Bob McCarty Writes

Below is Part One of a series of posts I’m sharing with readers of this blog today. A change of pace from my usual writings on humor, politics, culture and capitalism, this series represents the first few chapters of a book I’ve been writing for several months. It draws from my background in the Air Force as well as from my experience in politics and public relations. I hope you enjoy it, and I look forward to your feedback.

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SCRATCH OFF

By Bob McCarty

Copyright © 2008 Bob McCarty, L.L.C. All rights reserved. Any reproduction, publication or broadcast
or other use of this document without the express permission of Bob McCarty, L.L.C., is prohibited by law.

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“K-man! K-man! Wake up! We’ve gotta go!” Waking to those words from Master Sergeant Charles Detmering, Josh Kastens knew April 2, 2007, was about to get serious.

A nine-year Air Force veteran, Josh was a member of the elite Pararescue – or “PJ” – fraternity. He had reached the rank of technical sergeant two years “below the zone” and ahead of most of his peers. A member of the 347th Rescue Group on assignment from Moody Air Force Base, Georgia, he was pulling his second one-year tour in Iraq.

Being rousted out of bed at “oh-dark-thirty” – specifically 2:15 a.m. on this occasion – usually meant an aircraft had gone down and a pilot needed to be rescued or, in PJ vernacular, “saved.”

“A lawn dart flamed out near Tikrit 30 minutes ago,” Sergeant Detmering explained quickly. “Briefing room in 10 minutes!”

While that sounded straightforward enough, Josh had learned through experience there was no such thing as a “routine” mission. Today’s mission would prove him right.

During the briefing, he learned this mission would take him and his crew to an area three miles west of Tikrit – Saddam Hussein’s hometown and an insurgent stronghold. By 2:30 a.m., an HH-60G Pave Hawk helicopter was airborne.
Outside the chopper, the early morning temperature was a stifling 97 degrees. Inside, heat and engine noise reached oppressive levels. Two gunners stood ready at their GAU-2/B miniguns. Josh and his partner, Tech. Sergeant Lance Albritton, sat with their legs hanging out each door, M-4 carbines across their laps. ETA: 18 minutes.

Flying fast and low, the chopper pilot followed instructions from the controller aboard the airborne warning and control systems (AWACS) aircraft flying high above and reached the downed pilot’s location without incident.

After dropping off Josh and his partner, the chopper was airborne again – the entire process taking less than 30 seconds.

On the ground, it took the PJs less than two minutes to locate the pilot who was crouched behind an abandoned truck some 50 yards from the drop site.

“Are you hurt?” Josh asked the pilot, who appeared very concerned about his predicament but otherwise uninjured.

“No, but I think there are some bad guys over there, heading our way,” the pilot replied, pointing to the East. “And they’re not happy to see us.”

The pilot had been patrolling the area in support of Army ground operations when the lone engine of his F-16C Fighting Falcon (a.k.a., “lawn dart” because of its resemblance to the once-popular backyard toy) decided it had had enough, forcing him to eject. The “bad guys” had been on the receiving end of one of his air-to-ground missiles an hour earlier and, he suspected, would head toward the fireball his aircraft had created upon impact less than three miles east of where he found himself now.

Josh had made six saves during his two tours in Iraq, but something about this one gave him the creeps. Though not sure why he had the bad feeling, he had it nevertheless. After attaching a harness to the pilot, he radioed the chopper for immediate pickup.

As the word “Copy” left his lips, shots rang out and he saw Sergeant Christopher reach with his left hand for the side of his head. A chunk had been ripped out of the left side of his helmet. He was disoriented and having a hard time standing up.

“Mama bear, we’ve taking fire!” Josh screamed into his radio. “Lance is hit! We need cover fire! North, 100 yards. We need cover fire!”

More shots rang out. As Josh tried to doctor his partner’s head wound, the downed pilot fired his pistol in the direction of the enemy.

“How many –” Josh began to ask the pilot, stopping in mid-sentence when he felt a bullet graze the left side of his neck. Then another round hit him just above the right hip. Someone had him in his sight.

Seconds later, the chopper’s left-side gunner unloaded a barrage of 7.62 mm rounds on the area north of Josh. A virtual flood of metal hit the insurgents, enemy gunfire ceased and the gunner made a declaration over the radio – “Enemy destroyed!” Hearing that, the chopper pilot dropped his aircraft to the ground.

Ignoring his own wounds, Josh partnered with the downed pilot to help Sergeant Christopher make it to the chopper some 20 yards away. As they lifted him onto the floor of the chopper, three quick shots rang out and Josh felt more pain – this time in the back of his left leg just below the knee.

As he fell to the ground, he caught a glimpse of his leg, nearly severed. Blood was pouring from the gaping wound. Seconds later, he fell unconscious.

Responding to the latest burst of gunfire, the gunner quickly located and eliminated the source – a sniper who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere some 60 yards from the landing zone. But it was too late. One PJ was badly wounded. The other, Josh Kastens, would die before the chopper made it back to base. Though both had lived up to the PJ creed, “That Others May Live,” Josh had paid the ultimate price, little knowing the impact his death might have on the world.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2008 Bob McCarty, L.L.C. All rights reserved. Any reproduction, publication or broadcast
or other use of this document without the express permission of Bob McCarty, L.L.C., is prohibited by law.

>> Part Two <<

To read other SCRATCH OFF posts, click here.