A New World: Awakening (6 page)

“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.

“Let’s make our way to the east and see if it’s is clear.
 
We’ll pull the unit through that way if it is and conduct a fighting withdrawal to the LZ.
 
I’m assuming there are casualties so we may have to divert or stall those following,” I said once we were clear and our claymores pulled in.

“So we’ll assist from outside the lines?
 
Clearing a hole for them to get through?”
 
The assistant team leader asked.

“That’s the plan,” I said.
 
The smiles were thin but there nonetheless.
 
See, there’s nothing like coming up behind a force and surprising the shit out of them.
 
Especially seeing we had suppressed weapons.
 
They’d never know we were there and it was my plan to keep it that way.
 
I dialed in the freq given to us.

“Atlas 21, this is Viper, over,” I called whispering.
 
Blank airspace greeted my attempt at communication.

“Atlas 21, this is Viper Six, over,” I called a moment later.
 
Again, no reply.

I switched frequencies back.
 
“Eagle, this is Viper, over.”

“Viper, Eagle, go ahead,” came the response.

“I can’t make contact with Atlas 21.
 
Confirm the freqs we were given are accurate,” I said.

“They are confirmed, Viper.”

“Can you try raising them and act as relay?”
 
I asked.

“Roger, stand by.”

Eagle came back a few moments later informing us that they had negative contact with Atlas 21.

“Copy that, Viper, out,” I said rethinking our plan.

Without contact, we ran the risk of absorbing friendly fire and unable to relay our plan for getting them out.
 
We had to head inside.
 
The volume of gunfire being poured into the field didn’t make the odds look good but there were soldiers down there needing help and there’s no better reason to try what we could.

“Okay, change in plans,” I told the team.
 
“I can’t raise anyone down there.
 
We’ll head to the east as planned then I’ll head inside and make contact.”

We made our way east, creeping just below the crest.
 
The firing at the base of the ridge, just fifty meters away, didn’t let up.
 
The ridge eventually sloped down with the ridge ending just at the eastern edge of the field.
 
The trees lining the open area continued to the south along the eastern side.
 
Only a few shots rang out from there.
 
Behind the few firing on that side, we went on line and crept forward keeping in sight of the team member to our left and right.

The large-leafed vegetation kept our field of vision limited but the sounds of gunfire guided us in.
 
Luckily only a few desultory shots were fired in our direction from the soldiers in the field.
 
There was an occasional spray of bark from one of the large trees flew as rounds made their way in our direction.
 
My concern was how to exit the trees and make my way across the field without becoming the main attraction for the soldiers firing this way.
 
Lowering a large frond, I saw a man laying behind a fallen log firing short bursts blindly into the field.

“We have tangos to our front, fifteen meters,” I whispered into the radio.
 
The copy and additional sightings were radioed in from the other team members.

“Take ‘em out,” I said as I raised my M-4 and centered my red dot on the back of the soldier firing in front of me.

My carbine kicked slightly against my shoulder and the muted coughs of my short burst were hidden beneath the din of the firing all around.
 
The soldier flinched and then settled to the ground; the only difference in the span of moments between his living and his introduction to the next world was that his Ak-47 ceased firing.
 
The sounds directly around us diminished as the others’ rounds found their marks as well.
 
The area to our immediate front became quiet.
 
Now, how to get to the troops out in the field without becoming aerated?
 
I thought edging to the perimeter, keeping low as rounds continued to pepper the trees around us.

“Anyone have anything white?”
 
I asked as we drew closer together.

“You’re kidding right?!”
 
My ATL answered.

“I have a hankie,” our point man said brandishing said handkerchief.

“You guys wait here, I’m going in.
 
Keep the comms open,” I said.

I tied the white, I might also add used, handkerchief to the end of my suppressor.
 
Lying behind the fallen log next to the recently departed, I waved the small flag overhead and started yelling “friendlies.”

I heard someone shouting close by and noted the decrease in incoming rounds.
 
Raising my head above the log, I saw a helmet bob up just above one of the rises.
 
I stood and ventured slowly out to the edge of the tree line keeping my M-4raised and to the side along with my other arm.
 
I didn’t want to stand there long as the firefight was still in full swing.
 
I yelled “friendlies” once again and the helmet became attached to an arm waving me on.

I crouched and ran into the field very much aware of the steel filling the air.
 
With some rounds peppering the ground from fire to the left and right, I dove behind the rise which hid the body beneath the helmet.

“Where the hell did you come from?”
 
The soldier asked.

“Oklahoma,” I answered as if it was the stupidest question I’d ever heard.
 
“Who’s in charge here?”

“Sergeant Connell,” he answered pointing to a group of soldiers hunkered behind one of the larger rises.

“Thanks,” I said and dashed in a crouch plopping myself next to one of the soldiers lying in the center.

Crashing on the ground in a rather less than graceful manner, I looked at the soldier lying next to me.
 
Blue eyes, with a sporting of blond hair peeking out from the helmet, met my look.

“I’m looking for Sergeant Connell,” I said.

“You found her,” she replied.

“Jack Walker,” I said extending my hand as best I could lying pressed into the dirt.
 
She returned the shake lightly and quickly.

“What’s the situation, Sergeant,” I asked.

“Well, we are pinned down on three sides by at least company strength.
 
There are some blocking our route out to the east.
 
The fire has been increasing so I think they’re being reinforced,” she answered.

“Casualties?”
 
I asked.

“Three indigenous KIA with seven wounded.
 
Two soldiers wounded but mobile,” she replied.

“Anyone unable to move?
 
I mean besides the KIA,” I asked apparently full of questions.

“Four.”

“Fuck.
 
That’ll make it harder.
 
“What freq are you on?
 
We tried calling,” I said.

“The radios are out.
 
Both of them have taken hits.
 
And who are you again?”
 
She asked.
 
“Any idea when our support is showing up?”

“You’re looking at it,” I replied.