Austin heard the radio calls while he fumbled for his revolver. The searing pain in his thigh had changed to a dull numbness as the enemy troops approached. If he died here, it would only be after he had used every means to resist. If he lived, Leigh Ann would be waiting for him.
He moved his bleeding leg and felt that it would support him. The bullet had ripped through the fleshy part of his thigh, but it had not hit the bone.
Fueled by adrenaline and cold fear, Brad shoved himself to a sitting position, aimed at the center of the group of soldiers, then fired two rounds.
He was amazed when one of the men staggered sideways and collapsed. When the soldier hit the ground, his assault rifle discharged a wild burst of fire. A dumb-luck shot from the revolver, accompanied by the spray of rifle shells, had sent the infantrymen diving for cover.
Seizing the moment, Brad scrambled to his feet and awkwardly limped toward the foliage near the trees. A volley of shots rang out, and he waited for a bullet to find him.
"Try him again — keep trying!". Chase Mitchell ordered while he concentrated on flying ten feet above the water. "We've gotta make a decision, Rudy… before we get sucked into an ambush."
"Brad," Jimenez pleaded with an emotional intensity in his voice, "we're almost there. Say your position. Repeat, say your position!"
Recalling the time he had been lured into a North Vietnamese trap during a SAR mission, Jimenez was cautious but determined to go above and beyond their duty.
"Chase, they may have captured him," Rudy said sadly, "but we owe it to him to go in — to find out."
Mitchell knew Jimenez was right. They would never be able to live with the guilt if they aborted this close to the downed pilot. "We're going in."
Chapter FORTY-ONE
Stumbling and weaving, Brad Austin blindly plunged into the dense undergrowth and fought his way through the branches and thickets. Ignoring the shells that ripped through the vegetation, he turned and fired another two rounds at his pursuers.
When they dropped to the ground, he crawled through the underbrush leading to the river. With his lungs heaving, Brad stopped to peer through the leaves. His hopes sank when he saw some of the soldiers moving to his left and right. They would soon have him surrounded.
In the distance, he heard the familiar beating sound of rotor blades. The helicopter was only seconds away. Oh, God, give me the strength to hang on.
He fired his last rounds at the infantrymen nearing the edge of the water, then dropped the revolver and groped clumsily for his survival radio.
"Chase, open up with the machine gun! I need cover fire along the riverbank!"
His plea was answered by three short, distinct bursts of fire across the water next to the shoreline. The trail of splashes turned to mud splatters as the rounds walked up the bank and through the men.
When the advancing soldiers stopped and began shouting at each other, Brad plunged toward the riverbank. He plowed through the thick foliage, dragging his leg and clutching the survival radio.
"I'm close to the water!" he gasped as a bullet ricocheted off a tree trunk in front of him. "Next to the shore — north edge of the trees!"
Brad heard the metallic voice from the radio, but he ignored it in his desperate attempt to reach safety. Another high-powered round whined past his head and exploded a leaf a foot away. My luck is going to run out.
Expending the last of his energy, Brad charged through the maze while he heard the staccato sounds of the M-60 raking the shoreline. He also heard someone scream in agony.
He dropped the radio and lowered his head, forging his way through the last of the obstacles. Suddenly free from the entanglement, Brad fell facedown on the muddy bank. He clawed his way toward the river and flinched when a row of geysers blasted across the water next to him.
Brad looked to his right and saw his tormentor disappear in a hail of machine-gun fire.
Above, the helicopter was slowing to a hover and the rescue sling was skimming the water. Brad crawled into the water and rose to his knees. He frantically waved his arms at the helo, but the crew had already spotted him.
Elvin Crowder continued to decimate the soldiers while Mitchell maneuvered the sling toward Austin. It dangled tantalizingly close, just out of reach.
Brad tried to get to his feet, then lunged at the horse collar. He missed and fell headlong into the water. He struggled to his knees and gagged when he swallowed a mouthful of water.
Rudy Jimenez was acting as a backup on the flight controls when the helicopter unexpectedly tilted steeply and slid sideways. The tips of the rotor blades nipped the water for a split second.
"Chase!" Jimenez gasped as he clutched the controls and righted the helo. "You 'kay?"
Mitchell groaned, then slumped in his harness as his arms went limp. A single hole in the windshield marked the entry point of the round that had struck the pilot in the neck.
"What's goin' on?" Crowder demanded while he continued to blaze away at the soldiers.
Rudy ignored the gunner and skillfully moved the rescue sling over Austin. "Grab it, Brad," he said to himself as another round hit the top of the windshield. "They're going to blow us out of the sky when we run out of ammo."
Movement to the left caught his eye. "Sonuvabitch," he swore out loud when he saw the convoy grinding to a halt.
When the machine guns mounted on the trucks commenced firing, Jimenez squeezed down in his seat and concentrated on flying smoothly.
The sling was skipping toward him, but Brad was blinded by the spray churned up by the rotor blades. When the harness bumped him, Austin frantically grabbed it and stuck his arm through the opening.
"Go!" he yelled into the gale-force wind, then grappled with the unwieldy horse collar. He felt himself being pulled through the water before he could get his head and other arm through the sling.
Sweet Jesus, I'm not going to make it! Brad clutched the sling in the crook of his right elbow and used his other hand to seize his wrist in a death grip. He closed his eyes and prayed for renewed strength.
Supporting the weight of his soaked flight suit, Brad strained when his body was yanked from the river. His feet bounced off the water a couple of times as the helicopter swiveled and gained speed.
He twirled precariously on the end of the winch line as the helo climbed and accelerated. I can't hang on forever.
"Is he secured?" Jimenez barked over the intercom. He could not afford to climb too high or go too fast if Austin was not securely in the sling.
Elvin Crowder braced himself against the cabin door and leaned into the wind. "Shit no. He's only got one arm through the collar."
Jimenez swore under his breath and searched for a relatively safe place to make a quick landing. He glanced at Mitchell and thought he detected a tentative movement.
"Chase, can you hear me?"
The only response from the wounded pilot was a slight flicker of his eyelids.
"Is Mitch hit?" Crowder snapped.
"Yes," Jimenez answered bitterly. "I'm going to land just ahead — about a mile — and get Austin aboard."
"You better make it now," Crowder said with a touch of sarcasm, " 'cause our boy is about to take a big dive."
Brad alternated between thanking God for watching over him, and calculating his chances for survival if he lost his grip. The throbbing pain in his thigh had diminished to an unpleasant tingling sensation.
He found if he closed his eyes and concentrated, he could hear and see Leigh Ann laughing on the beach at Waikiki. It seemed like a hundred years ago.
A moment later, Brad felt the helicopter begin to slow. He opened his eyes and saw that he was descending toward a partly submerged bank of mud extending out from the shoreline.
When the helo finally hovered above the shallow water, Brad let go of the collar from a height of three feet and fell backward in the deep mud.