“Maybe, but what will they think of us back home? Cowards is what they’ll call us. You remember how we defended the cabin? We can’t lose face just because we’re scared.”
“You’ve shot a man before,” Gregory said, referring to the time when Cain’s men had attacked them.
“More than one,” Brandon corrected him. “And I was even one of the first into Oneida when we liberated it.”
Gregory’s face fell. “Yeah, that’s what I’m saying. You’ve done all that ’cause you’re older. I’ve only shot at static targets. In the cabin, I was mostly reloading the magazines for my dad’s AR-15.”
“But this was your idea.” Brandon was getting annoyed.
“It seemed like the right thing to do, but I’m not so sure anymore.”
A deafening explosion rocked the train, throwing both boys forward. The people standing were flung to the ground by the force of the train coming to a sudden halt. Cries rang out from the wounded.
There was a cut beside Brandon’s left eye where his face had impacted the chair seat in front of him. “Are you okay?” he asked Gregory, who looked more terrified than hurt.
“I think so. What happened?”
“No idea. We may have hit something.”
Two of the cars being pulled by the locomotive were flatbeds housing anti-aircraft batteries and those began firing at once. Peering through the spiderweb crack in the window, Brandon caught sight of a missile streaking out from the train toward a pair of helicopters hovering nearby. It struck the first chopper a second later, creating a ball of flame and sending the burning wreckage spiralling out of the air where it landed in an empty field.
“We’re under attack,” Brandon shouted. “We need to get off this train.”
Each of them reached for their backpacks as large-caliber rounds tore through the train car, killing men all around them. The boys dove to the ground only to find themselves lying on a body that was once human, but was now hardly recognizable. Struggling through the carnage, they made their way the short distance to the rear exit and stumbled out onto the edge of the tracks.
Thick black smoke billowed up from where the front locomotive used to be. Dozens of other passengers were pouring off the train now, running for cover from the remaining chopper circling overhead. One of the anti-aircraft batteries had already been knocked out. It looked like a double-barrelled 40mm turret that had been pulled off of an old, outdated tank, except now it was largely twisted metal with bodies strewn about it.
In the distance, Brandon spotted the town of Dyersburg. Like the others who’d come scrambling off the train along with them, many were headed in that direction. Hundreds of them ran for their lives while heavy rounds from the remaining enemy chopper cut down as many as they could. The two boys had gone looking for adventure and instead they’d found hell on earth.
Chapter 21
Tossing restlessly in bed, John was having difficulty relaxing his mind. Time and time again his thoughts returned to Gregory and Brandon. Wherever they were and whatever they were doing, John prayed they were safe and looking out for one another. Gradually, he let go and let sleep overtake him. That was when he found himself back in Nasiriyah.
It had been close to ten minutes since either John or his JTAC Lewis had heard from Charlie Company. Calls had come over the radio from other men in Bravo, asking if they could push along the two miles between them and reinforce their embattled brothers in arms. But Bravo Company was having problems of its own. Rain last night had softened the ground, turning the terrain north of the bridge that John’s men were holding into a quagmire. Over half of the Bradleys were now stuck in the mud and many of the twenty-seven-ton vehicles had only dug themselves in deeper by rocking back and forth. The good luck they’d been having after the A-10 helped to silence the Iraqi fire on their position was starting to evaporate.
Several soldiers had exited the Bradleys and were doing what they could to help dislodge them. They were in an increasingly vulnerable position. If another attack were to begin, his men would be sitting ducks.
Just then the radio crackled and John was certain it was another plea from his men to help Charlie Company.
“Bravo six nine, this… Charlie… over.”
The signal was bad, but John recognized Donavan’s voice. Donavan was the radio man for Charlie Company.
“Bravo… Charlie Company. Do… read? Over.”
“We read you loud and clear,” Lewis replied. “You sure did take your sweet time dialing in.”
More static, then. “Under… heavy… fire. Need air…”
“You’re breaking up, Whiskey Lima,” Lewis shouted. “Please say again.”
“Air support. Call in… right away.”
“Roger that. What is your position? Over.”
They waited agonizing seconds without a response.
Robert Forest, the Bradley’s driver, turned to Lewis. “Don’t be an idiot, man, they’re trying to hold their bridge just like we are. The ragheads are dug into the buildings picking them off. I can hear it from here.”
“Whiskey Lima,” Lewis repeated. “What is your position?”
This time the response was terrified screaming and a burst of gunfire. John and the others recoiled.
“What do I do, sir?” Lewis asked.
John felt his intestines being squeezed to jelly. That last transmission sounded like they were getting slaughtered. “I can’t sit by while they’re being killed.”
“Why don’t we send some men from Bravo to help them?” Forest asked.
“Because our orders were to stay put and hold the bridge,” John told him. “Besides, most of our Bradleys are stuck in the mud.” He looked at Lewis. “Call in the air strike.”
“But what coordinates do I give them?”
“If they’re doing their job, they’ll be holding that bridge over the Euphrates just as we are. Do like Forest said. Tell the Warthog pilots to pepper the buildings north of the bridge and tell them to watch Blue Force Tracking for friendlies.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m positive,” John barked, “now do it.”
Lewis called in the strike as John climbed out of the turret of his Bradley to watch the planes fly in.
He heard the sound of their engines before he saw them. There were two of them and they made successive runs on the target, strafing with their 30mm cannons and firing missiles. The soldiers trying desperately to help free the stuck vehicles stopped briefly and cheered. Even John felt a smile come over his face at the thought of destroying the enemy that was threatening his men in Charlie Company.
Lewis was back on the radio.
“Whiskey Lima, do you copy? Over.” After trying twice more, he turned to John. “It’s still dead.”
Lifting the binoculars to his eyes, John strained in vain to see. But it was the sounds he was hearing that were making him feel suddenly unsure. The distinct rattle of AKs and RPKs had resumed, as though the men attacking Charlie Company hadn’t been hit that hard from the strafing and bombing run after all.
Then another message over the radio, this one intended for the A-10 pilots. “Check your fire. I… rep… check your fire. Friendlies in… area.”
John and Lewis exchanged a uneasy glance.
“Charlie Company, come in, over.” Lewis’ voice was barely a whisper.
“Friendly fire! Friendly fire!” came Donavan’s voice. “Requesting immediate medivac. Thirteen wounded. Ten KIA.”
The airstrike they’d just called in had killed their own men and John’s heart felt like it was about to shatter.
Chapter 22
Brandon pulled out the compass from his pocket and studied the needle as it swung back and forth and finally settled on a southwesterly direction. They’d been sprinting and walking from one scrap of cover to another for close to an hour since they awoke this morning. They’d been forced to take shelter in an abandoned car they found along State Route 211 once they realized they wouldn’t make Dyersburg before sundown. After discovering the car’s power seats wouldn’t recline, Brandon had told Gregory to sleep in the back while he made do sitting upright in the front. The explosions from the front, only a few miles away now, were loud enough to drown out the sound of the crickets. They had spent the night shivering, cold and afraid. It had been one of the worst nights of their lives.