As he popped the cockpit and threw off his helmet, Doberman looked up at the sky.
“I am one damn lucky son of a bitch!” he shouted.
“That’s what I’m talking about!” shouted A-Bomb, clambering up onto the wing. “You’re also a goddamn show-off with that gun.” He slapped the nose of the Hog in admiration. “Wish I’d thought of that.”
EPILOGUE
GOING HOME
CHAPTER 82
The general gave him the news about Dixon personally. Colonel Knowlington listened quietly, nodding ever so slightly as the Special Ops commander finished.
“Officially, he’s MIA,” said the general. “But someone saw the body.”
“Okay.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s war.” Knowlington shrugged. “I’m sorry to cut you short, but there’s something I have to do right away.”
“Sure.”
Colonel Knowlington left his office and walked directly to Tent City. He found Mongoose in his tent.
“Hey Colonel,” said Mongoose. “I’ve just been going over the frag.”
“Don’t bother. Get your bags packed. You’re out of here.”
Mongoose nearly dropped the sheets of computer paper containing the squadron’s daily assignments. “What?”
“There’s a C-5A going to Newburgh, N.Y. at 3 p.m. You’re on it or you’re court martialed for desertion.”
“You bastard.” Mongoose jumped to his feet, as angry as if Knowlington had told him he was sleeping with his wife. “You promised me you’d take care of keeping me here.”
Skull said nothing, turning and leaving the tent.
“I won’t forget this!” shouted Mongoose, running after him. “I’ll get you back, you drunk bastard.”
Tightening the fingers in his right fist, Colonel Knowlington walked away.
CHAPTER 82
His mouth was full. Warm lamb, scented with mint and a little bit of thyme, his all-time favorite dish.
It was a celebration, in honor of his finally becoming a real, bonafide officer. Mom blew out all the stops.
His cousins and aunt were there. His mother sitting at the end of the table, smiling.
When he saw her, he knew it was a dream. For a moment, he didn’t want it to end. Then he decided it had to. He pushed his arm under his chest, raised his head for a moment, collapsed back.
It was dirt in his mouth, not lamb.
He pushed up and heard the voices nearby, Iraqi voices.
His gun was lying a few feet away.
Useless. It had jammed.
A Kalashnikov was a few yards beyond it.
So was its owner. Dead. He’d shot him.
The pistol was on the ground. He bent and scooped it up.
The AK-47 was empty, he remembered, but he picked it up anyway. He grabbed the H&K as well.
The voices were louder now, no more than ten yards away, around the corner of the crevice.
Air Force Lieutenant William James “BJ” Dixon put down the rifles and knelt on one knee, bracing himself in firing position, both hands wrapped firmly around the pistol.
No way was anyone taking him alive.
AN HISTORICAL NOTE:
While inspired by actual A-10A missions conducted during the Gulf War, this book is fiction. All characters, commands and locations are to be interpreted as such, and in no case are meant to reflect on anyone living or dead, actual military procedures, practices or whims.
Readers familiar with the A-10A facilities at King Fahd and Al Jouf will realize I’ve moved a few things around in the interest of the yarn. We haven’t gotten the Jacuzzi yet, but Chief Clyston is working on it.
While Special Ops— Delta Force in particular— infiltrated a number of teams into various parts of Iraq prior to the ground portion of the campaign, Fort Apache and its command structure is entirely a figment of my imagination. No documents released after the war include any reference to a permanent base of its size in Iraq. While the A-10As did at times operate in support of the Special Ops teams, no official documents support the theory that they operated from inside Iraq. A discrepancy in declassified records has tended to reinforce certain rumors about classified A-10A Forward Operating Areas or bases, but none of the official documents I’ve seen to date specifically prove that Hogs operated from enemy territory. In any event, all activities north of the border in this book are fictitious.
As for the Special Ops missions, we will probably have to wait years for the full story to be declassified— and for the guys who were there to say what really happened. But readers can find some details of the Special Ops missions in Iraq in several books.
Among my favorites, because they cast the operations in their historical framework, are Commandos by Douglas C. Waller, and From a Dark Sky by Orr Kelly. Kelly’s book focuses on the Air Force’s contribution to Special Ops, a perspective often missed.
Terry Griswold and D.M. Giangreco also include some stories in their book, Delta, America’s Elite Counterterrorist Force; if you’ve never seen how small an AH-6G is, you can get an idea from the photos included in their book.
Some of the behind-the-scenes political maneuvering is hinted at in Rick Atkinson’s larger history to the war, Crusade, a much different book than the others. And a personal look at the British SAS contribution to special operations in Iraq is told by Andy McNab in his first-person memoir Bravo Two Zero. McNab managed to survive capture; his true story is more harrowing than fiction.
A final note: Don’t try Doberman’s approach to short-field landings on your local shopping mall parking lot. It beats the hell out of the landing gear and results in a lot of broken glass.
— Jim DeFelice