by John O'Brien
He feels another strip of flesh ripped from his face. He screams and pain, colored red, floods his mind. His vision fades and then goes dark. He was right about one thing, the pack would feed well tonight.
The next few days are a repeat. Frank notes areas for Craig and me to fly over broadcasting for survivors. Gonzalez, McCafferty, Bri, and Robert are on board for the daily 130 flights. Bri instructs both Gonzalez and McCafferty on the systems and flight engineer responsibilities. Robert takes some stick time as well to refresh his skills.
Bannerman sends the truck convoys south to pick up the trailers and livestock we found. The learning curve is pretty steep for getting the cattle rounded up and into the trucks. It’s not like they could just call “here boy” and have them come running. The crews find some horses that were left out in pastures and those prove useful in rounding up the cattle, at least according to the stories told around dinner. The horses find a home in the stables as well. There weren’t many found as those in the stalls had already succumbed to starvation, lack of water, or in some instances, night runners.
By the end of the week, our pastures have livestock in them. Bannerman also sent trucks to loot the barns of their hay and feed. The barns, stables, and greenhouses have been completed and the crews head north again to begin again on the walls. Bannerman also sends a detail out to look at a water tower and begins planning for its relocation if that is at all possible. Craig, Gonzalez, and McCafferty are now fairly proficient with the 130 operations. It’s time to head to the southwest and we excuse ourselves from the nightly training sessions to plan our flight.
A Meeting Remembered
“Well, isn’t that interesting?” I say plotting our route. Robert, Craig, Bri, Gonzalez, McCafferty, and I are gathered in a semi-circle.
“What’s that?” Robert asks looking up from the map.
“Nothing much really. Just that Tacoma, Boise, Salt Lake City, and our far end destination of Lubbock are in a nearly straight line. Similar to those mathematical lines of the pyramids and Stonehenge. Only, not meaning the same,” I say. “However, they will make it easy to verify our inertial navigation system.”
“Aren’t we going to use the GPS?” Robert asks.
“We’ll set up the route with both but I’m not sure the satellites are still in the right position with no one to keep them there. We’ll do some verifications enroute though,” I answer.
“Can we set up the same approaches?” He continues.
“Well, it depends on what we see on the way. The inertial nav system on board is highly accurate but it certainly isn’t near what a GPS is, especially if there’s a lot of turbulence, but we’ll see. There’s a pretty good chance of encountering severe weather once we hit New Mexico. If I remember correctly, the dry line sits right on the New Mexico-Texas border and the time is right for thunderstorms. The squall lines along there can grow quickly and are usually prevalent during the afternoon and evenings. We’ll have to plan alternate fields along the way as I’m not at all keen on flying through them on inertial nav alone, especially if we have to shoot an approach. Plus, I really hate flying through thunderstorms,” I reply.
“I remember the ones we flew through on the way to Kuwait were plenty scary,” Bri chimes in.
“Yeah, and those were gerbil ones compared to what the south and southwest can spawn. And I use the word spawn correctly. It’s like comparing a paper cut to being molested with a chain saw,” I say.
We finish planning our almost 1,600 mile trip plotting alternate airfields along the way. Horace and Greg join us after the evening training session and I go over the route with them. This is so they will have some situational awareness in case we have one of those unplanned contacts with the ground — read crash. That way they’ll have some idea about where we are or at least a clue of where we are supposed to be. I’ll keep them updated on our progress. It will take us about four hours to get to Canon AFB depending on the winds. I have no way of calculating the winds aloft for our trip but we’ll have plenty of gas. We can fly there and back with what we’ll have onboard.
I wake just before first light. I’m not all that keen on leaving my warm sleeping bag. I feel like rolling over and giving the flight a later start but the image of towering cumulus clouds enters my foggy mind. The thought of wading our way through the dark masses spurs me off my cot. Well, spur isn’t exactly the correct word but I rise nonetheless holding my tired head in my hands for a moment before slipping my feet into my boots. Lynn stirs beside me and sits in a like manner.
“You don’t have to get up, hon,” I say wearily tying my laces.
“Yeah, right. Who’s going to make sure you get your boots on the right foot?” She answers sounding as tired as I feel. I glance down to make sure I do have my boots on correctly. Yep, good to go. “Besides, I’d feel bad if I didn’t see you off.”
There’s only the faint stirring of images floating in my mind and I shove them off to a corner. I hear the faint movement of others in cubicles across the upper floor. Leaning over, I kiss Lynn on the top of her head as she slowly does up the laces in her boots.
“You know I love you, right?” I say.
“Yeah, Jack, I love you too,” she responds looking up.
I can see how tired she is. Not just the tired of waking early but the kind that prolonged time without rest and stress can bring. I positively cannot wait until we reach a place where our stress levels are lowered and wonder if that can really ever be again. With a sigh, I rise and grab my already packed duffle bag. Pushing the curtain aside, I see that several others who are accompanying us have gathered at one of the large tables downstairs. Horace and Blue Team are making their way down the escalator with bags in hand. I wait by our cubicle entrance for Lynn, take her hand and we walk in silence down to where the others have gathered.
Craig is gathering the last of our planning notes and the maps; putting rubber bands around the approaches into the Canon AFB and the other fields we’ve selected as alternates. He puts these neatly into a large leather publication case. The closure of the snaps is loud in the still interior and has a finality to it. It also signals it’s our time to go. We look through peep holes drilled into the security shutters and open them when we see that all is clear.
The morning is painted in a blue-gray shade, portending the coming of the sun and another day. High clouds are showing a touch of orange on their eastern edges. Stepping out into the parking lot, a morning breeze rustles against our clothing bringing a chill to the air. The vehicles sit quietly in the parking lot as if waiting for the coming dawn as well; their darkened shapes still. I hate to break the absolute silence that only the time just before the sun breaks over the horizon can bring. With the sun comes the noise of our little slice of mankind awakening. I want to just stand and take in the stillness but I know we have to be on our way. High clouds give an indication that our route may not be clear all of the way. The team members make their way slowly across the lot; their steps showing the tiredness we all feel. Reaching the four Humvees we plan on taking, they begin tossing in their gear. It will be a cramped ride up to the base with us and the gear in only four of the vehicles but it’s only a short ride. We’ll leave two on the ramp and load two in the 130.
Robert and Bri come out and stand with Lynn and I. Bri rubs her eyes trying to vanquish some of the sleep she brought with her.
“Good morning, Dad,” she says having little success in dispelling her sleepiness.
“Morning, Bri,” I reply. Robert is sleepy as well and just nods in return.
“Robert, would you and Bri go get the helmets out of the helicopter?” I ask.
“Sure, Dad,” he responds and they make their way to the helicopter parked on the far side of the ramp.
Lynn and I stand at the edge of the entrance overhang watching the blue-gray of the morning turn to a lighter shade. There is such a peaceful atmosphere that I don’t want to shatter it with talk. I long for time to just stop and let us enjoy moments like
this. This, however, is just not the nature of time. Its nature is the measure of movement and so it continues. As long as there is movement, there will be such a thing as time.
“Jack, don’t do anything foolish. Come back to me,” Lynn says quietly. She continues to look out to the soldiers loading the last of the gear.
“I’ll be back,” I say glancing to the side at her. “I enjoy you too much to rush into a departure from this life although I’ve never quite figured out why you stay with me.”
“Because you’re a dork, but you’re my dork. Remember the first time we met?” She asks with a chuckle.
“How could I forget that?” I answer.
“You could have gotten us killed you know,” she says with a sigh.
“That’s not true. Well, not entirely. Those guys were horrible shots. Besides, if I would have run into the tree line right away, I wouldn’t have gotten your number,” I reply. Lynn responds with another chuckle and shakes her head.
She pauses a moment. “Of all the ways to meet. It’s pretty clear we were meant to meet but at the time, I thought, ‘Who the fuck does that?’ It wasn’t until later that I fully realized that only you would do something like that. I’m glad you asked and actually called though,” Lynn says looking up at me.
“Me too!” I say as the memory of that time takes me back to the moment of our meeting.
The sudden gunfire as the door gunner test fired his weapon startled me and garnered my attention. The helicopter flashed over the lush green canopy just a few feet under the wheels and wind poured in the open door bringing the muted roar of the rotors overhead. During the occasional jink and turn, I spied the chase Black Hawk behind and slightly above. I sat close to the door watching all of this and thinking about the mission ahead — to locate and take out a small rebel training facility. I looked at the rest of the team sitting in the shaking interior. Some were looking outside like me and some at the floor, all lost in their own thoughts.
I felt a tap on my shoulder. Turning, I looked at the crew chief with his helmet on and the tinted visor down. The reflection of my face showed clear on the dark, polished surface; the streaks of my applied camo blending with my boonie hat. Having caught my attention, the crew chief held up two fingers. I then alerted the other team members and mimicked the action of the crew chief letting them know we were two minutes out. We checked our gear one last time and chambered rounds.
The second Black Hawk hung back as we proceeded forward. The tops of the trees abruptly gave way to a small field filled with tall grass; the grass transformed to clumps of bushes closer to the trees. The abrupt change, though startling, was expected. The helicopter sank below the tree line and settled quickly into the grassy field with the rotor wash laying the grass on its side. We were out of the door with the skids just above the fields’ surface and made our way quickly into the trees.
The bright sun quickly changed to the murky depths of the jungle as we proceeded a few meters in; our transport already out of sight and sound. Finding some dense foliage, we laid up for twenty minutes to ascertain whether our infil was detected. The chirps of birds and sounds of the jungle became normal after a few minutes. We released the helicopters and began our slow progress under the triple canopy toward the suspected training camp location with the oppressive heat and humidity tracking our every step.
After about an hour into our slow, quiet approach, my radio crackled in my ear piece with an incoming call — I always carried my own radio.
“Viper, Steel Rain, standby for an incoming message,” a voice from our overwatch said.
Steel Rain, Viper Six, standby one,” I replied.
I caught up with and tapped our slack man telling him to have our point find a secluded space to hold up in. We made our way into another dense patch of leafy bushes and set ourselves in a circular perimeter.
“Steel Rain, Viper Six, go ahead with transmission,” I said once we were settled.
“Viper, your mission is an abort, repeat, your mission is an abort, acknowledge,” the radio operator said.
“Steel Rain, copy abort,” I replied.
Another voice came on the radio, “Viper Six, you are being redirected. Proceed to your infil landing zone for pickup. Assets will be on station in thirty mikes. Will you be able to comply?” The new voice said.
I thought for a moment looking at the map. We’d be able to make it but we wouldn’t be as quiet on the way out as we were on the way in. “Roger that, Steel Rain, we’ll be there,” I answered.
“Viper Six, you are being redirected to assist an Army unit that has come under fire. You’re the closest. Further instructions and material will be provided upon pickup, out, acknowledge.”
An Army unit? What the hell is an Army unit doing out here? I thought as I pressed the mic button, “Copy. Viper Six, out.”
“Okay guys, we’re turning it around. Apparently we have to go rescue an Army unit that has strayed too far from home. We’ll have more info enroute,” I told the team and directed the point to take us back to the infil landing zone for pickup in thirty minutes.
We made it to the field with only minutes to spare. “Viper, Eagle inbound for pickup, five minutes out,” the radio crackled as we laid up in the surrounding trees.
“Eagle, copy, we’re on the north side and all is quiet,” I responded.
A minute passed. “Viper, Eagle, pop smoke.”
I readied and tossed a smoke canister into the grassy field. A hiss and then purple smoke began streaming up into the still air. “I’ve got grape smoke,” our pickup pilot said.
“Copy grape, Eagle,” I verified.
The faint sound of a helicopter entered the area and it soon flashed over the treetops to settle onto the field. We dashed out of the tree line and boarded quickly. The Black Hawk lifted off immediately.
I settled in next to the crew chief. “What’s the skinny?” I asked shouting at the helmeted chief.
“Sir, an Army squad was ambushed and forced into a clearing. You’ll be landing here,” the crew chief said pointing at a map which he then handed to me. He then showed me where the unit was under fire. “We’ll be landing your team a few klicks to the north in another open field and make your way south.”
“Assets?” I asked meaning what assets would we have available or were on their way.
“None, sir,” he replied. “Other than the assets for your insertion and subsequent pickup that is. We have more transport units on the way.”
I looked at the map and then the chopper we were in. “We can’t go in for a direct pickup. The LZ is too hot,” the chief said seeing where my thoughts were going.
“What about using the door gunners for support?” I ask as we gained altitude. The roar of the wind through the open door was forcing us to shout.
“No can do, sir. ROE — rules of engagement. We can’t directly support with helicopter assets,” he answered.
Stupid fucking rules! Engagement is engagement. Apologize later, I thought looking over the map again. Well, nothing I can do about it so might as well get the info we need.
“What’s an Army unit doing out here?” I asked.
“They’re apparently a squad training indigenous folks. They were ambushed while conducting a patrol with their trainees,” he answered.
“Casualties?”
“Unknown, sir,” he answers passing me another piece of paper. “Contact call signs, freqs and authentication codes. Exfil assets will be on standby.”
“Okay, thanks, chief,” I said and proceeded to brief the team on the mission, insertion, and route of march.
“We’ll head south from our infil and make a plan once we get there and ascertain the situation. No firing unless we’re spotted or fired upon. I’d rather not make our presence known right away,” I said as the helicopter dropped down to nap of the earth flying. Our insertion was to be a field in a small valley several klicks north of the entrapped unit.
We were inserted into the field and made our way south
through the double canopy jungle with open areas in the next valley. As we neared the last ridge between us and the trapped unit, we began to pick up gunfire on the other side of the small ridge line. It sounded like all hell was breaking loose on the poor unfortunate souls trapped in the open. The gunfire sounded mostly like AK-47’s but we hear the occasional sound of an M-16 drift in.
“Okay, slow and steady,” I told our point and we headed quietly up the ridge.
The sound of gunfire increased dramatically when we neared the top. Cresting the ridge, the faint smell of gunpowder mixed with it. The dense undergrowth of the jungle thinned on the other side. We halted and I saw out an outcropping of rock to the side. I signaled toward the rocks and our point led us there. We crept on our stomachs out onto the small outcropping looking south. I directed the team to angle claymores to our east and west with an additional one to our rear.
Close to the edge of the flat surface of the rocky ledge, its hot surface burning my chest and stomach through my shirt, I was afforded a view of the area. Directly below us to the south was an open, grassy field. Well, once even grassier but the volume of fire and steel filling the air had mowed quite a bit of that down. The field itself was full of small hilly areas. Behind the small rises in the field were the prone bodies of soldiers firing into the surrounding tree lines. If not for the presence of the small hills, the unit below would probably had been overrun in short order as the volume of fire coming from tree lines on three sides was intense. Green tracers sped through the open area thick enough to walk on. Red tracers sped out from the soldiers in the field. It looked like a laser battle. Smoke from the gunfire lingered on the edges of the field and within it.
To the east, minimal gunfire was being directed into the field and that caught my attention. I pointed to the area and we backed off the ledge.
