By Jeremy Dunn (Free Rein)
The birds gave it away. They knew it was coming. Glenn heard their calls and shifted his gaze as the beating of wings carried across the open plain. The day had been steamy and sticky, but now the air was tinged with a coolness that made him wary. He took off his hat and ran a sleeve across his brow. Almost imperceptibly, he could feel a drop of moisture here and there as it tumbled from the darkening clouds towering in the western sky. Distant rumbling like the pounding of drums rolled unabated across the prairie and Glenn smiled. He eased himself to the ground, resting his back against a weathered wooden corner post. Sharp cracks filled the air now and the flashes of light gave the lonely trees a sinister, shadowy, feel.
Glenn Forester grew up in western Kansas, the son of a rancher. The open skies and endless horizon filled his imagination with possibilities. The Forester family was comfortable, yet always aware of the tenuous existence of a small family business. Weather, disease, and wild animals all presented threats not only to their bottom line, but their way of life. Glenn Forester was no stranger to hardship or struggle.
The Army recruiter visiting his high school made a lasting impression on Glenn. The gleaming brass and the sharp creases of his dress uniform gave an air of authority and confidence that he found quite appealing. Though he was only a sophomore, Glenn had made a decision that would impact his life far beyond the world he knew. After basic training, Glenn applied for flight school. It was a challenge he readily accepted. He struggled in the classroom, but behind the controls of his Apache gunship he was an artist. Glenn loved to fly. He became one with the bewitching sky with its endless expanse of hopefulness that had beckoned to him as a boy.
Fourteen months later, Glenn found himself in the scorching heat of the Iraqi desert. His unit was tasked with providing air support to ground troops as they searched for terrorists operating in western Iraq. The day started like any other. Glenn and his co-pilot were on patrol in the skies above the An-Bar Province. The radio suddenly crackled to life. A dismounted platoon of soldiers was under fire in a village to the northeast. Glenn instantly wheeled and raced toward the scene.
“CONTACT RIGHT! THEY”RE BEHIND THAT WALL!” a panicked voice shouted over the radio.
“Target acquired,” Glenn heard the steady voice of Jim Runnels, his co-pilot as he operated the Apache’s weapons systems.
“Dragon 4-6, you are clear to engage”
“Light them up Jim,” Glenn said as he kept the helicopter in a level hover.
The concrete wall and the insurgents behind it disappeared in a cloud of dust as the shells from the Apache’s cannon found their target.
Glenn banked his aircraft as they passed along the scattered pathway of destruction beneath them. He saw a flash of light and then felt a shudder as a shoulder fired rocket slammed into the tail of the Apache.
“Jim, I’ve lost control. We’re going to come down hard.”
Time seemed to stand still as the wounded bird spun spiraling down, glancing off of palm trees and violently rolling through a wall of baked clay. The roar that had accompanied the explosion and the ensuring crash now gave way to an eerie silence. Glenn opened his eyes and gingerly felt for his appendages. Waves of nausea hit him as his left leg began to throb. He managed to crawl out of his shattered cockpit and then turned to look back at the wreckage. Jim was slumped forward in his seat, his neck broken. The adrenaline coursing through his body overwhelmed his shock and he reached for his sidearm.
A strong kick sent his pistol clattering away and he heard strange voices.
Men dressed in black grabbed at his arms.
He tried to resist but a rifle butt to the back of the head made everything fade to black.
When Glenn woke up, he was in a dirty room. The lack of windows made the air stifling and in the low light he could barely make out a few shadowy figures against the wall. His captors noticed he was awake and they made their way to where he was lying against the wall.
Angry voices were followed by sharp kicks and punches. A tall man came forward with a long rod in his hand. It whistled and cracked as it came down on his back. Glenn grimaced and the blows rained down on him. The days turned into weeks. The beatings were savage and yet predictable. Glenn began to sense the coming storm and as the torturous process continued, he escaped into his mind.
Rain, falling heavily now, ran freely across his face. His
drenched clothes stuck to his body and he shuddered with the chill deep in his
bones. He was on the back side of the storm and he smiled as the clouds slowly
moved away and he could make out the glow of the coming sun.
The birds gave it away. They knew it was coming. Glenn heard their calls and shifted his gaze as the beating of wings carried across the open plain. The day had been steamy and sticky, but now the air was tinged with a coolness that made him wary. He took off his hat and ran a sleeve across his brow. Almost imperceptibly, he could feel a drop of moisture here and there as it tumbled from the darkening clouds towering in the western sky. Distant rumbling like the pounding of drums rolled unabated across the prairie and Glenn smiled. He eased himself to the ground, resting his back against a weathered wooden corner post. Sharp cracks filled the air now and the flashes of light gave the lonely trees a sinister, shadowy, feel.
Glenn Forester grew up in western Kansas, the son of a rancher. The open skies and endless horizon filled his imagination with possibilities. The Forester family was comfortable, yet always aware of the tenuous existence of a small family business. Weather, disease, and wild animals all presented threats not only to their bottom line, but their way of life. Glenn Forester was no stranger to hardship or struggle.
The Army recruiter visiting his high school made a lasting impression on Glenn. The gleaming brass and the sharp creases of his dress uniform gave an air of authority and confidence that he found quite appealing. Though he was only a sophomore, Glenn had made a decision that would impact his life far beyond the world he knew. After basic training, Glenn applied for flight school. It was a challenge he readily accepted. He struggled in the classroom, but behind the controls of his Apache gunship he was an artist. Glenn loved to fly. He became one with the bewitching sky with its endless expanse of hopefulness that had beckoned to him as a boy.
Fourteen months later, Glenn found himself in the scorching heat of the Iraqi desert. His unit was tasked with providing air support to ground troops as they searched for terrorists operating in western Iraq. The day started like any other. Glenn and his co-pilot were on patrol in the skies above the An-Bar Province. The radio suddenly crackled to life. A dismounted platoon of soldiers was under fire in a village to the northeast. Glenn instantly wheeled and raced toward the scene.
“CONTACT RIGHT! THEY”RE BEHIND THAT WALL!” a panicked voice shouted over the radio.
“Target acquired,” Glenn heard the steady voice of Jim Runnels, his co-pilot as he operated the Apache’s weapons systems.
“Dragon 4-6, you are clear to engage”
“Light them up Jim,” Glenn said as he kept the helicopter in a level hover.
The concrete wall and the insurgents behind it disappeared in a cloud of dust as the shells from the Apache’s cannon found their target.
Glenn banked his aircraft as they passed along the scattered pathway of destruction beneath them. He saw a flash of light and then felt a shudder as a shoulder fired rocket slammed into the tail of the Apache.
“Jim, I’ve lost control. We’re going to come down hard.”
Time seemed to stand still as the wounded bird spun spiraling down, glancing off of palm trees and violently rolling through a wall of baked clay. The roar that had accompanied the explosion and the ensuring crash now gave way to an eerie silence. Glenn opened his eyes and gingerly felt for his appendages. Waves of nausea hit him as his left leg began to throb. He managed to crawl out of his shattered cockpit and then turned to look back at the wreckage. Jim was slumped forward in his seat, his neck broken. The adrenaline coursing through his body overwhelmed his shock and he reached for his sidearm.
A strong kick sent his pistol clattering away and he heard strange voices.
Men dressed in black grabbed at his arms.
He tried to resist but a rifle butt to the back of the head made everything fade to black.
When Glenn woke up, he was in a dirty room. The lack of windows made the air stifling and in the low light he could barely make out a few shadowy figures against the wall. His captors noticed he was awake and they made their way to where he was lying against the wall.
Angry voices were followed by sharp kicks and punches. A tall man came forward with a long rod in his hand. It whistled and cracked as it came down on his back. Glenn grimaced and the blows rained down on him. The days turned into weeks. The beatings were savage and yet predictable. Glenn began to sense the coming storm and as the torturous process continued, he escaped into his mind.
Rain, falling heavily now, ran freely across his face. His
drenched clothes stuck to his body and he shuddered with the chill deep in his
bones. He was on the back side of the storm and he smiled as the clouds slowly
moved away and he could make out the glow of the coming sun.