Mack Maloney - Chopper Ops

Delaney was making it his job to decimate the smoking factory. His chopper was buzzing around the substantial three-stack structure, pouring cannon fire and missiles into every part of it. Secondary explosions were going off all over the building, indicating flammable materials were inside. Soon there was more smoke smothering the area as a result of Delaney’s handiwork than there was originally from the factory’s smoke screen.

The combined Hind attack lasted no more than three minutes. It was so sudden and so determined and extensive, not a single shot was fired back at them. And so far the two targets they wanted untouched—the Ranch house and the covered aircraft—hadn’t received so much as a scratch.

With much excitement then, Norton sent a message to the other three choppers loitering just over the mountains.

“Come on in,” he told them. “The water’s fine.”

The trio of big choppers arrived over the scene not a minute later.

They found themselves looking down on the swath of destruction Norton and Delaney had caused with their huge Russian choppers. There was smoke and fire everywhere, as if the place had been carpet-bombed. Confusion itself seemed to be rising up into the winds.

Norton and Delaney went sweeping up and down the hidden valley again, firing their guns almost randomly as the first of the two Marine-laden Halos came in and touched down in a perfect three-point landing.

The huge chopper landed about 150 feet away from the Ranch house. As soon as it was down, the Marines began pouring out—just as they had practiced.

“Truck One down and clear,” came the message in Norton’s headphone. “Join the party, Hound Dogs!”

That was all Norton had to hear. He put the big Hind on its tail, did an almost impossible 180-degree loop, and with some twisting and turning, brought the chopper in for a bumpy, neck-wrenching landing. Delaney bounced in right on his tail, nearly colliding with him in the process. Only a last-second swerve by Norton prevented a catastrophic collision.

Predictably, Delaney was up and out of his cockpit even before the Hind stopped rolling. He nearly decapitated himself with his hasty exit, but jacked up as he was on adrenaline, not even the still-spinning razor-sharp rotor could interfere with what he wanted to do next.

Norton exited his own aircraft quickly as well. Delaney was positively on fire when he ran up to him. Somehow he’d gotten a hold of two M-16’s.

“C’mon, Jazz!” he yelled, throwing one rifle to Norton. “Show time! Let’s do it!”

Delaney began running towards the Ranch house. The Marines were still pouring out of the nearby Truck One. There was much shouting in the air. The sound of gunfire crackled all around them.

Norton started running too. He and Delaney were about one hundred yards from the prison building. Between them and their goal stood the T-72 tank, smoking heavily. They ran past it—but then Norton suddenly skidded to a stop.

“Wait a second, Slick!” he yelled to Delaney.

Delaney put on the brakes so fast he nearly fell on his ass.

“What?” he yelled back to Norton.

But Norton was already climbing up onto the burning tank.

“Jeesuz, Jazz!” Delaney screamed at him. “What the fuck are you doing? That thing could blow at any second and …”

But Norton was not listening to him. He was burning the tips of his fingers trying to pry open the tank’s turret hatch. It took a few massive pulls but finally the thing sprang free. Norton had the presence of mind to stick the snout of his M-16 into the hatchway and fire off half a clip. He didn’t want to meet anyone on the inside coming out. But all he could hear was his bullet rounds clanging off the sides of the crew compartment.

Finally he stopped firing. Then he leaned down and looked inside the tank.

It was empty.

It was as if time stood still for an instant.

Empty? The word rolled around in his mind a few million times inside one heartbeat.

Why would it be empty?

The big Hook roared over, very low, Ricco gunning his engines as he passed above the little scene on the tank. The tanker pilots carried a small but workable radarscope in their cockpit. If any enemy aircraft were coming their way, the plan called for them to send out a flare barrage as a warning. Jazz could see no flares now, thank God. No—Ricco’s loud revving of the big chopper’s engines was meant to be another kind of message: The tanker pilots were telling Norton to get his ass in gear, don’t waste time fucking with a burning tank. Get on with it!

Delaney was down below him now, trying to scream the same thing up at Norton through the din.

“Jeesu! Jazz, get the fuck off there! C’mon!”

Norton finally did jump down, but he was still in a slight daze.

“Empty,” he said aloud. “That tank was empty.”

Delaney stopped for a moment too; he also had to think about it.

“Well, maybe the crew got out, you know, before you nailed it,” was his only explanation.

“Yeah, maybe,” Norton said.

The roar of an explosion going off behind them knocked both pilots back into reality. It sounded like an atom bomb being detonated.

“Gawd! What the fuck was that?” Delaney yelled as they both hit the ground.

They looked towards the Ranch House building to see indeed a small mushroom cloud rising above the front gate. The Marines had just blown the huge metal door leading to the place off its hinges. Now they were surging inside—again, just the way they’d rehearsed. Guns up and firing, flash grenades going off everywhere.

“Damn, these guys don’t fuck around!” Delaney yelled, getting back to his feet. “It’s time to rock and roll!”

Next thing he knew, Norton was running again. Rifle up, helmet clanging against his head, he was running faster than he’d run since he was a kid. Delaney was right in front of him, firing his M-16 into the air, adding to the cacophony of gunfire all around them. Another huge explosion went off, this one on the far side of the prison building. More flash grenades exploded. They were so bright and Norton was getting so close to the objective, they were partially blinding him.

But he was running even faster now. Spit coming from his mouth, a strange guttural laugh coming from his throat.

Damn, this was rock and roll….

He was suddenly aware of two people running right beside him. It was one of the SEAL doctors and Team 66’s videographer. The doctor was carrying his medical bag the way a running back would carry a football. The video guy was hauling his camera as if it was a weapon of some kind.

“Stick close to me, Doc!” Norton yelled out for no reason other than the excitement of the moment.

“Yeah, sure!” the SEAL yelled back.

They all reached the front of the building at the same time. The door was still hot and searing where the Marines had blown it off. The inside of the building was thick with smoke. Marines were swarming all over the place, like an army of ants. Through the haze, Norton could see one huge open room. Many bunks were lined against one wall—just like back at Seven Ghosts Key. A string of flash grenades went off, blinding him again. There seemed to be a lot of trash on the floor, but he could not make out exactly what it all was. One thing looked like a smashed TV—but he was probably mistaken. All this trash had to be something else. He stepped over the debris and kept moving deeper into the building.

More smoke. More fire. A flash grenade still burning in one corner. Gun shots from the far end of the building. Shouting over the din. More flash grenades. More blinding explosions…

And then, suddenly, everything just stopped. All the shooting. All the shouting. The sound of angry footsteps, boots hitting the concrete floor.