Chapter 2: The flight of the Phoenix
The rotor wash of the helicopter blades whipped around them, kicking up dust and salt spray. The smell of aviation being pumped into the Huey gunships was a dreadful smell but was always apart of the process
“Ok group B let’s move it load the ammo and the ordinance” shouted the load master as he waved his arms in the air signaling the soldiers to hurry up. The soldiers moved with practiced efficiency, their boots thudding against the metal deck as they loaded crates of ammunition, grenades, and medical supplies into the waiting helicopters. Jager watched them work, his eyes scanning the scene with the calm precision of someone who had done this a hundred times before.
“Listen up we’re gonna split up for drop but will RV at the landing zones god speed” said the captain to the squadron of soldiers as he stood in front of the helicopters. The captain’s voice was rough, the kind of voice that had seen too many battles and too little sleep. He wore the same paint as the rest of them, but his eyes were different—colder, sharper, like he was already seeing the battlefield before it even came into view.
They boarded the gunships in silence. The interior of the Huey was a tight, claustrophobic space, the air thick with the scent of oil, sweat, and the metallic tang of weapons. Jager took his seat near the back of the pilots armored seat
the pilot looked backed at jager giving him a thumbs up before pulling down his bulky PVS-5 nvg goggles that made him look like some kind of mechanical insect. The co-pilot was already going through his pre-flight checks, his fingers dancing over the controls with practiced ease. the helicopter finally lifted of the ships deck and into the night sky. The Huey shuddered slightly as it gained altitude, shortly being joined up by several other gunships Huey in tight formation as they cut through the darkness like a pack of wolves. The roar of the engines drowned out everything else, the vibration of the metal frame thrumming through Jager’s bones.
Folly sat across from him, gripping the edge of his seat like it was the only thing keeping him from falling into the abyss below. His knuckles were white, his breath shallow. Jager watched him for a moment before leaning forward, his voice low enough that only Folly could hear him over the roar of the rotors.
“You good?”
Folly swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”
Jager didn’t push.
He knew the look—knew the way a man’s eyes darted too quickly, the way his fingers twitched against the stock of his rifle. Folly wasn’t just nervous. He was terrified. But that was fine. Fear was good. It kept you sharp. It kept you alive.
The Huey banked hard to the left, and the world outside the open side door became a blur of stars and black water. The radio crackled to life, the pilot’s voice calm but urgent.
**"Five klicks to drop zone. Prepare for insertion."**
A red light flashed briefly in the helicopter, casting long shadows across the faces of the soldiers. Jager felt the familiar tension coil in his gut, the kind that came just before the storm. He reached down and checked the safety on his M16 for the third time, not because he needed to, but because it was habit. The weight of the weapon was comforting, a reminder that he was prepared. Beside him, Folly’s breath hitched as the helicopter banked again, the G-forces pressing them into their seats.
The pilot’s voice crackled over the intercom again, this time with a sharper edge. **"Three klicks out. Flak expected.
The helicopter shuddered violently as a burst of anti-aircraft fire erupted from the darkness below, orange tracers streaking toward them like angry fireflies. The door gunner opened up with his M60, the machine gun’s staccato roar drowning out all other sound. Jager felt the vibration of the rounds leaving the barrel through the soles of his boots.
"Hold on!" the pilot shouted, banking hard to starboard as another volley of flak exploded just beneath them. The helicopter groaned under the strain, metal protesting as the pilot fought to keep them level.
Folly’s face had gone pale, his knuckles white around the grip of his rifle.
The Huey shuddered violently as another burst of flak erupted beneath them, the concussion rattling Jager’s teeth. The door gunner’s M60 roared to life, chewing through ammunition as he laid down suppressing fire. The tracers streaked out into the night like a river of molten gold, illuminating the chaos below.
Jager felt the adrenaline surge through his veins, sharpening his focus. He reached over and clapped Folly on the shoulder, his grip firm but not unkind.
"Breathe," Jager said, his voice steady over the roar of the engines. "You're doing fine."
Folly nodded, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts.
He tried to match Jager’s calm, but his eyes were still wide, still darting between the open side door and the tracers streaking past. The helicopter lurched again, and Folly’s fingers tightened around the grip of his M16.
“1 minute to the LZ were not landing your jumping” the pilot’s voice crackled through the intercom, sharp and unyielding.
Jager exhaled slowly, his breath steady as he leaned toward Folly. The kid’s eyes were wide, his face pale beneath the black and green paint. Jager could see the pulse in Folly’s throat, rapid and erratic. He reached out, gripping Folly’s shoulder hard enough to ground him.
“Listen to me,” Jager said, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. “When we jump, you follow my lead. Keep your rifle tight to your chest, knees bent, and roll when you hit. Don’t fight the impact—let it take you.
Got it?”
Folly swallowed hard, his fingers tightening around the strap of his M16. “Y-yes, sir.”
Jager gave his shoulder one last firm squeeze before turning back to the open door. The wind howled past, whipping at his uniform, the scent of salt and gunpowder thick in the air. Below them, the black water churned, broken only by the occasional flare of tracer fire. The door gunner’s M60 chattered in short, controlled bursts, the muzzle flash illuminating the pilot’s face in strobing bursts of orange.
**"Thirty seconds!"** the pilot barked.
"Stand by to jump!"**