John O'Brien - Return

We cross a main intersection with the wide road stretching to our right. I cannot hear any gunshots at this point indicating either we are still a distance away from Mullins and his group or, for whatever reason, they are not firing. The bright stars overhead are the only witnesses to our quiet venture into the night. Tension remains high as we all know the danger of being out at night, especially with this small of a force when there are possibly hundreds of night runners around us. And with the fact that they can locate us quite easily. The one redeeming factor going our way is the slight but gentle breeze blowing from our left to right and away from where the night runners are massed by the BX.

We proceed further up the street and begin to pick out sounds of gunfire and shrieks drifting along the cool breeze. A small copse of trees lies ahead on my left. My nerves are on high alert expecting night runners to appear at any moment. My hope is that we will not have any materialize behind us, cutting us off from the aircraft; our only sanctuary.

I pick out a hint of movement within the trees as we draw silently closer to the BX. The popping sound of rounds being fired mix with howls, roars, and shrieks up ahead and to our left. Suddenly, two night runners break out of the trees and begin running for me, their feet pounding rapidly across the grass. It’s over , I think and am about ready to order our two teams to begin a retreat when I notice that these two are not shrieking their cry of discovery like all of the others had in the past.

“Hold your fire,” I say quietly in the radio as I set my M-4 down and pull out my knife.

I quickly check the area around me assuring myself that these are the only two in sight. If they shriek, then I’ll quickly pick up my carbine and we’re outta here , I think watching them rapidly close the distance. This is not a really smart plan on my part but I want to give us and Mullins the best chance possible at surviving this night. Gunshots will bring the horde upon us making it impossible to help those trapped. Mullins and his group would be in the same position they are in now so firing now would only make things worse as we wouldn’t be able to help them and will endanger our own position.

The two night runners come on staggered, one behind the other, which is extremely beneficial to me. The one in front is almost upon me with its arms stretching out in front of him, its gray skin almost glowing in the green light. I drop to one knee under its outstretched arms and rise quickly, plunging my knife under its sternum and grabbing its shirt with my left hand, using its forward momentum and my rising momentum to lift it up and over me with my knife in its heart. I feel warm blood spurt out, running down my knife haft and hand. All it makes is a grunt as my knife penetrates its shirt, skin and heart. That is its one, only and last sound.

Using my knife as leverage, I continue lifting the night runner over me, giving a slight twist to my knife to assure the kill; lifting it up and over onto its back, withdrawing my knife as it begins its downward journey and lands on its back with a thud. I pivot quickly on my right foot, turning to face the second one and bring my left arm around in a sweeping motion, catching the second night runner’s arms with my forearm, knocking them out of the way. Continuing my pivot, I drive my knife into its neck, cutting through the jugular, cartilage, and gristle of its airway. Blood squirts out from the severed artery coating my hand and splashes on my face and neck as the knife exits out the other side, slicing through the opposite jugular. With a sawing motion towards the front, I pull my knife free hearing the night runner gurgle as blood pours down its windpipe. Its knees give out and it slumps straight down, a small amount of its forward momentum remains causing it to hit the pavement face first with a crack next to its friend.

“You okay,” Lynn asks over the radio as I kneel to clean my blade on the night runner’s clothing.

“I’m good,” I say replacing my knife and picking my M-4 up.

I am still puzzled as to why they did not shriek like the others but will take fortune where it is found. I do a quick check of the area and find it clear. The soldiers behind me to the left and right are rising from their knees where they went down in a ready stance covering the area when the two night runners emerged.

We start up the road again, round a slight bend and the sound of the full fury of what Sergeant Mullins is dealing with comes to us. Shrieks sound out continuously with rapid fire gunshots overriding them occasionally. Howls of pain intrude upon the absolute din breaking over the night. We reach another main intersection and head to our left, across a large grassy lawn adjacent to a building which then opens up to the parking lot in front of the BX.

There must be hundreds , I think looking at the parking lot filled with night runners. Flashes of light appear to the left side, coming from within the building as the soldiers there defend themselves. The night runners are milling in the parking lot for the most part with groups suddenly launching forward with mighty waves of shrieks and roars to attack the building. A true madhouse scene if I have ever seen one.

“Drescoll, spread quietly and slowly out to the right. Lynn, spread out on me,” I whisper in the radio.

“Yes, sir,” they both respond. I can barely hear their replies over the noise.

“What’s the plan?” I hear Lynn ask.

“Not sure yet but we can’t linger long thinking about it. They’ll spot us soon enough,” I say responding.

I study the massed night runners. It should not be all that difficult creating a hole for Mullins and his group to escape through; it is the mass of night runners chasing us down afterwards that worries me. And, with them being faster, it will not be long before they catch up to us, certainly before we get to the aircraft.

“Everyone ready a grenade and toss it in their midst on my command. Break. Robert, tell Mullins we’re here. Have him get everyone up and be ready to run when our grenades go off and let me know when he says he’s ready. Tell him we are off to his right just back from the parking lot edge,” I say quietly into the radio.

“Will do, Dad,” Robert answers.

I do not pull any grenades out as I will need all of them later with what I have in mind. I plan leading as much of them away from the main group as I can after our introduction and announcement to the night runners that we are here. That, I think, will give the group the best fighting chance to get back safely.

“Lynn, get the rest back in the folding retreat we talked about. No firing or engaging here after the grenades go off, you’ll need your ammo. Unless it’s to keep them away from Mullins as they exit,” I whisper into the radio.

“What are you going to do Jack?” Lynn says with an edge to her voice.

“I’m going to lead them away,” I answer.

“The hell you are!” She whispers fiercely.

“Yes, I am, now get ready, Sergeant!” I whisper fiercely back.

“Dad, they say they’re ready,” Robert calls over the radio.

“Okay, Son. See you in a bit. Have the ramp doors ready to lower and raise them back up quickly. I love you!” I whisper back to him.

“I love you too, Dad,” I hear him say in a slightly trembling voice as if he did not understand exactly what was said but knowing it probably was not good. I slink a little way to the left of the lined up teams.

“Now!” I whisper into the radios.

My night vision goggles pick up the movement of arms along the firing line as they arc grenades into the parking lot and among the masses of night runners gathered there. Seconds later, the grenades go off in an almost simultaneous roar. The eleven grenades create one giant explosion of sound and light spreading their deadly payload of shrapnel across and through the horde. Bodies that were close to the grenades are lifted into the air, flailing as they rise, their expressions not yet exhibiting the surprise, shock, and pain that their bodies are undergoing. Severed limbs join the bodies. The greenish glow does not catch the splash of blood, bone and flesh that must cover an area so littered with flying body parts. Those not tossed into the air are thrown sideways from the force of the explosion and shrapnel.