go, counted one-one-thousand, two-one-thousand, letting the grenade cook, then arced it high toward the canyon. The UAZ slewed to a stop. The grenade exploded ten feet over the cab. Barnes opened up with the SAW, hosing down the doors and sides. In the bed, the NSV’s muzzle spouted fire but went silent a moment later as the SAW’s fusillade cut the gunner down. The UAZ’s gears crunched, and then it was moving again and out of sight.
“Go,” Driscoll ordered, waited for Barnes to get a head start, then turned to follow.
By the time they caught up with the column, Gomez had split the team, one half across the canyon, behind cover and on overwatch, the other waiting at the mouth of the ravine. Driscoll made his way up the line to Gomez. “Activity?”
“Engines, no movement.”
Across the canyon, thirty meters west of the overwatch, was a natural ramp winding its way up the side of the plateau. Sure as hell looked man-made, Driscoll thought, but time and erosion did strange things to terrain. And they weren’t going to bitch about this oddity; it would make their final push for the LZ relatively easy.
“Peterson, get Blade on the line and tell ’em we’re ready. Call it hot.”
Their Chinook would be orbiting, awaiting their signal. Like most things in combat and certainly most things in Afghanistan, their LZ was suboptimal, partly due to the landscape and partly due to the Chinook’s design trade-off: a high operational ceiling but a big landing footprint. The 47 could get to troops at altitude but needed a fair amount of square footage to embark them. In this case, their LZ was hemmed in to the west and south by ravines and ridgelines so close that small-arms fire could reach it.
“Blade, this is Sickle, over.”
“Go ahead, Sickle.”
“Ready for pickup. Winds three to six from north to south. Lima zulu hot; composition and direction unknown.”
“Roger, copy lima zulu hot. Three minutes out.” Two minutes later: “Sickle, Blade is inbound, mark your location.”
“Roger, stand by,” Driscoll said, then radioed Barnes. “Chemlights, Barnes.”
“Roger, boss. I’ve got blue, yellow, red.”
Across the canyon the chemlights glowed to life, then sailed through the air and landed atop the plateau. Driscoll would’ve preferred an IR strobe, but S4 had been out when they’d left.
Driscoll called, “Blade, Sickle, I pop blue, yellow, red.”
“Roger, I see it.”
Now they heard it, the chopping of the Chinook’s rotors. Then: “Sickle, this is Blade, I have inbound vehicles three hundred meters to your west and closing. I count two UAZs, over.”
Shit. “Wave off, wave off. Mark the LZ and hold in orbit.” The only other option was to have the Chinook’s gunners light up the UAZs, but doing so from altitude would serve as a “here we are” flare for other enemy units in the area. The Chinook pilot would have his own ROE, or Rules of Engagement, but as he and his Rangers were on scene and in the shit, it was Driscoll’s order to give. That the UAZs weren’t racing toward them told him his unit hadn’t yet been seen. They’d been lucky so far with these things; there was no use pushing it.
“Roger, waving off,” replied the Chinook pilot.
To Barnes: “We got company to the west. Douse those chemlights. Everybody hunker down.” Behind him, the column dropped flat.
He got a double-click in reply, then a few moments later saw a pair of hunched-over figures scrambling up to the plateau. The chemlights went dark.
Down the canyon, the UAZ headlights were now stationary. Faintly, Driscoll heard the rumble of their unmuffled engines. A long thirty seconds passed, then the engines revved up and the trucks began moving, separating into a staggered line as they headed down the canyon. Bad sign, Driscoll thought. On the move, the UAZs tended to prefer single-file formation. It was only when they were expecting trouble did they stagger.
“Cover,” Driscoll radioed the team. “Gomers are hunting.” Then to the Chinook: “Blade, Sickle, stay close. We may need you.”
“Roger.”
Preceded by headlights bouncing over the uneven ground, the crunch of the UAZ tires continued down the canyon until the first truck drew even with the ravine in which Driscoll and his column were hidden. The brakes squealed. The UAZ came to a stop; the second one, trailing thirty feet behind, also halted. A spotlight appeared in the passenger window and played over the walls, pausing as it reached the ravine. Move on, Gomer, Driscoll thought. Nothing to see here. Now the spotlight swung around, pointing out the