Poetic Justice

Chapter 1

1

I opened my eyes slowly, only to find that all I could see was a strange, white mist. There was a gentle shuddering accompanied by an oddly comforting noise that almost sounded like a train rumbling on its tracks. My vision gradually started to clear, and I glanced around the small-enclosed space.

It was then that I realised I was laying on a narrow stretcher in the stark hold of a U.S. army helicopter.

As the effects of the morphine slowly began to dissipate, my memory began to return to me. We were on a mission in a remote area of northern Afghanistan to rescue two journalists captured by the Taliban. For the last week they had been paraded around on footage sent to Al Jazeera, showing them wearing black hoods with hands tied behind their backs. As usual their captors were wearing balaclavas and brandishing wicked looking scimitars, while their hapless victims knelt on the dirt floor in front of them. Of course they were also demanding the release of several high-ranking Taliban prisoners held by America and her allies. When were they going to learn, America does not negotiate with terrorists.

My team and I had just finished a routine mission near Kabul when we got the word that their exact location had been identified, and we were the Army Ranger team assigned to infiltrate the enemy camp and extract them.

Everything had gone according to plan; all the enemy combatants had been neutralized without alerting the people sleeping in the nearby village. It was during our exfiltration that suddenly everything had gone wrong.

A flare had suddenly exploded above us, lighting up the surrounding landscape with an eerie glow. The sound of machine g*n fire followed by green streaks of tracer rounds filled the night air. I was bringing up the rear of our little procession and miraculously did not get hit by the opening salvo. I hit the ground immediately and rolled to my left behind a large boulder. I fired a couple of quick bursts with my M-16 and watched the red tracer rounds hit a large rocky outcrop where the gunfire seemed to originate from. Using my throat microphone I communicated with the extraction team that we were taking fire and needed air support immediately. Just as I heard the unmistakable sound of rotors from the approaching helicopter g*n-ships, there was a large flash from the rocky outcrop followed by an explosion from behind me. I felt the heat wash over me and a burning sensation in my left leg, and then everything went black as I lost consciousness.

As I struggled to sit up in the narrow cot, a familiar voice told me to lay back and relax. Sergeant Mike Andrews was our section medic and had been down on the ground with us.

“Sergeant, what the hell happened?’ I asked him.

“Huge screw up Major.” He replied. “They seemed to know we were coming and set up an ambush on our route out of the valley.”

I was struggling to come to grips with what he had just said, when he continued.

“Seems like they fired an RPG-7 at one of the approaching choppers, but aimed a bit low and hit the top of the shelf behind us. Hell of an explosion but luckily not too much damage, mostly light shrapnel wounds.”

I glanced down at my bandaged left leg and he nodded.

”Yup, they got you too.”

He reached down and grabbed a helmet with a large dent in the side.

“You’re one lucky guy, Major, a large piece of shrapnel hit your helmet. It knocked you out and gave you one hell of a concussion, nothing too serious though.”

He went on to explain how the Apache gunship had quickly taken care of the ambush party. The injured had been loaded onto two Black-hawk helicopters, and we were now only about thirty minutes out from our home base and proper medical treatment.

“So no serious injuries on our side then?” I asked, the hope showing through in my voice.

He glanced away and I saw a shadow cross his eyes as he did so. I felt a tightness in my chest as I demanded, “Tell me sergeant!”

“Sorry Major, but Sergeant Buckman didn’t make it.”

He knew, as did everyone in our unit, how close Sergeant Fred Buckman and myself were. We were like brothers, having done our initial Ranger training together at Fort Benning, Georgia. We had pushed each other to make it through what can only be described as hell on earth. Because I had a degree, I went on to officer training while he did a non-commissioned officers course.

We had lost track of each other for a while, but both of us had eventually ended up in 1st Battalion, 75th Ranger regiment. I had immediately requested that he be assigned to my squad, and we’d been together ever since.

The kicker was, we both had only about three weeks left in the military and were looking forward to civilian life. We had both been offered consulting jobs at a large multinational security company, at roughly three times what we were earning now.

I could hardly breathe as I realised none of that mattered anymore, my best friend was gone forever. Worst of all, I was the one that got to tell his beautiful wife Tanya, that Matt and Alicia would never see their Daddy again.

I grabbed Andrew’s arm. “Sergeant, tell me exactly what happened.” I gasped.

He hesitated for a second, “Near as I can tell, after the RPG exploded we looked back and saw you fall. Sergeant Buckman told us to stay under cover and ran back to help you. It was around that time that the first Apache opened up on the outcrop and all hell let loose. Once the dust cleared I saw Sergeant Buckman lying in the ravine off to the right of the path. There was no more enemy fire so I ran over to help him.” He hesitated again, before continuing, “He was on his stomach so I turned him over. Looked like he’d taken an AK round to the throat, just above his body armour. There was nothing I could do for him, he was already gone.”

I felt the tiny cabin swirling around me as I realised that my best friend had died trying to save me. Here I was, still alive and he was gone forever.