Chapter 42

 FORTY-TWO

Trigger glanced out the window of the Longsword, despite their advanced preparations the day prior, the Marines were still unable to depart until early in the morning, costing them not only precious nighttime, but potentially the element of surprise. The sun’s glow cresting over the horizon in front of him gave the sky a rosy-pink color, making him sure that the dark blues of his Longsword and the muted greens and blacks of the Belkan’s CH-53 would stand out even more than normal.

 

There was little fanfare when Fick had approached the rest of Basilisk about what Colonel Mancuso had said. Trigger tried not to think on if it was a sense of comradery or just dedication to the mission that pushed their potentially mutinous actions. Trigger wasn’t sure what to expected, but the reaction from the team was muted at best. Some like Zhao and Morgen nodded, others like Kyle, Haver and Dennings cracked a smile or made a joke, but there were no outbursts of emotion. They were all professionals dedicated to their craft, diligently preparing until the Belkan’s had reported themselves ready for departure. Unlike other missions, Bandog had not been there to see them off, instead departing when David had arrived with Ben and Erwin in tow.

 

“Lancer, crossing point Claudia” Ben reported in his gravelly voice, the sounds of the foreign language were strained and awkward. Trigger hadn’t seen much of the man when he arrived at their compound late in the evening, but the few glances he had seen of Ben and his crew chief, both men had a familiar look. It was the same look Trigger had seen on the faces of both pilots at Fort Grays and his own friends at the LRSSG. It was a burning hatred and need to enact great violence against those who had wronged them. Trigger frowned; it was the same look he had worn plenty of times. I wonder if I would be the same if it had been Cossette? Trigger thought to himself.

 

 Trigger turned his attention towards the MFD in the cockpit. He could see the datalink between the CH-53 and his aircraft, as well as their positions on their route towards the target. He was about twenty miles ahead of the Helicopter and another fifteen from the target.

“Archer, crossing Miyako” Trigger reported over the radio glancing through the weapons stores page one last time. Rockets and guns, and not a pound for air-to-air. Look what’s become of me. Trigger chuckled shaking his head at the thought.

 

Suddenly, the radio crackled to life. It was a familiar voice to Trigger, one he had heard what seemed like a lifetime ago. “Bandog is Sunrise.”.

Trigger was taken off guard “Bandog, what the hell are you doing here?”

“Picked up an old AEW plane a few weeks back. Was gonna turn around and sell it but I think it’s put to better use right here helping you out Spare- I mean Archer- 15.” Bandog replied.

Trigger laughed ecstatically at the report. “What’s the plan then for you?”

“If nothing else I will be the C2 for this operation, Wish I could tie into some actual ISR units, but I can at least watch the skies and try to keep them clear.”

“What a good little guard dog” Trigger quipped.

“You know I could probably find another dark hole to stick you in Trigger. Places that make Zapland look like a Club Med in comparison.” Bandog shot back.  

“I hear Romny is wonderful this time of year.” Kyle interjected. “Sorosca too.” Haver added.

“Bandog, any indication they’ve seen us yet?” Fick asked, bringing everyone back to the mission at hand.

“Well, if they have, they’re being awfully quiet about it. No movement on our scopes and nothing heard over their unencrypted frequencies.” Bandog reported. “Are you sure they’re unencrypted?” Fick asked concerned.

“Positive, it was one of Park’s many complaints. But getting that equipment to work was too hard apparently for them, so they use cyphers instead. Amateurs.” Bandog replied.

“Well even amateurs can get lucky. Keep us posted.” Fick ordered.

“Regardless, Scope looks clean so I think we should leave it to Trigger to give them one hell of a wakeup call.” Bandog said.

Trigger flashed a predatory grin “gladly” he said, flipping the MASTER ARM switch to ARM. He was within five miles of the Mesa, squinting through the glare of the rising sun, he could make out the two hangars and long runway that bisected the outcrop.

“Archer 15, tally on the target.” Trigger reported.

“Archer 15, clear to engage.” Bandog replied.

 

Trigger pushed the power lever to the forward stop and nosed the Longsword over, using the toggles on his stick he selected the rocket pods, a CCIP reticle appeared onto his HUD. As he got within half a mile of the runway, he laughed as lights slowly illuminated, outlining the runway and taxiways of the airfield.

How thoughtful He thought to himself as he rested the rockets Pipper on top of the large 22 painted in white on the runway. Darting his eyes towards the end of the runway, he could see two aircraft sitting on the approach end that appeared to have not started their takeoff roll yet.

Not your lucky day. Trigger said resting his thumb on the pickle button, as the Pipper hit the captains bars, Trigger could see the afterburners ignite on one of the aircraft, followed a second later by his wingman.

 

He held the pickle button for a second, he could feel a slight jitter in the controls as half a dozen 2.75-inch rockets flew from the launchers. The total flight time of the rocket was less than a second as each impacted the ground, each individual 2-pound warhead exploding in a muted ball of fragmentation and debris from the runway. Trigger watched as the departing fighter’s pilot tried in vain to avoid the wall of destruction coming towards him, despite being spared the carnage of the initial explosion, the pilot was at the mercy of the rocks and shrapnel flying towards him.

 

Trigger banked the Longsword into a steep right turn to watch the lead fighter’s engines belch a fireball as its engine disintegrated, the wounded aircraft pitched up rapidly briefly becoming airborne, until it violently rolled onto its back and into the path of the second plane. The first planes fuel tanks had just begun to rupture as the trailing aircraft collided into the fuselage, sending a spalling ball of fire careening down the runway.  “Splash two” Trigger reported, easing off his turn and shifting his attention towards the rest of the airfield.

 

Lights were flickering on in some of the buildings of a compound south of the airfield as well as the two hangars seen on all the photos Bandog had provided. The glow of the sudden ambient light illuminating the ramp enough that he could make two larger cargo aircraft parked as well as the silhouettes of six smaller aircraft. He slewed the Longswords targeting pod to mark the vehicles and buildings he could see, each target appearing as a yellow square in his eyepiece.

“Archer, Lancer, status of LZ?” Ben called out.

Trigger slewed the pod towards the planned LZ for the CH-53, a stretch of apron space between the fuel tanks and hangars, He could make out small shapes darting back and forth as the airbases personnel we’re reacting to the sudden crash of two of their fighters.

“LZ is cherry.” Trigger reported, switching to his guns. Cutting the power, Trigger made a diving turn and lined up on the LZ.

He could hear a rapid staccato as stray rounds struck the metal fuselage of the Longsword. Continuing his dive under the onslaught of incoming fire, he squeezed the trigger. Fire belched from underneath his feet as the twin 50 caliber gatling guns painted a stream of tracer fire onto the LZ, each round exploding on impact with the ground killing those unlucky enough to be nearby. Trigger pulled back on the stick, and under the strain of the sudden onset of G’s fired off a handful of self-defense flares. Easing off the controls, he unloaded the aircraft and took up an orbit over the airfield.

“LZ is Ice.” Trigger reported.

“Lancer IP inbound” Ben replied.

“Continue” Trigger said.

 

Slewing the Targeting pod around, Trigger found two jets next to the fuel tanks near the end of the runway, switching to a white-hot camera, he could see vapors from the tail pipes of both aircraft.

 

“Archer 15, Engaging the fuel farm.” Trigger reported as he broke off his orbit. Cutting his turn in, he switched back to the rockets. Again, with a brief press of the pickle button and shudder from his wings, a dozen 70mm rockets raced from the Longsword and detonated against the tanks instantaneously rupturing the tanks and sending the fuel explosion outwards, consuming the two fighters and half a dozen personnel scattered around the jets into the raging inferno. As Trigger flew over the fireball, the plane shook violently from the sudden onset of turbulent air and the temperature inside the cockpit noticeably rose.

 

“What the hell was that?” Fick barked over the radio.

“We could see it on our scopes too, Trigger care to elaborate?” Bandog inquired.

Trigger chuckled softly to himself clearing his throat, “What can I shay? I have a bit of an exploshive pershonality” he replied, mimicking the accent of an actor he used to watch as a kid.

“Ever the joker, aren’t you Trigger.” Bandog said in admonishment.  “How many did you take out that time?”

Trigger shrugged in his harness “Hard to say, I think that’s two more machines down though.”

“Understood, get back to it.” Bandog ordered.

 

Trigger could now see a concerted effort from the ground. Flashes of small arms fire danced across the grounds of the airport.

 

Suddenly, a brilliant flash from the ground caught his attention, arcing up in front of him with an insidious red glow, then, it suddenly terminated with a black, comically puffy cloud. Immediately followed a second later by another cloud, this time far closer.

“Flak!” Trigger yelled over the radio, firewalling the Air Tractors throttle, and desperately trying to climb from their engagement zone, a tall order for a gun designed to shoot down high-altitude bombers nearly a century prior.

“Lancer holding off, anti-air is too heavy” one of the Belkans reported, Trigger didn’t pay close attention, nor did he care as he desperately weaved the lumbering aircraft through the anti-air fire, immediately missing the F-15 and its excess power and higher service ceiling than the Air Tractors suddenly middling 13,000 feet.

Running low on options and out of any better plans, Trigger took a deep breath and rolled the Longsword onto its back, pulling hard. He would only have a handful of seconds and one shot to see his plan through. Ducking and jinking, Trigger dived towards the airfield, all it took was for one lucky Flak shell to impact the plane and he would be nothing more than a memory.

 

His eyes darted back and forth, until he recognized the pattern of where the fire was originating.  One between the runway and apron, in front of the hangars, and another two on either side of the compound.

 

Taking a deep breath, Trigger rested the targeting reticle over the flak gun on the ramp and opened fire, dumping a dozen rockets over the location before switching targets to the Flak gun east of the compound and repeating his barrage of rocket fire. Pulling back on the stick, Trigger wasn’t sure if the groaning of protest was from himself or the airframe around him as he desperately fought to arrest the potentially suicidal decent. His vision was narrowing by the time the nose started to race towards the horizon and was nearly a pinprick as he broke wings level. He gasped as he let off the pressure and felt the blood rush back into his head. Off in the distance, he could hear someone shouting.

“brbghs passed out.” He heard one male voice say,

“Trigger, can you hear me?” the voice asked again.  

Trigger swallowed “Yeah, I’m back.”

“Good, Lancer reported that you bagged one gun, and the other is quiet so he’s inbound to drop off Basilisk. Get your head in the game.” Bandog scolded.

Turning back towards the Airfield, Trigger could see the hulking silhouette of the CH-53 as in lowered itself onto the ground.

Within a second, it was airborne again, Trigger watched as a stream of tracers flowed from its cargo bay into the ramp below.

“Lifting, with zero six pax.” Ben reported. Trigger watched as six distinct blue diamonds appeared in his eyepiece.

“Rider, Archer, checking in, what do you have for me.” Trigger called out.

***
Morgan checked his gear for a final time as the helicopter descended towards the airfield, there was flashes in the windows as tracer rounds flew past the massive helicopter. He had two packs of C-4 plastic explosive, eight magazines for his HK-416 rifle and another four reserve for his M17, as well as a spare 200 round belt of ammo for the Mk 46 light machine gun that Dennings was carrying. As the helicopter got lower, Morgan could see Zhao and Adams at the rear of the Helicopter, trying in vain to arm the MG-3 that was gifted to them by the Belkan crew.

“What’s the problem?” Morgan yelled as he walked over, having to brace himself against the side of the fuselage as the Helicopter made evasive maneuvers.

“Belkan Engineering my ass!” yelled Zhao “Fucking piece of shit is impossible to load!”  

Morgan shook his head and assisted his comrades, pulling the charging handle back allowing the top cover to open, from there the two Marines were able to reload the weapon with ease.

“Well, when you put it that way, Now I feel like an idiot.” Adams quipped.

“Alright, Belkans say we’re one minute out, hit the door.” Barked Fick over the radio.

Complying, Adams pressed the ramp button and the outside light flooded in, reflexively Morgan raised his hands to shield his eyes from what he thought at first was blinding sunlight. As his eyes adjusted, he could see that it was instead a raging inferno quickly consuming the foliage and buildings along one corner of the airfield. More tracer fire filled the air as sparks flew inside the cabin of the helicopter from stray bullets.

“30 seconds!” Fick shouted.

Zhao braced himself and aimed the machine gun, with rapid bursts, he returned fire. The rapid staccato of the MG-3 reminded Morgan more of a minigun than a design that predated it by almost two decades.

 

A flurry of dirt and debris was flung wide from the rotor wash of the CH-53 as it landed with a jolt onto the burning grounds of the airfield.

“GO! GO! GO!” Fick yelled as the ground team ran out the back of the helicopter. Morgan was the tip of the spear for the charge, raising his rifle he rested the red dot on a disoriented looking man, with a three-round burst the unknown person crumpled to the ground.

Morgan found a piece of cover and surveyed the area, glancing briefly to see the Helicopter lifting off again, a stream of tracers followed by a dull roar pouring from the open cargo bay. Glancing over his cover, Morgan found one of the targets only three hundred feet from him.

“Magus 1-4, Rider 1-3, Got a target in sight, 100 Meters west” Morgan called out.

“Understood Rider, 2-6 and 3-4, give Rider covering fire!” Fick ordered both Kyle and Haver in response.

Looking to his left and right, Morgan made the mad dash towards the aircraft, despite the chaos around him, he found no one defending the jets or even within sight. He paused to look over the aircraft, letting his rifle hang by its sling and pulling out one of his C-4 packs and tossing it back and forth in his hands.  

 

Morgan had never been a major fan of aircraft, but did have a knack for identifying them, the jet in front of him left him for a loss, however. Its general size and shape were close to an F-20, but everything about it looked wrong. Instead of sleek aerodynamic edges, every part of the aircraft was harsh jagged lines, looking more like a crude carving than an actual aircraft. He walked over to one of the engine inlets and prepped the C-4 charge, with a small effort, he threw the block of explosives as far back into the compartment as he could before stepping away from the jet.

“Magus, Rider, got one charge planted.” Morgan reported.

 

A loud roar rang out above him as Trigger opened fire on a target Morgan couldn’t see. As the high-pitched whine of Trigger’s engine faded, Morgan could hear Fick’s voice over the radio.

“Say again?”

“Saber, Berserker 1-8 and I are attacking the compound, continue planting explosives on those jets and proceed to the regroup point.” Fick ordered.

“Wilco.” Morgan replied taking off down the ramp towards another jet. Halfway through his run he could see a group of armed men making their way towards another one of the aircraft seemingly taking no notice of Morgan. Morgan dropped to his knee and eyeballed the range, about 150 meters, and squeezed the 416’s trigger.

 

The first rifle burst flew low, catching the first man just above the knee. Collapsing in a pool of blood, Morgan moved the dot a bit higher in front of the second man and fired. The rounds flew dead center in the mans chest sending him to the ground stunned. By now the rest of the group recognized they were under attack and froze momentarily. Resting the red dot above where he thought the sternum was on one of the attackers, he fired and then reengaged the target behind him. The fourth man keeled over, spasmodically pulling the trigger on his rifle. With the fifth man stunned, he proved was easy work for Morgan and was dispatched quickly with a final burst sending him reeling backwards.

 

Morgan stood up and began his run again, dropping the nearly spent magazine and trading it for a fresh one. As Morgan got closer to the second jet, he could see two men lightly armed men scurrying around it, the one closest to the cockpit had a bright white helmet on and a loosely fitting harness over what appeared to be dirty coveralls, Morgan raised his rifle and shot the man, his blood splattering across the cockpit of the jet, the second man, underneath the jet turned to face Morgan, he fumbled with something in his waistband as Morgan turned the 416 towards him and fired, killing the man. Scanning the area for more threats, he turned his attention back to the jet and pulled out his last pack of explosives.

 

The jet had large red foam inlet covers, REMOVE BEFORE FLIGHT scrawled in large white lettering. Morgan let his rifle hang by the sling momentarily as he tore the cover out, tossing it aside.

A supersonic THWACK filled his ears as a bullet streaked over his head. Turning around behind him, he saw what was left of a man fall forward, the top of his head removed by the bullet.

“Thanks Rider 1-4” Morgan said over the radio net.

“You’re getting old 1-3.” Adams replied jokingly.

“Smartass” Morgan replied to himself shaking his head and tossing the last pack of explosives into the jet.

“Magus, Rider 1-4, last charge planted.” Morgan reported.

“Understood Magus, Regroup at my position. At the front of the compound.” Fick ordered.

 

Morgan looked, the direct route was almost a kilometer of open ground with very little cover, He would have to take a more circuitous route to evade any unwanted gunfire from the airbases remaining defenders.

***
The rockets exploded with muted balls of dirt and debris as the front gate of the compound was blown down.

What I wouldn’t give for a JDAM or laser guided bomb right about now. Trigger thought to himself as he passed over the compound. From what he could tell, the final ground for the Airbases forces was in a squat structure hidden within the foliage south of the airfield. Nestled between the dense trees and tall grass was a series of rapidly constructed concrete and metal buildings, designed as basic shelter from the elements and not a sustained attack from heavily armed aircraft.

“Archer 15 Off.” Trigger reported, climbing over the airfield again.

“Good hits Archer” Fick reported.

 

Trigger pulled up into a wheel around the airfield and quickly scrolled through his remaining stores. He had burned through two-thirds of his gunpod’s ammunition and had only a dozen rockets left between the launchers.

 

“Magus, Rider 1-3!” Morgan yelled over the radio.

“Go Rider” Fick replied.

“Regrouped with Berserker, and Saber, Enroute to your position but are pinned down, be advised, large enemy group, at least two dozen foot mobiles headed your way.” Morgan reported.

“Understood, Archer, can you assist Rider?” Fick asked.

Trigger looked around and found the blue diamonds representing Morgans position.

“Rider, are you able to mark targets?” Trigger asked.

“Standby!” Morgan yelled.

 

Trigger could see a flash and a burst of red smoke appear in the tree line ahead of the marines.

“One dozen foot mobiles at the base of the treeline, Target marked with red smoke, Friendlies 50 meters north of smoke.”

 

Within six hundred meters, any indirect fire was deemed “Danger close”, While Trigger was aware that leeway was often given to close-air-support assets, fifty meters was cutting it close, even for him.

“Rider, Archer copies, fallback 100 meters and report when ready.” Trigger ordered.

“Will report when ready.” Morgan replied.

As the marines fell back, Trigger pulled his plane into a large tear-drop entry to position himself for the attack, if he was right, he would be coming almost perpendicular to the enemies line.

 

“Archer, Rider, we have fallen back, foot mobiles are holding position between the orange smoke and 10 meters south.”

“Archer copies all, attack heading 090 to 270” Trigger replied, lowering the nose of the Longsword.

“Archer, IN with heading 270” Trigger reported as he approached the smoke.

“Archer 15, Cleared Hot” Morgan ordered.

Trigger pressed the pickle button and the last of his rockets flew from the pods, exploding along the tree line, the shock waves rippling across the treetops. “Archer 15 off” Trigger reported

“Archer, attack ineffective, we are still taking heavy fire from that position. Re-engage, I say again, re-engage!” Morgan yelled over the radio.

Trigger took another glance at the stores page on his MFD. 453 was displayed under the GUN tab, less than twelve seconds of sustained fire left for ammo.

 

As Trigger was about to report his ammo state, Bandog chimed back in.

“Archer 15, Lancer 1-2, Magus 1-4, Be advised. Large enemy air group inbound, appear to be Mi-8 Hips and Mi-24 Hinds, ETA eight minutes.”

 

“That’s hardly any time left at all, any chance you can stall them?” Fick asked.

Bandog paused “Doesn’t look like, no friendly air assets in the area, and even if there was, fat chance they’d help us out.”

“Well, it was worth a shot. But now what?” Adams quipped.

 “I’m thinking!” Bandog shot back.

“Either way, we can’t stick around here. Lancer, Come and pick up Berserker and I. Rider, break contact with the enemy and meet at point Ainz, we will evac you from there.” Fick ordered.

“We are still dead if the Hinds catch us.” Ben said flatly.

 

Trigger sighed “Bandog, bogey dope” Trigger requested.

“What? Fine, BRA zero-three-zero for eighteen at 3000, Hot.” Bandog replied confused.

Trigger pulled the Air Tractor to the given heading and firewalled the throttle, He figured at his current airspeed of 160 knots, he could close with them in a little over four minutes, just enough time to come up with a plan.

 

When Trigger was in the B-Course for F-16’s in Arixo, His instructors had made it clear that in no, undue circumstance, should he engage attack helicopters with anything less than an AIM-9 or other standoff weapon with the Look-down, shoot-down capabilities. Trying to engage Yuktobanian AH-64s or Erusean Mi-24s with guns only proved to be a death sentence.

 

Naturally, Trigger was planning on engaging the entire group of Helicopters alone with a nearly spent gun.

 

“Trigger, what do you think you’re doing?” Bandog asked incredulously.

“Well, we need to buy time, and this is how I can do it.”

“That’s suicide, and you know it.”

Trigger tilted his head momentarily. “Maybe for most pilots, but I’m not most pilots.” He said boastfully.

“Yeah, most pilots aren’t dumbasses trying to be all Guts and Glory. You’re point is?” Bandog shot back.

“Relax Guard-dog, its fine, I just have to spook them off is all; Piece of cake.” Trigger reassured him.

 

Trigger could see black specs on the horizon, just above the jungles canopy.

“Bandog, Bandits in sight, looks to be three Hinds and five Hips.”

 “Be careful, those flying tanks can still rip you to shreds” Bandog warned

“I know, I know, Archer 15 engaging.” Trigger replied, attempting to assuage the AWACS’ concerns.

Trigger could see tracers fly past the cockpit as he closed the distance, he rested the target reticle on the lead Hind and fired for two seconds, the impossibly short burst expended almost a quarter of his remaining ammo. As Trigger flew past the helicopter, he could see it buffeting under the impact, but quickly shrugging off the assault to re-engage Trigger. Trigger pulled the Air Tractor into a turning climb to evade the Hinds returning fire. As Trigger rolled back towards the attacking Helicopter, he was dismayed, and slightly insulted, to find the rest of the force had continued onwards despite his attack.

Before Trigger could say anything, Bandog called over the radio. “Archer, be advised, looks like the rest took off leaving you with just that thing, It was worth a shot but get back to the airfield where we can use you.” Bandog ordered.

Trigger hissed underneath his breath. The Hind had stopped and was seemingly squaring off against the Air Tractor.

 

“God dammit!” Trigger yelled in frustration as he broke off his attack turning back towards the Airfield.

***

The battle had once again turned, and not in the marine’s favor. Morgan, Haver, Dennings and Kyle were taking cover behind a C-123 Provider, the planes thin aluminum and steel fuselage not providing any real respite from the incoming fire that plagued them.

 

Morgan peeked out from behind the plane, He could see dozens of muzzle flashes getting closer to their position. Elsewhere, he could hear helicopters, and prayed that it was still only the Belkan’s and Trigger in their airspace.

 

Morgan looked to Haver and Kyle, “Any of you have any grenades left?” Haver shook his head quickly and Kyle opened a pouch on his vest, tossing the small grenade in his hand, he glanced around the corner a second time, and shook his head “What’s up Gunny?” Kyle asked. “My arms good, but not that good.” Morgan replied sadly tossing the unused explosive back to the Sergeant.

 

Morgan thought for a moment “Magus, Rider”

There was a pause as more bullets flew over the Marine’s heads. “Go Rider.” Ficks voice came out over the radio, gunfire being heard in the background.

“Magus, request we use the package now, My team is pinned down at Ainz, and the LZ is too hot for extraction.” Morgan requested.

 

Another pause.

 

“Rider, Take cover.” Fick ordered. Morgan complied, having his detachment get as low to the ground and behind anything they could.

“Detonating in 3, 2” Fick counted down, Morgan didn’t get a chance to hear the final number as multiple jets exploded on the ramp. The C-4’s detonation was massive, sending debris and fragmentation into the backs of their assailants and shredding the few unlucky enough to be near the jets when they had exploded. The resulting fireball from the jets fuel igniting consumed the airframes and had sent burning debris in all directions around it.

 

Momentarily, the incoming fire stopped, just in enough time for Dennings to throw a final belt of ammunition into his Mk-46, letting the bolt drop, he raked back and forth with the last of his ammo, picking off the dazed survivors.

“I’m out swit- Fuck!” Dennings yelled in pain clutching his thigh.

“You hit?” Kyle yelled, firing at the oncoming force.

“Yeah, right in the leg!” Dennings hissed through clenched teeth, Morgan rushed to the Marines side, blood was pouring from pant leg. Morgan grabbed his combat first aid kit and started assessing the wound. A jagged shard of metal protruded from just underneath the cloth.  Pulling out the tourniquet, Morgan tied it above the injury and tightened it down. Dennings yelled in pain as the blood flow to his leg ceased. “Doc, what’s your status?” Morgan called out over the radio.

 

“Enroute with Magus to the LZ, then we will pick you up.” Hernandez replied.  

“Understood, one casualty, applied tourniquet and he’s stable.” Morgan reported.

 

The CH-53 flew past the Marines position towards Fick and Hernandez. Morgan could hear supersonic cracks of bullets as Adams picked off stray hostiles, while periodically Zhao would fire bursts from his machine gun into the grouping forces.

 

Morgan could see the Helicopter get low to the ground then lurching violently.

“This is Lancer, taking fire!” Ben shouted, A large explosion blew the side of the helicopter out, sending it careening off.  Fire belched from its turbines as the Belkans desperately fought to wrestle the Helicopter into an autorotation, Morgan watched in shock as the tail rotor impacted the ground first, the massive helicopter lurched to the sides as its rotors were violently ripped off, going every direction, and the fuselage burst open in torn metal as the helicopter started to roll, sending a wall of dirt in the air, obscuring the resting sight.

 

“Shit!” yelled Haver.

“I’ve lost Lancer from Radar, Whats going on?!” Bandog shouted in astonishment.

Morgan gulped “Lancer is down, I repeat, Lancer is down.” He reported.   

“Say again?” Trigger asked dumbfounded.

Bandog exhaled sharply “Lancer is down.” He reiterated. “We need to focus; Those Hinds are still enroute.” Bandog explained pragmatically.

“Bandog’s right, Rider, Berserker and I will head to the Crash site and assess the situation, You get your men off this airfield.” Fick ordered.

“Break, Break, Break, this is Assassin.” Zhao’s weak voice was heard on the radio.

“Assassin! What’s your status?” Trigger yelled.

Zhao coughed “Been better, Pilots are wounded, or dead, I can’t tell, Adams is working on them.”

Morgan breathed a slight sigh of relief. “Understood, we’re enroute to your location now.” Fick said.

 

Morgan turned his attention to the orders at hand. The enemy was closing the distance, he had one wounded marine, and the rest of his men were dangerously low on ammo.

 

He needed another distraction.

“Archer, Rider, Marine force is held up west of the Cargo aircraft, need fire support direct east. How copy?” Morgan called out to Trigger. It wasn’t a standard Nine-line, but he figured the pilot was able to get the important details.

“Archer copies, Inbound now. ETA 1 mike.” Trigger reported.

 

***

Eight seconds. Eight seconds of ammo was all that remained until Trigger was next to useless.

As he approached the airfield, black puffy clouds erupted over it,

“Magus, Archer, any chance you can deal with that Flak?” Trigger asked.

“Unable, we have our own problems” Fick replied curtly.

 

Trigger turned the Air Tractor downwind, then started his one eighty roll to face the target.

“Rider, Archer, friendly positions?”

“Friendlies are directly behind the cargo planes, Hostiles, 100 meters beyond.” Morgan reported, talking Trigger onto the target.

“Understood.”

 

Trigger put the pipper over where he could see small arms fire and rested his finger on the sticks trigger. His plane buffeted violently as Flak exploded above him, showering the airframe in fragments.

 

“Archer your cleared-“ The Radio cut out as an explosion filled Trigger’s view. The front glass and canopy blew out, Lacerating Trigger and sending him back into his seat. The plane shook violently under the assault, it taking all of Trigger’s strength to keep the Air Tractor under control.

 

He squeezed the trigger.

 

An eight second burst of 50 caliber rounds poured into the enemy force. Trigger pulled back on the stick, He could feel an immense pressure as the controls started to fail, the nose anemically raising above the horizon and the turbine engine whining in protest.

 

Trigger coughed and could taste blood in his mouth.

“Archer 15, wounded bird.” He called.

 

Silence.

 

Another explosion sent the Air Tractor cartwheeling into the jungle below.

***

Bandog stared at his radar station dumbfounded.

“Archer 15… lost.” He said, the shock apparent enough in his voice to warrant a look from David.

 

His assistant said something, but Bandog didn’t hear it.

 

David shouted, but Bandog was stunned speechless.  David shook his head and started relaying information to the Marines.

 

After what felt like an eternity, Bandog came back to his senses.

“What did you say?” He said meekly.

 

David frowned. “Boss, the Hinds are now on top of them, I have more contacts that just showed up nearby and I can’t make heads or tails on what the hell is going on down there. I’m getting too much conflicting information.

Bandog shook his head and pulled up the tactical display, the Marines were scattered into three groups, lightly armed, outnumbered, wounded, and surrounded.

 

He sighed heavily, “Well, we can’t let them surrender so we do our jobs.”

David shot him a confused glance. “Care to elaborate boss?”

 

Bandog looked at his notes and punched in a frequency on the radio.

“You stay on them; I need to go make a call.” Bandog ordered David.

 

It was a gamble what he was going to do.

 

“This is AWACS Bandog calling Osean Usean Command on an Open Frequency.”

 

There was a pause. “Unknown AWACS calling, give your authentication code.” The voice on the other end replied.

Bandog thought for a moment. “This is AWACS Bandog, Authentication code Delta dash four five six dash three four five dash alpha. I have troops in contact and need immediate assistance.”

 

There was a pregnant pause. “Understood push Jaguar two.” The voice instructed.

Bandog quickly switched to that frequency.

“This is Bandog, I have a broken arrow situation, Coordinates to follow when ready.”