“Got it. There’s only one road. We’ll separate into three fire teams. One will stay at the LZ. The other two can separate along the road and make sure it stays secure.”
They came to a shallow stream. The group crossed it all at once, the water getting only ankle-deep. As the group began to help each other up the bank on the other side of the stream, Chase heard a snap.
The sound could have been confused for a breaking tree branch — except for the fact that one of the Marines collapsed into the stream, facedown. A blur of dark red blood poured out of his back.
Yellow muzzle flashes from the forest behind them, followed by bursts of automatic gunfire. Chase grabbed onto a branch overhanging the stream and pulled himself up the embankment. He then turned around and lay in the prone position, taking stock of their attackers.
A single loud crack to Chase’s left turned into an outbreak of return fire. One of the Marines began firing his M240G squad automatic weapon, or SAW, and the tropical forest erupted in noise. Tracer rounds sliced through the air in a flat line over the shallow stream, and into the dark jungle on the other side.
Thunk.
Thunk.
Chase turned at the noise. Two of the Marines fired grenade launchers toward the attackers and then moved positions.
One of the Marines ran to the stream and grabbed the corpse lying in the water. He slung it over his shoulders, then turned and ran back to cover.
Darby jogged up next to Chase. “Why aren’t those bastards moving in on us? They’re just sitting back there, trying to pick us off from far out.”
“I don’t know. But we can’t stay here and fight. We’ll need to keep moving. What are our options?”
“I could leave a team here, but I’d rather not do that. I could…”
Movement out of the corner of Chase’s eye. Airborne. Chase looked up and tried to make sense of what he was seeing. It looked like a dark grey square, hovering in the air. At first he thought it was a single object. But then he realized that it was the swarm of drones. They had collected together, about a dozen of them flying in close formation.
The drone swarm moved in unison, which created the illusion that they were a single object. The object appeared to be growing larger, and the buzzing grew louder. The drones were flying towards them, Chase realized.
Like they were about to attack.
“Darby.”
“What?”
He pointed at the drones.
As Chase looked again, one of them raced towards them and released a cluster of small objects. As each object impacted the surface, it exploded.
The explosions started in the stream. Spouts of water and rock lifting up into the air, and then walking up the bank and into the forest.
The drone was dropping some type of bomblets. Chase covered his head and ears and lay as tight to the ground as he could. Trees exploded and splintered all around them. Two more drones made similar bombing runs. When the cluster bomb attack stopped, Chase looked up and saw men running on the other side of the stream. It was the Chinese attackers, regrouping. Trying to flank them.
A ringing in his ears. He could barely hear anything. Shit. He should have put in his earplugs. It was stupid of him not to.
The Marine with the SAW began firing up at the drones. He walked the tracer rounds into the area where they were flying and began shattering them into pieces. Then the rectangle spread out, as if on command. Either they were programmed to do it, or one of the Chinese controlling it had spread them out as a defensive measure.
Chase looked at Darby, who was surveying his men. He crawled back to Chase. “Two dead. One injured. The captain’s in bad shape.”
“We need to get the crypto key back to the US. The data that’s on here”—he patted his bag, where the crypto key was stored—“is going to save a lot of lives.”
Gunnery Sergeant Darby looked across the stream. In the shadows of the forest, small groups of soldiers advanced to nearer positions.
Chase said, “Let’s go now. If we run, we can make the village…”
“Do you know where you are going?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, do you know how to get to the LZ on your own?”
Chase shook his head. He knew what the gunny was thinking. “Don’t.” Even as he said it, he knew his words would have no effect on the gunnery sergeant.
“If you go now, and we stay and hold them off, you’ll make it. If we all run, they’ll start picking us apart. We’ll be slow and ineffective. The mission comes first.”
“If you guys stay here, you could be killed.” Chase regretted saying it as soon as it came out.
“Son, don’t be stupid. I’m a US Marine. They’ll all be killed. Now go.”
Chase turned to go and then stopped. “Listen, just give me a head start. That’s all I need. Then you get your team out of here. Head to one of the villages northwest of here and hunker down near the road. Monitor guard frequency. Once I get to the helicopters, we’ll come pick you guys up.”
“Oorah.” The gunny yelled out the common cheer of the Marine Corps.
“Shut up.”
The gunny smiled.
Chase began running.
17
Victoria held the fingers and palms of her glove so that they just barely touched the controls of the helicopter. Her heavy steel-toed flight boots were poised with their heels on the deck, angled to be ready to step on the helicopter’s foot pedals at a moment’s notice. She did this because she wanted to be able to grab the controls instantly, but still needed to let her copilot be the one doing the flying.
Her head moved constantly on a swivel. Looking forward to judge the distance between the hovering Seahawk helicopter and the ship’s hangar. Looking down through the glass floor — known as the chin bubble — to judge the altitude to the flight deck. And looking from side to side to gain better awareness in determining their drift.
They were hovering a mere ten feet above their destroyer, the USS Farragut. A gigantic USNS supply ship pitched and rolled alongside the Farragut. She guessed it was maybe fifty yards away.
They had shot lines only a few moments ago, using guns that reminded her of what they used to shoot free tee shirts out at football games. Her ship had fired, and a soft cloth-covered ball, attached to a line, had traveled in an arc from the Farragut and landed on the supply ship.
The two ships were now connected. The supply ship was able to use that first line connection to begin connecting the bigger fuel lines and sturdier supply zip-lines. Deck hands moved pallets and net around the ship with practiced efficiency.
Beneath her twenty-thousand-pound aircraft, several enlisted men scurried about the flight deck, nervously hooking up the netted pallet to the bottom of the helicopter with a line and hook. It must have been a nerve-wracking job to be those men on the flight deck.
The flying pilot was Lieutenant Junior Grade Juan “Spike” Volonte, her inexperienced copilot. It was his first real vertical replenishment, or VERTREP, evolution. His face was a mess of sweat, and he was making constant overcorrections. As a result, the helicopter looked like it was constantly shaking and shimmying.
Up one foot, and then rapidly down two feet. Sliding to the left three feet, then surging quickly back to the right one foot. Their aircrewman, looking through the floor hatch in the rear of the aircraft, was attempting to make gentle correction calls. But he knew that with a pilot this inexperienced, it was almost useless. The kid just needed more practice.