Shattered Bone (55 page)

The Pavehawk turned back to heading. Only eight miles to go.

NORTHERN UKRAINE

Ammon heard a shot fire out. Another fired twice in reply. The dogs snarled and barked at each other. He pushed himself deeper under the log and prayed that his parachute would not be seen. But he knew that it would. And he knew that even were he completely hidden, it wouldn't matter. They were coming. With the dogs, they would find him.

It was then that he heard the beat of the rotors. He sucked in his breath and didn't dare move, thinking the sound wasn't real. For a second or two, the sound faded away. Then, with a deep
whoop
, the HH-60 approached the side of the hill.

“I've got the landing zone straight ahead,” the copilot announced. “There! On the south side. Near the crest. Just below the outcropping of pines.”

“Yeah, I've got it,” the pilot replied. “Are you sure that's the place? It's half the size I thought it would be!”

'The copilot nodded his head. “Yeah, that's it. I'm certain.”

In the back of the chopper, the rescue team began to store their equipment in preparation for the assault landing.

The pilot turned to the copilot. “Try the radio once again,” he demanded. “Try both the primary and alternate channels. He's got to be there, and I want to hear his voice before we commit ourselves to going into such a small LZ!”

The copilot keyed his microphone switch, though he knew it wouldn't be any use. He had been through this before. The guy simply wasn't answering their radio calls. But still, he did as he was told.

“Unknown Hiker, Unknown Hiker, come up on two fifty-five point four.” He paused for ten seconds, then keyed the switch once again. “Unknown Hiker, Unknown Hiker, if you hear this transmission, identify yourself by popping one of your flares.”

The pilot slowed the helicopter and circled over the LZ, peering down with his goggles as he passed overhead. It was bare. No signal. No parachute. No fire or smoke from a flare. No sign of any life at all.

“Maybe his survival radio is busted,” the right door gunner said. “Maybe he's incapacitated. You know, a broken arm or something. And with hostile troops all around him, you know he can't set off a flare.”

For a moment no one spoke.

“Yeah, maybe you're right,” the copilot finally offered. “But maybe he's already been captured. Maybe there is someone down there waiting for us. And maybe it isn't our friend.”

The pilot set up for one more pass over the LZ. “We'll take one more look,” he said. “Then we'll decide what to do.”

The helicopter flew right over his head. Ammon could scarcely believe it. He rolled out from underneath the dead log, wincing with pain, and struggled to his feet, his eyes on the sky, following the sound of the chopper. The clear
whoop
of the blades reverberated through the night air. He stared into the sky as the sound receded into the distance.

“No! No!” he silently pleaded. “No, I'm here. You've got to come back!”

Then he heard them again. Shouts. And the dogs. They seemed to be gathering around him. The sounds echoed through the trees. He glanced up at the sky, not knowing what to do. He only had a few seconds. The helicopter would only make one more pass.

Dropping to his knees by the log, he bent over and buried his face in the dirt. Grabbing a thin strand of nylon parachute between his teeth, he staggered to his feet and dragged the parachute out from under the log. The sound of the chopper faded, then turned back toward his direction as it set up to make one more pass. He dropped to the forest floor once again. An animal bolted from the treeline to his right, rustling the leaves in his path. Ammon sucked in his breath as the rabbit scampered into the brush, its frightened eyes gleaming in the dark. Ammon bent over, his broken and swollen arms jolting with pain. He fought down the urge to cry out. Quickly, he grabbed more of the chute in his teeth, then pushed himself backward, sliding along the soft pine needles and powdery snow. Pulling the bright parachute from under the log, he stretched it into a thick orange and white streamer. Gasping for breath, he fell down on the ground. He listened to the sounds in the forest. And waited to see who got to him first.

“Jeff! He's there. He's laying on top of his chute!” The copilot was nearly screaming. The chopper passed over the LZ for the second time. “He's there. We've got to go in!”

Suddenly the aircraft shuddered and leapt to the side as the mini-guns started to blaze. “We're taking fire! We're taking fire!” The left gunner screamed. “I've got multiple targets, all along on this side!”

“Roger that!” the right gunner called. The six barrel Gatling gun spun on its mount, spewing white-hot bullets through the forest and trees, mowing down everything in its path. Within a matter of seconds, the two gunners had fired off nearly a thousand rounds of ammunition.

“Can we land?” the pilot asked in desperation.

“I don't know,” the copilot shot back. “It's going to be tight. But let's get down there and see.”

The pilot shot a quick look to his right. The copilot answered his question with a nod of his head.

The mini-guns continued to cut through the forest. The HH-60 shook and vibrated with every round. Two of the PJs pulled themselves to the door gunner positions and helped feed the chain of ammunition from the ammo bins to make sure the guns didn't jam. A white arc of light traced up to the chopper. The air frame buffeted violently as three shells passed through the thick aluminum of the tail boom housing. The pilot jerked the aircraft around and turned for the LZ while slowing down. They were committed. They were going in. The right gunner held his fire as he searched for a target. The chopper settled over the tall pines and came to a hover as it blew up dust and snow and small limbs from the trees. Slowly, it moved forward until it was over the small clearing on the side of the hill.

The left gunner called out over his mike, “You've got three feet on this side. Maybe four. But no more.”

“Maybe two feet on this side,” the right gunner called out. “You're going to take out some limbs, but I think we can do it. Now let's not screw around. This place is crawling with grunts. Let's get going. Let's bring her down now.”

The pilot concentrated on holding his position, then shifted the huge helicopter two feet to the left. He pushed gently down on the power. The HH-60 immediately began to settle through the trees.

Ammon threw himself across the blowing parachute, then kicked it out of the way to keep it from being sucked up into the turning rotors. The sound of the two jet-turbine engines and spinning rotors beat at his ears. The downdraft nearly blew him over and he had to squint to keep the blowing snow out of his eyes. He tucked his face down next to his chest as he stumbled to the side of the clearing and fell behind the protective cover of the trees.

The soldier was no more than ten feet away. The Ukrainian jerked his machine gun up to his chest and let off a short burst of fire. A flash of light strobed the air, lighting the forest with an unnatural light. The tree limb next to Ammon's head exploded into a thousand pieces. Ammon turned and ran.

The copilot glanced down at the engine instruments and gave the pilot a quick thumbs up. The mini-guns had fallen silent for the moment. As they settled through the trees, the gunners lost their overhead view, and the enemy became more difficult to locate. A quick muzzle flash strobed through the trees. The right gunner let his mini-gun roll, saturating the area around the muzzle flash with a long burst of 7.62 caliber shells. The tree limbs gave way, scattering in every direction as he fired at the source of the light. The pilot took out even more power. The HH-60 dropped like a rock through the trees, cutting its way down through the broken limbs and blowing leaves.

Ammon ran awkwardly through the pines on the perimeter of the clearing as he watched the helicopter settle through the narrow hole in the trees. Debris and snow blew into his eyes. He felt the air break with a crackle as one of the door gunners opened fire, sending a burst of shells raining down through the forest to impact the frozen ground where the Ukrainian soldier had been. Ammon never looked back to see the result. The chopper was nearing the ground. He could see the look of the door gunner's face. He saw a PJ standing with one leg on the helicopter's landing gear, half in and half out of the cabin, a thick canvas belt strapped around his waist. He was waving at Ammon, beckoning him to come. Ammon left the cover of the forest and bolted toward the hovering chopper suspended three feet in the air. The forest lit up with a burst of machine gun fire. Ammon pushed his broken body forward, his arms still tucked in his jacket, his face covered with dirt and red mud. He slipped in the snow and almost fell down. Stumbling forward, he lunged into the PI's waiting arms. The PJ wrapped his arms around Ammon's shoulders and pulled him into the air. Another set of hands reached down to grab him. The helicopter shifted just slightly. Ammon was lifted and jerked inside.

The pilots felt the Pavehawk sway. “Go! Go! Go!” the PJs screamed. The pilot pulled up on the power. The helicopter lurched upward through the trees, then quickly disappeared in the night.

_____________________ 

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AEGEAN SEA

T
HE
T
ICONDEROGA ROLLED GENTLY WITH THE WAVES AS SHE SAILED
south past the port of Izmir. The helicopter landing deck was clear of any aircraft, and a half dozen sailors ran laps on the deck as the ship cut its way through the seas. It was early morning. A heavy overcast, with rolling clouds and thin shafts of virga, reduced the visibility to less than a mile.

Below deck, on the third level, was the ship's infirmary. Richard Ammon was in room HB-12. The room was tiny, even by Navy standards, with flat, gray walls and steel pipes running the length of the ceiling. It smelled of ammonia and cleanser. A small vinyl recliner sat in the corner. The bed was wider than most. The sheets were navy blue. There wasn't a porthole, and the lights were turned down.

Ammon was asleep, and had been for the past twenty hours. His face was peaceful in the dim light. A thin sheet covered his body. His bare shoulders lay exposed to the cool air. His arms were wrapped in thick, whitc cloth and tucked down next to his sides. He was under heavy sedation, awaiting surgery which would come the next day.

A strand of soft hair brushed the side of Ammon's cheek and he turned his head to one side. Jesse leaned even closer and placed her hand on his shoulder. Her lips barcly touched his skin as she whispered in his ear. Ammon stirred once again. Jesse whispered his name. Ammon slowly opened his eyes. A tiny smile spread across his face.

“Jesse.... Jesse....” he started to say. His voiee was heavy with sedation.

Jesse pulled her face back to look into his eyes while placing her fingers over his lips. “Shhhh ... don't talk,” she whispered. “Don't talk. Just rest. Go back to sleep if you want to. I will be here. I am here for you now.”

Ammon lifted his head from the pillow. The room began to spin in a circle. His mind was groggy and weak. He blinked several times and then started to say, “But how did you ... ?”

Jesse cut him off as she pressed her face next to his cheek. “Shhhh ... not now. Just lay back and rest.”

“But Jesse....”

Jesse pressed her finger just a bit more firmly against his lower lip. “I will tell you about it tomorrow. Or the next day. We'll have lots of time.”

Ammon smiled and closed his eyes. A warm feeling spread over his body. She was right. They would have tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after that. Time was no longer a factor. He would never leave her again. She would be the first thing he saw in the morning. She would be the last thing he touched in the night.

He lay his head back on the pillow. Within seconds, he was sleeping again.

Jesse smiled and brushed a tear from her eye, then gently lay down next to him on the bed.