Over the hood of the pickup truck, past the ramp, the outside darkness raced past the back of their helicopter. It was a tight fit to back up his pickup truck into the cargo bay of an MI-17 helicopter, but it fit almost like it was designed to. Tom and his truck were in the back of the second helo. With no room to shimmy down between the side of the cargo bay and the truck, Mike remained in the driver’s seat watching the ground fly by. That was fine with Mike. It was more comfortable than sitting on the canvas seats, now folded up against the inside of the helo.
Unlike the movies, the intense high-frequency noise was deafening. If he wanted to communicate with Al next to him or Julia in the back seat, it was through sign language, or he had to lean in and yell. Another thing the movies did a poor job of representing was the smell. Even after an hour and a half in the air, the inside of the helicopter reeked. It could have been a spilled bottle of hydraulic fluid, but more likely, he figured it was one of the interior lines running along the frame of the aircraft. As long as whatever the problem was didn’t cause them to go down, he didn't care he’d deal with the smell. Being inside a helicopter that crash landed was on top of his list of things to never do again.
Outside, the moon was three-quarters full, bright enough to give everything an eerie look, but also enough to see the terrain rush past the hood of his truck, out the ramp. The shadows were another story, they were pitch black. Rivers and roads were easy to track as they passed each landmark, one was darker than the land around it and the other lighter. Fields of crops were always near each side of the rivers they flew over. From experience, he knew they could have been fields of corn or rice, or sometimes it was marijuana or poppies lining the river. The type of crops depended on the season and whatever the farmers could eat or sell.
Even with the brutal sound of the helicopter’s engines assaulting their hearing protection the sight of the nighttime land passing by was relaxing in a way, almost hypnotizing. It was tranquility compared to previous trips of standing room only, slamming into the ground, picking themselves up off the deck of a helo, and initiating a nighttime raid, or jumping from a hovering helo onto the side of a mountain and conducting recon ops in Indian country.
The helo bobbed and weaved as they followed the contour of the ground. Only a few hundred feet above the deck they traveled nap of the earth. There was almost no chance of ground fire. The flight plan kept them away from populated areas and there were no more US helicopters to shoot at anymore. But, it paid to be careful they didn’t want to be seen and reported.
In the driver's seat of the dirty four-door pickup truck, Mike might pass as an Afghani. That was the plan. Next to him, Al wore the same Haji gear, what they called the clothing the Afghani populace wore. Al’s pants and shirt were both a light beige color. His vest and hat were brown. The colors of his own ensemble were light brown and black. Most Afghani men would have completed this ensemble with a pair of sandals. That’s where they drew the line. Sturdy western hiking shoes covered their feet. The consensus was that it was worth the risk of someone spotting them.
To her chagrin, Julia was in a full burka. The only thing exposed were her eyes. It had taken some convincing. She had wanted to dress like a man, but she would have had to cut her hair and dye it, and her figure… He smiled. She wasn’t amused when he told her that Afghani men, even the gay ones, didn’t look like Western women. The burka covered her long blond hair. She would have to keep her blue eyes down if they met anyone. They were a dead giveaway.
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Under their Haji gear, they all wore western trousers and shirts. He’d worn Haji gear before on patrols in Indian Country, it could defeat a casual glance. Any kind of scrutiny and they would never pass, their mannerisms and body language were all wrong. But, he felt good about it, they’d be driving in the dark on an empty road. He hoped it would be enough to get them where they were going.
The second helo flew behind them, in and out of his view out the ramp, flying back and forth as it followed.
He lifted his hand up to his right ear and pushed the little spongy foam earplug deeper into his ear canal. One of the things the Army had given him when he retired was hearing damage and crap hearing protection didn’t make it any better. Sometimes when things were quiet the ringing in his ears almost sounded as if he were in a helo again.
The second helicopter flew past again. Both MI-17s made adjustments as they flew, keeping each other in sight. The two aircraft stayed more or less in formation, one behind the other. In the second pickup, Tom was at the wheel, Bruce rode shotgun, and Ahmad sat in the back. They wore the same style of Haji gear as Mike and Al. Only Ahmad could pull it off convincingly.
He lifted his watch. It was almost time. On the seat between him and Al rested two M-4’s their muzzles pointed at the floorboard. He checked his for the umpteenth time to make sure the selector switch hadn’t bumped itself into fire mode. He looked back and gave Julia a thumbs up, she smiled back. In the truck bed, the rest of their weapons, demo, optics, rucksacks, ammo, and body armor lay under a tarp. In the second truck’s bed, it was a mirror image of the gear and weapons they would need.
A movement drew his eyes upward, the crew chief crawled over the windshield and onto the hood. He shined a red lens flashlight at his empty hand and signaled a three with his fingers then pointed the red light into the cab. Mike gave him the thumbs up. Three minutes. The crew chief turned off the flashlight, moved rearward, knelt down on the ramp, and looked outside. The three of them looked up, a second crew member climbed over the truck and joined the crew chief on the ramp.
Mike reached down and turned the ignition key, he couldn’t hear it start, of course. The vibration from the engine turning over was his only indicator the truck had started. The ramp lowered in anticipation as the ground came up fast. Foot on the brake, Mike disengaged the emergency brake and got ready to shift the truck into gear.
The rear two wheels of the landing gear hit the ground then the forward wheel hit. The two crewmen jumped out and pulled out two detachable ramp pieces from the center of the helicopter’s floor. They attached them to either side of the ramp and stood back as the crew chief motioned him forward. It wasn’t as hard as it looked, just drive in a straight line until the rear wheels hit the ground, turn right, and drive until the truck was outside the radius of the spinning blades. Simple. They all looked back. The detachable ramp pieces were already inside and the men on the ramp looked back at them as the helo lifted off.
To their right, the second helo took off as Tom positioned his truck behind Mike’s truck. The crew chief waved, and both men walked inside as their helo pulled away the second MI-17 behind them.
Flipping the headlights on, Mike accelerated down the hard packed dirt road. The yellow hearing protection fell to the floorboards to join Al’s. In the rearview mirror, the second truck turned on its lights and followed.