As it descended towards the earth, the helicopter was the only thing that any of them heard. James's eyes fixated upon the distant black vehicle as it made contact with the desert sand.
Before a helicopter descends, it flairs upwards, the push of the rotor blades bringing the helicopter to a more controlled speed. It then descends to the earth until all three of its wheels touch the ground at almost the same time. The rear wheel touches slightly before the two at the front.
This landing was nothing like that.
It made a deafening crumping noise as the front side of the airframe made a rapid collision with the earth, before rolling onto its sides. The rotor blades then snapped as they moved at full speed into the earth, splintering about the field and one nearly taking James's head clean off his shoulders.
He rose from the earth just as the world resumed, as if the interlude of the crashing Black Hawk had never occurred, as if it had just been red light on a busy street. A round whizzed by his ear, mere centre metres from ruining his day. Another moved past his legs. He could feel the disruption of the air they made as they passed his body. He could hear the pounding in his ears as adrenaline reached his heart and was pumped around the body.
Nearby, somebody yelled. It was indistinct amongst the thunder of gunfire.
A machine gun fired a long burst, probably just Giles trying to gain fire superiority. A flash of fire, then a billow of smoke informed him that someone had fired a grenade. He paid it no mind. He paid none of it any mind. In fact, the only thing that did cross his mind was each foot as it made contact with the ground, and the helicopter he needed to reach.
The helicopter that was billowing smoke.
The helicopter that was being descended upon by a small swarm of angry men.
A helicopter that he had to reach under any circumstances.
He saw briefly as one of the men's chest exploded in a spray of blood. Saw his voiceless scream and watched him drop from view. All evidence pointed towards Flats. The man was a god with a gun. He could shoot the fleas of a dogs arse at this range with that rifle of his.
Another man dropped.
Yeah. Definitely Flats.
A round passed his vision. It happened so quick he nearly missed it. He could almost smell the acrid stench of cordite as it flashed in front of his eyes, see the smooth rounded top. James that the weapons of the enemy had a vastly superior range to the weapons he used. It was damned unfair.
It was only about three hundred metres, but it felt like a mile. He passed the half-way point before the first man even bothered to look up from the helicopter and see him. James's bottle green eyes met the cold grey eyes of the angry man. James watched as the angry man opened his mouth and shouted before grabbing for the weapon he had slung over his back.
He pulled it to his hip.
And he fired.
Dust kicked up all around James boots and into his eyes. He threw a gloved hand up to protect his face as he moved forwards, ever closer to the broken airframe.
Fuck.
He said it under his breath, and in the cacophony, not even he could hear it. James seldom swore. A rarity in his profession.
It sounded like a swarm of angry, lethal, metal wasps were all around him. He couldn't believe that every round missed him. More rifles joined the first man.
That beautiful, beautiful sound of the machine gun occurred again.
And for a moment, James was almost at peace. He pulled his hand away from his face, barely noticing the blood dripping down his forearm. It was a later problem.
Those dust clouds that had previous irked him, now bothered the angry men at the helicopter. He saw two go down hard. A few of the others leapt to cover. One man stood in the opening, trying to fit another magazine into his rifle. He was probably high on the opiates that grew freely in this country.
He was no more than twenty five metres from the helicopter now.
And that beautiful sound. That Mozart of combat ceased. He had reached his cut off point, if Giles kept firing, he would risk hitting James. No more support was coming.
The last twenty five metres he must have set a new record, even in full combat load and boots.
The angry man finally fitted the magazine into his weapon. His hand moved smoothly to the cocking handle. It pulled back, chambering a round into his rifle.
He looked up, pulling his rifle up with his head.
The butt of James's rifle slammed into the bridge of the man's nose, sending him flying into the fuselage of the downed bird. His head cracked into the windshield and he slid down the nose of the bird.
James saw him slowly shake his head side to side, trying to clear his vision from the blood and tears that had become his face.
James never gave him the chance.
He barely felt the recoil as the man's head snapped back, and his brains adorned the helicopter and the sand.
Crouched against the nose of the helicopter, with dead bodies all around him, and the voices of his enemies coming from just the other side of the sandbank made by the crash, James thought that his lot had improved in life.
"Really, Ev? Really?" The voice cackled in his ear. Ever since he had transferred into the British Army, the Aussie had been given the radio. He just could not shut up. James had always figured that if he was going to talk, he might as well talk to Headquarters. Warby hated most of the officers back at HQ, so naturally he shut up to them and just talked to his team instead. It made the tedium easier.
He just shrugged. Even though he knewWarby couldn't see it.
"How long did you say until ground support rocks up?"
"I didn't. Apparently we have lucked out though. There's a fucking convoy in the area. And we are going to give them the best war story to tell their kids. The time they saved a bunch of-"
"How long Nate?" James sometimes had to cut him off. He seldom minded though.
"20 Mikes before you decided to do a Banzai on us."
"Ok, well how long now?" James gave a quick glance into the cockpit. The co-pilot had taken the worst of the crash and was slumped in his seat. His body was a mess of pulp and blood held together by a bit of flight suit, gravity and harness. The pilot's seat was empty.
"About 20 mikes. How long did you think you ran for?"
"No idea, but somehow I'm beginning to think that mistakes may have been made." Their easy banter was what made the team work. It helped them to think clearly, despite the stress that should have been flooding their minds.
"By you maybe. What are you going to do genius?"
James wiped the sweat from his brow as he thought, half obscuring the scar that adorned his forehead with dust in the process. Suddenly, he had an idea.
"I haven't really thought that far ahead. Probably something reckless."
"Wouldn't have you any other way Ev."
James slowly moved away from the front of the helicopter. The enemies on the other side of the helicopter seemed to be recovering from the shock of having a British soldier charge them across three hundred metres of open ground. He could hear one of them barking orders in their foreign tongue. Not that he understood exactly what was said, but he could tell by the rhythm and tone that someone was reorganising. That was bad.
He turned around and trained his rifle on the rear of the helicopter. Slowly he placed one boot in front of the other as he moved towards the tail. He peaked around and saw that the tail of the helicopter was in the sand.
There goes that plan.
His hand reached for a grenade, but he quickly dismissed it. If they had captured any of the crew, he didn't want to risk injuring them. What he did have was a flashbang.
He pulled it out of his webbing and removed the pin. Quickly he moved back towards the front of the bird and dropped it over the nose.
He then scurried to the rear of the bird and waited.
3.
4.
There was a reason they were called flashbangs. The bang was deafening. It was also, helpfully, his signal.
He leapt over the tail of the helicopter and landed on one knee on the other side.
Six.
There were six of them.
It was automatic, mathematic, smooth. His rifle raised to the nearest man, an older man with a beard as white as Father Christmas. The round pierced the side of his skull as he shook his head trying to clear his vision and stop his ears from ringing. The beard rapidly turned red as he slumped to the ground. James was already onto his next target. Four middle aged men with deep black beards and heads of full curly hair.
Two.
A slight angle right.
Three.
Up a knuckle, right two.
Four.
Down three knuckles, Across five.
Five.
The sixth. A boy. Probably around about twelve. James hesitated. James seldom hesitated. In combat, hesitation can get you killed, or worse, someone else killed. But at that moment he did. His finger slackened on the trigger.
The boy was holding his ear. James saw he was lying very close to where the flashbang would have landed. He probably had perforated eardrums from the noise of it echoing of the underbelly of the metal helicopter.
The boys eyes went wide as he stared at the barrel of the M4 staring right at his face. He paused.
James green eyes met the boys brown.
The boy looks scared.
Terrified actually, of the man who appeared before him. In that brief second, James saw a younger version of himself, cowering away from a monster trying to kill him. He threw that thought away. James had no younger self, none that he remembered anyway.
He saw the reflection of what he was now in the boys eyes as they stared at each other. There was no part of James that must have looked human, from helmet to boot. Everything he wore was either for protection or for killing. The boy wore thongs on his thick dark feet. His body was covered in the white 'pajamas' of his people. A small brown vest his only decoration, with the exception of the canvas combat webbing that he wore across his belly. On top of his head he wore a small muslim prayer cap.
It was probably no more than the blink of an eye. Time plays funny in combat.
The boy raised the small pistol that he held in his hand.
James put a small hole in his right eye. He watched his brains shoot from the back of his skull and redecorate the sand behind him.
Fuck.
A breath.
One more.
Ok, one more.
He put it to the back of his mind.
"You better not be dead, you fucking idiot."Warby's voice had never been a more welcome distraction.
"I'm alive."
He took stock. Laying on the ground about him where the six dead enemy combatants. Curled up against the bird were two additional men. They wore the green drab of flight crew and had their hands around their heads, which were encapsulated by large flight helmets.
He vaulted over to them and shook the nearest one.
"You boys ok?" He yelled over the din of distant gunfire that echoed across the grounds. IT only just registered that the battle was ongoing, not that he had forgotten.
The first one looked up at him. Relief swallowed his features and grabbed James in a crushing hug.
"Alright mate…" He awkwardly, patted the burly man's back. "Get off now."
He gently eased him off.
"Tell me that Callsign Crown is not the man still in there." He said to the two.
Silence greeted his remark.
He gently shook the two men.
"Callsign Crown. What is his status?"
James was starting to get frustrated. There was a time for this sort of behaviour, but now was not it.
"Where the hell is the Prince?" This time his yell was as much for anger as need.
"I'm here."
A man in green drab vaulted from the inside of the helicopter and landed with a thud next to him. He was a taller man, wearing a flight helmet and brown, camouflage coloured Kevlar. He had goggles over his eyes to protect them from the dust.
"Callsign Crown, at your service." He had the classic speech patterns of one so trained for formal occasions. The private schoolboy, many of the other men would call his ilk. In actuality he was the heir to the throne of Great Britain. "Corporal Evans I presume?"
"Aye Sir." James quickly filled the Prince in on the situation. They had enemy all around them, firing from high ground in excellent cover. James team was about three hundred metres away, across the open ground, on a small hill, taking cover amongst some larger rocks.
"With respect sir, my boys are in a bad position, so I'm going to ask you and your men to help me put some fire down and draw some of the heat until the cavalry arrives. The three nodded, scavenging the weapons of the fallen combatants. James put them quickly into positions where they would be best suited and put the Prince into the position of most safety. They were to sacrifice all their lives to save his own. Everyone in the Area of Operations knew that.
James coordinated their fire.
He yelled himself keeping the aircrew focussed on fighting like infantrymen. In the background he could hear his own men putting up a hell of a fight from the rocks they had taken cover behind.
"Warby, Giles, Flats. You boys alright?"
"Just fucking Peachy James!"
Fair enough. Just thought he would ask.
It felt like an eternity. It felt like he was feeding thousands of rounds through his rifle instead of hundreds. It felt like the enemy never stopped firing.
It felt like the battle would never end.
He observed movement from a rock pile on a hill overlooking the battlefield. Training his sights upon the mound, he squinted to make out what was going on. His eyes widened.
"RPG!"
He instantly tackled the Prince to the ground as the rocket soared towards them. He shielded the Prince's body with his own as the rocket landed on the wrong side of the aircraft sending an explosion of smoke and dust wafting into the air. James was covered in dust as he pushed himself off the Princes body.
"You alright sir?" He screamed through ringing ears.
"Fantastic Corporal."
He turned to face the hill and saw them preparing more tubes. That was not good. It wouldn't take long to adjust their fire onto his position. When that happened, the crew, including the Prince would be in a serious amount of hurt.
He saw a figure pop its head above the rocks. James sent a few rounds flying his way but it was no good. They were out of effective range for his rifle.
He saw two figures pop up, long black tubes on their shoulders.
"Down" he screamed leaping back onto the Prince and knocking the air out of him.
He waited for his death.
It never came.
Instead he heard a serious of loud and steady thumps.
A 25mm Cannon. The Cavalry.
He heard the rumble of armoured vehicles driving near his team's position.
"I hate to sound clichéd but…"
"You love it Warby, you really do." It was Flats adding to the conversation now.
James had never felt more relieved. He looked up at the rock pile and saw it disintegrating under the cannon fire.
"Oh be damned! We won't be hearing the end of this I'd wager!" Giles's private schoolboy speech spoke into James' earpiece.
"They are fucking Aussies!" The sheer glee in Warby's voices made even James crack a smile. Giles was absolutely correct. They never would hear the end of this. For a British Special Forces patrol to be extracted from a potentially disastrous situation was bad enough. For it to be from an Australian Armoured Column was worse. For one of the soldiers within the Special Forces team to be a transfer from the Australian Army to the British Army meant that this was the kind of story that they would not hear the end of. For a very, very, long time.
In fact. They probably never would hear the end of it.
But to James, in that moment, it did not matter. What mattered was that soon the Prince would be some one else's problem and he could go back to doing what he did best.
"Hold on James, I'm just coordinating with their commander now."
The crew had ceased fire as the armoured vehicles had taken over most of the shooting. James peeped over the helicopter and glanced across the ground. He saw twelve vehicles in a circle around where his team had been hiding. Most had had eight wheels, armour and a machine gun on top to compliment the long barrelled cannon's that adorned the turret. ASLAV's. Australian Light Armoured Vehicles.
A few of the vehicles he noticed were the big boxy troop carriers that Aussies travelled around in. Everyone raved about their anti IED capabilities and zero death count.
He saw two figures conversing on the top of one of the ASLAV's as the rest scanned the country side, using their thermal vision to eradicate the remaining enemy with precision.
"Righto James. So I just talked to the bloke in charge. He is saying that taking his vehicles into the open ground between here and you would be driving into a disaster. He reckons that the hills on each side create an ambush alley. I'm kind of inclined to agree with him."
"As do I. Let me guess, we are coming to you?"
"Looks that way, yeah."
"Great. And the bird? There is still a bloke inside."
"An American UAV has been sent, it's going to blow up the bird. Dunno about the boy."
"Roger. I'll cut him free and we will take him. On our way to you, make sure they cover us Warby, I don't want to get killed in front of a bunch of colonials!"
He heard Warby snort with laughter as he relayed the situation to the crew. They went to work and managed to cut the co-pilot out of his chair. It was unpleasant work as he was almost falling apart. James had to stop himself from throwing up all over the poor man in his seat. He noticed the big burly man shaking as he cut away the straps, James was sympathetic. He had lost men in combat before. He never really did get over it. After five minutes of painstaking work, the body was free. The big burly man placed him over his shoulder as if he was carrying a child. They were finally ready to go.
James gave a quick set of orders and they were off. The first man, the burly man carrying the body, would move first. After twenty metres, the second man would go. The Prince insisted that he go third so that he could see his crew make it to safety before he did. Finally James would bring up the rear.
He radioed across to Warby that they were ready.
"Go."
The first man scooped up the body and he was off. He was a big man but he ran easily. After twenty metres went the second crewman. He passed twenty metres and then it was the princes turn.
Finally, James turned from scanning the horizon, stood and began his run towards the vehicles. It didn't seem as far now that he was running towards a large group of armoured vehicles that would protect him. It didn't seem as far now that his team was out of danger. It didn't seem as far now that bullets were not kicking up all around him.
It didn't seem as far.
A distant crack broke the air.
He saw the Prince fall in front of him as if he had just tripped over.
For the third time in one day, James swore. He picked up his pace as he sprinted towards the downed Prince. He saw the ASLAV barrels in the distance scanning for a target as one of the machine guns opened fire to suppress. The second crewman turned around and saw the prince lying on the ground. He started to run back.
"No!" James screamed to the man! "Keep going! I have him!" He waved frantically at the crewman, who finally turned around and ran towards the vehicles.
James closed the distance quickly and slid next to the Prince.
He was alive at least. James saw that the bullet had hit him in the top of his thigh. Blood was pooling out of the wound. It didn't look arterial. As he inspected the wound, he heard the Prince groan with pain. A round skipped across the ground nearby.
"You'll live sir. We'll dress it in the vehicle."
"Sounds excellent to me, Ev." He spoke through gritted teeth. James grabbed his arm, and pulled him up onto his shoulders before taking off running as fast as his legs could carry him. They say that the modern soldier carries more weight into battle than a medieval knight. In that instance, James could believe that. He had more than 30 kilograms of equipment, plus a rifle with a grenade launcher attached. He wore Kevlar and a helmet. Now he had the Prince, the heir to the throne on his shoulders, who was also wearing Kevlar and a helmet.
James didn't think that he had ever run faster in his life.
He began to close the distance between the man in front and himself. He could feel the rounds bouncing around his legs and skipping past his body. He must have been the luckiest man alive.
Two hundred metres to go.
Every step was one step closer. Every step was one step further.
One hundred and fifty.
Every round that passed by was one more that didn't hit him.
One hundred.
He could see his team now, liasing with the crew to put down effect covering fire for him. The first crewman had bundled into an armoured vehicle, the second was almost there.
At fifty metres. His luck ran out.
He felt like he had been hit in the lower back by a flaming sledgehammer. It knocked him down to one knee and James gasped for breath as the wind was knocked from his body. He felt like part of his lower back was on fire.
He took a few quick breaths and then stood once more. With a long, low grunt. The world went hazy as the pain fully registered. He grit his teeth and became to one more move forward.
He kept running. Each step was agony as his Kevlar rubbed against the wound. The weight pushed his body down upon the body.
Not far now. Not far now. Not far now.
One step.
Two step.
One step.
This time the flaming sledgehammer sent him sprawling into the dirt. He was thirty metres from the vehicles.
He looked down and could see blood pouring down his stomach. His glove came away red. He coughed and blood ran down his chin. He felt for the Prince…
He was still alive.
Just as he was lugging the Prince back up onto his shoulders, he could see Warby sprinting towards him. He took a few steps, feeling like he was going to buckle with each one.
"I've got you mate. I've got you."
Warby wrapped an arm around James's back and helped him along. He spoke in his ear, whispering encouragement.
"It will be okay mate. Just fine. Nearly there. Look at that. So close. You've got this. You do. I'm barely even helping you. You don't need help. Well, except mentally. Always have to save every one, don't you mate? "
James tried to smile, but more blood dripped from his mouth. They were nearly there.
"You're going to go home James. Home! When you get there, you're going to see Pey. Be sure to say hey! Little poem I wrote for her, tell her I said that will you? Let her know that I miss her like crazy. You have to get home for me mate. You have to kiss little Beck on her pretty pink curls and tell her that her daddy misses her. She'd believe that from you. She's believe that from her godfather."
All James could hear was Warby's voice. As the world grew fuzzy around him, a soldier opened the door of an armoured vehicle for him. All he could see was the dark hole where he had to go. The dark blackness that he had to get to. The world was fading around him. He could barely hear Warby anymore. He could just see the whole surrounded by the bright unclear light.
He stopped and his hand hit metal. The weight was lifted from his shoulders.
He just wanted to sit. That's all. It would be really nice if he could just sit down.
He fell down.
That's ok though. That was close enough. That would do perfectly for him. The world was fading all around him.
He could feel arms pulling him. A hand grabbed his.
He could barely see anymore.
Everything was going dark.
As blackness came for him, he heard a voice deep within the recesses of his mind. A voice that came from a memory that he had forgotten. The part of his mind that remained under lock and key, even to him. From his past.
From before.
It was a kindly woman's voice. A gentle voice. A mothers voice.
"Hold on Harry."
"Hold on."