Chapter 5
Delaney had actually managed to catch a few hours of sleep during the hottest part of the day. The heat helped to drain her of energy, and she’d lain down on top of her sleeping bag, wearing nothing but her shorts and T-shirt.
She was jerked out of a sweaty dream of making love with Tuck when an unfamiliar voice called from outside her tent.
"Captain O’Connell."
"Just a minute." She sat up and pushed her hair off her damp forehead, then got to her feet and staggered to the door.
A private first class stood at attention outside. "Ma’am, your presence is required in the ops tent."
"Thank you, PFC Olinger. I’ll be there in five minutes."
The PFC saluted, executed a sharp right-face, and marched toward the ops tent.
The sun was well on its way toward the horizon, although the heat of the day still lingered. At least, the wind had died down and the sand had settled. Flying nights was easier than battling the buffeting winds and sandstorms of the daylight hours.
Delaney poured water on a washcloth and performed a spit bath, wiping away the sweat of the day before pulling on her flight suit and zipping it up the middle. Boots came next, and she checked her flight bag before stepping through the door.
Lindsay almost bumped into her. "Shoot. I was hoping for an update before you headed out."
"Nothing to update. I gotta go."
"The hot SEAL didn’t come by and declare his undying love?"
"Seriously?" Delaney laughed, the sound lacking any humor. "Not gonna happen."
"You’d be surprised. If the other SEAL keeps up his courtship, his actions might make SEAL number one realize he can’t live without you."
"I doubt it. In the meantime, I have to go." Delaney hurried toward the ops tent, anxious to hear the briefing on their next mission, hoping it wouldn’t include the team of SEALs from the night before.
As she stepped into the operations tent, her hopes were dashed. The same SEAL team she’d transported the night before was there, Tuck and Cory watching her every move as she entered and took a seat. The room was crowded with another SEAL team, her helicopter crew and a second one, as well as the team of operations planners including the Afghan informant who’d been instrumental in the interrogation of the Taliban member they’d extracted the night before.
Lieutenant Colonel Cooley, the Army Special Forces ops planner, and Navy Commander Backus stood at the front of the tent near the computer screen depicting the tactical map of the area of operation.
Through an interpreter, the Afghan operative told them of a Taliban stronghold in a village in the mountains. An important meeting would take place that night to discuss an attack on NATO forces.
When the Afghan finished, he was excused from the room. Once he was gone, Lt Colonel Cooley and Commander Backus took turns briefing the plan of attack.
The SEAL team was to get in, take out the Taliban leadership, and get out as quickly as possible. The village was said to be heavily guarded by the Taliban so they’d have to come in under the cover of darkness. Two helicopters would transport the teams as close to the location as possible, drop them, and get away until called to retrieve the men.
Delaney sat forward on her seat, adrenaline already thrumming through her veins. The flight would be dangerous, possibly more dangerous than the night before. There weren’t as many hills around the village to disguise their arrival and shield them from anti-aircraft weapons.
"An unmanned aerial vehicle will be deployed with the team. The weapons aboard the UAV will be used to take out the main target. But you must get a definitive target location. You know the drill, limit civilian casualties."
The SEAL team was given specific coordinates and departed to gather their weapons and gear, and do any last-minute planning amongst themselves. They’d have the toughest mission. Going door-to-door in a village was as dangerous as an operation comes. They never knew when the enemy would pop out of a building or a sniper would pick them off from above.
Cory and Tuck were the last SEALs out the door, both glancing back over their shoulders.
Delaney tried not to notice, refusing to look directly at them, though they were perfectly visible in her peripheral vision.
Lt. Colonel Cooley handed an electronic kneeboard and memory card to Captain Kuntz and the same items to Delaney. "Just remember, if the enemy is in range...so are you." He winked. "You two good to go?"
"Yes, sir!" Kuntz responded.
"I got this, sir," she replied, feeling more confident by the minute.
Fear wasn’t a factor of the mission. If she let in fear, she’d put the rest of the team and crew in danger. Pilots of the 160th had to act, not think. They had to be ready to rush into dangerous situations without hesitation. They’d trained these kinds of missions over and over while back at Little Creek with the SEALs. She could fly this type of mission practically blindfolded. The only variance was live enemy fire. Minor detail.
"Let’s do this." Delaney said.
By the time she stepped out of the tent, the sun had dropped below the horizon and the gray haze of dusk cloaked the desert. One by one the stars came out, twinkling in the sky above. Delaney loved flying at night. At times, she felt like she was a spaceship pilot, surrounded by the vastness of the universe.
Her father had instilled in her a love of the heavens and the curiosity that made her want to explore. She’d spent one childhood summer at Space Camp in Alabama. With the space program winding down, she’d joined the Army and trained to fly helicopters. Not as high as space, but equally thrilling.
For a few moments, she stared up at the stars, wishing her father could see her now. Maybe he could. Heaven was only a heartbeat away. Delaney hefted her flight bag and headed for the helicopters to perform her preflight check. Her crew stood beside the craft, ready for her inspection. She went over each member’s Air Warrior equipment, including the vest with body armor and armor plate, CSEL combat survival radio, NVGs, and knife. She and her copilot had been issued M9 pistols and ammo. In the cockpit, the crew stashed water and snacks.
Once she’d completed her crew inspection, her copilot checked over her personal equipment, then they began the aircraft preflight checklist. By the time she’d finished the exterior of the craft, climbed into the pilot seat, and strapped on the safety harness, the SEALs showed up, loaded for bear and appearing so dangerous, they could scare the locals into submission before they even lifted a weapon.
Decked out in the battle uniforms, PTAC and helmets, they all looked alike in the darkening sky.
Good. At least then she wouldn’t know who she had on board. Each man equally important as the next. So what if Tuck got on the other aircraft? At least then she wouldn’t be distracted by his presence.
The SEALs split into two details and climbed aboard the waiting aircraft.
Delaney started the blades spinning.
A hand on her shoulder was followed by, "Alpha Team, five souls aboard."
"Roger," she responded, her heart leaping into her throat. She could almost feel the heat of Tuck’s hand through the survival vest. Warmth and calm settled over her. Despite her resolve to remain unaffected by which team was aboard her aircraft, she was glad it was Tuck’s.
At exactly the designated hour, Delaney lifted off the ground and swung north.
Following the route specified on her kneeboard and in the flight computer, Delaney kept a vigilant eye on the terrain below, employing her NVGs to pick out any heat signatures along the way.
By the time they reached the drop zone, all the stars shone bright in the sky. At least the moon wasn’t adding to the brilliance of the night. Too much light and Al-Qaida manning anti-aircraft guns would be able to pick them off all too easily.
The two helicopters flew nap of the earth, hugging the terrain to avoid early detection. When they reached the drop zone, Delaney brought the Black Hawk to a halt, hovering twenty feet above the dry desert just outside the village.
Two by two, the men fast-roped to the ground, loaded with weapons and NVGs.
When her door gunner’s voice came through her headset, "Drop complete," Delaney took off, heading toward the designated safe area where she’d await the call from the men on the ground. A wait that would be the longest thirty minutes of her life.
Tuck hit the ground first and ran for the village, confident his men were right behind him. They’d practiced this maneuver so many times they performed as a well-oiled machine. Nearing the outer walls of the village, they encountered enemy fire.
Tuck gave the signal to drop in place. The other team followed the lead and hit the dirt.
After two more tracer rounds, Reaper had his man in his sights and picked him off with one shot.
Another hand signal and the team was on the move again.
Shouts went up from inside the mud and stone walls. The alert had gone out, and the people inside would be scrambling for weapons and positions.
Tuck and his team approached the east wall. When he arrived there, he bent down and the man behind him planted a boot in his back, leaped up to the top of the wall, and rolled to the other side so quickly no one could get a bead on him and fire before he was already over.
The next man flew over the wall, and the next until the fourth man topped the wall and reached down to grab Tuck’s hand, hauling him over the top as he slid down the other side.
Once inside the perimeter, Tuck led the way again, moving down the narrow streets between the buildings and outer walls of each dwelling, counting the doors to the ones identified by the Afghan translator who’d gotten the information from the captured Taliban leader. As they neared the identified door, Bravo Team would be converging on the opposite side to head off any escapees out the back.
Gunfire erupted from above. A Taliban soldier manning a machine gun fired down on Alpha team.
Each man hugged the wall, preventing the gunner on the top from getting a clear shot. All he could do was lay down suppression fire to keep them from stepping out to take a shot at him.
The gunfire came to an abrupt halt and they could hear the clinking of metal on metal. Most likely, the weapon had jammed.
Tuck motioned for Reaper to take the sniper, and he gave the signal for the rest of the team to follow him.
Behind Tuck, one round was fired, marked by a soft grunt followed by silence from the gunner. Reaper was a gifted marksman, an asset to any assault team.
Tuck moved on to the back side of the next compound and around the corner from his team. Reaper positioned himself at the corner, weapon ready, scanning the rooftops for more sentries.
With his back to the alley and feeling exposed, Tuck pulled C4 plastic explosives from his pocket. Despite their earlier argument, Tuck knew he could trust Reaper with his life. His friend had his back.
With quick, practiced moves, Tuck smashed the plastic explosives against the middle of the wall closest to the living quarters inside the compound. He pressed a detonator into the plastics and motioned Reaper back around the corner.
He pushed his guilt about his rift with Reaper to the back of his mind and concentrated on what would happen next as he checked his watch, and waited for the time agreed upon for Bravo Team to move into position. At exactly the minute designated, he held his hands over his ears and pressed the hand-held detonator. A small explosion shook the wall he leaned on. Another explosion sounded from the other side of the compound a couple seconds later, like an echo of the first.
Without waiting, Tuck ran around the corner and dove through the gaping hole in the wall. The tap, tap, tapping of gunfire kept Tuck low to the ground, bullets kicking up dust near his feet. He ducked and rolled into the shadows, pulled his NVGs in place, and scanned the corners of the building and the rooftop for the sniper. A moment later, he found him as he leaned around the corner to fire off rounds at the hole in the wall, then retreated behind the corner.
Tuck aimed, waited for him to appear again, and fired. The gunman grunted and slumped to the ground.
Reaper, Big Bird, and Gator entered through the hole and spread out. Fish remained outside the wall. He’d provide protective fire on their rear.
If they timed their moves right, they’d converge on the building at the same moment. Satellite photos had shown them where the entrances were. Bravo Team would take the main entrance and provide a distraction while Tuck’s team blasted through the wall with more explosives and entered through the rear.
Everything was going as expected. Like clockwork. A niggling doubt insinuated itself into Tuck’s mind as he pressed more C4 into the back wall of the residence. Enough to blow a hole without causing too much injury to the occupants inside.
Charges set, he held his ears and detonated. The wall crumbled, dust spewing outward. He motioned for his team to move in. No gunfire erupted from inside.
If the meeting was being held in this building, the attendees would have come B.Y.O.G. Bring your own gun.
Tuck didn’t like it. Something wasn’t right.
Before Tuck could alter the plan, Reaper was first in, as they’d planned in the drills they’d conducted at Little Creek back in the states. He rolled to the side, pointing his weapon at the empty interior. Tuck followed behind him, moving more slowly, peering through the dust-clouded interior of an empty room with nothing but broken furniture and rags littering the floor.
While Reaper moved toward the door leading to the interior, Tuck hung back. On the wall, someone had spray painted a message on the stucco walls in Pashto. Tuck took a moment to translate and when he did, lead sank to the bottom of his belly. He spun toward Reaper. "Reaper, don’t go—" Tuck saw the trip wire just as Reaper bumped into it.
One minute, Reaper was standing in front of him, the next he was thrown across the room, along with half the wall.
Tuck flew back on his ass and the ceiling above him crumbled, caving in on top of him and Reaper. His ears ringing, Tuck forced himself to his knees and threw his body over Reaper as the stones and timbers crashed down, pummeling his back and head.
Something large and heavy hit the base of his skull, knocking his helmet loose. For a moment, the world around him faded into darkness. He fought to shake it off. Reaper lay beneath him, having taken the brunt of the explosion. His body armor would have protected his torso to an extent and he still wore his helmet, but what about his face and limbs?
Tuck pushed against Reaper, the pressure on his back giving way a little at a time. Not fast enough.
Shots rang out beyond the building’s walls. Big Bird shouted, Gator and Fish responded, but the sounds all came to Tuck as if from down a long, muffled tunnel.
He pushed again and a heavy beam rolled off his back onto the floor beside him, along with crumbled bricks and stone. Fumbling for his flashlight, he found it, switched it on, and shone it in Reaper’s face. His eyes were closed, skin coated in dust.
Tuck pressed his fingers to Reaper’s throat and prayed. When he felt the slow thump, thump of a pulse, he let go of the breath he’d been holding, and tapped Reaper’s face. "Hey, buddy. Wake up."
Reaper didn’t budge.
Bracing his hand on the ground, Tuck tried to stand. His leg was pinned by another beam. He twisted around and shoved the debris to the side before wiggling his foot. It hurt, but he thought he could stand. The main thing was to get Reaper out and back to the helicopter.
A mortar exploded close by, sending out a spray of more debris, the explosion reverberating in Tuck’s already numb ears. If they wanted to get out alive, he had to move, now. The whole situation stunk of setup.
"Tuck?" Big Bird leaned into the building. "Tuck?"
"I’m here."
"You okay?"
"Yeah. But Reaper’s down."
"Alive?"
"For now."
"We’re taking rounds and mortars. Team Bravo was hit hard. Two dead, the other three heading back to the LZ."
"Fish and Gator?" Tuck asked, afraid of the answer.
"Injured but mobile. Need help getting out Reaper?"
"I’m not sure what injuries he sustained." Tuck pushed against the ground in an attempt to stand. Where he planted his hand was warm and wet. "Holy shit. Shine your light over here."
Big Bird stepped over the debris and focused his light on the ground at Tuck’s feet. "F*ck."
Tuck ripped off his belt and looped it around what was left of Reaper’s right arm, pulling it tight to stop the relentless flow of blood from his severed artery.
"We gotta get him out of here."
"I know. You go ahead of me. I’m right behind you."
"Tuck." Reaper’s eyes blinked open.
"Yeah, buddy."
"Get out of here."
"Not without you."
"If I die, take care of Delaney for me, will ya?"
Tuck’s throat closed up and his eyes stung. Whether from all the dust or the knowledge his friend might not make it out alive, he didn’t have time to debate.
Reaper tried to lift his right arm, gave up, and caught Tuck with the left. "Promise."
Tuck ground his teeth together, adrenaline coursing through him. "Bullshit on all this talk about dying. You’re making it out of here alive, so hang on." He bent, grabbed Reaper’s uninjured arm, and dragged him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. His ankle hurt like hell, but the injury was nothing compared to what Reaper had suffered.
His teammate grunted and then went completely limp, a deadweight hanging over Tuck, unable to balance or help to steady Tuck’s load. Well, damn it, he didn’t need help. He’d get him out if it was the last thing he did.
Stumbling over the stones, bricks and debris, Tuck made it outside the building where Big Bird was firing into the night.
"Go!" Big Bird yelled. "I called for transport. They’re on their way."
Tuck ran through the alley, back the way they’d come, followed by the reassuring sound of Big Bird’s weapon firing behind him. Gator and Fish were pinned at a corner, ducking around to fire in bursts.
As Tuck neared, they left the corner and charged past the intersection of two narrow streets.
Bullets pinged off the sides of the mud-covered compound walls. Tuck kept running. He had to get to the helicopter. If they could make the chopper, Reaper had half a chance to live. "Hang on," he said to his friend, again and again, like a mantra to cling to, getting him through the next few minutes.
Rushing past the last building and out into the open field, Tuck felt something hit the front of his leg, like a sharp sting. He ignored it and ran on.
The familiar whopping sound of helicopter rotors gave him hope for Reaper. "Please hurry."
"Tuck, wait!" Big Bird ran to catch up to him, grabbed his arm, and forced him to stop, pulling him to his knees. "Get down!"
Machine gun and rifle fire filled the night and the sky over their heads.
Tuck laid Reaper down, then covered his friend’s body with his own.
A Black Hawk swooped in, guns firing at the fields ahead of them.
It was then that Tuck saw the silhouettes of men moving their way, carrying weapons. One of them stopped and lifted an RPG to his shoulder.
"No." Tuck couldn’t leave Reaper to take out the Taliban man soon enough to stop the round from being fired. All he could do was watch in horror.
The round hit the helicopter above them. It jerked, then exploded in a ball of flaming aviation fuel, rotor blades flying loose, doors, skids and the fuselage breaking apart, flung across the sky like a broken toy.
Tuck’s heart stopped in that second and he ducked his head, praying it wasn’t Delaney’s helicopter. "Dear God," he said. "Dear God."
The bulk of the craft crashed to the earth, the flames reaching toward the sky. The second helicopter flew in—low, fast, and deadly—firing everything it had at the men on the other side of the field.
When the machine guns attached to its belly ran out of bullets, the helicopter launched the rockets, the pilot expending every last bit of ammo. Then the craft turned back toward the town and landed near to the spot where Team Alpha had taken cover.
Team Bravo emerged from the walls of the village, two men flanking two others helping a third between them.
Tuck rose, and with Big Bird’s help, carried Reaper to the waiting helicopter. With the door gunners providing suppression fire, the teams made it to the Black Hawk. Tuck and Big Bird laid Reaper on the floor. The others piled into the craft around him, hanging onto whatever they could find.
Tuck turned to Fish, the team corpsman. "Take care of him." Then he ducked back out of the chopper, followed by Big Bird, Gator, and two of Team Bravo’s men. They scoured the area around the downed helicopter, careful not to provide a target for the Taliban. They found one of the door gunners lying among the poppies, the others appeared to have burned in the fire. Big Bird and Tuck carried the dead door gunner back to the waiting helicopter and loaded him next to Reaper.
"Let’s go!" One of the door gunners yelled.
The helicopter, near its maximum load capacity, lurched from the ground and into the air.
Tuck bent over Reaper and shined his flashlight into his teammate’s face.
He was deathly pale, all the color seeming to have leached out of his lips and he wasn’t moving at all.
"Is he...?"
Fish shook his head and spoke loud enough to be heard over the rotors. "He’s hanging on, but he’s lost a lot of blood. You did good by applying the tourniquet when you did, or he would have bled out."
Out of the path of danger, without bullets flying past him, Tuck had time for the entire event to process. The building had been empty and set with a trip wire. If he hadn’t stopped to read the writing on the wall, he’d have been the first one through the door. He would be the one lying there with his arm dangling uselessly, the muscles ground into hamburger meat.
He glanced at the back of the pilot’s head. He couldn’t reach her with the crowd of men aboard. Instead, he reached out to touch a door gunner’s arm. "Who’s flying this bird?"
The gunner’s mouth was set in a grim line. "Captain..." The craft dipped and the gunner lurched, braced his hand on the inside wall and righted himself.
Tuck held his breath and waited for the man to finish, his heart in his throat, his stomach a massive knot.
"O’Connell," he finished. "Razor."
The air left his lungs in a whoosh and he slumped over Reaper. They’d lost an entire helicopter crew tonight. If they didn’t get Reaper to a surgeon quickly...
Bullshit. They weren’t losing Reaper, too. Tuck helped Fish stabilize the wounded arm, check Reaper ‘s other injuries, and establish an I.V. of fluids to replace some of what he’d lost.
Then Tuck prayed to God to spare his friend.