Fireplay - Steve P. Vincent (important books to read .TXT) 📗

He made it another hundred yards and then he turned around to look. He could see a few men running three hundred yards back. One of the ANA Humvees was also pursuing and would be on him in a few moments. He turned and kept running, confused by the low hum he could hear in the distance. The hum turned into a buzz, then into a roar. He didn’t dare look around. He didn’t have the time.

The amount of sand the pair of helicopters kicked up as they roared overhead was impressive, and they did little to help Jack’s attempts to remain upright. His heart sank with the knowledge that Brinson must have called in air support. His run slowed to a jog, despite his pursuers. With helicopters in the air there was no point running. 

As he slowed to a walk he realized, deep in the recesses of his mind, that there was no way helicopters could have arrived in the short time he’d been running. He heard the chattering of machinegun fire. He turned around and watched as tracer rounds spewed from the side of one of the helicopters toward the convoy. The other helicopter added rocket fire to the carnage.

He turned around and ran again as the choppers rained death upon the convoy. They had US Marine Corps markings, which confused him further. He didn’t know what to think any more, but he figured he couldn’t go wrong with getting away from all of it. He started to run again. Ahead of him, another chopper had appeared and started to descend. In the door, Ortiz waved.

Jack didn’t know if anyone was left on his tail as the choppers behind him did their work, but he didn’t look back. He just ran as hard as he could towards the door and hoped like hell that he didn’t take one in the back before he got there. The distance closed as the chopper touched down and kept its rotors spinning. Forty yards, then thirty. His lungs burned hot as he pushed himself on.

He staggered forward another few inches. He wanted to live, but he couldn’t run anymore. He was spent, he could barely think straight, and it was difficult to keep putting one foot in front of another. After another few steps toward the now-grounded helicopter, he fell to his knees and then onto his hands. He sucked at the hot desert air, struggling to breathe.

He stared at the sand, his lungs heaving for air. He wanted to slump into it but he wasn’t sure how long the rescue chopper would wait. He took one more deep breath and then steeled himself for one more try. He wanted to live. As he was about to try to climb to his feet, he felt a hand grip his arm. He looked up and saw Ortiz smiling down at him.

“Come on, Jack.” Ortiz yanked his arm and helped Jack to his feet. “We’ve got thirty seconds before people start to notice that the birds have stopped.”

Jack staggered to his feet and let himself be guided towards the open door of the chopper. Once he was seated safely inside, Ortiz slid the door shut and they were airborne in seconds. Jack slowly caught his breath and started to breathe normally. Only then did he start to sob. It was uncontrollable. The stress of the last few days had finally overwhelmed him.

“No shame in it, Jack.”

He looked up at Ortiz. “What?”

Ortiz smiled. “No shame.”

Jack nodded. He wasn’t sure if Ortiz was saying what he really believed or was just trying to make him feel better, but he appreciated the effort. He felt a bond with the man like few he’d had in his life. He slowly calmed down and settled back in his seat. He watched as Ortiz reached into his combat vest, pulled out a packet of smokes, and started to hand them around.

“Give me one of those.” Jack reached out and plucked a cigarette from the packet.

“Knew we’d make a deviant out of you.” Ortiz grinned as reached out to light Jack’s cigarette.

Jack took a drag and coughed. “How did you find me, Dan?”

“The pager had a tracker. Turns out some Corps brass weren’t thrilled about being sucked into the rendition program and we thought it likely that Brinson would make a move on you. As far as anyone will know, Brinson’s convoy was hit by Taliban and the helos were on patrol.”

Jack’s eyes widened. He had no idea that politics within the Marine Corps ran so deep. “What about my story?”

Ortiz smiled. “Once you get back to the States you’ll have your information, Jack. Unfortunately Major Brinson, the brainchild of the program, was killed on a patrol.”

Jack nodded. He understood. He was being given his life and his story in return for keeping his mouth shut about the Marine Corps cleaning up their mess. He didn’t know what politics were playing out between the Marine Corps and the CIA, or even what else would occur in future, but all he knew was that he wanted out of Afghanistan. He’d had enough of the country’s hospitality.

Jack closed his eyes. The sound of the helicopter’s rotors slicing through the air was rhythmic, and no further words were needed between the two of them. He took another deep drag of the cigarette, exhaled, and coughed only lightly. He’d never smoked before and had no intention of starting, but it seemed a fitting way to end the week from hell.

As soon as he was home he was going to have a whisky, sleep next to his wife, and wake up only for bacon. The story could wait a day or two.