Short Stories - Volume I (2007 - 2013) by Josh Lanyon

Author:Josh Lanyon [Lanyon, Josh]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: JustJoshin Publishing, Inc.
Published: 2015-03-18T07:00:00+00:00

Until We Meet Once More

Until We Meet Once More

It ain’t over till it’s over. This story, written in 2009, was another contribution to a charity anthology. It combines some of my favorite elements, including action and adventure and sifting through the baggage of old relationships.

Anchors Aweigh, my boys,

Anchors Aweigh.

Farwell to foreign shores,

We sail at break of day-ay-ay-ay.

Through our last night ashore,

Drink to the foam,

Until we meet once more.

Here’s wishing you a happy voyage home

Anchors Aweigh - Lt. Charles A. Zimmerman

Present day, 0001, Bagram Air Base, Afghanistan

“What we don’t want,” Lt. Colonel Marsden said, “is another Roberts’ Ridge.”

“Understood, sir.”

Army Ranger Captain Vic Black was thirty-two, a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark hair prematurely silver at the temples, and eyes a color a former lover had once referred to as “jungle green.” Those light green eyes studied his commanding officer as Marsden, his face lined with weariness, looked instinctively at the silent phone on his desk.

Vic understood only too well what Marsden was thinking. The parallels between this rescue operation and the disastrous Battle of Takur Gar — commonly known as Roberts’ Ridge — were painfully clear. In the Battle of Takur Gar the rescue of a Navy SEAL had resulted in two helicopters getting shot down and the deaths of seven U.S. soldiers — including the Navy SEAL, Petty Officer First Class Neil C. Roberts. Yeah, the last thing anyone wanted was another Roberts’ Ridge.

Marsden admitted, “I know what you’re thinking, but we’re in better position to get their man out even if they didn’t have their hands full with Akhtar Shah Omar on the other side of the valley.”

“That’s what we’re here for,” Vic said woodenly. Well, it was one of the things the rangers were there for. Rapid response. Rescue. Whatever was needed. Like the SEALs, the Rangers were an elite special operations force, highly trained and able to handle a variety of conventional and special op missions — everything from air assault to recovery of personnel or special equipment. This missing Navy SEAL seemed to qualify as both of the latter.

“No QRF. No TACP. No USAF. Just a three-man rescue team carried in by a MH-47 Chinook and inserted at 0200 hours 1000 meters on the Arma mountain range.” Marsden pointed to a place on the map.

“Has there been any further communication from the surviving SEAL?” Vic asked, scrutinizing the map. Those impenetrable mountains were riddled with Taliban and al Qaeda fighters. Another enemy was the weather — it was winter now — and the brutal terrain. The Shah-i-Kot valley and surrounding mountains provided natural protection. For the last 2,000 years Afghan fighters had successfully resisted everyone from Alexander the Great in 330 B.C., to the British Army in the 1800’s to the Soviets in 1980.

“No,” Marsden replied. “But this is a valuable man with valuable intel. They — we — need him back.”

“That’s what rangers do. Kick down the doors, take care of business, and bring the good guys home safe and sound.”

Marsden met Vic’s gaze — reading him correctly — and grimaced.

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