Disclaimer: I do not own, rent, lease, or claim anything in the Numb3rs universe. I am glad that those who do own them let me borrow them once in a while.

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Chapter 5

With effort, Smitty brought his hysterics under control. "OK, OK, so there we all are; four Rangers, two really beat up; a doc who barely knows how to shoot; a National Guard helo-crew member firing a gun that's bigger than she is, and this crazy REMF who thinks he's MacArthur come again. And we're all stuck in the middle of no-where with no way of knowing if anybody even has a clue we're out there, and we're still catching fire from who-knows-how-many bad guys down the side of the mountain. And that's where things stood when I passed out. I remember bits and snatches of the next few days, but not a whole lot more until I woke up in Germany." He swung his glass out to clank against Colby's. "So, if your comrade is blitzed enough at long last to participate in this little story-telling fest, I will relinquish the floor to him. And I will go pee." He levered himself ungracefully out of the easy chair and set off to look for the restroom.

Colby watched his friend walk down the hall with a sense of wonder. 'The last time I saw him he had no legs,' he thought. 'Damned if that keeps a Ranger from walking.' He gazed through alcohol-glazed eyes into the waiting faces of his teammates. "Oh, yeah. OK, I don't tell as good a story as Smitty can, but here goes."

"The Talibs and us were at a kind of impasse. We had the high ground and good cover, but they had more people and more weapons, and for all we know they had an unlimited supply of ammunition. So for the rest of the day, it'd go something like this; a bad guy would decide he wanted to move—to look around, or maybe to go get something—and Rodriguez would fire a round or two from the big gun and—'whoops'—the guy ducks back down. Or a couple of times a group of bad guys tried to get up to the helicopter, I guess to get whatever was left down there they could use. And then Jeeter, Osterman and Smith—doc Smith, not Smitty—would all fire down the hill and chase 'em back away. And it'd get quiet for a little while until someone got bored or ancy again, or maybe they decided that we weren't shooting because we were out of ammunition or something and it'd start all over again. The gimps—those of us who were useless to shoot anything—kinda took care of each other. I packed snow around Smitty's legs, trying to keep 'em cold and clean at the same time, to keep the bleeding down. And I found a bandage for Captain Lerg's head and tried to keep him quiet and sitting down. He kept trying to stand up. Head injuries are weird sometimes. And it just kinda went on like that until it started getting dark."

Winter in the mountains in Afghanistan is cold. Night in winter, with no blankets and no fire, is really cold. The night passed slowly and miserably as the soldiers fought simply to keep warm. At some point well after dark (and it gets really dark up there), there came sounds from the vicinity of the crash as the Talibs finally managed to loot the helicopter. Rodriguez fired a volley of rounds to chase them away from the group's fallen members once more, for which Colby would be grateful forever. Some time very close to morning the Talibs stopped moving around or shooting. Granger didn't know if that was because they lost interest, or because they'd run out of ammunition. He sure wasn't willing to believe they were gone or dead. Mostly, though, the small group shivered and waited for sun rise.

Morning brought a modicum of warmth along with a spectacular view of the valley far below. The soldiers surveyed the area; the remains of the helicopter, the pock-marked no-man's-land which evidenced the fight of the day before, the shell casings littering their hollow. The mountain below them was silent and empty.

The first to speak was Sgt. Osterman, standing at Granger's elbow behind the rock wall which had kept them alive thus far. "We'll have to move. The Talibs know where we are and our guys don't. That makes this a not-so-safe place to be."

Granger nodded. "We'll have to carry Sgt. Smith and Cpt. Lerg. Unless you think we're going to be able to wake Lerg up?"

Doc Smith answered "I don't think he's going to wake up, whether we want him to or not. There's probably something in the 'copter we can use as a stretcher."

Osterman studied Granger. "Can you carry Smitty? Sgt. Smith—Smitty—you think you can carry him?" He gestured to Granger's swollen, blackened hands. "We need to give the rifles to people who can shoot them, and they won't be able to do that and carry Smitty at the same time." At Granger's nod, he continued, "and that just leaves one thing; which way?"

Granger was surprised to find four sets of eyes on him, waiting for a decision. 'I guess I've been elected leader of this little gang. Huh. Not sure I like that…' "Down." He replied, trying to sound sure and authoritative. "Our guys won't be able to pick us up off this mountain. We need to get to a road."

"Were they actually gone," asked Charlie, "Or were they just waiting? Just being quiet?"

Smitty, returning down the hallway, laughed. "No, they were gone. I don't think Hero impressed on you just how cold it was on that mountain. If we coulda gone, we would have, too. The Talibs went home to their nice, warm houses…well…their huts anyway." He pointed to a frame on the wall in the hallway. "Hero, what's this? It's not an Army medal, but it's in a frame with your other medals."

Colby mumbled something, but Don went to join Smitty in the hall. "That's an FBI medal of meritorious conduct. I'll tell you that story sometime. It just might be better than this one."

"So Hero didn't learn not to get himself in trouble?"

Don laughed. "No. He's got a Doctorate in Trouble. But we put up with him anyway."

Smitty shook his head in disbelief. "Better than the 'copter crash story?" He looked over at Colby, who was weaving slightly in his chair. "Or stupider than the 'copter crash story?"

It was David's turn to laugh. "It's a fine line, isn't it? We like the guy, so we give him the benefit of the doubt."

Nikki added, "most of the time."

Colby had had enough of the discussion. "Are we bashing me, or are we listening to this stupid story?"

Nikki couldn't resist. "Hey—even he admits this was stupid, not good!"

"That's not what I…" Colby stuttered. "I mean…Smitty, you started this. Help me out, man."

Smitty came to Colby's rescue. "Stupid or good, either way, Hero kept me alive for the next few days. So, stupid or good, I'm glad he was around."

"Yeah, that's pretty much what we've decided," returned David. "So are you telling the story or are you telling the story? You'd decided to go downhill. And….?"

Colby nodded. "We had to make a stop first, at the helicopter. We knew we couldn't take Colonel Alero or the rest with us, but we needed a stretcher for Lerg and any food or water we could find. Not that we found much. The Afghanis had taken pretty much everything."

The team approached the wreck slowly, wary for booby traps or a return of the Afghan militia from the night before. The helicopter lay half on its right side, nose facing uphill, with the front two compartments, now accordioned into one large mass, pushed into the mountain's rocky surface. Inside the fuselage, which was riddled with holes, was a chaotic mess. Two bodies, stripped of their Kevlar helmets and flak vests, lay jumbled on the floor.

"Allen and Richardson," supplied Smitty. "They were on my team."

All ammunition, most of the MRE's, and every bottle of water that had been in the 'copter the night before had been taken, as had almost everything else of value, like flashlights, Smitty's I Pod, and Jeeter's last pack of cigarettes. Also missing were the 82nd Airborne patches which had adorned the dead soldiers' uniforms. The team laid out the two soldiers as respectfully as they could. They tried to collect Colonel Alero and the pilots and gunners who had been in the front compartments of the 'copter, but twisted metal made that task impossible. The recovery team would have to do that grizzly work. Sgt Osterman said a prayer for those who could not be helped, and the team filed out of the helicopter.

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Military to Civilian Glossary:

'Doc' does not necessarily refer to a doctor. In military parlance, 'Doc' is often the nickname given to whoever performs the medical tasks in your unit. This may be a doctor, nurse, or even a medic. I'll use it to differentiate Smith from Smitty, mainly because I was confusing myself.

MacArthur: refers to one of the better-known US generals, Douglas MacArthur. He was a well-respected leader, but more than a bit on the self-involved side. He was known to expect everyone to follow his commands--including one VERY pissed off President of the US.

The 82nd Airborne patches (found on the shoulders of a soldier's uniform) denote which unit the Rangers deployed with. They would have been kept as trophies.

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