The Last Mission Of The Seventh Cavalry. Charley Brindley

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СКАЧАТЬ he yelled into his mic. “Sound off by the numbers.”

      “Lojab,” he heard in his earpiece.

      “Kawalski,” Private Kawalski called out. “There goes the plane, to the southeast.”

      The C-130 trailed fire and smoke like a meteor as it careened toward the mountainside. A moment later, it exploded in a ball of fire.

      “Holy crap,” Alexander whispered. “All right, by the numbers. I got Lojab and Kawalski.”

      He counted the soldiers as they said their names. All the soldiers had an assigned number; Sergeant Alexander was number one, Corporal Lojab was number two, and so on.

      More of them called out their names, then there was silence. “Ten?” Alexander said, “Goddamn it!” He yanked his right control line.  “Sharakova!” he yelled. “Ransom!” No answer.

      “Hey, Sarge,” Kawalski said on the comm.

      “Yeah?”

      “Sharakova’s comm is still not working, but she got out. She’s right above you.”

      “Great. Thanks, Kawalski. Can anybody see Ransom?”

      “I’m here, Sarge,” Ransom said. “I think I blacked out for a minute when I hit the side of the plane, but I’m awake now.”

      “Good. Counting me, that makes thirteen,” Alexander said. “Everyone’s in the air.”

      “I saw three crewmen from the C-130 get out of the plane,” Kawalski said. “They popped their chutes right below me.”

      “What happened to the captain?” Lojab asked.

      “Captain Sanders,” Alexander said into his mic. He waited a moment. “Captain Sanders, can you hear me?”

      There was no response.

      “Hey, Sarge,” someone said on the comm. “I thought we were jumping through clouds?”

      Alexander stared at the ground—the layer of clouds was gone.

      That’s what was strange; no clouds.

      “And the desert?” another asked.

      Below them was nothing but green in every direction.

      “That don’t look like no desert I ever saw.”

      “Check out that river to the northeast.”

      “Damn, that thing is huge.”

      “This looks more like India or Pakistan to me.”

      “I don’t know what that pilot was smoking, but he sure didn’t take us to the Registan Desert.”

      “Cut the chatter,” Sergeant Alexander said. They were now below fifteen hundred feet. “Anyone see the weapons container?”

      “Nothing,” Ledbetter said. “I don’t see it anywhere.”

      “No,” Paxton said. “Those orange chutes should show up like you white boys in the ghetto, but I don’t see ‘em.”

      None of the others saw any sign of the weapons container.

      “Okay,” Alexander said. “Steer for that clearing just to the southwest, at ten o’clock.”

      “Got it, Sarge.”

      “We’re right behind you.”

      “Listen up, people,” Sergeant Alexander said. “As soon as you hit the ground, pop your chute and grab your banger.”

      “Ooo, I love it when he talks dirty.”

      “Can it, Kawalski,” he said. “I’m sure somebody saw us, so be ready for anything.”

      All the soldiers glided into the clearing and landed without mishap. The three remaining crewmen from the aircraft dropped in behind them.

      “Squad One,” Alexander ordered, “set up a perimeter.”

      “Roger that.”

      “Archibald Ledbetter,” he said, “you and Kawalski go climb that tall oak and set up a lookout, and get some weapons to the three crewmen.”

      “Right, Sarge.” Ledbetter and Kawalski ran toward the C-130 crewmen.

      “All quiet on the eastern side,” Paxton said.

      “Same here,” Joaquin said from the other side of the clearing.

      “All right,” Alexander said. “Stay on your toes. Whoever shot us down is bound to come after us. Let’s get out of this clearing. We’re sitting ducks out here.”

      “Hey, Sarge,” Kawalski whispered into his mic. “You got two peeps coming at you, double-time.” He and Ledbetter were halfway up the oak tree.

      “Where?”

      “On your six.”

      Sergeant Alexander spun around. “This is it,” he said into his mic as he watched for the two people. “Everybody get out of sight and ready your weapons.”

      “I don’t think they’re armed,” Kawalski whispered.

      “Quiet.”

      Alexander heard the people coming toward him through the brush. He pressed himself back against a pine tree and cocked the hammer on his Sig automatic.

      A moment later, they ran past him. It was a man and woman, unarmed except for a wooden pitchfork carried by the woman. Their clothing was nothing more than short, ragged tunics, and they were barefoot.

      “Not Taliban,” Paxton whispered over the comm.

      “Too white.”

      “Too what?”

      “Too white for Pacs or Indians.”

      “They’re still going, Sarge,” Kawalski said from his perch in the tree. “They’re jumping over logs and boulders, running like hell.”

      “Well,” Sarge said, “they definitely weren’t coming after us.”

      “They didn’t even know we were here.”

      “Another one,” Kawalski said.

      “What?”

      “There’s another one coming. Same direction. Looks like a kid.”

      “Get out of sight,” Sarge whispered.

      The kid, a boy of about ten, ran past. He was pale white and wore the same type of short tunic as the others. He, too, was barefoot.

      “More,” Kawalski said. “Looks like a whole family. Moving slower, pulling an animal of some kind.”

      “Goat,” Ledbetter said from his position СКАЧАТЬ