Cinderella Liberty (12 page)

"Check your email."

Sighing, Crash sat and logged into his computer. Sure enough, there was an email in his inbox. They'd called a senior staff NCO meeting starting in—he glanced at the time in the corner of the screen—half an hour. At least maybe they'd finally hear what was up.

~

"No eating in the chow hall. You get your food and leave. No gathering in large groups of any kind." The Senior Enlisted Advisor, Master Gunnery Sergeant Devon, passed on that order to the stunned Marines in the room. "Direct order from the CO, Lieutenant Colonel Hinman."

Crash and close to two dozen senior staff NCOs, including Zippy, sat around the long table in the large conference room located across the hall from where Crash worked in Production Control. There were two large TVs and a big-eye for doing computer generated power point presentations, but it seemed they wouldn't be needing any of that for this meeting.

No more chow hall. Senior enlisted on roving guard duty. Weapons at arm's length, even in quarters. "What the hell is going on?"

Crash had whispered the question more to himself than to anyone else, but the guy next to him leaned close. "Ramadan's ending. They're afraid that's when the shit's gonna hit the fan."

Shit
was a good word right about now.

CHAPTER 11

A week in, the no eating in the chow hall order was starting to wear on him. Crash barely took a lunch break any more. He'd get his food, bring it back to his office and eat at his desk. That made his twelve plus hour day seem to drag by even slower than usual.

Maybe he should start going back to the CLU and take his lunch breaks there with Zippy, but that would mean watching one of Zippy's weird ass TV shows.

Nope, better to stay in the office.

Crash swallowed a forkful of tuna and glanced at his screen as his email alert chimed. He smiled as a message from Trish popped into his inbox and clicked to open it.

Just checking in. You need more sardines yet? (Ick!)

Hope you're having a good day!

Trish

She was so damn cute. He hit reply and had just laid his hands on the keyboard to write a message back when, for no apparent reason, he lost signal.

Now what? He truly didn't understand how they could have such shitty internet on a major base in this day and age. He sat and waited, hoping it was just a blip and the signal would come back. The warning flashing across his screen told him this was no blip and this was no run of the mill internet outage.

The code word that crossed his screen told Crash command had cut all communications for everything coming from or going to anywhere other than Leatherneck/Bastion. This was not good.

Exterior communications were intentionally blocked for a number of reasons. Death of a military member, a visiting dignitary or high-dollar general, or an attack—either against the allies or initiated by them. 
 

What had prompted this one? He hated to think it was a casualty. It had been so quiet lately he'd thought the precautions put in place by command for the possible attacks at the end of Ramadan had been insane. The holiday had ended yesterday at sunset, but nothing had happened last night, when Crash had assumed any attack would have come.

The sound of the base-wide alarm told Crash this was no visiting dignitary. This was an attack.  The insurgents had been biding their time, or maybe celebrating yesterday, but now they were ready to fight.

He stood fast, sending his desk chair skidding behind him as he did. Crash grabbed his body armor and turned to the other personnel in the office. "Flaks and Kevlars on."
 

Pistol in his holster and his rifle in hand, he headed out of the office door and peered inside to the room next to his. "What's happening?"

The Marine inside in the process of pulling on his own Flak shook his head. "Hell if I know."

With an uneasy feeling in his stomach, Crash moved farther down the hall as the alarms continued to sound. He neared the closed door of the CO's office and could hear the muffled conversation of the commander and the Executive Officer, Major Hintner, inside.

Eavesdropping was not usually Crash's thing, but this was not a usual situation. He leaned closer hoping to hear something, anything, positive.

He jumped as the door swung wide. The XO stood in the opening glaring at Crash, who couldn't hide he'd been listening. Whatever was happening had the Major pushing past him and heading toward the Maintenance Chief's office rather than reprimanding Crash.

This had to be bad.

Pushing his luck a bit further, Crash followed. He arrived in time to hear most of the XO's conversation with the Maintenance Chief.

"—get word out to every division chief to have all Marines don their Flaks and Kevlars and have all firearms at the ready, condition three."

 
The weapons were to remain in condition three—bolt forward, full magazine in, weapon on safe. It still didn't tell Crash why or what had happened.

"Roger that." The sound of the Maintenance Chief's chair scraping across the floor had Crash jumping back from the door and slipping into his own office before he could be seen again. He'd been caught once already. Attack or no, that was enough for one day.

The Master Sergeant in Crash's office, weapon in hand as he watched his computer screen, glanced up when Crash slipped in. "You find out what happened?"

"No. You?" Crash asked.

"No."

Crash heard the Maintenance Chief barking at some Marines out in the hallway. It sounded as if he was grabbing them to act as runners to get the word out to Marines not near their computers. Three for the detached maintenance shops, and three more for the CLUs where the personnel working night crew would be sleeping. But the Chief pulled the six into his office before Crash could hear what that word they'd be passing was.

An email alert chimed on the Master Sergeant's and Crash's computers simultaneously. Crash moved to his desk and bent low to read it. It was an all hands internal communication from the Maintenance Chief repeating the same orders he'd overheard the XO give while he'd been listening, plus the order that they were to report immediately to the nearest bunker and remain there for accountability checks.

Still no explanation as to why. Crash couldn't take it anymore. He strode into the hall and found the Maintenance Chief in his office in front of his computer, which made sense since he'd just sent that email.

"Excuse me, Master Sergeant. What's happened?"

The man glanced up, the severity of the situation clearly visible on his face. "The main gate on Leatherneck was compromised."

"By who?"

"Not exactly sure. The suicide vest detonated before we could ask him."

Fuck. No other words came to mind as Crash stood dumbstruck.

"Get to a bunker, Gunnery Sergeant."

"Roger that, Top." On autopilot, Crash made his way outside as ordered.

"Did you fucking hear what happened?" Zippy's question knocked Crash out of his daze the moment he got inside the bunker.

"Suicide bomber breached the gate on Leatherneck. That's all I know." Six miles away from where they were on Bastion. No wonder he hadn't heard the explosion.

"Yeah, but there's more. There were casualties."

Crash's attention snapped to Zippy. "How many?"

"Don't know, but multiple. I heard there were both Brits and Americans killed."

"Fuck."

"Yeah. And I heard we intercepted some messages. In between the praying, the enemy is ranting about fire raining down from the sky to take out all infidels."

Heightened adrenaline had Crash's mouth dry and his hand tightening on his weapon.

An explosion sounded in the distance, but still too close for comfort.  Crash turned to Zippy. "There's that fire from the sky you heard about."

A Corporal ran into the bunker, his face white. "A rocket just hit the flightline. It destroyed at least one of the Ospreys."

This was no single suicide bomber. This was a coordinated attack and they were targeting the aircraft.

The indirect fire warning sirens sounded as more Marines pushed into the bunkers located next to the HQ building. As the rockets continued to explode around them, they had no other choice but to hunker down and wait. Wait for new orders. Wait for the attack to end. The problem was, Crash wasn't real good at waiting.

The bunker, already like an oven, became filled with Marines and the stench of sweat and fear. It was almost unbearably hot, but there was nothing they could do about it besides look forward to the coming sunset. Then at least it would cool off a little. But that was a double-edged sword considering what was going on. If the enemy was this bold in broad daylight, what the hell did they have planned for when night hit?

"What should we do, Gunnery Sergeant?"

At that question from a Corporal, Crash glanced around and realized he and Zippy were the two senior Marines in the bunker.

"We stay put," Zippy answered the younger Marine.

Crash had heard stories about the rocket attacks that had plagued this area since the camps were built.  Likely every Marine in this bunker had heard them too. The attacks came from out of the blue, but didn't last long.  As soon as a hunter-killer team, the Huey and a Cobra helicopter sections that flew together, was able to launch, they would find the source of the rockets and destroy it. Then all would be right with the world again—until the next insurgents found their way through the desert and within range of the camp.

But today's attack had targeted the flightline, possibly damaging the aircraft for their close air support, and Crash didn't know how long it would be before the good guys could launch an air attack, if they were able to at all.

The rockets continued, giving no indication that they'd stop any time soon. The Marines stayed put, as ordered. Some cussed, some prayed, some were silent.  Most were young maintainers on their first deployment, not sure that they had made the right choice to come in the military amidst a twelve-year war.  Unlike Crash, they would have been children during the attacks of nine-eleven and when this war started.

  Crash pulled the small notebook he always kept on him out of his pocket along with a pen. He'd have to jot down the names of everyone in the bunker, starting with those standing nearest to him. He'd need that information for the accountability muster that someone would be calling for as soon as the attack subsided.

Nearby, one young female Marine was visibly shaken. Tears ran down her cheeks as she clutched her rifle.

"Crap." Crash didn't need hysterics in the middle of an attack, and this young Marine didn't need the reputation having a breakdown right now would give her. It would follow her for the rest of her career.

Zippy followed Crash's gaze and saw her too. "I'll handle it." He took a step closer to her. "Where you from, Corporal?"

"Phoenix." Her voice trembled.

"Well then, you must be used to this kind of heat, huh?"

"Yes, Gunny."

"But it's a dry kind of heat, right?" Zippy asked, humor in his voice. "Isn't that what you Arizona people always say?"

He got a small, shaky smile out of the girl. "Yes, Gunny."

Crash heard the low murmur of Zip's voice, followed by hers while the conversation continued and Zip did his best to calm, or at least distract her so the others wouldn't see how badly she was affected by the attack. Just talking to her seemed to help. With Zippy on that duty, Crash moved through the bunker to get the rest of the names.

As the sun slipped over the horizon, darkness fell and the sounds of the explosions subsided. Still, they stayed put.  Like it or not, they couldn't leave the bunker until the all clear alarm sounded.

There was a variety of reactions to their forced confinement. Some rested easy. One guy even managed to sleep while sitting propped against the wall. Most remained vigilant, especially the senior Marines, Zippy and Crash among them.

Crash wasn't about to let his guard down. He'd heard stories about how the insurgents would fire the rockets in bursts, sometimes thirty minutes to an hour apart.

It was close to half an hour of silence when the sound of another rocket exploded in the vicinity of the flightline, followed by a second.

So much for the peace and quiet and so much for launching an air attack. Who knew what shape the aircraft were in at this point?

Another rocket whistled through the air, the sound coming in their direction almost in slow motion before it impacted between the bunker where they were and another one some hundred feet away.  The blast caused the ten-inch thick concrete bunker's heavy top to shift, putting them all inside at risk of being crushed to death. Crash for one, was not about to sit in that death trap and wait for the roof to fall on him.

"We gotta get them the hell out of here." Crash spoke low enough only Zippy would be able to hear.

"Agreed."

Crash moved to the entrance and peered outside, searching for the telltale trail of another rocket. Seeing no sign of any, he turned back to the Marines inside the bunker. "This roof's not safe. Split up and get into the bunkers nearby."