17
Lincoln
Lincoln and his team piled into two Humvees and sped toward to the crash site. He grabbed his radio, ready to contact his downed soldiers when the sound of rapid gunfire rang out in the distance.
“This is Queen Mary 5-1! Jack 3, we’re taking heavy fire!” Major York’s stressed voice thundered across the airways. “I repeat, we’re taking heavy fire!”
“King 6 to Queen Mary 5-1, hold ‘em off as best you can. We’re about 3 clicks north of your location.”
The Humvee swerved violently around a large boulder. The soldiers flew from one side of the vehicle to the other. Lincoln turned to the driver, Sergeant First Class Evan Peters.
“How are we supposed to rescue 1stPlatoon if you kill us in this vehicle, son?”
“My bad, boss.” The sergeant chuckled nervously. “I can’t see nothing but darkness and sand.”
“Do better.”
“Copy that, sir,” he shouted over the roar of the engine.
In a matter of minutes, they’d closed in on Queen Mary 5-1’s position. Lincoln clutched his M4 and prepared to bail from the Humvee. SFC Peters turned a tight corner and found shielding behind a concrete wall. Forgoing the protection of the military vehicle, Lincoln and his team slid on eye protection and jumped out of the Humvee.
“This is Queen Mary 5-2. We’re on the ground, ready to make entry.”
“Copy that. Proceed, Queen Mary 5-2.”
Lincoln waited as the rest of his team exited the second vehicle and moved into the huddle.
“Jake, Rabbit, Ghost, and Bean, you’re with me!” Lincoln shouted over a barrage of gunfire. “We’re going at ‘em straight on! Cam, go west, find high-ground, and get into sniper position! Buster, you go with him. Peaches, find high-ground and take up your position east! Thor, back her up!
“Copy that!”
“Harp!” Lincoln shouted. “Take Fish, Ike, Veg, and Superstar with you! Triangulate from the right! Tracker, Cole, and Bass, go left and give ‘em hell!
Lincoln, along with four of his Rangers, readied their rifles and left the shielding of the concrete wall. They took off southbound on foot while the others moved into their own offensive positions. Fortunately, it wasn’t long before they spotted to disabled helicopter. Unfortunately, it was surrounded by armed insurgents.
Lincoln clicked his mic. “Queen Mary 5-1, take cover. We’re coming from the north,” he warned.
Wouldn’t be much of a rescue if they were all taken out by friendly fire.
“Do you copy, Queen Mary 5-1?”
“Copy that, King 6!”
Lincoln and his men ran hard and fast, kicking up a mini-storm of dirt and sand with each stride. Not even the sound of rapid gunfire could drown out the sound of his heart pounding in his ears. Once they were fifty yards from the enemy, Lincoln and his men opened fire. Scores of the large militia were dropping like flies before they realized the rounds were coming from their rear. However, it didn’t take long for them to train their weapons in the direction of Lincoln and his men.
The sound of bullets whizzing past Lincoln’s head didn’t induce fear, but determination. He ran harder and faster, firing at anyone he deemed a threat. Very quickly, they’d shortened the distance to the insurgents. Soon they would be in a close quarter, 15thcentury, War of the Roses type of battle. All that was missing was the clash of horses and the clank of swords.
“RPG!”
Lincoln had no idea who shouted the warning. But it didn’t matter. He banked right and took a dive, taking one of his soldiers with him. Even though the missile missed all of them, its impact was still felt. It rocked the ground beneath them, sending them flying.
Lincoln groaned when his body hit tough sand and sharp rocks with a thud. He opened his eyes, but his vision was obstructed by spots of red. He felt around him, searching the ground blindly for his weapon. The voices and gunfire around him were muffled by the deafening ringing in his ear, and he was fighting his body’s growing desire to relax against the warmth of the earth and rest.
He fought the urge, inhaled, and squeezed his lids tight. He allowed himself only one second to recuperate before he rose to all fours. Just as quickly as he’d lost them, his senses returned. After blinking a few times, his vision was restored. And not a minute too soon. A handful of insurgents were practically on top of them.
Lincoln abandoned the search for his rifle and snatched his Glock 19 from the hip holster. He aimed with precision and quickly took out four aggressors. Through his peripheral, he could see that his men were engaged as well. Unfortunately for them all, they were gravely outnumbered.
Soon, more bullets were whizzing past his head. Thankfully, they were coming from his soldiers. Snipers, Cam and Peaches were picking the enemy off one by one with deadly accuracy.
