“Five miles,” Albert called out.
“Right,” Donnan grunted. That one simple word indicated Donnan was ready with the helicopter’s 30 millimeter Chain Gun, its Hellfire missiles, and its 70 millimeter CRV7 folding-fin rockets. A green indicator light on a cockpit panel told Donnan that, in the dome above the main rotor, the Apache’s Longbow acquisition and targeting radar was warmed up and ready for business.
The Apache hovered behind a rocky hillock, its gear tires barely three feet from the ground.
“Okay, let’s see what we can see.” Albert brought the Apache above the precipice, allowing their night vision sensors and optical systems to do a quick scan of the terrain. Jugroom Fort was visible, and atop its ramparts, they could see Taliban fighters guarding the approaches. On the cockpit screens, heat from lots of US Marines was also visible. They had formed up out of view of the fort, and this mass was ready to begin the assault. Dropping the aircraft down again, Albert checked his watch and announced the attack would commence in three minutes.
“Roger,” said Donnan. They would open the proceedings with a Hellfire missile, the weapon blasting a breach in the old mud wall and making a nice hole for the marines to pour through, before fanning out within the enemy compound. Just before the Hellfire arrived, Donnan would guide his cannon fire along the rampart’s crenellations, hosing the enemy with 30 millimeter bullets.
“Okay, mate, no stray rounds in that village,” Albert reminded Donnan.
“Roger,” Donnan acknowledged. “I’ll use the laser designator for Hellfire,” Donnan announced. This meant Albert would have to keep the Apache’s nose above cover for the duration of the missile’s flight. Although the Longbow radar could guide the Hellfire, the laser — when the air was clear of dust like tonight — directed the missile to within inches of the desired point of impact, making it far more accurate.
“One minute,” Albert counted.
Flashing panel lights indicated the Chain Gun had awakened, and that a Hellfire was ready for launch.
“Ten seconds…five, four, three, two, one.”
The Apache unmasked. The cockpit screens showed the heat of the sallying Americans. Donnan energized the Apache’s laser designator. The Hellfire’s single menacing eye spotted the laser’s invisible beam dancing on the fort’s rampart. With a whoosh and a bang, the Hellfire ignited and slid from its wing rail, speeding off to its target. Albert kept the Apache steady to maintain beam integrity. With the missile away, Donnan wasted no time opening up with his Chain Gun. The Apache shook, and the cannon rounds impacted along the top of the fort’s wall.
One-by-one, enemy fighters fell from their firing positions. In his night vision screen, Albert saw one Talib stand to fire at the Marines. Hit by the Chain Gun’s large bullets, a light green mist appeared where the fighter had once been. Then the Hellfire slammed into the wall and exploded.
Dry mud blasted airborne. When the smoke cleared, the fort’s perimeter had yawned open. American mortar crews landed rounds in the compound, and the infantry charged in behind the impacts. The radio crackled. The voice of the Yank in charge of the assault ordered the Apache to hold fire as his men came within range of the fort and the helicopter’s deadly armaments.
The missile launch and cannon fire lit up his Apache like a Hollywood premiere. Albert used the respite to bound to a new position. He banked and broke hard, finding and settling in behind an outcropping. Although anti-aircraft missiles were scarce in these parts, everybody and his mother seemed to own the dreaded nemesis of the helicopter: rocket-propelled grenades.
“Bulldog 31, in cover position,” Albert transmitted. This told the marines that he had moved, and was ready to provide suppressive fire by request. The American commander responded a moment later, shouting over the racket of small arms fire. Albert got the Apache back up, and brought its nose sensors from behind the rocks.
The Americans streamed into the fort. Albert could see the white splotches of their body heat. Viewed in the night vision screen, each blob of white light was a man, and each was far from home, and each missed a woman and children who they had left behind to wonder and to worry. A suited politician, sitting comfortably behind a big wooden desk, had sent each of these white shapes on the green screen. Albert felt for these simple men. They loved country and guns, and had flown into Afghanistan to do right by both. The screen went white. Marines had chucked a grenade through a window opening and set off a weapons cache. As the blinding flash cleared, Albert watched a flickering black shape move into the scene.
A medevac Black Hawk helicopter landed in an adjacent field. The white blobs carried several comrades to the machine. The men on stretchers had been hit by a heavy machine gun positioned upon one of the fort’s parapets. The enemy gun had been fired for a just a moment. The gun’s brief moment of glory was quickly silenced by return fire, but it inflicted damage nonetheless. On a dark side of the fort, Donnan and Albert watched a group of enemy fighters scurry from the protection of the fort. The shapes moved along a drainage ditch that led to the adjacent village.
“Caution: enemy on the move; southern quadrant. I see several figures headed toward the village,” Albert transmitted on the open band. The cockpit intercom clicked.
“Should I take them out?” Donnan asked Albert’s permission to engage the new targets.
“Negative, too close to the village. Let the marines get them.” Donnan trained the Chain Gun in their direction, anyway. Using his gunner’s night vision system to keep the targeting reticle centered on the lead figure, Donnan could see the unique outlines of hot Kalashnikovs. Also, at least one fighter had something across his shoulder. The weapon’s silhouette suggested that of a Russian-built rocket-propelled grenade.
“Bulldog 31,” the American commander called out. “Put fire on that group.”
“Negative, too close to village,” Albert responded almost instantaneously.
“That’s an order, Bulldog 31.” The American was in command and knew it. Interpreting his screen, Donnan told Albert that the enemy was getting in a vehicle parked outside a village shack.
“Sir, our Al-Qaeda target is likely among this bunch,” Donnan posited. “Request Hellfire.”
Albert took a moment, and then authorized Donnan to use the air-to-ground missile. Donnan locked the Longbow radar on the vehicle.
“Longbow lock-up. Firing.” Another Hellfire screamed away. The missile skipped down the hillside at the vehicle. Both men watched their night vision screens. The target pulled forward several feet. It stopped in front of a small brick building, and several figures emerged and moved to the SUV’s open rear doors.
The heat signatures of this second group were smaller, and one seemed to clutch a small bear-shaped object. Donnan knew the UN was fond of handing out teddy-bears to the children of Afghanistan.
“Bloody hell,” Donnan exclaimed, “I think there are women…and a child.” Knowing full well that the seeker in the Hellfire’s nose would continue to guide it in anyway, Albert ordered Donnan to shut down the radar.
In what seemed an eternity, both men watched as the family scrambled into the target vehicle. The SUV began to roll again. It moved several feet before the Hellfire knocked on its front passenger-side door. Albert and Donnan watched in horror. The cockpit screens flashed white, blinded by the Hellfire’s high-explosive anti-tank warhead.
“Good shooting, Bulldog,” came over the radio.
Slumped in their cockpit harnesses, both men sat in stunned silence. These two warriors had just become murderers.
The Apache drifted slightly. The tips of its rotor came dangerously close to a rock wall. Albert snapped out of it and corrected the helicopter’s attitude.