The worst attack was just before dawn, when what sounded like the entire fucking Afghan horse cavalry charged against the center of the Spartans, their voices raised high in a piercing, screeching war cry that had more than one person pissing their pants in fear. It was the only time in the entire battle when I was worried, not because we were absorbing too many casualties but because we were going to run out of ammunition. They poured against us in wave after wave, not caring about our rifles picking them off, our machine guns tearing them apart. They just didn't care. They were devoted, powered by something more fanatic than a desire to keep living.
Finally, when I was on my last magazine, there was a bugle call and the attacks stopped, the warlord's troops melting into the remnants of the night. It's only then that I notice the pain in my leg, and I slap a bandage on, hoping it just caught muscle and not anything deeper. At least I can still walk. That's a good sign, I hope.
The radio crackles, and my radioman, PFC Redman, talks into it. “Sir? It’s the battalion commander.”
I take the handset and key the mike. “Eagle Six, this is Spartan Six, go ahead.”
“Spartan Six, be advised, Zoomies got two Predators in the sky. They say they've got nothing in the area in terms of hostiles. Also be advised, there are three Blackhawks inbound to evac casualties. ETA ten minutes. Over.”
“Eagle Six, copy that. I'll have my First Sergeant start gathering them up.”
“Spartan Six, roger. Keep your eyes open, but . . . fine job, Spartans. Eagle Six out.”
I hand the handset over to Redman. The sun breaks over the horizon, and finally, after what seems like forever, I sit down. I'm so tired, but the mission isn't over yet. I just need to close my eyes for a few minutes, that's all. Just a few minutes.
Chapter 22
Lindsey
“Turn on the TV!”
My head comes up from my computer, curious as I see people rushing toward the battalion reception area. There's jostling, but before I can join them, my phone buzzes, and I see that I got an email. It's from Aaron, and I pull a fade, going into a supply closet and opening it.
I'm surprised to see that it's a video mail, and I open the attachment, watching with an expectant smile on my face.
“I don't know how we'll handle the work side of things, but that's not the point. I was thinking, when I get back, we need to talk about maybe—” he says, when suddenly, a crunching sound comes from outside the tent, followed by someone screaming. “INCOMING!”
Aaron disappears from the screen, and there's nothing but background noise and half-seen figures running past the screen for another ten seconds before the video cuts off. With numb fingers, I slip my phone back in my pocket and leave the closet, emerging to even more chaos.
“Initial reports are still coming in, but reports from Kabul state that a battalion of the 10th Mountain Division has come under attack from what could be nearly a thousand local fighters.”
“Yes, Melanie. Reports are still scattered, but it is believed that local warlords that are aligned with ISIS or Al Qaeda have attacked the second battalion of the twenty-first infantry regiment. There have been, according to first reports, some significant casualties. I'm still getting word, but from what we know, the attack was against a battalion headquarters and rest area, where two companies were gathered while . . .”
The 2-21st? Oh, dear God, no. Aaron's video . . . oh, God. I stumble back, hitting the edge of a desk with my hip, but I don't feel it. Everything's starting to swim before my eyes.
“Someone grab Morgan!” I hear a voice say, and suddenly, hands are on my arms, helping me out of the room and into an office. It's cool, and I am sat down in a chair, where the tears start. The people gathered around me are faceless, and I don't know what is going on. I'm just scared. It can't be, it just can't be.
“Everyone out,” another voice says, and the room clears until there's only one person in the room with me. I blink and wipe my eyes, and it's Captain Lemmon, a concerned look on his face and a tissue in his hands. “Hey, Morgan. You okay?”
I wipe my eyes, blowing my nose and shaking my head. “No.”
Captain Lemmon nods and takes a seat in one of the other chairs, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Chill, I saw the news too. But don't sweat it. Sure, the 2-21st is Aaron's battalion, but he'll be okay. There are five companies in that battalion, and so the odds aren't even good that he was involved. Lance's buddy will be fine.”
“He is,” I whisper, tears slipping down my face. “He's fighting right now.”
Captain Lemmon grows concerned, and he goes over, locking the door. “Talk to me. Obviously, you know something, so what's going on?”
I take out my phone, handing it to him. He plays it, then hands it back to me. “We met when he was a yearling at the Academy,” I explain before he can even ask, my voice soft. “I . . . I knew he was a cadet the whole time. He never lied to me at all about it. But there was something about him that made me ignore the rules. It took us a while, but we became friends. And then more. I guess the tipping point was when we raced each other out to Buckner, and we ended up . . . well, you know.”
“When did Aaron find out you were enlisted?” Captain Lemmon asks, not angry, just curious. “How did you two handle it?”