Whiskey Delta – Chapter 42
“In any problem where an opposing force exists and cannot be regulated, one must foresee and provide for alternative courses. Adaptability is the law which governs survival in war as in life.”
-Sir Basel H. Liddel-Hart
Smoke was rising from the Stryker, thin clouds of a black and grey emerging from every open hatch, and threatening to get worse. They were almost finished with the load out, just Braun needed to be hoisted into the back now. He was proving the least cooperative of them though. Still dazed from shock and morphine, he was nevertheless determined to make sure Saunders remembered something…
“The head… don’t forget the head…” he muttered.
Saunders looked back over her shoulder. Mill was still inside looking. She kept uttering reassurances to Braun, but he didn’t seem to be buying it. Whether he was more conscious than they gave him credit for or simply unable to follow what Saunders was saying, they didn’t know. He was just insistent.
“It’s all that matters… get it out…”
“We’re working on it,” Saunders said as they finally got him to the bed and began hoisting him up.
“Stop!” he yelled. They did. “Turn me around. C’mon!”
Saunders looked to Kobayashi and motioned downward. Slowly, they brought him to his feet and turned him around, in the direction of the Stryker. Braun took several deep breaths and fought to keep his head up. His mutters became a bit more clear, though he had to fight to enunciate every word.
“Where is he?”
“He?” asked Saunders. “You PFC Mill?”
Braun shook his head heavily. “Where’s Mance? We aint leaving without Mance…”
Saunders cleared her throat and shared another worried look with Kobayashi. What were they to make of that? Conscious enough to know that Mill still hadn’t emerged from his head-finding mission, but talking about a disembodied head as if it were still attached to a living person. Might that be an indication of drug-induced delirium, a waking episode? Either way, it was a good thing he had already been relieved of command.
“C’mon… bring me Mance…”
Saunders looked back to the vehicle. She had her own reasons for being worried at this point. Mill was just behind them a moment ago, but he was lingering inside. Another minute or so and the Stryker was likely to be on fire, or worse, go up. All that unexploded fuel and munitions that were still inside. Fifty-cal rounds, five-five-sixes, grenades and what was left of their unexploded Claymores and C4. All it would take was for the diesel to start a chain reaction, and that was going to happen sooner or later…
“C’mon, Mill,” she said herself. Mance could be damned at this point, but she wasn’t about to lose another soldier to an accident. Not when they were still this far from home.
“Fuck,” she said, removing Braun’s arm from her shoulder. She handed him off to Kobayashi amidst the LT’s grunts of protest. “Get him in, I’m going back.”
“Uh, ma’am?” Kobayashi managed to get a hold of Braun just fine, despite his struggling.
“Just do it.” She ran for the Stryker and keyed her comm. “Mill, what the hell’s taking you so long in there?”
She got a strained reply as he came on, his voice sounding heavy and thin. “Can’t see anything in here. The smoke is too thick. I can’t breathe with this helmet sealed either.”
“You’re just feeling claustrophobic. Turn on your thermal, you should be able to see okay.”
“There’s fire all around me! I’ll be blind as shit!”
“Mill, you’ll be fine, keep your eyes low,” she said calmly. “It should be on the floor somewhere. That cave-in probably knocked it from its compartment.”
A pause before he replied. “Alright, ma’am. Switching to thermal. Wish me luck.”
She waited. A few seconds passed and there was some dull clunks coming from inside the cabin. A loud one sent her reaching for the comm in a hurry.
“Mill, are you okay?”
He was breathing hard when he came on again. “Yeah… just looked into the flames for a sec. Fuck, it hurt!” She was about to chastize him but he cut her off. “Good news is, I think I got it. I got a hold of something plastic, feels like a big fucking potato inside.”
“Good job! I’m coming to get you out.”
She ran for the vehicle and was up onto the back in no time. Adrenaline and the urge to dust off was putting some mighty springs into her steps. She landed just shy of the hatch and reached inside. Her had to keep her visor down to avoid the smoke, and elt the comm do the talking.
“Can you see my hand? I’m right on top of you. Can you see it?”
She saw another hand waving smoke away a few feet from her. It searched forward and grabbed a hold of hers. No more words on an open comm were necessary, just for the adrenaline to give her an added burst of strength. She pulled.
Mill didn’t come easy, but once she got him high enough to reach the seat with his foot, he managed to give himself a boost and nearly toppled out on top of her. The bag swung and hit her in the hip, nearly sending her over the side as well. She grabbed a hold of him to steady herself and flipped her visor up.
“Alright! Now let’s get out of here, this crates about to blow!”
Mill nodded and jumped with her from the rear. Making sure the bag was still intact, they took off towards the pickup truck. Whitman honked a few times and revved the engine as they sprinted towards him. She didn’t look back until they finally reached the cab and Mill had jumped in the rear. She took the bag from him and opened the passenger door, paused for a second to give their vehicle one last look.
What a waste, she thought.
The Stryker was now a big plume of smoke. Black clouds poured from her hatches and small orange flames began to poke up from the rear door. Her fuel tanks were now completely ablaze, and the interior was sure to go up in a matter of seconds. She saw the look on Whitman’s face too; the look of a kid who just had their favorite toy taken away and then smashed in front of them. For the first time since they pulled him from the wreckage, the loss of their Stryker seemed to be hitting him. It seemed appropriate, he knew better than the rest.
She tossed the bag in the door and jumped in. Beaumont was in the middle, sandwiched next to Whitman. Neither looked particularly happy about her sending the bag on in ahead of her. Whitman managed to curl his injured tongue in tight enough to get a few audible words out.
“Shih! You gotta ride up fromp wiff that fing?”
“It’s our objective, Private. I wanna make sure we don’t lose it in transit.”
“Ugh, then give it to the Elw-Tee. He sheems fwond of it.”
She looked at the soon-to-explode vehicle ahead of them, the one which they were too close to to be having this argument. “Just get us the fuck out of here, you stupid hick! That vehicle is going blow!”
“I know, goddawmit!” Whitman sobbed and threw the truck into reverse. They cleared the lane and nearly smashed into a wrecked car behind them. He shifted it into drive and paused just long enough to kiss his fingers and plant them on the windshield.
“I’m sowry babe!” he said to her before brining them into a tight turn and shooting them off in the direction of Chinatown and stepping on it. Only when they were several meters clear did Saunders begin to breath easy again. She didn’t even flinch when, several blocks away, they heard a loud thud behind them and saw smoke rising in the rear view mirror.
“Holy shit,” she muttered. “No more close calls.”
Beaumont looked at her with panic stricken eyes. Clearly, he was in complete agreement on that. Unlike her, he couldn’t take another, let alone tolerate one. He still didn’t appear to be addressing the loss of another one of his men, but she hoped her gesture would prove meaningful to him as well. In the rear, Sanchez continued to hold vigil over his friends body while Kobayashi watched over Braun and Dezba. Mill, however, stood guard, hanging onto the rear of the cab. He had retrieved his trust SAW from the Stryker and was now their gunner for the remainder of the journey.
Yes, she thought. The remainder… and checked her chrono. Just twenty-five minutes to the hour, which gave them exactly fifty-five minutes to get on scene and be ready to go. As per their briefing, they knew that the Herc making the pickup would only be able to circle a few times before having to pull back and refuel. Contingency plans were available, but the Colonel had been most insistent that it not come to that. Perhaps she now understood why…
Provided they had no more contacts, either from Whiskeys or – God forbid – another chopper – there was just the matter of making contact with the evac plane and convincing it to land. That all depended on the state of the runway. She felt an unwelcome tinge of anxiety as her mind was forced to consider this last point and wonder what that might be like.
Dear God, let it be clear, she pleaded. Saunders had never been much for praying, but if a last minute conversion would help them get out of this mess, what was the harm?
She discretely crossed herself and uttered a little prayer for clear skies and clear roads, all the way home!
