Chapter Two #3
“Hey, Bobby,” McBride said. “You’re doing great, man. You’re a hard motherfucker!” He slapped Long’s side and posted up laying down covering fire. He was composed, but Wilde could see the tears brimming in his eyes. Tears of sadness and rage.
Seeing the youngest member of the team in this state pulled at Wilde’s heart as well.
Long was like a little brother that he had always felt protective over.
Young and strong, with blond hair, blue eyes, and a baby face that struggled to grow a scrappy blond beard, he had the looks of a model.
But despite this he was never self-centered, instead being kindhearted and earnest. He was a good kid who didn’t deserve this, and Wilde was determined not to let him die.
He pulled a tourniquet out of his own IFAK, or individual first aid kit, and applied it to Long’s damaged arm, then checked the two on the legs to ensure they were sufficiently tight.
Wilde kept a DPx Gear HEST/F Urban folding knife on his kit, and he yanked it off and used it to cut open Long’s pant legs at the groin to check for bleeders that were higher than the tourniquets he had already applied.
There were none, but the young sergeant was still in bad shape.
Wilde didn’t want to move the injured man but might have no choice.
In answer to his dilemma, a tall, lanky form ran up behind them and slid into position next to the casualty, narrowly avoiding several rounds that sailed over his head.
“Right, then,” Wally said, unslinging his medical bag and pulling out supplies.
“Your boys are elbow deep in it over at the med shed. I told them I’d come.
” Wally did a quick assessment of his own, rechecked tourniquets, and then began prepping an IV as AK rounds slammed into their concrete barrier.
He looked briefly up at Wilde. “I’ve got this, then.
I’ll take good care of your mate, if you want to piss off and stop these cunts from shooting at us. ”
Wilde grabbed his shoulder. “Thank you, Wally.” He leaned down and put a gloved hand on Long’s cheek.
“You’re gonna be alright, buddy. Hang in there.
” Long nodded through gritted teeth and forced a smile.
Wilde smiled back, then turned his attention to the situation at hand, his face morphing into a mask of cold, calculated rage.
He turned to McBride, who had been observing the enemy and the terrain over the last several minutes. “On you,” he said. McBride turned and looked one last time at the injured Long, his jaw clenched and his eyes hard. He nodded and then took off while Wilde provided covering fire.
They bounded through the smoking ruins of the gate and out into the area beyond.
There was very little cover outside the camp, but they managed to find two cement barriers ten meters apart that had been pushed out of place by the blast but were somehow still erect.
This is where they would make their stand.
The two took turns engaging targets. McBride hunkered down and got on the radio, calling to his junior, who was running the mortar tube.
After a few quick orders and clarifications, Wilde recognized the thump of a mortar exiting the tube.
Several seconds later a shell exploded in the field beyond, killing one of the attackers but missing the larger mass of enemy fighters.
“Add fifty!” McBride corrected, instructing the mortarman to walk his aim out by fifty meters. There was the sound of another mortar firing off, and then a second explosion in the field as the next round landed right on target.
“Good hit,” Tim yelled. “Fire for effect!”
Mortars rained death down upon the attackers and their screams rang out in the night as they were killed and maimed by explosive shrapnel.
Unfortunately, several still managed to make it out of the danger zone and closer to their position.
The two special operators laid down fire, one covering while the other reloaded and making their guns talk to each other to alleviate any lull in fire.
Wilde popped up from his covered position to fire and found himself suddenly face-to-face with a terrorist who had crawled to the other side of the cement barrier unnoticed.
The surprise he felt was mirrored in the man’s face and they simply stared at each other for a brief second.
Wilde was the first to react and he reached over the cement barrier, grabbed the man by the collar with both hands, and yanked him over to his side and out of the line of fire.
The man fell on top of him and the two wrestled for their lives, with neither able to effectively bring a rifle to bear.
Wilde managed to roll the man to the left, freeing the right side of his own body.
He reached down and unholstered his Glock 19, shoved it into the man’s chest, and pulled the trigger several times at point-blank range.
The man spasmed several times, the look of hate and anger replaced by the same look of surprise he had displayed only moments earlier.
Wilde watched as the life slowly drained from the terrorist’s face.
He shoved him off, holstered his pistol, and retook his position.
Wilde glanced over at McBride, who was firing at anything that moved.
Shouldering his rifle, Wilde returned fire as well, attempting to further thin the herd.
It was beginning to look more and more as if they wouldn’t be walking away from this one.
He shouted over at McBride. “Danger close?”
McBride surveyed the field, considered it, then nodded.
When requesting ordinance, calling in danger close fire meant bringing rounds right on top of a friendly position.
It was rarely used, and even then only as a last resort when imminent death was all but certain.
They didn’t have air support now, but they had Sales on the mortars.
“Josh,” McBride called calmly over the radio. “Drop one-fifty, right fifty. Danger close.”
“You sure?” Sales called back, somewhat uncertain.
McBride looked at Wilde, who nodded. “Yeah, fuck it. Do it. Fire for effect.”
Wilde looked at his friend, and McBride smiled at him. “See you in Valhalla, brother!” he yelled.
There were several loud bangs in rapid succession, and then rounds began exploding all around them.