“Get your butts back to bed,” snapped the colonel, “or wherever it is you damn Hog pilots go when you’re not blowing up things. Shit, what are you trying to do, win the war all by yourselves?”
“Only if we have to,” said A-Bomb— whose words, fortunately for him, were muffled by Doberman’s hand as he was dragged toward the door.
CHAPTER 35
“Captain’s on the line,” Leteri told Dixon, holding out the radio handset. “Reception’s in and out, but I think it’ll hold together.”
Dixon glanced at Winston before speaking. The sergeant’s face seemed somewhat peaceful; he was snoring.
“This is Dixon.”
“Hey,” said Hawkins. The line clicked on and off, but the words that did come through were sharp. “We have orders.”
The line died for a second. “…Cornfield.”
“Repeat,” said Dixon. When there wasn’t an answer, he asked again.
“Solo at four,” said Hawkins. He said something else that was lost, then repeated, “Solo at four. Cornfield.”
It was the command for an evacuation. Four was 0400, and the Cornfield was the spot where they had first watched the highway.
It was a good location for the helicopters, but would Winston make it?
“You know our situation?” he asked the captain.
There was a long, empty silence. Finally, Hawkins’ voice snapped onto the line. “They’re flashing the pipe 0500.”
A bombing mission.
“Repeat?” asked Dixon, but again there was no answer. He tried twice more before Hawkins came back with the bug-out command.
“Acknowledged. We copy. We’ll be waiting,” Dixon told him, signing off.
The scream sounded like something out of a horror movie, only it didn’t end.
“Put him back. Okay, okay,” said Dixon. He felt his hands starting to shake. Sweat poured from around his neck as he and Turk lowered Winston as gently as possible. Leteri was already pushing the plunger on the morphine as they stood back.
The sergeant continued to scream, then gasped for breath. Dixon fell to his hands and knees. He stooped over Winston, wondering if he should give him mouth to mouth.
Or maybe just let him die.
He couldn’t.
As he leaned forward, the sergeant’s breath caught; he started screaming again, though this time the howl was softer. Dixon took that as a good sign.
Twenty minutes passed before the morphine finally took hold. Winston’s groans gradually faded into a soft scat song of pain. Finally, his mouth loosened and his breathing became more regular.
As soon as they lifted him again, he yelled again.
“Down,” said Dixon. He had the sergeant’s head, and cradled it gently as they replaced the wounded man on the ground. “We’re going to have to leave him here,” he told the others.
“Leave him?” said Leteri.
“I don’t mean alone. I’m staying.”
“That’s not a good idea,” said Turk.
“We’re screwing something up just lifting him,” said Dixon. “I don’t want him paralyzed.”
“Better that than dead,” said Bobby.
Dixon could tell from their expressions that some of the others weren’t so sure.
“You don’t think he’s paralyzed already?” asked Leteri.
“He wouldn’t scream if was, I don’t think,” said Turk. “Maybe if we had a backboard or something.”
Winston turned his head into Dixon’s knee. His eyes were closed but he seemed to be struggling to say something. Dixon bent to listen, but the words weren’t intelligible.
His mother had done that a few days before she died. The image of monitors and their color-coded lines and numbers right next to her head blurred in his eyes as he leaned over.
What he thought she said was, “Kill me.” But he couldn’t be sure.
Maybe it was “Save me.” That was what he wanted her to say. That was what he wanted to do.
“Lieutenant?”
“Here’s the deal,” Dixon said, standing. “I stay with the sergeant. You guys go up to the Cornfield, get picked up, come back for us. We have an hour before the bomb strike; that’s plenty of time.”
“I think I should stay,” said Turk. “Me and Bobby.”
“Why don’t we just have the helo pick us all up here?” Leteri suggested.
“Even if the radio were working right, Apache’s off the air by now,” said Dixon. “They won’t be listening for us.”
“Fuck, we can get them through Riyadh once the helicopter’s in the air. Or the AWACS. We can take a shot at it, at least.”
“We don’t know what other contingencies there are,” said Dixon. “They’re going to be coming through shit.”
“Yeah, but hell, there’s shit and then there’s shit,” said Leteri. “And splitting up is shit.”
Leteri was right, but something made Dixon shake his head. “Let’s do it this way. We get in and out without any sweat.”
“Captain, let’s be realistic, okay? You don’t have to prove anything,” said Turk. “We already know you’re brave. We saw you go into the minefield.”
“No, you know I’m nuts. Brave is something else.” Dixon shook his head. “It makes more sense for you guys to be together. You can move faster without me, and probably handle the weapons better. The sergeant and I are safe enough here, as long as you guys make it to the helicopters. That’s where the risk is.”
There was logic to his argument, but the others insisted that keeping the entire team in one place was the safest plan. Dixon finally agreed to let Leteri take a shot at getting Apache or Riyadh on the line to change the pickup site. But the satellite system refused to fire back up.
“All right,” Leteri said. “We have to get to the Cornfield. But one of us should stay with you as a lookout.”
Dixon laughed. “You think I’m that bad a shot? I got half the hill covered, and a minefield besides. I can pin a battalion down from here.”
“We’re not saying you can’t shoot straight,” said Turk. “We just don’t want you in over your head.”
Dixon started to laugh. He was so far in over his head that nothing worse would make any difference. “I’m okay. Seriously. Look, it makes more sense for you guys to stay together. You’re the ones in danger, not me.”
“Yeah, but —”
“Look, I outrank you all, and I’m giving you an order.”
“With all due respect,” said Leteri. “I mean, shit, don’t go Rambo, you know?”
Dixon didn’t feel quite as nonchalant as he acted, but he wasn’t lying about thinking it was smarter for them to go.
“Who’s going Rambo?” he told Leteri. “The helicopters will get me after they pick you up. You don’t think they’re going to leave me here, do you?”
“No.”
“You guys gonna forget the way?”
“Fuck you,” said Leteri.
“Fuck you back. Think of it this way— they’re a hell of a lot more likely to come back for me than for one of you guys, don’t you think?”
Leteri didn’t have an argument for that.
Dixon turned over the M-16A2, which had an M203 40mm grenade launcher attached to it. The rifle was still fairly light, though the bulk made it feel a bit awkward.
“You okay with that?” Leteri asked.
“Just like a shotgun, right?” he said, pointing at the pump-action on the launcher’s barrel. The grenade mechanism was installed below the rifle’s main barrel.
“You got maybe four hundred yards range. Better to put one in front of your target than behind— but not too far in front, if you know what I mean. First time you launch it, your shoulder’s gonna kick a bit.”