Joint Task Force #4: Africa (28 page)

Most would have paused, but in Razi’s clouded mind, time slowed. He laughed as he changed direction slightly. Razi reached the two boy soldiers, slamming both fists
against their heads at the same time. The young lad standing over Carson raised his gun, swinging it toward Razi, who had changed direction and was charging the remaining boy soldier. Razi howled, his war cry shocking the young soldier, causing him to pull the trigger before the automatic weapon was fully aimed. A fleeting thought of what it was going to feel like when those bullets hit crossed his mind, but Razi continued running—his cry filling the jungle. The weapon swung a few more inches and Razi’s howling grew in intensity as he closed the space between them, a calm thought crossing his mind wondering if this time the boy’s aim would be more accurate.

From the right, MacGammon hit the young African lad, causing the weapon to spray a pattern of bullets around Razi, barely missing the chief. MacGammon landed on top of the boy and started slamming his fists into the young lad’s head, continuing to pound even when the boy was unconscious.

Razi stopped and looked down at MacGammon beating the boy. He turned. Rockdale had grabbed one of the weapons and was picking up the other from the two boys Razi had slam-dunked.

“A fourth,” Razi said. “There’s four of them.”

Rockdale shrugged, hurried over to MacGammon, and grabbed his arm in midswing. “I think he’s out of it.”

Razi grabbed a weapon from Rockdale. “There’s another one out there. Stay here. I’ll be back.” And he dashed into the bushes, disappearing quickly from view. Behind him, Rockdale shouted for him to come back, but he couldn’t. Unfinished business was here somewhere. He glanced at the weapon. AK-47, he surmised. He wasn’t sure because he wasn’t a Marine, but he recalled the intelligence specialist saying AK-47s were the automatic weapon of choice for poorly paid terrorists. Besides, he would never ask a Marine what it was; they’d bask too much in the pleasure of
having a chief petty officer ask them about something they believed every Navy person ought to know. No, he’d never ask a Marine. A limb swung back and slapped him across his face. Where was his helmet, he wondered as he kept charging.

MACGAMMON STOOD UP, HIS EYES NEVER LEAVING THE
unconscious boy beneath him. Morning filtered through the trees, bringing faint light to the men. “You all right?” he asked, his breathing short and rapid.

Rockdale nodded. “I’m fine. Let’s check Stetson.”

A moan from Carson told them he was still alive. MacGammon laughed. “He’d gonna be one sorry motherfucker, isn’t he?”

Rockdale’s brow wrinkled. “What do you mean?”

“Well, when we get out of here today, everyone—even
Reader’s Digest
—are gonna want to know what happened, and only you and I will know.”

“The chief will know.”

MacGammon looked around the area. “Are we sure what we just saw was real? One moment we’re about to be shot, and the next, we got Badass running through our campsite, screaming at the top of his lungs, slapping Africans about.”

“Then he grabs a gun and disappears back into the bushes,” Rockdale added. “Not the Chief Razi I know.”

“You bet it wasn’t. I didn’t see a single officer to watch him. You know what, Rocky? I bet ya he’s nuts.”

“How can we tell? I’ve always thought he was nuts.”

Gunfire from nearby sent the two men diving for the ground.

“I hope he gets whatever he’s shooting at.”

“He said something about there being four of them.”

The sound of movement drew their attention. They saw the feet of the boy soldiers the chief had knocked down disappear into the brush. Rockdale raised the automatic weapon and pointed toward where they disappeared.

“I wouldn’t do it,” MacGammon said. “The chief is out there somewhere. You might hit him.”

Rockdale didn’t reply, but he lowered the weapon.

Carson moaned.

“Let’s get his helmet off. Did you put it on him last night?”

“Yeah, I did,” Rockdale replied. “You should have seen the mosquitoes covering him when I got up to throw more wood on the fire.” He kept searching the surroundings, afraid any moment those Africans were going to return.

“Told you so,” MacGammon said as he unstrapped the helmet and pulled it off Carson. Carson’s hair was matted to his head, several streaks of hair falling across his eyes when the helmet came free. “See, Rocky. That’s why the Navy makes us have short hair.”

More gunfire came from a little farther out.

“He must be chasing him.”

“Chasing his own shadows, more likely,” MacGammon said.

They squatted beside Carson. “You want to hand me some bandages?”

“I gotta find our survival vests. They tossed them into the bushes when we took them off,” MacGammon said as he stood. “You know something, Rocky?” He let a deep breath out. “That was as scared as I’d ever been.”

Rockdale set the helmet aside. “I know,” he said without looking up. He was afraid that if his eyes met MacGammon’s, the slight hold he had on his emotions would let go. “I thought we were going to die,” he continued, his voice trembling.

“Yeah, me, too.”

“Be careful,” Rockdale said.

MacGammon brushed off the seat of his flight suit as he walked across the parachute. “I doubt there are any others around here. What with the chief beating the shit out of two of them—”

“I thought you were going to kill the other one.”

“I would have,” he said softly, “if you hadn’t stopped me.” A few seconds later, he pushed into the bushes on the opposite side.

Rockdale listened to him searching. He raised the AK-47 and started scanning the surrounding bushes. The survival vests couldn’t be too far. They weighed too much for the three lads who had the drop on them to toss them too far.

“I can’t find them!”

More gunfire, even farther away, broke the morning noise of an awakening jungle.

Rockdale stood. “They’ve got to be out there,” he said, stepping across the parachute toward the bushes, glancing back once at the unconscious Carson and African boy.

MacGammon stepped back into the campsite clearing just as Rockdale reached the edge. “They’re gone,” he said, tossing a couple of energy bars onto the parachute. “That’s all I could find. The chief was right. There must have been a fourth one.”

“Must have been more than four. If the fourth one was as small and tiny as the three we saw—”

“Speaking of the three,” MacGammon said, pointing, “Where is the one I hit?”

Rockdale turned and looked. Only seconds ago, the third African boy lay sprawled out near the edge of the campsite. “Looks as if we’ve lost all three.”

“At least we have their weapons.”

“Weapons!” Rockdale shouted. “Without radios, how in the hell is the helicopter going to know where we are?”

MacGammon smiled. “The chief! We use Badass’s radio.”

“Shit! He didn’t have a survival vest on when he crashed into here. He didn’t have much of anything on. He didn’t have his helmet, and his flight suit looked as if someone had taken a razor to it.”

The smile left MacGammon’s face. “You gotta be shitting me. Badass is a NATOPS instructor—
He’s our NATOPS instructor
,” MacGammon said, slapping his chest a couple of times. “The man wouldn’t leave his survival vest.” Then in a near whisper, MacGammon added, “Badass is too much of an asshole to violate an instruction!”

A wavering howl stopped Rockdale as he started to reply. “What the hell!” The howl reminded Rockdale of an old Tarzan movie that his parents enjoyed. “Where did Razi learn that?”

“I think Chief Razi’s gone native,” MacGammon said.

”THE HELICOPTER IS AIRBORNE, SKIPPER,” LIEUTENANT
Commander Peeters said, sticking his head through the curtains. “Should be on station in an hour.”

“Wow!” Commander Greensburg replied. Nodding toward the east, he continued. “The sun has barely broken the horizon and the Air Force is airborne. Dell, write that down. It’ll be a great quote someday.”

“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Evans said, ignoring an order heard numerous times when flying with the skipper.

“Keep me informed on their progress, Chuck. I suspect we still haven’t managed to raise our lads?”

“No, sir, but we’re calling constantly,” Peeters replied,
his voice trailing off. “Not sure why they haven’t responded. We’re in the right spot where they bailed out, and between the four of them, they have four PRC-90s. We thought about dropping a CRT-3, but it wouldn’t do much good to give them a larger, more capable radio when we have no idea exactly where they are, so we’d only be throwing it away. We did drop the number-three life raft.”

“Why’d you do that? There’s no ocean around here except this jungle canopy.”

“We thought they could use the food and water rations stored in it, as well as the radio.”

Crazy Harry chuckled. “What we’re going to find is the life raft in the top of one of these trees. Damn, best of intentions—”

Pits stood up and put his hand on Chief Roberts’ shoulder. “You want to take a break?”

“I want to know as soon as we make contact.”

Peeters acknowledged the order and pulled his head out of the cockpit, allowing the curtains to close.

“No, I’m okay, Pits. Besides, it’ll be full daylight soon and this is the part of flying I enjoy most.”

“Dell, let’s take her down to treetop level.”

“Roger, Skipper.”

Pits grabbed ahold of the back of the flight engineer’s seat as the EP-3E tilted forward.

“Ah, come on, Lieutenant! I said take her down, not drive around.”

Pits put both hands on the back of the seat. In the next instant, the EP-3E’s angle of descent increased past 45 degrees, as Crazy Harry grabbed the yoke and pulled back on the throttle.

“Set Condition Three,” Chief Roberts announced on the internal communications system.

From the rear of the huge reconnaissance aircraft came
the sound of things falling, metal carrying cases toppling over, and curses from the aircrew as coffee and liquids joined the mess.

“Skipper,” Chief Roberts said, “You know it would be best if we gave warning to the crew before we did one of your maneuvers.”

Pits shifted his feet slightly to get a better position. Crazy Harry’s face appeared in the reflection of the cockpit window.

“What do you mean, Chief, one of my maneuvers? Our aircraft and our crews are always ready for the unexpected. Did you hear any complaints from back there?”

“No, sir, no complaints, but it’ll take a while to clean up the aisle.”

“Gripe, gripe, gripe. Lieutenant Evans, take a note to remind me to write to the Master Chief Petty Officer of the Navy about the caliber of chief petty officers we’re getting in the Navy today. Used to be, back in my time, a chief would never question a skipper’s actions. Nowadays, everyone has a hotline but a skipper.”

The aircraft eased up on its descent. Pits glanced at the altimeter and saw the dial slowing as they passed eight thousand feet.

“Chief, why don’t you— No, you, Senior Chief. Take a walk through my aircraft and tell me who wasn’t ready for us taking this bird down. You get their names and tell them their careers are shit.”

Pits smiled. “Yes, sir, but you know something, Skipper. I’d be surprised if everyone wasn’t ready. They know to be ready for the unexpected when you’re the pilot.”

“See, Chief Roberts! There’s a senior chief who knows his people.”

“But I will walk through the back, sir, and see how everyone is doing.”

“Good, and while you’re back there, bring me another cup of coffee.”

The nose of the aircraft rose. The altimeter showed them at four thousand feet.

“Passing four thousand, Skipper.”

“Okay, Dell, we’re going to start circling here. Tell the navigator to mark this as Mark Zero. Then, we’re going to increase our circle by three to five miles every 360-degree circuit. If we haven’t heard from them by the time we’re thirty miles out, then we’ll start heading back toward Mark Zero.”

Pits stepped out of the cockpit. All along the aisle, aircrewmen were shoving publications and loose items back into metal boxes. Several were wiping up spilled coffee. He saw no gaggle of people in any one area that would have been indicative of an injury, which was another sign of the skipper’s immortality. For two years, the man had been leading one of the two Navy reconnaissance squadrons and during that time, not one crash; not one death; and not one major injury had occurred. Pits also knew that the cloak of immortality would disappear in an instant if any of those three things ever did occur. It may be the information age, but sailors’ superstitions survived intact.

Ahead of him, Lieutenant Commander Peeters approached. “The helo is an hour out,” he said to Pits as he eased past the senior chief and entered the cockpit.

Won’t do much good if we don’t know where they are or what happened to them,
he thought as he started down the aisle toward the head and the mess. Flying a reconnaissance aircraft was lot like a day at work. You had a makeshift cubicle where you did your work; the bathroom was down the aisle; and, both a lounge and place to have coffee rounded out the workplace.

RAZI SLOWED FROM HIS RUN TO A WALK AS HE BLINKED
rapidly, trying to get his sight back after so many limbs had whipped across his face. With his free hand, he wiped the debris away, spitting out the bits of vegetation. His breathing was rapid and deep. It had been dawn when he charged into the campfire, now morning light filtered through the jungle canopy.

His brow rose up and down several times before his eyes stopped blurring and he could see again. He turned his head, searching the surrounding bush, spotting the telltale signs to his left that someone or something had bent the African bush back as it made a path. Razi started running again, chasing whoever or whatever was heading in that direction. He raised the AK-47, his finger still on the trigger. “No,” he said aloud, thinking to save however many bullets remained in the weapon. He laughed slightly. But when he spotted this last child warrior, he was going to blow the little man’s head off. A vision of a single bullet hole in the center of the boy’s forehead flashed across his thoughts.