Trapp had pulled the colonel aside, fifteen minutes ago, at the conclusion of the debriefing, and he had clearly been agitated. "Sir, we're kissing those guys off too easy. That pilot was under goggles and all he saw was the initial explosion. I watched something go down in flames into the trees, but I don't think it was big enough to be the whole bird. Maybe something blew off it and the rest of the bird came down intact."
Now, Trapp looked at the colonel. "I'm sorry, sir. After seeing this I guess I was wrong."
Hossey rubbed the stubble of growth that had grown on his chin over the past thirty-six hours. "I'm not sure, Jim. I'm just not sure. What about the radio, either SATCOM or 70? Did the guys on the other bird have that?"
Not totally trusting the SATCOM, the detachment had made a private agreement with Hossey. Unknown to the SFOB, Team 3 had carried an extra radio, the Special Forces standard high-frequency PRC70, on the mission.
They had carried it in fear that the SATCOM might be cut off for whatever reason, most particularly if they weren't exfiltrated on time. If the SATCOM channel was shut down, Hossey was supposed to have the DET-K commo people set up a high-frequency base station and monitor an emergency guard net.
The team was to use the PRC70 only in emergencies, and only after they weren't receiving any more messages on the SATCOM, or if the messages received on the SATCOM lacked Hossey's authenticator. The 70 had been the team's ace in the hole against a loss of the primary means of communication.
The plan had been Riley's idea and Hossey had agreed with the team sergeant's reasoning. It was always good to have an alternate means of communications. Now Hossey wanted to know what had happened to that radio.
Trapp looked embarrassed. "We torched it, sir. We burned everything at the pickup zone before getting on the helicopters. You know we were briefed to get rid of everything to reduce the weight. Riley and Mitchell had figured that if we made it on the helicopters we wouldn't need that stuff anymore."
Hossey shook his head. That had been a mistake. He looked at the pictures again. "I guess it doesn't matter now anyway."
Everything here was shutting down. The Blackhawk crew would spend the night, then fly back to Misawa to link up with their support element there. O'Shaugnesy would remain in the hospital another week before being transferred back to the States for further care. Hossey ordered the remaining members of Team 3 to go up to Yongsan and stay on post for the next few days. He had already fed them the oplan cover story.
Jim Trapp had volunteered to accompany Hossey on his next task. They would drive up to ChunChon the next morning to inform Mitchell's wife of his death. None of the other people lost had been married, as far as Hossey knew. Hooker had reported that Chong had had a local girl in Seoul with whom he'd been close, and volunteered to break the news to her the next day.
Hossey wrote out his last message to the SFOB, then transmitted it. Immediately afterward, the commo equipment was broken down and they started loading up for the ride back up to Seoul and home.
14
"They die away and are reborn; recurrent,
as are the passing seasons."
The explosion of the number 4 external fuel tank blew the flaming pod away from the helicopter and sprayed the entire top right side of the aircraft with pieces of metal. The shrapnel tore through the turbine engines, simultaneously causing both engines to fail.
C.J. felt a total loss of power as he was trying to regain control of the wildly careening helicopter. He had three seconds from the initial explosion before the Blackhawk hit the trees, and he utilized that scant time as best he could. Automatically he brought the cyclic all the way up to its stops while pushing the cyclic forward to level the aircraft. With the loss of hydraulics, the stick responded sluggishly. The Blackhawk hit the trees nose down and rolled to the left. Bones cracked in C.J.'s right hand as he made a final desperate effort to keep the aircraft from flipping over before impact.
The aircraft tore through the thick tree cover and came to a halt on the ground. The combination of the original forward speed of ninety knots and the sudden drop in altitude produced a collision that crumpled the left front of the helicopter. Shattered glass, twisted metal, and foliage filled the cockpit.
On impact all the occupants of the cargo bay were thrown forward in a pile. Buried under the bodies of the rest of the team, Riley lay still until the helicopter came to a rest. He could feel the others stirring as they tried to get up. He heard someone in the front screaming in pain, but his first priority was to get himself untangled, then get a door opened and his people out before the helicopter exploded. Riley could smell jet fuel leaking. As soon as that fuel touched part of the hot engine, the helicopter would burst into flames.
In the confused darkness, it was Comsky who got the right cargo door open. Using all the strength in his short, powerful body, he wrenched the door off its rollers and shoved it aside. Then he proceeded to get people out by the expedient method of picking them up and throwing them through the open door. Olinski, Hoffman, and Chong were propelled out the door. He looked next at Riley, who signaled that he was all right.
Riley turned to help Mitchell, who was trying to tear through the wreckage and free the copilot. The pilot, in the right front seat, was trying to unbuckle his copilot but was able to use only one arm. The copilot was in bad shape. The whole left front of the helicopter was pressed against his seat. Blood was splattered about — a darker color than the flat gray of the interior paint.
As he leaned over the copilot's seat and tried to unfasten his seat belt, Riley saw something that turned his stomach. The front instrument console had been twisted back by the impact and had torn into the copilot's legs. Jagged metal had cut his thighs to the bone, pinning him to his armored seat. Riley could see the white bone against the console's edge.
Riley slid back and grabbed Mitchell by the shoulders. He pointed at the copilot's legs and then at the flowing fuel. He shouted at both Mitchell and the pilot. "Get out! He's a goner. We can't get him out in time before it blows. GO! GO!"
Riley shoved Mitchell toward the open cargo door, where Comsky waited patiently. With one large paw, Comsky grabbed Mitchell and hauled the team leader out. Riley saw that Hoffman had climbed back into the helicopter during all this and was hammering away at something in the rear of the cargo compartment.
"Get out!" Riley yelled at Hoffman. He didn't know what Hoffman was doing, but he didn't have time to find out. Fuel finally reached the hot engine exhausts and burst into flames. Instantly, the entire left side of the helicopter became an inferno. Riley clambered away from the flames as the copilot screamed in agony. The pilot paused in his door on the way out. Looking back at Riley, he pointed with his right hand. Riley quickly understood and nodded. The pilot rolled free out of the right front door.
Riley held himself steady in the right cargo door, ignoring the flames licking at his feet. He drew his 9mm pistol, aimed quickly, and fired twice. Then he jumped out, closely followed by Hoffman, who was cradling something in his arms.
Comsky, Chong, and Mitchell were dragging Olinski away from the burning helicopter as Riley and Hoffman caught up with them. The pilot was fleeing off to their left. They were thirty meters away when the helicopter exploded.
The impact threw them all to the ground, and Mitchell screamed in agony. Riley picked himself up and ran over to his team leader. The captain's entire right side was covered with blood where a fragment of the exploding helicopter had laid it open.