The Severance (2 page)

“That’s a tough house!” Bena yelled to no one in particular, as he changed his weapon’s magazine.

Jake looked out at Captain Slater in No-Man’s-Land. He wasn’t moving or making any noise. A new sense of urgency consumed Jake as he grabbed the handmic.

“MadDog 71, rounds are on target for the second pass. Enemy fire has increased. Your 30-mikemike is not penetrating the structure’s walls. Go hot on Hellfire, over.”

“Kodiak 6, MadDog 71, Roger, understand all, break.
Guidance from Talon Main states we are not authorized to
go hot with Hellfire at this time.”

Jake gritted his teeth. The NATO International Security Assistance Force rules of engagement were pretty easy to follow and actually pretty evenhanded with the application of force. It came down to two basic principles: don’t use a sledgehammer to kill a fly, and don’t destroy something unless you had to. However, higher echelons of command, petrified of international media and civilian backlash, interpreted the rules of engagement with the understanding that you shouldn’t kill anything, ever—hence, the munitions restriction that Jake was under now.

“MadDog 71, Kodiak 6, listen. I have a soldier down and I am under intense enemy fire. I understand your guidance, but understand me—more soldiers are going to get hurt out here if you do not destroy that house with a Hellfire missile. I am the ground force commander and I’m telling you to shoot the fucking missile. How copy, over?”

There was a long pause on the radio. There were two pilots in each of the circling helicopters. Jake was sure the four of them were discussing what to do. None of them wanted to get soldiers killed, but orders were orders.

“Kodiak 6, MadDog 71. We’ll go hot on Hellfire, break.
We have eyes on your WIA. We need you to get him behind
some cover before we launch, over.”

Jake set the mic down and thought for a moment. He needed the Hellfire to destroy the enemy and he needed to get Captain Slater. The Apaches couldn’t safely shoot until Captain Slater was behind cover. Under those circumstances, he was stuck between a rock and a hard place. The only thing he could think to do was change the circumstances. This was going to require a little more risk to pull off than Jake was normally comfortable with, especially to save a guy like Captain Slater.

It took a few seconds to piece together, but finally he came up with a plan.

“MadDog 71, Kodiak 6. I need you to pull another gun run on the target, on my command.”

“Kodiak 6, MadDog 71. Roger. Standing by”

Doc Ramirez took off his Aid bag, trying to make himself as light and fast as possible.

“So the plan is that when the Apaches shoot the house again, I go out and get the guy. Right, Sir?” Doc asked.

“No, the plan is that you stay your ass here and Big Joe and I go out and get the guy while the Apaches shoot,” Jake replied.

“Roger that,” Doc said, sounding disappointed.

Doc—always ready to throw his life away.

The call went up and down the trench line for Big Joe Eastman. At 6 feet 4 inches tall and 220 lbs, Big Joe was probably the strongest man in the battalion. He was also dumb as a box of rocks. This made him uniquely qualified for the task at hand: Big Joe could easily move the wounded Captain Slater, and was too dumb to be scared of getting hit in the process.

“Sir?” Big Joe said in a low and slow voice, as he crawled up to Jake’s position.

Jake spoke slowly and clearly for the big man, “Okay, Big Joe. Here’s the deal. I’m going to call the Apaches in to do a gun run on the house—”

“The last gun run didn’t really work, Sir,” Joe interrupted.

“Joe, would you shut up and let me finish?”

“Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir.”

“Okay, so I call in the gun run. This should at least scare the bad guys out of shooting at us for ten seconds. During those ten seconds, you and I are going to go out there and get Captain Slater. You—”

“Who is Captain Slater?”

“He’s the guy who got shot, Joe. Would you let me finish?”

“Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir.”

“Okay. You go out there, pick up the wounded and move him back here, and I’ll cover you. We have to do this quickly. You understand?”

“So, I go and get the guy out there after the Apaches shoot and bring him back. You cover me. Is that right?”

“Yeah, Joe. That’s about it.”

Big Joe and Jake readied themselves to move. Jake left instructions with Bena to tell SGT McBride that if they didn’t make it back, he should call in the missile strike and police them up later. Big Joe didn’t seem to be bothered at all. Jake, on the other hand, was sweating bullets.

“MadDog 71, Kodiak 6. Commence gun run, time now, over.”

“Roger. Engaging.”

Jake looked over at Big Joe, who had started chewing gum.

“Ready, Joe?”

“Roger, Sir. Piece of cake.”

The first of the Apaches came in and made its pass, raining 30-mm projectiles onto the mud hut. As predicted, the enemy sought refuge from the gun run.

“Now, Joe! Now!” Jake screamed, as he scrambled out of the ditch.

Big Joe Eastman was second out of the ditch and effortlessly passed Jake, heading toward the wounded captain. Jake pulled security for Big Joe as the big man picked the wounded soldier up like a rag doll and sprinted back toward the trench. Maybe Big Joe didn’t actually need any help to get this done, Jake thought.

Jake began power walking backward and was about to turn and break into a full sprint toward cover when he saw it in the moonlight—a dark shape moving in the window. A gun barrel glinted as it protruded from the window. What happened next was instinct, nothing more. Jake fired a burst from the hip and watched at least one of his rounds make contact with the center mass of the figure, which shuddered and disappeared. Jake turned and sprinted away. Luck had favored him once; it was unlikely to do it again.

But the vision in the window must have had friends, because the fire erupted again, now all leveled at Jake. The run back to cover seemed to be miles longer than the first time he’d made it. He could hear and even feel rounds snap past him as his own men attempted to cover his run.

“Covering fire! Pour it on! Cover the captain!” Sergeant McBride bellowed. Jake dove into the protection of the ditch as the second Apache finally made its gun run.

Looking at what remained of the compound, it was hard to imagine that anyone could have survived, but there they were, muzzle flashes and tracers in the night like angry lightning bugs. Lungs burning, Jake snatched the handmic away from Bena.

“MadDog 71, Kodiak 6. Target area is clear, engage with Hellfire, over.”

“Kodiak 6, MadDog 71. Understand all. Engaging.”

Jake shouted out a warning of the impending Hellfire strike and it was echoed. The soldiers ceased firing and took cover. Doc, who had already begun work on Captain Slater, used his body to shield the officer from falling debris.

The sounds of the Apaches faded slightly. They were pulling back to get into firing position. Jake could see them in the night sky. An orange light erupted from one of the Apache’s wings and streaked across the night sky and into the mud hut. The explosion and concussive force were impressive, but the damage from the Hellfire missile was awe inspiring. About a third of the hut collapsed outright and Jake could see huge cracks in the remaining walls. Smoke and dust were everywhere and there was no sign of movement inside. Although his ears were ringing, he distinctly heard one of his guys ask what they were going to do now. Jake thought about that for a moment.

“MadDog 71, Kodiak 6. Good hit, significant damage to the target. Hit it again.”

“Kodiak 6, MadDog 71. Uhhhh—we are seeing the
same thing you are up here. I think you are good to go with
one Hellfire.”

“That wasn’t a question, MadDog 71. Hit it again.”

“Are you sure?”
The pilot was beginning to sound amused.

“I’m sure. Shoot it again.”

“Good copy. Engaging again.”
Jake could hear the pilot chuckling.

The second Hellfire performed as the first, and when the dust settled, only a part of one wall and the makeshift door frame were still standing.

“That will about do it,” Jake said, nodding his head in approval. He handed the radio back to Bena and told him to establish communication with the battalion, using the gunships as a radio relay. The higher-ups had probably been watching the whole show on an Unmanned Aerial Vehicle, but Jake still wanted a direct line of communication with his superiors, in case they ran into more enemy.

“Doc, what’s up with Captain Slater?” Jake asked.

“Sir, got the bleeding under control. It appears that the bullet shattered his femur, but missed the artery. He’s stable, but we need to fly him out of here,” Doc replied.

“Is he conscious?”

“Oh yeah, Sir,” Doc said as he wiped sweat from his brow. “He never lost consciousness. I suspect he just got too scared to make any noise while he was out there. Judging from the smell, I’m pretty sure Captain Slater shit himself. Hard to tell at night, though.”

Jake grimaced and told Doc to draft the Medevac request and prep Captain Slater for dustoff.

Sergeant First Class McBride came walking up to Jake. It was immediately apparent that the tall Georgian wasn’t happy.

“Any particular reason you have a death wish?” McBride snarled.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sergeant,” Jake replied.

“Cut the bullshit, Sir! What if the gun run hadn’t slowed them down, what then? You and Big Joe would have been cut to pieces.”

“Well it’s a good thing that didn’t happen, and it’s nice to know you’re worried about me.”

“For the record, I was worried about Big Joe,” McBride snapped and taking a deep breath, he continued, “Why didn’t you consult me?”

Jake threw up his hands and groaned, “What would you have done that was any different? I had suppressive fires, security, and violence of action! What —oh, what—would you have done that was in any way different?”

“I would have thrown smoke for starters!”

Jake nodded; he had not, in fact, used any smoke grenades. His platoon sergeant had him there. Smoke grenades might have come in handy, even at night. Jake changed his tone a bit.

“Point taken. You are right, as always.”

“I’m always right and you never listen. What’s new? In this case, you pulled it off. I’m sending Nelson’s squad to the north side and Olsen’s squad to pull security to the south. What’s the deal with Captain Wow here?”

Jake nodded toward Captain Slater. “Doc says he’s stable, broken leg, no arterial bleeding. Bena and Doc should be spinning up a Medevac now.”

“Good—good.” McBride rubbed his hands together. If there was one thing Jake knew, it was that Sergeant McBride was only happy when things went as they were supposed to. Most officers would have balked at the kind of insubordination that McBride routinely displayed, but Jake had long ago learned not to take his NCO’s way of coping with stress personally.

“So, I figure you, me, and Lopez’s squad can check out the house and look for the KIAs,” Jake said, as he looked at the smoking remains of the insurgents’ final stand.

“Sounds good, sir. We also have LT Hunley’s platoon with us as well.”

It dawned on Jake that there had been a whole second platoon traveling with them. It seemed like a thousand years since he’d thought about Lieutenant Hunley and his platoon of fresh-faced replacements.

“How did Hunley’s crew do?” Jake asked.

“Most of them hid out, Sir, including the LT and Platoon Sergeant. Only a handful fired their weapons. First tour for most of them,” McBride replied, using a tone that didn’t conceal his contempt.

“Well,” Jake said, as he unsnapped his helmet and scratched his chin, “I think those fine folks can spend their evening digging out KIAs and guns. What do you think?”

Sergeant McBride nodded his head. “Sounds like a plan, Sir. I’ll get it done. Can we wait until we get the Medevac out of here before we go digging through the house?”

“No arguments here, man.”

Captain Slater spent the time waiting for his evacuation complaining that everyone had abandoned him and demanding sworn statements from all the witnesses. Jake was undecided about whether Captain Slater wanted the statements for an investigation or for a valor award. Probably both, actually, Jake guessed. Jake imagined the award citation would at some point say that Captain Slater was wounded in action as he “single-handedly assaulted an insurgent stronghold with blatant disregard for his own safety.” Jake would get a letter of reprimand for letting Captain Slater go untreated for so long. Such was life in the big green machine.

Once the Medevac helicopter came and went, it was down to the business of counting the enemy dead and cataloguing their equipment. Battalion was already screaming about the numbers, but they were always screaming about something. With the help of Lieutenant Hunley’s men for manpower, it wasn’t too difficult to dig out the enemy dead.

All counted, there were six enemy fighters dead, all of them packing serious fighting gear and weapons. Two of them were carrying PKM belt-fed machine guns. One had a VHF radio and an old set of American nightvision goggles. Some soldier had probably lost the goggles or—worse yet—had been killed and the goggles taken from his body.