Dead in Damascus: A Special Operations Group Short Story ([#0] Special Operations Group) by Stephen Templin Read Free Book Online

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    “Mary Poppins, Sierra One.” LT’s radioman spoke their call sign anxiously over the communications net, trying to get in touch with a plane above for backup. “Identify our position, over.”
    “Sierra One, Mary Poppins, I identify fifteen friendlies, over,” a crew member onboard replied. Flying at an altitude of nearly a mile in the sky, out of enemy small arms and RPG range but within the plane’s own artillery and cannons’ range, Mary Poppins flew in a wide circle around the battlefield.
    “That is correct,” LT’s radioman confirmed. “Kill everything west of us outside danger close!”
    “Roger, Sierra One. Kill everything west of you outside danger close.”
    Over the noise of the ground fighting, a small clap of thunder came from the sky. The first 105 mm, thirty-three-pound projectile popped the sound barrier as it shot to earth. In the middle of the enemies’ position, the earth exploded, flinging body parts and dirt. The closest survivors lay stunned in a column of rising smoke.
    Six seconds later, the smoke cleared, and another 105mm bomb struck the earth, this time on the enemies’ left flank. Most of the insurgents on the right flank figured out it was time to haul booty. Six seconds later, the right flank detonated, obliterating the slow learners.
    Meanwhile, the plane’s cannon opened up. Each second, two explosive pom-poms blasted clusters of bad guys.
    Enemy bullets stopped popping the air around Chris’s head.
    “Pop smoke,” LT commanded over the radio.
    Psycho and the rear security SEAL from LT’s squad popped their smoke grenades. Soon the smoke blocked the line of sight between the insurgents and the SEALs.
    “Leapfrog back to the primary extract,” LT said. “Second squad, to the helos.”
    Chris pulled Young up from the ground. “Run to the chopper!” Chris shouted.
    Young didn’t have to be told twice. He ran with Chris’s squad to the Black Hawk and didn’t stop until they arrived safely inside. Doc attended to Beanpole, who was still alive.
    Two or three AKs broke out on full auto behind them, but LT’s squad silenced them.
    “First squad, back,” called LT. LT and his teammates rose and dashed to the helo. The AC-130 overhead continued to pound the terrorists with 40 mike-mikes.
    Immediately after the rest of the men loaded onto the helos, they lifted off the ground. They flew with the doors open because that was the quickest way to enter and exit, especially during emergencies. The helos turned east and pulled forward. “RPG, six o’clock!” a voice came from the rear of Chris’s helo.
    “RPG, six o’clock!” others in the middle of the chopper echoed.
    “RPG, six o’clock,” the pilot acknowledged. He banked the helicopter hard and turned south.
    Gravity pulled mercilessly on Chris, and somebody bumped into him, almost knocking him off his bench. It was Young: unable to hold on with one arm, his feet slid out the door and kicked Chris. He had remembered to connect a tether to Young, securing him to the helo, but in all the excitement, he couldn’t remember if he’d secured himself.
    Chris strained to hug the helo, but gravity continued to pull at him, and the wind continued to whip his body mercilessly. He was losing his own grip. If I can hold out just a little longer—until the RPG passes and the helo straightens out.
    Boom! The RPG blew up, shaking the helo. Chris slipped. His heart leaped just before Psycho caught him, stopping him from falling off.
    The Black Hawk leveled off, and Chris no longer had to fight with gravity. He noticed that he had attached his tether. He looked around and was glad to see that no one appeared injured. Now they were in the homestretch. More importantly, Young was free. Chris exhaled long and hard.
    Psycho put his mouth close to Chris’s ear and shouted above the wind, “When we get back, are you really going to give Mordet that piece of your ear?!”
    “Are you on meth?”
    “It wouldn’t be very