Chapter NineDustin found the last flickers of the burning truck, the dead man in the middle of the road, and the blackened patch surrounded by a wide debris field of tiny bits of Little Bird helicopter.
He spun down to land nearby and took the risk of calling Amy’s name over the PA mounted on the undercarriage of his machine.
The two Delta shooters hopped out and scouted the ground, first around the burnout spot then farther afield. They snapped to like a pair of Irish Setters and disappeared out of sight over the river embankment.
Twenty seconds later they rushed back onto the helicopter.
Dustin pulled up into the air—parking on an Iraqi highway where two explosions had just occurred with the Iraqi Army on the way was nuts even by SOAR standards.
“The river,” the Delta operator spoke
