engine.
The Park Rangers were ambling over to a shady spot beside the closest hanger. I headed for HQ.
“Chief Dunya,” I called out as I entered the radio room, “I’m for a nap then chow. The bird is good and I’ll give you my report later.”
“Lieutenant Piran, sorry to ruin your planned R&R,” she replied, “Pancake is behind schedule. Javelin wants you to ferry the Park Rangers up north. Plus, there’s a pick up that needs to get to protein LZ. You do have time for a quick shower. Correction Sir, you really need to make time for that shower.”
Her nose crinkled as she returned her attention to her view screen. I sniffed my underarm just to tweak her. My own aroma hit me. I reeked of sweat, rum, and spoiled meat with a sickeningly sweet under tone.
“Excellent idea Senior Chief,” I replied as I headed for the back of the barracks then half turning asked, “Where’s the armory?”
“What do you need, Sir?” she asked.
“Biggest pistol they’ve got,” I replied, “and an assault rifle with lots of ammo for both?”
“Going Grunt on us, Sir?” she asked wondering if I was going to become a ground pounding soldier.
“No ma’am, I’m a Navy pilot, but from what I’ve seen so far, Nafaka is not a vacation spot,” I replied.
“I’ll have a selection for you when you’re done showering,” she stated with a light sniff and a just sucked on a lemon look plastered on her face.
“Mechanics need to change a strut,” Dunya stated rather coldly, “They didn’t see it a first. Then they cleaned off some mud and, presto, a broken strut. They said it must have been a hard landing.”
“So, I have time to zero in the rifle,” I said totally ignoring her accusation of helicopter abuse.
I guess the landing at East fruit Farm was harder than I thought. However, I had limited time and setting up the rifle was more important than explaining high winds during the emergency flight.
No Marine would go into combat without first getting the sights on his rifle adjusted to fit any particularities of his weapon. Food, sleep and personal comfort waited until the weapon was zeroed in. It’s a matter of being around to enjoy the first three, and that wouldn’t happen, if your rounds missed the enemy because your sights were off.
I strolled around a building marked Armory and followed a hand written sign reading ‘shooting range’. The Base was rustic and that held true for the shooting range. It was set up in a field. Marked lanes led from wooden stands to down range where metal plates were secured against a hill side. This wasn’t a ‘bring your target back to the squad bay to brag about your marksmanship’ range. This was a ‘putting rounds down range and hitting what you aimed at’ kind of range.
I rotated through a series of shooting positions. Prone was the most stable, and while lying flat on the ground, I adjusted the sights until the rounds hit the center of the target. Now I could have some fun. I secured the rifle’s strap around my shoulder until it was painfully tight. From a knee, I rapid fired on the target. Before the ringing of the metal target had stopped vibrating, I popped to my feet and swiveled my shoulders so I was perpendicular to the target. From the standing position, I fired off three-round-bursts. After ever triple, I reacquired the target and repeated. The magazine went dry and I smiled. The rifle was zeroed in and I was happy to see my Galactic Council Marine Corps’ training was still effective.