The Trash Haulers Read Online Free Page B

Seabees, Naval Mobile Construction Battalion 58 to be exact, and for two bottles of Jim Beam the Seabees had “diverted” the plywood sheets and 2x4s he needed to cobble together a floor. His fellow tent mates appreciated the effort and concluded, rightly, that Tanner’s main concern was to protect his small library. One of his buddies making his way back from the showers yelled at him. “How many more laps, Professor?”
    “Done,” Tanner shouted back. He headed for the Ops Shack to check the duty roster. He had better be on it.
    He never made it. The in-coming shriek of mortars drove him into a heavily sandbagged bunker. He hunkered down and covered his ears as a barrage of mortar rounds walked across the base. A series of secondary explosions was ample proof that they had bracketed in the parked helicopters.
    Not sure what was coming next, he crawled to the bunker entrance and chanced a quick look using the smoke and dust as cover. Just as quickly, he pulled back inside as the unmistakable rattle of AK-47s echoed over his head. Without his .38, he felt totally naked. He focused on the gunfire. The attackers were firing in long bursts. “Fuckin’ newbies,” he grunted. The AK-47 was a highly reliable weapon but had to be fired in short three or four round bursts for any accuracy. The gunfire grew closer. He found a trenching tool, the Army’s short-handled folding shovel, and quickly scooped out a deep hole in the back corner of the bunker. Adrenaline did work wonders.
    He retreated to the entrance, cocked the shovel like a baseball bat and waited. “Fuck,” he muttered, totally out of options.
    A hand grenade rolled through the entrance. Tanner used the shovel as a scoop and tossed the grenade into the hole he had just dug. He hunkered against the wall and covered his hears, his mouth open. The grenade exploded, deafening and showering him with dirt. He yawned, trying to clear his ears. Nothing. He shook his tee shirt, adding to the dust cloud inside the bunker. He chanced blinking his eyes. He could see. A shadow filled the entrance and he cocked the shovel, ready to swing.
    A young soldier holding an AK-47 edged into the bunker. Tanner swung his shovel in a horizontal arc like an axe, cutting into the soldier’s throat. He threw a body block into the attacker as he grabbed the AK-47. They slammed into the far wall and the soldier fell to the ground. Tanner swung the AK-47 like a club, smashing into his attacker’s skull. He stood motionless over the body, staring at it. “Sweet Jesus,” he groaned. He had just killed a teenage girl. He checked the AK-47 and, holding it at the ready, inched out of the bunker. The gunfire had moved on and was centred on the far side of the base. He made a dash for the ops shack, passing eight burning helicopters.
    “Tanner!” a voice called. “Over here.” It was Tanner’s company commander, a captain and West Point graduate on his second tour. “A mortar got your aircraft and crew chief.” He pointed to another helicopter in the end revetment. “Find a peter pilot and get the hell out of Dodge.” A peter pilot was a young and inexperienced co-pilot fresh from training in the States who was always teamed with an older aircraft commander until he could be seasoned enough to stay alive.
    Tanner tossed the AK-47 to his company commander and trotted past a smouldering revetment, the Huey a burnt-out hulk. A young pilot who looked all of seventeen was standing upwind of the smoke, a look of total shock on his face. “Perkins!” Tanner bellowed, recognizing the second lieutenant. “Follow me.” The baby-faced pilot fell in behind him as they made the long dash to the end revetment. “Not a good day,” Tanner said, breathing easily.
    “What we gonna do?” Perkins asked. He was on the edge of panic.
    “What we always do,” Tanner replied. “We’re Dust Off.” They skidded around the edge of the bunker. Dust Off was the call sign for medevac helicopters named in