Tales of the Forgotten (3 page)

4.

Sean
woke him just before dawn; he slowly brought himself to his feet and stretched
out the aches that you get when you choose to sleep in a corner on a roof. Cole
and Henry were on watch in the snipers’ nest. Brad walked over to them and
shook each of their hands and told them good bye. He walked back to the ladder
well and lowered his way into the warehouse. Most of the occupants were still
asleep, and he was careful not to wake them. He ventured out of the large
overhead door that usually stayed open these days and headed towards the motor
pool.

When
he got there, he found Brooks making some finishing touches to the load on the
vehicle. Brooks saw Brad and tossed him an energy drink.

“Sorry
buddy, no coffee today but this has just as much kick,” laughed Brooks.

Brad
accepted the drink happily and helped him check the straps on the vehicle’s
roof rack. Sean walked over with a plate of foot bread sandwiches he had
managed to scrounge up from the Afghan kitchen and handed them out. Taking a
big bite from one, Sean paused to open the Defender’s door, then jumped into
the passenger seat. Taking that as a sign they were ready to leave, the rest of
the team mounted up.

Brooks
started the engine which purred to life; it was noticeably quieter than the
MRAP. He put the Defender into gear and slowly moved towards the vehicle gate.
When they arrived, they found a soldier on duty with one of Junayd’s men. They
both walked over to the Defender to greet them. Brooks put the truck in park,
and Brad and Sean got out to shake their hands goodbye. Brad saw Hasan walk out
of the guardhouse carrying a large green backpack and his AK47 slung over his
shoulder.

“I
would like to join you,” Hasan said, dropping his pack next to the already
overloaded vehicle.

“I
don’t know, Hasan. Nothing personal buddy, but this truck is already bursting
at the seams, and another mouth to feed splits our food supply even more,” said
Sean.

“That
is true, friend, but I also know the area. I know the tribes. I can be useful
in finding more food. I will not be a burden to you, and four guns in the fight
is better than three,” Hasan answered. Sean looked over at Brooks, who gave
nothing more than a shrug of his shoulders.

“What
do you think, Brad?” Sean asked.

“It’s
his country, who am I to tell him no? The more the merrier, right?” Brad
answered with a grin.

“Okay
then, throw your bag on the roof and get in,” Sean said to Hasan, smiling.

They
made their way down the city streets. Occasionally, the vehicle would pass a
building and they would see a primal move out of a darkened alley or a doorway
to moan at them. The sun was just beginning to break the horizon and the
temperatures were cool, so they knew the primals would be active until at least
mid-day. They were willing to takes those chances and decided it would be an
acceptable risk, especially since they were mobile and moving at a high rate of
speed. Brooks made a few passes down side streets and one extra unnecessary
turn down a long road before cutting onto the Hairatan road. They hoped the
extra maneuvering would make it harder for the primals to follow them out of
the city.

There
is only one way in or out of the city located on the northern border of
Afghanistan—and that is the Hairatan road. The other path to civilization would
have been through Uzbekistan to the north and over the river. With the bridge
out and the packs roaming the other side of the river, the Hairatan road was
their only option. Brooks followed the road carefully, easing the Defender onto
the cleared lane of the highway that Brad and his soldiers had opened up almost
a month earlier when they’d first entered the city.

 As
the team made its way down the highway, Brad recognized the dead bus blocking
the far lane when they passed it; he also knew that the other MRAP rested
silently in a ditch on the other side. Slowly the congestion of twisted and
broken vehicles thinned out and the road started to clear. Brooks found a
comfortable spot near the center line of the highway and eased the vehicle into
a cruising speed of forty miles per hour.

They
drove for hours. Brad watched Brooks drive with a look of confidence as he
avoided obstacles. Brooks wasn’t an easy man to get to know; he wasn’t a social
creature like Sean. In the past, it was common for soldiers to ask others
questions about home, families, or where they were from. More recently, it was
considered taboo to talk about such things. Many soldiers like Brooks would
consume themselves with work to avoid personal feelings. Brooks was all
business, typically only showing his face when there was a job to be done. The
big man even spent his down time preparing for his up time. Brad rarely saw him
joke or slack off with the rest of the men. Today Brooks was on the clock and
held the wheel firmly, clearly aware that it was his responsibility to keep
them safe.

Brad
began to space out watching Brooks; the hot sun and the lulling sounds of the
tires humming on the pavement caused his eyelids to become heavy. He caught
himself nodding off more than once, often waking with a start.
The
Defender purred down the road, and the non-descript countryside going by in a
blur made it hard to stay awake. They curved around and away from the river
before entering the vast open terrain. Brad looked out and saw nothing but open
dunes; the green was fading into the red and tan shades of the desert as he
rested his head against the window and drifted off to sleep.

He
woke to the sounds of crunching gravel and lifted his head. They had pulled off
the road and Brooks was easing the vehicle up to a walled-in villa. It looked
to be a large, two-story house surrounded by an eight-foot wall. From the
condition of the place, it looked to have been abandoned long before the outbreak,
but you could never be sure in Afghanistan. Brooks parked the Defender where it
could not easily be seen from the road and killed the engine. The men got out,
stretched, and checked their weapons.

“This
is the place. Junayd said it would be empty and easy to defend,” Sean declared,
walking towards the wall’s gate. “Brad, you want to help me clear the house?”

“Okay,
right behind you,” Brad replied as he grabbed his M4 and screwed the suppressor
onto the barrel.

Sean
walked over to the heavy wooden doors that marked the entrance to the
courtyard; he had his silenced MP5 at the ready and waited for Brad to join
him.

“What
do you make of this?” Sean asked, pointing. The heavy wooden door was covered
with scratches; some of the gouges looked to be stained with blood. Sean
pointed at a crack in the door where Brad saw what looked to be a broken finger
nail still stuck in the groove.

“What
the hell? Someone wanted in here pretty damn bad,” answered Brad.

He
took a step back away from the door and raised his rifle while Sean pulled on
the handle. The door didn’t budge and was clearly locked from the inside.

“Hmm,
we seem to have found ourselves in a bit of a pickle,” Sean mused.

“Well
it’s obvious nobody is home, maybe we should just continue on our way down the
road,” chimed in Brad.

“Nope.
Sorry buddy, this is our stop. I want to hit Bremmel in daylight tomorrow; that
means we stop here for tonight.”

Brooks
walked over with a large crow bar and tried to stick it into the door to pry it
open. The door had a steel frame and lip that made it hard to set the bar. He
tried to get it into a good position, but any amount of force would just pop it
out. Finally giving in to frustration, Brooks pulled the Defender up close to
the wall.

Brad,
shaking his head, said “Screw it,” and climbed up onto the hood of the vehicle,
then high onto its roof. He turned to look at the wall, checking to make sure
the top wasn’t covered with broken glass or nails, which was common in this
area to deter thieves. Satisfied that the way was safe, he grabbed hold of it
and pulled himself on top.

He
could see down into the courtyard and at the lonely two-story home. The entire
house was circled by the wall; the building was horseshoe-shaped and its mouth
opened towards the wall’s entrance. Brad looked left and right several times;
although his instincts were tingling, he eased himself flat on the wall. Seeing
nothing, he grabbed on tightly and swung his feet over the edge. Hanging by his
fingers, he let go and dropped the last couple feet to the ground, landing with
a thud. Brad called over the wall to say that he was in, and then moved back to
the door.

He
readied his weapon and took another look all the way around to make sure he was
alone, then examined the door and found it was locked in place by a large steel
bolt. Through one end of the bolt was an antique-looking padlock that prevented
Brad from turning and sliding the bolt. He called back over the wall to tell
the men what he had found.

“Stand
back!” Sean yelled. “I’m going to toss over the crowbar.”

Brad
took a step to the side, then saw the crowbar sail over the door and hit the
cobblestone with a loud metallic
CLANG
which echoed off the building’s
walls.

After
picking up the crowbar, he went back to the wall and placed the flat end of the
bar against the bolt in the door. As he started to apply downward pressure, he
heard a distant rattle inside the house, as if furniture had just been knocked
over. Brad froze in place and turned to look at the house. He waited and
listened but, hearing nothing, continued to pull on the bar. Suddenly there was
a loud crash, and more sounds of tumbling furniture coming from the house
behind him. He spun around to look at the front door, located at the bottom of
the horseshoe, and was shocked when he saw it rattle from a booming impact.

“Ahh,
Sean? I think I have a problem,” he called out.

“I’m
assuming that isn’t you making all of that noise in there?” Sean called back
over the wall.

“That
would be a correct assumption,” Brad yelled back. He applied more pressure to
the bar and, disappointed, did not even feel the bolt budge. He heard another
loud
BOOM
against the front door. Brad pulled the bar from the bolt and
tried to ease it into the door frame. He pulled as hard as he could and the
door itself began to split, but it was still solidly sealed shut.

Brad
heard another thundering
BOOM
, and glanced back just in time to see the
front door of the house start to give. He dropped the crowbar and turned to
face the door; taking a knee, he brought his rifle up and tried to adjust his
eyes on the doorway nearly twenty feet away. He watched the door shake again
from an impact, freeing dust from the boards and the overhang. Brad pulled the
rifle tight into his shoulder, aimed where he hoped a head might be on the
other side of the door, and squeezed the trigger. Three rounds, one after
another, poked holes into the wood. There was a momentary pause in the pounding
on the door, then a thud. Brad let out a sigh of relief just as another loud
BOOM
sounded out. Brad lifted his rifle back to his shoulder and fired another three
rounds into the door. Another crash, and this time the door gave way.

The
door flew open and a primal dressed in white and covered with gore tumbled
forward. Not expecting the door to give, its momentum took it to the ground.
Brad lowered his point of aim and pumped aimed shots into the thing’s head. He
blinked his eyes, trying to get them back into focus on the dark doorway, just
as he watched five more pouring out. They were coming at a full sprint. Brad
took out the leader with quick shots to the head, then watched it slump to the
ground, tripping up a female behind it. He kept firing on the others as they
closed the distance. He clipped one in the top of the forehead, making it fall.
“Two left,” he murmured to himself as he pivoted and shot one in the face.

The
last one collided with him in a hard impact that forced him back against the
door. Brad dropped his shoulders and pushed the rifle between them as hard as
he could to break the primal’s grip. He knocked it down and at the same time he
fell backwards onto the ground. Still on his back, he propped up on an elbow
and tried to raise the rifle. In his peripheral he could see two more stepping
out of the house, and the one that had tripped earlier was getting to its feet.

Directly
in front of him, he could see that his current play date was rolling back to
its belly and pushing itself up. “Fuck me,” Brad said to himself, dropping the
rifle and drawing his M9. He quickly pulled the trigger, punching three holes
into his date’s neck and face, killing it. He rolled to his side just as the
other three closed on him. Before he could take aim, Brad heard the rapid
firing of Brooks’ MP5 as rounds ripped into the charging primals. Brad watched
as their heads exploded and their bodies collapsed to the ground. He stared at
the fallen, motionless primals in the dirt, then dropped to his back in
complete exhaustion.

Brooks
lowered himself off the wall, stepped over Brad and walked toward the heavy
door. He looked at the antique lock and held it in his hand. Letting go of the
lock he let out a grunt, took a step back and fired a shot into the lock,
shattering it. He fidgeted with the lock, freed it from the bolt, then pulled
the bolt and swung the door open. Sean and Hasan stepped inside.