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“Sergeant Mullins, this is Otter 39,” I say pressing the push-to-talk switch.

“Otter 39, go ahead,” he says with definite gunfire in the background.

“Switch to semi if at all possible to conserve your ammo. We’re going to do a flyby so you’ll hear us overhead in about 15 minutes. We have to land at the airfield and make our way to you,” I say giving an outline of our plan.

“Copy that Otter 39,” Mullins responds.

“Robert, I want you to stay on our ground freq. You’ll be the radio relay to Mullins. Keep the aircraft on battery power but with the lights off,” I say as we continue down.

We don our NVG’s and do a low pass over the base, sighting the location of Sergeant Mullins and his group by the flashes of light from their gunfire. There is a main road from their location directly back to the airfield ramp that we locate on our pass over the area. Lynn is looking over my shoulder in the cockpit as we fly over.

“We’ll have to exit and seal the aircraft up quickly on arrival. We can’t be caught with the aircraft open. Everyone will have to exit through the side door. The ramp is too slow,” I yell to her.

“We’ll be ready,” she says and disappears once again as I fly the aircraft away from the base and set up for the approach.

We will not be using landing lights in this case as I do not want to attract more attention than we already are. Before, we left the aircraft sealed up so I was not overly worried about the attention. Here though, we will be very vulnerable so this one will be on NVG’s alone. Not the optimum solution but one I have done a few times before. And, I have a nice, long, paved runway. The few times this was necessary before was a remote patch of ground in the middle of nowhere. And when I say nowhere, I mean nowhere.

The approach goes well with the interior lights dimmed but I set it down rather hard on the runway. Depth perception is always tough with these stupid NVG’s. We slow down and pull off of the runway. I shut down the engines on the left side as we taxi in so the props will be stopped on that side and we will be able to exit the aircraft quickly. I leave Robert to taxi in as I head to the back and gear up. He also knows to give us the all clear if he does not see any night runners about. I tell both teams to load up on ammo and carry a couple grenades each, remembering my need, or want, of them back in the CDC building. I pack four of them myself, hanging them on my tac vest, making sure the pins are bent.

We all line up inside the cargo compartment, ready to exit the side crew door like a line of paratroopers ready for a drop. Waiting for the aircraft to stop and the all clear to sound. I am in the front with my hand on the door actuator. I will exit first and remain by the door to quickly close it back up. If we get caught outside, I briefed that we will open the door and rush back in but if it looks like the night runners are about to overwhelm us and get inside, the door is to get shut regardless of who is still out there. In this manner and with these thoughts, we wait.

The aircraft comes to stop with a slight forward lurch. Anticipation fills us all. Black and Green Teams will exit immediately behind me and set up a small perimeter. I will seal the door and then we will be silently off; quietly making our way through the base to the BX approximately three quarters to a mile away.

“All clear,” Robert shouts from inside the cockpit.

I lower the door, quickly exiting and turning. Both teams fluidly follow behind and set up around the aircraft. I push the door back up and seal it up. So far, so good. In the green light from our night vision goggles, the ramp looks clear of night runners to the extent of our vision. I hear the far side engines winding down as their fuel source is cut off.

“Robert, tell them we are on our way and to expect us in about thirty minutes,” I say into the radio.

“Roger that,” he replies picking up the lingo.

“Lynn, we’ll head out in staggered formation as before. You take the left, Drescoll, the right. I will be out ahead in the middle. Center on me,” I say.

“Copy that,” Lynn says.

“Yes, sir,” Drescoll responds.

We start off across the ramp, all eyes alert and ready; weapons loaded and ready to fire.

“Mullins just said there are a lot of night runners in the parking lot around them and they are low on ammo,” Robert relays.

“Okay, thanks and keep us informed if he has any more updates,” I reply.

“Okay Lynn, Drescoll, when we arrive, we’ll create a hole for Sergeant Mullins and his group to exit through. Then we’ll beat feet back here in a rapidly folding rear guard action, two soldiers firing half of a clip each on semi and retreating back on the run past the next two in line to take station at the rear. Ten meter intervals. Don’t forget to reload. And no firing except on my command. Questions?” I say and ask.

“Will do,” both Lynn and Drescoll respond.

We head across the ramp and pick up the main road on the other side. I am quite surprised we do not have any visitors at this point as we made quite the entry but am glad of it. The main road is split by a grass meridian between the two, one-way streets; each one with two lanes. Black is on the left behind me with Green staggered behind them on the right. The road passes what looks like a park to my left but I cannot really see that far into it to determine. Silence prevails in the night air; chilly at this high altitude and after spending time in the heat these past few days.

We cross a main intersection with the wide road stretching to our right. I cannot hear any gunshots at this point indicating either we are still a distance away from Mullins and his group or, for whatever reason, they are not firing. The bright stars overhead are the only witnesses to our quiet venture into the night. Tension remains high as we all know the danger of being out at night, especially with this small of a force when there are possibly hundreds of night runners around us. And with the fact that they can locate us quite easily. The one redeeming factor going our way is the slight but gentle breeze blowing from our left to right and away from where the night runners are massed by the BX.

We proceed further up the street and begin to pick out sounds of gunfire and shrieks drifting along the cool breeze. A small copse of trees lies ahead on my left. My nerves are on high alert expecting night runners to appear at any moment. My hope is that we will not have any materialize behind us, cutting us off from the aircraft; our only sanctuary.

I pick out a hint of movement within the trees as we draw silently closer to the BX. The popping sound of rounds being fired mix with howls, roars, and shrieks up ahead and to our left. Suddenly, two night runners break out of the trees and begin running for me, their feet pounding rapidly across the grass. It’s over, I think and am about ready to order our two teams to begin a retreat when I notice that these two are not shrieking their cry of discovery like all of the others had in the past.

“Hold your fire,” I say quietly in the radio as I set my M-4 down and pull out my knife.

I quickly check the area around me assuring myself that these are the only two in sight. If they shriek, then I’ll quickly pick up my carbine and we’re outta here, I think watching them rapidly close the distance. This is not a really smart plan on my part but I want to give us and Mullins the best chance possible at surviving this night. Gunshots will bring the horde upon us making it impossible to help those trapped. Mullins and his group would be in the same position they are in now so firing now would only make things worse as we wouldn’t be able to help them and will endanger our own position.

The two night runners come on staggered, one behind the other, which is extremely beneficial to me. The one in front is almost upon me with its arms stretching out in front of him, its gray skin almost glowing in the green light. I drop to one knee under its outstretched arms and rise quickly, plunging my knife under its sternum and grabbing its shirt with my left hand, using its forward momentum and my rising momentum to lift it up and over me with my knife in its heart. I feel warm blood spurt out, running down my knife haft and hand. All it makes is a grunt as my knife penetrates its shirt, skin and heart. That is its one, only and last sound.

Using my knife as leverage, I continue lifting the night runner over me, giving a slight twist to my knife to assure the kill; lifting it up and over onto its back, withdrawing my knife as it begins its downward journey and lands on its back with a thud. I pivot quickly on my right foot, turning to face the second one and bring my left arm around in a sweeping motion, catching the second night runner’s arms with my forearm, knocking them out of the way. Continuing my pivot, I drive my knife into its neck, cutting through the jugular, cartilage, and gristle of its airway. Blood squirts out from the severed artery coating my hand and splashes on my face and neck as the knife exits out the other side, slicing through the opposite jugular. With a sawing motion towards the front, I pull my knife free hearing the night runner gurgle as blood pours down its windpipe. Its knees give out and it slumps