Blind Eyes, Black Hearts - A GWOT Story (On Hold)

Chapter 5, Part 2 - Over the Hills and Far Away

“LT’s hit, LT’s hit!” Staff Sergeant Henderson yelled over the radio. As soon as Salvade blacked out, LaHoye dropped over his body and Henderson took over his mic. “This is Henderson, I’m taking over!”

“What, why the fuck are you taking over?” A team leader replied on the radio, gunshots were heavy in his background. Henderson didn’t know who the hell that was, so he just replied. “LT’s fucking hit.”

“Son of a bitch. Is he dead?” The team leader replied.

Henderson looked at LaHoye, who, in response, checked the lieutenant’s pulse. It was still active, but LaHoye noted that it was weak.

“Still alive.” Henderson said through the radio. He realized that the platoon was in disarray, and they had to pull back into the woods, form up, and form a considerable resistance against the insurgents, that have started their downhill advance from the hill’s flanks. They had to get on even ground; staying in a static and unequal position like this was not how rangers fought. They had to move, move quickly, move effectively, move swiftly, to defeat and destroy the enemy force; even if it meant falling back. Henderson knew this is what Rick would do, so he went on the radio, and ordered the men. “Break-break, this is Two One Actual. Dagger Two Actual is combat ineffective, I say again, Lieutenant Salvade is combat ineffective. Taking over command.”

He continued. “Team leaders take control of your teams. Fall back one-zero-zero meters into the woods. I say again, get the hell out of here. Dagger Two One Out.”

Henderson looked at Rick’s unconscious body, and then to the engaged Sergeant LaHoye. “Who’s going to bring Ricky boy?”

“I’ll bring him.” LaHoye said, Rick’s grenade launcher-attached carbine was slung around his back, while he held his own weapon. Henderson could also see Corporal Harnettson and Specialist Kindmill properly shooting targets from cover.

“No.” Henderson said. “I’ll bring the LT.”

“What?! You’re gonna be goddamn target practice for them!”

“No,” Henderson said. “I’m bringing the LT. It’s my responsibility as senior NCO. You get them off my ass. You copy?”

“Okay Dammo. Just make sure you get back to the line in one piece, man.” LaHoye said. Henderson offered his fist to the Frenchman, whose traces of French had gone beyond distinction, and the Frenchman fisted it back. A ‘bro’ fist they call it, cause everyone in the platoon were bros, while the other platoons were ‘cousins.’

“Harnettson! Kindmill! Munro!” LaHoye called to the men near him. Specialist Stark was nowhere in sight, probably already running back to the line along with the rest of LaHoye’s team. “Suppressive fire for Henderson! Let’s move! Let’s move!”

Henderson, a cowboy hailing from Houston, TX, picked up the unconscious Salvade and put him on his back. He was crouching, and he did not stand until the makeshift team made by LaHoye gathered.

“Suppressing fire!” LaHoye shouted. He was robust and tall and well-built, and had grown weight all over his body compared to the once skinny corporal he was 3 years ago. “Go!” He shouted to Dammo, and the man ran, carrying the unconscious Lieutenant Salvade on his back. Ricky boy better be alright, Jean LaHoye thought, cause he loved the dude like his own big brother. They’d been together from the start, and had gone through heaven and hell together.

The four-man team released an array of concentrated fire on the elevated enemy position, but PFC Munro’s barrage of fast and repetitive 3-shot bursts from his SAW didn’t really help much, for the enemy was conducting a very organized, military-level, attack. The enemy was firing wildly at the four men, and some of them were advancing down the ridge’s rocky slopes; which made them easy targets for Harnettson.