by Matt Thomas
He took in the people around him. He counted four. One of other soldiers gave him a pain blocker and his entire leg disappeared from his senses. Two more stood by, one carrying a radio with a long antenna and another scanning the area with a machine gun pressed up against his shoulder. The fourth, Bryan, stood with his hands in his pockets, rifle hanging underneath his armpit, headphones pinning back his long, curly hair, and various pieces of equipment hanging off of the small body armor on his chest. The man leaned over, looking into the submerged cockpit with Sasha still strapped in just below the surface of the water.
“Sasha’s dead.” Costeaux said.
Bryan looked at the pilot’s canopy. “Yeah, man, that sucks. I’m sorry.” He stood back up and looked at Costeaux. “Hey, what’s your battle roster number?”
“Charlie Oscar Four-Two-One-Seven.” Jean rattled off his identification code without thinking.
“Thanks.” Bryan pressed down on a rubber button affixed to the front of his body armor. “Serpent Eight-Two, Beast Two-Two, be advised, we reached the Cobra Three Fallen Angel. We’ve recovered one WIA, and there’s one KIA. WIA battle roster Charlie Oscar Four-Two-One-Seven. How copy, over?”
Jean didn’t hear the response that went through the Green Beret’s headset.
All four of them wore tattered uniforms, all covered with dirt and pine needles caked with dried blood. Nearly all of them wore fresh, blood-stained bandages.
The soldier examining him looked him in the eye. “Look, I’m going to set this as best as I can now, and we’ll readjust later. This is going to hurt, even with the drugs. Ready?”
Costeaux hesitated before nodding his head.
“Bryan, grab his shoulders and hold him down, will you?”
The soldier bent down and pinned Jean’s shoulders to the fuselage. The one he hoped was a medic yanked on his leg. Jean thought his world was going to end.
Bryan reached into the submerged cockpit, feeling around before coming up with something. Jean recognized Sasha’s identity tags. “You got a COMSEC failsafe somewhere?” Bryan asked.
Jean nodded. “There’s an incendiary in the kit under my seat.”
The soldier frowned. “That’s probably not going to be enough. Starek, you got anything left?”
The man with the machine gun tossed down a backpack and rooted around. “Yeah, I got one.” He pulled out a dark green cylinder with a white band around the top. He handed it to Bryan.
“Are you going to burn it?” Jean asked, suddenly panicked. “What about Sasha?”
Bryan pulled his sunglasses up on top of his head and ran a hand over his exhausted face. For the first time, Costeaux saw his eyes, small, gray, buried under wrinkles sitting atop deep, dark bags. A bright sunburn covered the skin exposed between his beard and sunglasses. His eyes focused on nothing and seemed to reflect images from another time. “He’s dead, brother. We can carry you or him. I’ve got my own dead guys I can’t take care of right either. He’s gone, and we can’t let just leave this thing. I don’t like it either but we gotta do what we gotta do. You need a minute?”
Jean looked at the canopy, and realized he couldn’t bear the sight of Sasha’s drowned corpse any more. “No. I’m good.”
Bryan pressed the button again. “Serpent Eight-Two, Beast Two-Two. We’re going to BIP Cobra Three, break. We’re going to evac the WIA, RV with the Bravo team and set up a casualty collection point, will send coordinates when we have them. Break. Alpha team is going to head west, RV with Beast One-Five, and Charlie Mike. How copy, over?”
Through the drugs and pain, Jean struggled to understand the team’s intent. “Charlie Mike? You’re going to keep going? The landing failed, the fleet got nearly wiped out and pulled back.” The words spilled out faster than he could breathe. “The Ahai fucked us. Your insurgents fucked us. We’re stuck here. And you want to keep going?”
Bryan looked at Costeaux curiously, tilting his head to one side and squinting at him.
Then he smiled. Then he laughed. Then the others looked at him and laughed.
“Brother,” Bryan said once he regained his composure. “What else is there?”
He keyed his microphone again.
“Serpent Eight-Two, Beast Two-Two. Game on. Time: Now.”
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