16.JAN.2012; Kandahar
[From Max]
The Chinooks staged on the hammerhead in a staggered pair. My guys piled their gear to one side as we waited to manifest. People scurried in every direction. Air crew. Ground crew. Soldiers.
I checked my kit one last time and counted off my guys by touching each of them on the shoulder and making eye contact.
“One! Two! Three! . . . “
No one could hear me over the choppers. Their rotors beat at the air, twisting together in time, and sent a maelstrom of turbulence in every direction. The little civilian woman tugged on my sleeve and mouthed something I couldn’t understand. She pointed at the flightline.
I grabbed one of my teamleaders and gave him a thumbs up, waving toward the choppers. The boys snapped on their helmets and grabbed their gear. We lined up at the base of the ramp. M240s hung ominously from windows on either side of the aircraft, just behind the cockpit. Another was mounted on a pintle in the middle of the ramp.
We stood in the whirlwind as the aircrew finished their checklists. The noise was deafening. I could feel each individual tha-wump as the rotors whipped above my head. Each vibration shuddered down through my body, to the cold ground. My toes began to tingle. Every hair on the back of my neck stood on end.
I took one last head count. I spot-checked a few of the guys, tugging on loose straps and tucking them in wherever I could. The tail gunner gave me a thumbs up.
The belly of the Chinook looked like a scale model of a C-130, shrunk down. Except for the noise. That had been magnified a hundred-fold. The walls were run through with wires, and plumbed with hydraulic lines. The nerves and blood of any aircraft. The whole thing shivered beneath my feet as I crawled inside.
It would have been awesome if I didn’t know I was heading to be fired. For a moment, I didn’t care.
I dropped down on the jump seat and tucked my rifle between my knees. Suddenly my view of the flightline shifted, the entire world jarred to one side behind the still-lowered tail ramp. The tail gunner grabbed the wall for support as the chopper lurched and lumbered forward.
Once we were airborne the gunner turned and perched on the edge of the ramp. I saw the braid of hair hanging out from under the helmet, down to her shoulderblades. She dangled her feet off the ramp, held in place by a clip and tether.
We gained altitude fast. My stomach was doing gymnastics. I took a few long, slow breaths. I expected it to be worse. With the wheels off the ground, the airframe was surprisingly stable.
Up near the front I heard the familiar beat of an M240. I wrinkled my forehead and glanced at the tailgunner. She grabbed up the handles on her weapon and squeezed the butterflies.
Die, motherfucker, die! I thought, reflexively. Gun cadence.
A ridgeline fell into view behind us. Test fire, I realized. The guns sounded surpringly muted, drowned out by the roar of the chopper. Spent link and casings rattled around on the ramp and disappeared out in the sky.
I forgot to put in ear protection. I was nearly deaf by the time we arrived.
