For the Love of a Marine

by Sharon Kimbra Walsh

  She heard the rotor blades begin to speed up, chopping at the air with a harsh whickering sound, then the two thousand horsepower double engines suddenly screamed. The thirty-meter helicopter shifted slightly, as if reluctant to move, then the nose tipped upward slightly, and almost gracefully, the Chinook lifted from the ground. The noise of the engines became almost deafening and the upward pitch increased so that Katie had to grab hold of the edge of her seat to prevent herself from falling off. After flying with its nose canted upward for a few minutes, the helicopter started a bank to the left and Katie found herself nearly toppling from her seat in the opposite direction. Eventually the helicopter leveled out and picked up speed.

  A cold wind howled and whistled in through the open side door, swirling around the interior of the helicopter, and with the roar of the engines and chopping noise of the rotor blades, it was impossible for anyone to speak without having to shout.

  Major Webster approached Katie and gestured to the rifle lying across her knees. “Know how to use one of those, Corporal?” he shouted, a little skepticism evident in his voice.

  Katie looked down at the long, black, oily-looking weapon and nodded. “Yes, sir,” she yelled back. “I believe I can handle it.”

  The major nodded at her and went back to his seat.

  Katie placed the rifle with its butt on the floor between her knees, clamped it between them, and after struggling to retrieve it, proceeded to insert a magazine into the weapon. She saw that her hands were trembling slightly and she immediately dropped the rifle. It landed on the metal plating of the floor with a sharp crack, bounced and skidded across the decking. Katie took a deep breath, held it, released it slowly and tried to still the shaking of her hands. Major Webster studied the incident with some annoyance on his face and, feeling her cheeks flush slightly, Katie bent down and retrieved her weapon, quickly making sure the magazine had been securely locked into position before placing the rifle, barrel pointed upward now that it was loaded, toward the ceiling.

  Major Webster made his way to the cockpit of the Chinook and briefly spoke with the pilot. As he returned, he held up five fingers, a signal to the team that there were five minutes to their destination. At this, the CTT and Katie stood up, laid their weapons to one side and began to ready equipment, placing the stretchers on the floor behind the door gunner then laying combat casualty blankets, IV bags with tubing, blood products and anything else that would be needed to treat possible casualties on top of them. The stretchers with their loads would be readily available when needed.

  Barely audible over the noise, the pilot suddenly shouted at them over his shoulder in a calm and matter-of-fact tone, “We’ve reached our destination, folks. Apologies, we need to circle for a few minutes. The guys on the ground are taking fire down there and they need to secure our landing zone.”

  Katie took a deep, shuddering breath and closed her eyes, trying to calm her breathing and forget about the terror that was gnawing away at her insides. She would be almost useless if she couldn’t get her nerves under control. She found herself repeating the same words under her breath, over and over again, “I will be all right. I will be all right.”

  Slamming a hand on top of her combat helmet to ensure that it was firmly on her head, she heard a change in the pitch of the helicopter engines and a slight slowing of the rotor blades. The helicopter started to sink toward the ground, the rear end dipping down slightly first. She jerked, startled, when she suddenly heard sharp metallic pinging and clanging on the outer hull of the Chinook. She glanced questioningly at one of the trauma nurses seated opposite her.

  “Bullets,” the trauma nurse explained in response to Katie’s questioning expression. “We’re taking fire.” The trauma nurse’s own expression appeared unperturbed but her voice, although pitched in tones bordering on shouting because of the roar of the engines, was shaking slightly.

  Oh Jesus! Bullets! Bullets kill and destroy lives and I’m sitting in the middle of them. Stop! She screamed the word in her brain, panic threatening to overwhelm her. She had to get a grip on herself, had to regain control of her fears.

  The Chinook continued its descent, the tail end of the helicopter tilting down even farther, as though the rear landing gear strained for the ground. There came a thud as it touched down then a second one as the front landing gear followed suit.

  The pilot shouted over his shoulder again. “Okay. No dilly-dallying please, ladies and gents. We need to get the hell out of here as soon as possible. One more thing, they can’t bring the casualties to you, they’re being pinned down out there. You’ll have to go to them.”

  Making sure that her bergen was securely on her back, Katie picked up her EMC, slung it awkwardly over her shoulder, checked to make sure that the safety of her rifle was on, held the butt of it against her right shoulder with the barrel pointing down a little to the right of her right boot and joined the other members of the CTT, who were crouched to the right of the open side door.

  As the Chinook settled onto the ground and the noise from the rotors diminished, Katie could hear the sound of gunfire from out in the darkness, the sharp crack of single shots, voices shouting and the crackle of static from radios. It was so surreal that she began to feel as though she was in some kind of nightmare.

  The major, positioned in front of the CTT and Katie at the door, held up a gloved hand in a signal to wait, and before long two soldiers appeared from out of the darkness, moving at a crouched run. They stopped outside the door of the Chinook, one facing directly to his front while the one on the right of the door raised a hand and beckoned them forward.

  One by one, the CTT jumped out into the darkness. Katie was last in line and she hesitated briefly, looking down at the ground. It looked pitch-black beneath the helicopter and she suddenly had an image of herself jumping into an abyss and vanishing forever. Realizing the team were waiting for her, she jumped and landed heavily but safely on the hard-packed dust and sandy earth.

  Katie had just regained her balance when a fusillade of gunfire came from the dark and a voice yelled, “On the ground.”

  A mixture of training and survival instinct caused the CTT to immediately fling themselves down into prone positions. Katie threw herself onto her stomach, releasing her grip on the EMC and instinctively bringing her rifle up into a firing position, pushing the rifle butt firmly into her shoulder and aiming out into the blackness, gloved finger along the safety catch, preparing to release it if necessary.

  She was unable to see more than a few meters in front of her. It was almost pitch-black with the exception of a few red torchlights moving erratically about a hundred meters directly in front of her, tracer fire and the blood red whirling flashes of the landing lights on the Chinook behind her. The crack of gunfire was loud and somewhere in the dark was the harsh rattle of a machine gun.

  Rolling onto her side, Katie groped for one of her pouches, ripped open the Velcro fastening and drew out her night vision goggles. Still keeping her position low to the ground, she fastened the goggles to the front of her helmet then lowered them over her eyes. Instantly, everything went green, and she could now see men moving about in the distance.

  One of the soldiers turned to face them. “My apologies, folks,” he announced almost politely in an American drawl, “but we gotta crawl to avoid gunfire. Follow my lead and keep low.” Without hesitation, using elbows and knees, he began to belly crawl along the ground in the direction of the distant figures.

  Katie, going last as tail-end Charlie, on hearing the American accent and feeling a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach, obediently followed the CTT member immediately in front of her, uncomfortably encumbered by the EMC and her weapon. Dust puffed up from the ground and every time she inhaled, it traveled up her nose and entered her mouth, causing her to cough repeatedly. Irritably, she shoved the carrier up onto her back, dug her toes into the ground and pushed herself along, gritting her teeth so that they acted as filters for the dust.

  The sou
nd of gunfire was all around her and she nearly screamed when a bullet puffed up a small fountain of dust and earth a mere two meters away from her. Breathing harshly and rapidly, sweat trickling down from beneath her helmet, Katie crawled along faster, elbows and knees scraping against the hard ground, her skin stinging with pain through the material of her combats. She was sure that they would be grazed and bruised tomorrow—if she survived, that was. Adrenaline pumped through her body and her heart raced and pounded in her ears. She was more terrified then she had ever been before in her life.

  As they neared the red torchlights, Katie could make out a line of soldiers crouched and strung out in front of a low rock wall. Every now and again, she could see tracer fire coming toward them, and the soldiers would raise themselves up slightly and fire back out into the desert, their own gunfire flashing red against the black landscape. Radios crackled and there was the ratcheting sound of a machine gun in the background, stopping and starting sporadically.

  To Katie in her terror, sounds seemed to fade away, much like what happened in a nightmare, because all she could really hear was the harsh sound of her breathing and the deep sounding, slowed down whup-whup of the rotor blades of the Chinook behind her.

  After what seemed like an eternity, the CTT and Katie belly-crawled the last few meters to reach the soldiers. Major Webster immediately rose to a crouch and spoke to a soldier who had approached to greet them.

  “Glad to have you here, sir,” the soldier announced in a harsh whisper. “Our casualties are over there.” He pointed a red torch beam in the direction of two soldiers, lying on the ground, attended to by the squad’s corpsman.

  The CTT and Katie ran in a stoop to the injured soldiers. Without wasting any time, Katie and a trauma nurse went to one casualty, and the major with the rest of the team went to the other.

  Her training taking over, Katie pushed her night vision goggles up onto the top of her helmet, laid her rifle down on the ground and took off her combat gloves. After putting on a pair of nitrile gloves, she carried out a fully body assessment, running her hands from the top of the casualty’s head, down each side of his body then each leg, intent on finding any hidden injuries or bleeding, before discovering an area of the soldier’s uniform about the shoulder, soaked in blood. Ripping open the body armor and raising the T-shirt, she discovered a gunshot wound in the upper arm. It was a clean through and through bullet hole and Katie only needed to place a thick pad on the entry and exit holes and secure each with tape before preparing an IV, inserting a cannula into the back of the patient’s hand and connecting the IV tubing to it. The trauma nurse took the patient’s vital signs and assisted Katie by passing her the medical equipment that she needed. The soldier began to moan and Katie stroked his forehead. “Hey, soldier, you’re going to be okay. Just keeping moaning at me. I don’t mind, moaning or swearing. Your choice.” Leaning her face down to his, she spoke directly into his ear, “We’ll get you sorted out, loaded into the helo and back to camp where you’ll be safe. You’ll be okay, pal. I promise you.”

  The soldier opened pain-filled eyes at her voice and attempted to smile. “An angel,” he murmured hoarsely. “I must have died already.” His face glistened with sweat and he grimaced with pain.

  “Sorry to disappoint you, soldier, but you’re still alive and we aim to keep you that way,” Katie answered, giving him one of her best smiles. “And I’m no angel, just an ordinary grunt.”

  Katie turned to the trauma nurse. “He has a wound in the arm,” she explained quietly. “It’s not serious. I’ve packed it and given him some morphine. He’ll be out of it in a few minutes. We need to get him on a stretcher and get him into the helo. If you keep an eye on him, I’ll go and see if some of these soldiers can fetch the stretchers and get him loaded on board.”

  The trauma nurse nodded her agreement and Katie crawled toward a small group of soldiers close by. Reaching one particular soldier who was closest to her, she saw that he was, in fact, a US marine. “I’m sorry. I know you’re dealing with a lot at the moment but could we possibly have two of your men collect some stretchers from the helo,” she asked, “and load the casualties on board?”

  “No problem, ma’am,” the marine with the rank of sergeant promptly replied, and he turned to two men crouching nearby. “You men, get your asses over to the helo and fetch some stretchers. Bring them back here, collect the injured then load them into the bird.”

  “You got it, Sarge,” one of the men replied, and he and his companion ran to the Chinook. They were back in minutes, clutching stretchers. They gently lifted Katie’s patient onto one then the two soldiers, together with the trauma nurse, ran with him back to the helicopter. The trauma nurse climbed into the Chinook, and with the assistance of the door gunner, lifted the stretcher inside. The soldiers were back within seconds, preparing to transfer the second patient.

  Katie began to crawl back to her colleagues to collect her EMC and weapon when, without warning, somebody from behind grabbed the back of her medical bergen, jerking her backward so hard that she collapsed awkwardly onto her back. It was so unexpected that for a moment she was shocked and stunned then, kicking the ground furiously, she struggled to turn and get to her knees. Once facing her assailant, she froze and stared, shocked, at Joe Anderson’s face and the look of fury on it.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” he shot at her in a loud whisper. He aimed a red torch beam at her face, the beam almost blinding her and fracturing her newly acquired night vision into splinters.

  Katie struck out blindly and managed to bat his hand down so that the torch beam fell away from her face. She was stung with anger. Who the hell does he think he is? “What the fuck do you think I’m doing here?” she spat back, chin lifting defiantly. “Fucking doing my job, that’s what.”

  A marine, crouching nearby, overhearing the verbal exchange, turned and glanced from his staff sergeant to the female corporal with avid interest showing on his shadowed features.

  Joe glared at Katie. He snapped, “Well, get back on the helo. Your team is ready to leave, and that’s an order.” Without another word, he turned away, dismissing her.

  As he passed the man who was expressing a keen interest in their altercation, he ordered sharply, “Focus on what you’re supposed to be fucking doing, Marine!”

  The soldier jerked. “Yes, Staff Sergeant,” was his brief reply, and he hastily turned and faced out into the dark desert.

  “Yes, Staff Sergeant, certainly, Staff Sergeant,” Katie called furiously after Joe’s retreating back. Hurt by his attitude, not comprehending why he had reacted the way he had, Katie crawled back to the other members of the CTT who were hastily collecting medical equipment where it was scattered on the ground.

  “Come on, Corporal. We need to get out of here,” the major ordered abruptly.

  “Yes, sir,” Katie responded, her voice shaking slightly both with delayed shock at the confrontation that had taken place with Joe and the onset of nerves at having to retrace her steps back to board the helicopter. She quickly picked up her weapon and EMC and rose to a crouch, waiting for their escorts back to the Chinook. Led at a jog by the two marines who had first met them when they landed, Katie noticed with relief that the gunfire appeared to have abated. She could hear shouting from behind her and boots thudding on the hard ground, but her mind remained focused on the furious expression she had seen on Joe’s face and the hard, uncompromising tone of his voice.

  She was about to hoist herself through the side door into the Chinook when there was a single gunshot and one of the marines who had been escorting them suddenly screamed and collapsed to the ground.

  “No!” Katie yelled, shocked at the scenario unfolding before her. Instantly she darted away from the Chinook, running toward the still figure and skidding to her knees on the ground beside him. At her sudden movement, a volley of gunfire came in her direction from beyond the low rock wall. Bullets ricocheted off the ground around her, raising miniature whirlwinds of dus
t and little chunks of soil, twanging against the side of the Chinook. The marines behind her at the wall returned fire furiously in response, and the enemy gunfire coming from the blackness fell silent.

  The injured marine screamed and writhed, teeth gleaming white in a blackened, grimy face. “All right, Marine, take it easy,” Katie shouted, steadying her voice. “We’ll get you sorted out. You’ll be all right.”

  She flung the EMC upright and wrenched it open. Working at top speed, Katie checked the marine to assess what wounds he had received. She ripped open his body armor and combat jacket, eventually finding a gunshot wound in his shoulder. There was a small entrance wound with a much larger exit wound and it was bleeding extensively, possibly having nicked the brachial artery. She tore his T-shirt down the front to get access to the wound and was joined by a trauma nurse, and after reporting to her what she had found, they worked together to stop the bleeding, packing the wound, administering painkillers and setting up the usual IV for shock and blood loss.

  Gunfire started up sporadically around them and the machine gun recommenced its firing. Katie could hear the pilot screaming at them and she thought she heard the rotor blades of the helicopter begin to pick up speed and the engines grow louder.

  A group of marines suddenly appeared beside them, crouching to avoid the bullets. Katie scrabbled backward out of the way as the wounded marine was hoisted into the air and transported unceremoniously at a flat-out run to the helicopter, where the waiting hands of the crew and the CTT were there to take him.

  Katie groped for the EMC and her rifle and prepared to beat a hasty retreat to the Chinook when suddenly she found herself jerked into the air. She yelled out and kicked backward, making contact with a shin, but her would-be rescuer ignored what must have been sudden pain and ran with her to the helicopter. Hurriedly placed on her feet, spun round and grasped by the front of her body armor, she was again lifted from her feet and thrown unceremoniously onto the hard metal floor of the helicopter. “Fuck!” Katie exclaimed as her backside hit the hard plating. Pain traveled up her spine and she winced. She was getting thoroughly sick and tired of ending up on her backside. It was going to be black and blue by the time she was finished.