The Last Mission Of The Seventh Cavalry. Charley Brindley

      Master Sergeant James Alexander stood at the rear of the C-130, swaying with the movement of the aircraft. He watched his twelve soldiers and wondered how many would survive this mission.

      Three quarters? Half?

      He knew they were headed for a fight with the Taliban.

      God help us. Is that cracked-up drone worth the lives of half my people? Or even one?

      He glanced at Captain Sanders, standing beside him, who also watched the soldiers as if he had the same concern.

      A light on the forward bulkhead flashed red. The loadmaster saw it and held up his right hand, fingers spread apart. Captain Sanders nodded to the loadmaster.

      “All right, Seventh Cavalry! Five minutes to the drop zone,” he told the soldiers. “Mount up, lock and load.”

      “Hooyah!” the soldiers yelled as they scrambled to their feet and hooked their static lines to the overhead cable.

      “Let’s rock and roll, people!” Sergeant Alexander shouted. “Check your buddy’s straps, packs, and ‘chutes.” He walked between the two rows of soldiers. “Don’t forget to roll when you hit the ground. Break a leg, and we’ll leave you behind to wait for the choppers.” He grabbed Private McAlister’s chest straps, yanking hard, testing the buckles. “Did anyone hear me?” the sergeant yelled.

      “Yes, sir!” the soldiers cried out in unison. “Rock and roll when you hit the ground, break a bone, and you’re going home.”

      The First Platoon of Delta Company was a newly formed unit that would normally have been led by a first lieutenant. Captain Sanders took charge when Lieutenant Redgrave was relieved on charges of insubordination and audacious behavior, or more accurately, drunk and disorderly while on duty.

      Another reason Captain Sanders decided to take command of Delta: Four of the soldiers were women. A recent directive coming from the highest levels of the Pentagon allowed female soldiers to serve in frontline combat.

      Every woman in the company had volunteered to fight alongside the men. Sanders had chosen four women who were in top physical condition and had outstanding records in all phases of combat training. These women would be the first in the Seventh Cavalry to face the enemy on the battlefield, and the captain wanted to have firsthand knowledge of their performance in case he had to write a letter to a grieving family.

      Hydraulics squealed as the rear door of the aircraft lifted and the tailgate dropped into place. Instantly, the warm air of the cabin was sucked out and replaced by the chill atmosphere of an altitude of five thousand feet.

      Alexander hurried to the back, where he took hold of a strap on the weapons container to steady himself. He and the captain looked down on heavy cloud cover.

      “What d’ya think, Captain?” Alexander asked.

      Captain Sanders shrugged and turned to face his soldiers. He tapped the side of his helmet, above his right ear, for a comm check. The noise from the slipstream made it impossible for them to hear him without their communicators. He then spoke into his mic.

      “Everyone who can hear me, give me a thumbs-up.”

      All but two of the soldiers gave the signal.

      Alexander stepped over to the first soldier who didn’t respond. “Paxton, you butt-head.” He flipped on the soldier’s communicator. “The captain’s talking to you.”

      “Oh, shit!” Private Paxton said. “Now I’m online, sir.” He gave the captain a thumbs-up.

      “Your comm on?” Alexander asked the second soldier.

      “Yeah, Sarge,” Private Kady Sharakova said, “but it ain’t working.”

      Alexander

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