He turned the PRC-90 around, making sure it wasn’t broken. This little box was the key to them being rescued. Between him and MacGammon, the batteries should last a couple of weeks. Two weeks! The thought sent a moment of panic zipping through him. No way they’d be here that long, he told himself, feeling his heart rate subside a bit.
“Hey, Mac!” he called. “I’m going to try to raise someone on the PRC-90. You keep yours off.”
“Why should I keep mine off?”
Rockdale nodded. MacGammon was returning to normal. “Because we don’t want both of us using up our batteries at the same time.”
“Okay, but—”
Rockdale switched on the radio, turned the switch to voice, and hit the press-to-talk button. “Anyone this station, anyone this station, this is Rockdale, aircrewman Ranger 20. Do you read?” He released the button. The PRC-90 couldn’t receive when the button was pushed down. Every fifteen minutes, Rockdale thought, as he mentally reviewed the rescue lessons for using the PRC-90. The first few hours, he would transmit every fifteen minutes in the hope of making contact with friendly forces. On the hour; fifteen minutes after the hour; then, on the half-hour and fifteen minutes to the hour. Trained for communications like clockwork. Throughout the U.S. Navy, the fives and zeros of the clock drove rescue time.
He looked upward, not expecting to see anything, but checking each block of what he recalled of Search, Escape, Evasion, and Rescue—SEER training. Know your surroundings; know your location; know which way to friendly forces. Friendly forces, there’s a concept he hoped never to have to think about except during briefings. The nearest friendly forces, as far as Rockdale could recall, was somewhere south of them in Liberia and even then, two young white boys stumbling out of the jungles might be seen more as an opportunity than a rescue. Rockdale pushed the button again and repeated the call several times. Somewhere out here in the jungle, the NRL boys had detected two groups of humans running around. They wouldn’t be friendly forces.
Rockdale clamped his eyes shut, forcing the tears back. This wasn’t why he joined the Navy. He should have listened to his mother and aunt, gone on to the local community college, and hope some college scout saw him playing basketball. But, no . . . he had to do his duty like his father and join the Navy.
He opened his eyes, a sigh escaping at the same time. The scope of survival overwhelmed him. What did Chief Razi say about surviving? Understand the big picture, but concentrate on one thing at a time. The big picture will scare the shit out of you. Razi was partially right. The scope of their situation did scare him, but the scope depressed him by making him realize they might never make it out of here.
Suddenly, the static blared from the PRC-90, followed by a voice. “Rockdale, this is Lieutenant Commander Peeters. Do you read me?”
Rockdale’s eyes widened. He nearly dropped the radio when he heard the voice. Gripping the PRC-90 tighter, he took a couple of deep breaths, worrying his voice would betray his momentary lapse of control. Then, he pressed the talk button. “Yes, sir. We do. There is Petty Officer MacGammon and me here. We saw one other with us. It was Petty Officer Carson, sir, but he must have landed nearby. We can’t see him. Where are you, Commander? Are the others with you?”
“Rockdale, the rest of us didn’t bail out. We’re still on Ranger-20. The last gasps of the extinguisher put out the engine fire so we halted bailout, but not before four of you jumped. Lacey is still on board.”
“I only saw three parachutes, Commander.”
“The fourth person is Chief Razi. He bailed out after we halted bailout. He jumped to help you guys. So, he’s somewhere nearby, also.”
Rockdale pressed the talk button, shutting off Peeters. “Sir, I didn’t see him coming down, so I didn’t see the chief land. Right now, we aren’t in a situation yet where we can search for anyone. Both our parachutes are snagged in trees.”
“Carson, this is Peeters. Do you hear me?”
Rockdale waited, not wanting to miss Carson’s reply. Seconds passed without hearing anything on the radio other than Peeters continuing call to the third member of what Rockdale was beginning to consider as their group.
“Chief Razi, this is Lieutenant Commander Peeters, I have you fivers. Rockdale, did you hear the chief’s transmission?”
Rockdale raised the radio and put it against his ear. He hadn’t heard Razi reply to Peeters. He pushed the talk button. “No, sir. I didn’t hear nothing. I guess you have comms with the chief?”
“That’s right. Listen up, Chief; Rockdale and MacGammon are northwest of your position about miles. I have comms with both you and Rockdale, but he can’t hear you. Means you’re out of range of each other. At three miles, even with the jungle, you two should be able to hear each other. Rockdale and MacGammon are tangled up in some trees. Petty Officer Carson is down somewhere in their vicinity, but his situation is unknown at this time.”
“Rocky, what in the hell is going on?” MacGammon shouted.
Rockdale looked down at the very moment MacGammon’s parachute ripped free, sending his friend falling another dozen feet before the nylon canopy entangled itself on other limbs.
“Jesus Christ! I have got to get the hell out of this tree!”
“Rockdale, the chief is heading your way, but doesn’t know how long it will take. What is your situation?”
“Sir, we’re still tangled up in the trees. We can’t see the ground. At least, I can’t tell if it’s the ground I see. MacGammon’s parachute just ripped free and he fell—” He stopped. Wasn’t much else he could tell the officer who was buzzing holes in the sky above him. Wasn’t as if these radios sent photographs or anything. They were just your basic Mach-1 radio designed to guide rescuers to your position.
“Is he okay?”
“Yes, sir. The tree limbs caught his parachute again, but he’s farther away. We can still shout at each other, Commander.”
“Rockdale, you and MacGammon are going to have to figure out a way to untangle yourselves. You need to get out of the trees. You need to do it soon. Two things; you don’t want to be in those trees when rescue comes. The rotors will suck the canopy up into the intakes, so if you’re not free of those parachutes, it’s going to turn a quicker, easier rescue into a longer, harder one. And two, you don’t want to dangle like free meat through the night.”
He didn’t think anything could reach them this far up in the trees, but Lieutenant Commander Peeters knew more than he did. Rockdale listened as the mission commander gave him more tips. As he listened, he watched MacGammon start to swing back and forth. The shorter, squat man from New Jersey pumped his legs back and forth, building up momentum. Above MacGammon, the man’s parachute was edging forward, toward the end of the main limb that held it. The leaves wrapped around it would never hold it when the nylon came free.
“. . . Do you copy, Rockdale? First, get out of the trees.”
“Yes, sir, we will,” Rockdale replied, his eyes switching back and forth between MacGammon and the snag. He released the push to talk button. “Mac! Your parachute is about to come—”
MacGammon’s parachute broke free just as MacGammon swung toward the trunk of the huge tree across from Rockdale. The aircrewman tumbled downward toward the trunk. MacGammon bounced onto a huge limb, his hands and legs scrambling to hold on. The 28-foot nylon canopy drifted down and rolled over the top of the prone aircrewman.
“Mac! You alright?”
“I’m alright!” a muffled scream came back, followed by a tattoo of cursing and swearing. “I may have shit myself, but I’m all right.”
“Rockdale, you hear me?”
Rockdale pushed the talk button. “Yes, sir, Commander. MacGammon is free. He’s up against the trunk of the tree across from mine. I don’t suppose you’d have any idea how far from the ground we are, would you, sir?” Rockdale asked, mentally kicking himself for the dumb question. How in the hell would Commander Peeters know how far he was from the ground? He waited for the derisive reply.
“That’s great news!” came another muffled shout.
“You hear that?” Rockdale shouted.
A hand snaked out from beneath the nylon, holding up a PRC-90. MacGammon had turned on his survival radio. He might as well save the batteries on his, if MacGammon wasn’t going to listen. It wasn’t as if he was senior to the other third class petty officer or something. Carson was, but neither of them had any idea where Carson had landed. Carson might be badly—
“Rockdale, listen to me. Your location and situation has been broadcast to homeplate and to Commander, Amphibious Group Two, who sailed into Monrovia this morning as we were taking off. Everyone knows where you are and they’re working on a rescue team.”
“Thanks, Commander—”
“Commander, this is Petty Officer MacGammon. How long are we going to be out here? It ain’t exactly Kansas, you know.”
“Rockdale, your comms were blocked by MacGammon. MacGammon, you and Rockdale are probably going to be there at least overnight.”
The nylon rippled back, uncovering MacGammon’s head. MacGammon turned his head to the side and looked up at Rockdale. “Overnight! Did you hear that, Rocky? They make us bail out, and they’re going to go back, sip beer, and watch CNN, while we stay out, getting eaten alive by mosqui—”
Rockale pushed the talk button. “Commander, what is the aircraft situation?”
Two clicks acknowledged his question. It seemed to Rockdale that a few minutes passed, with the sound of MacGammon griping in the background before the radio blazed to life. “Rockdale, we are heading back to Monrovia. The fire is out, but if we have reflash, we have no way of stopping it. If it blazes back up or if another casualty on that wing causes a fire, then we will have to either ditch or bail out. On the bright side for you, there is another EP-3 heading into homeplate from mother, due to arrive shortly. We’re not forgetting our shipmates on the ground. Rockdale, MacGammon, I know this is hard on you two, but you’re going have to have faith that rescue is on the way. Tomorrow morning at first light, either us or the new aircrew will be orbiting overhead, and by tomorrow afternoon, there’ll be cold beer and hot food waiting for you.”
“Roger, sir. We’ll try.”
“You two need to work your way down and search for Carson. But don’t wander too far from where you’re at now. We have you pinpointed. If you drift away, then we’ll have to search anew tomorrow. As for Carson, something’s wrong and let’s hope it’s just his radio, but you two don’t split up and get lost hunting for him. We are leaving the area now. I’ll stay in contact as long as I can. We pushed out a life raft right after the chief bailed out. Should be supplies and a larger radio in it, if you can find it.”
Rockdale’s brow bunched. Thought, How in the hell are we going to find a life raft in the middle of this jungle? We can’t even find the ground. He sighed. When the talk is finished, you’re always on your own, even when those who do foolish things to help surround you.
“Yes, Chief,” Peeters broadcast. “Rockdale and MacGammon are alright, but they’re going to have to get themselves out of the trees.”
A few second later, Peeters returned to the airwaves. “Yes, Chief, I’ll tell them.”
Rockdale looked up at his parachute. A long rip he hadn’t noticed earlier ran from where the suspension lines connected to the canopy to where the nylon had become knotted in numerous places, wrapped about the entwined limbs of two trees. No way his parachute was going to come free like MacGammon’s. He wasn’t sure if that was good news or bad.
“Rockdale,” Peeters broadcast. “Chief Razi is working his way to you, but I wouldn’t count on him getting there anytime soon. You two are going to have to free yourselves, find Carson, and wait where you are for rescue.”
Rockdale lifted his radio to reply.
“We copy you, sir,” MacGammon answered before Rockdale hit the talk button.
“Hey, Mac, you watch the radio for a while. I’m turning mine off and putting it away while I try to free myself.”
MacGammon looked up and nodded.
Rockdale could release the straps and fall the three feet to the limb beneath him. He craned his head forward. It didn’t look rotten or anything. It should hold him, but he’d have to hit it squarely. There were no limbs or vines he could grab. If he didn’t land squarely, he could roll off, and though he couldn’t see the ground, it wouldn’t surprise him to find it on the way down. From MacGammon’s radio, he could hear Peeters talking to Chief Razi, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying.
Rockdale released the two leg straps. Decisions are best made when enough information becomes available and before you worry yourself out of making one. He took a deep breath, let it out, and then took another one. Only the chest straps held him to the parachute.
He glanced at MacGammon, who had dragged himself out from under the parachute and was resting with his back against the trunk of the tree. MacGammon was watching, even as he pulled the parachute toward him, rolling it up as it came forward. Rockdale took MacGammon’s unfamiliar silence as knowing what he was about to do.
The volume of the radio increased. Rockdale glanced down and saw that MacGammon had moved it away from against his ear.
“Okay, Chief,” Peeters said. “Don’t worry about what I said and concentrate on closing in on the others who bailed out. I have radio communications with you, Rockdale, and MacGammon. I have not heard anything from Carson and that gives me cause to worry. He might be injured. Rockdale, you copy?”
Looking down, Rockdale released the two chest straps. He didn’t hear Peeters’s question as he fell the three feet to the limb. His right leg slid off the limb. Rockdale scrambled to the left, his hands and legs thrashing about, searching for something to grab, anything—only the limb was smooth. His body slid farther to the right. His left leg slid off the limb and the next thing he knew he was falling. He heard MacGammon screaming at him as branches and leaves beat his body and slapped against his helmet. Something slammed him upside the head and the last thing he remembered before blackness encased him was a dry coppery taste.
“Got to go, Commander. We’re free, but Rockdale fell and I gotta go find him.”
CHIEF RAZI TURNED THE VOLUME ON HIS RADIO DOWN. HE should turn it off, but with no one to notice, he kept it on against Navy survival instructions. After all, he wasn’t going to be out here long. If everything goes right, the Air Force might even get their helicopter out here before dark, so Razi didn’t see how the batteries would run out. He slipped it back into his survival-vest pocket, leaving the pocket unsnapped so he could grab it if Peeters called again. The EP-3E may be wounded and heading back to homeplate, but as long as he was in reception range of the EP-3E, the radio gave him the feeling that he was not alone. Alone was something he was not used to. A loud screech from somewhere to his left caused Razi to jump. “Jesus Christ!” he shouted. Stay calm, you twit. Jungles are supposed to be filled with strange noises and animals. Animals! He turned, searching the area as thoughts of lions, tigers, and gorillas filled his mind. He checked his compass to make sure he was still heading in the general direction of where Rockdale, MacGammon, and Carson had come down, weaving around bushes and brambles that blocked his way. He figured it was an animal trail, but in a sense he was just another animal using it for a while and then those man-eaters could have it back.
An hour later he realized he hadn’t heard anything else from Peeters and thought about using the radio to check and see if they were still within reception range, but he stumbled, cursed himself for being clumsy, and fought his way through a light section of brush, forgetting about making contact. He always had people around him. In the air, he was surrounded by twenty-four of the greatest Americans in the armed forces. At work, he had the entire squadron and Rota, Spain, Naval Base. The club at happy hour, he was surrounded by his fellow chief
s. Of course, there was his wife and children at home. Virginia, Nelson, John Paul, and Cleopatra. He smiled. The other chiefs could eat their hearts out. Each of his kids had been named for famous commanders who fought wars at sea. The daughter, and youngest, had been a surprise to him and Virginia, of which he blamed the squadron picnic of five years ago, the abundance of sangria, and that cute little seaman who played softball in a mini-skirt. He barely got his wife inside the door . . .
A series of screeches interrupted his thoughts. What in the heck was he doing thinking about his family at a time like this?
The two of them expected another boy, so he had chosen the names of Farragut and Horatio for Virginia to choose from. When little Cleo emerged, he surprised his wife by already having a navy name picked for their daughter. Cleopatra—the first woman to command a fleet in combat. On the negative side was that Cleopatra and Mark Anthony lost the battle, but his daughter was definitely a navy child. Only four and already she knew her bells. What more could a chief petty officer dad ask for?
Razi stopped for a moment and leaned against a nearby tree. He shifted his helmet to the other armpit, lifted the compass, and checked his heading. The screeches continued, but other jungle sounds joined whatever was making the noise, and Razi shoved them to back of his mind. What he couldn’t shove away were the images of what he considered man-eaters flickering through his thoughts and causing him to glance over his shoulders periodically.
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