Sniper Elite: One-Way Trip

CHAPTER 60

By now, Couture and the others in Central Command were watching the battle via satellite in addition to the UAV feed, providing them a more expansive view of the valley. People came and went from the room like bees working a hive, delivering communiqués from DC, Langley, and various other locations from inside the ATO.

Couture stared at the screen where Gil and his compatriots were taking cover behind a pickup truck that Crosswhite had disabled with a grenade. It was easy to see from the way all three men moved about that they were carrying wounds, slowly being picked apart. Their situation was perilous, to say the least, and degrading rapidly. A large HIK force numbering close to eighty had gathered west of their position on the far side of the river, and it was readily apparent that Gil and the others had no idea they were about to be caught in a lethal crossfire. They were too heavily engaged by the hundred or so men fanned out ninety yards in front of them to the southeast. What kept the enemy from overrunning their position from both directions was anyone’s guess at this point, but Couture assumed it must have something to do with their not having any idea how large a force they were up against.

“It’s a damn good thing these people have no command structure to speak of,” he said to no one in particular. “How long before those B-52s are over the target, Major?”

“Five minutes out, General.”

An RPG struck the pickup truck, and the entire screen was temporarily whited out.

Couture glanced at the UAV screen for a better picture, but it was obscured as well.

“Cynthia, back that off.”

The Air Force lieutenant zoomed out, and they saw that the truck was burning. Gil, Steelyard, and Crosswhite were falling back, leapfrogging north through the rocks and trees toward the dead horse, where there would be no cover at all. Two more pickup trucks loaded with fighters raced out of the village, many of the men in back firing wildly over the top of the cab as the trucks careened along over the rugged terrain.

Couture stole a glance at Captain Metcalf. “Looks like this is it, Glen. I’m sorry.”

“Yes, sir.” Metcalf mopped his brow with an olive drab handkerchief.

The room had fallen silent as a tomb minutes before in the instant Big Ten was struck by the RPG. No one had dared to even breathe as the huge plane slewed out of control temporarily, only to nose up again seconds later, banking left like a fighter plane to snare the balloon line and snatch Sandra from the Valley of the Shadow. Then, minutes later, the message came that she was safely aboard the gunship, and everyone in the room had shouted in triumph and disbelief, high-fiving and backslapping one another.

Admittedly, that had been the single most exciting moment of Metcalf’s life.

Now — just over three minutes later — he found himself at the lowest moment of his career. He was about to watch three terribly brave men gunned down in the open without so much as a ditch for cover. Tragically, this was not an unheard-of occurrence within the Special Forces Community. Brave men — like Sean Bordeaux and his Rangers — had been caught out and shot down a number of times in Afghanistan, more times than most of the American public realized or cared to hear about, but this time Metcalf was going to lose a close personal friend.

He and Steelyard had found themselves knee-deep in the shit together more than once during the Cold War. He owed his life to Steelyard, in fact, having been shot through both legs during the First Gulf War, riding over Steelyard’s shoulder for more than a mile across the desert to make their rendezvous with another SEAL unit. It sickened Metcalf, and it shamed him that he could do nothing more for his friend in return than to watch him die on television, as if it were a Tom Clancy film, from the safety of a climate-controlled office in downtown Kabul.

“At least they can go out knowing she’s safe,” he said, speaking as much to himself as General Couture.

The pickup trucks were rapidly approaching Steelyard and the others now, and the enemy force to the west was across the river and charging through the almond orchard. The screen was full of muzzle flashes. In a matter of seconds, it would be all over.

Couture turned away from the screen. “I don’t think I care to watch, to be honest.”

Metcalf’s gaze never wavered, his eyes fixated on the screen. “With respect, General, you must… we owe it to them.”