Outlaw

Had she skipped any numbers?

Another sound joined the racket, a bark more than a cough. It mattered to some part of her, but she didn’t understand why the stars no longer twinkled through the gaps in the canopy or why a new smell permeated the air. Bits and pieces of paper-thin flecks fell onto her like snow, and her cocoon jostled as another man — a different man — collapsed on top of her. His breathing was heavy, and he smelled of tobacco and coffee. But neither was quite right.

Another lucent boom and deafening flash rived the night directly over her. This time, she did flinch, but tobacco and coffee pressed down on her to keep her encased in her cocoon.

Pain.

It was the first time she remembered feeling that, and she didn’t like it. She groaned, willing it to go away.

“Shit,” tobacco and coffee said. “She needs another dose.”

Another dose of what?

Thirty.

There was a pause in the scraping and coughing sounds followed by the twang of a spring and a plastic clicking sound. She knew she should recognize the sounds that pierced the fogginess of her brain, but it didn’t make any sense to her. She could only feel the warmth of her cocoon and the pressure of tobacco and coffee on top of her and…

Pain!

It was more pronounced now, and she gasped. The pressure on top of her no longer comforted her, and she moaned and panted as if she had just sprinted a mile. With sudden clarity, she recognized the surrounding sounds as a chorus of gunshots. Some were suppressed, but the loudest sounded like AK-47s.

How do I know that?

“Ron, give it to her!”

The weight on top of her lifted, and the shadowed figure of tobacco and coffee moved from her vision and dissolved into the darkness. Another boom of the shotgun was answered by several loud cracks and a staccato of flashes from an AK-47. A second figure scurried into view, and she looked up into musky man’s kind eyes for reassurance.

“Hang in there, Lisa,” he said.

Who’s Lisa? Wait… Am I…?

PAIN!

She pinched her eyes shut against the sensation that suddenly overwhelmed everything else. The sounds of gunfire lessened as if somebody had turned the volume down, and her vision blurred into a reddish hue of trees and sky and shadows. The beating of her heart throbbed throughout her body and drowned out every other sound, even the suppressed gunshots and louder cracks of Chinese automatic rifles. It was loud, and it hurt. And she felt nauseous.

A prick in her thigh broke through the crippling pain. It hurt but was so insignificant compared to her agony, she almost didn’t notice. But she noticed a sensation spreading from her thigh and inching its way across her body, like liquefied warmth filling her from her toes to her chin. It pushed out the pain and reddish hue and dimmed the flashing lights and scraping, coughing sounds that echoed all around her.

“Get her to the beach! Now!” It was another voice, but one she knew she had heard before.

Her cocoon lifted into the air and moved again. She floated through the darkness, only casually aware of the brief interludes of light flashing around her. She knew she should flinch, but she didn’t. She knew she should be scared, but she wasn’t. The pain was gone again, and she couldn’t even remember why she had been worried.

32

Dusty One

Air Branch Mi-17 Hip

Charlie stared at the dark island through his night vision goggles with detached calmness. He saw flashes of light break through the dense jungle near the landing zone and knew the SEALs were engaged in a firefight, giving the enemy hell as they retreated down the hillside toward the beach. But his observation was merely another data point and didn’t change his focus from the looming approach.

Coming in from the sea meant he wouldn’t have to account for rising terrain or other obstacles impeding his flight path, but it also meant his approach would be over a mostly flat surface, and he wouldn’t have an opportunity to calibrate his depth perception. That was a challenge anytime flying on goggles, but tonight he needed to be extra cautious to avoid overshooting the LZ.

“You’re point two from the zone,” Roger said.

While Charlie focused on the green-hued scene through the forward windscreen, his second pilot sat in the seat to his left and called out the estimated range to touchdown, giving him another tool he could use to ensure he flared to stop his forward travel over the correct spot. Charlie was thankful their model of Mi-17 had large windows in front of each pilot’s pedals and one in the centerline that allowed excellent forward visibility when landing.