Silent Vengeance

Chapter 11

A bright spotlight flashed on, guiding the chopper as it flew dead center along the waterway at an altitude of no more than fifty feet.

Grant ordered, "Take cover! "Take cover!"

Still not knowing the chopper's intent, Grant, Adler, Diaz, and Slade couldn't take the chance of hiding in the flimsy structures. But more importantly, the kids could become targets. The men vaulted over the railing, hit the water, then stroked like hell toward the kids who were trying frantically to get away from them.

Each man grabbed a screaming, struggling kid. They had to rely mostly on their powerful kicks to propel themselves back under the shacks in search of any kind of cover.

Stalley and James hustled up the hill, dove for dirt just over the ridge, then crawled until their bodies had some protection within a stand of trees.

Novak grabbed his rifle, and ducked behind a thick ficus tree. Taking a deep breath, he leaned just enough to give himself a clear view using the scope.

The chopper was finally coming into view. It slowly approached, then hovered in front of the shacks. Smoke rising above one shack and lights inside two others gave the impression the places were occupied.

Novak was the only one able to see it clearly. Except for the drab green paint, it was without identifiable markings. He spotted two passengers in the second row of canvas seats. He adjusted the scope. The passenger on the starboard side held what looked like an M16. But something else caught Novak's attention. A grenade launcher attached to the rifle's underside. He notified A.T. "Grenades! Grenades!"

Then with its nose dipping, the chopper regained speed and headed up the waterway. Novak kept it in the crosshairs, when suddenly it banked hard right. "Comin' back! Stay down! Stay down!"

The chopper slowed, then hovered directly in front of and parallel to the shacks. Slowly, the pilot maneuvered the aircraft closer to the opposite bank. The intent to fire became obvious, when the gunner knelt near the starboard side's open cargo bay door, and aimed his weapon.

"Oh Christ!" Novak immediately zeroed in. He fired just as the gunner pulled the trigger. The man's head disintegrated. Blood, brain tissue, bone fragments splattered everywhere. The body tumbled out of the chopper, smacked hard against the water, then disappeared beneath the surface within seconds.

Simultaneously, the shacks exploded in a deafening, blinding white-red-orange ball of fire. The chopper rocked from the sound waves. Minute pieces of debris struck its underbelly. Pieces of wood, bamboo, shards of metal became missiles, shooting in every direction. Destroyed wood, still burning, rained down on the water and hillside. Smoke and a cloud of dirt obliterated the entire bank.

"Goddammit! Fuck!" Novak ducked behind the tree, and pressed the PTT. "Boss! LT! Anybody!" No response. "Holy Christ!" Slowly, he leaned around the tree, then brought his rifle up. He readjusted the scope, and determined how many were still in the chopper. Pilot, co-pilot, and one passenger who was looking out the doorway.

Novak had to make a decision. Take out as many as he could, or bring down the whole freakin' chopper. That wasn't an option. He'd seen choppers go down before. Complete loss of control, killer blades slicing through anything in their path. And if Team A.T. was still alive, they wouldn't stand a chance.

The passenger was an easy shot. He could take him out in the blink of an eye, then the co-pilot. Taking aim, he had one target lined up in the crosshairs, when out of nowhere, someone swung around from behind the port cargo bay door, holding an Uzi.

The trap had been set. Novak walked right in. "Oh, fuck!" He spun around, then ran like hell. A burst of gunfire sprayed the entire river bank and trees, striking the ground, kicking up dirt directly behind him. With his arms stretched out in front, and his hands gripping his rifle, he dove behind the base of a larger ficus tree. A deep grunt escaped from his throat as his body slammed against dirt. Bullets zipped around both sides, striking the tree, snapping off small branches of nearby brush.

The gunfire stopped, but he still heard rotors. He got up into a crouch, then holding his rifle steady, with the barrel pointed straight up, he slowly stood, keeping his back against the tree. He edged closer to the opposite side. Another burst of gunfire sent bullets whizzing past. He waited. So did the gunner. Novak knew the pilot was maneuvering even closer. He closed his eyes, trying to picture the chopper's location and angle, trying to picture the gunner's position.

One chance. He'd have one fuckin' chance. As the gunner fired off another burst, Novak swung out from behind the tree, zeroed in on the man, and fired two rapid rounds. Both direct hits. He ducked behind the tree again. The sound of the chopper's rotors changed, as the pilot pushed the stick forward, sending it down river.

Breathing heavy now, Novak waited until he was certain it was clear, then he walked slowly toward the water, looking through the scope, staying close to the cover of trees and brush. He spotted the UF's body, slipping beneath the water.

It grew quiet again, with only the occasional pops and crackles from burning material. Novak sunk down into a squat, staring unbelieving across the waterway, seeing the destruction, smelling the smoke. A scene passed through his mind, a scene from Vietnam, pictures of burning hooches, explosions, burning bodies, fallen teammates.

"Respond A.T.! Anybody!"

The muffled sound made him shake his head. Somebody was calling. He pressed a finger against his earpiece before realizing it was dangling in front of his shirt. Readjusting it, he thought, Screw call signs. He pressed the PTT. "Novak!"

"Mike! It's me and DJ!"

"Doc, any sign of Team?!"

"Negative! Making our way down the hill. Where are you?!"

Novak jumped up and broke into a run. "Going toward bridge!"

"Jesus, Mike! What …?!"

"Just keep your eyes open, kid!"

Novak stopped by the only section of bridge remaining in tact. Most of the twenty foot section was underwater being held by rope, preventing it from floating away. He checked the south end of the waterway. Clear. Slinging the rifle strap over his head, he ran into the water, then dove, stroking hard even before completely surfacing.

It was nearly impossible to see any signs of movement on the opposite bank. Pushing aside large and small pieces of wood, weaving in and out of debris, he didn't want to believe the Team may have lost four men.

Pink and purple colors of daylight began to show on the horizon, just enough light allowing Stalley and James to get a clearer view as they half slid, half ran down the side of the hill. Finally reaching the riverbank, they searched frantically, looking in every direction.

Novak propelled himself through the water, constantly bumping into and pushing aside large and small pieces of debris. He suddenly pulled up, seeing what looked like a body almost totally hidden under floating palms and bamboo, snagged on the sharp, jagged remains of a pole. "Christ! No!" He stroked hard, until seeing the man was Burmese. He stopped and swiped water from his face, as he rotated his body, trying to see in all directions.

"There! Over there!" James shouted, pointing up the hill. He and Stalley started running, keeping their eyes focused on what appeared to be bodies.

Novak fought against the pressure of the water, finally reaching the bank. He crawled and clawed his way up the hill.

Grant, Adler, Diaz, and Slade were sprawled out midway up the bank, on their bellies, covered in silt, burned and jagged pieces of wood, palm fronds. Patches of blood had spread across their water-soaked camies.

"Are they alive?!" Novak asked nervously as he was running.

"Don't know!" Stalley responded loudly, as he and James frantically slung away debris. They finally saw signs of movement in Adler.

Novak rushed to him, helping him sit up. "LT! You all right?!"

Adler looked up at him through squinted eyes, as he wiped mud and blood from his face. "Yeah, think so, but my ears are still ringing." He pressed his hands against his ears, as he swiveled his head slowly, spotting Grant, Diaz and Slade still on the ground. He crawled closer to Grant.

Stalley was checking Grant's pulse, when he heard him moan. "Boss is comin' around!" He spun around and knelt next to Diaz, while he shouted at James, "DJ! Check Ken!"

"C'mon, Skipper!" Adler said, shaking Grant's shoulder. Grant rolled over on his back. Splotches of mud covered his face. Blood oozed from cuts. Slowly opening his eyes, he had a tough time trying to focus. Finally, he saw the familiar face leaning over him. "Joe. You okay?"

"Pretty much."

"The other guys?"

"Doc's checking 'em."

Grant held a hand toward Adler, who grabbed it and pulled him up. "Where're those kids?!" Grant asked, as he wiped blood trickling from a cut above his eye.

Adler looked over Grant's shoulder. "There they are." Almost unseen were the four boys, huddling together farther up the hill, trembling with fear. "Guess they crawled out from under us when it got quiet. What are we gonna do with them?"

"We don't have much choice. We've gotta take them back to the ship."

Grant's eyes went to each of his men, settling on Diaz, who Stalley was kneeling next to with his medical bag open. "Doc," Grant called quietly. Stalley stood, then walked closer. "What's the prognosis?"

"Think Frank might have some internal bleeding," he indicated by pointing under his left ribcage. "Might be his spleen."

"Oh, Christ!" Grant looked toward Diaz, who was in obvious pain. "What can you do for him?"

"I'll start an IV, then monitor his blood pressure. He's refused pain meds, but that may not last."

Grant rubbed mud from the crystal of his submariner. "The chopper's due at 0730. He's not gonna be able to make that trek, is he?"

"Best if he doesn't."

Grant patted Stalley's shoulder. "Okay, Doc. Listen, that was a helluva job you and DJ did on the hill. Good work."

"Thanks, boss." He immediately returned to his injured teammate.

Grant motioned for Novak, Slade and James. "You all okay?"

"Yeah. We're all good, boss," Novak answered for the three.

"Okay, Mike. You and Ken bring our gear across. We should have enough time to check it." The two men ran toward the waterway. Grant turned to James. "DJ, like I told Doc, helluva job on the hill."

"Sure, boss. You might talk with Mike. Think he may have had longest eyes on that chopper."

Grant shot a quick look across the waterway, seeing Novak and Slade, hustling out of the water, and onto the opposite bank. "I will, DJ. Thanks."

"What can I do now?"

Grant put a hand on his shoulder, leading him away from Diaz. "Listen, Frank's not doing so good. That chopper's due at the LZ in forty minutes."

"You want me to meet it?"

Grant nodded, as he reached into his chest vest, then handed James the map. "Take this, and get one of the radios. The chopper's call sign is 'Foxtrot 5–5.' You're gonna have to hustle, DJ."

"That's my middle name!" Securing the map inside his vest, James readjusted the small compass attached to his watchband, before picking up his MP5. He started running toward the water.

Grant called out, "Watch yourself!" James waved a hand high above his head.

Grant reached for his canteen and shook it. "You got any extra water for those kids, Joe? Think I've got enough until the chopper gets here." He looked toward the waterway. "Can't take a chance using the iodine, with the shit that could be floating in that."

Adler unhooked his canteen. "I can do it."

"Okay. Let's go. We'll check on Frank first."

If the chopper returned for a second look, the only secure place was over the hill. But for now, the kids were safely out of the way, where they could still be watched.

Twenty minutes later, Novak and Slade had finished hauling gear across the waterway. Gear was checked and rechecked.

Stalley went from man to man, quickly and efficiently cleaning, bandaging or using butterfly closures on wounds. Then, he turned his full attention to Diaz. As the rest of the men took defensive positions, waiting for extraction, Novak filled them in on the chopper's attack — and his return of fire.