“They’ll be wiped out,” the president said.
“Probably, sir,” the major replied, unhappily.
“Major, you’re a good man,” the president said. “But I want someone with ground combat experience to start answering the phone. I want someone who can make calls based on that experience.”
“I understand, sir,” the major replied.
“Call Office of Special Operations Liaison,” the president said. “See if Colonel Pierson can come by.”
“Tiger One this is Tiger Two.”
“Go,” Mike said, looking at the map.
The command group, with the wounded just ahead of them, were in movement to the next position and Mike was trotting while watching the pad and thinking about the terrain ahead.
“Valkyrie is inbound. We need an LZ.”
“It’s gonna have to be a fly-by,” Mike replied. “She got ammo?”
“Yes. And machine-guns.”
“Hoorah,” Mike said, tiredly. The first stars were visible in the sky at the same time as the vague light of dawn. The clouds were clearing off fast, though and the temperature dropping. It was gonna be one cold, raw, day. And the Keldara couldn’t exactly worry about sweat. Fortunately, the pass was low enough that, given that they weren’t planning on stopping moving, they shouldn’t have to worry about freezing to death. “I’ll designate an LZ. Tell them to drop the stuff and don’t even fully touch down. We are not in a position to stop.”
“I’ll pass that on,” Nielson said. “We just got a satellite pass. It looks as if it’s clearing over there.”
“It is,” Mike replied. “It’s gonna be a pretty, if cold, day.”
“Gretchen.”
“Go.”
“The LZ is a long, open, ridge running east west. When we get down, just start pushing the shit out the door. We’re only going to pause for the wounded. Got it?”
“Got it,” Gretchen said. She was holding on to the handles of the minigun, hoping to see some Chechen bastards.
“Then it’s back through the pass,” Kacey continued.
“I’m ready,” Gretchen replied.
The Hind banked sharply to the right and she braced her feet, hanging backwards from the gun, as it dropped sharply. As it leveled out she could see some men running, but from their clothing they were Keldara. And several of them bore stretchers. More than they could carry.
As soon as the bird leveled out she slid back the door. The interior of the plane had been cleaned but there was still water on the floor from the cleaning. The water had frozen during the flight and the footing was treacherous. But she got behind line of ammo boxes and braced her foot on the far, closed, door.
“Start dumping!” Captain Bathlick said, slowing the chopper to the speed of a walk.
Gretchen pushed with a grunt and once the boxes started moving they slid easily enough. She then grabbed the four machine guns and stood in the door, carefully dropping them in a line. Last, she braced herself again and shoved out another series of ammo boxes. All of it was belted 7.62. It seemed like a lot of machine gun ammunition.
Leaning out the door she could see the stretcher bearers waiting. They were down on one knee and looking back over their shoulders.
She’d just noted that when she heard a “ping!” and looked up to see a tracer floating towards her. The thing was going so slowly it looked funny. Then she realized that one tracer meant five more bullets. And there were more tracers.
The line of fire went behind the bird but the gunner was going to correct.
Fuck that.
“Get them on!” she screamed, grabbing the handle of the minigun and swinging it towards the source of the fire.
Her first fire was very low, she hadn’t realized the hillside was as far away as it was. But she walked the rounds up towards the machinegun position and onto it just as the helo stopped to let the stretcher bearers load the wounded.
On the basis that a machinegun is rarely by itself, Gretchen continued to walk the fire across the hillside until she sensed out of the corner of her eye that the wounded had all been loaded and the strecher bearers had unassed the bird.
“Go, go, go!” she shouted over the intercom. “They’re all on!”
Four stretcher casualties and Gregor Makanee who had a bad wound in his abdomen but, somehow, was walking.
“Gregor, lie down,” she said, pushing herself away from the guns and making her way to the Makanee. “You’re going to need to lie down. I’ll get you some blood.”
“See to… Stephan,” Gregor said, but he lay down on the deck which was already getting slick with blood. “He needs… help.”
The rear bottom stretcher was Stephan Ferani and she could see what Gregor meant. Stephan’s left shoulder was swathed in blood-soaked bandages and he was bubbling bright red out of his mouth. Despite that, he was conscious.
“My own personal Valkyr,” Stephan said, trying to smile.
“You better not die on me,” she said, hooking a unit of O positive blood up and pulling the IV he already had in. “It would ruin my record.”
“Gretchen, I didn’t know you cared,” Stephan said then slumped.
She felt at his neck and couldn’t find a pulse. Frantically, as the helicopter banked up and to the left, she pulled down the defibrillator kit. She didn’t know if it was going to work but the Ranger medic had told her if anyone’s heart stopped to put it on and step back.
Most of Stephan’s blouse had already been cut away to get at the wound so she only had to find the right places for the three connections. She glanced at the chart and then hooked them up as fast as trembling fingers could work. As soon as they were in place she hit the big green “On” switch.
“Detecting… ” the machine said. She hadn’t know machines could talk. “No pulse detected. Charging. Stand clear of the patient. Charging. Stand clear of the patient.”
Gretchen backed away from Stephan and held onto one of the other stretchers.
“Defibrillating,” the machine said and Stephan’s body jerked. “Detecting. No pulse detected. Charging. Stand clear of the patient. Charging. Stand clear of the patient.”
Another jerk.
“Heartbeat detected.”
Gretchen touched her finger to Stephan’s neck and there was a pulse. It was faint and fast, but it was a pulse. She reached up, wide-eyed, and squeezed the bag of blood. He definitely needed more blood. Definitely.
“We live in an age of miracles,” Gregor said. “Now could I have some morphine, please?”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
“That was helpful,” Oleg said, looking at the line of boxes. “We were seriously down on ammo. And I’m glad to have the machine-guns finally.”
“It’s not going to last long,” Adams said then, as a bullet whistled overhead, turned and spit in the direction of the Chechens. “Fuckers can’t shoot for shit. Let’s get this stuff and didee on out of here.”
“Master Chief,” Mikhail Kulcyanov said, in a puzzled tone. “These are not the right machine guns.”
The former SEAL walked over and shook his head.
“Fuck me!” he shouted. “These are the damned guns we got for evaluation! Where the fuck are the M240s!”
“We can use them,” Oleg said, picking up one of the guns. “We’ll figure it out. But we’ll need help with all this ammo. And it’s all 7.62.”