His pulse was steady as they neared the TLZ. He decreased collective and dropped down to follow the canyon cut into the mountain, using the FLIR display up front in the cockpit to help guide them through the tight terrain. Then he saw it.
A 47 lay up ahead on a gently sloping wash at the far end of the canyon, its back broken between the forward and aft rotors, the fuselage crumpled like a crushed soda can from the impact. It must have hit the top of the hill first, then rolled down. Smoke still billowed out from the wreckage, either caused from the initial explosion when the rocket had hit, or from the impact with the ground.
“Jesus,” Freeman muttered, and flooded the area with the Chinook’s infrared spotlight.
Liam didn’t respond, too busy manipulating the cyclic and pedals to get the bird into position. Through the infrared display up front he could see heat signatures moving around, confirming there were still survivors.
Once he received the radio countdown with one of the SEALs on the ground, he hung back slightly with the DAPs to wait as the gunships rolled ahead to clear off the mountainside. The pulse of the tandem rotors throbbed distantly over the chatter coming in through his headset as he used the cyclic and pedals to counteract the gusting cross winds cutting through the canyon.
Up ahead the Apaches opened fire on the tangos. Through his NVGs the battlefield lit up in a bright green light show as rounds spewed from the chain guns mounted beneath the fuselages. As he worked the controls to maintain the hover, Freeman painted the battlefield with the Chinook’s lasers, picking up the ground team’s infrared strobes and the reflectors on some of the men’s shoulders.
Liam could see what was left of the SEAL platoon around the crash site, and enemy fighters scrambling down the slope, trying to escape. A second later, one of the 64s unleashed a Hellfire missile. It exploded near the main body of tangos closest to the crash site, cleaving away part of the hillside and taking the attackers with it.
That was Liam’s cue.
With the DAPs providing muscle and his crew manning the helo’s weapons, he did a fast fly-over to check the terrain. Spotting no surprises, he coordinated with the other pilots and executed a tight turn, banking hard left to bring them around.
He wasted no time on the approach, zooming in fast and low. His crew and the DAPs engaged what was left of the enemy assault force, assisting the beleaguered ground team. Liam went into a hover and alerted his FE, who deployed the fast rope. Out of view below the helo’s belly, the CSAR team would drop one by one to the ground and fan out in a circle.
Liam worked the controls to hold the big aircraft steady, not allowing himself to think of anything beyond that. He tuned out the sounds of the minigun firing from the right shoulder window and banished the instant image of Honor it brought to mind. His heart rate remained steady until he heard the distinctive, tinny pops that signaled they were taking fire.
Liam’s hands automatically tightened around the controls, his body tensing as the memory of the last time they’d taken fire bombarded his brain. They couldn’t risk releasing chaff at this range without endangering friendlies on the ground. All he could do was wait until the insertion was done and hope his gunners and the DAPs could protect them from serious damage.
“Yates,” he said sharply.
“We’re okay,” the FE replied. The miniguns opened up again. “The boys are taking care of ‘em and all systems are functional.”
Pulse thudding, Liam steeled himself against the sound of more rounds tearing into the left side of the fuselage. Shit.
Finally Yates’s voice came over his headset again. “All clear.”
Liam immediately pulled collective, shooting them up and out of the canyon where the rounds could no longer reach them. He adjusted the collective for maximum cruising power and checked the gauges. Indicated air speed, true air speed, ground speed, fuel, vertical speed indicator—all good.
The missile warning system shrieked.
He jerked his head around to look out his window in time to see the countermeasures release. Immediately he initiated evasive maneuvers. Freeman was silent and tense beside him as the helo bucked and twisted under Liam’s hand. Something impacted the west side of the canyon wall and exploded, making the entire aircraft shudder.
“Guess we know the intel was right,” Yates said.
“Fucking triple-A,” Freeman muttered, searching through his own window to ascertain the source.
“Do you see it?” Liam asked sharply.
“No, but that shot came from that way—maybe from under that ledge down there.” He pointed out his side.
Liam’s heart was pounding, his palms clammy as he steadied the aircraft. “Shit, that was way too fucking close.” Just as he moved them to what he hoped was a safer location, one of the Apaches moved in and fired another missile in the vicinity where the AAA had been.
“Target neutralized,” the pilot said a few moments later.
Liam breathed out a sigh of relief and forced his heart rate and breathing back under control. Then the SEAL platoon leader on the CSAR team contacted him to request extraction. “Roger that. Stand by,” Liam replied.
There was barely enough room for him to land on the ledge where the team was waiting. He wound up having to perch the back wheels on the edge of it, with the front of the aircraft hovering in the air in order for Yates to lower the ramp. The team began loading their wounded and dead aboard.
Glancing out the co-pilot window, Liam could see two people, presumably SEALs, enter the wreckage. Had to be setting the explosives. They re-emerged a minute later, rifles up as they charged back to the waiting helo, one stopping to provide overwatch for the other.
“Everyone’s aboard,” Yates announced seconds later. “Ramp closed. Let’s do this.”
“Roger.” Liam nosed them forward off the ledge and began to climb, staying at a lower altitude than he had on the approach now that the enemy force had been neutralized.
Yates’s voice came back on. “SEALs are about to detonate the wreckage.”
“Roger.”
As he climbed the downed Chinook exploded behind them. The Apaches stayed out front, the DAPs flanking him on either side during the flight back to Bagram. Over the radio he heard Yates and the SEAL platoon leader updating command back at base. Six killed. Eight wounded.
He didn’t let himself think about it, just kept his eyes on the instrument panel, but thankfully all the readings were normal. Freeman barely said a word on the way back and Liam didn’t feel like talking either. They both knew the chances that some of their friends were among the wounded and dead in the back, and they’d find out who soon enough.
Relief slid through him when Bagram came into view out the cockpit window. The moment the wheels touched down and he began the power down sequence, medical personnel began rushing for the tail of the aircraft. He couldn’t stop himself from glancing back to see what was going on but his view was blocked by men moving around.
Liam and Freemen stayed in their seats to complete the post-flight checklist while the rattle and thud of boots in the back vibrated through the metal deck. When things quieted down a little he removed his helmet and looked back into the cargo area.
Yates unplugged his ICS cord and stepped into the cockpit, dragging a hand through his dirty-blond hair. “It’s a mess back here. Only a few rounds penetrated the fuselage though. Holes should be fairly easy to patch up and I don’t think we’ve got any leaks. We’ll take a careful look at everything though.”
Liam didn’t care about any of that right now. “What about the casualties? Any of our guys?”
Yates glanced away. “Veltre and Gustafson were both KIA.”
Ah, fuck.
Liam’s jaw flexed. He knew them both pretty well. He’d just eaten dinner last night with Veltre, a twenty-eight-year-old pilot. He had a wife and child back home, and another one due in four months. Knowing neither child would have any memory of their father made Liam’s stomach hurt.