Page 11 of Cry Havoc
Clipping in, he keyed his mike and shouted, “Go, go, go!Di di mau! Di di mau!”
Green enemy tracers continued to zip through the jungle as the helo picked up speed, dropping slightly as it did so, dragging their marionettes on strings into the dirt before gaining speed and altitude.
The gunshots began to fade, only to be replaced by the sound of branches cracking as the four teammates were hauled through the trees.
A limb caught the shoulder strap of Tom’s pack, tearing it away and whipping him upside down.
He was now inverted, being pulled through the upper reaches of the canopy, smashing through the thick foliage.
Tom felt the sling of his RPD violently twist around his neck, cutting off his oxygen supply. He frantically tried to pull it away only to be obstructed by his web gear, which slid down around his chest and face. His head hit the trunk of a tree and bounced him to the side.
His equipment was catching on everything.
He was getting torn apart.
You need to breathe.
Tom forced his right hand away from the sling at his throat and dug the fingers of his left hand between his neck and the leather in a vain attempt to create space for air. He smashed off another tree. The sling twisted tighter. A sharp branch slashed across his chin.
His hand found the handle of his Randall. He hit the snap with this thumb and unsheathed the blade, immediately slicing through the sling where it attached to the weapon.
Don’t stab yourself or you will never hear the end of it.
He felt one side of the weapon give way, but the weight of the machine gun just yanked his head to the side as he crashed through branches.
This extract is going to kill us all.
Upside down hurtling through the canopy as the aircraft continued to rise, he found what he thought was the second sling attachment point and cut it away. The pressure continued to build. Tom realized he had sliced through a part of his web gear.
Find the fucking sling!
With the blood flow to his brain restricted, he cut away anything that felt like the sling as the darkness began to creep in around his vision.
You are going to black out and die upside down dangling from this damn bird.
No, you’re not.
He found the other sling attachment point and sawed through it until he felt the RPD fall toward earth. Grabbing the leather sling still attached to his neck, he twisted it off, desperately sucking in precious oxygen as he attempted to right himself.
He felt the rope catch, pinning his leg against a thick branch, the pressure building as the rope strained under the force of the Kingbee’s engine. The jungle was not going to give him up without a fight. Just as he felt his femur about to snap, the branch splintered with a thunderous crack, propelling Tom through the upper reaches of the canopy. He held fast to his knife as his web gear was ripped away before he was pulled above the trees into the evening mist.
Gasping for breath, he twisted his head and counted his men dangling from the other strings. Sau looked like a dead man, but he remained attached. Mang had lost his CAR-15, but he and Tuan were upright and alive.
Tom swiveled his head to look for the second helo expecting to see Quinn and his three ’Yards suspended beneath it.
The sky was clear. Tom’s helicopter was the only one in the air.
He frantically scanned the jungle floor.
No!
Heart sinking, he saw the flames of a downed helo.
Kingbee down.
Quinn.
With his head dangling mere feet above the trees, he felt the H-34 begin to gain altitude and glanced up at the underside of the extraction bird.
