by John O'Brien
“Will do, Dad,” Robert answers.
I do not pull any grenades out as I will need all of them later with what I have in mind. I plan leading as much of them away from the main group as I can after our introduction and announcement to the night runners that we are here. That, I think, will give the group the best fighting chance to get back safely.
“Lynn, get the rest back in the folding retreat we talked about. No firing or engaging here after the grenades go off, you’ll need your ammo. Unless it’s to keep them away from Mullins as they exit,” I whisper into the radio.
“What are you going to do Jack?” Lynn says with an edge to her voice.
“I’m going to lead them away,” I answer.
“The hell you are!” She whispers fiercely.
“Yes, I am, now get ready, Sergeant!” I whisper fiercely back.
“Dad, they say they’re ready,” Robert calls over the radio.
“Okay, Son. See you in a bit. Have the ramp doors ready to lower and raise them back up quickly. I love you!” I whisper back to him.
“I love you too, Dad,” I hear him say in a slightly trembling voice as if he did not understand exactly what was said but knowing it probably was not good. I slink a little way to the left of the lined up teams.
“Now!” I whisper into the radios.
My night vision goggles pick up the movement of arms along the firing line as they arc grenades into the parking lot and among the masses of night runners gathered there. Seconds later, the grenades go off in an almost simultaneous roar. The eleven grenades create one giant explosion of sound and light spreading their deadly payload of shrapnel across and through the horde. Bodies that were close to the grenades are lifted into the air, flailing as they rise, their expressions not yet exhibiting the surprise, shock, and pain that their bodies are undergoing. Severed limbs join the bodies. The greenish glow does not catch the splash of blood, bone and flesh that must cover an area so littered with flying body parts. Those not tossed into the air are thrown sideways from the force of the explosion and shrapnel.
With the loud explosions still ringing in our ears, I see the group we have come to help emerge from the front of the BX and run in our direction. The night runners still left standing, and yes, there are quite a few of them, stand still for a moment in a daze, confused by the sudden noise and the disappearance of so many of their group. Recovery is quick though and they shriek loudly as they spot Mullins’ group dashing across the parking lot to join up with the others.
“Lynn, start back now as planned! Hold your fire as long as you can. I’ll draw as many as I can. See you soon, hon,” I say loudly into the mic.
“You be careful Jack! I love you!” She responds.
I stand from my position and yell loudly, “Come on you ugly shits! I’m over here!”
I fire a few rounds on semi to get their attention, my weapon casting a strobe effect over the area with each round expelled. A few night runners, as they begin their chase towards Lynn and her now retreating teams, drop as my rounds find their mark. Many of the night runners change direction in mid-step and head towards me. I turn and run. The chase is on.
* * *
Lynn quickly briefs Sergeant Mullins on their exit strategy of falling back in teams of two. She directs the first team of two to hold as they reach the street. Looking quickly over to the side, she sees Jack run across an intersection and between two buildings with night runners close behind him and closing.
“Be safe,” she whispers into the night before falling back and detailing the next two, arranging the rest quickly into teams of two to provide the covering withdrawal back.
Not a few of the night runners continue after Lynn, deciding to continue after the larger group rather than chase after Jack. The first two team members kneel in the road and begin to fire on semi-automatic at the closest night runners. The soldiers attempt, and succeed for the most part, to keep the distance between themselves and the night runners. Each watches several night runners fall as the steel leaves their barrels in quick intervals and finds targets. Heads snap back and small spots blossom on the chests. Night runners spin, are launched backwards, or fall forward as the soldier’s rounds strike home. They are keeping count of their rounds as they fire rapidly; quickly shifting aim from one night runner to the next. The clink of individual shell casings is barely audible as they bounce across the hard top. Night runners behind quickly take the place of the fallen. Leaving over twenty on the ground, most not moving where they fell; some slowly crawling short distances, the soldier on the left yells “Go!” They stand and run to their rear passing the next two kneeling in line; passing all of the others getting set up and take a position ten meters to the rear of the group, ready to repeat their actions when their turn comes again.
Lynn takes station in the middle of the group with another team member to her right, waiting her turn to cover the retreat back to the aircraft. Drescoll is at the rear, separated so they will still have command in case one of them goes down. She sees the soldiers up front kneel and begin delivering rounds into the crowd of night runners chasing rapidly after them. The flashes of light from their barrels reach her a split second before the echo of their shots. The noise of the night runners and the ensuing rifle fire fills the air around, belying the quietness of the star-lit, night sky looking down. The two soldiers that were at the head of the line soon rush by her on their way to the rear, the action taken up by the next line of soldiers.
A large, muffled explosion comes from her left, carried with the breeze, followed by even more muffled sounds of gunfire being delivered in short, measured intervals, exactly like those now being delivered once again to her front; rapid fire rounds on semi-automatic. Jack’s still alive and fighting, she thinks with a moment of worry. The situation to her front draws her attention back to their fight.
The next two in line deliver their measured rounds in rapid fire fashion but the sheer numbers of night runners closes the distance dramatically. Lynn notices that the night runners are also attempting to run around and circumvent the group on the flanks. She moves up the line and orders the groups of two to fold into groups of four, the outside two to begin firing into the flanking hordes. The groups quickly reform and the volume of fire doubles dropping night runners in their tracks and keeping the distance between the oncoming mass and the retreating soldiers more or less constant.
Lynn does a quick calculation in her head measuring the distance travelled with their ammunition expenditure. She knows it will be close but calculates that they will have enough ammo to continue making the leap frog maneuvering back to the aircraft. Not a lot of room, but enough, she thinks kneeling with a soldier to her left and one to her right. They are next in line.
The line in front of her rises quickly, turns and sprints through the line Lynn is kneeling with. She brings her M-4 to her shoulder and begins sending out her special message-grams; delivered on the tip of her 5.56mm, steel-jacketed delivery system. Aiming for upper body shots, her first round catches one of the night runners in mid-stride, hitting its neck just above the chest. The round tears through the cartilage, hits the spine and the juncture of C5 and 6 with tremendous force, and explodes out of the back after splintering, taking large amounts of tissue and bone with it. The head flops to the side, almost severed, and comes to rest on the shoulder before it flops backwards as the night runner falls forward, hitting the ground. Its head then slings forward and separates from the body with the force of the impact.
Lynn only sees her target begin to drop before quickly aligning her sight with the next, that one spinning to its left as the bullet, fired almost immediately after the first, strikes it in the upper chest, the round splintering on impact with a rib and ripping through the lungs and heart; grabbing handfuls of tissue and severing veins and arteries on its passage through. Ten more fall, spin or are knocked backward from her rapid but carefully delivered fire before she yells “Go!” and runs through the line behind her. They are making prog
ress and able to control the situation so far. Another muffled explosion reaches her ears off to the side; heard above the sound of her boots pounding on the pavement with the other three beside her, along with the sound of the opening rounds from the soldiers she just passed through.
“How are you doing Jack?” Lynn calls as she heads towards the rear.
“Little busy right now,” he responds after a pause.
They make their way back close to the tarmac thirty feet at a time. In what seems like hours, a roadway to the ramp opens behind them. They have dropped hundreds of night runners, the bodies littering the road and marking the path of their retreat. Many other night runners joined the initial mass on their march back but their numbers have dwindled substantially. Lynn passes through the line for the seemingly thousandth time, passing Drescoll along the way.
“Heard from Jack lately?” Drescoll yells above the tremendous noise from the volleys of gunfire surrounding them.
“Not a word for some time,” Lynn answers, slowing slightly with her lips tightened with worry.
“Robert, this is Lynn,” she calls on the radio after taking her station at the rear of the formation.
“This is Robert,” she hears after a slight pause.
“Open up the ramp, we’re coming in,” she says further.
“Okay, it’s opening now,” Robert says.
“Be ready to close it as soon as we’re in,” she says.
“We’re ready.”
“All those not on the line, ready a grenade and toss it in front of the night runners on my command. Run for the rear of the aircraft immediately after,” Lynn bellows, her voice heard above the deafening noise of gunfire and howls.
“Now!” She yells after a moment to give the soldiers nearby time to pluck grenades from their vests and pull the pins.
The last of their grenades arc through the air and land on the pavement in front of the oncoming mass of night runners. Lynn and the soldiers turn and run with everything they have left across the tarmac for the lowering ramp of the 130. The sound of their boots, the clink of slings banging against the stock and rails of their M-4’s, and the heavy breathing of those next to them reach their ears in their flight across the concrete. Seconds later, a series of explosions to their rear drowns all other noise momentarily. The sound of boots on concrete is replaced by the sound of boots on metal as they reach and run up the ramp into the interior.
Lynn runs past Nicole who is standing at the rear of the ramp near the controls. Nicole starts the ramp up as soon as the last of the soldiers have reached the bottom of it. Lynn turns at the top, seeing a much diminished horde of night runners rocketing across the ramp in their direction. The ramp begins its upward travel but is moving in slow motion as compared to the closure rate of the night runners.
“Teams, open fire!” She bellows, her shout heard above the shrieks of the closing mass.
Gunshots echo in the metallic interior and across the ramp as rounds are expelled outward, dropping more of the night runners in their tracks until the ramp raises to a level that they cannot fire anymore. The outside tarmac slowly disappears as the ramp continues upward. A sliver of the outside visible through the greenish glow of their NVG’s, almost there, as a set of hands grasp the outer edge; the fingers gripping the ramp as it rises ever upwards. A scream is heard outside as the ramp closes and seals. Fingers roll down to Lynn’s boots as they are severed by the hydraulically-actuated ramp closing.
Thumps against the side of the aircraft, accompanied by muted shrieks, demonstrate the frustration of the night runners outside. Howling at the closeness of their prey and the frustration of not being able to get at them. Lynn turns and races up to the cockpit. Climbing the stairs, confusion crosses her face as she enters and looks around. Robert is sitting in the co-pilot seat, his helmet sitting loosely on his head so he can hear both radios; Brianna is camped in her usual location in the engineer seat.
“Where’s Jack?” Lynn asks continuing to look around the cockpit as if he could be hiding behind any of the objects or panels. She almost looks under the bunk to see where he is hiding.
“What do you mean?” Robert asks.
“You mean he isn’t with you?” Bri asks worriedly.
“No, but he should have been here by now,” Lynn responds, her look now changing to worry.
“Jack, where are you?” Lynn says into her mic. Silence is the only return over the radio.
Robert looks out of the side window into the darkness that is the ramp around them. Thumps continue along the aircraft as the night runners attempt to find entrance. He lowers the night vision goggles and returns his look outside. Night runners surround the aircraft; some look up and jostle from position to position while others take runs at the aircraft, each run terminating with a thump against the 130.
“How is he going to get through that?” Robert asks in a worried and fearful tone as he continues to stare outside.
Lynn crosses the flight deck to look out the same window over Robert’s shoulder and then moves to look out the opposite window, seeing the same picture. Night runners surround the aircraft. Even if he makes it here, he won’t be able to get through, she thinks looking at the small multitude gathered around.
“Can we start the engines and do like we did in Kuwait? Blow them away from us?” Lynn asks looking at Robert over her shoulder.
“We could,” he says turning to look at her. “But he won’t be able to get in the side door with the engines running and the ramp is too slow considering how many are out there.”
“Good point. Then I don’t know. I’ll go brief the teams to rearm and be ready,” Lynn says disappearing down the stairs.
She heads down to get the teams ready. Ready to exit and take on all of the night runners if need be.
* * *
I turn and run, glancing back over my shoulder to verify that I have drawn off a large portion of the night runners as my feet obey my mind and pick up speed. The quick glance verifies that, yep, I indeed have. My feet respond to the sight, picking up even more speed. I exit the parking lot and cross a main road with the sound of shrieking behind me. My initial burst of speed was to gain a little distance as the night runners changed directions but I now settle into a ground eating pace. Sustainable so as to not wear me out instantly but quick enough that the night runners will not be on me immediately. That would kind of defeat the purpose of luring them away.
I head between two buildings, which are rather close together, not worrying about any fencing as there is very little of that on bases for some reason. It would be bad news indeed if I did happen to run up against something like that as the night runners can surmount that obstacle faster than I. Another quick glance behind and I see a mass of them closing. I pull a grenade from the hook on my tac vest, straighten and pull the pin with my teeth as I run, carrying my M-4 in my right hand, and drop it on the ground just before exiting out from between the buildings. I turn to the right down a side street, stopping and turning around just as the grenade goes off. The bright light flares against the side of the building I just ran by moments before the sound wave hits my ears.
Several night runners are thrown from the alleyway between the buildings, their bodies airborne before slamming into the grassy lawn; rolling and bouncing and not rising. The bodies are mixed with shredded arms, legs, and other assorted body parts that land on the grass along with them. Some of the decimated flesh and bone falls out onto the street to my front. A few night runners were ahead of the blast and have turned toward me, the shock and surprise of the explosion slowing them momentarily. I bring my M-4 up thumbing the selector switch to semi, sighting in on the one closest.
My carbine pushes back slightly against my shoulder as my finger tightens against the trigger, finding the trigger release point without jerking the weapon. The bark of the rifle indicating a bullet is on its way to a night runner fully in my sight. Its head snaps to the rear as it absorbs the steel in its left eye. The round cuts through the liqu
id orb, splattering the contents of its eye on its cheek and side of its nose, before slicing directly into the night runner’s brain. The bullet continues unmolested hitting the back of the night runner’s cranium and mushrooms before exiting out of the back, taking a large amount of skull bone and brain with it. The night runner falls to its knees, resting momentarily in a kneeling position as if in supplication before crashing forward to the ground on its face. The bone, brain matter, and hair-covered flesh cover its comrades behind.
This is only taken in subconsciously as I rapidly aim at the next, again firing as soon as the next round is chambered. The next steel bullet impacts before the first has fallen with the targeted night runner accepting the round in it shrieking mouth, hitting its upper teeth before racing to the back of its throat, deflected only slightly downward by the impact with the front teeth. Slamming into the back of its throat, the round continues through and smacks forcefully into the spine, severing it. Exploding out of the back of the neck, the round disintegrates taking as much of the tissue, flesh and bone as it can grab and take with it. The night runner’s head flops forward and it sinks straight down to the ground.
I continue delivering rapid single shots until all of the night runners, who were ahead of the grenade when it went off, lie unmoving on the grass, sidewalk and street. I turn and run once again, noting that I have half a clip left. I would normally reload wanting a full clip but I know I may possibly need every round and have to conserve. I hear firing in the background indicating that Lynn and her teams are engaged in their own firefight as my feet carry me away from the route that they should be taking on their way back. A glance over my shoulder shows night runners pouring from the narrow space between the buildings. I have gained a margin of space. I also notice that they have hesitated and begin glancing toward the distant firing. I raise my M-4 and fire twice into their midst.
