to be taken.
As a SEAL, Harvath had been inside more C130s than he cared to remember. But never had one sounded as sweet as the one that came roaring in on approach, landed, and taxied to the edge of the frozen lake.
The propeller engines on the Hercules aircraft were known as the “Four Fans of Freedom,” which couldn’t have been more appropriate than at this moment.
They continued thundering as the rear cargo ramp dropped and the Zero-Three-Hundred team raced out onto the ice, riding cold-weather ATVs.
When they got to him, Harvath insisted on snowshoeing the rest of the way to the aircraft. Despite all that had happened, he wasn’t going to leave his teammates. He encouraged Christina to accept a ride, which she did.
When they reached the ramp, a pair of Air Force Pararescue Jumpers, more commonly known as PJs, was waiting. They stepped forward to give Harvath a hand, but he waved them off. He didn’t need any help getting on the aircraft.
C130s were essentially enormous cargo planes. There was the cockpit, a bathroom, and maybe a galley. After that, it was just open space configured for the mission.
In the Skibird, the center aisle was about ten feet wide and reserved for cargo. Along the sides, suspended from bright orange nylon webbing, were seats made from the same material, which flipped down.
At the far end, an enormous American flag had been hung. Upon seeing it, Harvath was filled with emotion.
The PJs were the medical component of the operation and they tried to steer Harvath and Christina to two stretchers upfront. Once more, he told the PJs to assist Christina and promised that he would join them in a moment. Until everyone was on board, he wasn’t going to stand down.
Popping out of their skis, Haney, Staelin, Chase, Sloane, Morrison, Gage, and Barton climbed into the aircraft and stowed their gear.
They were followed by the DEVGRU SEALs of the Zero-Three-Hundred team. Once their ATVs were lashed down and everyone was ready, the Skibird’s loadmaster radioed the pilots that they were ready for takeoff.
Before the engines were even powered up, one of the PJs had already started an IV on Harvath with a saline drip. It was standard procedure and would make administering any meds much easier. There was also the concern, after everything he had been through, that Harvath was severely dehydrated, which the IV would help to reverse.
Taking seats alongside the stretcher, his friends sat down with him.
“We did it,” said Haney. “It’s over.”
Harvath understood what the Marine was trying to say, but it wasn’t over. Not for him. And not by a long shot. The only thing he could think to say was “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank us until we’re out of here,” replied Staelin, as they felt the big LC-130 shudder as it turned and set up for takeoff.
“Fuck that,” joked Barton. “I’ll take my thank-you now.”
“Me too,” added Gage. “Do you have any idea the amount of shit I had to rearrange to be here?”
“I didn’t even want to come,” replied Chase.
“At least they told you the truth,” snarked Sloane. “They told me that I’d be rescuing the President.”
Harvath didn’t think he had it in him, but he smiled nevertheless. He then looked at Morrison. “What about you?”
“I can’t lie,” said the younger Force Recon Marine. “I came for the vodka.”
Harvath raised the arm with the IV and pointed toward his rucksack. “Open it,” he said.
Morrison did and inside found the remainder of the bottle of vodka Harvath had found at the trapper cabin. Pulling it out, he held it up. The team cheered.
“First drink goes to Christina,” Harvath ordered. “That belonged to her uncle, and the two of them saved my life.”
Morrison handed the bottle to one of the PJs, who unscrewed the cap and handed it to Christina.
Sitting up on her stretcher, she smiled and held it aloft. “Za Vstrechu,” she said, taking a swig. To our meeting.
The bottle was then handed to Harvath. This time, he had no difficulty finding words. “To those who are no longer with us,” he said, as he took a drink and passed it along.
Each of his teammates repeated his toast as they took a sip. Outside, the thrum of the engines increased as the throttles were pushed forward.
“I’ve got an idea,” said Haney, just as the brakes were being released. “How about we ask our new pilot to swing by Pavel’s house so we can kick his ass?”
Once again, a cheer rose from the team.
Harvath had always loved