Chapter 16 Kill ItCount It

Chapter 16

Kill It or Count It

Ronda No-H called herself “the ship’s purser,” but she was far too humble. The Air Force paid for her education to become a CPA after she served as a door gunner for six years in uniform. Since becoming part of our organization, she not only served as the financial officer aboard the Lori Danielle , but also as the CPA for our entire organization. The look on her face as she rearranged the food on her plate at dinner caught my attention.

“Is everything all right?”

She sliced into a roasted potato. “I was just about to ask you the same thing.”

It suddenly became my turn to push my meal around the plate. “Yeah, I’m good.”

She leaned forward. “Lie to somebody who’ll believe you, big boy, ’cause I’m not buying it. What’s going on?”

“Do you really want to know?”

She laid down her fork. “Unless you’re about to fire me, yes, I want to know.”

I let out a chuckle. “No, you’re too valuable, and besides, you know where the bodies are buried.”

“I know where the next bodies will be buried, and don’t you forget it, either. So, what’s up?”

“I’m just a little out of sorts, and I’ve got a little mutiny working.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And what did you do to bring this mutiny about, Captain Bligh?”

“Oh, it’s my fault, is it?”

“Mutiny is always the captain’s fault. That doesn’t mean he’s wrong, but he always causes it.”

I stared down at the pork steak on my plate and considered her position. “That stings a little.”

She shrugged. “The truth often does.”

“So, what do you suggest I do?”

She took a bite and washed it down with a sip of tea. “Floggings before the mast for the mutineer might do the trick, as long as Disco isn’t the guilty party.”

I let my fork fall onto my plate. “Your man has nothing to fear. He’s one of the loyalists. Perhaps I’m the one in need of a good flogging if I’m truly the cause.”

“From where I sit,” she said, “you’re already giving yourself a pretty good whipping. Maybe cutting yourself a little slack and remembering that these people love you is a step in the right direction.”

“You’d make a pretty good psychologist.”

She laughed. “I’m an old door gunner who’s pretty good at keeping a ledger, so if I can’t kill it or count it, it’s none of my business.”

I stood, and she asked, “Where are you going? You’ve hardly touched your dinner.”

“I’m going to call the chief flogger and see if he can fit me in.”

Dr. Frederick Kennedy answered on the first ring as if he’d been waiting with his finger poised over the answer key. “Hello, Chase. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

For a time, Fred had served as the staff psychiatrist and psychologist at The Ranch, where I was trained to become whatever I was. He’d been a student of Dr. Robert “Rocket” Richter and shared my affection for the long-deceased psych professor.

“You may not consider it a pleasure by the time we finish the conversation.”

I could almost see him pulling off his wirerimmed glasses and crossing his legs. “I’m listening.”

I wasted no time. “My analyst is imploding.”

He cleared his throat. “That happens when a young woman becomes a young widow. How can I help?”

“Clearing your schedule for a couple of weeks would be a good start.”

“Is she coming to me, or am I making a house call?”

“How do you feel about shipboard living for a few days?”

He said, “If said ship is a luxury yacht, I’m all for it. However, if it’s a sailboat, I’m out.”

“How quickly can you be in New Orleans?”

“How does the day after tomorrow sound?”

I said, “Let me know your arrival time, and I’ll have a chopper pick you up.”

“Chase!” Gator’s voice echoed down the corridor, and I spun to see him sprinting toward me from the mess.

I said, “I’ve got to run, Doc. See you in two days.”

Shoving the sat-phone into my pocket, I said, “What’s going on?”

Gator pointed toward his phone. “Kenneth’s house is on fire.”

In that moment, every doubt I carried melted away, and I said, “Get the team.”

“They’re already on their way to the helipad.”

I snatched the radio from my belt and thumbed the button. “Bridge, Alpha One.”

A crackling voice that wasn’t Captain Sprayberry’s answered, “Go for bridge.”

As I sprinted toward my cabin, I said, “Make ready for helo ops and say ship status.”

The voice that came through my handheld radio next was, without question, the voice of the captain. “Helo ops approved. Propulsion ninety percent. Generators sixty.”

Instead of questioning why Big Bob in engineering hadn’t restored the ship to full strength, I said, “Set MEDCON Alpha. Show eight personnel airborne in ten.”

The captain said, “Roger. Shall we be to quarters?”

“Affirmative.”

Almost before I answered, the claxons rang, and the captain’s voice sounded through the speakers inside the ship. “Attention, all hands. This is the captain. General quarters. This is not a drill. General quarters. Set MEDCON Alpha.”

General quarters aboard a ship of war is a perfectly choreographed ballet of professionals moving in sync and preparing for combat. It was possible that I had overreacted, but I’d rather have the ship and crew ready for a fight than resting on their heels.

My first brief stop was in my cabin to throw my kit across my shoulder and retrieve my rifle. I met Skipper in the doorway to the CIC.

She was all business. “What’s wrong?”

I pushed her back inside. “Kenneth LePine’s house is on fire. This thing just turned nasty. We’re going in. Get the satellite linked, and monitor the local emergency response.”

Without a word, the weapons officer pushed past the two of us just inside the doorway and planted himself at the weapons station.

Skipper cocked her head. “We’re going to quarters for a house fire on land? And did I hear the captain say MEDCON Alpha?”

“Yes, we are,” I said. “I don’t know what or who started the fire, but I want the medical staff on alert if we have casualties, and we may need to evac Kenneth if this is what I fear.”

I shrugged on my plate carrier and slung my rifle while sprinting for the helipad. Press-checking my rifle and sidearm, I confirmed a round chambered in each and ready for a fight. I bounded up the ladder to the pad and watched Mongo, Gator, Singer, Kodiak, and Shawn climb aboard the Huey. Disco was strapped into the cockpit beside Gun Bunny, and the main rotor slowly spun to life.

My boot hit the right skid at the same instant it left the deck, and we were airborne in a climbing left turn toward the bayou.

We synced our radios with our bone conduction devices and performed the comms check on the climbout.

With the preliminaries complete, I turned to Gator. “Tell me what you know.”

“Cecilia called me. She said Kenneth’s house is burning, and the volunteer fire department isn’t responding.”

“Is Kenneth inside?”

“She didn’t know.”

“Why aren’t the volunteers responding?”

“Same answer,” he said.

I shuffled forward and stuck my head into the cockpit. “See it yet?”

Disco raised a finger. “We’ve got a plume of black smoke at twelve o’clock.”

I pulled my knees beneath me and raised my head. The landscape looked unfamiliar from the south, but as we flew closer, I picked out a few landmarks. “That’s got to be it.”

Disco said, “It’s the only fire in sight.”

I peered around Gun Bunny to study her GPS screen. “Can that thing show the volunteer fire department?”

She said, “Disco, you have the controls.”

He replied, “I have the controls.”

After repeating the acknowledgment to erase any possibility of confusion over who was doing the flying, Gun Bunny said, “I can pull up that layer. Give me a second.” She pressed several buttons, and soon, a layer showing businesses appeared on the screen. She scrolled and zoomed in until a fire hydrant symbol was centered on the screen. “There it is.”

I scanned the landscape in front of us and tried to match what I saw with the GPS. Finally, a crossroads intersection and a water tower appeared, and I had my bearings. “That puts the fire department just north of Kenneth’s house.”

I spun to face the team. “Gator, you take everybody except Shawn and find out what’s going on at Kenneth’s house. Shawn and I are going to the fire station.”

Gator nodded. “Roger. I snagged two Scott Air-Paks and some gear from the ship. Are we authorized to go inside?”

I didn’t hesitate. “You make the call on the scene.” I checked over my shoulder as the column of black smoke grew ever nearer. “Get ready to go in sixty seconds.”

The team moved to the doors and poised as Disco flew the descending approach upwind of the fire.

Gator led the deployment out the door. “Go, go, go!”

Kodiak, Mongo, and Singer followed him from the helo and into the dust storm beneath the rotor blades.

We climbed away from the fire and turned for the concrete block building with a volunteer fire department emblem painted high above its aluminum doors.

I yelled into the cockpit, “Take high cover and report squirters!”

Disco gave a thumbs-up and pulled pitch just as Shawn and I cleared the skids. Although I hadn’t seen anyone near the building on our approach, I turned to cover Shawn as he mule-kicked the steel door, sending the heavy slab exploding inward. Unsure what we’d find inside, we pressed through the opening with our rifles at the ready.

Twenty seconds after penetrating the structure, Shawn said, “Clear in the rear.”

I lowered my rifle. “Clear up front.”

Shawn hit the lights, and the bulbs slowly came alive, casting yellow hues across the concrete floor and the pair of bright red trucks. When the light grew bright enough, there was little mystery left concerning why the trucks weren’t spraying water on what remained of Kenneth LePine’s house.

“They’ve all been slashed,” Shawn said.

I stuck my hand through a gash in one of the tires. “Not just slashed. It looks like they did it with a chainsaw.”

Shawn said, “Look what I found!”

I turned to see him hefting a gas-powered water pump into his arms. He grunted. “Grab a hose and the intake line.”

I grabbed the equipment and called Disco. “Sierra Five, Sierra One. Get back on deck outside the fire station.”

“Roger,” came his reply, and we moved back through the destroyed door with our newfound tools.

Shawn groaned as he raised the enormous pump and slid it through the door of the Huey.

I threw the hoses aboard and stepped onto the skid. “Go!”

As we climbed, I called Mongo. “Meet us at the helo. We’ll be on the ground in thirty seconds.”

We touched down a hundred yards from the inferno, and Mongo was poised for any task I could assign. He and Shawn muscled the pump and ran toward the bayou. I followed with the intake and fire hose over my shoulders.

“Who’s inside?” I yelled over the roar of the flames.

Mongo said, “Kodiak and Gator, and they’ve been in there way too long.”

“Where’s Singer?” I demanded.

“He’s moving the airboat.”

Shawn rigged the intake and tossed the screen into the bayou while Mongo started the engine on the pump. I tucked the nozzle of the fire hose beneath my arm and ran for the wall of flames, where the door to Kenneth’s house had once been.

As high-pressure water filled the hose and sprayed from the nozzle, the energy sent me staggering backward. What I hit behind me felt like a solid wall, and our SEAL yanked the hose from my grip and shoved me aside.

Shawn pressed forward, adjusting the nozzle as he went, moving with the practiced patience and skill of a seasoned firefighter unfazed by the force of the stream. He widened the spray until it formed a shield of water in front of him as he approached the door, then he disappeared into the torrent of steam, smoke, flame, and water.

I lunged forward to follow him into the fight, but Mongo caught me by the shoulder. “You stay here with me. Shawn knows what he’s doing. This clearly ain’t his first fire.”

Three of my men were inside a burning shack perched on the edge of the bayou, and my friend Kenny LePine’s father was likely burned to death and far beyond recognition.

The rising smoke turned from black to gray and finally white as the fire surrendered to Shawn’s assault. I jerked away from Mongo and ran for the remains of the shack. Shawn backed through the partial door frame and closed the valve on the nozzle.

I yelled, “Are they in there?”

He shook his head and wiped a black swath of sweat and char across his face. “I don’t think anybody’s in there. I couldn’t see, but I didn’t feel anybody. I’ll catch my breath and go back in.”

I stepped around him and forced my way through the rubble and blackened debris. Although the fire was out, it was still nearly impossible to make out any shapes amid the smoking piles, though nothing resembled human bodies. I gagged and coughed as I pawed at everything, desperately searching for my brothers or Kenneth LePine.

Several minutes into my search, the floor beneath me collapsed, and I fell through until I spread my arms to stop my descent into the muck below. Two thoughts went through my mind as I dangled through the burnt floor above the bayou: Are alligators afraid of fire? I hope they don’t like the taste of prosthetic legs.

I twisted and writhed to pull myself back through the floor and make my way from the debris, but the harder I pulled, the more the floor crumbled. Finally, a massive hand hooked me beneath my left arm and hoisted me from entrapment in one smooth motion. It was either an angel or a giant, and I was happy to see either.

When Mongo stepped clear of the black, smoking remains of the shack, with me still in his grasp, Singer ran Kenneth’s airboat ashore a hundred feet away. Kodiak and Gator stumbled over the bow and onto the relatively dry ground. I was relieved beyond words to see them alive, but no matter how hard I looked, there was no sign of Kenneth in the airboat.

Seemingly out of nowhere, Cecilia Lachaussee appeared in a sprint. She threw her arms around Gator. “Oh my God! Are you okay?”

He tentatively returned the hug and then stepped away to remove his drenched turnout gear and drop the Air-Pak from his shoulders. “I’m all right. We got pinned in the back and had to fight our way into the bayou. Singer plucked us out of the water, but I don’t know about Kenneth. We didn’t find him. Have you seen him?”

Before Cecilia could answer, the small camper that had been home for Gator and me three days before exploded as if it’d been struck by a missile.