Chapter 2 - The Red Alert Over the Fairway
The crisp evening air hit my face like a refreshing splash of cold water as I walked past the manicured putting greens, putting the suffocating noise of the banquet hall behind me.
My encrypted military satellite phone, secured in my cargo pocket, vibrated with a sharp, high-priority pulse before I even reached the first fairway.
I pulled the ruggedized device out, flicked off the safety toggle, and answered immediately. “Mercer.”
Major Daniel Cross, our squadron operations officer at Fort Campbell, spoke with rapid, clipped urgency through the static of the encrypted channel. “Mercer, we’ve got a critical bird-down situation. A civilian medical rescue helicopter supporting an approved inter-agency search mission near Land Between the Lakes just suffered a catastrophic engine failure and made an emergency hard landing in heavy timber.”
My posture instantly straightened, all thoughts of the petty country club reunion evaporating from my mind. “Casualties, Cross?”
“Two flight paramedics, the civilian pilot, and an injured twelve-year-old patient who was being airlifted for emergency trauma surgery,” Cross rattled off, his voice grim. “Their emergency beacon is intermittent due to the dense forest canopy, and a massive winter squall line is rapidly closing in from the west, grounding all local civilian air support. Your Apache training pair has the only advanced sensor package and long-range FLIR already airborne in this sector.”
“Copy that, Operations. What’s our vector?” I demanded, scanning the darkening horizon where purple storm clouds were beginning to churn above the tree line.
“County emergency management and the FAA just cleared a civilian emergency corridor, but local terrain is a logistical nightmare,” Cross continued. “The Cumberland Ridge Country Club golf course fairway is listed on regional contingency maps as the only designated heavy-lift landing zone capable of supporting an immediate medevac transfer team within a five-mile radius of the crash site. Secure that LZ immediately, Mercer. You’re flight lead.”
“Copy. Apache Six-Four moving to the fairway LZ now. ETA two minutes,” I replied, cutting the connection and breaking into a fast, disciplined tactical jog back toward the country club clubhouse.
I reached the sprawling stone terrace just as the club manager was attempting to corral bewildered guests near the outdoor bar, and I stepped directly in front of him, flashing my military identification card.
“Emergency federal aviation directive, sir,” I commanded, my voice cutting through the ambient chatter like a knife. “You need to clear the entire golf course fairway immediately. We have a downed civilian rescue aircraft and critical pediatric casualties inbound.”
The club manager blinked in sheer confusion, but before he could process the order, Madison Cole shoved her way past the glass doors, her face twisted in furious outrage as she spotted me taking charge.
“Riley! What on earth do you think you’re doing screaming orders at the staff?” Madison shrieked, marching right up to me and attempting to snatch my secure satellite phone right out of my hand. “You are not hijacking my ten-year reunion with another one of your pathetic, attention-seeking stunts!”
I caught her wrist in a lightning-fast grip, easily recovering the device and stepping back while maintaining absolute operational composure. “Madison, listen to me very carefully. Move every single guest behind the stone terrace wall right now. This is a restricted emergency extraction zone.”
Chase Bennett pushed his way through the crowd behind Madison, a sneering, drunken laugh escaping his lips as he gestured toward the empty sky. “What are you going to do, Riley—call an Uber with Hellfire missiles to blow up the putting green?”
Several classmates laughed nervously, treating the unfolding crisis as some bizarre theatrical performance I had staged to salvage my bruised ego.
Then, the first low, bone-rattling pulse of twin turbine rotor noise rolled like rolling thunder over the distant tree line, vibrating the very foundations of the country club terrace.
Inside the clubhouse, expensive wine trembled and vibrated inside crystal glasses resting on mahogany tables. Decorative party balloons twisted frantically against their silk strings as the atmospheric pressure shifted abruptly.
The club manager finally realized the gravity of the situation, grabbing a microphone from the bandstand and shouting for all guests to evacuate the lawn immediately, but Madison stood her ground on the edge of the patio, stubbornly refusing to move until an authoritative military voice boomed directly from the outdoor public address speakers.
“Attention all civilian personnel. Clear the designated landing zone immediately. Priority Army aviation recovery and medical evacuation in progress. This is a mandatory federal airspace restriction.”
Chase shaded his eyes with his hand, staring toward the dark eastern horizon where the violent storm clouds were parting.
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Two massive, dark grey combat silhouettes crested the tree line, growing larger, louder, and more terrifyingly imposing with every thunderous beat of their composite rotor blades.
I folded the bloodstained napkin over my ankle, stepped off the stone terrace onto the dew-soaked grass of the first fairway, and raised my dual-illumination signaling wands toward the sky.
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