Myint's body went rigid. He looked down at his bare chest. Dark red was spreading rapidly, pulsing out. With his hand clamped around his machete, he tumbled over the rope bridge rail. The Team cringed with the sound of his body slamming into the water.
Stalley whispered, "Clear!"
Novak gave the order, "Go! Go!"
The four men hustled up the ladders without hesitating. As they neared the deck, they heard Novak, "Four boys! Eyes on four boys!"
It was too late to stop. The men scrambled over the rail, nearly knocking down the panicked youngsters. Grant and Adler burst through the doors of shacks two and three. Slade and Diaz scooped up the screaming, terrified boys, dropped them into the water, then they busted through the doors of four and five.
Grant and Adler backed out, then immediately checked the first shack. Not a damn soul in sight.
Slade and Diaz came out shaking their heads, but Slade held up a hand and shook a small tin. Pills rattled inside. He stashed it inside his chest vest.
What they heard next made their blood run cold. They immediately focused down river. The sound couldn't have been more distinct — the thump-thump-thump of rotors — a Huey. The mission went to critical stage.
Chapter 11
A bright spotlight flashed on, guiding the chopper as it flew dead center along the waterway at an altitude of no more than fifty feet.
Grant ordered, "Take cover! "Take cover!"
Still not knowing the chopper's intent, Grant, Adler, Diaz, and Slade couldn't take the chance of hiding in the flimsy structures. But more importantly, the kids could become targets. The men vaulted over the railing, hit the water, then stroked like hell toward the kids who were trying frantically to get away from them.
Each man grabbed a screaming, struggling kid. They had to rely mostly on their powerful kicks to propel themselves back under the shacks in search of any kind of cover.
Stalley and James hustled up the hill, dove for dirt just over the ridge, then crawled until their bodies had some protection within a stand of trees.
Novak grabbed his rifle, and ducked behind a thick ficus tree. Taking a deep breath, he leaned just enough to give himself a clear view using the scope.
The chopper was finally coming into view. It slowly approached, then hovered in front of the shacks. Smoke rising above one shack and lights inside two others gave the impression the places were occupied.
Novak was the only one able to see it clearly. Except for the drab green paint, it was without identifiable markings. He spotted two passengers in the second row of canvas seats. He adjusted the scope. The passenger on the starboard side held what looked like an M16. But something else caught Novak's attention. A grenade launcher attached to the rifle's underside. He notified A.T. "Grenades! Grenades!"
Then with its nose dipping, the chopper regained speed and headed up the waterway. Novak kept it in the crosshairs, when suddenly it banked hard right. "Comin' back! Stay down! Stay down!"
The chopper slowed, then hovered directly in front of and parallel to the shacks. Slowly, the pilot maneuvered the aircraft closer to the opposite bank. The intent to fire became obvious, when the gunner knelt near the starboard side's open cargo bay door, and aimed his weapon.
"Oh Christ!" Novak immediately zeroed in. He fired just as the gunner pulled the trigger. The man's head disintegrated. Blood, brain tissue, bone fragments splattered everywhere. The body tumbled out of the chopper, smacked hard against the water, then disappeared beneath the surface within seconds.
Simultaneously, the shacks exploded in a deafening, blinding white-red-orange ball of fire. The chopper rocked from the sound waves. Minute pieces of debris struck its underbelly. Pieces of wood, bamboo, shards of metal became missiles, shooting in every direction. Destroyed wood, still burning, rained down on the water and hillside. Smoke and a cloud of dirt obliterated the entire bank.
"Goddammit! Fuck!" Novak ducked behind the tree, and pressed the PTT. "Boss! LT! Anybody!" No response. "Holy Christ!" Slowly, he leaned around the tree, then brought his rifle up. He readjusted the scope, and determined how many were still in the chopper. Pilot, co-pilot, and one passenger who was looking out the doorway.
Novak had to make a decision. Take out as many as he could, or bring down the whole freakin' chopper. That wasn't an option. He'd seen choppers go down before. Complete loss of control, killer blades slicing through anything in their path. And if Team A.T. was still alive, they wouldn't stand a chance.
The passenger was an easy shot. He could take him out in the blink of an eye, then the co-pilot. Taking aim, he had one target lined up in the crosshairs, when out of nowhere, someone swung around from behind the port cargo bay door, holding an Uzi.
The trap had been set. Novak walked right in. "Oh, fuck!" He spun around, then ran like hell. A burst of gunfire sprayed the entire river bank and trees, striking the ground, kicking up dirt directly behind him. With his arms stretched out in front, and his hands gripping his rifle, he dove behind the base of a larger ficus tree. A deep grunt escaped from his throat as his body slammed against dirt. Bullets zipped around both sides, striking the tree, snapping off small branches of nearby brush.
The gunfire stopped, but he still heard rotors. He got up into a crouch, then holding his rifle steady, with the barrel pointed straight up, he slowly stood, keeping his back against the tree. He edged closer to the opposite side. Another burst of gunfire sent bullets whizzing past. He waited. So did the gunner. Novak knew the pilot was maneuvering even closer. He closed his eyes, trying to picture the chopper's location and angle, trying to picture the gunner's position.
One chance. He'd have one fuckin' chance. As the gunner fired off another burst, Novak swung out from behind the tree, zeroed in on the man, and fired two rapid rounds. Both direct hits. He ducked behind the tree again. The sound of the chopper's rotors changed, as the pilot pushed the stick forward, sending it down river.
Breathing heavy now, Novak waited until he was certain it was clear, then he walked slowly toward the water, looking through the scope, staying close to the cover of trees and brush. He spotted the UF's body, slipping beneath the water.
It grew quiet again, with only the occasional pops and crackles from burning material. Novak sunk down into a squat, staring unbelieving across the waterway, seeing the destruction, smelling the smoke. A scene passed through his mind, a scene from Vietnam, pictures of burning hooches, explosions, burning bodies, fallen teammates.
"Respond A.T.! Anybody!"
The muffled sound made him shake his head. Somebody was calling. He pressed a finger against his earpiece before realizing it was dangling in front of his shirt. Readjusting it, he thought, Screw call signs. He pressed the PTT. "Novak!"
"Mike! It's me and DJ!"
"Doc, any sign of Team?!"
"Negative! Making our way down the hill. Where are you?!"
Novak jumped up and broke into a run. "Going toward bridge!"
"Jesus, Mike! What …?!"
"Just keep your eyes open, kid!"
Novak stopped by the only section of bridge remaining in tact. Most of the twenty foot section was underwater being held by rope, preventing it from floating away. He checked the south end of the waterway. Clear. Slinging the rifle strap over his head, he ran into the water, then dove, stroking hard even before completely surfacing.
It was nearly impossible to see any signs of movement on the opposite bank. Pushing aside large and small pieces of wood, weaving in and out of debris, he didn't want to believe the Team may have lost four men.