is in the house to the southwest,” Reed said, visualizing in his mind the house that their team would be hitting. “Love to get them guys in my sights and watch them cry like babies when we take them off the X.”
Ben looked at him, and the eyes sent a chill up Reed’s spine. A fire flickered somewhere behind the cold gaze.
“The men who are responsible for killing my people can never be dead enough,” Ben said, his face stoic. The look made Reed swallow hard, and he felt himself fill up with a whole new set of worries.
“Of course,” he said and watched his friend carefully, “if we can take them off target and get them to the interrogators we could really get some shit hot gouge from them.” His friend’s face didn’t change much, except for the tick of an almost evil grin in the corner of his mouth.
“Of course,” Ben said and then rose up from his squatted position.
Reed opened his mouth to say something, but realized he had no idea what and snapped his mouth closed again. He rose up next to his friend. But before he could think of what to say, the door beside them opened, and Auger, Chris, and Lash came out.
“Hey, guys,” Chris said as he swung his night vision goggles down, checked them, and swung them back up on top of his helmet. “We’re third chalk. Let’s get the roll call and load up in the bird.”
“Hooyah,” Ben said and turned from Reed and led the group towards the picnic table fifty yards away on which Jackson from Charlie platoon stood, a growing group of special operators around him waiting for the roll call.
Reed decided he would stay right beside his friend tonight.
He needed to protect him from things more internal than external he suspected.
Chapter 9
Ben leaned back against the side of the doorway in which he sat, the wind whipping his legs as they dangled out of the Blackhawk helicopter. He watched through his night vision goggles as the dark jungle whipped past beneath them. Now and again the glow from a campfire or the soft lights from a small cluster of buildings would light up white in the otherwise green and grey world he watched through the NVGs.
Bored with the monotonous scene a few hundred feet below them, Ben scanned around at his teammates who all sat relaxed but pensive in the helo. Reed looked back at him through his own goggles, like two mini-telescopes poking out of his face from beneath his green helmet, and gave him a thumbs up. Ben tried to grin and waved back, flipped his NVGs up onto the top of his helmet, and enjoyed the total darkness of the blacked-out helicopter. He could hear the other helos flying nearby, but without the night vision could not see a single glow to mark their position.
Ben leaned his helmeted head back against the doorway and fumbled in the front pouch of his kit, high on his chest. He felt blindly inside with his shooting finger, the glove cut away, and found the iPod he kept there. The IT guy for the task force, a Navy second class, had wired the earphone jack from his iPod directly into his headset a month ago, and he found he felt much more relaxed on the infils with a little music. He pushed the play button, and his right ear filled instantly with the sounds of Eric Clapton singing about the loss of his little boy. Ben hoped there were truly no tears in Heaven. He had found enough here, both in the nightmares of his youth, as well as the last few days in this shitty country.
The little girl’s face filled his mind’s eye in the blackness. Her face smiled at him as her imaginary fingers pulled at his nose and she cooed, “Gah deh, eh,” at him. Ben felt tightness in his chest at the picture and wondered where she was and, more importantly, how she was. He dreaded his next call to Christy almost as much as he needed it. Ben gripped his M-4 tightly.
Get your friggin’ head in the game, bro.
He needed to be a professional – now more than ever. This was a big op, and these guys were not a
Ben looked at him, and the eyes sent a chill up Reed’s spine. A fire flickered somewhere behind the cold gaze.
“The men who are responsible for killing my people can never be dead enough,” Ben said, his face stoic. The look made Reed swallow hard, and he felt himself fill up with a whole new set of worries.
“Of course,” he said and watched his friend carefully, “if we can take them off target and get them to the interrogators we could really get some shit hot gouge from them.” His friend’s face didn’t change much, except for the tick of an almost evil grin in the corner of his mouth.
“Of course,” Ben said and then rose up from his squatted position.
Reed opened his mouth to say something, but realized he had no idea what and snapped his mouth closed again. He rose up next to his friend. But before he could think of what to say, the door beside them opened, and Auger, Chris, and Lash came out.
“Hey, guys,” Chris said as he swung his night vision goggles down, checked them, and swung them back up on top of his helmet. “We’re third chalk. Let’s get the roll call and load up in the bird.”
“Hooyah,” Ben said and turned from Reed and led the group towards the picnic table fifty yards away on which Jackson from Charlie platoon stood, a growing group of special operators around him waiting for the roll call.
Reed decided he would stay right beside his friend tonight.
He needed to protect him from things more internal than external he suspected.
Chapter 9
Ben leaned back against the side of the doorway in which he sat, the wind whipping his legs as they dangled out of the Blackhawk helicopter. He watched through his night vision goggles as the dark jungle whipped past beneath them. Now and again the glow from a campfire or the soft lights from a small cluster of buildings would light up white in the otherwise green and grey world he watched through the NVGs.
Bored with the monotonous scene a few hundred feet below them, Ben scanned around at his teammates who all sat relaxed but pensive in the helo. Reed looked back at him through his own goggles, like two mini-telescopes poking out of his face from beneath his green helmet, and gave him a thumbs up. Ben tried to grin and waved back, flipped his NVGs up onto the top of his helmet, and enjoyed the total darkness of the blacked-out helicopter. He could hear the other helos flying nearby, but without the night vision could not see a single glow to mark their position.
Ben leaned his helmeted head back against the doorway and fumbled in the front pouch of his kit, high on his chest. He felt blindly inside with his shooting finger, the glove cut away, and found the iPod he kept there. The IT guy for the task force, a Navy second class, had wired the earphone jack from his iPod directly into his headset a month ago, and he found he felt much more relaxed on the infils with a little music. He pushed the play button, and his right ear filled instantly with the sounds of Eric Clapton singing about the loss of his little boy. Ben hoped there were truly no tears in Heaven. He had found enough here, both in the nightmares of his youth, as well as the last few days in this shitty country.
The little girl’s face filled his mind’s eye in the blackness. Her face smiled at him as her imaginary fingers pulled at his nose and she cooed, “Gah deh, eh,” at him. Ben felt tightness in his chest at the picture and wondered where she was and, more importantly, how she was. He dreaded his next call to Christy almost as much as he needed it. Ben gripped his M-4 tightly.
Get your friggin’ head in the game, bro.
He needed to be a professional – now more than ever. This was a big op, and these guys were not a
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