Transfer of Power

RIGHT ABOUT THE time Harris detected the noise of the incoming helicopters, the night sky blew open. A sustained burst of machine gun fire erupted from the building across the street. All but two of the twenty-some rounds flew wildly over their heads. The two that hit the lip at the edge of the roof sent chunks of clay flying.

Lying on his side, Harris said, “Bravo Six, this is “Whiskey Five. We are under fire! I repeat, under fire! The LZ is hot!”

“Roger that. Whiskey Five,” came the reply from the Pave Low.

“Where is the fire coming from?”

“Directly across the street to our west.”

“Roger, Whiskey Five. We have your position marked and will be on top of you in about twenty seconds.”

Harris stayed flat on the roof. Another burst of machine gun fire rang out with more of the rounds crashing into the side of the roof, and then a second and a third gun joined in.

“Slick,” the commander called out over the radio, “can you get these guys off my ass?”

“That’s a negative. Harry. The angle is wrong.”

Harris rolled onto his back as shouts were heard from below and another volley of bullets rang out.

“Reavers! “yelled Harris.

“I’ll draw their fire, and you bag ‘em.”

While lying on his back, Harris held his MP-10 over the edge and squeezed off four bursts at the house across the street.

A second later Reavers popped up, saw a muzzle flash in the second-story window, and zipped the target with three shots to the chest. Reavers quickly ducked back down as a flurry of return fire rang out.

Wicker chimed in from his spot down the street.

“I think we stuck our hands in the hornet’s nest.” More targets appeared, and Wicker went to work.