Range - Andrew Davie

Range by Andrew Davie

Book excerpt

The plane banked with the turbulence, and almost everyone on the flight grabbed their arm rests. The exceptions included a few soldiers Lawson could only imagine were pilots who’d seen much worse up close. They weren’t even phased. The other soldiers who hadn’t reacted may have pre-viously been considered for section eights and would never be able to adjust to life back in the world.

“Get you somethin, hon?” the stewardess said.

Lawson looked over. She was standing in the aisle directly next to him. He hadn’t even heard her approach. If he’d still been in the jungle, he would have been dead.

“Coke, please.”

She filled a cup with ice and popped the top off a bottle. She had blonde hair, green eyes, and very angular features. She wouldn’t have been a pin up girl, but she was attractive. More im-portantly, she was the first American girl Lawson had seen in months. Up close, the bright colors of her uniform bordered on overpowering. Still, though.

“I’m Lawson,” he began to say then added, “Herb.”

“Cheryl. Nice to meet you.”

She handed him the coke. Her smile was something else. Lawson didn’t believe there was a real connection; he knew she genuinely cared about the boys coming back home, and her kind-ness hadn’t been forced. He also knew she would smile like that at everyone who spoke with her. He laughed. it would take him a while to get used to saying Herb again.

He watched Cheryl move further down the aisle and took a sip of his drink.

It felt like only yesterday he was short twenty days and going out on his final patrol be-fore his team leader, Matthew Rainwood, who said Lawson would be put on administrative du-ties. They may have needed every able body in the field, but Rainwood looked out for his guys especially if they were that short.

Lawson drank more of his soda, pinched the bridge of his nose, and shut his eyes. He had allowed himself time before he left to process everything. He knew if he thought about it again he’d lose it, and that was the last thing he needed, to lose it during the fourth hour of a fifteen hour flight. Lawson managed to white knuckle through the desire to contemplate the uncertainty of his future, and instead focused on his final patrol.

The team had been just within the cover of the jungle, but they had a clear view of the bridge and road. Intel had come down that the bridge was being used for enemy activity and needed to be leveled. The squad was going to assess the situation and quarterback an air strike.

“Toss it,” Rainwood had said.

As their team leader, Rainwood had been responsible for everything. He took care of the recon team, and even though he was roughly the same age, he’d become a father figure to most of them. A member of the Mashantucket Pequot tribe, he took pride in his heritage, though he’d had to keep a standard military style haircut, forgoing his usual style which hung down to his ribs.

Sal Raskavanitch, the assistant radio operator had the best arm, so he would throw the smoke. Raskavanitch was from some Midwest town outside of Chicago. He said he’d been scouted by some colleges to play center field. No one believed it until one day, while filling sandbags, he launched a stone into the jungle. They didn’t know how far it had gone but was enough to confirm he’d probably been telling the truth.

“I got three to one it gets caught in the branches,” Lawson said. He was the point man from New York City: Hell’s Kitchen. A degenerate gambler, he’d bet on everything, but he kept things light and was as solid as they came.

Raskavanitch threw the smoke cannister which cleared the trees and landed exactly where it was supposed to.

“Damn,” Lawson said after the throw. “I guess they really know how to grow ‘em in Pea Pod,” he added.

“Paw Paw,” Raskavanitch said.

Within a moment, the cannister begin emitting a thick cloud of purple smoke.

“Echo Tango this is Alpha Foxtrot, we’ve popped smoke,” Jeremiah Jackson, the radio operator said. Jackson had black square frame glasses which made his eyes look twice their nor-mal size. He was given to most superstitions imaginable, and before every patrol, went through a ritual that ended with him kissing the crucifix he wore around his neck.

The Forward Air Controller had already given them their options of aircraft in the vicini-ty, and soon an F4 would arrive and Napalm the area.

“Alpha Foxtrot, I have purple smoke, over,” the FAC replied.

“Roger that, Alpha Foxtrot out.”

The FAC suggested all groups within a few hundred yards button up since the F4 would go to work with 40-mike-mike and nape the area.

“Were there any takers on the arm from Pea Pod?” Lawson said.

“Herb,” Rainwood said. His tone wasn’t angry, but it was stern. Lawson gave it a rest. The F4 made its pass, the explosions shook the ground, and lit up the vicinity even though it was still daytime. No matter how many times Lawson smelled Napalm, he still retched. He wasn’t nauseated, but there was something about the smell that disagreed with him. When he’d first ar-rived, he’d carried some tablets, but they didn’t do anything. In the end, he realized it was just another thing he’d have to endure, like the time he was on R and R in Japan and discovered they put mayonnaise on pizza, and it would be almost impossible to get it without.

Dom Garibaldi, the assistant team leader, rarely spoke. Even during a skirmish, he had a quiet stoic quality. He got Rainwood’s attention and made a motion with his hand accounting for everyone. It wasn’t necessary since all of them had been present, but Garibaldi followed proce-dure regardless.

“Take your positions,” Rainwood said, and they began to move. They would survey the damage wrought by the F4. Most of the time, there wasn’t much left to examine. It was nasty stuff. Lawson always found it perplexing and the smell would make him feel sick, but he didn’t have a problem with discovering charred remains.

The plane banked again and brought him out of his memory. He realized he’d been sweat-ing and gripping both of his armrests. He finished the rest of his soda. He was about to ring Cheryl to get another but figured he’d just ask her on her way back.

Lawson tried to think of more pleasant things.

When he got home, he’d have some catching up to do celebrating the Knicks champion-ship he’d missed. He’d made a killing on their victory. He was able to get great odds after they lost the first game. The final game was played in Los Angeles and kicked off at 1930 which made it O930 where they were. Lawson knew he’d catch hell but made sure to get out of what-ever duty he’d been assigned in order to listen to the broadcast. Lawson smiled at the memory. He wouldn’t have a sizable bankroll when he got home, but it would be enough to get started. He wondered if Elmo was still taking book, but even if he wasn’t, Lawson would find someone else. A pang in his stomach made him realize that as much as he was trying to fight it, he’d return to thinking about the last mission.