Rules Of Engagement

• Inherent Right of Self-Defense. A commander has the authority and obligation to use all necessary means available and to take all appropriate action to defend that commander's unit and other US forces in the vicinity from a hostile act or a demonstration of hostile intent. The SROE do not limit a commander's inherent authority and obligation to use all necessary means available and to take all appropriate action in self-defense of the commander's unit and other US forces in the vicinity. At all times, the requirements of necessity and proportionality as amplified in the SROE, will form the basis for the commander's judgment as to what constitutes an appropriate response to a particular hostile act or demonstration of hostile intent.

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The Price

We sat on the ground near the Humvee, all of us exhausted. Viking had his back against the tire as Chief sat in the driver's seat. I sat on the ground facing both of them. With my feet outstretched and my arms propping my body, I yawned.

"Gotcha breakfast, assholes," said Red. He sat down next to me. "Compliments of H and S Company." He held a box of MREs in his arms. Then, tearing through the packing tape and cardboard flaps, he tossed them at us one at a time.

"Fucking Country Captain Chicken, hah!" I said. I held it out to Viking to tease him. I rummaged through the plastic pouch and found what I was looking for. "Skittles, baby. Jackpot!"

"Screw that, dude," said Chief. He reached down and tried to grab them. I pulled away quickly, leaving my opened pouch between my legs.

"Get some, brother," I said. Viking banged the back of his head repeatedly against the tire, rolled his eyes, sighed, and screamed.

"I even got marble pound cake."

I waved the brown package at him, grinning.

"Jesus!" He stomped both of his feet and kicked up the dust. "Beef Teriyaki... sucks ass, man?"

We all laughed out loud as Viking ripped through the cardboard container to reveal the green foil package, his entrée. "Not even freaking Charms candy, bro. How am I going to survive the day?" Then, he let loose a high-pitched scream.

Red, whose laugh was full, hearty, and contagious, huffed. "Charms?" he said. He wiped the tears from his eyes. "You're freaking killing me, dude. I mean—"

I heard the thrumming of the Sea Knight propellers, the casevac for Aaina and the boy.

"Here comes the helo," I said. "Exfil is oscar mike." I stuffed my mouth full of Skittles, took a bite of my pound cake, and stood to my feet.

The Sea Knight's dull, metallic gray body and dual three-blade rotors hummed. Its sponsons touched down just before the front landing gear, sending the moondust into a whirlwind.

"Lost Boy six-one to Echo-4-Kilo. How copy?" Theo used my designation on comms.

"Lost Boy six-one, this is Echo-4-Kilo. Send it," I said. I wiped the cake crumbs from my mouth.

"Echo-4-Kilo, there is a change in our tasking. Our team will exfil with the casevac in thirty mikes from staging. Break—recon is showing an embedded Taliban presence in the mountain—expect further intel on assignment. How copy?"

"Solid copy, affirm on all."

I took a deep breath, then sighed. This can't be good. I roused Chief, then Red and Viking, and we headed to staging.

Desert camouflage netting and lean-to tents stretched from several of the Humvees. It marked the aid station. H&S and the Corpsman did quick work at organizing triage. They put the litter holding the wounded into rows of the color of their tags. Besides the humanitarian efforts, the green tags took most of the attention. They had minimal injuries—cuts, minor flesh wounds—nothing life-threatening.

Only a few wounded wore the yellow tag. They were the delayed, the ones who needed surgery or serious medical care but weren't emergencies.

I started looking for her. She's got to be at least yellow. Who I found, however, was the boy. He was unconscious, with an inserted airway hooked to a blue plastic ball. One of the WMs was breathing for him with timed compressions of the Ambu Bag. His IVF was on his chest as he was being prepped for movement in the helo.

Gunny C must have seen me standing just beneath the netting. Unfortunately, I was so preoccupied I missed him.

"Looking for the girl?" he asked. "Come on. Over here."

I motioned for the team to follow. Gunny C led the way through a maze of casualties and infirms. It seemed like everyone was getting care.

Aaina was in the middle of the aid station. Theo stood by her side. She had a red tag on her wrist. My stomach turned over, and my heart pounded in my chest.

Her face turned black from the bruising. The swelling was worse than I remembered. An eerie gray film covered her lips, and her cheek bulged from a buildup of blood and fluid.

How could she have gotten worse? What's going on?

Doc leaned down at her side, checking her ear with an otoscope before putting the stethoscope to his ears. He placed the diaphragm on her chest and listened.

"She's hemodynamically unstable," he said. "She's in shock." He took the scope from his ears and gently pulled on her eyelids. "She needs LSI–shock trauma most ricki-tick or all of this was for nothing."

A naval nurse tore open a huge package containing a silver trauma blanket. She placed it over Aaina, carefully avoiding the arm with the IV port. I looked at Chief and Viking. Neither of them could watch. Finally, chief turned his back and walked away. Viking put his hand on his forehead to cover his face.

"Let's just move her right now, Doc," I said. I looked at Theo for approval.

"Screw it," said Theo. "Let's do it."

With a nod, Doc and the nurse went towards her head. The nurse held Aaina's IVF high as Theo, Chief, Red, and I each took a corner of the litter.

"Make a hole," yelled Doc. We hurried Aaina from the station's middle, outside the netting, and towards the waiting Sea Knight.

The helo's rotors slowly turned as the pilot, copilot, and door gunner seemed ready to move. We headed for the helo's back ramp and carried her into the cabin. The drop seats were already in position as we set her down.

With the boy already onboard and being tended to by medical personnel, Doc buckled Aaina into place and yelled out to the Crew Chief.

"We're ready. Let's get airborne," he said. He returned his attention to her.

I couldn't take my eyes off her as I sank into my seat.

Oh, God, please heal her. Don't let her die. I'm begging you. Something compelled me to see her through to the end. She and I had an attachment. Though we'd never spoken and never seen her again, I would carry her for the rest of my life.

Please, whatever you have to do.

"Buckle up, boys," said the door gunner. He shouted from behind the co-pilot. "We'll probably come under fire. You boys stirred up a freaking hornet's nest."

The others grabbed a seat as Red moved forward to take up the firing position behind the pilot.

"Shit's gonna get real in a minute," the pilot said. Red readied his SAW.

"Ha-ha-ha." Red mocked the gunner. "Go screw yourself!"

The twin turboshaft engines whined as the dust picked up into a whirlwind. The helo hovered for a moment before making its ascent into the sky. It was quick and rough. We jostled about inside the cabin as the pilot jerked the craft. A sharp turn signaled trouble.

"RPG!"

The door gunner shouted as his fifty-caliber came to life. Its casings showered the cabin floor. We heard the pings, the hits of enemy heavy machine gun fire against the helo's hull. "Prosecuting machine gun emplacements," he said. "There appears to be a ravine running sow-sow west."

"I got 'em, contact on the deck," yelled Red. "Eleven o'clock low!"

His body moved with the recoil of his SAW. He fired in three-second increments. His teeth clenched, his face wrinkled as he pivoted his rifle for a better effect on the target. "Their shallow left, shallow left." The helo pulled left, settled, and turned again.

The sound of spent brass hitting the deck, the cracking machine guns, the rotors whining above—I'd never felt more helpless or hopeless. I braced myself, one hand on the fuselage and one gripping the edge of my seat.

Why things slowed at that moment, I don't know. A blood mist was released into the air. His head snapped back, and blood splattered the roof. He came straight down, his hands at his side before his knees bent, and he settled on his back. I watched his rifle fall. It hung for a moment, perched on the door. Then, the weight of its rear won out as it fell butt-first into the cabin. As the stock hit the ground, the rifle slowly fell to its side, where it would remain undisturbed.

"Doc!" I shouted. "Red's down... Fuck!"

The door gunner shouted into his head comm and continued to fire.

This can't be happening. This has to be a bad dream. I couldn't speak, my mouth dry from fear. I couldn't bring myself to look. So instead, I looked away toward Doc. He was out of his restraint and moving to Red. The Helo was making sharp evasive turns as Doc lost his balance over top of Aaina.

The naval nurse, who was closest to Red, arrived first. Then came another corpsman and another.

Please don't remove his helmet. I don't want to see it.

"I've got him," shouted Doc. He knelt by his side. The nurse quickly straddled Red's legs and began chest compressions. I saw the blood around his helmet and his head. I knew.

I leaned back and sat against the cabin wall, my head pounding, my eyes glued to Doc as he leaned over Red and held his head. He covered the helmet to hide the damage and said something, his lips moving—but the helo's engines drowned his words. The other two got up and returned to the boy. Doc's eyes, heavy with tears, told me all I needed to know.

"He's gone."

I was numb with disbelief. The fifty caliber was quiet as we flew out of range from the attack. The gunner stayed in his section, ignoring the commotion in the cabin. Doc sat, legs stretched outward. His back against the cabin wall, he held Red's head in his lap.

"Kelly," said Theo. His voice was stern and gruff. "Situational awareness... Observe everything and admire nothing."

I looked at Theo, my eyes pleading for an answer to why this happened. He didn't have an answer. His countenance, crestfallen and sad, told me so. I leaned my head back, feeling the exhaustion of the last two days. My body hurt. My neck throbbed, and my arm and hand tingled. All I wanted to do was sleep. I just wanted to close my eyes and sleep.

Now I understand Neverland and the Lost Boys.

There was Wendy, Peter, and Wendy's daughter Jane. The story had reached its final chapter.

And then one night came the tragedy. It was the spring of the year, and the story had been told for the night, and Jane was now asleep in her bed. Wendy was sitting on the floor, very close to the fire, so as to see to darn, for there was no other light in the nursery; and while she sat darning, she heard a crow. Then the window blew open as of old, and Peter dropped in on the floor.

He was exactly the same as ever, and Wendy saw at once that he still had all his first teeth.

He was a little boy, and she was grown up.

It wasn't long before we touched down on the USS Peleliu. The helo jostled and seemed unbalanced as it landed. The hum of the engines slowly faded as the rear hydraulics whined, the tailgate dropping.

Ten medical personnel rushed into the cabin. The two bypassed Aiana and the boy and headed toward Doc and Red.

"See you in Valhalla, my friend,"

They picked Red up from Doc's lap and moved him onto a litter. A corpsman covered his body from feet to shoulders before being stopped. Doc grabbed the blanket before it could go any higher on Red's body. He stammered and then covered Red's face.

Theo, Viking, Chief, and I said nothing. They lifted Red's body from the floor and walked by us.