(no subject)
Bagram Air Base
0740 hours
“Jeeeezus Christ that was close.”
Captain Lyght glared at the offending soldier over the rim of his coffee cup. “I’m not one of your drinking buddies, Private. Watch your tone.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
Lyght grunted and swiveled his chair to face the office’s lone window. However much he hated to admit it, the kid was right - the sounds of the tussle on Takur Ghar were getting closer by the minute. They’d been sporadic throughout the night, but now that Drucker had jumped in dick-first with the Rangers, it sounded like the entire mountain was blowing up.
He stared at the sludge congealing at the bottom of his mug, then placed the cup on his desk and crossed his legs. He hadn’t heard anything about the QRF since they lifted off half an hour ago. Standard operating procedure dictated that, being the officer in charge of Bagram’s helicopter contingent, he’d be one of the first to hear, but all he’d been hearing for the past couple of hours was AK fire - far too much for anyone’s good. If what Panther was saying about the Chechens was true, if they killed the QRF…
Lyght calculated the possibilities. Everyone knew the Chechens had trucks - they were hidden, sure, but they were there. Predator imagery had confirmed it. With enough fuel, with enough fighters, with enough weapons -
He shook his head. No, it wasn’t possible. The Chechens weren’t stupid enough to go up against their air cover. Hell, even if they were, they wouldn’t get more than 20 minutes out from Bagram before every jet in the area was cleaning their teeth with them.
But if they got lucky…
Lyght ran the numbers in his head. They’d have 10 minutes on target, 15, tops. But with a few pickups full of RPGs, this base could be destroyed in five. The hangars, the Combat Operations Center, the planes, the Chinooks…his career.
He clenched the chair’s armrests until his knuckles turned white. No. That would not - could not - happen. Not to him.
“Private?”
“Yessir?”
“Where’s Master Sergeant Thomp-” A muffled FTHOOM cut his question short, rattling the windows and knocking over his coffee cup.
“The fu -” Another FTHOOM, then a third.
“- was that?”
Lyght swiveled his chair back to the window. The ridgelines were clear, the skies were empty, the Chinooks were on the tarma -
There were Chinooks. On the tarmac.
Lyght stood up. “Where’s Sergeant Thompson?”
There are people who do not need bullhorns to project their voice.
“Sergeant Thompson!”
Captain Lyght was one of them.
The shout echoed off the hangar walls, turning heads and silencing conversations as Lyght stomped toward a stocky man in fatigues at the far end of the hangar. The man sighed and tucked his clipboard under his arm as Lyght approached. “Pleasure to see you, too, sir -”
“Sergeant Thompson, I will give you five seconds to explain to me why our Chinooks are out on the tarmac instead of in these hangars. Clock’s ticking.”
Thompson blinked. “…because we’re still on standby pending the QRF’s return, sir. Should they be?”
“'Should they be?' Are you deaf, Sergeant? Have you heard the AK fire?”
Thompson sighed. “I have, sir. What about it?”
“It’s getting closer, Sergeant. The QRF’s toast. I want those Chinooks under lockdown in the next ten minutes - grounded, under armed guard, the whole nine yards.”
The entire hangar was silent now, wrenches dropped and card games halted in favor of watching the scene. Thompson took a deep breath. “With respect, sir, I think that’s a bad move. The mountains make the gunfire sound closer than it actually is, something about the acoustics -”
“What, you’re an audio engineer now? I know what I heard, Master Sergeant, and at the rate you’re going we’ll be lucky to get them inside before the Chechens roll up on the tarmac and start blowing everything to bits.”
“But sir, the SEALs are still on -”
“If they figured out how to get up there, Sergeant, they sure as shit can figure out how to get back down. Kandahar’s always standing by, if they’re that goddamn helpless.”
“Kandahar’s ninety minutes away, sir. They’ll never make it in time. Sir, your ‘lockdown’ idea is insane. It’s stupid. I’m not doing it.”
Lyght crossed his arms. “How long have you been in, Master Sergeant? 20 years? 25? 30?”
“I don’t see how that’s relevant -”
“How long?”
Thompson bit his lip. “22. Sir.”
“Then you’ve been in long enough to know that what you’re doing is disobeying a direct, lawful order. And long enough to know that the punishment is court-martial.”
Thompson stared. So that was how he wanted to play this. “You’d never convict me.”
Lyght shrugged. “Maybe not. But it’d be enough to deny you an honorable discharge and your veteran’s benefits. Not to mention how hard it’d be to find a job with a court-martial on your record.”
Goddammit. He couldn’t lose his pension. Not now. Not with Jamie in the hospital and Jordan unemployed. He could feel blood welling up from the bite.
“Does Colonel Drucker know about this, sir?”
“Colonel Drucker isn’t responsible for billions of dollars worth of helicopters. Lockdown, Master Sergeant. Now.”
Lyght pivoted on his heel and headed back to his office, then shook his head and sighed. A Master Sergeant disobeying orders. What was this army coming to?
0740 hours
“Jeeeezus Christ that was close.”
Captain Lyght glared at the offending soldier over the rim of his coffee cup. “I’m not one of your drinking buddies, Private. Watch your tone.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
Lyght grunted and swiveled his chair to face the office’s lone window. However much he hated to admit it, the kid was right - the sounds of the tussle on Takur Ghar were getting closer by the minute. They’d been sporadic throughout the night, but now that Drucker had jumped in dick-first with the Rangers, it sounded like the entire mountain was blowing up.
He stared at the sludge congealing at the bottom of his mug, then placed the cup on his desk and crossed his legs. He hadn’t heard anything about the QRF since they lifted off half an hour ago. Standard operating procedure dictated that, being the officer in charge of Bagram’s helicopter contingent, he’d be one of the first to hear, but all he’d been hearing for the past couple of hours was AK fire - far too much for anyone’s good. If what Panther was saying about the Chechens was true, if they killed the QRF…
Lyght calculated the possibilities. Everyone knew the Chechens had trucks - they were hidden, sure, but they were there. Predator imagery had confirmed it. With enough fuel, with enough fighters, with enough weapons -
He shook his head. No, it wasn’t possible. The Chechens weren’t stupid enough to go up against their air cover. Hell, even if they were, they wouldn’t get more than 20 minutes out from Bagram before every jet in the area was cleaning their teeth with them.
But if they got lucky…
Lyght ran the numbers in his head. They’d have 10 minutes on target, 15, tops. But with a few pickups full of RPGs, this base could be destroyed in five. The hangars, the Combat Operations Center, the planes, the Chinooks…his career.
He clenched the chair’s armrests until his knuckles turned white. No. That would not - could not - happen. Not to him.
“Private?”
“Yessir?”
“Where’s Master Sergeant Thomp-” A muffled FTHOOM cut his question short, rattling the windows and knocking over his coffee cup.
“The fu -” Another FTHOOM, then a third.
“- was that?”
Lyght swiveled his chair back to the window. The ridgelines were clear, the skies were empty, the Chinooks were on the tarma -
There were Chinooks. On the tarmac.
Lyght stood up. “Where’s Sergeant Thompson?”
There are people who do not need bullhorns to project their voice.
“Sergeant Thompson!”
Captain Lyght was one of them.
The shout echoed off the hangar walls, turning heads and silencing conversations as Lyght stomped toward a stocky man in fatigues at the far end of the hangar. The man sighed and tucked his clipboard under his arm as Lyght approached. “Pleasure to see you, too, sir -”
“Sergeant Thompson, I will give you five seconds to explain to me why our Chinooks are out on the tarmac instead of in these hangars. Clock’s ticking.”
Thompson blinked. “…because we’re still on standby pending the QRF’s return, sir. Should they be?”
“'Should they be?' Are you deaf, Sergeant? Have you heard the AK fire?”
Thompson sighed. “I have, sir. What about it?”
“It’s getting closer, Sergeant. The QRF’s toast. I want those Chinooks under lockdown in the next ten minutes - grounded, under armed guard, the whole nine yards.”
The entire hangar was silent now, wrenches dropped and card games halted in favor of watching the scene. Thompson took a deep breath. “With respect, sir, I think that’s a bad move. The mountains make the gunfire sound closer than it actually is, something about the acoustics -”
“What, you’re an audio engineer now? I know what I heard, Master Sergeant, and at the rate you’re going we’ll be lucky to get them inside before the Chechens roll up on the tarmac and start blowing everything to bits.”
“But sir, the SEALs are still on -”
“If they figured out how to get up there, Sergeant, they sure as shit can figure out how to get back down. Kandahar’s always standing by, if they’re that goddamn helpless.”
“Kandahar’s ninety minutes away, sir. They’ll never make it in time. Sir, your ‘lockdown’ idea is insane. It’s stupid. I’m not doing it.”
Lyght crossed his arms. “How long have you been in, Master Sergeant? 20 years? 25? 30?”
“I don’t see how that’s relevant -”
“How long?”
Thompson bit his lip. “22. Sir.”
“Then you’ve been in long enough to know that what you’re doing is disobeying a direct, lawful order. And long enough to know that the punishment is court-martial.”
Thompson stared. So that was how he wanted to play this. “You’d never convict me.”
Lyght shrugged. “Maybe not. But it’d be enough to deny you an honorable discharge and your veteran’s benefits. Not to mention how hard it’d be to find a job with a court-martial on your record.”
Goddammit. He couldn’t lose his pension. Not now. Not with Jamie in the hospital and Jordan unemployed. He could feel blood welling up from the bite.
“Does Colonel Drucker know about this, sir?”
“Colonel Drucker isn’t responsible for billions of dollars worth of helicopters. Lockdown, Master Sergeant. Now.”
Lyght pivoted on his heel and headed back to his office, then shook his head and sighed. A Master Sergeant disobeying orders. What was this army coming to?