Watching the video, Paulson smiled while cheers erupted in the command trailer.
Chapter Thirty-One
CLEANING UP THE MESS
May 9, 20:47 (PDT)
Flood, along with the walking remnants of his squad, approached the heat of the smoldering ruins.
In the darkness, the light from the various fires obviated the need for night vision, and Flood lifted his visor. From his vantage point, he detected pieces of the large helicopter spread wide around the Virgin River. Nothing but burning chunks of twisted metal remained. Driven by a gentle breeze, another larger fire swept among the farthest brush, burning east along the river.
As Flood worked closer, assault rifle at the ready, he happened upon the first corpse. Charcoal black, lying in burned-out sage brush, a twisted torso, no legs, fingers curled tight from the cruel heat. He couldn’t tell the sex, or anything else definitive, other than it was dead.
He kept moving closer, stepping over bits of metal, smoldering wires, insulation. All around the wreckage, small shell holes left by the intense cannon fire pocked the desert landscape. The destruction was sickening. More body parts, a leg with no boot, a dismembered hand, a bloodied helmet protection system.
Among the wreckage, as he searched, the area reeked of smoke and death. The destruction was immense and total. Looking at another body, still smoldering, Flood felt vacant. Earlier, he’d wished for revenge, to get the two enemy soldiers who had killed Specialist Kinney. But now, the world devoid of joy, his heart was empty. Sure, the enemy took a beating, but it wasn’t worth it: too many people killed, good soldiers injured, none of it worth it.
“Sir, we’ve got confirmation from Second Platoon. After inspecting the site, multiple enemy KIA counted, probable squad size unit. We have some intact bodies and a bunch of parts. No enemy WIA, all confirmed dead. Overhead surveillance reports no enemy movement. The area is secure,” said Bravo Company Commander Barton in a tired voice.
“Excellent,” replied Lieutenant Colonel Paulson, smiling, pleased with his own performance. Other than the friendly-fire incident, in his opinion, things had gone well. He’d give the good news to General Gist and complain about Federal Inspector Cone. After all, he rationalized, the damn government spy interfered in Operation Catcher, leading to the blue on blue accident. Even with the horrendous civilian distraction, mission accomplished.
Paulson remembered to thank Barton. After all, it was important to recognize contributions, even when trivial. He’d also need Barton to sign off on the after-action report and the sticky events involving Cone. Still smiling, he turned to Barton.
“Captain, a fine job. Pass along my compliments to your team. An absolute and stunning victory. You should be proud. In your report, please point out Cone’s egregious interference. In no way do I hold you responsible for the accidental deaths. I’m sure you agree.”
Barton stared back, and then gave a short, quick nod.
After investigating the Chinook helicopter wreckage, Sergeant Flood and the rest of the able-bodied men from Second Platoon rested near the original target house. Gone were his Third Squad wounded, evacuated to their home base, Fort Carson, Colorado, where doctors awaited with more advanced capabilities.
As Flood leaned against the side of his assigned Stuart, assault rifle slung, the floodlights from the fighting vehicle lighting the sidewalk, he waited for the punishment detail to arrive. Exhausted, one dirty chore remained.
Corporal Able Hanford, one of a handful of men still walking from Flood’s Third Squad, was filthy but seemed to still carry energy from the earlier fight. Walking up to Flood, he shook his head at the row of blanket-covered bodies lying on the sidewalk.
“Bad day,” said Hanford.
Flood nodded.
“Sergeant, I found one more wounded. Not one of ours, but a civilian, an older guy in the house behind the target. Fucked up by a grenade. A grunt from Second Squad identified the guy, says he was trying to protect the ROAS soldiers hiding in the target house. After getting roughed up, the old civilian bastard admitted consorting with the enemy. Second Squad used him as a lure. Weird: I’d have thought more folks around these parts would welcome and help us. Fuck that guy.”
“Is he getting medical treatment?” Flood didn’t care that much, but it was only right.
“Not yet. Our medics are still working on our own.”
“I’ll see if I can round someone up,” said Flood. Before he could call it in, he paused as two older Humvee’s rumbled down the street and parked near Flood.
He watched as Captain Longfellow from Mortuary Services stepped out of the lead Humvee. To his disgust, the captain barely looked at the row of covered bodies stretched in a line atop the sidewalk. Instead, the captain nodded his head in recognition and stomped his direction. Before Flood could get away, the officer was standing in his way with a smile.
“Sergeant, good to see you. I understand we got the bad guys,” said Longfellow.
Flood looked at the overweight officer with disdain. Since jumping into the shell hole the night before to assist the arrogant bastard, bad shit had followed. No doubt, Longfellow started the mess that led to the loss of Kinney and the men now stretched dead on the hard pavement. He didn’t think the lumpy officer could manage twenty pushups or had ever fired a shot in anger. But the fucking guy was an officer.
“Sir, a lot of people died.”
Longfellow looked askance, then put on a broad smile. “Cheer up! Without you, we wouldn’t have gotten the bastards. In my report, I’ve put you and the specialist, what’s his name again?”
“Kinney, sir, Specialist Kinney.”
“Yes. I’ve put you and Kinney in for a decoration. What you accomplished early this morning, going into the pipe, helped us achieve a great victory tonight. By following my foresight, you tracked the enemy, and that led us to finding and killing a full host of enemy insurgents. It’s all in my report, and I’m sure decorations will follow,” said Longfellow.
Flood sneered. He recognized the captain’s motivation. Longfellow wanted nothing more than a decoration himself, to receive the accolades and maybe a promotion. Sure, the two escaped combatants and an entire squad of enemy were killed, but so were a lot of good US soldiers. Thinking about it, the thought of a medal made him feel dirty. “Look around, sir. Kinney’s dead. Tonight, things didn’t turn out well. The whole thing was a cluster fuck.”
Longfellow frowned and then pointed to the group of men gathering behind him. “Look, I’ve got a punishment team here to bag these boys up, and you’re no longer needed.”
Flood stopped leaning against the vehicle and stood straight. “Sir, if you don’t mind, I want to supervise, make sure our fallen troops get treated with respect.”
“No need, Sergeant, that’s my job,” snapped Longfellow.
Too tired to argue, Flood looked one more time at the blanketed forms. He pitied them, all lined up in a neat row, but there was nothing else he could offer. Instead, he took a moment and told Longfellow about the wounded civilian in the nearby house and briefed the captain on the many enemy corpses strewn among the destroyed Chinook.
“I got it, Sergeant,” said Longfellow cutting him off. And without waiting, the captain spun around and barked orders. In response, a bedraggled group of punishment troops shuffled forward.
Flood spotted two faces he recognized. He raised his hand, stopping the pair in their tracks. “Captain, what are they doing here?”
Longfellow glanced at both captured medics. “They’re ROAS prisoners caught last night aiding and abetting the guys you were chasing. Until sentenced, they’re assigned to my punishment detail. They’re medics. I’ll have them look at the wounded civilian you mentioned, and then I’ll make damn well sure they work the Chinook and pick up any pieces with their bare fucking hands.”