Collateral Damage (16 page)

“Don’t be silly,” she said, waving his thanks away. “You’re one of my best soldiers and I care about what happens to you.”

Ipman shook his head slightly, a rueful smile curving his mouth. “Wish Jane was more like you.”

Honor blinked at him. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “You get it. You know? What it’s like to be over here, what it’s like to serve and the sacrifices that come with a military life. Jane said she could handle it, but it turns out she can’t, not even close. I think the thing that bothers me most about splitting up is not being able to see my kids whenever I’m home. I know she’ll want to move out of state, be closer to her family. If that happens, I’m not sure when I’ll be able to see the girls, because with me being in the military, the courts sure as shit aren’t going to give me joint custody.”

Or she’ll move to be closer to her boyfriend, Honor thought, wherever he was. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. I thought you were thinking of counseling to start?”

“I go back and forth on that. Part of me wonders what’s the point if Jane’s heart isn’t really in it and she doesn’t love me anymore. But the other part is like, ‘No, no damn way we’re quitting on us’. We’ve got kids to consider. We both made a commitment to each other and we owe it to ourselves to try and fix this. If we loved each other once, we can get there again. Right?”

His expression was so earnest, so filled with hope, that Honor could barely hold his gaze. He had no idea how deep his words cut her. And she was probably the last person on earth he should be looking to for relationship advice.

She couldn’t lie to him about their chances. “As long as she sees it that way, then yes.” Because it took both parties to make a relationship work. A very painful lesson she’d learned the hard way.

The hope in his eyes dimmed. “Right,” he said softly, and focused back on his lunch.

Honor made herself take a bite of hers, thinking as she chewed. “If you want, we’ll get you in to talk to someone off post once we get back. I’ll ask around, see who has the best rep and make sure it’s totally off the record. You can think about it and let me know.”

“Thanks.”

The rest of the meal passed with long lapses of silence interspersed with attempts at happier conversation. Ipman obviously wasn’t in the mood for chitchat and she completely understood so Honor stayed quiet. They walked back to the hangar together. He joined the others to work on the bird while she organized a crew for another job and filled out more paperwork.

She juggled various duties up until dinnertime, then stopped for a break. After she’d eaten and taken more pain meds she went back to check on her guys and was met at the hangar door by a grim-faced Smithers. Honor’s stomach knotted when she saw that look on his face. “What’s wrong?” she demanded.

“You didn’t hear?”

Oh, God. “Hear what?” The other guys were all watching her now too. Her heart started beating faster.

“A 47 went down to enemy fire about an hour ago, with a team of SEALs on board. CSAR’s being dispatched now.”

Oh, no.
“Survivors?”

“Don’t know.” His deep brown eyes were full of sympathy. “Word is it’s a SOAR bird.”

Honor blanched, then turned and rushed back to HQ to get more intel.

****

The faintest line of orange highlighted the western horizon as Liam took his Chinook to cruising altitude high above the rugged mountain peaks beneath them. High enough that it pushed the upper limit of the aircraft, and hopefully out of range of AAA or small arms fire, both reported in the area where they were going. A firefight was still ongoing, so they knew there were survivors from the crash. One thousand feet below him flew both the MH-60s escorting them, and the two Apache gunships were out in front.

“Seventeen minutes to the TLZ,” he said over the ICS, alerting his crew and the CSAR team in the back. A platoon of SEALs tasked with the rescue effort of their teammates, as well as two PJs sent along to treat casualties—Cam Munro and Jackson Thatcher, guys he knew.

The taskforce was going in fast and hard to their tactical landing zone at the crash site to help the survivors. He hoped there were many. Once they secured the site they’d evacuate the wounded, recover the dead and destroy sensitive equipment and intel inside the downed Chinook before leaving. The gunships and DAPs would handle any enemy force in the area while Liam handled the insertion, then the SEALs and PJs would take care of business on the ground. No fucking around.

“Hope those boys are giving ‘em hell down there,” Freeman commented from the co-pilot’s seat.

“Yeah.” No one was sure whether any of the flight crew had survived the crash. Liam and his guys knew them all. They’d trained together, shared meals, flown missions together. He didn’t dwell on what might have happened to them; he focused on his job and the promise of getting his fellow Night Stalkers back to Bagram.

The downed Chinook had been flying a SEAL platoon into an area where militants were known to be active. Intelligence officials had traced a warlord they thought was responsible for the brazen attack at Bagram the other day.

The SEALs were supposed to have done a snatch and grab, capturing him so they could use intel gathered from the ensuing interrogation to identify and locate whoever was behind the slick new propaganda campaign fueling trouble in the region. No one was sure who this new player was associated with because he didn’t seem to be affiliated with one particular group, but the intel pointed to him having worked with the infamous terrorist Rahim.

The capture hadn’t happened though. A single RPG round had changed everything in a matter of seconds, turning the mission from what should have been a straightforward capture into a major CSAR operation.

Liam was already doing everything in his power to get backup to them as fast as possible, and the weather was in his favor tonight. Visibility was optimal and the sky was clear as glass, but that also meant they had no concealment. The fading light would help, though the combined noise of all the aircraft would draw any remaining hostiles to the crash site.

As he flew, periodic updates arrived from the ops center: reports on conditions at the drop zone and any other new intel they considered pertinent to the mission. He updated the others. “Ten minutes to target. Latest satellite images show enemy patrols within one hundred meters of the target.” In the back they’d all be checking their gear and his FE would make sure the fast rope was ready to go.

Liam wasn’t going to set down for this one, there wasn’t enough room at the crash site and it was too risky. Once the gunships helped clear some of the enemy fighters he was going to get his guys as close to the crash site as possible, do the insertion then pull back to a safer position until the scene had been secured. Because his bird was their lifeline out of there.

His pulse was steady as they neared the TLZ. He decreased collective and dropped down to follow the canyon cut into the mountain, using the FLIR display up front in the cockpit to help guide them through the tight terrain. Then he saw it.

A 47 lay up ahead on a gently sloping wash at the far end of the canyon, its back broken between the forward and aft rotors, the fuselage crumpled like a crushed soda can from the impact. It must have hit the top of the hill first, then rolled down. Smoke still billowed out from the wreckage, either caused from the initial explosion when the rocket had hit, or from the impact with the ground.

“Jesus,” Freeman muttered, and flooded the area with the Chinook’s infrared spotlight.

Liam didn’t respond, too busy manipulating the cyclic and pedals to get the bird into position. Through the infrared display up front he could see heat signatures moving around, confirming there were still survivors.

Once he received the radio countdown with one of the SEALs on the ground, he hung back slightly with the DAPs to wait as the gunships rolled ahead to clear off the mountainside. The pulse of the tandem rotors throbbed distantly over the chatter coming in through his headset as he used the cyclic and pedals to counteract the gusting cross winds cutting through the canyon.

Up ahead the Apaches opened fire on the tangos. Through his NVGs the battlefield lit up in a bright green light show as rounds spewed from the chain guns mounted beneath the fuselages. As he worked the controls to maintain the hover, Freeman painted the battlefield with the Chinook’s lasers, picking up the ground team’s infrared strobes and the reflectors on some of the men’s shoulders.

Liam could see what was left of the SEAL platoon around the crash site, and enemy fighters scrambling down the slope, trying to escape. A second later, one of the 64s unleashed a Hellfire missile. It exploded near the main body of tangos closest to the crash site, cleaving away part of the hillside and taking the attackers with it.

That was Liam’s cue.

With the DAPs providing muscle and his crew manning the helo’s weapons, he did a fast fly-over to check the terrain. Spotting no surprises, he coordinated with the other pilots and executed a tight turn, banking hard left to bring them around.

He wasted no time on the approach, zooming in fast and low. His crew and the DAPs engaged what was left of the enemy assault force, assisting the beleaguered ground team. Liam went into a hover and alerted his FE, who deployed the fast rope. Out of view below the helo’s belly, the CSAR team would drop one by one to the ground and fan out in a circle.

Liam worked the controls to hold the big aircraft steady, not allowing himself to think of anything beyond that. He tuned out the sounds of the minigun firing from the right shoulder window and banished the instant image of Honor it brought to mind. His heart rate remained steady until he heard the distinctive, tinny pops that signaled they were taking fire.

Liam’s hands automatically tightened around the controls, his body tensing as the memory of the last time they’d taken fire bombarded his brain. They couldn’t risk releasing chaff at this range without endangering friendlies on the ground. All he could do was wait until the insertion was done and hope his gunners and the DAPs could protect them from serious damage.

“Yates,” he said sharply.

“We’re okay,” the FE replied. The miniguns opened up again. “The boys are taking care of ‘em and all systems are functional.”

Pulse thudding, Liam steeled himself against the sound of more rounds tearing into the left side of the fuselage.
Shit.

Finally Yates’s voice came over his headset again. “All clear.”

Liam immediately pulled collective, shooting them up and out of the canyon where the rounds could no longer reach them. He adjusted the collective for maximum cruising power and checked the gauges. Indicated air speed, true air speed, ground speed, fuel, vertical speed indicator—all good.

The missile warning system shrieked.

He jerked his head around to look out his window in time to see the countermeasures release. Immediately he initiated evasive maneuvers. Freeman was silent and tense beside him as the helo bucked and twisted under Liam’s hand. Something impacted the west side of the canyon wall and exploded, making the entire aircraft shudder.

“Guess we know the intel was right,” Yates said.

“Fucking triple-A,” Freeman muttered, searching through his own window to ascertain the source.

“Do you see it?” Liam asked sharply.

“No, but that shot came from that way—maybe from under that ledge down there.” He pointed out his side.

Liam’s heart was pounding, his palms clammy as he steadied the aircraft. “Shit, that was way too fucking close.” Just as he moved them to what he hoped was a safer location, one of the Apaches moved in and fired another missile in the vicinity where the AAA had been.

“Target neutralized,” the pilot said a few moments later.

Liam breathed out a sigh of relief and forced his heart rate and breathing back under control. Then the SEAL platoon leader on the CSAR team contacted him to request extraction. “Roger that. Stand by,” Liam replied.

There was barely enough room for him to land on the ledge where the team was waiting. He wound up having to perch the back wheels on the edge of it, with the front of the aircraft hovering in the air in order for Yates to lower the ramp. The team began loading their wounded and dead aboard.

Glancing out the co-pilot window, Liam could see two people, presumably SEALs, enter the wreckage. Had to be setting the explosives. They re-emerged a minute later, rifles up as they charged back to the waiting helo, one stopping to provide overwatch for the other.

“Everyone’s aboard,” Yates announced seconds later. “Ramp closed. Let’s do this.”

“Roger.” Liam nosed them forward off the ledge and began to climb, staying at a lower altitude than he had on the approach now that the enemy force had been neutralized.

Yates’s voice came back on. “SEALs are about to detonate the wreckage.”

“Roger.”

As he climbed the downed Chinook exploded behind them. The Apaches stayed out front, the DAPs flanking him on either side during the flight back to Bagram. Over the radio he heard Yates and the SEAL platoon leader updating command back at base. Six killed. Eight wounded.

He didn’t let himself think about it, just kept his eyes on the instrument panel, but thankfully all the readings were normal. Freeman barely said a word on the way back and Liam didn’t feel like talking either. They both knew the chances that some of their friends were among the wounded and dead in the back, and they’d find out who soon enough.

Relief slid through him when Bagram came into view out the cockpit window. The moment the wheels touched down and he began the power down sequence, medical personnel began rushing for the tail of the aircraft. He couldn’t stop himself from glancing back to see what was going on but his view was blocked by men moving around.

Liam and Freemen stayed in their seats to complete the post-flight checklist while the rattle and thud of boots in the back vibrated through the metal deck. When things quieted down a little he removed his helmet and looked back into the cargo area.

Yates unplugged his ICS cord and stepped into the cockpit, dragging a hand through his dirty-blond hair. “It’s a mess back here. Only a few rounds penetrated the fuselage though. Holes should be fairly easy to patch up and I don’t think we’ve got any leaks. We’ll take a careful look at everything though.”