Divided We Fall (16 page)

“Why us, why there?”

Cloud bit on his lip. “My family is there, and I trust you with
their safety.”

“And if I refuse?” Brad asked.

“This wasn’t an offer, Sergeant,” Ericson added.

Chapter 24

The pilot walked around the helicopter, inspecting bits and checking
off items on a clipboard. “I just want to give you fair warning that I’m not
current on the Chinook.” Looking at the man, Brad stopped and held his gear in
his hand. The pilot turned, seeing Brad’s worried face. “Hey, it’s okay; I have
over two thousand hours on the thing. I’m just not current. Driving CH-47s
keeps me fed and out of trouble so I agreed to come out of retirement.”

Brad shook his head, walked to the rear of the helicopter, and
waited for his men to assemble with all their packed gear. If this mission went
correctly, they would not be returning to Savannah. Brad watched as a large,
white school bus entered the airfield and turned toward the three parked
CH-47s.

The bus pulled up and stopped, its brakes hissing. The side door
opened and Joey walked out carrying his heavy rucksack and rifle. He searched
left and right. “Where the hell is Chief? And Brooks?” he asked.

“They are going with the Rangers. Colonel asked for their help; they
needed shooters,” Brad said.

“Then they should have took me,” Joey whined then walked off
toward the large twin rotor CH-47 helicopter. Brad walked away from the bus,
allowing the soldiers to unload. When Turner exited, he stopped beside Brad and
smiled as the rest of the men from the compound fell out, along with several of
the Afghan guards. Brad caught the eye of Hassan, who stopped and grabbed him
tightly; Brad promised they would have more time to catch up on events once
they reached their destination. Brad was surprised to see so many Afghans in
the group. Turner later explained to him that the men pleaded to be allowed to
join the mission. Colonel Ericson saw no reason to segregate them and allowed
any who wanted to volunteer.

Brad stood smiling as he watched Mendez and Cole step off the bus;
they all embraced in a tight group hug. Brad traded quick greetings with them,
avoiding conversations about families, knowing that there was no word from
their home base. Mendez had a large family at Fort Benning before their
deployment to Afghanistan; as far as anyone knew, Benning was gone now and
soldiers had moved to other bases. All over the country, families traveled with
them or to different evacuation areas. For now, Mendez and the others had to
just pretend everything was okay at home, that their loved ones were safe. At least
until they had an opportunity to investigate on their own.

Chelsea was the last off the bus. She was given the option to stay
behind with Ella, but she declined, leaving Shane instead. “Must feel good
seeing your people,” Chelsea said to Brad.

Brad knew that much of Chelsea’s unit was gone, most killed on the
platform and several others while trying to reach the States. “They’re your
people too, Chelsea.”

She forced a smile. “I know.”

Brad walked beside her to the rear of the CH-47. They had three
helicopters in their flight. With only thirty personnel in the advanced party,
they would split into two helicopters, allowing the parties the ability to
split up to support each other, or as a quick reaction force if need be. Brad’s
team would drop in first to secure a landing site, and then Turner would go in
behind him. The third helicopter would stay in orbit, providing cover.

Cloud relayed coordinates of an open recreation area near his
family’s home; from there it would be a short foot patrol to the ranch
property. Cloud showed some concern that if the helicopters tried landing
directly on his father’s property, his dad might get the wrong impression and
try to shoot them down. Cloud said his old man was a bit of a prepper and a
recluse. His father only kept a few people on the ranch as farmhands, but he
had his suspicions he would take in nearby neighbors, and Cloud knew, of course,
that his wife and daughter were there.

He moved to the rear ramp of the lead CH-47 and pushed in along
the center. Long benches ran the length of the aircraft and orange cargo
netting was fixed to the walls. Men sat on the benches with their rucksacks
between their legs, rifles held with the muzzles down. The soldiers were now
properly dressed in Army uniforms and new body armor, similar to what Brad was
wearing. Their final outfitting he supposed; if things worked out at the ranch,
there would be no reason for them to return here.

Brad walked along the center of the helicopter, nodding as he
passed his men. He stopped at the front and sat near the crew chief, who was
standing in an open window inspecting a machine gun. Brad gave the crew chief a
head count and acknowledged they were ready. The man shot a thumbs up and
talked into a microphone. The helicopter whined to life, the engines growing
louder. The crew chief left the rear ramp deployed and Brad watched as the bird
left the ground and circled the outpost. They stayed quiet as the helicopter
climbed into the air, the loud noise of the engines blocking out their
thoughts. Brad caught a small package of earplugs and stuffed them in his ears
to muffle the sounds.

Fires still burned in all directions as the helicopter cut through
large banks of smoke and turned northeast toward their destination. He searched
the faces of his men; most lay on the benches, heads back, and no looks of
anticipation on their faces—these men were spent from the months of being on
alert; they had no adrenalin left to give. This was not Brad’s first air
assault mission, but even he was having trouble getting focused. He looked at
his bag between his knees and tried to visualize the gear inside. Going over a
mental checklist, he felt the pockets where his ammo and other essentials were
stored.

There was no time to rehearse the landing or go over battle
drills. No dry runs if they ran into trouble. Brad focused on the faces of the men
and tried to let his mind wander to avoid stressing over the things he had no
control of. He put his head down and looked at the floor; the sounds of the
engines felt soothing. Close to a three-hour flight to reach the mountain region,
they were pushing maximum ferry range for the helicopters. Even with extended
fuel tanks and splitting the cargo capacity of the helicopters, they were
cutting it close. Still, the CH-47s would be required to stop and refuel at a
remote location on the return leg—an operation that could prove to be far more
dangerous than Brad’s mission was.

Brad felt a slap on his Kevlar push his head down; he opened his
eyes and looked up into the face of the crew chief. “Five mikes out,” he
yelled, his mouth inches from Brad’s ear. “I’ll give you the two clicks out
warning. When we hit, you need to unass, pronto. We have no time to loiter, no
fuel to waste, do you understand?”

Brad acknowledged the instructions. He tapped the soldier next to
him and held up five fingers; the man nodded and did the same, passing it down
the line. Brad watched as men pulled their bags tight between their knees and
readied their weapons. He searched their faces and saw Chelsea sitting between
Cole and Mendez. She felt his stare and looked back at him with a slight grin;
she appeared eager to get this done. The helicopter dropped altitude, banked
hard, and quickly changed direction. Brad’s stomach dropped to his throat as he
looked through a port window; all he could see below was a thick blanket of
trees.

The crew chief was standing, his head hanging from the gunner’s
window; he looked back and showed Brad two fingers. The men on the benches saw
the same thing and readied themselves. The Chinook flared again; turning
sharply, it dropped to just above the trees then made a steep dive and dropped
into a clearing. Before the helicopter had stopped moving, the crew chief was
walking the isle hurrying them to the back and down the ramp. Soldiers poured
out of the back, tossing their bags just off the ramp then continuing to run
forward before dropping to the prone position in a semicircle. Brad had just
taken two steps off the ramp and dropped to his knee when he felt the down
draft of the Chinook taking flight.

The helicopter left a swirling mist of dust and debris as it
departed, leaving them in eerie silence. His team lay motionless, allowing the
sounds of the forest to return as their ears adjusted to the elements and their
eyes adapted to the light. Brad heard the second Chinook; the forest was so
thick that the sounds bounced off the dense cover, and he couldn’t predict its
direction of approach. From behind, he spotted it moving toward them, and then
watched as it performed the same maneuver—circling then quickly losing altitude
before flaring just feet from the ground to allow the men to spill from its
belly. The soldiers departed and disappeared in the knee-high grass as the
second CH-47 pulled away. The third made one quick orbit before it too
vanished, following the others.

Brad sat on his knees, his head barely visible above the grass.
They would wait ten minutes to make sure they were alone. He lowered himself
deeper into the grass, disappearing and trusting his point men while he pulled a
handset from his pack. Brad knew that Turner would be doing the same on his
side of the landing zone. He lay on his belly and consulted his map. Without
visible landmarks, he would have to trust they were dropped on target. Just
through the woods, directly to their front, would be a small blockhouse and
picnic area overlooking a narrow mountain road.

Brad peeked at his watch and lifted his head, taking a quick sweep
in all directions. Confident they were alone, he opened the mic and whispered,
“Three-Zero, Three-One, over.”

“Go for Three-Zero.”

“All clear, we are proceeding to the first waypoint, over.”

“Roger.”

Brad brought his team of fifteen to their feet; they formed a
hasty wedge formation and moved to the tree line. Turner kept his group in
cover, watching and waiting as Brad and his men moved toward the picnic site. Turner
would stay back the entire trip, just out of site, but ready to move forward if
support was needed. Other than that, Brad’s team was alone. He moved through
the tall grass, which quickly turned to mangled and thorny brush. He swam
forward through it, breaking into the tree line.

He lowered his hand and heard the swishing of grass and brush
behind him go silent. He knew his men dropped out of sight when he’d signaled. Far
to his right, he saw Cole kneeling alongside a tall tree. Brad nodded his head,
and Cole stepped into the opening of the picnic area. Just as described, it was
a long narrow park with a slim trail running down the middle. Rotting picnic
tables were on both sides and a partially collapsed log cabin sat near the
entrance, some sort of commemorative plaque on a timber post near its base.
Cole moved slowly along the picnic tables; following the road around, he moved
next to the blockhouse then paused before waving the others forward.

Brad got to his feet and rushed ahead, falling in alongside Joey
as they moved to join Cole. They waited together at the blockhouse as the
others moved out of the landing zone and joined them in the park. Soldiers
stayed behind, providing security while Brad quickly consulted his map. He drew
a line with his finger and indicated the direction of travel to Cole and Joey
before sending them ahead on point. Brad found Chelsea and she moved up beside
him. They stepped off, following the point men and watched as the rest of the
team did the same, forming two columns on each side of the road as they wound
down the steep terrain to the mountain trail below them.

Brad quickly relayed instructions back to Turner over the radio,
letting him know they were moving to the next waypoint. At the bottom of the
road, Cole stopped and waved Brad forward. The mountain trail showed signs of
travel and a fight. He silently pointed to spent shell casings, a clear blood
trail, and farther down the road to where there was lump in the center,
probably a body.

“You want me to run down and check it out?” Joey whispered.

Brad shook his head. “No, best to keep moving.”

“Thought it was supposed to be all clear up here?” Cole asked.

“It’s supposed to be. Keep moving,” Brad said.

Cole nodded and looked to Joey; they stepped off together and made
the right-hand turn following the pass farther north. The road was heavily
rutted and filled with muddy prints from recent travel. The sides of the
footprints were still firm with moisture and not dried or crumbling, making
them recent. No distinction between living or Primal to speak of, but it was
apparent by tire tracks that trucks had traveled on the gravel road within
recent days.

As they moved forward, Brad saw no signs of life but continued
searching the dark forest on both sides of the road for threats. Chelsea stayed
close to him, covering his flank. Brad turned and looked back, observing as his
soldiers patrolled closely with their Afghan counterparts. Mendez stayed
farther to the rear to help keep the men from getting too spread out. All on
the same team now, they moved together, pointing things out in the distance and
helping with maintaining their patrol distance.

It didn’t take long for Cole to call the column to a halt. Brad
traveled to the head of the formations and joined his men. Piled brush was
moved and scattered to reveal a turnoff that led deeper into the woods and up
to higher ground. A pile of mangled fly-covered bodies lay in a depression at
the shoulder of the road. Brad looked at them and turned to Joey, who’d just
walked away from the pile.