by David Austin
True to his word, Chuck Jamison brought the de Havilland DHC-6 Twin Otter in right on time. Using night-vision goggles attached to his flight helmet, he kept the landing lights off and touched down on the road as easily as if it were a smooth, nine-thousand-foot runway at a major airport. He flared the props to bring the plane to a stop, then spun it around for the ensuing takeoff.
Joe was the first man to reach the plane. The door opened and he was greeted by the smiling face of Adam Elliot. Elliot was a member of the CIA’s Office of Medical Services who happened to be deployed to the forward operating base Jamison was resupplying when the call from Copenhaver came through. He knew Joe and the guys and volunteered to come along in case there were any injuries. As it turned out there were plenty, so he began triaging their severity as the men helped each other into the plane.
Making sure each member of the team was accounted for, Joe was the last to climb aboard. He moved up the aisle and stuck his head in the cockpit. “Thanks for coming to get us, Chuck.”
“Pulling your ass out of sketchy situations is turning into a full-time gig. But I guess that’s why I get paid the big bucks. Ready to get outta here?”
“You better believe it.”
Joe was strapping himself into a seat when he heard Mike ask, “What do you say we don’t come back to Syria anytime soon? Every time we set foot in this godforsaken country people start trying to kill us.”
Amen, Joe thought, as a wave of utter exhaustion crashed over his body. Leaning his head against the seat, his mind drifted back to the trip he had taken to Cancun. Remembering the warmth of the sun and the sparkling blue waters of the Caribbean, he decided it was time for another vacation. With the thoughts of sun and sand running through his mind, the Twin Otter raced down the road and lifted into the air.