Skyfire (17 page)

Trent looked at Sam.  “Ready?  Let’s try to get them a thirty second head start with the casualties.”

“Understood.”

The duo began methodically picking off targets.  For Trent, firing a weapon had always had a hypnotic effect.
Inhale.  Red dot on center of mass.  Squeeze, squeeze.  Exhale. Red dot on center of mass.   Squeeze, squeeze.  Inhale. 
The process repeated continuously at intervals of five to ten seconds, putting Trent into an odd kind of trance.  It was fantastic for the singular focus it allowed, but also predisposed one to the danger of tunnel vision and missing something on the periphery.

Sam was disciplined in her use of the light machine gun.  She never allowed her emotions to get the better of her.  She employed consistent, five-to-seven round bursts, carefully aimed at specific targets.  This added to approximately eighty rounds per minute, ensuring not only accuracy, but that the gun barrel wouldn’t melt due to heat.

“Reloading!” Trent smoothly switched out an expended magazine for a fresh one.

“Roger, I’m amber!” Sam responded, indicating she was at half capacity of her two-hundred round ammo drum.  She continued her bursts.

Now’s as good a time as any. 
“Let’s move!”  Trent glanced at the silhouettes in the distance, under the pulsing light.

“You got it!” said Sam.

They jogged back across the open area to catch up with Callie, Sergeant Martin, Harrison, and the casualties. 

Holy shit, I just killed more American soldiers than I can count. 

Sam and Trent caught up to the group.  The blinking lights of nine helicopters flashed at even intervals in three lines of three, a beacon of hope across the open field. 

“Mike, where are these things going?” said Trent.

“Not sure.”

“Anyone know?”

“I think the medevac points are Dover Air Force Base, West Point, and the Groton Naval Hospital in Connecticut,” said Sam.

Just as she answered, the terrifying and unmistakable sound of incoming artillery rounds shattered the air, accompanied by another blinding flash of light from the hovering phenomenon.  Trent’s face went pale.  For a split second, everyone in the group looked at each other, as if checking to make sure the horrifying experience all around them was real.

“Incoming!” yelled Harrison.  The group hit the ground. 

Trent threw himself on top of Callie and Jessica, knocking them both to the ground. 

“What the fuck, man?” said Callie.

“Trust me! Cover your ears!” Trent made sure he was covering both of the girls.

The ground shook with the impact of the first 105mm Howitzer round.  Trent could tell from the force of the round that the cannon was several hundred meters away.  Then came the sound, delayed by three seconds -
THWOMP! 

“Jesus Christ, what are they shooting at?” yelled an exasperated Sergeant Martin.

“I don’t know!” said Harrison.

“Oh my god, they got hold of the howitzers!  We need to stop them!” yelled Sam.

Take a deep breath, you got this.
  Trent inhaled the smell of gore, sweat, and day-old shampoo on the back of Callie’s neck.  He quickly rose to a knee as another howitzer expended a round into the night sky –
THWOMP!
  The rounds were landing in the direction of the TQ trailers and the aid station.

To his right, in the distance, were the helicopters.  To his left and slightly nearer was the artillery battery, from which he heard a great commotion of small arms fire and screaming. 
We need to take out the gun emplacement before we can worry about getting the birds in the air. 
“Callie, Mike - you guys need to make your way to those birds.  Sam - you, me, and Harrison need to take out this gun emplacement.  Harrison, I want you on my ass.  Sam, I’m going to put you in a support by fire position.  Let’s move!
”
I can’t believe I just set a plan in motion to take out American guns.  What the hell happened to my life?  I used to want to be an artist when I was a kid.
  Trent always found it immensely interesting how his mind wandered during times of crisis.  Some people froze up, others had internal monologues about minutiae.

***

Callie ran low to the ground, Jessica’s body slumped in her arms.  Callie was exhausted, both physically and mentally.  All she needed to do was continue putting one foot in front of the other and it would all be over soon.  Another booming sound resonated, followed by another earth-moving impact.  Callie stumbled, almost losing her footing and her grip on Jessica.  The rounds were creeping closer and closer to the open field adjacent to the Blackhawk helicopters.

Sergeant Martin lagged behind Callie by about ten paces; his casualty was more unwieldy.  He stumbled to the ground, losing his footing from the blast of the round’s impact.  The young soldier fell to the ground.  A bright flash filled the sky.  The casualty Sergeant Martin had been carrying suddenly regained his footing, stretched his arms outward to his sides and released an ungodly screech. 

“Oh shit!” yelled Martin.  He stumbled back, fumbling for his rifle.  He was not nearly as proficient with it under pressure as the others around him.  Then, before he could act, Martin heard the nearly simultaneous sounds of a pistol firing and human gurgling.

Callie stood looking at Martin and the corpse with a blank stare.  Jessica was in her left arm, the pistol firmly gripped in her right hand, still pointed at the corpse.

Martin regained his bearings and awkwardly rose to his feet.  “Thanks.”

“Let’s go,” Callie said.

They continued toward the helicopters.

***

Trent, Sam, and Harrison crept forward toward the artillery battery, now only a hundred meters away.  They knelt behind a line of humvees parked across the adjacent open area.  The artillery battery consisted of six guns spaced fifty meters apart, their ammo caches and gun maintenance equipment set to the side.  The battery was bordered by the TOC, the S2 shop, and the Fire Direction Center (FDC), which had clearly lost control of its gun line.

A typical gun crew includes a section chief, gunner, assistant gunner, and loader.  There was no such organization, however, in the cluster of soldiers stumbling about in random patterns around the cannons.  One soldier was cranking a large wheel, elevating his cannon to a dangerous angle.  Another stumbled forward carrying a large shell.  A similar scene unfolded two guns down the line, where a soldier held the end of a long piece of rope attached to the back of the howitzer’s breach. 
What are the hell are they aiming at
?
The gun was pointed in a southeasterly direction, the bore elevated to almost 90 degrees.  It was highly unusual to see a howitzer cannon elevated to such an extent
.
Oh shit, they’re going after the birds!

Before Trent could react, another soldier rotated the two wheels on the fifth gun.  The gun swung wide right and down, parallel with the grass.  Several other stumbling men grabbed the back of the metal prongs supporting the gun and assisted the rotation.  The fifth howitzer was now pointed directly at the row of humvees serving as cover for Trent and his group.

“Guys, come on!” Trent grabbed Sam by the back of her shirt and pulled her forward.  He then grabbed the handle on the back of Harrison’s body armor, pulling him along as well.  Just then, the gun pointed toward the sky disappeared in a blast of smoke, shortly followed by a thunderous boom.  The round was in the air.

Fuck, we have under twenty seconds till that round lands. And they’re about to shoot that other gun directly at us
!
“Ramos, here!” Trent placed her in a prone position, using the final humvee in the row as cover.  He oriented her SAW toward the howitzer battery.  “You’ve got less than one hundred rounds, make them count. Shoot anyone about to pull one of those lanyards and shift fire to the right as we come through.  Keep your attention on the fifth gun so we don’t get blown the fuck up.”

“Roger!”  Sam began firing her disciplined bursts, aiming as best she could in the pulsing evening light.

The group heard the ominous whistle of incoming rounds, followed by a flash of light and the delayed boom.  Everyone dropped to the ground.  This time, the rounds’ concussive impact felt significantly closer than before.  The furthest of the Blackhawks was a pile of twisted metal and smoldering ash. The bird next to it looked to be fully functional, except for the plume of smoke rising from its engine.

“Harrison,  on me!” said Trent.

“Roger, sir!”

The two sprinted fifty paces to a shipping container just outside the Tactical Operations Center.  Short, controlled bursts from the SAW echoed behind them. 

“You see the cluster of people walking all fucked up by the first gun?” said Trent.

Harrison was out of breath and shaking with adrenaline.  “Yes, sir.”

“OK, I’ll take the left two and you take the right two.  Start firing when I do.” Trent lowered his assault pack to the ground.

Here we go again. 
Trent took a deep breath, stood, and pivoted left on his right shoulder blade, which was pressed to the left door of the shipping container. 
Red dot on center of mass. Exhale.  Squeeze-squeeze. Inhale. Red dot on center of mass. Squeeze-squeeze.
  After their first volley of rounds, a state of pandemonium ensued.  The remainder of the stumbling soldiers shifted their attention from Callie and Sam to Trent’s assault on the gun line.  Screeches filled the air; all soldiers who weren’t on the cannons began shooting their rifles haphazardly.  Most fired in the general vicinity of Trent, but many fired erratically, in all directions.  It was as if their primary intention was to generate chaos, as opposed to a directed effort toward a specific objective.

First gun’s down!
 

Sam was expertly mowing down soldier after soldier on the third and fourth guns, purposefully aiming at least one gun ahead of Trent and Harrison’s movement.

“Sir, I got a hand-frag,” said Harrison. “Should I drop it in the tube?”

“No, not unless you have six of them!  Wait till we’re REALLY fucked!” Trent continued firing controlled pairs, using the first howitzer as cover. 

Shit, Sam’s gotta be almost out of ammo by now.

“Harrison, lay down suppressive fire and come up when I’ve killed everything around the second gun.  We’ll repeat it down the line.”  Trent took two quick shots from around the disabled gun and began running forward.  Three more soldiers remained at the second cannon.  Trent closed on them at a fast walk, his weapon at the ready, engaging targets as they became visible.   Within seconds the second gun, and most of the third and fourth guns, were clear of opposition. 

“Black on ammo!” Sam screamed.

Trent and Harrison continued down the gun line. 

***

Callie and Sergeant Martin were almost to the helicopters.  The chaos around them made it difficult to think or even see clearly.  It was dark, indirect fire was exploding everywhere, and people dressed identically were shooting at each other.  Callie couldn’t tell who was a threat until the last possible second. 

“Go to the second bird!” said Sergeant Martin, still not knowing Callie’s name.  “It looks like some civvies are getting loaded on now.  I’ll cover your movement!”

Callie ran forward, clutching Jessica to her chest. The Blackhawk’s powerful rotor wash caused her to stumble a bit as she ducked, but she kept her balance.  The helicopter was not configured for a medical evacuation, but the army was using any available transport aircraft to get civilians and wounded out of the madness. 

“I have a sick child!  Please, I need help!” Callie pushed through the disorganized crowd gathered at the open side door of the helicopter.

***

Trent and Harrison were pinned down at the fifth gun.  The soldiers were unloading a barrage of rounds, making it nearly impossible to fire back with any semblance of accuracy.  Fortunately, the shots weren’t aimed.

NOWwe’re fucked
.
“Give me that frag!” Trent shouted.

Harrison unclipped it from the left side of his body armor and passed it over.

“Frag out!” Trent lobbed the grenade toward the mass of soldiers near the final gun. 

The grenade hit the sweet spot ten meters in front of the sixth gun,  bouncing twice and then rolling just to the left of the emplacement.

Please, please, please…

The grenade detonated.  “Fuck yes! Harrison, on me!  Assault through!”

“Roger sir, right behind you.”

I love this kid’s attitude.

The two ran at full speed toward the last gun.  As the smoke cleared, it appeared that everyone around the gun was dead. 

“Sir, we got a live one here!”

They walked to a man on the ground, gurgling. He had the telltale red membranes and viscous fluid seeping from all orifices.

“So kill him,” said Trent.

Harrison stood silent.

Trent nonchalantly thrust his bayonet into the soldier’s neck.  The soldier’s screech was bone-chilling.  Trent pushed forward on the blade, severing the man’s vocal cords and spinal column.  The screeching ended as he moved the blade around like an arcade joystick.  As Trent extracted the serrated, gore-soaked edge of the bayonet, it made a sucking sound followed by a pop.