Whiskey Tango Foxtrot (Book 4): Walking In The Shadow Of Death

Whiskey
Tango Foxtrot

Walking in the Shadow of Death

 
By
W. J. Lundy

10.28.2014

      
Whiskey Tango Foxtrot

Walking
in the Shadow of Death

© 2014
W. J. Lundy

PHALANX
PRESS

This book
is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products
of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be
construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events,
locales or organizations is entirely coincidental. All Rights Are Reserved. No
part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without
written permission from the author.

* * *

Edited by Monique Happy Editorial Services

www.indiebookauthors.com

Cover Art by

André Vazquez Jr.

 
1.

The aircraft dropped and shuddered against
the strain of the storm. Brad felt himself being thrown against the seatbelt;
he felt weightless as the plane dropped, followed by the heaviness against the
seat as the aircraft climbed, fighting gravity. The Antonov creaked and rattled
hard before leveling out. Brad looked at Brooks still sleeping soundly in the
seat next to him. Across the aisle, Sean was strapped into a row of jump seats
that ran along the side of the aircraft, his head arched back and his mouth
wide open, snoring. The two men were consummate experts at conserving energy.

The rest of the group were strapped
into the removable rows of seats farther up the bay. Brad could see Chelsea in
her ragged Russian-issue flight suit standing near the entrance to the cockpit.
He looked up at her but she appeared to be lost in thought and didn’t notice
his gaze. Brad shook his head and unsnapped the lap belt as he pulled himself
to his feet. It had been nearly a week since they’d left Yemen.

 His leg still bothered him
some, but Brooks assured him it was healing nicely. At least there were no
signs of infection. On his feet, Brad stretched his shoulders and back before
moving towards the rear cargo compartment of the aircraft, carefully holding
the seats to maintain his balance as the aircraft rattled through another patch
of turbulence.

He moved past the last row and
found what he was looking for. The team had removed several of the unused rows
of seating to make room for pallets of goods that were now stored in the cargo
bay. Most of it had come from the airbase on Crete. Kelli wanted to make it to
Italy on the first leg of the trip, but once airborne it was decided that the
Greek island would be a safer bet. They studied maps and recalculated the
expected range of the AN-12. A route of island hopping was finally settled on.
Crete, The Isle of Man, and finally Hanscom Air Force Base near Boston.

Crete had been easy. They’d landed
there in the middle of the night, finding the airbase on the north of the
island virtually abandoned. Surveying from the cockpit, they’d observed
evidence of a massive military evacuation. Dumped luggage was scattered about
and in piles. Civilian clothing mixed with military items were strewn against a
long chain-link fence where the wind had dropped them. The runway was void of
aircraft, as if anything that could take flight left long ago. They’d waited
until morning before leaving the safety of the plane, spending the night
huddled in silence.

The next morning they’d had their
run of the airbase and used the time to gather supplies and to get better
acquainted with the aircraft. What few primals they’d found were easily
dispatched with suppressed rifles. Crete looked to have survived much of the
fall; things were not destroyed or burnt out as they had seen in the past. The
base was enclosed by a series of high security fences. As they’d approached the
outer entrance to the base, they’d found the remains of bodies outside the
gates and piles of spent brass near the guard shacks.

Far off in the distance on the
opposite side of the airfield, a group of Primals had taken interest in the
lone aircraft sitting against the back of the runway. Hundreds of meters out,
the creatures were nearly invisible to the naked human eye, but through the
scopes they’d seen them slowly gathering against the outer perimeter fences.
The noise of the landing aircraft must have drawn them to the fences.

Over several days the men had
filled the cargo bay of the aircraft with pallets of water and rations, always
keeping a nervous eye on the distant fences as the mass of primals grew. With
no slowdown in the growth, they’d decided they had worn out their welcome and
prepared to leave. All of the tanks were topped off and they’d readied
themselves for departure on the morning of the fifth day. As they’d taxied down
the runway, they had seen the enormity of the growing mass against the security
fence. Hundreds, maybe thousands had gathered and pressed against it. Any more
time on the ground and the primals would have surely breached and quickly
overwhelmed them.

Brad reached into the pallet of
water and twisted a bottle free from the shrink warp. Suddenly the plane jumped
again and slid out from under him. Brad grabbed tightly to the seat back and
spun himself down into the cushioned row. The storm seemed to be getting worse.
He strained to look out of a port window and could clearly see that the number
two engine was still dead. The props were sitting idle at an odd and twisted
angle. Kelli had convinced them she could still get the Antonov home on three
engines. Brad hoped she was right. He twisted the cap off the bottle and took a
long drink of the cold water.

Crete was a Greek vacation compared
to what they’d found on the Isle of Man. It was a short four-hour flight to the
small airport on the British island. They’d been hoping for just a quick stop
that time. Gather fuel, top off the tanks and then get going again on the long
haul to the States. They’d arrived at just past noon with the sun planted high
in the sky. As soon as Kelli put the Antonov on the ground and spun it around,
they’d known things wouldn’t be so simple. Before she could even idle the
engines, she’d seen the primals rushing in from the nearby towns and colliding
against the security fencing.

Unlike Crete, the Man airport was
littered with wreckage. The main terminal was burnt out, and destroyed hulks of
aircraft sat parked against it. Kelli navigated the aircraft through wreckage
and along the runway until she was alongside a large tanker truck. The AN-12
came to rest awkwardly parked across a corner of the tarmac. She was taking
extra risks to get the plane as close to the refueling vehicles as possible.

Gunner had drilled the team on a
quick refueling mission and they were ready to accomplish it. They’d trained
extensively on supporting the aircraft during the downtime in Crete. With the
airfield in disrepair and surrounded by hostiles, they would need to move
quickly. As soon as Kelli applied the brakes, the rear ramp dropped and the
support Marines flanked by the rest of Charlie Group rushed towards the tanker
truck. They dispatched the support Marines, then moved out to set up a hasty
perimeter. 

Corporal Swanson took command of
the Marine techs, Nelson and Craig, who were dragging a large two-wheeled cart
of stacked 12-volt batteries they had collected in Crete. They connected the
cart to the fuel truck and quickly had the tanker’s engine up and running.
Swanson talked them through connecting grounding wires and fuel lines for a hot
refueling. Even though more dangerous, this allowed Kelli to keep the engines
running. The rest of Charlie Group moved further out, creating a bubble of
360-degree security.

Brad was with the security element
on the right side of the aircraft beyond the nose. He could barely make out the
screams of the mobs pressing against the fences over the roar of the engines.
Without any verbal warning, the Villegas brothers, the group’s only Marine
riflemen, opened fire at the back of the perimeter. Brad twisted his position
and observed a mob of over fifty primals pouring out of a large hanger bay
located far behind them. Sergeant Hahn barked orders and one of the soldiers
ran towards the Villegases’ position. He quickly dropped prone and lay down a
wall of protective fire with his M249 squad automatic weapon.

The SAW gunner cut left and right
through the charging mass. With quick bursts and hundreds of rounds per minute,
the primals were knocked back. The few remaining on their feet were cut down by
the Villegases’ rifles. The noise of the aircraft and firing had drawn more
attention. All around the weak perimeter came shouts of contact along with
ranges and directions. They were already surrounded and the enemy was closing
in on them quickly. Brad was taking aimed shots all along his line of sight,
but they were moving on them fast and they were losing ground.

Gunner ordered the refueling party
to wrap it up. Kelli screamed back from the cockpit that they still needed more
fuel to make it to the continent. Frustrated, Gunner collapsed the perimeter to
just around the body of the aircraft.  Brad backed up and took a knee just
to the right of the landing gear. The men continued to fire as the masses
closed in around them. Brad cut down a small group of primals that ran directly
at him. Aiming center mass, he hoped to knock them off their feet, hitting a
moving target in the head at over a hundred meters being nearly impossible.

A section of the outer fence
suddenly failed with a screech of metal that could be heard over the aircraft’s
engines; a stream of primals started to break through. Gunner lost all patience
and ordered everyone back onboard. The perimeter team fell back to the rear
ramp of the aircraft, shooting as they moved. Sean and Brooks quickly took up
positions in the cockpit using their rifles to try and slow the approaching
mass. Panicking, Swanson disconnected the main fuel line while it was still
under pressure, a back wash of fuel spitting out of the nozzle and across the
deck. 

Swanson lost control of the high
pressure hose and was knocked to the ground with the line dumping fuel across
her and the runway. Nelson was quickly at her side. He grabbed her by the back
of the uniform and dragged her to her feet. With the aircraft disconnected,
Kelli released the brakes and the plane slowly started to move away.

As the plane crawled towards the
runway, Brad noticed that the Marine techs were still outside. He yelled to the
rest of the team asking about their location. Gunner ran past the men firing on
the ramp and saw Nelson and Swanson running towards them as the plane slowly
moved onto the runway. A mass of hundreds were just behind them and closing.
Gunner ordered the ramp to be raised just as Swanson and Nelson came aboard.

“Where is Craig?” Swanson screamed.
Craig had been positioned on the truck running the pumps. As the ramp closed,
the mass collided with it just seconds later. They could hear them swarming all
around the slowly moving AN-12.

“Where is Craig?” Swanson screamed
again.

Brad moved into the body of the
aircraft searching for a window. He could see Craig perched in the driver’s
seat of the large tanker truck. The primals had it surrounded, they had them
all surrounded; hundreds of them had gotten through and were pressing against
the aircraft and tanker truck. Craig looked up towards the cockpit and flashed
a thumbs up. He put the truck in gear and it lurched forward, crunching through
the tangled mob of primals. He drove it forward and ahead of the AN-12, using
the large truck as an ice breaker to plow a path through the sea of primals
massed in front of the aircraft. As the tanker truck crashed through the
primals and debris and began building speed, Kelli pushed on the throttles,
following closely in the wake of the vehicle.

The tanker truck collided with a
small luggage carrier and pushed it out of the way. A large piece of debris
shot into the air and crashed into the side of the Antonov, hitting one of the
large engines and destroying its blades. Kelli had no choice but to commit to
the takeoff. She killed the damaged engine and forced the remaining throttles
to max; the plane raced on, crashing through the crowd of primals as it slowly
climbed into the air.

Once airborne she banked hard and
made a pass back around the airfield. They saw Craig in the truck running laps
up and down the tarmac, crushing primals in his path.

“We have to go back for him, we
have to find a way to get him,” Swanson sobbed just as a flame swallowed the
cab of the truck. The tanker exploded and wrapped everything around it in a
yellow and orange ball of flame. The truck had been dragging the open fuel line
behind it, and Craig had tossed a flare from the window, igniting the runway
and everything else covered in fuel. Brad moved away from the window and fell
into a row of seats.

Another large round of turbulence
knocked Brad out of his day dream and back to the present. He was tossed up and
back against the seat he had fallen into. The remaining water in the bottle
poured down the front of his uniform shirt. The plane bucked hard again, this
time twisting in the air and seeming to free fall before the engines strained
and righted the aircraft.  Brad reached down for the restraints and
strapped himself in. Looking up, he could see that everyone was now awake.

The bays lights came on and he
could hear Kelli’s strained voice over the intercom.
“Folks, we’re not doing
so well up here. The dead engine and the extra drag are really hurting us.”

The PA died as they battled through
another rough patch of turbulence. Lights flickered on and off; the plane
rattled and creaked. Brad looked around the bay and could see that everyone was
now sitting upright and strapping in. Chelsea had disappeared into the cockpit.
Sean moved away from the jump seats and took a spot just in front of Brad near
the center of the row.

The intercom popped back on.
“This
storm is beating us up, we won’t have fuel to make Boston in these conditions.
We are approaching the coastal islands of Canada—“

Another particular harsh batch of
turbulence cut her off. The change in air pressure caused the plane to almost
completely roll to the left side; the nose dropped and Brad felt himself lose
his stomach. He could hear the plane rattle and vibrate as Kelli fought the
controls.  Brad stretched to look out of a window but now could see
nothing but blackness.

“Prepare for hard landing … I
don’t know what’s out there … folks we will be on the ground shortly ... If you
believe in something now would be a good time to ask for favors.”