Letters From the Grave, Page 2
Frank Perry
their prior lives in the States to deflect their thoughts. Jake said, “If we don’t get back to the real world someday, who’s getting your insurance money? Mine’s going to my mother.”
Bobby chuckled, “It’s my mother, too, but I might need to change that if my girlfriend turns out to be pregnant.”
“Okay. Sounds like you were busy on leave after Rucker.”
“Yeah. I showed you Julie’s picture. She’s a real doll, and we’re getting married when I get home. All my pay is going in the bank so we can buy a house.”
“Man, are you nuts? You’ll barely be in your twenties. You need to live a little before marriage. Let’s go on R&R in Rio together, and you can fall in love every night if you want to.”
“Nah, I’m gonna marry Julie, not because I have to, but ‘cause she’s the finest girl, woman, I’ve ever known. I mean, I was a loser in high school, never had a serious girlfriend and never got laid! But in the summer at Wolters for basic, I met her at Lake Mineral Wells, and we were together every day I could get off. No shit, every day for the whole summer. She’s going to college now.”
“Well, good for you, buddy. If you don’t get back from here, I promise to visit her and keep up your good work!”
Bobby punched Jake’s shoulder as they both laughed.
On approach to the mountain coordinates, Bobby was able to make radio contact with the ground force and exchanged call signs. They approached a small valley from the southeast with information that the Columbian Commander and his radioman were surrounded part way up the northern ridge, under dense jungle canopy. Bobby radioed, “Tigerman, this is Sidekick 404, do you read? Over.”
Within two seconds, the reply came, “404, this is U.S. special advisor (Army Ranger) ‘Romeo’ to TigerMan team, what is your position? Over.”
“Romeo, we are entering the valley south of your position, ETA in one minute. Do you have ground clearance for helo extraction? Over.”
With loud gunfire in the background, the response was, “404, we have a small clearing, but we’re surrounded and can’t assure safe landing. Over.”
“Okay, Romeo, wait one.”
In the cockpit Bobby pressed the intercom button, sounding hesitant, “Jake, what do you think, man? It sounds tight for a night pick up under fire.”
Jake knew he had dodged fate a few times before but had always followed his orders. “Bobby, we’re not leaving those guys down there if we can find them.”
“Roger that, pilot.” Jake felt apprehension in Bobby’s response.
Speaking to the two gunners and Bobby, Jake said, “Keep a keen eye open guys. We can’t tell the greaser’s from the good guys unless they fire at us.”
Banking right while losing altitude approaching the hillside, Jake asked Bobby to help find the LZ. Bobby radioed, “Romeo, can you blow smoke or otherwise identify? Over.”
“Negative 404, (pause for gunfire) we got beaucoup bad guys everywhere. Can’t pop smoke. I hear you southeast of our spot. You’re close, look for a small clearing. I’ll walk you in. Over?”
Bobby responded, “Roger that, Romeo.”
Below the trees, muzzle flashes were lighting the jungle like headlights from a dozen cars, flashing underneath.
The radio crackled,”404, you’re above us. Can you see the opening in the treetops? Over.”
Without lights on the helicopter, the Blackhawk was almost invisible from the ground, but the flight crew could see the hole in the green carpet under them in the slivered moonlight. Jake pressed the intercom, “Okay Bobby, were going down there, tell Romeo we’ll touch for five seconds only.”
“Jake, man, don’t do it. The slot’s too tight for our rotors!”
Jake responded, “I’ve got it under control, hang on and use the Minigun.” The Minigun is a 7.62mm, multi-barrel Gatling-style machine gun firing up to 4000 rounds per minute and powered by the helicopter’s electrical system. It attaches to a swiveling pod outside the aircraft. It’s particularly useful in dense jungle to repel attackers hidden in the foliage near the landing area.
Bobby started to protest, but kept his mouth shut while switching the master arm switch on the Minigun to the firing position. Jake said, “Bobby, confirm with Romeo which way they will approach.”
After Bobby’s query, Romeo replied, “We’re uphill, north side of the clearing.”
“Roger that, Romeo. Get ready to move, we don’t plan to be a lamb down there. Over”
“You got it, 404. Out.”
Jake pressed the intercom, talking to the two crewmen manning the door guns, “Men, our guys are coming from the north. Hose down everything else.”
With that, Jake pulled back slightly on the cyclic to hover and simultaneously pushed the collective to begin their descent straight down through the trees.
Bobby yelled, “Jake, it’s too tight, we could die doing this!”
Jake ignored him, determined to save the men below. His concentration was focused entirely on descending straight down through the trees. He clenched his teeth, knowing that bullets would be flying through the bird at any second. As the fuselage settled below the treetops, the four-blade rotor overhead swept through the branches, hitting one tree hard enough to send a four inch thick stump flying in front of them. They were flying a giant weed whacker. Shredded leaves and branches swirled inside all the openings in the helicopter. Bobby looked around nervously with his hand on the gun controller. His survival instincts had kicked in, and he was not comfortable with someone else, even Jake, driving the ship. His gaze spanned left and right, but night and the huge compost heap swirling around them obscured his vision. Jake kept going down, and it felt like suicide to all aboard.
The scene changed rapidly as automatic muzzle flashes came from all directions. The gunners in the back were firing in long bursts, returning fire. Jake did a magnificent job, ignoring the bullets passing around them, some hitting the aircraft. He just prayed that the engine and compartment armor did their jobs.
When the helicopter hit the ground, only the uphill, northern wheel, touched. Jake kept the power at full military setting, not letting the craft settle. Even with noise everywhere, he heard yelling in the back as the thud of men landing on the deck was felt in the flight controls.
Bobby stopped firing and whirled around to yell, “Is everyone aboard!”
Jake couldn’t hear the response when Bobby yelled, “Jake, it’s time to go! We gotta go man! Get the hell out of this shit hole!”
Jake yelled back, “Did we get everyone!”
“Hell, man, I don’t know, let’s go!”
“Not till all are aboard!”
Scared and angry, Bobby spun around in the cockpit, fanning fire from the Minigun in a ninety degree arc ahead of them. From the right side, an enemy jumped against Bobby’s door, dropping a grenade between his legs before tumbling away in the darkness.
Bobby screamed, “Shit, grenade! Grenade!” He released his safety harness and began fumbling for the grenade by his feet. The burning fuse gave off intense light, threatening their night vision. It took less than a second for him to grasp it and hurl it back through the window frame that had already been blown out by gunfire when they landed, but too much time had elapsed, and it exploded only feet from his face. Both pilots were blasted with the shock, but Bobby had been closer and absorbed the shrapnel. He was thrown into the seat like a pigeon hit by a twelve-gauge shotgun blast, dead center. Jake could feel shredded tissue and blood spatters on the side of his face.
He pulled hard on the collective and controlled the cyclic masterfully, rising back up through the cavern they carved in the trees entering this hell. Pulling with all his strength, he willed the aircraft to shoot up faster. The gunners were back in action firing from both sides. At least they were still able to shoot. He had no idea if Romeo and his team were all aboard. He looked skyward, again chopping through thin branches, grasping for the open starlit sky above. Tears formed as wind blew through shatte
red windows. He refused to look sideways, trying to deny that Bobby was gone. He was just stunned and would grab the flight controls in a minute, when the daze wore off.
It was not going to happen. Bobby had died instantly that night. Jake never forgave himself, hearing Bobby’s pleas for the rest of his life. Jake’s vanity had killed his friend, his brother. For the rest of his tour, he never befriended anyone else. He was a loner for the rest of his Army career. He went through Ranger training, but spent most of his time flying SpecOps (special operations) missions.
Cold Sweat
He finally threw the sheets aside and squinted without his reading glasses at the clock radio next to him. It was 4:02AM, early even for him but too late to sleep more.
He braced against the chair, knocking the ashtray on the floor then stubbed a toe shuffling in the darkness down the hall to the only bathroom in his small ranch house. Switching on the light, he was startled by the same face he’d seen for years. He looked old. His red nose was the predominant feature below his bloodshot eyes. He peered closer, then stepped back, trying to find remnants of the young man he remembered in dreams, the man in the nightmare.
Using one hand for balance on the sink, he ran some water, waiting for it to warm before splashing his face. The fact that most of it ran to the floor or missed his skin entirely didn’t matter, since no one else used the facilities anyway. His parents had visited years earlier, before
Bobby chuckled, “It’s my mother, too, but I might need to change that if my girlfriend turns out to be pregnant.”
“Okay. Sounds like you were busy on leave after Rucker.”
“Yeah. I showed you Julie’s picture. She’s a real doll, and we’re getting married when I get home. All my pay is going in the bank so we can buy a house.”
“Man, are you nuts? You’ll barely be in your twenties. You need to live a little before marriage. Let’s go on R&R in Rio together, and you can fall in love every night if you want to.”
“Nah, I’m gonna marry Julie, not because I have to, but ‘cause she’s the finest girl, woman, I’ve ever known. I mean, I was a loser in high school, never had a serious girlfriend and never got laid! But in the summer at Wolters for basic, I met her at Lake Mineral Wells, and we were together every day I could get off. No shit, every day for the whole summer. She’s going to college now.”
“Well, good for you, buddy. If you don’t get back from here, I promise to visit her and keep up your good work!”
Bobby punched Jake’s shoulder as they both laughed.
On approach to the mountain coordinates, Bobby was able to make radio contact with the ground force and exchanged call signs. They approached a small valley from the southeast with information that the Columbian Commander and his radioman were surrounded part way up the northern ridge, under dense jungle canopy. Bobby radioed, “Tigerman, this is Sidekick 404, do you read? Over.”
Within two seconds, the reply came, “404, this is U.S. special advisor (Army Ranger) ‘Romeo’ to TigerMan team, what is your position? Over.”
“Romeo, we are entering the valley south of your position, ETA in one minute. Do you have ground clearance for helo extraction? Over.”
With loud gunfire in the background, the response was, “404, we have a small clearing, but we’re surrounded and can’t assure safe landing. Over.”
“Okay, Romeo, wait one.”
In the cockpit Bobby pressed the intercom button, sounding hesitant, “Jake, what do you think, man? It sounds tight for a night pick up under fire.”
Jake knew he had dodged fate a few times before but had always followed his orders. “Bobby, we’re not leaving those guys down there if we can find them.”
“Roger that, pilot.” Jake felt apprehension in Bobby’s response.
Speaking to the two gunners and Bobby, Jake said, “Keep a keen eye open guys. We can’t tell the greaser’s from the good guys unless they fire at us.”
Banking right while losing altitude approaching the hillside, Jake asked Bobby to help find the LZ. Bobby radioed, “Romeo, can you blow smoke or otherwise identify? Over.”
“Negative 404, (pause for gunfire) we got beaucoup bad guys everywhere. Can’t pop smoke. I hear you southeast of our spot. You’re close, look for a small clearing. I’ll walk you in. Over?”
Bobby responded, “Roger that, Romeo.”
Below the trees, muzzle flashes were lighting the jungle like headlights from a dozen cars, flashing underneath.
The radio crackled,”404, you’re above us. Can you see the opening in the treetops? Over.”
Without lights on the helicopter, the Blackhawk was almost invisible from the ground, but the flight crew could see the hole in the green carpet under them in the slivered moonlight. Jake pressed the intercom, “Okay Bobby, were going down there, tell Romeo we’ll touch for five seconds only.”
“Jake, man, don’t do it. The slot’s too tight for our rotors!”
Jake responded, “I’ve got it under control, hang on and use the Minigun.” The Minigun is a 7.62mm, multi-barrel Gatling-style machine gun firing up to 4000 rounds per minute and powered by the helicopter’s electrical system. It attaches to a swiveling pod outside the aircraft. It’s particularly useful in dense jungle to repel attackers hidden in the foliage near the landing area.
Bobby started to protest, but kept his mouth shut while switching the master arm switch on the Minigun to the firing position. Jake said, “Bobby, confirm with Romeo which way they will approach.”
After Bobby’s query, Romeo replied, “We’re uphill, north side of the clearing.”
“Roger that, Romeo. Get ready to move, we don’t plan to be a lamb down there. Over”
“You got it, 404. Out.”
Jake pressed the intercom, talking to the two crewmen manning the door guns, “Men, our guys are coming from the north. Hose down everything else.”
With that, Jake pulled back slightly on the cyclic to hover and simultaneously pushed the collective to begin their descent straight down through the trees.
Bobby yelled, “Jake, it’s too tight, we could die doing this!”
Jake ignored him, determined to save the men below. His concentration was focused entirely on descending straight down through the trees. He clenched his teeth, knowing that bullets would be flying through the bird at any second. As the fuselage settled below the treetops, the four-blade rotor overhead swept through the branches, hitting one tree hard enough to send a four inch thick stump flying in front of them. They were flying a giant weed whacker. Shredded leaves and branches swirled inside all the openings in the helicopter. Bobby looked around nervously with his hand on the gun controller. His survival instincts had kicked in, and he was not comfortable with someone else, even Jake, driving the ship. His gaze spanned left and right, but night and the huge compost heap swirling around them obscured his vision. Jake kept going down, and it felt like suicide to all aboard.
The scene changed rapidly as automatic muzzle flashes came from all directions. The gunners in the back were firing in long bursts, returning fire. Jake did a magnificent job, ignoring the bullets passing around them, some hitting the aircraft. He just prayed that the engine and compartment armor did their jobs.
When the helicopter hit the ground, only the uphill, northern wheel, touched. Jake kept the power at full military setting, not letting the craft settle. Even with noise everywhere, he heard yelling in the back as the thud of men landing on the deck was felt in the flight controls.
Bobby stopped firing and whirled around to yell, “Is everyone aboard!”
Jake couldn’t hear the response when Bobby yelled, “Jake, it’s time to go! We gotta go man! Get the hell out of this shit hole!”
Jake yelled back, “Did we get everyone!”
“Hell, man, I don’t know, let’s go!”
“Not till all are aboard!”
Scared and angry, Bobby spun around in the cockpit, fanning fire from the Minigun in a ninety degree arc ahead of them. From the right side, an enemy jumped against Bobby’s door, dropping a grenade between his legs before tumbling away in the darkness.
Bobby screamed, “Shit, grenade! Grenade!” He released his safety harness and began fumbling for the grenade by his feet. The burning fuse gave off intense light, threatening their night vision. It took less than a second for him to grasp it and hurl it back through the window frame that had already been blown out by gunfire when they landed, but too much time had elapsed, and it exploded only feet from his face. Both pilots were blasted with the shock, but Bobby had been closer and absorbed the shrapnel. He was thrown into the seat like a pigeon hit by a twelve-gauge shotgun blast, dead center. Jake could feel shredded tissue and blood spatters on the side of his face.
He pulled hard on the collective and controlled the cyclic masterfully, rising back up through the cavern they carved in the trees entering this hell. Pulling with all his strength, he willed the aircraft to shoot up faster. The gunners were back in action firing from both sides. At least they were still able to shoot. He had no idea if Romeo and his team were all aboard. He looked skyward, again chopping through thin branches, grasping for the open starlit sky above. Tears formed as wind blew through shatte
red windows. He refused to look sideways, trying to deny that Bobby was gone. He was just stunned and would grab the flight controls in a minute, when the daze wore off.
It was not going to happen. Bobby had died instantly that night. Jake never forgave himself, hearing Bobby’s pleas for the rest of his life. Jake’s vanity had killed his friend, his brother. For the rest of his tour, he never befriended anyone else. He was a loner for the rest of his Army career. He went through Ranger training, but spent most of his time flying SpecOps (special operations) missions.
Cold Sweat
He finally threw the sheets aside and squinted without his reading glasses at the clock radio next to him. It was 4:02AM, early even for him but too late to sleep more.
He braced against the chair, knocking the ashtray on the floor then stubbed a toe shuffling in the darkness down the hall to the only bathroom in his small ranch house. Switching on the light, he was startled by the same face he’d seen for years. He looked old. His red nose was the predominant feature below his bloodshot eyes. He peered closer, then stepped back, trying to find remnants of the young man he remembered in dreams, the man in the nightmare.
Using one hand for balance on the sink, he ran some water, waiting for it to warm before splashing his face. The fact that most of it ran to the floor or missed his skin entirely didn’t matter, since no one else used the facilities anyway. His parents had visited years earlier, before
