Prologue: Blackhawk Down
Bagram AFB, Afghanistan. One could say it was a majestic and beautiful desert airstrip, back dropped by white capped and craggy violet and tan mountains, surrounded by nature’s beauty and lit from above by a hot and unobstructed sun. However, this is not the case. Currently, Bagram is held in a vice grip by a wicked and thick sand storm, the wind whipped grains akin to razor blades upon the skin to any caught in the dark and shrouded area. Everyone, down to the dogs and the cats, was ordered indoors, all civilians having been placed into military vehicles after a quick yet thorough search for explosives or weapons. One soldier in particular, Corporal Kevin James Green, was sitting on the polished concrete floors of the steel barracks his squadron racked in, leaned back against the wall. He had a green and black checked local head wrap coiled around his neck, his body armor open along with his tactical vest, his desert pattern fatigues coated in dust and dirt as he listened to the music tweeting through the earbuds in his ears.
“This shit blows Sarge,” Kevin said in an exasperated tone, sighing for dramatic effect. “Why don’t we just go kick the storms ass? I haven’t seen any action in weeks.” He cracked open one of his eyes slightly, looking across the room to the team leader, Sergeant Major Jacob Hatfield, the thirty year old man laying on his bunk with a frown etched onto his face. In the four years Kevin had known him, the man had never smiled.
“You do that Colt,” he said sarcastically. “You go out there and kick Mother Nature’s ass, and when you come back in after spending hours lost in this, I’ll hand you a nice cold beer and a ham sandwich.” Kevin and his four teammates chuckled halfheartedly as they all teetered on the cusp of sleep. Boredom truly was the bane of every soldier.
“I'm so glad I met you sweetheart,” Kevin joked back, a smile spread on his face. “You always know how to make my days better. Maybe tonight we can sleep together?” SGM Hatfield rolled his eyes, having stopped playing games with Kevin long ago.
“Hey Kevin,” The voice of PFC Clarence G. Powell called from across the room, his youthful face glued to the screen of a small analogue TV. “Why do they call you that? Colt I mean. It makes no sense to me.” The private swore and threw the controller he was holding onto the table, picking it back up and starting his game again. Kevin simply shook his head, laughing inwardly to himself as privates James Garner and Thomas Ferguson began to hum a tune, one that Kevin knew quite well. “I don’t get it. Is it something to do with your choice in weapons? I noticed your sidearm is a Colt.45, your rifle is a Colt M4A1, and even your knife is a Colt issue. Is that why?” Kevin allowed an audible chuckle as the subtle hint was lost on the eighteen year old.
“Clarence,” Specialist Geoff Thompson groaned as he wiped a hand over his face. “Why do we call you Light bulb?”
“Because I went to college, obviously,” Clarence said absentmindedly, half zoned on his round of Black Ops 2.
“No, it’s because you’re around a ten watt.” The private gave him a deathly glare as the team laughed, Geoff simply staring back to let him know he still outranked him.
“It’s something to do with television,” Garner said, his M16’s Picatinny hand guard floating in his loose grip. “You might understand it in that context. We considered calling him Rockstar and Houndog, but Colt was what stuck.”
“My weapons have nothing to do with it,” Kevin said, using his M4 for balance as he stood and walked over to the small arms locker the barracks had. “I would much rather have this beauty…” he said, pulling a Heckler-&-Koch HK416 from the rack, shouldering it and aiming at a pinup calendar on the wall.
“Corporal did I say you could fondle my wife in that manner,” Sarge asked, his eyes closed but having told him before to leave his rifle alone. “Let Barbara sleep, Colt. I already said you could use my SCAR, you damned vulture.” He lifted a plastic bottle to his mouth, spitting a mouthful of dip sauce out into the container. Kevin put the rifle back, pulling out the FN SCAR-L rifle from the rack, adjusting the stock to his liking and fitting a few attachments from his M4 to the top and fore-rails. He smiled as he tested the weight, preferring its central balance to the forward differential of the M4. “Just don’t stuff your dick in the receiver son. I’d hate to have to explain that medical report.” The team laughed as Kevin lowered the rifle, a bemused expression on his face.
The squad resumed their bored state as the storm raged outside, the sounds of small rocks pinging off the metal sides of the building ringing sporadically in their ears. Geoff had struck up a conversation with Garner, talking about what they were going to do when they shipped back stateside when a deep bass echoed through the sound of the howling wind. Kevin took out his earbuds when he noticed it, waiting for the sound to repeat itself as the conversations continued. He thought he heard it again, calling for silence quickly and straining his hearing. The sound was clearer the third time it happened.
“Outgoing,” Geoff said, the wind having died down slightly at this point.
“No, that’s incoming…” Thomas said as the fourth echo followed with a slight rumble in the floor.
“I’m telling you it’s outgoing,” Geoff repeated. “Artillery was scheduled to do a firing exercise today. Silence reined again, the calm shredding as the ground shook violently, four booming explosions racking the airfield outside.
“That’s frakking* incoming,” Kevin exclaimed, closing the Velcro on his BPV and tactical vest as he stood up and headed for the door.
“Head wraps or masks on,” Sarge ordered as he got out of his bunk and retrieved his rifle. “That storm’s still ongoing and you don’t want to get sand-lung. Grab your gear! Let's get tactical Rangers!” The squad was a flurry of rushed loading, arming and gearing-up as the explosions mixed with gunfire, the distinctive bass pop of Kalashnikov’s reached their ears as Sarge opened the door, his Coyote colored wrap covering his head and face beneath his helmet. Kevin slipped his gasmask on, fitting the folds of his wrap over his skin before slipping his helmet on and hurrying out of the building into the haze of sand and dust.
…
The strip was a mess, husks of burnt up Humvee frames and Blackhawk fuselages littering the now cratered asphalt runway. Troops milled around in an organized chaos, squad leaders shouting orders to their men and damage control teams being deployed to put out fires and rescue soldiers from collapsed structures. In the middle of the storm, Taliban insurgents had staged a surprise bombardment and raid on the base, causing mass destruction but an absence of casualties. The insurgent forces had escaped, but several teams were ordered to follow them, tracking them to their base of operations for the area.
“How the hell did this happen,” Kevin asked himself as he stared out the bay door of the UH-60 Blackhawk chopper, his rifle scanning the area below and to the left of the bird for anything with an AK. He had been on a patrol search for a five-mile radius just yesterday, searching for any hostile encampments within the hazard range. They had found nothing; even less than nothing point in fact, the operation having been a waste of fuel and time. Kevin keyed his mic, speaking into the boom-mic over the chopper blades. “Light Bulb, do you see anything on your side?” He made a mental note to slap Sergeant Hatfield when they returned to base for giving Clarence such an important job.
“No, and don’t call me that Colt. It’s degrading…” Kevin reached behind himself and slapped the private in the chest, misdirecting his aggression and frustration. The deafening sound of the blades above them reigned for several hours, the sun having descended into the horizon far enough to cause the pilot to lower their visor shield. Kevin sighed and pulled his rifle back into the bay, taking off his helmet as he resigned to casually scan for hostiles.
“Colt,” the pilot called from the cabin, motioning with a hand through the doorway. “I have something on visual ahead. You might want to get up here and take notes.” Kevin looked at his watch, finding they were past the halfway point and their return trip was supposed to be happening now. He sighed and stood in the bay, sliding the door on his side shut with a loud rumble and clack as the bearings worked and the latches closed. He turned around, fluidly slamming the SCAR-L into the weapons rack as he walked into the cockpit.
“What do you have Allison?” He asked the pilot, her blond hair peeking out from under her helmet. She twitched her view toward him, turning back to the glass dome before her and pointing toward the sun. Kevin followed her arm, finding the sun to be undoubtedly blindingly bright.
“I’ve seen some green flashes of light up-sun for the past three minutes,” as she spoke a spire of nearly solid green streaked for the sky, nearly blotting out the sun in a lime glow that bathed the red lighted cockpit a sickly shade. “You see? These things come in thirty second intervals, always on time and always the same.” Kevin nodded as he leaned against the doorway, chewing on his cheek as he thought. “Do you want to contact Tower or should I?” Kevin thought over the idea, deciding it would be easier for her to fly without some ass braying in her ear the whole time.
“You concentrate on keeping us away from any AA positions there might be,” he said, tapping her on the shoulder twice before lifting a headset from the wall and plugging it into a radio hub on the wall. He turned on his line, donning the headset and heralding base. “This is Colt in Big Bird-Seven, come back Tower.” He released his mic button, waiting silently as he watched Clarence close his door and remove his helmet, scratching his head in boredom.
“Colt, this is tower, go ahead,” the reply came, the sound of the matter-of-fact voice that he did not want to hear filling his ears.
“Tower we have an anomaly out here in sector,” he paused, looking at the instrument panel and taking in the small digital map on the console. “Sector Lima Echo Five Niner Charlie; some sort of green light up-sun. Possible signal flare, copy,” he released the button again, shrugging at Clarence as he inquired what he was talking about.
“Colt, tell Big Bird-Seven that there is no known Allied presence in the sectors up-sun of you,” The radio drew static as Tower left his mic. Kevin relayed the message, getting a nod from the pilot. “Strike that Colt. Big Dog wants you to investigate the anomaly, could be a possible smoked covert op, copy.”
“Roger, on course now. What are engagement parameters and orders if we find said spooks,” He gave the pilot a thumbs-up, his index finger pointing to the anomaly as it flashed again.
“The wedding is on Colt, Smoke em if you got em,” The radio drew static for another moment. “Big Dog wants you to pick up any allied operators you find and bring them back to base. You will receive further instructions upon approach. Tower out.” The line went dead as Tower cut the connection, Kevin lifting the headset and returning it to the wall before returning to the bay and retrieving his rifle from its securing clamps on the wall.
“What’s the word,” Clarence said, Kevin having to read his lips over the sound of the chopper engines.
“Possible Black-Op gone bad up-sun,” he yelled, leaning in to make himself heard. “We are going to investigate and bring back any spooks we find.” Clarence gave him a thumbs-up and a nod, checking his rifle and placing his helmet back on his head as he settled in for another recon. Kevin did the same, leaving his chinstrap unbuckled as he opened the port bay door. They were definitely moving forward, the ground going by quickly as the chopper began its tour of the dunes. The chopper had angles down slightly, increasing its speed while staying at a steady altitude under Big Bird’s skilled hands. He had to admit, if anyone else were to fly him around, Kevin would be quite nervous. Kevin pulled his squad radio’s mic down to his lips, keying the button on his vest before signaling the pilot.
“What is it Colt,” she said over the headset with a slightly annoyed tone. He had a habit of making distracting chatter with her while she was looking out for AA batteries.
“Have I ever told you that I wouldn’t trust anyone else to fly me around,” he asked over the channel, getting a negative from her. “Well Allison, let me formally credit you with fixing my phobia of helos, and that I would be very nervous if I was assigned to another bird.” She laughed into her mic, the chopper banking starboard to dodge a high dune.
“How sweet Colt,” she said. “Maybe you can pick up the bill from the corporation for the fuel once in a while, considering these dates are on their payroll.” Kevin allowed a chuckle as he lifted a pair of binoculars to his eyes, scouting something suspicious on the horizon. It was a steely glint, the shape of a tube taking form as he focused the lenses. He could not make anything out, but marked it down as debris. “Heads up boys, ETA on the target is five.” Kevin swirled his hand in the air, fingers outstretched before pumping his fist twice. Clarence nodded, checking his rifle again before looking out of the chopper bay. “We’re making a touch and go, I'm going to drop boots five hundred out and circle before picking you up in three mikes.” Kevin cocked and locked his rifle as the chopper descended, the bay jarring as the wheels touched the sand below. “Go! Go! Go!” the call came and the duo was out of the chopper, landing on their feet and sweeping the area with raised barrels as Big Bird-Seven took off again
“Rally up!” Kevin ordered, Clarence closing on his position before they crouched to assess. “Alright, you go east three hundred yards and climb that dune,” he pointed to the sand mountain east of them. “I’ll cut north and try to make radio contact.” Clarence nodded and headed for the dune, half running with his rifle raised to fire. Kevin took a breath and headed out as well, mantling the rocks before him and sliding down the dune into a small valley. He rose to a crouch, rifle raised and finger on the trigger as he swept the area for hostile forces.
“Lone Star!” he shouted, waiting for a reply. Silence reigned as he glanced east, finding Clarence having taken position for guard. Kevin lowered his rifle, rising to his feet and turning to face Clarence. He issued hand signs, asking questions. Clarence shook his head, signaling negative for five hundred yards in all directions. Kevin swore under his breath, kicking a pebble near his boot before walking into the valley. The area was beyond barren, even the scrub brush having been swallowed by the sand. The sounds of rotor blades shattered the silence, Big Bird Seven sweeping overhead before rearing and descending beyond the dunes to the north. Kevin gave the rally signal, beginning his way toward the chopper as Clarence descended his dune.
…
‘This was a waste,’ Kevin thought as he stepped into the chopper, Clarence close behind as he slid the door shut. He banged on the side of the chopper hard, signaling everything was locked down before he took his seat. As if on cue, the Blackhawk lifted from the sand, gaining altitude before angling forward, Bagram and warm beds in its sights. For minutes, the only sound in the craft was the chop of the blades and the sound of the engines whining as the craft continued its journey. Kevin was about to remove his helmet, allow his scalp some air before a red light and a blaring alert siren blared through the craft.
“We’re being tracked!” Allison yelling into the radio as the chopper banked hard to port, Kevin sliding out of his seat and slamming hard into the door shoulder first. His head followed, hitting the glass window hard enough to crack it. His head swam as he struggled to bring himself to his hands and knees, thankful his helmet had taken the brunt of the impact before the chopper listed to starboard, tossing the soldier across the floor and casting him into Clarence, the private laying on his side and shielding himself with his hands. The two collided in a jumble of smoke canisters and ammo magazines, supplies spreading around the bay as the chopper righted itself and came to an abrupt halt, the negative G-force of the craft lowering its altitude causing the two to feel weightless for a moment before being slammed back to the floor.
“Can you please be a little careful!?” Kevin screamed into his mic before the chopper began evasive actions again. Kevin slid across the floor and running head long into the aft wall. A quick glance proved his luck was in full swing, the handle of a combat knife protruding from the steel after the blade buried itself in the steel and aluminum.
“Sorry!” Allison yelled back, banking to the right and forcing the two into the starboard door. “This bastard’s damned persistent!” The siren began again, the tone higher and the alarm chopped into second long bursts. “Fuck! Lock on! They’ve fired! Brace for impact!” Kevin grabbed Clarence’s armor strap, pulling the unconscious soldier to the wall and strapping him into a chair before taking his seat beside him. He grasped the buckles, pulling them together before he was thrown from the seat with a thunderous report. “This is Big Bird Seven! I am hit and going down in sector Bravo Echo Six Charlie Niner! Mayday! Mayday!” Kevin crashed into the cockpit, his back landing on the control panel, smashing the components as Allison struggled to control their spin as they crashed. “Hold onto something!” She yelled as a flash of white light enveloped the craft. Kevin covered his face with his arm, shielding his eyes before the light subsided. “What in God’s Green Earth…” Allison blurted as she swung her head wide. Kevin followed suit as he made for the copilot’s seat, strapping in before what he saw stuck in his brain,
The sand had changed to trees and grass, dead stalks of corn and beans littered the flattened ground outside a large field of trees with a uniform structure. The sun was blotted out by a brown and hazy sky, the smoke from several fires in the distance having drifted over their location. In the distance was a small town filled with thatched huts and wood-shingled buildings. Closer to them was a large red barn, half blown away and smoking with a small farmhouse nearby. Kevin could have sworn he was dreaming.
“Brace! Brace!” Allison ordered as the fact of the very real helicopter crash returned to Kevin’s mind, the soldier folding his arms and bracing his head against them before pressing with all his strength against the instrument panel before him. “Impact in three!” Allison notified before pulling hard on her stick, bracing as well before the craft hit the ground.
The large chopper landed hard on the tilled soil, the craft jarring and bouncing off the dirt before listing to port. Kevin let a scream of terror fill his throat before it escaped, the sound being masked by the clamor of the engines increasing in RPM and the rotors chopping the earth away, steel snapping and flying in all directions as they completed their roll. The craft rocked back and forth on its top, the rotor hub buried in the soft dirt above them as the bird continued to slowly turn clockwise, moving half an inch each second. Kevin blinked several times as he hung upside down, arms hanging by his head as his vision began to fade. He could have sworn he heard someone screaming, but he blacked out before he could hear what he or she was saying.
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Not a bad start can't say its something i'm used to but you've caught my interest so im gonna continue on with this story.
Also I'm impressed with the military lingo you used it didn't sound like you were spouting random bullshit I'm guessing you have a military family or military background yes? Anyways time to see how this progresses!
Like it so far.