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Willy, JJ and Badger raced past Griff and leaped onto the chopper.
Marty and Fridge were the last to approach.
Marty went down less than five yards from Griff.
Fridge scooped him up, flung him over his shoulder and kept coming.
As soon as they passed him, Griff shouted to Merc and Crack. “Go! I’ll cover.”
The men backed toward the helicopter, continuing to fire as they did.
“Griff, get in!” Fridge yelled into Griff’s headset. “This bird’s gotta fly.”
Griff turned and ran for the chopper, already lifting off the ground.
He dove for the door.
Hands reached out for him. He grabbed hold of Fridge and Merc’s hands. Together, they pulled him up as the chopper rose into the air.
Griff's legs dangled in the air for several heart-stopping moments while the gunner rained fire onto the ISIS rebels below.
Fridge and Merc dragged him onto the chopper. All three men collapsed onto the floor, breathing hard.
“We’re not out of the woods yet,” Badger’s voice sounded in Griff’s radio headset.
Griff sat up in time to see a truck spinning out into the field they’d just left. It stopped, and a man leaped out, placed an RPG across his shoulder and fired.
“Incoming!” Badger called out.
A second later, the Black Hawk shuddered violently. Where the gunner had been was a gaping hole. The engine sputtered and died. The rotors slowed, and the entire craft plummeted to the earth.
The last thing Griff heard was Crack yelling, “Fuck!”
