Quinn came over with a handheld GPS.
“We’re up now, Senior.”
Denke turned to Jazz.
“LT, I think we need to separate ourselves from this aircraft a little; do a little escape and evasion while it is still light.”
“Okay.”
“I think we should mark the helo’s position on the GPS, pick up our fallen shipmate, and patrol to higher ground. We can make a call then about digging in and waiting or continuing to move, who knows? Maybe we can reach the ‘chon from up there,” he said nodding toward the ridge.
“Escape and evasion?” said the pilot incredulously. “I’m staying with the bird. Someone will come and get us.”
Just then the sound of metal piercing metal, “dink, dink, dink,” was immediately followed by gunfire from the slope in the direction of Kukesh.
“Shit, they followed us!” yelled Denke.
Now Jazz saw the pilot holding his leg. Blood poured from between his fingers.
“CONTACT RIGHT, CONTACT RIGHT!” someone yelled from the nose of the aircraft.
Jazz ran to the nose and flipped his weapon back to “SEMI.” He could see movement but no distinct man or men coming down the hill.
T-Ball was prone on the ground ten feet in front of him. He saw his teammate open fire, and did the same.
As he was changing his clip, Denke grabbed Jazz by the shoulder.
“LT, you gotta lead us outta here. Head up that hill, the airmen will follow. Me and the boys will cover the back door.”
Jazz turned around and saw the co-pilot carrying the wounded pilot in a fireman’s carry. The two aircrewman held either end of the sleeping bag that secured the body of Sam Marton.
A large volume of fire erupted behind them. Jazz kept turning around, tempted to run back. He knew he could not, not yet.
Jazz caught up with the men carrying their dead shipmate, slung his weapon and grabbed Marton around the middle.
“Go! Let’s go!”
The co-pilot in front kept stumbling. He even ran the pilot’s head into a tree, knocking snow off the branches. As they climbed higher and higher, the brush and the patches of snow thinned. The land became a little rockier, with boulders beginning to dot the landscape.
They had not quite reached the peak when Jazz thought he saw a good position. There were several boulders close together. They hooked around to the left, away from Kukesh. The ground sloped away from them on all sides.
Jazz could still hear shooting and when he looked back he occasionally saw muzzle flashes.
“Here, stop behind these rocks. I’ll be back,” the lieutenant commanded.
Now he ran down the hill toward his teammates. Quinn was the first one he saw.
“Quinn! Over here!”
T-Ball came running from somewhere. Quinn pointed toward Jazz. T-Ball ran toward his OIC.
“We’re going up that way, T-Ball.”
“Got it.”
The firing had stopped now.
After T-Ball came Ash, then Denke, Dee, Keating, Sinclair, and Quinn. As Quinn passed Jazz he tapped him on the shoulder.
“Last man!”
Jazz flipped his selector switch from “SEMI” to “AUTO.” He scanned the forest in front of him for the enemy. There was no sign of movement.
He gave Quinn about two minutes to leap frog up the hill then he followed. First he passed T-Ball and tapped him on the shoulder.
“Last man,” he whispered.
The det had to be quiet now to hide their escape. When Jazz got to Denke he pointed up the hill to where the Hurricane crew was.
“We’re going up there.”
Denke nodded.
Then he got in position further up the hill from Quinn. Jazz held up a fist. Quinn saw it and repeated the signal.
Hold.
He waited for the signal to get passed back from T-Ball. Then he motioned by waving his arm.
Follow me.
Quietly the det patrolled the last twenty yards to the aviators. There, behind the cover of the rocks, they huddled.
“Sinclair, rear-guard down that hill. T-Ball, watch to the right in case they try to flank us. Everyone else, smoke ‘em if you got ‘em,” said Denke.
Canteens, MREs, and energy bars came out of vests and cargo pockets. Keating tended to the wounded pilot. Jazz tried again to reach the Inchon.
“Bright Star, Bright Star, this is Tiburon Four, over.”
He drank from his Camelbak while he waited for a response.
“Bright Star, Bright Star, this is Tiburon Four, over.”
Denke looked at him and shrugged.
“How’s he doing, Chief?” Jazz inquired of Keating.
“It’s just a flesh wound. I’ve ‘ad worse,” responded the pilot through gritted teeth.
Suddenly everyone was laughing.
THIRTY-THREE
Dee and Ash took the next watch. All the men sat quietly and tried to stay loose. Periodically Jazz made a call on the radio to Inchon. There was no answer.
“I haven’t seen a thing,” Dee said keeping his eyes down the hill from his observation point. “Do you think we scared ‘em off?”
“Ha!” Denke chuckled. “Who scared who off? They are pouring through that helo right now, gathering intel and probably having a late lunch of HDRs. The first chance they get, they’ll be back.”
“It’s been almost two hours,” said Sinclair. “Search and Rescue should be up here soon.”
“Count on another four, Sinc,” responded Keating. “It was a two hour flight from Tirane to Kukesh. That means two hours for 218 to get back or for us all to be noticed missing. Then they’ll need two hours of prep to get their poop in one sock followed by a two-hour flight back.”
Jazz felt the eyes on him again.
What are we going to do, Lieutenant?
“LT, Senior… come look at this,” said Ash.
Jazz got up, hunched over to reduce his profile, and scooted over to Ash. Denke was right beside him.
“Look between those trees. See that dirt patch?”
“Yeah,” said Denke.
“I think it’s a road.”
“Huh?” said Jazz.
“Watch, every now and then I think I see something… maybe a vehicle.”
Jazz saw something moving across the spot that Ash was pointing toward.
“See it?”
“I do, I do, Ash.”
“Well maybe we can Shanghai a truck or something… find our own way back.”
Jazz looked at Denke.
“I think that’s a good idea, sir. We should at least have a look-see. The pilot is stable now, but for how long? Four hours from now we could be south-a here, on radio comms to a bird coming here.”
Jazz gripped his rifle and thought a moment.
“Okay, Senior. I’ll take Ash’s position here. You two go recon the road first and see if it is even feasible. We’ll hold here.”
“Got it, LT.”
Several scenarios began to dance in Jazz’s head as he watched Ash and Denke descend the hill further to the left, almost ninety degrees from where they came.
Thirty minutes later the det moved to a position along the road. Jazz could see first-hand now why they had to get rations to the Ethnic Albanians via helo. It looked like it would take days for a convoy to get up here even with four-wheel drive. The road was washed out in several places and was pitted with holes. Jazz wondered if they were from ice or from mortar rounds.
He reviewed the plan in his head once more. Denke was on the road, closest to Kukesh. He would check each vehicle as it passed. If one looked like a real option, they would commandeer it. On his signal, they would rush the vehicle with weapons drawn, hoping that the occupants would surrender quickly.