“A man who won’t die for something is not fit to live.”
-Martin Luther King, Jr.
“Holy shit, where’d they come from?”
Saunders looked to the sky, to the precise point where Whitman was staring. She could hear the whoosh of engines, but her eyes were having a hard time focusing. Despite the blurring, she could make out the familiar shapes of Falcons.
With her clear view of the east bank, she could hear the telltale sounds of low flying planes. Craning enough to see back, she got a look at the stretched-wing profiles of A-10s coming in on an attack vector. Already, the armored columns which had been attempting to pick up their last position were running, trying to make it cover before the Thunderbolts let loose with cannon fire and cluster bombs.
“Oh shit, we’re in for a show now!”
It was Morris saying this, watching from his seat behind her. She could feel her head spinning again and her vision was beginning to fade. But this was something she was determined to see. The sight of columns being bombed, other than their own. A near-black out seemed worth it.
“Bombs away!” yelled Morris.
The east bank went up in flames and sparks as the bombs found purchase against asphalt and armored vehicles. A series of secondaries went up as fuel and ammo exploded, adding to the maelstrom and sending a shock wave out in all directions. The entire vehicle braced as they were hit by the hot gust. Everyone but Saunders, who felt her head loll and get tossed sideways.
Whitman howled triumphantly. “Holy shit, thank God for those buttmunchers! I’ll never give them a hard time again!”
“Where’d they come from?” asked Morris.
“Who cares? Don’t look a napalm-dropping gift horse in the mouth!”
Saunder joined the frivolity with a gentle chuckle. Smoke and flame now rose from the road across the river, the shattered husks of tanks and LAV’s burning bright and blackening around their open hatches and doors. All day, they had been running for their lives in the face of the enemy’s columns. Now, they were watching as they fled. She couldn’t help but find it… beautiful.
And then things went deadly silent for a second… black too. She came back when a pair of hands began to touch her head.
“Whoa! Sarge! Are you okay?”
She opened her eyes and righted herself, turning just far enough to see that Lockley, one of the two privates stuffed in the back, had been the one to catch her. Majorca was leaning on him, holding her shoulder. She brushed both sets of hands away and pulled her rifle up to her shoulder.
“I’m fine,” she said. “Private, get us to our destination.”
“Yes, Sarge.” He said the words, but she could see him looking sideways at her now too. Her pleads with herself were becoming tiresome and persistent.
Please… just a bit longer. The cavalry was already here, the angels on their shoulders that were routing all the enemies before them. They just needed to get to the hospital, perform a sit rep, and make sure some of those bombs landed in the right spot. She took several deep breaths and tried to keep her head still, tried to ignore the desire to lay back and let herself black out.
For just a second, the thought that she might not wake up popped into her head. She quickly shook it loose, knowing that such fears would only screw with her right now. After all they’d been through today, it seemed ridiculous and ill-timed to be worrying about that now.
Besides, there were worse things for to consider at the moment, like the possibility that they might die before they even made it safety. That, in turn, would mean a whole lot more people would die, and what little chance they had left to salvage the mission Braun had put them on would be gone.
That’s it, she told herself with some mirth. Don’t be afraid of dying. Be afraid of dying too soon…
* * *
“Holy shit,” Whitman said again, pulling their vehicle into a tight spot next to the treeline overlooking the lot. Her entire squad began to deploy as the LT’s vehicle took a hard left to find a concealed spot from which to sight from. In their current spot, there was not a lot of cover, and the simplest disturbance was sure to turn the enemy’s attention their way and blow their little op to hell very quickly.
Looking to the hospital, she could see what he meant. Several plumes of smoke were going up from the firing line, the two trucks and several squads that were firing on the hospital. One looked to be coming from the remains of an armored vehicle behind the main troop carriers, while another emerge from what appeared to be a weapons position. The defenders had got some shots in, and appeared to be putting up some sporadic fire here and there.
And yet, the attackers had the edge. Multiple machine guns were pounding the building facade from the front while foot mobiles spotted for them and laid down precision fire with their rifles. Every now and then, a 40mm grenade or rocket went through a window, pilfering what was already a ruined building front even worse. Saunders did all she could to fight the sensation of dizziness and get her weapon ready, activating the IR laser on the side.
Her comm buzzed, the voice of the LT coming through.
“Viper One One, do you have eyes on target?”
“Affirmative,” she said, feeling a slight wave of nausea take her. “We have eyes on the troops trucks and at least twenty foot mobiles. Seeing multiple MG’s in position around the trucks.”
“Affirmative,” he radioed back. “We have eyes on the trucks, preparing to laze them. Have your squad laze the foot mobiles and MG’s. Air support indicates precision strikes incoming.”
“Roger that, One Actual,” she said, releasing her hold on the comm. Taking a deep breath to still the bile that was churning in his stomach, she raised her weapon and yelled over her to the rest of her boys. “C’mon squad! Laze those MGs and foot mobiles for the aircrews! We got missiles inbound looking for purchase!”
She coudn’t see if they were in position or not, but decided to crack the whip anyway. Whitman came to her side and placed his M4 over his arm and aimed his sites at the nearest cluster of soldiers. She looked to her left and saw Morris, Majorca grabbing spots around the rear of their Humvee, picking out their targets and painting them with their lasers. That left their two additional grunts using the hood to prop their weapon up, with Batista still on the .50 cal just in case they drew fire.
Saunders breathed several more times and tried to keep her weapon steady. She could hear the Warthog approaching, the deep roar of its engines sending rumblings through the ground. Her stomach felt like it might jump into her throat, emptying its contents all over her weapon. She tried holding her breath, thinking that might work.
And then, the grunts at the front of the hospital looked up. In the sky, they saw the wide-wing profile of their doom approaching, and started running.
“Wait, where are they going?” asked Whitman. Saunders blinked a few times to clear her eyes and looked tightly at them.
“They’re moving inside!” said Majorca. “What do we do?”
“Keep the targets painted,” Saunders replied, putting her hand to her comm. In the distance, she heard the sound of Maverick missiles breaking free of their pylons, their rocket engines kicking in. She had barely a second to report.
“Viper One Actual, be advised! Enemy is mobile and moving into – “
The earth shook again. This time it was a rumbling that send a ripple through the ground, starting from the enemy position and spreading in all directions. Saunders fell to the ground as the others stumbled, her weapon breaking her fall. With this latest hit, she lost all control and her stomach threw up everything she’d eaten for the day, which wasn’t much.
“Sarge!” Majorca yelled from her right. Whitman echoed him from her left. Several others closed in in slow motion as the world continued to shake. She felt their hands on her back as she finished wretching, just in time to feel the vibrations in the Earth subside…
It felt like a while longer before she could look up, or anyone could speak to her in a way that warranted a reply.
“Sarge, are you okay?”
“I’m fine…” she croaked, and wiped her face.
“Sarge, you’re wounded, we need to get you help.”
“I’m fine,” she said, and was only partially lying. With her stomach empty, her head felt just the slightest bit better.
She looked up and spotted the front of the hospital. Their Thunderbolt was now well into the distance, several more planes zooming this way and that around it, missiles and tracers racing across the sky. The entire enemy line was now a smoking crater, the husks of the trucks and the armored vehicle that had been in front of them now just flattened debris in the middle.
She scanned left, and felt the breath run out of her.
Beyond the left end of the lot, where the hospital entrance once was, there was now a smoking pile of debris. Arranged in a sloping formation, reaching back several dozens meters to a semi-collapsed roof, tons and tons of concrete, glass and metal was piled high. She couldn’t tell, but it almost looked like there were faces and limbs protruding from the mess as well.
Oh my God, she thought. Had they done this? Had they lazed the target ineffectively. Or worse, had her little stint with nausea caused a missile to go off course, demolish the front end of the hospital itself? She could feel her stomach churning again as adrenaline and unbridled panic spread through her.
Her comm buzzed. “Viper One One, what happened?” She couldn’t reply. “Viper One One, this is Viper Actual. Do you have eyes on our destination?”
Grabbing her comm, Saunders replied slowly and softly. “Roger that, Actual. Destination has been hit.” she paused, searching for the strength to say it again. “I say again, destination has been hit.”
