Phantom Squad

by J.M. LeDuc

Chapter 10

  At o-eight hundred of the third day, Brent’s life and the lives of the other soldiers changed forever.

  It started with a slight growl that emanated from beneath the earth’s surface. The growl became a tremble which soon started the entire mountainside shaking. Brent felt as if he was back on the platform in the hangar.

  Rockslide. Seek cover, was all he could think of. Viewing the surrounding terrain, he saw a shallow rock overhang approximately thirty yards up hill and to his right. He darted for whatever protection he could find. Nearing the rock-face, he was pelted by small rocks and pebbles shooting down the slope. They felt like shrapnel. Brent was struck in the head by a golf ball sized rock just as he dove for cover. As he blacked out he saw a wall of rock and mud sweep over him and cover his world.

  Brent’s eyes opened, but he saw nothing. He could smell nothing but dirt. He realized that he was buried by rock and debris from the avalanche.

  I need to dig my way out, he thought. Brent closed his eyes and tried to wiggle his toes. They all moved on command. He did a similar assessment with the rest of his limbs and torso and was thankful he didn’t break anything. The only injury he could assess while buried came from the throbbing on the side of his head.

  Using his fingers, he began to move dirt and rock. An hour later, he felt the hot, humid air with the bloodied tips of his fingers. He never thought the air on this hill could feel so good.

  Brent stood by the hole he had dug himself out of and took in his environment. He saw . . . nothing. No trees, no vegetation, no streams . . . nothing. Well that’s not exactly true. He saw dirt. Dry, rocky dirt as far as the eye could see. Where there once was mud, there was now dry dirt. It was as Mother Nature had turned the mountain inside out. What was deep was now on top and what was on top was now deep within.

  Brent’s thoughts immediately went to the other three men on the mountain. Were they hurt? Were they alive? He looked at his map to gage where they might be. The topographical symbols now meant nothing.

  Think. Put the last forty five days of training to use.

  Brent lowered himself into a deep squat, closed his eyes, and tried to put himself in the others’ heads. His pain blocked all other thoughts.

  Come on, Venturi. What was it Seven said?

  His thoughts raced back to the first day he had met Seven.

 

  “Pain is the great equalizer. Everyone will suffer in the field.” Seven said. “The person who can isolate his discomfort and compartmentalize his emotions will be victorious. You all need to find a way to forget about them until you have completed your mission.” Seven eyed the men like a bull before goring the matador. “I’ll say it now and I’ll repeat it often, emotion will get you killed.”

  Brent’s nostrils flared as he took in a deep cleansing breath. He released it through his mouth and began to slip into a deep state of consciousness.

  His hands dropped in front of him and he began sifting the loose dirt. His senses began to shut down as he continued the deep breaths. All sounds diminished until all he could hear was his heartbeat. Next was his sense of smell. With each breath, he smelled less of the dirt and musty mountain air. Touch followed. Although he continued to sift the dirt, he no longer felt the grains and rocks between his fingers.

  Once all his perceptual senses were gone, his involuntary ones were next. Pain began to leave his body. Emotions were wiped clean from his psyche.

  Brent’s mind now clear, his vision turned inward. It was as if he was descending into a black hole. He saw the plane’s direction of flight and he witnessed Jefferson and Fitzpatrick jumping at two minute intervals before he was shoved out into the night sky. Remembering that they were all warned about the skunk grass field, he knew that they all must have been given the same directions on how to avoid it. A scenario of where the men might be began to form in his mind and . . .

  The beep of his radio squawking to life broke his concentration. His senses came back to him, all but pain and emotion, and he quickly stood and ran toward his backpack. Grabbing his radio, the LCD screen was glowing red. Staring back at him was 128-49-7. With a blank stare, Brent gazed back.

  What are those numbers? It must be some sort of message, but what? Brent brushed his hand through his cropped hair. What would Seve . . .

  “That’s it!” he said aloud. The message is from Seven. He quickly grabbed the topographical map. The first two numbers must be his location. Longitude and latitude. Brent spread out the map and smiled. “That s.o.b. just sent me his coordinates.”

  Brent punched the keys of his radio and messaged back, “On way, B.”

  From the coordinates on the map, Brent triangulated Seven’s position and figured he was approximately a half mile back up the slope to his left. That half mile felt like ten—every step a hazard. He dug in with his raw fingers and used his utility knife as a pick as he crawled his way up hill and against the grain of the landslide. For every ten yards he would travel, he would slide back six.

  By the time he reached the coordinates, Brent felt as if his heart would blow out of his chest. His lungs burned and his throat felt as if it was caked with dirt and dust. Swallowing wasn’t possible without taking a sip of water.

  Brent felt the weight of the canteen in his hand or the lack of weight.

  The rockslide must have covered all the streams, he thought. I didn’t pass the one I followed on the way down. Again he felt the canteen in his hand. I need to save whatever water I have left.

  Brent rose off his knees and surveyed the area.

  He remembered Seven’s words.

  “How many of you have been caught in the middle of a firefight in hostile territory?” Hands started to raise. Seven spit. “Put your damn hands down, I’ve read your files. I know you all have.” He paced the hangar, stalling to build tension. “It’s hard to see where the bullets are coming from when you’re in the middle of the battle, ain’t it?” Heads nodded. “Before you ever walk into a hostile or unfamiliar territory look at the big picture before you go in.” Again, he paused. Seven sucked on his lower lip as if wisdom was found in the tobacco. “Always start with the periphery of your surroundings, before you move your sight toward the center. Look for what doesn’t belong. Once you have completed your reconnaissance of the terrain, then and only then are you to look at the details and after that you can make your move. The extra time you spend at the beginning, will save you time and lives at the end.”

  Brent closed his eyes and blocked out all he had seen. He needed a fresh perspective in order to view the area. When he opened them, he peered about. First at the perimeter of his coordinates. All that had been there when he first crossed the area was gone: trees, grass, wildlife, even insects. There was nothing but desolation. His attention began to move in towards the center of the area. Nothing.

  Come on, Seven. Give me a clue.

  Brent stood his ground, not moving, afraid to disturb his environment. He again closed his eyes, subconsciously dropped in to his familiar squat position and began to go inside his head to the meditative state he had been to before. As his heart rate and breathing slowed, his concentration increased. Upon opening his eyes, everything was clearer. The colors, what was left of them, were more vivid, the sounds were clearer, and the smells were more acute. He scanned the open area and saw a small tree branch sticking straight out of the ground.

  Seven’s words permeated his consciousness. Look for what isn’t congruent. For what doesn’t belong.

  Brent flew to the spot and started to dig as fast as he could and yelled, “Seven, I’m here. Hold on. I’m coming!”

  Four feet into the rubble, Brent saw Seven’s finger tips in the dirt. He dug his hand free and squeezed. It squeezed back.

  With the added assurance that Seven was alive and responsive, Brent continued to dig with a renewed energy. Once Seven’s head was free of his dirt coffin, Brent slowed his pace. The ground was still very unstable and abrupt movements could cause the hole to c
ollapse around them both.

  Seven’s complexion was so ashen that if it weren’t for the squeezing of his hand, Brent would have thought him dead.

  “Seven, can you hear me?”

  Seven’s cracked lips moved in acknowledgment. “My leg’s busted up pretty bad,” he mumbled. “Can’t wiggle my toes on my left foot and I’ve lost most of the feeling.”

  “Don’t worry,” Brent said. “Together, we’ll get you out of here.” Brent brought the canteen to Seven’s lips. “Drink. You’re going to need all the strength you have left.”

  For close to two hours, Brent dug around Seven, freeing him from his earthy tomb.

  “All right, Sev,” Brent said. “That’s as good as it’s going to get. Now for the hard part, I need to drag you out of that hole.”

  Brent stood next to the hole, reached down, and grabbed Seven’s extended hands. “On three, I’m pulling you out. Whatever you do, don’t let go. The hole is going to collapse around you as I pull. If it caves in, we start all over again.”

  “Shut the f--- up, Professor, and pull.”

  Brent shook his head and smiled. “I’d wash your mouth out with soap, but with as much dirt that’s in it, it would probably seem like a reward.” He took a deep breath, looked up toward the heaven’s for some sort of divine strength, blew out the air, clamped his hands around Seven’s wrists, and said, “One, two, three, go!”

  He grunted and pulled as hard as he could as he leaned and stepped backward in order to clear Seven from the pit.

  “Noo,” escaped Seven’s lips before he passed out from the pain.

  When Seven awoke, Brent had set his fracture and splinted his leg. He ran his hands over the Lieutenant’s handiwork.

  “Nice work, Professor.”

  Brent squatted about fifteen feet away. “Yeah, well, I had to save your leg or change your name to Six.”

  Seven laughed. “What do you say we get off this damn hill.”

  Brent stood. “That’s the smartest thing you’ve ever said.”

  He helped Seven to his feet and gave him a branch that he had dug out of the hole to use as a cane. He wrapped Seven’s arm around his shoulder and they started their trek down to base camp.