by John O'Brien
It doesn’t take him long. All he has to do is loop it around the rock and clip it through the carabiner tied to the end.
“Done,” Henderson calls.
“Proceed in line order, I’ll be last. Toss two grenades along the perimeter before descending. Don’t rappel…walk your way down. Go!”
McCafferty peels away from the perimeter, clicking her carbine to safety as she reaches the rope. After arcing two grenades in the air, she sits on the ledge, grabbing the rope and swinging her body around as her legs go over the edge. She quickly vanishes from sight.
“McCafferty clear.”
Gonzalez then works backward, still firing until she reaches the rope. Mimicking McCafferty’s actions, she too sinks out of sight.
One by one, the team turns away, two explosions marking their departure. In the back of my mind, I keep expecting to hear the grinding of the massive boulder as more weight is added, but thankfully it hasn’t shifted. It weighs more than our combined weight, so its stability is really a matter of its position and whether it has a firm hold.
With each team member peeling away, less firepower is being projected to the plateau, allowing the Lycans to get even closer. Mags clatter to the ground, brass clinking across the rocky surface. Henderson pats me on the shoulder and runs for the rope. I’m alone on the tableland, firing long bursts into the bounding creatures. But there are just too many.
One leaps into the air directly ahead. I duck, using one arm to keep the beast clear and to assist it past me. The Lycan sails over the edge and into the night, turning its body in midair. Its paws still move in a running motion like some cartoon figure, as if that will bring it closer to the ledge.
Another bounds from the side. This time, I have a little more warning. Moving to the side, I again use my arm to guide it around. The wolf lands on the stony surface, skidding, its paws frantically clawing for purchase. I’m not sure if the driving force is one of survival or desire to get to me. Regardless, it too goes over the edge near the rope, the last sight is its two paws as it tries one last attempt to remain on the plateau.
“Look out below,” I call.
It’s getting far too busy at this party. Glancing toward the rope, I see that Henderson has vanished from sight.
“Henderson clear.”
That’s music to my ears. I throw the last of my grenades and I bolt toward the drop off. Behind, I can hear the sustained fire from the Spooky lighting up the tree line and the heavy pounding of footfalls from Lycans charging across the plateau.
“Hang on tight,” I radio. “Big jolt coming.”
On the run, I drop to the ground, sliding on my side across the stone. My legs go over the side. When I feel my hip hit the ledge, I rotate my body, grabbing the rope and sliding down. The rope swings a little, but the weight already on it keeps it stable. I find a small wedge of rock with my boots and steady myself.
Above, several large heads poke over the edge, more joining. They pace back and forth, looking for a way to get at us. Some lower their heads, trying to bridge the gap. Some of them are growling while others emit whines, the tone indicating they are anxious to get at something they can’t reach. I know I can’t call in fire from the Spooky—this truly is too close.
Looking below, I see the dark waters of the lake shimmer in the moonlight and the sides of the bluff highlighted in gray with the black crevices and shadows striating the surface. The slides at the bottom reach from the base to the glassy surface of the lake. And hanging from a single rope dangling down the cliff cling five others and I, our bodies angled as we walk our way down the steep bluff with carbines slung on their shoulders.
Leaning back, letting the rope slip through my hands, I hit the right angle and begin following. I place each foot, easing the rope through my hands. There’s no way to rappel down with everyone on the rope at the same time: that would shake off those below. For the moment at least, we are safe from the Lycans poised on the ledge above. I wonder where the Alpha is and why it didn’t make an appearance.
“Raven, new exfil location in the meadow next to the lake. We’ll be there in about five,” I radio.
“Copy, exfil next to the lake. One minute out.”
I hear the faint “thump, thump, thump” of rotors in the distance.
“Jack, we’re out of 40mm,” Lynn calls. “We’re also running short of 25mm.”
“Copy. Target those near the tree line with 25mm. We need to take out as many as possible.”
The Spooky isn’t meant to keep up such a continuous barrage of fire. Firing at around 1,800 rounds per minute and only carrying around 3,000 rounds, ammo can be eaten up in a hurry. It’s the same with the 40mm cannon. At 100 shots per minute, the 256 rounds disappear quickly.
I know this isn’t over and that we’ll have to face these creatures again. Our plan didn’t work out very well. Surprise, surprise. We’ll have to regroup back at the drawing board, but for now, the priority is to pull our asses out of this fire.
“Copy,” Lynn replies.
It’s much quieter over the side of the bluff, the rocky shelf blocking much of the sound above. Of course, there is also the fact that we’ve stopped firing. My ears are still ringing from the constant gunfire. A long howl rises, carried on the night air as it rolls through the valley below. The wolves at the top of the cliff, now peering over in great numbers, all sharply turn their heads over their shoulder in unison. Without another glance toward us dangling on the cliff side, more than half spring away, vanishing from sight. The others return their attention downward.
“Jack, those that departed have vanished back into the trees. We can pick out some of their heat signatures, but those sightings are becoming rarer as the forest thickens,” Lynn calls.
“Copy that.”
My hands and shoulder start to ache from slow walking down the stone wall. I have one hand on the rope in front to keep my angle steady and body upright. The other is at my hip, my grasp on the rope tight enough to control my descent but loose enough to let the line slide with each step on the bluff. However, my fingers are starting to cramp from the extended need to keep a firm grip. Normally, we’d rappel down quickly; this extended time on the line is starting to take its toll.
The thumping from the Blackhawk increases and the helicopter heaves into view, a darker blot against the night as it hovers over the lake. Moonlight catches the rotating blades, making it appear as if there’s a faint circle of light poised in midair. Another deep, long howl breaks the night, this seeming to come from the direction of the meadow.
“Jack, we’re starting to see the sensors to the north side of the meadow light up,” Lynn radios.
“Well fuck a duck,” I mutter.
Below, the meadow glows in the moonlight. But all around are thick woods cast in near complete darkness, looking something like Tolkien’s Mirkwood forest. The frosted tops of the trees seem like a magical lure, a trap set for unwary travelers. Somewhere in that void, Lycans stalk.
Up is out of the question with the wolves still prowling the upper reaches, and now down seems questionable. I could have Raven blast the top of the ledge with mini-gun fire, but they’d have to let up as we ascended, leaving us at the mercy of the pack when we climbed over the ledge. Plus, there’s the chance that their rounds could cut the rope. Small rocks trickle over the edge and clatter on the way down as the wolves anxiously pace back and forth.
If we proceed down to the lake, it could become a race to the secondary exfil point with us the slower moving group. We’ve run out of the ammo necessary to keep a barrage around us, with the exception of the 105mm howitzer, which we definitely don’t want going off near us.
“Lynn, lay 105s into the trees near the triggered sensors.”
“Will do, but know that it will destroy our ability to track their approach,” she replies.
“There’s not much that can be done about that. Raven, how close can you get to the bluff?”
“Thirty to thirty-five feet for rotor clea
rance,” Raven responds.
I look at the land along our side of the lake. The slides extending to the water leave some room, but there’s not much clearance—with one exception: a small strip of rocky slide that extends further out into the water near where the meadow starts. That would shorten the time and distance we’d have to travel. Some of the bluff juts out at that point, making it so that Raven won’t be able to set down.
“Copy. Ready the ropes. We’re going to make for the slide extending into the water just west of us.”
“We have a visual,” Raven responds, as the chopper drifts over the lake toward the new exfil site.
Mc Cafferty hits the bottom and sets up near the end of the rope, facing the meadow. Thunderous blasts rock the valley, rolling across the meadow. I feel the punch of the concussive waves as 105mm shells begin to hit in the trees. Fire is seen in the midst of suddenly pluming smoke that’s a shade darker than the surrounding forest. Gouts of dirt are tossed outward, trees thrown into the air or falling to the side. Every few seconds, another one lands, the rolling booms echoing off the surrounding ridges.
As each team member lands on the slide beneath, they move out, the line expanding as each joins with McCafferty. I don’t have far to go, but once everyone is off the line, I rappel the rest of the way to the ground, the rope burning my palms. I hit the ground sending the rocks moving under my feet. With effort, I bring my slide to a halt.
We move out as fast as possible, but it’s like crossing a glacier. Rocks slide downward in waves with each step and take us down with them. It’s step, slide, halt the slide, step, our boots sinking into the loose rubble. The chopper is hovering a short distance away, a black mass over the slide extending into the water, the rotor wash churning the once smooth surface of the lake. In the background, artillery shells continue to pummel the woods north of the meadow.
“Jesus! How did they get there?” Lynn suddenly calls. “Lycans pouring out of the woods to the south. The Alpha is with them.”
I’m stunned. We’re on the ground, struggling through the rough terrain of the slides, and now there’re more Lycans coming our way. Looking across the lake, I see the bounding shapes as they race across the meadow. In the lead is the huge one, presumably the same who pushed the Jeep to its side. It and the others with it take giant bounding leaps, their bodies a near blur. They are rapidly closing, moving too fast for the 105s to do any good.
We have two choices: scale back up the rope or push on and hope to beat them to the chopper. Quickly judging the closing distances and our struggle, it’ll be a near thing. But, to return will be even longer as we’d have to climb through the slide as well.
“Move to the chopper. If you have any super powers, now would be the time to use them,” I radio.
The buzz saw sound of the Blackhawk’s mini gun opens up on one side, red tracers streaking over the lake to impact on the meadow. We push on, trying to run through the loose stones only to slide down more than we push ahead. Each lunge creates a slide of rock, but we’re already taking the next leaping step before we sink in too deep or are dragged too far downward. We leave behind the continual sound of shifting rock sliding toward the water’s edge.
Lynn has shifted fire, alternating between the northern and southern trees, but she can’t place rounds in the meadow for fear of hitting the helicopter with shrapnel. Two heavy dark ropes sail out of the open doors of the Blackhawk to dangle beneath, one on each side.
The noises—the bursting buzz of the mini-gun, the explosions every couple of seconds, the rocks as they slide down under our feet, the heavy breathing of the fleeing team— all mix together. And, among all of that, I almost imagine I can hear the thuds of the large wolves as they hit the ground and leap again, like the continuous rumble of thunder in the far distance.
“Hook in when you get there,” I radio with a panting breath, sending another wave of rocks sliding down toward the shore. “McCafferty, Gonzalez, Greg on the left, the rest on the right.”
The wolves are halfway around the lake, racing toward us with all they have. Mini-gun fire sweeps through their ranks. Several of the smaller ones are pushed to the side by the rain of bullets striking them. But, then they’re up, limping at first, gaining speed as they heal. We’re just feet away from the chopper, but the large Lycan Alpha pulls ahead of the pack, reaching the two-thirds mark.
At the rope, McCafferty and Henderson clip in.
“Raven, up,” I call.
Above, the engines take on a higher note, the blades thumping in a heavy rhythm. McCafferty and Henderson are lifted from the ground. Greg and Denton let the rope run loosely through one hand, their others on the clips attached to their harnesses. As the attachment rides up, they also clip in and are pulled skyward. Gonzalez and I grab the dangling rope, waiting for the next clip to rise.
I don’t dare take my eyes off the rope to see where the big boy is. I’ll make it or I won’t, but I don’t want to miss the clip when it comes. Amid the roar of the explosions and helicopter overhead, I hear heavy footfalls and the sound of rocks sliding.
Come on, come on.
It seems to take forever, even though the rope is sliding quickly through my loose grip. Finally, the attachment rises and I clip in. Weight jerks my harness and I’m hauled upward. Glancing at Gonzalez, I see her also being lifted.
“Raven, we’re all on. Let’s get the fuck out of here,” I radio.
The ground recedes more rapidly and starts to spin. With one hand on the rope to stabilize, I look toward where the Alpha was coming from only to find it already in the air, its leap carrying it forward. The last thing I need is for another thousand pounds to latch onto me. Time slows, the great wolf in midair slowly closing the distance. Its teeth are bared in a snarl, long strings of saliva drooling from the side of its mouth to stream behind. The curved canines look ridiculously large. Yellowish eyes stare intently at its target—me. For the second time, we lock eyes across a short distance.
All of a sudden, I’m pulled to the side as I continue to be dragged upward by the ascending Blackhawk. Not jerked per se—a fluid motion. The creature sails past, its head turning, our gazes locked. At the last moment, it lunges its large head toward me. I flinch away as best I can; the teeth snap closed only a foot away with a cracking sound that could have sheared a truck axle. And then it’s past with a deep rumbling growl.
Rocks scatter where it lands, the Lycan rotating its body as it slides through and down the loose stones. With a final look upward, it springs back toward the meadow. I half expect to see red tracers streak toward the bounding shape from above, but the expert crew knows that raining shell casings on hanging passengers isn’t optimal. Plus the fact that ricochets could bounce off the stone, hitting the rock wall and returning to sender.
Dangling high over the lake, the moonlight drifting down from a starry sky, I look over to Gonzalez to share a look of disbelief. As we fly out of the area, I look over to our rocky ledge. The stone wall and rocky plateau glows gray in the moonlight, the tree line like a row of broken toothpicks and dark void beyond. We only spent five minutes in a fight on that precarious perch, but it lasted an eternity. Ten long minutes from the start to my dangling high over the mountainous terrain.
I call for a check, with everyone radioing no injuries and secure.
“We’re clear,” I radio Lynn.
“Good. Returning to base. I’ll meet you there. Lynn out.”
The cold seeps through the adrenaline, but we’re soon setting down in an open field where we quickly climb into the compartment. Following that, we’re flown down to the Guard base cohabitating with the Boise International Airport.
After the helicopter shuts down, with the Spooky taxiing in after having just landed, I meet the pilots and crew next to the chopper.
“Thanks for that midair maneuver,” I thank the pilot as he climbs out of the command seat.
“Don’t thank me, thank her,” he responds, pointing to the other pilot climbing out. “She’s
the one who saw what was happening and took the controls.”
Thanking her, she responds, “I couldn’t think of anything else to do. It looked like that big dude was going to pick you clean off the line.”
“Well, thanks. Drinks are on me next chance we get. And that goes for the rest of you,” I tell the crew.
The 130 turns onto the ramp, its taxi lights brightly illuminating the ground in front. Red and green nav lights glow steady on the wings, the red beacon flashing and the white strobe reaching out into the night. Weapons poking out from the side, the deep drone of the engines, the taxi lights catching the blur of the spinning turbo props, and the dim red glow of the cockpit add to the menacing nature of the aircraft. Helmets in the cockpit reflect the glow from the faint instrument lighting.
I have a moment of nostalgia remembering returning from night sorties and the exhaustion after hours of flying. There was something freeing and serene about flying at night. Stateside, there wasn’t the congestion of the busy days. The skies were relatively clear, the radios nearly silent. Humanity was at rest. We were wrapped in the cloak of darkness, just us floating along the winds on high. And then taxiing in to a quiet ramp without the usual bustle. Even though tired, there was serenity attached to it all.
I glance around the airfield. The sheer normalcy of it feels surreal, just as it did every single time I returned from a mission. However, it feels a little more so this time, perhaps because of the proximity between mission and the return to normal. Or, because we were just chased out of the mountains by werewolves. Take your pick.
Airliners are on final, their bright landing lights pointing their way down. In the distance are the lights of others lining up for the approach. Across the airfield, the terminal is lit, empty except for the occasional rush as the last flights pull into their gates. Aircraft of varying types huddle at their gates, asleep as they wait for the next day, empty and alone; birds sleeping in their nest before taking wing again.
Further off, lights twinkle from homes, people sleeping beneath warm comforters, completely unaware of us standing on this darkened ramp. For them, the rising of the sun will bring them back to their reality to face the pressures of timelines and the hustle of their day.