"We need to get our people out of this hotel and down to the extraction point now," replied Garrett.
"OK, Ad. I'll stay here and you go on ahead, as planned. Take a couple of lads from your crew and set up a reception point by the helipad where the Marines are getting established at the beach. I'll get things sorted here and will start sending people down to you within the next 30 minutes. Alright?"
"You got it," Garrett replied without hesitation. He was glad of the activity, glad to be finally moving out. They knew what had to be done. It had been planned for weeks. "What about Morgan?"
"He'll be fine," said Fredericks. "I'll wait for him here. You get young Martinez to organise a couple of Land Rovers to ferry the sick, lame and lazy down to the beach. The rest'll have to go on foot. I won't send anyone off to you without an armed escort. We've got 67 in all, including kids, to be evacuated, and more coming in with Alex on the chopper. So, Martinez'll have to keep things moving pretty slick."
"Do you think he can handle it?" asked Garrett, concerned about the newest member of the team, the 26 year-old communications wizard they called 'Boy'. He was inexperienced with the intricacies of evacuation ops. "I haven't got time to stick a set of trainer-wheels on him."
The mortar attack against the rebels continued. Piercing explosions punctuated their planning. The two remained fl.at on their bellies as they spoke. "He'll have to handle it," Fredericks yelled over the explosions. "Let's check the manifests downstairs. Once you've spoken with the Marines at the beach, contact me on VHF and let me know when their choppers will be ready to start flying people out to the ship."
"Great. I'll send one of the boys back up here with a radio to keep an eye on things and let us know how much time we have before these bastards are all over us."
With a final glance across Cullentown, Garrett and Fredericks headed for the stairs.
Garrett had already been there, done that. He'd fought the IRA, the Argies, and the Taliban. This time, he knew that he and the boys had their work cut out for them. It may have started out as routine, but from here on in it could go pear-shaped - a potential bloodbath all the way back to the boat. He could feel it in his bones. Maybe Fredericks was right. Maybe they were both getting too old for this shit.
No, he thought. Old Freddo was just getting soft.
"Make sure your guys have plenty of ammo, Ad. They're going to need it," Fredericks yelled down to Garrett as he followed him downstairs from the roof. "We don't want any bastard getting killed because they were stupid enough to run out."
"Believe me, ammo is the one thing I will make sure we got plenty of!"
Just then, Zeke Martinez, the youngest member of the team, came sprinting down the corridor towards them, out of breath, clutching a radio handset outstretched to Fredericks.
"Mike!" he called, still running.
"What's up, Zeke?" replied Fredericks, walking straight to him.
"It's Morgan. He's on the radio, man. Inbound from Pallarup. Doesn't sound too good."
CHAPTER 27
"How much time we got left?" Morgan asked. His eyes fixed upon the rapidly approaching, low-lying sprawl of Cullemown dead ahead.
"If you'd asked me ten minutes ago, I would have said about ten minutes!" Mason was stressed. "Remember that tiny leak we started off with? Well, it's now a flood. Our fuel's been pouring out back there for 20 minutes and we're losing oil. She's handling like a bitch."
"Sorry I asked."
"We're flying on fumes, Alex," said Mason. "My gauges said we were dry 30 miles back."
"So, how come we're still up here?"
"Don't ask me. Act of God. Miracle. I don't know: somethin'. Call it what you like. We should have fallen out of the sky ages ago."
"Great. If you've got any more good news, keep it to yourself. I'm going to try Mike again. Let him know we're inbound. Maybe he can put his hands on a net."
With a deadpan expression, Morgan flicked the switch on his headset to call forward to Fredericks at the hotel.
"Alpha Two, this is Alpha One. Over."
"Alpha One, this is Alpha Two. Got you loud and clear. Where the hell are you? Over."
"Had a bit of trouble leaving Pallarup, but we're about ten miles out from your location now. Heading in from the south. You ready to receive us? Over."
"Roger, we're ready here but be prepared for more trouble when you arrive. We're in the middle of a shit-fight. "
Fredericks proceeded to brief Morgan on the situation in Cullentown including an update on the extraction out to the warship. The street battles were raging, and the injured helicopter was heading into the middle of it all.
"Understood,"
replied Morgan when Fredericks finished. Christ! Out of the frying pan and into the bloody fire. This job had been a disaster from the beginning, and from his perspective, there was very little to show for it other than his suspicions.
"We've got another set of problems up here, Mike. Fuel lines have been shot to shit. We're flying in on the smell of an oily rag. Steve isn't even sure if we'll make it. We may have to ditch. Roger, so far? Over."
"
Roger. Go ahead. Over."
Back at the hotel, Fredericks and Garrett were huddled over the radio, looking at each other grim-faced, shaking their heads. Fredericks couldn't believe the way the day was panning out.
"We have a casualty. Sewa has a Priority Two gunshot wound to the lower leg. Arena's patched him up, but he's lost a lot of blood. We'll need medics and a stretcher on landing, too. Got that? Over."
"Yeah, I got it. Any more? Over."
"Just one other. Turner somehow broke his jaw when he was trying to get on board,"
Morgan smiled, as he'd been told the story and knew Fredericks and Garrett would appreciate it. They did.
"He's been out for a while, but he'll come good eventually. He'll need some assistance on landing. Over."
"Thank God for small mercies, I guess. Just get your ass back here, ASAP. I'll mark the rooftop with an orange marker panel facing due south. Once you've spotted it, I' II marshal you in. Over.
"
"This is Alpha One. Roger that. I'll see you soon. Out."
The flashing red lights of the instrument panel still gripped the helicopter and would persist until the emergency was over, one way or another. For most of the past hour, it had punctuated their fear. Incessantly clawing at already fractured nerves, the unrelenting insistence of the blood red pulse was frightening. The terrified passengers crammed in the cargo hold of the Super Puma were losing control, and a sort of mindless group hysteria overcame them. They were awash with fear and the mob shock of their seemingly endless ordeal finally became too much. Arena was trying to calm them, but they wouldn't have it. Even over the howl of the engines, Morgan couldn't stand it any longer.
"Shut up, the lot of you," he roared from the cockpit. "This bullshit won't get us anywhere."
The group fell silent.
"I need you to start thinking about getting off this chopper the moment Steve finds a spot to put her down." Morgan looked across at Stanley, huddled in at the back of the pack, helping his wife Lynnie check the splints Arena had applied to Sewa's shattered leg.
"John?"
"Yeah, Alex?" Stanley replied. He, Arena and Lynnie had been ignoring the outbursts, concentrating instead on treating the young guard.
"Sewa gets off first. You and Bob take him as soon as we land. I've already called and there'll be a stretcher waiting. And get someone to help Turner, OK?"
"Got it." Stanley held up a thumb to confirm that he understood. "Ari, you go with Sewa and stay with him all the way to the ship." He
didn't wait for a reply. He couldn't have her hanging around waiting for him. It was too dangerous. Morgan wanted her as far from danger as soon as he could arrange it, and he wasn't going to let her argue about it.
Morgan addressed the rest of the evacuees, giving them all a task to concentrate on, some light at the end of this long, dark tunnel. "The rest of you, make room at the door for Sewa. When we get there, move quickly and follow Mike Fredericks' directions to the letter. He'll be waiting for us. There's no time to mess about. You all got that?" Morgan received nervous but encouraging nods and grunts of acknowledgment from all. "Good. It's going to be rough when we get there. So we're not out of the woods for a while yet. Are you all with me so far?" Again, nods. "Right. There's a fight going on in Cullentown between the Army and the rebels - we're flying straight into it. The only safe place for us to land is on the roof of the Francis Hotel." His voice was hoarse from dehydration and the effort of yelling over the engine noise. "As soon as you're off the chopper, you'll be led downstairs and we'll go straight to the beach. The US Marines will meet us there and start flying us out to their ship." There was a spontaneous round of applause and cheering. "It's just like I told you back at Pallarup during our practice sessions, OK?"
"Alex," Mason cut in eagerly. "Start getting them ready. We're 200 metres out from the hotel. I can see Mike's marker panel." Mason stabbed a finger straight towards a bright orange, two-metre square panel being held aloft by a couple of Chiltonford's locally recruited guards. "We can't waste any time."
"Right." Morgan crawled back into the cargo hold, placing his hands on the heads of the others to steady himself as he struggled through to the door. His chest was on fire with the pain of his sudden movement. He grimaced and faltered, grabbing at his ribs. Ari was beside him in a second. "Alex, they're probably broken. You have to let me check you out as
soon as we touch down."
"Ari, you're an angel, believe me," he replied, his breathing laboured. "But have a look outside. There isn't going to be time. Once we're all safely on-board that ship, though, you can check me out as much as you like."
"Plenty of TLC for you, Mister!" she forced with a smile, although genuine concern was written all over her face.
Below, the rich green and brown carpet of mangrove swamps and inlets lying to the south of Cullentown raced past. Mason pushed the stricken chopper as hard and as low as he dared to get them over the hotel before the fuel ran out. He fixed his gaze on the hotel, then the marker panel. There was Fredericks. They were closing fast. Mason aimed the big chopper straight for the roof.
Morgan gripped the release handle of the closed port-side door and wrenched it wide open. The wind struck, whipping the collar of his faded shirt up against his face and blowing Arena's fine blonde hair back in a trail behind her.
"God! You look spectacular," he shouted in her ear, with a tense grin. "Is that all you can think about?" she shot back.
"Of course. With you around, can you blame me?"
"Don't rush it, Morgan," she yelled above the din. 'I'm not sure I've actually warmed to you yet. Get us out of here and we'll see."
"I'll hold you to that. Just promise you'll stay with Sewa and see that he gets on that ship and straight to the Infirmary!" he said to her. "Promise me!".
"OK, I promise. You stubborn bugger!" she cried with mock hostility. "But the moment you're on-board that ship," she continued, waving an accusing finger in Morgan's face, "and I get you to that Infirmary, I'm in charge!"
"Jesus, you Red Cross types are pushy!" Morgan smiled as she turned from him to help the others prepare for the landing.
As she turned, Morgan spotted a silver memory stick peeking out of Turner's shirt on the end of a black cord. Bingo! He took three awkward steps between the evacuees and tore the stick from the still unconscious Turner in one deft movement, pocketed it, then returned to the door. With everybody huddled together, preparing to land under such stress, it was barely noticed.
Hanging out of the door, searching again for the marker panel, Morgan's eyes fell upon the hordes of government and rebel troops. There were firefights everywhere, throughout the streets and buildings to the north of the hotel. The skyline was a test pattern of smoke and fire pierced by the occasional sheer white flash of an explosion, an RPG or mortar round punching a path through the whole mess. For as far as he could see, people and soldiers were scampering like ants in every direction. What a day, he thought. They were flying straight into the centre of hell.
With relief, Morgan caught sight of the American Wasp-class amphibious assault ship, USS
Kearsarge,
sitting beyond the harbour in the distance. A man-made, fortified island refuge. Six of her MH-53E Sea Dragon helicopters were at that moment charging across the ocean to the pre-designated evacuation point at the beach, where he could see hundreds of expatriates converging to make their escape to freedom and safety. The cavalry was coming - he could almost hear the bugles.
Suddenly the pitch of the engine noise changed dramatically. They were over the roof of the hotel. Mason was attempting to land.
"Hand me that rifle," Morgan screamed over the din. "Everybody standby!"
CHAPTER 28
"Get that stretcher over here!" Fredericks bellowed.
Two local guards jumped into action immediately and were crouched at his side with the stretcher as the Super Puma prepared to touch down.
"As soon as you've got the wounded man strapped onto that stretcher, I want you to wait for all the others to hit the stairs, and then follow them down. Don't get ahead of them or you'll block the route and slow everyone down. You get me?"
"Yes, Sir," came the shouted reply.
"Good shit. The medics will meet you downstairs. Miss Halls is with the patient, so take your lead from her." Fredericks slapped the men reassuringly on their backs and then moved in closer to where Steve Mason was trying to land the chopper. More problems, Fredericks thought.