Chuckling, Rachel waved goodbye to them and trotted back to their helo. Hamilton had just walked down the ramp when she approached the bird.
“Everything’s in order,” he told her.
Rachel said, “Good. Let’s tell the guys to trade helos. They’ll take them directly to the base hospital.”
Ty nodded and walked inside. He told the sick crewmen what was going on. They slowly got up and walked down the ramp. He escorted them to the commercial Chinook helo that had the nonprofit name of the Shaheen’s organization painted on it. The crewmen laid down on the nylon netting that served as seats on the helo.
Upon reaching his bird, he saw that Rachel had already gone up to the cockpit. She was talking on the radio.
Rachel turned and saw Hamilton coming up the stairs. She’d taken the left-hand seat to answer the radio call. He sat down, his expression curious. Finishing the call, she said, “Ops just called us. They’re redirecting us to the Kabul River on the other side of the mountain and north of Peshuwar.”
“Why?”
“The Kabul River is flooding due to heavy thunderstorms over the mountains. There’s an anti-Taliban village that needs our help. People are trapped in the river and need to be rescued.”
“Our Apache protection can’t go with us. They’ve only got so much fuel,” Hamilton said.
“I know. They have to head back and can’t make that swing east to help, due to a low-fuel situation.”
“Not good,” Ty muttered. He looked around, thinking. “The Kabul River above Peshuwar is heavy Taliban country.”
Rachel handed him the microphone. “You talk to Bagram HQ then. They’re the ones ordering us to do it.”
Taking the mike, Hamilton made a call into the headquarters. He argued that they shouldn’t be risking their bird or lives without crewmen on board and without Apache escort, but he got no further than Rachel did. After clicking it off, Hamilton glanced over at her. She had a grim expression, too.
“This village is important to HQ. There’s an imam there that hates the Taliban. Every village that fights the Taliban is one the U.S. wants to protect and help. So, we’re going. Let’s get this bird cranked up.”
“You want me to fly right-hand seat?” Rachel wondered. She had been the AC, air commander, for the flight so far.
“No. You haven’t been in that area and I have.” Ty looked over at her. “You okay with that?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Good, let’s get the engines online and get that ramp up.” He tried to keep the worry out of his tone. This wasn’t a good thing and Ty knew it.
Rachel felt the tension in the cockpit. She looked at her watch. They’d scraped over the mountains and were heading down into a huge valley. Far ahead of them, she could see the Kabul River, a main water source through Afghanistan. Farther south was Peshuwar, an Afghan outpost on the border with Pakistan. She’d never been in this area before. In August, the flat land on either side of the dark green river was lush with grass. The thunderstorms came and went regularly throughout the summer, dumping water on the desert areas. It was one of the few times places looked vibrant for a little while.
Hamilton hadn’t said much at all. His mouth was tight, and she could tell he was worried. They flew at eight thousand feet, and from this vantage point, the area they were heading into appeared beautiful and peaceful. Rachel knew that was an illusion.
“This area is high Taliban traffic?”
“Yes,” Hamilton muttered. “Peshuwar is thick with Taliban, spies and like Dodge City of the 1880s. A den of snakes.”
“You’ve flown here before?”
“Yes, we’ve delivered food and medicine to the small village that’s now being flooded out.”
“I’ve never seen the Kabul River before today.”
“It’s a cold, murderous river,” he warned her. “People drive their trucks through the sandy, shallow areas, and a wall of water suddenly rushes down out of the mountains and washes them away. A lot of Afghans drown. It’s the thunderstorms in the mountains dumping five inches of water into a creek that flows into the river. There’s a tidal wave and it comes out of nowhere. People can’t see it coming until it’s too late. And that water’s hypothermic. It comes straight off glaciers. We routinely will get calls for flood rescue at least five or six times in the summer.”
“I hope we get there in time,” she said, worried.
“Me, too. Depends upon a lot of things.”
Feeling for the trapped people, Rachel continued to use the binoculars and scan for possible missiles that could be shot at them. They had no warning equipment on board. Chinooks were utterly vulnerable to attack, unlike the bristling Apache gunship.
Sitting up, she trained her binoculars on the river that was rapidly coming up. “If we can find them, that means you have to hover just above the truck so they can climb in through the belly door.”
“Right. The people from that village know the routine.”
“How do we know they aren’t Taliban disguised as villagers?”
“We don’t. But this village is right on the curve of the Kabul, and it’s a fortress against Taliban. We’ve rescued people from there before. Their imam has a radio and he has contacted Bagram before in these situations.”
“Must be a trustworthy imam,” Rachel muttered.
“He is,” Hamilton assured her. “Let’s start descent.”
“Roger.”
Rachel tensed as the Chinook descended from its safer altitude toward the lower one. The closer they got, the more of a target they became.
“Do you see a white Toyota truck stuck on the sandbar in the river?” he demanded, guiding the bird down to three thousand feet.
“No…nothing…”
“Stay alert,” he said. “It might have been swept off into the river and is gone. And no one will ever find it or them. That river is deep and swift.”
“Roger…”
As the Chinook hit one thousand feet and began to fly over the river itself, Rachel felt fear. She always did at this altitude. They were sitting ducks.
Suddenly, she saw a flash from the slope of the mountain to her left.
“Hamilton!” she yelled, pointing.
Too late!
Rachel’s eyes widened. It was a missile, aimed right at them!
“Chaff!” Hamilton roared, slamming the Chinook to the left and taking evasive action.
The bird groaned at the hard left turn. The engines screamed.
Rachel released the chaff, an aluminum countermeasure that would hopefully lead the missile to it and not the helo. Her heart surged into her throat. She saw the smoking trail of the missile. Oh, God…
It was the last thing she clearly remembered. As the Chinook was wrenched around, the missile ignored the chaff and struck the bird in the rear.
Fire erupted through the cargo hold. The helo wrenched upward, and Ty fought the controls. Screeching metal was torn out of the rear, the shrapnel flying forward. Hamilton felt a hot sensation in his left arm. His whole focus was on the helo suddenly shifting and falling. They were falling…right down into the river.
Rachel had no time to call for Mayday. The shrapnel from the explosion had sent a large, jagged piece of aluminum into the console. It instantly destroyed all their ability to communicate. Sucking in a breath, she grabbed the arms of her chair. The Chinook jerked and jumped. She heard the flailing of the rotors. Suddenly, the rear engine rotor flew apart, the long blades whirling and whipping past them like scimitars.
Choking, Rachel knew they were going to die. Smoke filled the cabin, black and thick. Hamilton was doing his best to try and make a soft landing into the water.
The Kabul River came up fast as the Chinook plummeted like a rock into the icy, furious green water. The rear of the destroyed helo struck the water first. Rachel let out a cry and was savagely jerked forward and then slammed back into the harness. Her neck snapped, and her helmet jammed into the seat for a second. The water rushed into the car
go hold.
Rachel instantly yanked off her harness, and Hamilton did the same. She pulled off her helmet and threw it behind her. Now, they had to egress this sinking helo or they would drown. Hamilton looked deathly pale, but she had no time to ask why. He’d released his harness, ridded himself of the helmet and had used his booted foot to break open the escape window. She did the same on her side. The glass shattered outward.
Within seconds, water flowed into the broken windows. It was cold and shocked Rachel as she took a huge breath. Somehow she wriggled and escaped out the window. Within seconds, she was swimming for her life. Cold water surged over her head as she flailed. The water was freezing. Her flight boots dragged her down. Striking out, Rachel kicked hard and finally broke the surface.
Gasping, water running into her eyes, she saw they were closer to the left bank of the river. Hamilton? Where was he? Unable to call him, she dodged another piece of the helo as it sank with ripping, tearing sounds, and then it gurgled beneath the foaming water. She didn’t realize just how deep this river was until the Chinook completely disappeared from sight.
Rachel jerked her head around looking for Hamilton. And then…she saw him…floating, unconscious. Oh, God! Without a thought for her own survival, Rachel swam straight toward his body. She grabbed his arm and managed to pull him so his head came out of the water. He was out cold. Sobbing, the current carrying them swiftly downstream, Rachel felt no confidence in their survival. In five minutes, hypothermia would set in. She’d become disoriented, her muscles would freeze up, and she would no longer be able to swim. God, no.
Chapter 9
Rachel swallowed a lot of water as she worked to bring her arm across Hamilton’s chest. She went down, struggling to keep his head above water. The current was swift and icy cold. Flailing, she kicked hard, her boots tugging her downward. As she broke the surface, water exploded out of her mouth, and she gasped for air. Hamilton’s head lolled against her shoulder and neck.
Adrenaline surged through her. Since they were closer to the left bank of the Kabul River, she struck out with her arm. Her efforts were impeded as she was suddenly hit from beneath the surface by a piece of the helicopter fuselage. The metal, unseen, twisted her around so that they were now looking upstream. Her eyes widened with terror. There, on the right bank, several lights flashed from the same hillside that had brought them down. The Taliban were firing at them!
Rachel gulped and allowed the current to carry them swiftly downstream to escape the incoming artillery. The first explosion landed far above them, but the concussion blast made her ears hurt and ring. Kicking constantly, she kept them pointed toward the far shore that was thick with trees.
She heard the artillery scream and then it stopped. No! She tried to shield Hamilton with her body knowing it would land close. When the shell struck the dark green surface, it sent up a geyser twenty feet high, into the air. And when it exploded, an enormous wall of water threw Rachel and Ty ten feet farther down the river.
Rachel felt the blast pound against them. Much to her surprise, the tidal wave created by the blast beneath the water sent them closer to the bank. Choking, she continued to flail with one arm toward that shore. The river curved and they drifted around it. Rachel used the curve to actually get closer to the bank. Water kept striking her face. The cold was slowing her movements. She could no longer feel her body. Her feet felt like she had fifty-pound weights on each leg. Sobbing, Rachel knew she had to get out of the water or they were both going to sink and drown.
Within five feet of the shore, her boots struck bottom. With a cry of triumph, Rachel thrust forward, pulling Hamilton along. Her shoulder ached, and her arm had no sensation left. With each movement, she came out of the icy water. She sobbed for breath, her energy spent. She hooked her hands beneath Hamilton’s armpits and dragged him out of the water and onto the shore.
Falling to her knees, she looked upstream. They had made the curve, and she knew that for the moment, they were unseen by the enemy. But that wouldn’t last long. Rachel wiped the water from her eyes with her shaking hands. There was thick brush and a grove of pine trees right in front of them. All she had to do was drag Hamilton into the area.
Looking at him, Rachel noticed a large, bloody gash on the left side of his skull. A piece of the torn Chinook had struck him and knocked him unconscious. Shakily, fear rising in her, Rachel pressed her fingers against his carotid artery at the left side of his bloody neck. She could feel a strong, solid pulse. He was alive! Just knowing that gave her the energy she needed.
If she didn’t get them hidden shortly, the Taliban would find them. The enemy had radios, and even though they were on the other side of this river and unable to cross it, she knew they would call the closest Taliban unit on their side of the river. Gasping, she got to her feet. Dizziness swept over her. Staggering, Rachel shook her head. She had to think! She had to have the strength to get them to safety. They had to hide.
Groaning, Rachel gathered up his head and shoulders against her chest. She hooked her hands beneath his armpits and tugged hard. He was heavy. Grunting, she again jerked one more step backward. Every time she thrust using the heels of her boots digging into the sand, they made progress. It took a minute, but in the end, Rachel had them hidden in the thickets.
On the other side of the thickets was room to allow Hamilton to stretch out. Trembling violently from the cold and exertion, Rachel had to turn him over on his back since he probably had swallowed a lot of water. It needed to come out. Turning Hamilton so he was on his belly, she pulled his arms up above his head. She straddled his lower back, took her hands and pushed with all her might against the center of his back where his lungs were located.
A gush of water came out of his mouth. Heartened, Rachel continued to push against his torso. In five pushes, all the water was out of his lungs. It was then that he groaned.
Quickly getting off him, Rachel turned him over. She brought his arms down and knelt near his shoulder, anxiously watching his face. It had been deathly pale, but now, she could see pinkness coming back to his cheeks. When his eyes fluttered open, she sobbed.
“Ty? Ty? Are you all right? Can you hear me?” Rachel leaned over him, voice rasping. He tried to focus on her. At first, his blue eyes looked dull and murky.
Ty heard Rachel’s hoarse, trembling voice. It felt like a drum reverberating inside his brain. Pain throbbed unremittingly on the left side of his head. As his vision began to clear, Hamilton belatedly realized that Rachel was leaning over him, an expression of terror on her face. Why was her hair wet and bedraggled around her shoulders? Her face was pale.
“Speak to me, Ty.”
He opened his mouth. There was a brackish taste in it. He felt like he was drifting in and out of consciousness. Not only that, he was becoming aware of a deep ache in his upper, left arm. He began to shiver. Cold seeped into him. What had happened? When Rachel reached out, her hand brushing his cheek, he felt how cold her hand was. Frowning, he held her frightened gaze. What had happened?
“Talk, dammit!” Rachel whispered, inches from his face. Looking up, she quickly gazed around the area. Her ears were still ringing from the artillery explosions. She would never hear the Taliban sneaking up on them.
“Wh-what happened?” Ty rasped. He felt her hand leave his cheek. Instantly, he missed that connection with her.
As quickly as she could, Rachel said, “We got shot out of the sky by the Taliban. We crashed into the Kabul River. I just got us out, and we’re now hiding in some bushes along the bank.”
Suddenly, all of it came back to him. He lay there on the ground, staring up at Rachel. She was shaking, her uniform plastered against her body, her arms wrapped around herself. His own terror raced through him. When he tried to lift his left arm to touch his head, the pain was unbearable. With a grunt, he found he couldn’t.
“Help me sit up,” he told her.
Nodding, Rachel slid her arm beneath his neck and eased him up into a sitting position. Ha
milton drew up his legs, and he placed his right hand on his brow. “You’re hurt,” she told him, her voice wobbly. “When the Chinook went down, you egressed out the window and into the water. A piece of the metal must have cut you and knocked you unconscious. I didn’t see it happen.” Rachel moved to Ty’s left side so she could get a better look at the injury on his head. There was at least an inch-long gash that had laid his scalp open. It was bleeding heavily, the blood flowing down his neck, shoulder and soaking into his wet uniform.
“Where’s the enemy?” Hamilton demanded, raising his head and trying to think through the haze of pain.
Rachel pointed across the river. “Over there and up on a hill, probably a mile away from us. The river carried us around a bend. We’re out of sight for now.” Rachel pushed the hair off her face and muttered, “I’m hoping they think they killed us with those two artillery rounds. That way, they won’t start hunting for us.”
“Good,” he rasped. As he lifted his head, the pain almost blinded him. Biting back a groan, he asked, “Are you okay? Hurt?”
“No, I’m fine,” Rachel whispered. She managed a twisted smile. “You were knocked unconscious. I didn’t know that until you floated around the wreckage, and I caught sight of you.” She reached out and touched his bloodied left hand. “I was so scared.”
Ty moved his hand and cupped her cold, white fingers. “I don’t remember anything,” he said, his own voice sounding like gravel.
“You swallowed a lot of water.” Rachel wanted connection with him right now. They were in enemy territory and they were alone.
Looking around, Hamilton tried to reorient. “We got hit. I remember that. The helo’s rear lifted up.”
“Yeah, that’s where we took the hit,” Rachel said. She studied the heavily bleeding head wound. Releasing his hand, she sat down and pulled the Velcro open on the deep, right-thigh pocket of her uniform. “We didn’t have time to grab out egress bags,” she told him.
Hamilton watched her dig around in the pocket. “What do you have in there?”
His Duty to Protect Page 9
