Bloodshot--The Official Movie Novelization

by Gavin G. Smith

  Finally she saw sunlight again and surfaced, gasping for breath, though close enough to feel the heat of the fire on her exposed skin. Mike was gasping for breath as well. He looked pale, weak. She was worried about him going into shock. The Rescue Hawk was nowhere to be seen. She wanted to move away from the fire but realized that the flame and smoke provided a degree of concealment from the gunboat. She listened for the sound of engines, gunfire, but all she could hear was the crackle of the flames. She suppressed another moment of panic at the thought that the Rescue Hawk, her friends, had been shot down. There was no time for speculation. She had a job today and she could only react to the situation as she could see it.

  “How are you doing, Mike?” she asked.

  “Fine,” he told her. It was clear he wasn’t.

  Don’t disappoint me now, Mike, I need information, not macho bullshit.

  “Mike?” she asked again.

  His eyelids had started to flicker.

  “Mm… cold, weak, lost a lot of blood,” he told her.

  She suspected that as well as being exhausted, as well as the sea leaching all the heat from his body, Mike was also going into shock. She grabbed for the radio on its lanyard, just as the smoke billowed and the Rescue Hawk hove into view, flying sideways at speed, a tongue of flame projecting from the M240 as Thorrason fired back at the pursuing gunboat. Huang was shifting the helo in and out of the smoke, not so much hiding as making it harder for the boat’s gunner to target them accurately.

  KT turned to Mike to tell him that they were going to have to wait until the air assets reached them and blew the gunboat out of the sea. As she did, he handed her something under the water. A cold metal sphere. She held it up and found herself looking at a fragmentation grenade. The gunboat was getting closer, and at speed.

  “I’ll be fine,” he told her.

  She opened her mouth to answer.

  The thunderous report of a weapon rolled over the sea. The sound somewhere between that of a .50 caliber rifle and a field artillery piece. The hypersonic bang that followed sounded like it was trying to rip the sky open. Mike was suddenly alert through the pain and weakness, both of them looking around. On the gunboat part of the heavy machine gun had just disappeared, and where the gunner had been there was now a red mist as bits of wet material rained down on the deck.

  “Go!” Mike shouted.

  KT left him, striking out across the surface toward the gunboat. The boat seemed to jump. A moment later she heard another deafening report roll across the water as though it was a tangible physical force. She wanted to look around to find out where the gunfire was coming from but she was too focused on just reaching her target. The gunboat was slowing. She could hear panicked voices speaking a language she did not know. She ducked under the surface for the final approach. She used her fins to propel herself through the water as she tried to pull a surprisingly stubborn pin out of the grenade. Finally she managed to get the pin out as she surfaced near the gunboat. Remembering the very little she knew about hand grenades, she let the spoon flip away from the sphere and tossed it onto the deck of the gunboat. Then she dived down. Even underwater she heard the explosion. She was aware of more than one body hitting the surface of the water above her.

  She surfaced, half expecting to be shot at by a survivor on the gunboat, but there was nothing. She turned to look back at the vessel. It was already sinking. She tried to ignore the bodies in the water. Looking around she saw the Rescue Hawk lowering the basket again, though in open sea, well clear of the flames. She checked around for the source of the weapon’s fire that had taken out the HMG and disabled the gunboat. That was when she saw it. The MH-X stealthed Black Hawk low over the sea, its hatch sliding shut.

  * * *

  Thorrason was manning the winch. KT had sent Mike up first and she was following when the two F/A-18E/F Super Hornets screamed by overhead. A day late and a dollar short, KT thought. She felt the heat coming from the overtaxed M240’s barrel as she climbed on board. Thorrason looked pale, shaky, but he’d done his job and done it well. She could only imagine what it had been like to remain stationary while winching the air crewman up under fire. Rodriguez was working to resuscitate the man. Mike was already wrapped in a foil blanket. KT grabbed the medkit and knelt by Mike as the Rescue Hawk turned, dipping slightly as it headed west back toward the fleet and the Twain. The helo felt a bit wobbly beneath her, she had seen some smoke coming from the tail rotor as she had been winched aboard. The last thing she wanted after a day like today was to be in a helicopter crash.

  The stealthed Black Hawk was shadowing them back to the Twain. KT was dressing Mike’s wound as best she could. Sunlight was streaming in through a sizeable hole in the Rescue Hawk’s fuselage.

  “Thank you,” Mike managed through gritted teeth. KT just nodded. He lay back against the fuselage, not just pain etched onto his features. She could see the emotion in his eyes. Now they were out of immediate danger he had a moment to reflect. She guessed that the other passenger that had gone down with the Seahawk had been a friend of his.

  Then the air crewman started coughing, spitting up water as Rodriguez rolled away from him.

  “That was exciting,” the senior chief announced.

  * * *

  Huang nursed the damaged Rescue Hawk down onto the Twain’s helo deck. The stealthed Black Hawk hovered over them like a nervous parent until they were down where waiting medics rushed Mike and the air crewman to the sickbay. The Black Hawk’s wheels had barely touched the deck when the doors slid open and a number of armed men strode out onto the helo deck. Carrying carbines, holstered sidearms and body armor with numerous pouches for ammunition, they wore the aviation sunglasses and baseball caps with the stars and stripes that were practically uniform for private military contractors. They took up a loose perimeter around the stealth helo as two men climbed out of it. The first was a powerfully built man wearing black tactical gear. He was quite pretty too, KT thought, but the most singular thing about him were his legs. KT had seen prosthetics on contractors and even CIA paramilitaries before. They were mostly of the blade type. These ones, however, looked considerably more sophisticated. He reached back into the cabin of the stealth helo and dragged a body bag out, slinging it over his shoulder. Then he bent down and picked up a gun bag. This was unusual. Most operators would carry their weapons slung until they stowed them, few of them would take cases with them on ops, even if it was just in the helo. Maybe they’re snipers, KT thought, but the case looked sized for a carbine, maybe a little bigger. She wasn’t sure what made her look at Mike. He had sat up on his stretcher as the medics were about to cart him away and was staring at the big man with the prosthetic lower legs. The contempt and disgust that Mike clearly felt for the man were obvious in his expression.

  The second man out of the stealth helo was smaller, wirier, much more in keeping with KT’s expectations of operators. Like her, he was Hispanic. He was also dressed in black tactical gear. He had on a cap and shades. She knew a lot of snipers wore shades to protect their eyesight. He also pulled out a body bag and slung it over his shoulder. Then he dragged a much larger gun bag out of the helo. It was about the size that KT would expect for a disassembled .50 caliber sniper rifle. She had heard such weapons used in Iraq. It hadn’t been a .50 cal she’d heard when the gunboat had been shot at. KT was curious but she had been in the navy long enough to know to mind her own business when it came to covert ops. She had also been in the navy long enough to know that there was no such thing as secret on a ship. That said, she owed them a debt of thanks. She started across the helo deck toward the two operators. As soon as she moved, one of the civilian contractors shifted position to get in her way.

  “Whoa there, chica,” he said looking her up and down. “Where you going?”

  Nothing sexier than a partially melted wetsuit, she thought, wondering how long this asshole had been at sea.

  “Over there,” she told him. Pointing toward the two operators.

&nb
sp; “You see all the men with guns, right?” he asked her.

  KT just smiled, she’d encountered assholes like this before.

  “You want to tell me where you are in the navy’s chain of command?” she asked. He didn’t say anything. She could see the two men heading toward the hatch for the ship’s main castle. She turned back to look at the contractor. “Civilian, huh? On my ship with a gun and no authority. Know what we do to pirates?”

  It didn’t matter, the operators had gone and the contractors were folding in after them.

  “Problem, chief?” Huang was suddenly at her side.

  KT stared calmly at the contractor. He probably could have just walked away but it seemed that he had enough military instinct to stand still when an officer was talking to him. He couldn’t have been SF when he was on active service, KT thought. Huang led with a soft touch but he could turn on the authoritarian attitude when he needed to.

  “Possible pirate with piss-poor communication skills,” KT told the pilot.

  The contractor was starting to look a little nervous now. KT was aware of the rest of the crew forming up behind her.

  “Get off my helo deck, rentacop, right now,” Huang told the contractor, who all but fled.

  “Noisy way to run black ops,” Rodriguez muttered from behind her. KT had to agree, all that flash and noise was guaranteed to draw the attention of the ruthlessly effective shipboard rumor mill. She looked forward to hearing some truly ludicrous conspiracy theories from her crewmates as regards the operators’ presence aboard the Twain.

  Rodriguez thumped her twice on the shoulder and she turned around to go and get the rest of her gear. She could see Sandeman, the copilot, talking to the increasingly exasperated-looking head helicopter mechanic as she made her way back to the helo. She would need to requisition new dive gloves and a wetsuit. That was always a fun experience at sea. She also needed to examine the rest of her kit when she cleaned and stored it, make sure there was no fire damage she had missed. She knew that Huang, Sandeman and, to a lesser extent, Rodriguez would have to inspect the helo and would be filling out combat damage reports from here to Christmas. She didn’t envy them, though she would have to write up her own after-action report. As she gathered up her gear, the amount of spent brass on the floor of the helo’s cabin hit home. Thorrason must have gone through at least two belts. The young marine had returned with a brush to sweep up some of the spent bullet casings. He still looked more than a little shaky.

  “Hey,” KT said. This time he looked her straight in the eyes. “You did good today.”

  He nodded. Didn’t say anything but he looked as though he had loosened up a little as she collected her gear. She was about to head toward the hatch to the main castle when she saw Huang. He was still standing in the same place she had left him. He was looking at the stealth Black Hawk.

  “Helo envy, Lieutenant?” KT asked. She saw the stealth helo’s pilot – a tall blonde woman, shoulder-length hair tied back in a braided ponytail, no insignia on her flight suit – inspecting her bird.

  Huang looked around at a smiling KT.

  “I know her,” he said nodding toward the pilot. “Served with her in the Red Wolves.” KT knew that the Red Wolves, or Helicopter Sea Combat Squadron 84, had been the navy’s special forces’ support squadron. “She got out when the Wolves were deactivated.”

  “Yeah?” KT asked. It made sense. The blonde woman would be experienced in flying covert operators in difficult circumstances. Still, suddenly there were a lot of well-equipped and heavily armed civilians on her ship.

  Curiouser and curiouser, she thought.

  “What’s her name?” KT asked, trying to make it sound casual.

  Huang turned to look at her, pushing his sunglasses up, one eyebrow raised.

  “Well, she was Lieutenant Commander Ellen Bedford when she was in, why?” he asked.

  KT just shook her head, turning back to look at the blonde helo pilot.

  “Just wondering,” she told Huang.

  “Any chance of an introduction?” She tried to make it sound innocent. She failed miserably.

  “Karina...” Huang started.

  “KT,” she corrected, forgetting for a moment the difference in ranks.

  “Chief Petty Officer Tor,” Huang helpfully reminded her. “We do not go meddling in the affairs of others, particularly when those affairs are covert in nature and OpSec is a factor.” KT wanted to sigh. Operational Security was always a factor. “They helped us out today. Let’s leave it at that.”

  KT opened her hands expansively. “I just want to say thank you,” she told him.

  “Uh huh.” Huang sounded less than convinced.

  * * *

  KT went through her post-mission routine. She cleaned and stowed her gear, put in the requisition forms for the replacements she needed. It was only in the shower that the shakes hit her. She all but collapsed and curled into a ball, the adrenaline leaching out of her system as she realised just how wired she had been. She knew that was why she had gotten in the contractor’s face, even though the asshole had deserved it. Now, several hours later, it all came flashing back. The flames from the burning sea rising up to engulf her and the chopper. Swimming under the fire. The gunboat, tracers in the air. The grenade. Bodies in the sea. She knew she had done the right thing. She knew that. She had no regrets, but she had joined the navy to save lives. She’d always understood that the navy were combat facing, that there was always a chance of something like this happening, but now it had, she didn’t know how she felt. Not for the first time she considered joining the Coast Guard when this enlistment was up. Though she wouldn’t get to see so many interesting places. This last brought a smile to her face. Brought her out of it.

  She sat on the shower cubicle floor waiting for the shakes to fade as all the tension worked its way out her body, and wondered about the stealth helo and those operators. Wondered why she cared. Huang was right. Not only was it none of her business but her nosiness could genuinely put people’s lives at risk. All they had done was help her crew out. She should leave it at that. If the opportunity arose to say thank you then that was reasonable. It was just that there was something bothering her about this. Maybe it was just the proprietary feeling that she, all the crew, had for the Twain. It was a tight-knit ship, their home, and they all loved it. Nobody liked armed interlopers in their house trying to push them around. She told herself that wasn’t a good enough reason to go poking around where she was far from welcome.

  She resolved to mind her own business.

  Her resolution didn’t last very long.

  * * *

  Finally clean, having washed the sea and avgas fumes out of her hair and rid herself of the post-combat shakes, she headed for the bunkroom. As soon as she walked in the music started. Early Metallica, she thought, not really her sort of thing. She liked music recorded in this century. She heard the words “jump in the fire” and then the clapping started. She took an ironic bow, and the other helo crews crowded around to congratulate her. Rescue crews were always popular with other aviators, and it appeared that word of their exploits had gotten around. Frankly she was of the opinion that Mike keeping one of the downed Seahawk’s crew alive with a compound fracture in his arm was the heroic thing, as was Huang and the rest of the crew keeping stationary under fire. She hadn’t intended to “jump in the fire” so to speak. Still, she was happy to take the beer and shot of mezcal that absolutely should not be on board a ship on a combat footing. She knocked the mezcal back, enjoying the sour burn, chasing it with a swig of the beer.

  “Have fun today?” Rodriguez asked.

  “Exciting,” KT answered. She was pretty sure she would have been utterly terrified if she’d had the time to stop and think about what she was doing.

  “What’d you say to Thorrason?” Rodriguez asked, taking a swig from his beer while leaning against the bulkhead in the cramped bunkroom.

  “I just told him that he’d done a good job,” she replied,
starting to get a sinking feeling. “Why?” Though she was pretty sure that she didn’t want to hear the answer.

  “Well he’s got that look, y’know...” Rodriguez said, grinning.

  “What look?” KT asked. She knew what the senior chief was going to say before he said it.

  “Like he wants to ask you to the prom, or maybe propose,” Rodriguez told her, clearly enjoying himself.

  “Christ’s sake,” KT muttered.

  “Hey, don’t take the Lord’s name in vain,” he told her, holding up the rosary he always wore, against regulations. He was still grinning, however.

  “Why can’t guys just be... professional?” she said with more than a little exasperation.

  “The kid’s an eighteen-year-old hormone bomb who’s just been in his first firefight and you, well you’re...”

  “I’m what?” KT growled.

  “A hot chica,” he told her, laughing.

  He outranked her. Strictly speaking it was against the code of conduct to speak to a subordinate like this. Except that Rodriguez was Hispanic, like her. He had not meant it pejoratively, unlike the contractor on the helo deck. It had been the senior chief that had presented her with her ship’s coin. That and he had gone out of his way to make her feel welcome, to make her feel like part of a family in the way she never had in her entire life. Rodriguez had run interference with some of the more macho aviators until she’d had a chance to prove herself. He was also happily married with a ridiculous number of kids. Anna, his wife, was a good friend of KT’s and she had been over to their house for barbecues and birthdays. There was nothing sleazy, no inappropriate insinuations in his words. It was all about where it came from.