His Duty to Protect

by Lindsay McKenna

  Rising, she walked over to the cot. The squadron patch showed a black raven in flight. Rachel resisted putting it on and placed it on the table. She’d do it tomorrow morning. Until then, she still wanted to wear her BJS patch, a source of pride and honor to her. There was a lot to do. She had to go to BJS Ops and turn in her helmet gear. The ugly-looking transport helmet would have to be worn instead. It was all so distasteful, like she was being thrown back into hell again.…

  The morning air was cold at eight thousand feet. Out on the flight line, everyone’s breath created white clouds when they spoke. Bundled in her flight jacket and gloves, Rachel moved slowly around the Chinook helicopter. It was the workhorse of Afghanistan. Carrying men, supplies, ammo, food and aviation fuel, the bird could do it all. She listened to Ty Hamilton as they performed the mandatory walkaround duties. Having studied the manuals, Rachel had already memorized the things she needed to check on the helicopter before ever entering the cockpit.

  The sun was still below the horizon, the stars visible high in the dark sky. The crew was busy getting this helo prepped for takeoff. Today, Hamilton was flying boxes of ammunition, MREs, meals ready to eat, to an Army outpost in a valley north of the camp. As he went over their schedule for the day, Rachel tried not to like Hamilton’s low voice. He was thorough and instructive but not arrogant as he had been in flight school. That was good, because Rachel would not tolerate that attitude from him now.

  At the open ramp at the end of the helo, a load master, responsible for getting supplies into the huge bay, was busy. The other young, red-haired man was their gunner.

  “The only protection we have is our gunner,” Ty told her as they stood near the yawning ramp, which lay against the surface of the tarmac. “Once we’re ready to lift off, he’ll put the machine gun up in the center, there—” and he pointed to a square cut out of the platform surface “—and settle it into it and lock it. Then he’ll be sitting down, legs between it, hands on the weapon. We keep the ramp down while we fly. He’s our eyes and ears back here, and we’ll be relying heavily on anything he sees. We’ll take the ramp up shortly before we do any landing.”

  Nodding, Rachel knew there was little evasive protection in the Chinooks. Unlike the Apache, which could instantly know when a SAM missile or a grenade launcher was fired, this workhorse had no such protection. “It falls on the eyes and ears of the crew,” she agreed. Rachel made sure she didn’t have to stand any closer to Hamilton than necessary. They both wore dark green baseball caps on their heads and Nomex fire retardant gloves. It was below freezing and the Nomex warmed their hands.

  “Yes,” Ty murmured. “At this outpost, there’s a landing area so we can set down, and our crew can get the supplies off-loaded with the help of the squad.”

  “Good to hear.” Rachel understood that these outposts often sat on peaks high above the valley so the Army squad manning them could use their binoculars or rifle scopes to keep watch on the Afghans who farmed the valleys below. These squadrons stayed for three months and got to know the farmers. In knowing them, they could spot outsiders who were Taliban, sneaking through the area to attack American soldiers. And then they could be captured or killed.

  “Let’s saddle up,” Hamilton told her, walking up the ramp and into the helo.

  Following him, Rachel nodded to the two enlisted men in the rear. She saw no reason to be cold and standoffish with them. They had already secured the cargo with netting. She eased between the nylon seats on the side of the helo and the load. Hamilton climbed up the stairs and took the right seat, the pilot’s position.

  Her mind and focus were on her flying. Easing into the left-hand seat, Rachel picked up her new helmet and settled it on her head. Relieved that Hamilton was already busy, she got out her preflight cheat sheet and strapped it on her thigh. There was always a list of things to do before taking off. This was standard on any aircraft or helicopter. Plugging in the jack to the radio intercom, Rachel pulled the mike close to her lips. Hamilton had done the same.

  Within ten minutes, they’d completed their preflight check. Once they had harnessed up, Rachel wondered if he would allow her to take off.

  “I’ll do the lifting,” Hamilton told her as if reading her mind. “And once we’re in the air, I’ll hand the controls over to you.”

  “Okay,” Rachel said. They were going to a dangerous area. Taliban were known to hide in the scrub brush that peppered the outpost area and wait for the helo. Other Chinooks had been fired upon earlier, so this was no familiarization flight. Already, Rachel could feel the adrenaline pouring into her bloodstream. The moment they lifted off, they were targets. She felt horribly naked without an Apache strapped to her butt.

  She continued to find out what her copilot duties were as Hamilton fired up the first engine and then the second one. There was a sense of familiarity with the helo, and it made her relax to a degree. In no time, the crew was ready for takeoff.

  Ty had pulled down the dark shield from his helmet in order to protect his eyes from the rising sun’s rays. He noticed that Rachel had done the same. That didn’t stop him from being aware that her profile was clean, her nose straight and her lips full. She was beautiful, even if half her face was hidden. Trying to ignore his male reaction to her, he said, “We’re at the top end of weight limits with this cargo. And in the predawn hours, there’s more humidity in the air than when the sun is up. That means it’s harder for this helo to lift off. So, on days like this, I start her up by taxiing her the length of the airport runway. That way, by the time I hit the end of it, I’m applying full power, and it’s easier for the bird to lift off.”

  “Plus,” Rachel said, “it saves us fuel.” She was always taxiing the Apache the same way. It saved fuel. And when they were in a hot spot, they needed to keep all the fuel so that they could protect the soldiers and Marines on the ground.

  “Roger that,” Hamilton agreed. “Okay, here we go.”

  Rachel focused entirely on the takeoff. One of the main attributes of an Apache pilot was laser-like focus and ability to multitask. Although she sat there, hands resting on her thighs, she watched the instruments, watched Hamilton’s hands and absorbed it all. The Chinook groaned, and the blades thunked and whirled faster and faster. Finally, they were taxiing.

  The Chinook was laborious as it trundled down the airstrip like a weighted elephant, the blades whipping at maximum. The helo shook and trembled. As they moved down the strip Rachel wondered if Hamilton would even reach takeoff speed, but he did. The end of the runway came up, and the bird lifted easily into the dawn sky. Rachel didn’t want to tell Hamilton that he had done a good job. She wasn’t ready to give him a compliment.

  “Okay, you have the controls,” he told her.

  Quickly sliding her hands around the stick and collective, she repeated back to Hamilton. “I’ve got the controls.”

  “Releasing controls,” he affirmed and lifted his hands away. Ty had expected the Chinook to suddenly fall a few feet, but it didn’t. Rachel took over and the bird was climbing. There was no sign that one pilot had stopped flying and another had taken over. She was good. But then, he bitterly reminded himself, she was an Apache pilot. They were the cream of helicopter aviation. Deep in his heart, he was still bitter over what had happened, but he had no one to blame but himself.

  “Nice job,” he complimented her.

  Rachel was stunned that he’d said anything. Her gloves tightened momentarily around the stick and collective. Her mouth quirked, though she kept quiet. She damn well knew how to fly a helo, even if it was this bulky, noisy bird that crawled through the sky.

  Hamilton frowned. He’d expected some kind of response from her, but that icy profile was all he saw. He forced himself to stop expectations, and just continued to look out the cockpit windows for any sign of a SAM missile. They were climbing five thousand feet to avoid the grenade launchers, but a missile could blow them out of the sky at any time. Rubbing his chin, he tried not to feel hurt by Trayhern’s cold
composure. She had smooth flight hands. Although the CH-47 shook around them, the roar always present, it rode the air currents without a bobble or jerk.

  As he sat there in his seat, Ty tried to protect himself and remain immune to Rachel. He saw no ring on her finger, although to be fair about it, pilots never wore such things. If they ever crashed and were found by the Taliban, there had to be no identification on them. Except for their name, rank and serial number. Still, he wondered if she was married. And to whom?

  Chapter 5

  Rachel loved flying, even if it was a slow transport helo. The shaking and shuddering of the twin blades located at each end of the long, tubular helicopter soothed. It helped her relax instead of becoming tense in the cockpit with Hamilton. The day was beautiful. The sharp, brown peaks of the mountains had little foliage on them except for stubborn brush. They looked like green dots on the slopes.

  “Okay, fly around that mountain and you’re going to see a village. We’re going to land there first. Then we’ll take off and fly up to the outpost situated two thousand feet above it.”

  Frowning, Rachel said, “That wasn’t in the orders. We’re to fly the cargo to the outpost.”

  Ty saw her lips set in a stubborn line. “We don’t put in the landing at the village because it’s automatically assumed by scheduling,” he explained. “There’s a Special Forces team that moves up and down this narrow valley. We have some antibiotics and other medicine to drop off to their paramedic on the team.”

  Nodding, Rachel knew that the Chinooks were the only supply line to the Special Forces men. She had high regard for them.

  “Plus,” Ty said, a bit of humor in his tone, “their captain ordered up a bunch of bags of candy. It’s for the kids. They love it.”

  She cut him a glance. He was smiling, and she’d never seen that before. Ever! Forcing herself to focus back on her flying, she felt angry. Why? Not having time to examine the feeling, she took the helo around the tall, barren peak. Up ahead, she could see a small village and an area that had been scraped free of rocks for helo landing.

  Pointing, Ty told her, “Head for that flat place outside the village. We always land there.”

  “What about the threat of Taliban?” she demanded. Rachel always got spooked when they were near the mountains. Taliban hid in the caves and behind the huge boulders to keep from being seen. All it would take is one grenade launcher fired from the slope down on that meager landing zone to blow up the Chinook.

  “Always a possibility.” Ty took binoculars and began to focus on the slopes above the village. “Normally, we get an Apache escort, but with two destroyed, we go it alone.”

  Rachel’s mouth tightened. She felt the fear leaking through her bloodstream. Her heart picked up in beat. She knew how important the Apaches were to the transport squadron. They had infrared, a television camera, and they would make routine sweeps of the area to find and locate hidden Taliban. Then they would take them out with rocket or Gatling gun fire, making it safe for the unarmed Chinook to land or drop off cargo to the outposts. “Don’t remind me,” she gritted out.

  Surprised at the anger he heard in her low tone, Ty didn’t respond. Rachel wasn’t happy about being here. It was obvious she wanted no part of any of this. Scanning the slopes, he said, “So far, so good. I don’t see enemy.”

  Snorting softly, Rachel knew that no matter how good Hamilton was at trying to spot Taliban, they could fool him by hunkering down and being invisible as they flew by the area. “You won’t see them until it’s too late,” she said.

  As they rounded the slope of the mountain, Ty put the binoculars away. He called for the gunner to remove the machine gun. Then he brought up the ramp and closed it on the Chinook. “This is the way it is,” he told her. Pointing, he said, “Land it now.”

  Rachel did as she was ordered. It had been a long time since she’d landed this bulky helicopter. Unlike the streamlined Apache, this workhorse was like a teetering elephant on a small three-legged stool. As she slowly brought the helo down, the blades kicked up fierce clouds of yellow dust. It quickly turned into a situation that all pilots hated. They had to land blind. She couldn’t see anything and she couldn’t see the ground. A ribbon of panic ate through her.

  “It’s okay,” Hamilton soothed. “You’re doing fine. Just keep going down at the same rate. You’ll feel the wheels touch in a second.”

  Sweat popped out on Rachel’s lip. Hamilton’s reassuring voice was exactly what she needed. Trusting his analysis of the blinding situation, she suddenly felt the tires anchor to the ground. Relief shot through her. Instantly, Hamilton’s hands were flying over the instruments, and he shut down the helicopter’s two huge whirling blades.

  Sagging back into the chair, Rachel let out a sigh of relief. She began to unharness.

  “I’m staying with the bird,” Hamilton told her. “I want you to go in the back. Once the load master gets the boxes out from the netting, walk with him to the village. My sergeant will meet with the Spec Forces team and hand off the supplies. Then go with that captain. You need to get to know the elders. We always take these boxes of food and candy every time we fly in.” He turned and grinned a little. “It’s called nation building.”

  Nodding, Rachel pulled off her helmet. She tried to remain immune to his very male smile. He’d pushed the dark visor up off his face. His blue eyes were wide and she saw happiness in them. Hamilton obviously enjoyed doing this. She didn’t. “I feel like a naked chicken on a NASCAR raceway,” she growled as she got up. Making sure she didn’t brush against the other pilot, Rachel added, “We’re a really big target right now.”

  Nodding, Hamilton said, “Get used to it. We don’t get Apache escort as often as we’d like. Besides, this village, just FYI, is pro-America. They know when we come, and they send people up on the slopes to make sure no Taliban are lurking around. If they did find them, they’d have come down to tell the captain. And then he’d put a call in to us because he knows the flight and our call sign. So, it’s as safe as it can be.”

  That was good news to Rachel. She saw Hamilton pull the lever that would lower the huge ramp at the other end of the Chinook. One pilot always remained with a bird on the ground. In case of unexpected attack, the engines could be revved up, the other pilot and people could jump on board, and they would take off. “Okay, thanks for the info,” she said, stepping down into the cargo hold.

  Ty sat and watched from his seat. He opened the window and raised his hand to the Army captain standing near the elders. The elders waved back at him. Smiling a little, Ty felt good about what they were doing here. Every Afghan village who had seen help, food, antibiotics and support appreciated their presence. The Special Forces teams kept the Taliban out of the villages so that they could get on with their planting and harvest. They would have enough food for the winter months instead of starvation stalking them. Life out here, he felt, was tenuous at best.

  He tried not to stare at Rachel but couldn’t help himself as she stood out among his two crew members. The flight suit, although loose, still couldn’t hide the fact that she was a woman. Her rounded hips gave her away. Ty liked the way she swayed when she walked. Rachel carried a load of boxes in her arms, even though she didn’t have to carry anything. It told Hamilton she was a team player. With her helmet off, her dark brown hair glinted in the first rays of the sun edging over the peak and into the valley. He saw red and gold strands highlighted among her sable mane.

  He got up and took his binoculars with him. As he strolled out of the rear of the bird, Hamilton continued to watch the slopes. No matter how good the men of this village had done their work, he never trusted the area was clear of clever Taliban. His job was to stay around the helo and keep it safe. Training his binoculars upward to the outpost, sitting on a flattened peak two thousand feet above them, Hamilton continued to hunt for enemy.

  “Captain?” The Special Forces officer directed his focus to Rachel. She had just handed the paramedic in the group the medical s
upplies. Turning, she met the gray, narrowed gaze of the officer who commanded the team. He was easily over six feet tall, his head swathed in a dirty white-and-blue turban, his black beard scruffy. He was dressed like an Afghan man, as was the rest of his team, so they didn’t stand out. His weapon hung off his broad shoulder. There was a sense of danger about this man, of a predator ready to spring.

  “Captain Trayhern,” she said, stopping in front of him.

  “Welcome to our little slice of heaven,” he said, giving her a tight grin. “I’m Captain Cain Morris.”

  “What can I do for you?” Rachel asked. She noticed the man’s gaze was always moving across the slopes above the village. She felt safer.

  “Tell Hamilton I’ve got the daughter of the village chief, and she needs immediate medical attention. She’s only seventeen, very pregnant, and my paramedic, who’s a man, can’t see her, much less touch her. She’s been bleeding the last three days.”

  Rachel saw the frustration in the captain’s eyes. “That’s not good. I’m not a paramedic, but even I know that.”

  “Yes. I’ve persuaded the elder to allow his daughter and his wife to fly back on your bird. You need to tell Hamilton that as soon as he drops off the cargo to the outpost above us, he has to make a beeline for the main Army base near Kabul. My paramedic says she’s in real trouble, and so is the baby she’s carrying. She’s overdue.”

  Touched by the officer’s concern, Rachel said, “I’ll call him and find out.” She turned and walked away from the group. Hamilton had given her a radio to stay in touch with him. When he came on, she explained the situation. “What do I tell this captain?” she asked of Hamilton.

  “Tell him to get the woman and the mother ready. We can’t wait an hour here on the ground. They have to move pronto. The longer we’re on the ground, the more we’re a target. Tell Morris, ten minutes.”

  “Roger that.” Turning, Rachel walked back to the captain. He nodded and quickly walked over to the dark, bearded man, who was in his fifties. Rachel was impressed that the captain spoke Pashto, the language of the area. The elder looked relieved and shouted orders. Immediately, two men ran down the dusty village road toward the rock homes.