Ford could still hear gunfire as he staggered toward the landing zone. He was at the front of the line because he could walk. In the distance, he could just discern the green Black Hawk, with small painted red crosses, dip down into the valley. The helicopter flew in and started to hover.
Blasted by the rotor wash, Ford got one hand on the floor of the helicopter as it started to come down. The flight medic leaped off and headed toward the other wounded soldiers. Suddenly Ford heard a scraping noise overhead.
This thing is coming down on top of me, he thought.
It sounded to him like the rotor was hitting the mountain. Before he could duck for cover, the helicopter’s engines screamed and the aircraft leaped back into the sky.
It had taken hours to get a helicopter this close, and now the medevac bird was gone.
Ford had heard over the radio that if they didn’t get out of the valley soon, they would have to stay overnight.
Not good. Not good, he thought.
Spreading out, everybody took cover as another bird slid down the valley with plans to land in the wadi. But they would have to cross the fast-moving river of melted snow to reach the chopper. Slogging through the crotch-deep, frigid water, Ford had made it halfway over when he started to lose his balance. Afraid that he would fall and drown, he grabbed at another soldier, who was helping Morales across the wadi.
Holding on to the back of the soldier’s shirt, Ford waded across. Cold, he reached the Black Hawk and climbed on board. He crawled to the front so there would be room for Walding and Morales in the back.