Fire for Effect (11 page)

The answer was delayed while the staff sergeant returned fire. “Captain’s out there with the rest of the platoon tryin’ to hold them off while this detachment makes sure the two of you make it through okay.”

The Marines scrambled as two more of their platoon stumbled through the doorway. One of the newcomers fell heavily to the floor, his uniform showing several dark patches of blood.

Moving as one, Kellan and Jonah crawled forward to the wounded Marine. “We got this, you guys do what you have to.” Kellan used a tone of voice he hadn’t utilized since his discharge. Finally, he and Jonah could be of some use.

Staying low, they dragged the Marine to the back of the room and out of the way. Jonah grabbed up the discarded M16 and leaned it against the wall within easy reach. Kellan emptied the webbing and pockets of the Marine’s uniform. He handed ammunition to Jonah and tore open the IFAK—Individual First Aid Kit—dumping the contents onto the floor.

“Staff Sergeant Mason, we got a room back here with an alcove,” a Marine shouted. “It’ll provide a little more cover.”

“Roger that,” the staff sergeant Kellan now knew was named Mason, answered.

“Tell me which room and we’ll move there once we’re done here,” Kellan said, not looking up from his task.

“Fuck, is that Frasier?” someone asked in a worried tone.

Jonah tore open the Marine’s MTV to reveal a name patch that read ‘Frasier’.

“Get back to your position, Porter,” Mason ordered from where he was firing out the front door of the house. “They’ll take care of Frasier.”

Porter gave brief directions to the secure back bedroom. “Solid copy,” Jonah told him.

The largest patches of blood were on the Marine’s right arm and leg. “Ka-Bar,” Kellan barked.

Jonah retrieved Frasier’s knife from the leg sheath and handed it over. Kellan cut open the sleeve and pant leg of Frasier’s uniform. The arm wound was the worst. Flesh was devastated and Kellan thought he could see bone fragments in the wound. There was too much damage to apply direct pressure.

“Anybody have a CAT?” Kellan shouted, asking for a Combat Application Tourniquet.

A black strip of fabric hit the tile floor and slid to within Jonah’s reach. Kellan took the two-inch thick nylon webbing and slid it over Frasier’s arm nearly to his armpit. He twisted the plastic windlass until the blood flow slowed and seemed to cease. Securing the windlass, Kellan shifted to examine the leg wound.

Before Kellan asked, Jonah handed him a thick wad of gauze. Kellan pressed into the wound on the top of Frazier’s thigh. It was a large but clean, circular wound. As he pressed the gauze to that wound, Jonah helped Kellan shift Frasier’s leg until they found the jagged exit wound. Jonah handed him another wad of gauze.

“Is there QuikClot?” Kellan asked.

Jonah showed him the packet. “Say when.”

When his watch reached ninety seconds, Kellan pulled away the gauze and blood flowed freely. “Now.”

Jonah carefully tore open the QuikClot packet and sprinkled the granules into the exit wound. Kellan shifted Frasier’s leg so Jonah could sprinkle the QuikClot into the entry wound.

With the bleeding under control, Kellan asked, “Pressure bandage?”

“How’s Frasier doing, sir?” Sergeant Mason asked.

“Bleeding’s under control,” Jonah shouted in answer.

Together, they applied the large cotton pads to the entry and exit wounds. Kellan wrapped the four-inch wide elastic wrap and secured it with the plastic and Velcro fasteners.

“Are you gonna wrap the arm?” Jonah asked.

“Yeah,” Kellan replied. “Gauze and triangular bandage?”

Jonah handed over the roll of gauze and Kellan wrapped Frasier’s arm. He covered it with the tightly wrapped triangular bandage. The tourniquet would control the bleeding but the bandage would keep the wound as clean as possible.

“He’s good for now, staff sergeant,” Kellan shouted, “but he needs a cas-evac asap!”

“Copy that,” replied Mason.

Jonah picked up the M16 and grabbed one side of Frasier’s collar. Kellan grabbed the other side as they prepared to move to the more secure room. Two more Marines fell through the doorway.

“Soames was fragged!” one of the new Marines yelled.

A fresh burst of adrenaline flooding Kellan’s system. They left Frasier in the relative safety of the corner and crawled forward. “We’ll take care of Soames,” Jonah declared.

“Kistler, head back and make sure they’ve got all the rooms secured back there,” Mason ordered sharply.

At first, Kistler didn’t move. He stared at Soames, his expression stunned.

“Move it, Kistler!” Mason ordered forcefully.

Kistler jolted. He shook himself visibly and climbed to his feet. Adjusting his weapon, he headed down the hallway toward the back rooms.

“It ain’t that bad,” Soames said breathlessly, struggling to hide his pain.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Kellan replied. He took up Soames’ M16 and together, he and Jonah dragged the Marine and lay him next to Frasier.

“Captain says they’re holdin’ ’em off out there, but it’s still gonna be awhile before we can call in a cas-evac,” Mason shouted.

Fuck. “Roger that,” Kellan answered. If Frasier’s arm stayed tourniqueted for too long, he’d likely lose the arm, even if he lived.

Jonah sliced open both legs of Soames’ uniform. He was riddled with shrapnel wounds of all levels of severity. “Where does it hurt, Lance Corporal?” Jonah asked.

“My legs and my back,” Soames gasped.

They carefully rolled Soames onto his side. Kellan cut his shredded, bloody uniform blouse away from his lower back. “Not too bad,” he declared. “Legs are the worst. QuikClot will do the trick.”

This time, when they emptied the Marine’s pockets, Kellan kept the ammunition and set it with the M16 he’d collected. Jonah retrieved Soames’ IFAK and opened the packet of QuikClot. He sprinkled the granules into the shrapnel wounds on the leg closest to him before handing the packet to Kellan. When Kellan finished with Soames’ second leg, they rolled him again in order to treat the wounds on the fronts of his legs.

“Just relax, Lance Corporal,” Kellan said. “We’ll get you a cas-evac just as soon as it’s clear.”

“Prop me up and hand me my weapon,” Soames said.

“You get to go hide out in a back room with the rest of the VIPs,” Jonah replied.

“Fuck that,” Soames groused.

Kellan couldn’t help but snort a laugh at Soames’ motto. “Staff Sergeant Mason?” Kellan called loudly across the room. “We’re pulling back and taking the wounded.”

“Roger that,” Mason shouted. “Just because you have those M16s, don’t think you get to use them.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jonah replied dryly as he and Kellan grabbed Soames’ collar and dragged him down the hall.

“I can walk,” Soames protested.

“Shut up,” Kellan said, not worried about Marine pride, just wanting to get them all settled in the secure alcove.

Returning to the main room, Kellan checked the ammunition level in the magazine loaded into the second M16. Seeing it was half full, he made sure a round was chambered. He loaded his pockets with spare magazines, picked up the M16 and grabbed Frasier’s collar with his other hand.

Reaching the second doorway on the right, they quickly made their way to the small alcove. Soames had managed to gather up some quilts and blankets and started making make-shift beds. He helped them to get Frasier tucked into the rear of the alcove on top of a generous pile of blankets, some folded into a pillow.

“How you doin’ for ammo, Marines?” Jonah called as they settled into the alcove next to Soames.

“Okay for now,” replied the Marine Kellan thought was named Porter.

“How’s it look out there?” asked Jonah.

“They just keep comin’, but we’re holdin’ ’em off,” Porter answered. “Captain’s still got the worst of it over by the victors.”

Kellan tipped his head back against the wall, closed his eyes and listened to the constant burst and blasts of the ongoing gun battle. The sound of exploding grenades was intermittent but never let up. Many of them were close to the outer wall of the room they were in. Kellan wished he had comms so he could get an accurate sit-rep.

“You just
had
to come to Afghanistan, didn’t you?” Jonah’s annoyed tone was laced with humor.

Kellan grinned, but left his eyes closed. “At least I didn’t get myself abducted, this time.”

“There’s still time, the battle isn’t over yet,” Jonah replied.

“Maybe you’ll be the lucky one this time,” Kellan teased.

Jonah snorted. “It would serve you right, having to chase me down across a desert.”

Before Kellan could make another witty reply, a grenade blast sounded right outside the wall and the entire room shuddered.

Small arms fire immediately resumed but Kellan thought he heard shouts elsewhere in the house.

“Shit!” Porter swore viciously. “First Sergeant? Staff Sergeant Mason says they took a direct grenade blast up front. They’ve got wounded and he wants to know if you can help.”

Jonah and Kellan were already scrambling to their feet. “Absolutely. Tell Mason we’re en route,” Jonah answered.

Kellan replaced the ammo magazines in his pockets. Jonah leaned over Frasier and removed the Ka-Bar sheath from his boot and strapped it to his own.

“I’ll keep an eye on Frasier,” Soames said, handing magazines to Jonah.

Taking up position on either side of the doorway, Kellan and Jonah prepared to make their way back to the front room of the house. The proximity of those last grenade blasts meant insurgents were close enough to possibly make entry, so they needed to be cautious.

Jonah pointed to himself and held up an index finger. He pointed at Kellan and help up two fingers. Kellan acknowledged the order in which they would exit the room.

“Mounting,” Jonah shouted, lifted the M16 to his shoulder and stepped out into the hall.

“Mounting,” Kellan shouted and followed Jonah out, walking backward as he used his M16 to cover their six.

When Kellan felt Jonah at his back, he knew they had reached the door to the front room.

“It’s clear,” Jonah said to Kellan, letting him know they were clear to enter the room in relative safety.

“Roger that,” Kellan replied.

“We’re coming in, Mason,” Jonah shouted, letting the Marine know that friendlies were approaching from their six.

“Come ahead!” Mason yelled over the roar of small weapons fire.

Kellan turned and kneed Jonah in the back, signaling that he was ready to move. Jonah stayed low as they entered the room, sweeping the muzzle of his weapon left to center. Kellan stayed high, sweeping right to center.

There were three Marines down in the center of the room. Kellan crouched and discovered one of them was Corporal Armitage. The other two appeared to have sought cover in the house after they’d been wounded.

Armitage lay on his side. He had multiple shrapnel wounds in the backs of his legs and his buttocks. “I didn’t duck quick enough when the grenade made it through the window.” Armitage was trying for humor but pain strained his voice.

Kellan patted his arm. “Yeah, well, they
are
quick fuckers.” He glanced up at Jonah. “What have you got?”

One of the Marines had shrapnel wounds, but the other had taken a couple of rounds from an AK-47. One of the rounds had nearly obliterated the Marine’s calf muscle. It was an ugly and devastating wound.

“Captain Miller has choppers inbound to deal with these fuckers,” Mason said, not lifting his cheek from the stock of his weapon.

“Copy that,” Kellan responded. That meant things were bad out there and it was a pretty large group of insurgents being held off by a single platoon of Marines.

Working quickly, Jonah and Kellan dragged the wounded Marines to a corner of the room, as secure as possible given the circumstances. They worked together, with a minimum of words exchanged, patching up the Marines as well as IFAKs would allow.

“Grenade!”

Kellan threw himself over the Marines who lay before him and covered his ears as best he could. The blast made the room shudder and brought dust down all around them. Pushing himself back to his knees, he saw that Jonah had responded the same way.

“Everybody okay?” Jonah shouted toward the front of the room.

“We’re good,” Mason answered. “It landed outside the wall.”

Kellan glanced over his shoulder and saw the bars over the window had sustained some damage in that last blast. The lower corner of one window was twisted and mangled. It indicated just how close of a call that last grenade had been.

Jonah struggled to stem the bleeding in the Marine’s devastated lower leg and Kellan scrambled to assist. It seemed to take forever, but finally, between the make-shift tourniquet and direct pressure, they got it under control.

“Grenade!”

Kellan only had enough time to cover one of the wounded Marines with his own body. Almost immediately after the blast, Marines were shouting in alarm.

Pushing up onto his knees, Kellan looked back and saw one of the Marines at the window was now sprawled on the floor. Crawling forward, Kellan checked the wounds and found they were bad. The Marine had taken shrapnel to his face and upper arms.

“They’re down one weapon now,” Jonah said from beside Kellan.

“I got this,” Kellan replied. They’d all be in trouble if the house was overrun by insurgents.

Jonah picked up the discarded M16 and checked its ammunition. He took a knee at the corner of the window, beside where Staff Sergeant Mason was firing out the door of the structure.

“You were determined, weren’t you?” Mason asked Jonah, managing to sound amused despite the circumstances.

“Been awhile since I got some,” Jonah replied, even as he squeezed off a two round burst.

Kellan dragged the wounded Marine to lay with his other patients and set about opening the IFAK.

“I’m fine, sir,” the Marine said through clenched teeth, as he tried to deny that he was in pain.

“Top Carver took up your position,” Kellan said as he held direct pressure to the worst of the shrapnel wounds. “How bad is it out there?”

“It’s bad, sir,” the Marine replied. “Those choppers need to get here quick.”