John O'Brien - Return

“All those not on the line, ready a grenade and toss it in front of the night runners on my command. Run for the rear of the aircraft immediately after,” Lynn bellows, her voice heard above the deafening noise of gunfire and howls.

“Now!” She yells after a moment to give the soldiers nearby time to pluck grenades from their vests and pull the pins.

The last of their grenades arc through the air and land on the pavement in front of the oncoming mass of night runners. Lynn and the soldiers turn and run with everything they have left across the tarmac for the lowering ramp of the 130. The sound of their boots, the clink of slings banging against the stock and rails of their M-4’s, and the heavy breathing of those next to them reach their ears in their flight across the concrete. Seconds later, a series of explosions to their rear drowns all other noise momentarily. The sound of boots on concrete is replaced by the sound of boots on metal as they reach and run up the ramp into the interior.

Lynn runs past Nicole who is standing at the rear of the ramp near the controls. Nicole starts the ramp up as soon as the last of the soldiers have reached the bottom of it. Lynn turns at the top, seeing a much diminished horde of night runners rocketing across the ramp in their direction. The ramp begins its upward travel but is moving in slow motion as compared to the closure rate of the night runners.

“Teams, open fire!” She bellows, her shout heard above the shrieks of the closing mass.

Gunshots echo in the metallic interior and across the ramp as rounds are expelled outward, dropping more of the night runners in their tracks until the ramp raises to a level that they cannot fire anymore. The outside tarmac slowly disappears as the ramp continues upward. A sliver of the outside visible through the greenish glow of their NVG’s, almost there, as a set of hands grasp the outer edge; the fingers gripping the ramp as it rises ever upwards. A scream is heard outside as the ramp closes and seals. Fingers roll down to Lynn’s boots as they are severed by the hydraulically-actuated ramp closing.

Thumps against the side of the aircraft, accompanied by muted shrieks, demonstrate the frustration of the night runners outside. Howling at the closeness of their prey and the frustration of not being able to get at them. Lynn turns and races up to the cockpit. Climbing the stairs, confusion crosses her face as she enters and looks around. Robert is sitting in the co-pilot seat, his helmet sitting loosely on his head so he can hear both radios; Brianna is camped in her usual location in the engineer seat.

“Where’s Jack?” Lynn asks continuing to look around the cockpit as if he could be hiding behind any of the objects or panels. She almost looks under the bunk to see where he is hiding.

“What do you mean?” Robert asks.

“You mean he isn’t with you?” Bri asks worriedly.

“No, but he should have been here by now,” Lynn responds, her look now changing to worry.

“Jack, where are you?” Lynn says into her mic. Silence is the only return over the radio.

Robert looks out of the side window into the darkness that is the ramp around them. Thumps continue along the aircraft as the night runners attempt to find entrance. He lowers the night vision goggles and returns his look outside. Night runners surround the aircraft; some look up and jostle from position to position while others take runs at the aircraft, each run terminating with a thump against the 130.

“How is he going to get through that?” Robert asks in a worried and fearful tone as he continues to stare outside.

Lynn crosses the flight deck to look out the same window over Robert’s shoulder and then moves to look out the opposite window, seeing the same picture. Night runners surround the aircraft. Even if he makes it here, he won’t be able to get through , she thinks looking at the small multitude gathered around.

“Can we start the engines and do like we did in Kuwait? Blow them away from us?” Lynn asks looking at Robert over her shoulder.

“We could,” he says turning to look at her. “But he won’t be able to get in the side door with the engines running and the ramp is too slow considering how many are out there.”

“Good point. Then I don’t know. I’ll go brief the teams to rearm and be ready,” Lynn says disappearing down the stairs.

She heads down to get the teams ready. Ready to exit and take on all of the night runners if need be.

I turn and run, glancing back over my shoulder to verify that I have drawn off a large portion of the night runners as my feet obey my mind and pick up speed. The quick glance verifies that, yep, I indeed have. My feet respond to the sight, picking up even more speed. I exit the parking lot and cross a main road with the sound of shrieking behind me. My initial burst of speed was to gain a little distance as the night runners changed directions but I now settle into a ground eating pace. Sustainable so as to not wear me out instantly but quick enough that the night runners will not be on me immediately. That would kind of defeat the purpose of luring them away.

I head between two buildings, which are rather close together, not worrying about any fencing as there is very little of that on bases for some reason. It would be bad news indeed if I did happen to run up against something like that as the night runners can surmount that obstacle faster than I. Another quick glance behind and I see a mass of them closing. I pull a grenade from the hook on my tac vest, straighten and pull the pin with my teeth as I run, carrying my M-4 in my right hand, and drop it on the ground just before exiting out from between the buildings. I turn to the right down a side street, stopping and turning around just as the grenade goes off. The bright light flares against the side of the building I just ran by moments before the sound wave hits my ears.

Several night runners are thrown from the alleyway between the buildings, their bodies airborne before slamming into the grassy lawn; rolling and bouncing and not rising. The bodies are mixed with shredded arms, legs, and other assorted body parts that land on the grass along with them. Some of the decimated flesh and bone falls out onto the street to my front. A few night runners were ahead of the blast and have turned toward me, the shock and surprise of the explosion slowing them momentarily. I bring my M-4 up thumbing the selector switch to semi, sighting in on the one closest.

My carbine pushes back slightly against my shoulder as my finger tightens against the trigger, finding the trigger release point without jerking the weapon. The bark of the rifle indicating a bullet is on its way to a night runner fully in my sight. Its head snaps to the rear as it absorbs the steel in its left eye. The round cuts through the liquid orb, splattering the contents of its eye on its cheek and side of its nose, before slicing directly into the night runner’s brain. The bullet continues unmolested hitting the back of the night runner’s cranium and mushrooms before exiting out of the back, taking a large amount of skull bone and brain with it. The night runner falls to its knees, resting momentarily in a kneeling position as if in supplication before crashing forward to the ground on its face. The bone, brain matter, and hair-covered flesh cover its comrades behind.

This is only taken in subconsciously as I rapidly aim at the next, again firing as soon as the next round is chambered. The next steel bullet impacts before the first has fallen with the targeted night runner accepting the round in it shrieking mouth, hitting its upper teeth before racing to the back of its throat, deflected only slightly downward by the impact with the front teeth. Slamming into the back of its throat, the round continues through and smacks forcefully into the spine, severing it. Exploding out of the back of the neck, the round disintegrates taking as much of the tissue, flesh and bone as it can grab and take with it. The night runner’s head flops forward and it sinks straight down to the ground.