Hotel Saragarhi: Mid-flight Discoveries
Oct. 26th, 2009 12:38 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsLex learns a bit about his old platoon from the chopper's pilot.
The whir of the rotors were overwhelming, even through the headphones, and Lex remembered why he always hated aerial insertions. It never seemed to fail him, 10 minutes in the air and he developed the worst migraine ever. He looked around to see if anyone else seemed to be affected. Nope, just him. Leaning back he braced himself and tried to watch the land flit past beneath him. It didn't help.
Eventually he looked around at the other occupants of the chopper and tried to find someone to talk to. Everyone seemed to be deep within their own pre-mission rituals and he didn't want to disturb them. The only man who seemed at ease was the pilot. Moving across the chopper he tapped the man on the soldier, and made the signal to indicate frequency two.
"How long you been flying?" he asked, noting the man's rank unconsciously.
"'bout three hundred hours in the old Pav Lows, five hundred in the Black Hawk, and 'bout-" He checked his watch. "Forty-two minutes in this Indian piece of shit. We heard a rumour that their Navy pukes get all the decent rotors. Looks like it's true. Captain Dan O'Shea." He said by way of introduction, not turning his head or taking his hands off the stick to shake.
"O'Shea," Lex repeated, wondering if it could possibly be the same one. "You work with the SF a lot?" He had a sinking feeling that the man before him might be one of the regulars who transported his company around while they were in Pakistan. A mixed blessing really, because he might have news of how the guys were holding up, but he could also be really pissed off about losing a friend.
"Some. SOCOM has its own pilots for some things, but they still run their SAR through us, and some of the deployments with regular Army. Mostly I drop Rangers in the field, hot zone kind of rapid insertions. Which is why I bought this fucking gold BB of an assignment. Hang on." He muttered, pulling back on the stick, while working the panel, hopping a tree bank and trying to keep the helicopter trim against the fierce winds through the mountains. "Jesus, this thing is a pig."
Lex held on, barely keeping his grip as the helicopter lurched over the tops of the trees. He felt queasy for a moment, but as the helicopter leveled out again he kept it in control. "So you were active about six months ago, with the joint SF and GPT deployment? You ever transport a group led by Captain Parish?"
"Parish? Yeah, six month ago, maybe. LZ outside of Sukkur. Real tricky; middle of a fucking windstorm, rookie co-pilot lost his lunch on the side panel, nearly dropped two boys out the side when a handheld Stinger locked us up for a moment and I had to pull a quick evasive. Shit, started smoking again five minutes after hitting the tarmac back at Foxtrot Tango."
"I thought I recognized your voice." Lex said, with a hearty laugh. "You ran my boys to the forward LZ a few times, how've they been?" He'd been needing some word from his comrades, but he couldn't get a direct line to any of them. Part of the deal made for his release or something like that. He felt extremely lucky to have found someone in the middle of nowhere who might know what's going on.
O'Shea shot him a look, his eyes tracking the leather that showed under the Indian combat jacket and hat. "That's one hell of a transfer you got stuck with, man. I might have humped your boys back and forth. Can't really say." He shook his head. "Heard from a couple of people that some of them got bumped to another paygrade, you know. Don't remember you either." His words said one thing, but his meaning was clear.
"Oh," well that wasn't what he expected to hear. Sure his men were the best, but to be swiped just after he got booted, something was definitely wrong. "Thanks," he said, wondering what could have happened. He wanted to pry more, but the man's words left no room for digging. He'd have to look into it on his own time. For now, he needed to focus on the mission, else they were all going suffer for it.
The whir of the rotors were overwhelming, even through the headphones, and Lex remembered why he always hated aerial insertions. It never seemed to fail him, 10 minutes in the air and he developed the worst migraine ever. He looked around to see if anyone else seemed to be affected. Nope, just him. Leaning back he braced himself and tried to watch the land flit past beneath him. It didn't help.
Eventually he looked around at the other occupants of the chopper and tried to find someone to talk to. Everyone seemed to be deep within their own pre-mission rituals and he didn't want to disturb them. The only man who seemed at ease was the pilot. Moving across the chopper he tapped the man on the soldier, and made the signal to indicate frequency two.
"How long you been flying?" he asked, noting the man's rank unconsciously.
"'bout three hundred hours in the old Pav Lows, five hundred in the Black Hawk, and 'bout-" He checked his watch. "Forty-two minutes in this Indian piece of shit. We heard a rumour that their Navy pukes get all the decent rotors. Looks like it's true. Captain Dan O'Shea." He said by way of introduction, not turning his head or taking his hands off the stick to shake.
"O'Shea," Lex repeated, wondering if it could possibly be the same one. "You work with the SF a lot?" He had a sinking feeling that the man before him might be one of the regulars who transported his company around while they were in Pakistan. A mixed blessing really, because he might have news of how the guys were holding up, but he could also be really pissed off about losing a friend.
"Some. SOCOM has its own pilots for some things, but they still run their SAR through us, and some of the deployments with regular Army. Mostly I drop Rangers in the field, hot zone kind of rapid insertions. Which is why I bought this fucking gold BB of an assignment. Hang on." He muttered, pulling back on the stick, while working the panel, hopping a tree bank and trying to keep the helicopter trim against the fierce winds through the mountains. "Jesus, this thing is a pig."
Lex held on, barely keeping his grip as the helicopter lurched over the tops of the trees. He felt queasy for a moment, but as the helicopter leveled out again he kept it in control. "So you were active about six months ago, with the joint SF and GPT deployment? You ever transport a group led by Captain Parish?"
"Parish? Yeah, six month ago, maybe. LZ outside of Sukkur. Real tricky; middle of a fucking windstorm, rookie co-pilot lost his lunch on the side panel, nearly dropped two boys out the side when a handheld Stinger locked us up for a moment and I had to pull a quick evasive. Shit, started smoking again five minutes after hitting the tarmac back at Foxtrot Tango."
"I thought I recognized your voice." Lex said, with a hearty laugh. "You ran my boys to the forward LZ a few times, how've they been?" He'd been needing some word from his comrades, but he couldn't get a direct line to any of them. Part of the deal made for his release or something like that. He felt extremely lucky to have found someone in the middle of nowhere who might know what's going on.
O'Shea shot him a look, his eyes tracking the leather that showed under the Indian combat jacket and hat. "That's one hell of a transfer you got stuck with, man. I might have humped your boys back and forth. Can't really say." He shook his head. "Heard from a couple of people that some of them got bumped to another paygrade, you know. Don't remember you either." His words said one thing, but his meaning was clear.
"Oh," well that wasn't what he expected to hear. Sure his men were the best, but to be swiped just after he got booted, something was definitely wrong. "Thanks," he said, wondering what could have happened. He wanted to pry more, but the man's words left no room for digging. He'd have to look into it on his own time. For now, he needed to focus on the mission, else they were all going suffer for it.
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