Survivors – A Novel of the Coming Collapse

He was surprised to see that at 400 yards he would have to hold over-aiming at a point far above his target-a whopping 228 inches. He determined that was roughly three and a third man-heights. He was also disappointed to see that the energy of the bullets decreased from 451 foot/pounds at the muzzle to just 176 foot/pounds at 400 yards. Andy jotted down the yardage and bullet drop values.

Back at his CHU, he printed out a small drop table with a fine point Sharpie pen on an index card, trimmed it to fit on the top of one of his magazine pouch flaps, and taped it on. He knew that he’d be horribly outclassed in a long-range gun battle with anyone armed with a center-fire rifle, but at least he wouldn’t be in the dark about how much to hold over.

Andy and Lars had been taught about long-range pistol shooting by their father, five years before the Crunch, Robie had attended a class by Cope Reynolds of Southwest Shooting Authority in Luna. Robie was enthusiastic about sharing his new skills. After completing the class, Robie could hit a man-size target at 250 yards with roughly 50 percent of his shots from his Lahti 9mm pistol. When Andy came home to visit their father on leave, Robie showed both of his sons the basics of what he’d learned in the course. Soon they were scoring fairly consistent hits on a twenty-four-inch steel disk at 200 yards.

Andy was officially released for his return to Germany, but he was in limbo. He was desperate to find transport-any transport-out of Afghanistan. The Military Airlift Command (MAC) flights had already become less frequent because of the ongoing troop drawdown, but more recently flights had been nearly suspended. The reason cited was the new Fuel Austerity Program (FAP) that was mandated by Congress. Cutting the military fuel budget by 80 percent left most naval ships idling at port and most transport planes grounded. The U.S. military’s new catchphrase was “Billions for bailouts, but not a nickel for fuel.”

After more than a week of begging on the phone and texting, Andy was finally allotted a seat on a German Luftwaffe C-160 transport. To make this flight, Laine had to be at the military side of the Kabul airport in just five hours. This would be impossible by road travel, so Andy called in a favor with the FOB commander to prevail on a West Point classmate who was the commander of the nearby 3rd Armored Cavalry Regiment, which had organic air assets. Just forty minutes after his call, an AH-64 Apache attack helicopter flown with an empty gunner’s seat touched down on the main pad at FOB Wolverine. The helicopter never shut down. It took a while to cram Laine’s gear into a cargo compartment and into the gunner’s seat, where Laine also sat. Unlike the older Cobra gunships, where the copilot/gunner sits in the rear, with the Apache, the copilot/gunner sits in the front seat. The pilot, a crusty CW4 named Halverson, gave Andy a nickel ride, winding up the main rotor and pulling pitch with gusto, making the tips of the main rotor come within five feet of the ground, and kicking up a substantial cloud of dust.

After getting his helmet on and figuring out the microphone switch, Andy exclaimed, “Thanks for the lift!”

“Not a prob, sir. I love making unscheduled flights like these. I just hope that someone’s willing to do the same for me when I’ve got my date with the Freedom Bird. Just enjoy the scenery and, uh, needless to say, keep your nose-picker off the controls-aside from the ‘Rambo mic switch’-and we’ll be on the ground in about thirty-five minutes.” That mention of the microphone switch referred to the red button atop most U.S. military helicopter control sticks. In a notorious movie gaffe that made military helicopter pilots groan, that was the button shown used for launching rockets.

“That sounds great! You are a gentleman and a scholar.” Andy felt a huge rush of emotion. He was finally headed home. Watching the landscape below, he mainly thought about Kaylee. He snapped almost fifty digital pictures of Afghan villages, typical walled family farm compounds, the outlines of ancient ruins, and, finally, the hazy skyline of Kabul. He clicked the red microphone switch and commented: “I wish my fiancee could see this.”

The warrant said, “No you don’t! Because if she were seeing this, then she’d be deployed here in the Big Sandbox.”

Laine laughed, “I suppose you’re right.”