“Where is that coming from?” He finally turned slightly to address the co-pilot.
“US Route 31, sir,” The co-pilot already had the information. “They call it The Dixie around these parts.”
Lieutenant Hatch made a noise that was a slow rumble. His eyes were trying to pierce the dark as the helicopter blades cut through the night sky. Control panel LEDs reflected in his eyes while he watched the steady orange glow fade ever so slightly. Molly carefully watched him and tried to peel back the layers of his thoughts. He had that look about him. It was more of an instinct than a fact. Hatch had that appearance of a good soldier who had followed one too many orders that sat poorly with his soul. His eyes were cruel, observant but intelligent.
“Why don’t we figure out where they’re going?” Molly broke the silence. It was a mere suggestion. Hatch clearly took it as a challenge.
“…and how are we gonna do that?” His tone was dismissive.
“They’ve made a turn.” Molly decided it was time for some reverse man-splaining. Her eyes were steady while her left eye brow did the now familiar arch in contempt. “We can make a good guess where they are going now.”
Shit. His expression spoke volumes. Hatch knew he should have thought of that. The cruel lines hardened for a second before letting the moment go. The Lieutenant elevated his chin a few inches higher while he made eye contact with Molly.
“What’s at the end of that highway?” Hatch asked without breaking eye contact with Molly. She didn’t blink while letting her mouth curve ever so slightly. It has been way too long since somebody has talked back to you, hasn’t it? She thought.
“Checking, sir,” The co-pilot seemed to be relieved to break the silence and ratchet down the tension in the cabin. He carefully scrolled through the map on his screen while the glow in the distance grew closer. A logical conclusion to his search appeared on the electronic map. That had to be it, the co-pilot let his head bob slightly.
“I think I have it, sir.” The co-pilot’s easy going voice had taken on a gravitas tone.
*
Time was a collection of measurements, seconds, tens of seconds and minutes that were the starting points. Then came the days, weeks and years, all of it was relative. Eons could pass in a desert before anything of consequence could occur. For the Commander, change had just happened in the blink of an eye.
How many seconds had passed since Ubaid and Birk began to send warnings? Did it really matter? The Commander was under the bridge now among the scattered remnants of his force. They were carelessly parked here and there on the highway like toys left around by children. Huge chunks of concrete lay about like roadblocks, dislodged by heavy weapons fire at the bridge. They were now just part of the new reality. The Commander was watching the direction they had come with an almost detached shock. They always said an operation was long stretches of boredom punctuated by moments of extreme terror.
Was that what you’re feeling? He watched the flames flicker away and consume the skeletons of cars that were just blazing metal. Is this fear, shock?
It had only been a few seconds. But it felt so much longer as he played back his memories. The first chopper exploding into a brilliant comet of fire and steel that crashed into a pack of rusting cars. They had torched so quickly, the fire had jumped from vehicle to vehicle like it was carried by a swarm of burning locusts.
The Commander remembered giving the order to race to the safety of the bridge, brilliant flashes that temporarily blinded his driver. He checked his Protector weapons station screen, the glare had made it hard to focus the targeting system on the bridge. He just sprayed and prayed his 30 mm. machine gun at the bridge as they came closer. A second Stryker fired a 75 mm. shell that shook the bridge and sent debris crashing into their path. The Commander then remembered firing a second time. It sounded less like a weapon and more like a whirring machine toy for play. A shadow among the blackness of the bridge seemed to shudder and fall away from his line of sight................
Another helicopter had made a second reckless charge and a thunderous, brilliant splash of light from behind had blinded his Protector M151 weapons station a second time. Refocus, reboot. He turned the system backwards and a massive wall of fire had engulfed at least one of his vehicles. It had broken in two on the impact from a Hellfire II missile. The vehicle had flipped over twice in midair, then the broken, shattered remnants crashed to the pavement and exploded again as the ammunition inside detonated.
Tracers flew skyward in defiant anger. A second Stryker nudged the burning carcass aside on its way toward the bridge. For an instant, one of the fat front tires burned before snuffing itself out. A figure lurched toward the burning Stryker in the middle of the road and was run down in revenge. Its crushed body became just another discarded broken prop in the war game.
Someone claimed they had hit the second chopper and reported it was limping home with a trail of smoke betraying its path. It had all taken a few seconds. The Commander then popped the hatch for a clear view of his situation. He drank in the night air that now stank of gasoline and cordite.
“Let’s take a closer look.” The Commander ordered. He had sent Birk in two Strykers back to check on the stragglers. “Back up, let’s give them some cover.”
“Yes sir.” The engine sprang to life and began to retrace its steps cautiously.
“Birk?” The Commander tapped his radio. “Answer me, son.”
“Birk?” Worst case scenarios began to creep into his head.“Birk!”
“Yes sir.” A breathless voice finally replied. “Sorry sir. We are transferring wounded.”
“Okay, what’s it like back there?”
“We lost two vehicles outright, sir.” There was a spreading sense of grimness in his voice. “Two more are so badly damaged. We had to abandon them.”
“How about the crews?”
“We have....” He seemed to draw a breath and steady himself. “......casualties.”
“At least 12 dead, sir,” Birks voice had always been a monotone. But now words formed a second slower. “We have transferred three wounded.”
“Who?”
“Yes sir,” Birk continued. “McCully has a concussion. Hodges took a shell fragment in the thigh.”
“Okay.” The Commander remembered both men quickly. McCully had a confident look about him that bordered on the cocky. Hodges had been a fresh faced kid who had been a slow learner until Ubaid had made him her assistant. He had proved to be capable under her patient tutoring.
“Ubaid got the worst of it, sir.” Birk completed his bleak report. “She took shrapnel in the back and neck.”
“Is she gonna pull through?” He found his gaze blurred for a moment, unfocused.
“We got the bleeding stopped.” Birks tone was somber. “I just don’t know about internal injuries.”
“Okay,” the Commanders eyes started to search the darkness for the familiar form of the Strykers among the shadows and fire. “Get back here as quick as you can.”
“Yes sir.”
He sighed and tapped the microphone and surveyed the flames and carcasses of steel that were now little hothouses with sparks leaping out like escaping fireflies into the night. It had all happened in a few short seconds, the hiss of the flames began to fade at the sound of engines that appeared out of the dark. They peaked out from behind the raging inferno of the unlucky Stryker in the center of the highway and closed on his position. Birk was in the command hatch with several other soldiers sitting cross legged on top of the vehicle. Their eyes were vacant, introspective. Were