“You punched out,” she said. “Your parachute got fouled and you came down hard.”
“Where am I? Where’s the bird?” Murphy, or so the name patch on his uniform said, was regaining situational awareness at an astounding rate.
“The helo is on its way,” Pamela said reassuringly, not knowing whether it was true or not. Even if it had been nearly on top of them, she wouldn’t have heard it. Not too far away, the strike was pummeling the ground with hard iron bombs. The noise this distance from the strike still made it hard to even be heard.
That seemed to satisfy him. His eyes fluttered, then started to close.
“Keep him awake,” Xerxes said. “If he has a concussion, he must not sleep.”
She touched the pilot gently, not wanting to risk injuring him further. “Murphy — Murphy, wake up. You’ve got to stay awake.”
His eyes opened but his gaze was unfocused. “I’m so tired.”
“I know, but you can’t go to sleep. Not now.” Pamela looked over at the Macedonian. “We can’t move him.”
“We have no choice.”
“I do. Have a choice, I mean.”
“No. You don’t. You’re going back to the alternate camp. Whether or not you wish to bring this man with you is irrelevant. You knew the price from the beginning. Now he must be moved.”
“We went through all that to get here and now you’re going to risk killing him?” she asked incredulously.
“If the helo shows up, they will try to kill me. It is a simple choice.” He leaned over and slapped the pilot hard. “Stay awake. You must stand up now.”
The pilot moaned, then tried to move. His arms and legs seemed uncoordinated at first, but he quickly gained control of his limbs. A few moments later, with Pamela’s help, he was on his feet.
“Come, now — quickly.” Xerxes prodded her from behind and pointed to the north. “I’ve got responsibilities to attend to. There’s another detachment there, and I do not see any flames. We will go there.”
Pamela draped Murphy’s arm over her shoulders and let him lean his weight on her. “Can you walk?” she asked, already aware of a deepening pain in her own body. “It’s not too far.”
Murphy nodded. He moved mechanically. He’d evidently recognized her and decided to rely on her. She felt another twinge of conscience as she realized that.
They skirted the edge of the cleared field, edging through the trees and occasional rocks to try to keep to a northerly course. But the field ran northeast, and it became clear to her that they’d have to cross in the open soon.
The noise from the air strike was louder now, especially the sound of the aircrafts’ engines. They were returning, she realized, and felt a frisson of fear. That Hornet pilot — he’d be looking for his wingman. It didn’t matter who it actually was, she knew with a deep certainty that he’d be back.
“We wait,” Xerxes said, and drew them further into the cover. “They will be gone shortly, then we will assess the damage.”
At that, Murphy stiffened. Pamela had the distinct impression that he was far less disoriented and groggy than he’d let on. She started to speak, to reassure him once again, but realized that anything she said now would just make her own situation worse.
The sound like thunder grew stronger now, the distinctive howl of the Tomcats mixed with the slightly lighter whine of the Hornets. Murphy was fully alert now, though masking it for the benefit of the Macedonian. She felt him tense up, his muscles shaking under the effort. Then without warning, he broke free from her supporting grasp and started staggering toward the open field, arms waving and shouting as he stared up at the aircraft.
Pamela caught up with him twenty yards later. By that time he’d expended his reserve of energy and was moving slowly, still headed directly into the path of the oncoming aircraft. She joined him in waving her arms, signaling to the other pilots. The sole Hornet in the group peeled off and headed directly for them.
“Murphy,” Thor shouted. He flipped back on the radio and said over the common circuit, “It’s a friendly. That’s my wingman.”
“Roger, Devil Dog,” the American Tomcat pilot said. “SAR is inbound at this time. Remain in orbit over him pending pickup.”
“Roger, copy all. Interrogative ETA of the SAR bird?” Thor asked.
“So you have repaired your radio?” another voice broke in. Thor recognized the voice of the Greek strike leader. “Then join on my wing. We will make sure that you are within visual communications range until we land.”
There was a short pause, then the American Tomcat pilot said, “Negative, strike leader. Devil Dog 202 must remain on station to protect the landing zone.”
“Any threat to the landing zone has already been neutralized,” the Greek shot back. “Obey my orders immediately.”
Thor didn’t even bother answering. There was no way he was going to leave his wingman, no way. He shouldn’t have left him the first time, but the seconds and the miles had flashed by and he’d been over the IP. He felt a wave of regret and shame. If he’d orbited over Murphy’s position, he might have been able to keep them off of him.
And just who the hell were they, anyway? One of them was a soldier by the looks of him, outfitted in green camouflage uniforms. The other, he wasn’t so sure. In a fight like this, just being a woman didn’t earn her any points. They were just as dangerous as the men.
And where was the guy, anyway? The woman was standing in the field with Murphy, waving like a mad dog. But the guy — was he off in the brush to the side, sighting down on Thor with a Stinger even at this moment?
Probably so. Thor took on some altitude, not enough to put him out of range but enough to give him some maneuvering room. Or at least the illusion of it. His odds of getting away form a Stinger at this range were nil
“Devil Dog, helo inbound in three mikes. How copy?”
“Copy three mikes. Advise the helo that the LZ may be hot.”
“That woman with him?”
“There was a man with her earlier, military.”
Silence then, and Thor knew what the Tomcat lead was thinking. The woman, out making happy faces and enticing the aircraft in with the downed pilot. The man, ready in the bushes as soon as a target came within range. It was a trap, pure and simple. And without forces on the ground, there was no way to extract Murphy, not without risking the SAR helo.
“I can hose down the area to either side,” Thor said finally. “Lay down some suppressing fire.”
“Roger, I’ll advise the helo. Do you have communications with Murphy?” Tomcat lead asked.
“Negative. That’s him, though.”
Another long silence. Without communications, there was no way to direct the pilot to a safer pickup area. They were playing a come as you are game, and in a dangerous situation.
“Roger, Devil Dog. Be advised that SAR helo is standing off one mike out waiting for clearance to the LZ. You take the left side — I’ll take the right. If anything’s standing after we’ve expended our rounds, you owe me a drink.”
“Roger, copy all. Murphy will know what’s up and he’ll stay put.” Thor had been orbiting overhead, and now he descended again, pushing the Hornet into a maximum rate of descent. He pulled up hard, cut back on the power, and walked a stream of rounds down one side of the LZ while the Tomcat took the opposite side. Just as they reached the midpoint, a figure broke out of the cover and headed for the center of the field — and for Murphy.
“Get him,” Thor shouted. “Now, lead!”
The ground around the running man exploded as the bullets rained down on it from the Tomcat. Thor tried to maneuver around to get a shot at him himself, but he couldn’t do so without fouling the Tomcat’s field of fire. He took another pass down his side of the field, hoping to scare out another tango.
“That’s Thor,” Murphy shouted as the Hornet passed down the side of the field. “The helo is here — look.” He pointed off in the distance at a helicopter well out of range. “We’re getting out of here.”
