They hadn’t gone far when Lewis was tugging on Brannigan’s sleeve. “Sir, we just got a message from Team Two,” he yelled in the Colonel’s ear. “They are mission complete, but are pinned down under fire, and cut off from the beach.”
Brannigan glanced forward, where the wounded Lance Corporal Clark was lying on the deck. Time was short, but he had a responsibility to those boys down on the ground, too. He started working his way forward, stepping over and past knees, boots, M27s, and two LSATs, carefully moving around Clark’s supine form, until he got to the cockpit.
“We need to divert to Shilka Position Two,” he shouted to the pilot. “Some of my boys are in trouble, and need some support.”
“This ain’t a gunship, sir, and we’ve got a casualty aboard,” the copilot protested.
“Don’t try to bullshit me, son,” Brannigan replied. “We’ve got a minigun and a 240 mounted for a reason, and it’s more than that team on the ground has. Take us in.” He stayed where he was, but motioned for Lewis to hand him the handset, cursing the multiple tac frequencies that went along with combined arms warfare. The recon teams were on one channel, the Battalion Combat Team was on another, and the birds were on a third. And that was after he’d ranted and raved to simplify matters as much as possible.
Lewis handed him the handset and he flipped his right-hand Peltor headpiece out of the way, pressing the black plastic to his ear. “Tiburon Two, this is Kodiak Six,” he called.
The answering radio call came after a moment’s delay. He could hear the rattle of gunfire in the background. “Kodiak Six, Tiburon Two,” Staff Sergeant Holmes replied.
“We are inbound to your position with air support, Tiburon Two,” Brannigan said. “ETA two mikes. Give me a sitrep and a position. We’re going to lay waste, and I don’t want you boys getting burned down by accident.”