Victory Point - Ed Darack [75]
“I just got two Shocks to break off from an op south of Asadabad and head toward Sawtalo Sar,” Pigeon told Wood. “They should be up there right about the time the MHs get in zone.”
“Good. Hopefully they’ll let the Shocks prep the LZ for ’em.”
“Let’s hope. I know the SOAR(A) community likes to work alone; they don’t typically like having conventional air around.”
The aviators of the two Shocks coming from south of Asadabad tore through the skies to reach Sawtalo Sar in time to run an ad hoc SEAD package for the inbound Chinooks. Their cockpits rattling from the speed, they tried furiously to raise TF Brown on their nets. But no luck. With miles of Hindu Kush terrain blurring below them with each minute, the pilots of the lead Shock finally established comms with one of the Chinooks—with the help of two Air Force A-10 Thunderbolt II “Warthogs” that just checked in on station, orbiting at fifteen thousand feet above Sawtalo Sar, awaiting a call for close air support runs. “Let us prep the LZ for you!” the Shock pilots pleaded.
“We’re already in zone. We can’t wait.”
“Let us get in there. Orbit the peak. Orbit the peak! Don’t drop in! We’ll be there in less than two minutes! LET US GET IN THERE!”
“Thanks, brotha,” came the calm reply. “But we don’t have two minutes. We don’t have two seconds.” Then, after a brief pause: “You can prep the LZ when we’re on the ground.” The bravado sent chills into the spines of the Shock pilots, now forming up and preparing to roll into the potentially hot LZ.
The TF Brown aviators tore through the air at nearly 180 knots—faster than any other helicopter in the air that day by a long shot. Kristensen, the other SEALs, and the Army crew of the command ship must have been more ardent to save the recon team than anyone could have imagined back at JAF, now that they had eyes on the hulking massif. With the summit now in clear sight, the crew chief lowered the loading ramp and readied a fastrope. All available eyes focused downward, looking—looking—looking for any sign of the four on the ground. Kristensen and the others kept on their radios, trying to raise the team on every net possible. They neither saw nor heard anything. Holding out hope that the team was still alive—fending off the attackers—Kristensen gave the order to roll into final approach. Pigeon’s “handshake deal” wasn’t even a thought at that point.
But it was too late, far too late for three of the four. Murphy, Axelson, and Dietz all lay dead, deep in the chasm of the northeast gulch. Luttrell, having fought both against the fighters as well as to save his teammates’ lives, took a near-direct hit from an RPG—knocking him unconscious as the blast’s concussion threw him behind a large boulder, out of sight of the attackers, where he slowly bled toward death.
“Small-arms fire! Taking small-arms fire!” the Shock pilots heard over their net as they closed on Sawtalo Sar and could just make out two dots roving above the peak’s summit. The Chinooks had made a low pass over the point where the recon team had inserted, and would come back for another attempt to get Kristensen and the other SEALs on the ground. The command bird powered up and banked steeply to the north, and circled around the mountain. Ready for a lightning insert, the lead MH-47 came in fast and flared hard, directly over the insert point. As the crash of thunder resonated through the shadowed valleys radiating about Sawtalo Sar and black curtains of rain swept the peaks of the Hindu Kush on all sides, Kristensen firmly grasped the fastrope and awaited the word from the aircraft’s rope master. As the Chinook’s airspeed dropped to near hover at less than fifty feet off the deck, Kristensen looked down and prepared to quickly and fluidly insert onto the rough patch of ground—just as Shah’s RPG gunner