That’s not my real name, but does it matter? The story I’m about to tell is real, though. It matters. It’s true.
I’ve always been a morning person, and at that time, I was always the first one up. I would unzip my sleeping bag and crawl out, eager to meet the morning with an intake of fresh air and an output of pee. That morning was no different.
*****
The faintest sound of a helicopter penetrated the wooden walls of the B-hut Joe and his team were sleeping in. The B-hut was everything to them, a home-base on base. It was an armory, a supply hut, and sleeping quarters. Everything they needed and owned was in that hut.
Though you shouldn’t really call that tiny little piece of land where they were a base. It was a post, a combat outpost pushed far enough out toward the front line near the enemy as to make real bases feel comfortable.
Joe woke up. He always woke up early. It was the medivac helicopters flying overhead that made him stir, but he didn’t know that. A long line of unescorted Blackhawks streaming up the valley over his hut and beyond didn’t compute in his subliminal brain. If his mind had been more awake, it might have asked, where are their escorts? Blackhawks don’t fly alone.
He got up, which consisted of unzipping his gray sleeping bag and pulling out his bare feet and legs and resting them on top of the bag. He grabbed a pair of unwashed trousers that he’d worn for the past week and pulled them on up to his thighs. Turning in place, he brought his feet out over the deck above a pair of tan combat boots and slid them on, right one first, then the left. He didn’t bother to put on socks or to tie his boots. He had to pee, and there would be time for that later. Standing, Joe pulled his pants up the rest of the way and tightened the rigger’s belt around his waist. Fresh air awaited, so he quietly walked outside.
The sun was up, but still hidden behind steep mountains and Joe walked the 100 meters downhill to get to the piss-tubes. Three white 4″ PVC pipes were buried at 45-degree angles into the ground. To the left were three outhouses made out of plywood. Each had their own half-of-a-steel-barrel shoved underneath from the back to catch shit. Nobody called them outhouses, though. They were shitters.
Joe walked up to the nearest pipe, unbutton his fly, and relaxed. That’s when the first medivac came back.
It flew at top-speed low to the ground passing directly over the COP. The red and white cross was seared into Joe’s mind’s eye as his real eyes searched for what was missing. There were no escorts.
He quickly finished and halfway back to his hut in a small open space he stood, and made a 360-degree survey of the little valley his platoon found itself in.
A steady stream of helicopters flew a single file in two opposite directions. Some flying north and the rest flying south, all presenting their bellies as they passed over Joe’s watching eyes.
Sergeant, came a voice. It was LT. He walked up to Joe before continuing. Sergeant, get your team ready, kitted up for a 3 – 5-day mission, and down at the helo-pad in 10 minutes. Wanat’s under attack. You guys are going in with the quick reaction force.
Yes, sir, was Joe’s only reply, and he walked quickly back to the B-hut.
Guys, get the fuck up. We’ve got 10 minutes to get our shit together and be down at the helo-pad. Make that 9 minutes.
Roger and fuck were the only replies.
Joe grabbed a dirty piece of paper titled “SOP” from a desk in the corner and scanned down, stopping at a line titled dismounted-mission. Under it was listed by priority equipment and supplies that were needed. His team was used to this type of OPTEMPO and planned for it. It wasn’t a matter of everyone packing and getting ready. Their kits and rucksacks were always ready. That was the first thing you did after getting back from a mission, you got ready for the next one.
The paper was a checklist to perform PCCs and PCIs or pre-combat-checks and pre-combat-inspections. Their purpose was to check to make sure a dude had everything, and then check if it actually worked. Joe made one final check to make sure his battle buddy had the needed gear, and then they swapped, and his buddy did it for him.
Ten minutes later, his team was positioned adjacent to the helo-pad. About twenty seconds after that, the all too familiar sound of a Chinook thumped out of sight.
Here it comes, Joe said.
He was not wrong. A chinook sped north up the valley towards them. As one, they each took a knee and got as stable on the ground as possible. The dual rotors of a Chinook could send bags tumbling away, and more than one embarrassed schmuck has been knocked over because he wasn’t paying enough attention.
The chinook thundered in and landed without pretense or style, and dust and hot wind assaulted the team. After the primary wave of heat and dirt passed through them, Joe slapped his friend in front of him, who slapped the soldier in front of them all, and they stood up and walked with heavy feet to the loading ramp at the back end of the helicopter. They circled the rear of the aircraft and approached the loading ramp while avoiding the powerful twin engines mounted high on either side of the rear quarters. Come in at the wrong angle, and you would know it. You probably wouldn’t cook, but you’d get hot.
The gunner stationed at the rear of the chinook gave them a nod, and as Joe looked passed, he saw a completely empty helicopter. Chinooks or CH-47’s are cargo helicopters. That’s what CH stands for. Running along either side of the fuselage are seats you can pull down. On a full flight, soldiers would typically be seated on both sides from the front of the aircraft all the way to the back. Cargo is stacked from floor to ceiling in the center between the two rows of knees. A chinook is also designed to carry sling loads and has a lift capacity of up to 26000 pounds. Needless to say, it wasn’t even breaking a sweat with an extra four guys and their gear on board.
They were the first stop, but wouldn’t be the last. After walking up the center of the empty bird, the four of them sat down opposite each other, two on each side. Joe had a good look at a side-door gunner who glanced back at him, then spoke into his mike. The helicopter lifted with a jolt and sped towards the next cop to pick up more soldiers.
Photo by paul jespers on Unsplash
