Ghost - Into The Breach Part 33

Thirty-two jumpers, including himself, on his side, just like a Herc. One more pa.s.s, maybe two. He had to wait for the a.s.sistant JM to go. Probably no way he'd make it out on the second pa.s.s.

He'd considered having one of the, many, other qualified jumpmasters in the unit cover the drop.

Technically he should have been the first guy on the ground. But the situation on the ground, according to everyone, was pretty together. He had been more worried about the quality of drop support. Thus the fact that he'd be thelast guy out.

The bird had nosed up then banked, hard. The bank was right so he was looking at sky but looking through the other door, over his shoulder, it was apparent that the pilots were staying pretty low. Low enough that you could practically count the d.a.m.ned pine needles. He'd have been happier with a little more AGL.

Bank, level out, bank another of those screaming dives and...

"GREEN LIGHT! GO!".

The Rangers had been able to count, too. He looked over at the a.s.sistant JM and shrugged and nodded to him. Up to him to decide if he could make it out on this chalk.

The a.s.sistant, Sergeant First Cla.s.s Jose J Clavell, the Third Platoon platoon sergeant, just nodded and looked back out the door.

Last jumper on Guerrin's side and he had...a little room. Looking over his shoulder Clavell was... gone.

"Tchuss!" he shouted at the Ukrainian load-master as he threw himself out the door, red light and all. The reason for the red light was clear since the bird lurched upwards just as he was clearing it.

He'd just started to count and then felt the onehardest separation he'd ever felt in his life. The ascending bird had practicallyripped his chute cover off. He felt the chute open, though, and looking up he had a good canopy. Whew!

Looking down, though...

"f.u.c.k," he muttered. Drop alt.i.tude was supposed to have been eight hundred feet, above ground level.

And it probablyhad been. But going out late he'd ended up exiting over a d.a.m.ned at least two hundred footridge , covered intrees . This was really gonna suck...

First Sergeant Kwan hit the ground like a sack of s.h.i.+t, as always. He could instruct on a proper PLF, parachute landing fall, and had as a Black Hat in theJumpSchool in Benning. But healways. .h.i.t like a sack of s.h.i.+t himself and so far, so good. He'd sustained injuries in jumps but only in cases where a good PLF wouldn't have mattered worth a d.a.m.n. Like that one time he hit a fence-post covered in barb-wire. That had really sucked.

This time, though, he could tell it was a good hit. Nice spot. Plowed field. Comfy.

He popped a riser, hit the quick release on his harness and rolled to his feet, scanning the area. No yells for medic, which was avery good sign. He was usually about the last guy down in a drop. If n.o.body was screaming for a medic it meant no major injuries.

He started to gather his chute and then paused as, through a break in one of the stone fences he saw a cl.u.s.ter of locals headed his way.Women locals by the skirts and blouses, carrying sacks just about the size to pack a chute in.

He stood up and began bundling the chute as the women spread out, one or two towards each jumper.

None of them were armed, so he didn't see a security situation. He wasn't sure about swarming Rangers with...d.a.m.n they were good looking! women just after a jump, though.

"His" gal had reached him by the time he had the chute bundled, though, so there was no stopping it now.

"We take," the lady said in heavily accented English. "Clean, pack, give back. You go. Duty." She pointed towards a cl.u.s.ter of houses to the south. Thatwas the designated a.s.sembly area.

"Okay," Kwan said, dubiously. "Take care of it. That's US Government property."

"Clean, pack, give back," the gal repeated, grinning. "You go. Duty. Beer."

"Yeah," the First Sergeant said, suddenly alarmed. "I'd better get going." They hadbetter not be serving his Rangers beer already.

Guerrin swung back and forth, kicking his feet like a kid on a swing and working out the pain in his left arm. He'd taken a h.e.l.l of a bang coming down through the branches of this...oak by the look of it. But the canopy had caught on the upper part of the tree, leaving him dangling about twenty feet off the ground.

There was a procedure to get down but, given that the ground was covered in scrub and rocks, he was already banged up and this was atraining jump, he was planning on staying here til somebody came by with a ladder.

He looked up, though, at the sound of an unusual helicopter engine approaching. He couldn't see much through the trees but it sounded... Well, it wasn't a Huey and it wasn't a Blackhawk. Not an Alouette or a Kiowa, either, he knew those. Sounded big, though...

He looked up, though, as it came to a hover overhead, battering him with rotor wash. A f.u.c.kingHind ?

Guerrin had never been around for the Cold War days but things like Hinds still gave him the w.i.l.l.i.e.s.

They were the image of the Soviet war machine that was going to crush the US Army given half a chance. Having one hovering overhead wasn't pleasing making. Neither was the way it was causing the branches above him to sway.

A guy was already sliding out of it on a harness connected to a cable, though, dropping towards him. So much for a ladder, apparently. He'd never been extracted out of trees by a chopper before. Something new every day.

He ducked his head against the wind and only lifted it as he felt more than heard a body come cras.h.i.+ng through the branches overhead.

"Captain Guerrin I presume!" the helmeted crewman shouted. The guy had the look of being an oldster.

Guerrin couldn't see much past the helmet, visor and boom mike but the guy was clearly American by the accent. "Care for a ride?"

"Sure!" Guerrin shouted back. "How we going to do this?"

"Not a problem," the guy yelled. "Done it plenty of times!"

The guy said something into the mike then clambered around behind him. Guerrin felt something click onto his harness then they both lifted for a bit. They paused again and Guerrin realized the maneuver had been intended to take the pressure off his risers. IF they'd popped the connections to the canopy while he was dangling they'd have flown upwards under pressure and whoknows what would have happened.

Flying risers were no joke. With the pressure he reached up and disconnected one just as the guy on his back disconnected the other.

He felt another lift and ducked his head as they crashed up through the canopy.

"Don't sweat it, captain, done this plenty of times!" the guy repeated.

"Who the h.e.l.l pulls Rangers out of trees with ahelicopter ?" Guerrin shouted back.

"Who said anything about Rangers?" the crewman yelled. "I usually pullpilots out of trees!"

"You're a parajumper?" Guerrin yelled.

"Well, actually, not in the last ten years! But it's like riding a bicycle...!"

Chapter Twenty-Six.

"First Sergeant...Kwan?"

Most of the company had a.s.sembled on a flat open area near the houses of the locals. It was a flat spot slightly lower than the area where the houses were with a short bank separating it from another open area directly in front of the houses.

Quite a few of the locals, ranging from some oldsters that looked on their last legs down to the usual gaggle of kids that swarmed around and American military unit, had come out of their houses to look over the new arrivals. And quite a few of them wered.a.m.n fine looking women. Most of the company had been around enough, the average was four trips to the sandbox, that they weren't gawking, much, except at the girls.

Kwan had at first worried about the gathering, not just because Rangers and women went together like iron and magnets, but because in the sandbox a gathering like that read "riot" or a car bomb taking out a bunch of locals. But these folks didn't seem hostile or worried. They didn't seem exactlyfriendly , either.

They seemed to be more curious and evenjudging than anything else. Quiet. Even the kids were making quiet comments to each other, taking the serious tone they were getting from their elders. One of the oldsters, a big blonde guy that was one of those that looked on his last legs, was standing at parade rest and observing them like a general on a reviewing stand. It was nervous making.

Kwan turned to the guy in unfamiliar digi-cam and paused. His nametag read "Nielson" but he was wearing some foreign rank the NCO didn't recognize. He didn't even know if the guy was an officer or a civilian advisor or what. But he had an air of authority and on the basis that a salute never hurt the First Sergeant saluted.

"Yes, sir."

"Pleasure," Nielson said, returning the salute. "Colonel Nielson, late of the US Army, currently operations officer of this little lash-up. Where's Captain Guerrin?"

"I don't know, sir," Kwan said. "We were just discussing that. He chose to JM the drop, sir. Sergeant Clavell said the CO told him to decide if he could go in the last stick and it looked good. But he came down f.u.c.king close to the treeline. He doesn't know if the CO went out or not or what."

"Oh, he's gone from the bird," the "colonel" said. "The Ukrainians confirmed all jumpers gone before they flew home."

"So the CO..."

"One jumper, at least, went down on that ridge," the local said, gesturing to the north. "He's probably in the trees. I've already sent a recovery team. Where's the XO?"

"Here, sir," Lieutenant Robert Imus replied.

"I'll need to hold most of this until your CO gets here," Nielson said. "But I'll give you the quick version.

The locals are called the Keldara. They are superb mountain fighters with a tradition that goes back...well veryvery far. I noticed your First Sergeant giving the tall man the gimlet eye. First Sergeant, are you familiar with the term the Soviet Hero's Medal?"

"No, sir," Kwan said. "Not really."

"It was a general medal given by the Soviets, sir," Imus said. "It ranged in grade from something like the Legion of Merit up to the Medal of Honor."

"Yes, well that gentleman earned a Hero medal in WWII," Nielson continued. "Several, actually. They pa.s.sed them out for everything from building more widgets to personally strangling Hitler with your bare hands. Because we have become close, he permitted me to read the citation for his highest one. He took out four German Tiger tanks with a f.u.c.king captured German rocket launcher, by himself, on foot."

"Holy s.h.i.+t," Kwan blurted.

"I tell you this because while Father Kulcyanov isunusual , he is notabnormal among the Keldara. They are a race of fighters, of warriors, par excellence. They also have been recently introduced to Western style tactics and training by a group of people at least your equal as fighters and in many cases your superiors. Some Rangers were among their trainers but also former Deltas, SEALS and SAS. So the Keldara know 'good'. But you are one of the first American units they have gotten the opportunity to observe. So the Keldara are going to be judging you, every minute of every day, on everything from your tactics to your professional deportment. Until your CO gets here, ensuring that you hold up the high standards of theUnited States military is up to you, Lieutenant, and willalways be up to you, First Sergeant. The Keldara asked if they could come out and serve beer, which is to them something like the inevitable green tea in the sandbox. I suggested they hold off. I have never seen a Ranger act with anything like professional decorum around a keg of beer. And I say that as a tabber myself."

"Yes, sir," Kwan said. "Thankyou , sir."

"Have your men rest until the Bobsie Twins recover your CO," Nielson said. "Then we'll settle you into quarters and get started on briefings."

"Sir, one question," the XO interjected. "I don't see any young males. Where are they?"

"In the mountains, lieutenant," Nielson replied. "And that is all you are permitted to know. I'll be briefing your CO further."

"Are we going to be aggressing against them, sir?" Kwan asked.

"First Sergeant, for a senior NCO of a company in theU nited States Army you have remarkably poor hearing," Nielson replied, tightly. "I said, that isall you are permitted to know. So put a f.u.c.king cork in it, Top."

Kwan raised his eyebrows but shut the f.u.c.k up. His questions about whether the "colonel" was a PX Ranger were answered. No.

Guerrin flexed his knees as the Hind dropped him lightly to the ground, looking around at the company.

The PJ guy undid the connection to his harness and then the Hind lifted up and away.

As soon as the rotor wash had settled he popped the quick release on his parachute harness and headed over to the cl.u.s.ter of senior NCOs and officers. One of the group, however, was unfamiliar.

"Colonel Nielson?" Guerrin said as he approached.

"The same," Nielson replied. "Tree landings suck do they not? I had a friend in the unit who preferred them but I always thought he was high when he jumped, anyway. I've been giving your First Sergeant and XO a brief precis of the local conditions. I'll catch you up later. The problem, at the moment, is figuring out quartering. There are...issues. May I make a suggestion?"

"Yes, sir," Guerrin replied. "I was told that you'd brief me in on our mission, so I'll take it as more than a suggestion."

"Thisis , however, a suggestion," Nielson said. "There are decisions to be made so having the troops pick out their bunks would be unwise at this time. Troops so grumble when they are moved and moved again. We do, however, have a very nice live fire range and even a CQB facility. There is daylight to be had. I wouldsuggest that you have your senior NCOs take the troops over to the range while we, that is yourself, myself, your first sergeant, XO and such others as you deem fit, figure out quartering. That way they're not sitting about. Idle hands and all that. When we figure out the quartering, then I can briefyou in on the secure aspects of this mission while your people actually get them settled."

"Sounds good, sir," Guerrin said.

"It should," Nielson replied. "I've both had time to think about it and been at this game for a while. I will meet you in the middle house over there," he added, pointing to one of the local houses, "when you're ready. I'll have one of the Keldara join you with keys to the ammo bunker. I know you've brought your own, but it's a lovely day to be shooting."

"Gentlemen," Nielson said, nodding at the Ranger officers and one NCO. "I have asked Father Kulcyanov to sit in as a courtesy. Father Kulcyanov speaks and understands very little English. This is, however, his house and he is the senior, if not oldest, Keldara father."

Guerrin had wondered at the inclusion of the old man and come to much the same conclusion. Kwan had also given him an apparently verbatim report on what he'd been told by Nielson. So he took a chance.

"I understand, sir," Guerrin said. "Does Father Kulcyanov understand Deutsch?"

"Bischen," the old man said, nodding. "Kennen sie irhen Feind."

"Danke schoen...Fuer Seinem Haus verwenden."

"Soldaten sind immer wilkommt zum Senke des Keldaren, aber nicht zum seinem Frauen. Seien gewarnt."

"Ja Mein Herr," Guerrin said with a chuckle. "Verstandet!"

"Sir?" Kwan asked, confused.

"He said that soldiers are always welcome here," Imus translated, chuckling. "But keep your hands off our women."

"Yes, sir," Kwan said.

"Not 'sir,'" the old man said, making what was either a wet cough or an equally wet laugh. "I work."