Gould had other things on his mind. “What I don’t understand is that when I decided to go for choppers, all I caught was crap from everybody I knew. I felt like flying helicopters had made me a second-class citizen. People wouldn’t treat me like a ‘real’ pilot. But now I haven’t had to buy a drink since I’ve been here. I’m walking on water, and everyone wants to be my best friend. I know that fixed-wingers view helicopters different from themselves, but I’ve been here a week and I feel like the most popular guy in town.”
Head turned and looked his copilot up and down. He shook his head. “I keep forgetting this is your first helicopter assignment. You’ve spent too many years in Air Training Command.”
“American Toy Company,” corrected Gould. “That’s for all the chicken crap we had to put up with.”
Head muttered, “Okay. You’re new here, so I’ll explain it once.” He nodded to the row of F-15 fighters across the tarmac that made up the two squadrons of the 3rd TFW. “Helicopters are what keeps those dudes alive. If it wasn’t for us, these hotshot fighter jocks wouldn’t try half the stuff they do. Strapping themselves in a few tons of metal, hurtling toward the ground near Mach 1—and in a real war, there will be people shooting back at them. The chances of them pranging it in are pretty high, so what do you think is the only visible way out, a hope that someday if they’re shot down they might survive? Us, bucko. We did it in ‘Nam, then the Gulf, and several times a day in Iraq and Afghanistan. You see, we’re the cavalry, coming to the rescue to pull these guys out of trouble. Without us those hotshots are not going to get out of there, and they are grateful as hell. So what’s wrong with accepting their drinks?”
Gould nodded. “That’s what I thought.”
“Let’s just get out of here,” interrupted Head. “Those girls and guys won’t keep waiting all morning.”
Bruce Steele crouched at the edge of the clearing. The hole in the jungle canopy wasn’t more than fifty feet across, but it gave him an unobstructed view of the sky above.
The rain had stopped last night, and for the first time the sun looked like it was trying to break through. Bruce listened intently for the sound of the rescue helicopter.
Charlie stayed back in the jungle, scouting the area for Abuj or any of the “bad guys” that might have been assigned to the E & E team.
Bruce knelt and fumbled in his flight suit. He pulled out a small radio. He switched it on, then back off; a faint hissing came from the speakers. The radio was waterproof, so they would be able to broadcast their position.
He checked his watch; they should be hearing from the rescue chopper any time now. He drew out the antenna and flicked the radio on — nothing but static came out of the speaker.
He knew that they were being watched. They had found few clearings, and the E & E staff probably had all the areas reconnoitered. All the dull green foliage, as well as the absence of real food, had started to get on Bruce’s nerves.
A voice crackled from the radio speaker. “Maddog, Cobra Five. I am running a linear search. Please notify when you hear me.”
Bruce hastily turned down the volume, then brought the radio to his lips. “Cobra Five, Maddog Four. We’ll call when we hear you.”
Bruce melted back into the jungle and waited for the sound of the helicopter. He knew that the Pave Hawk wouldn’t stop crisscrossing the jungle area until Bruce called him. Bruce would then vector the helicopter in on sound alone — the louder the helicopter got, the closer they would be.
He didn’t have to wait long before a faint sound caught his attention.
Bruce strained to hear. As he leaned forward, his boots made a squishing sound. It felt as if his feet were covered with fungus. He had taken off his boots last night to dry off his feet, but had had nothing dry to wipe them with. He’d settled for just airing them out, and ignoring both the smell and the way they looked.
The sound grew louder. Bruce spoke into the radio. “Cobra five, I hear you, and you are getting closer.”
“Rog, Maddog. I will remain on this heading. Notify when sound decreases.”
Bruce didn’t answer, keeping radio contact to a minimum. Charlie brushed up against his shoulder.
“I think we’re still alone.”
“Not for long.”
Charlie listened and nodded. “It’s about time.”
The helicopter made a distinct “whop-whop” sound that grew louder every second.
“Sounds like they’re heading straight for us,” said Bruce. “But then again, how many times have they plucked guys like us out of the jungle?” The sound seemed to be right on top of them, then it lost intensity. “Cobra Five, you are getting away. Come back the way you came — we’re in a clearing about fifty feet across.”
“Rog Maddog four, I have three possible areas in view.”
Bruce nudged Charlie. “Let’s get ready.” They ducked low and sprinted from the edge of the jungle to the center of the clearing. Bruce felt like he was naked without any trees around him.
Seconds passed. Then the dark body of the Pave Hawk flashed over the clearing.
“Cobra Five, we just saw you. Can you back up?”
“Rog. Prepare for hoist.”
The helicopter came back overhead. Even though the craft was well over a hundred feet above the clearing, Bruce could still feel the strong downdraft of the rotor. Moldy leaves flew up in the turbulent air.
Someone’s head poked out from the side of the helicopter. The person quickly moved an arm up and down. A second later, the penetrator, a long rod with a weight on one end and a seat with straps on the other end, came hurtling down from the Cobra. Bruce and Charlie scrambled to get out of the way.
The penetrator bored for the ground, and just before it hit, slowed to a stop. It settled gently onto the jungle floor.
Bruce turned to Charlie. “Go ahead.”
“You first. I outrank you.”
“And I’m the AC.” Bruce shoved Charlie forward, letting his backseater know that the Aircraft Commander still had the last word.
Charlie ran to the seat and quickly strapped in. Once fastened, Bruce spoke into the radio. “Maddog’s ready, Cobra Five.”
Charlie shot up through the air, then disappeared into the helicopter.
Bruce scanned the clearing — it was still empty. If this had been a real pickup, the helicopter probably wouldn’t have found them so quickly. In addition, running out into a clearing was a pretty stupid thing to do, especially with unfriendlies around. But in a peacetime training environment, safety rules supreme, no matter how it affects realism.
The penetrator came back down from the helicopter; Bruce ran out and strapped in. He waved to the people above him — they brought him up like an elevator going all out.
As the clearing drew away below him, a small dark figure stepped from the jungle and watched him go up. Abuj!
The tiny Negrito had probably had them in his sights all along.
Well, no use worrying about it now — they’ll find out how they did during the out brief tomorrow morning. But before then, he was looking forward to a shower and a belly full of food. And not necessarily in that order.
As he drew close to the helicopter, a hand reached out and pulled him in. A Staff Sergeant helped him unstrap once the penetrator was secured to the craft. “Welcome back, Lieutenant.”
“Thanks.”
Charlie sat in the back, covered with a blanket and drinking a cup of steaming liquid. The sergeant flipped Bruce an orange.