Malichai didn’t like that, but it was the truth. They were alive because they were being kept alive in the hopes that more helicopters would come to rescue them.
The whine of a lone bullet was their first warning. Then all hell broke loose. Machine-gun fire erupted from three different locations, the sound and sight insanely beautiful in the cold, crisp night. The incoming looked exactly like fireworks, long white streaks spewing into the air, small white starlike dots filling the dark sky and then the occasional explosion of red and orange roaring flames.
If one could get over the horrific noise and the fact that those bullets could end a life, the murderous assault was exactly as Braden had said it would be—a Fourth of July fireworks display. Braden even began to point out the difference in one bunker’s shooting from another’s. They ducked and stayed under cover as best they could. Many of the bullets hit too close to home, but the men had endured the assault every evening, so they had already positioned themselves in the best places to stay safe.
Malichai noted that the two most seriously wounded, Tim and Jerry, were both tucked in tight behind the largest boulders. Rubin had covered Jerry’s body with his own during the barrage of machine-gun fire. Malichai had been close to Braden, setting up his transfusion and the saline bag to hydrate him. Braden was the most exposed of all the soldiers and Malichai had instinctively covered him as well.
Braden nudged him. “Bunker three is worst. They always chip away at the rocks, making certain the slivers they break off and the sparks hit us. They’re in the best position to take us out, but bunker two has the best and most accurate shooters. They’re the ones that have taken out the helicopters. They’re all capable, I guess, but bunker two seems much more experienced.”
As far as Malichai could see, Braden O’Connell deserved a commendation, and if they got out of this mess in one piece, he intended to put the man up for one. Someone had to know how he conducted himself in the field under fire, even wounded as he was. He’d gathered intel, hoping to pass it on to anyone coming to rescue them.
“Do you have any idea how many men are manning each bunker?”
“I couldn’t get close enough. They have traps set out to warn them if anyone is sneaking up on them. I tripped them twice. Once at bunker three and once at bunker two. By the time I got to the first one, I knew what their traps were like.” He fished in his pocket and brought out a torn scrap of paper. His hand shook as he gave it to Malichai. “I drew them out the best that I could. It isn’t one hundred percent reliable.”
Malichai thought Braden was the epitome of a soldier. Even wounded, the man had crawled to the bunkers during the night, trying to get intelligence on positions, number of the enemy, and what weapons they had. He took the paper and looked it over carefully. There was far more firepower available to the enemy than they’d known. He didn’t want any of the helicopters coming near their position until he and Rubin had a chance to take the guns out.
The two GhostWalkers worked as quickly and as efficiently as possible once the terrible barrage of bullets stopped. The noise had been deafening. More, the bullets had hit all around them. The constant mortar fire hitting close to their shelter was terrifying. There was nowhere else to go. They were in the last of the boulders before they were at the top of the peak. They lived with the certain knowledge that sooner or later, the enemy would get tired of taunting them. They wouldn’t be that difficult to kill once the boulders were blown to bits.
It was bitterly cold at night, the temperature dropping drastically. Even with treating their wounds, giving blood, fluids and painkillers, the men weren’t going to last unless they got them out of there.
“We’re going to do this as quietly as we can,” Malichai told them as they handed out ammunition. “We don’t want you to try to help us. You just rest. Drink water. Try to sleep if you can. Don’t make noise or call out to us, you’ll just get us killed.”
“They have excellent night vision goggles,” Braden warned. “I learned that the hard way. I’m not certain any of us could come to your rescue.” He moved as if he might try.
Malichai put a hand on his arm to stop him. “Just take it easy. You especially, Braden. I’m going to need you when we make our move. Don’t worry so much, I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.”
Braden looked him over. Malichai knew there wasn’t much to see, other than he was combat-hardened. His experience showed in the lines in his face, in the calm he displayed under all conditions and in the flat, cold look in his eyes. The soldier nodded, a little reassured.