Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
It all happened so fast, and when we finally came to a stop, we were on our left side with fires in the front and back. Moline’s hands hung lifelessly toward me from his position in his seat above. I quickly unbuckled and began moving backward into the cargo area before grabbing for him and releasing his body from the restraints. The entire right side of his uniform was wet and slick with blood, and there was a large hole through the fuselage on that side of his seat.
“Doc! Rusnak! Out now! Grab your weapons.” I barked. The air filled quickly with the stink of fuel and smoke as I fought to pull Moline out of the wreckage. When I finally got under the open bay doors above me, I realized how hard it would be to heft him up and out.
I felt a hand above my injured hip and turned to find Doc right beside me.
“You’re hit,” he said, quickly manhandling the pilot away from me. “Hop up and help lift him from above.”
I didn’t even have time to argue before Doc began nudging me skyward. I scrambled up before reaching back down to grab the unconscious pilot. It was hard work, and we tried not to inhale too much of the noxious air around us. The heat from flames from the cockpit warmed the side of my face, and all I could think about was needing the medic and crew chief out ASAP.
“Where’s Rusnak?” I called down.
The horrified look on Doc’s face was answer enough. The whites of his eyes were stark in the darkness of the cargo hold, and sweat-streaked smoke smudges already covered parts of his face.
“You sure?”
He closed his eyes and nodded. With a quick glance back inside, I could see the reason why. Rusnak’s body lay crumpled in the rear corner of the cargo area behind Doc. He’d been mostly decapitated by a piece of sheared-off metal from the side of the fuselage.
I swallowed back vomit and gestured for Doc to hop up. “Grab your things, let’s go.”
It wasn’t until we were out of the fire and away from the wreckage that I confirmed my suspicion that Moline was in bad shape. Doc laid him down to assess his injuries and quickly discovered the piece of metal in his neck.
“Shit, Major,” Doc said, reaching for the rucksack of supplies he’d thrown out before climbing out. “We need a bag of fluid, and… and… shit. Here, hold this.”
He shoved stuff at me while he worked quickly, his hands rock steady and his movements efficient. I did everything he told me while trying desperately not to think of the hours and hours of flight time I’d spent with easygoing John Moline right by my side.
While Doc raced to suture the shrapnel wound he’d found on the right side of Moline’s neck, I studied the brush around us for any sign of VC soldiers. If they saw their shot had been successful, they’d be on their way here to intercept any survivors and scavenge the chopper. I wasn’t about to let what remained of my crew get taken by the enemy.
He continued cursing under his breath while he worked on Moline, and eventually the words came out louder, taking on an edge of panic.
“Major, I can’t… he’s… it’s too much damage… he’s not…” As he spoke in a broken voice, his hands continued to move, trying everything in his power to save one of our brothers. “I… Weston, help me… he’s gone. I—” His last words came out choked even though his hands were still working. I could tell Moline was gone, but Doc didn’t want to acknowledge it.
I grabbed his hands, pulling them away from the broken body. It took a moment, but Doc finally looked up, his eyes meeting mine. I could see determination and desperation reflected in their depths. If I’d let him, he would have worked on bringing back Moline until the sun went down. But we didn’t have that kind of time. “We need to move,” I said softly.
“I’m so sorry,” Doc breathed.
I nodded a brief acknowledgment. “Same here. Rusnak was a good man.”
First Lieutenant John Moline and I had served together for two years and flown hundreds of missions together, but now wasn’t the time to let his death sink in. Now was the time to assess our situation and get the hell outta Dodge. We were sitting ducks at the very obvious site of a US helicopter crash.
I drew a deep breath. “Calling in sitrep,” I said to Doc in my most authoritative tone. “What’s your status?”
“Unharmed, sir,” he said quickly. “But you—”
I cut him off. “I’m fine. Stay alert. Any sight of the patrol unit we were looking for?” I clipped out the words while getting the emergency handheld radio out of my vest.