Whiskey Tango Foxtrot (Book 4): Walking In The Shadow Of Death (24 page)

The man offered a cigarette to his
comrade and they sat quietly, smoking. There were other sounds of a car
approaching. The men casually looked up as a larger four-door sedan drove up
the road from the left towards the barricade. The uniformed men approached the
vehicle and joked with the occupants before lifting the barricade and allowing
the vehicle to pass to the south.

“Must be on their way to rape and
pillage,” Brooks whispered.

A door at the building opened and
more men came out. They also laughed and joked, loitering around the parking
lot. Most of these new men were also in uniform, but in mixed varieties:
police, military, even a couple in firefighters’ jackets. They seemed to have
no purpose other than to man the barricade. Brad counted eleven of them, all
armed with rifles or sidearms.

They watched through the rest of
the morning and into the afternoon. Vehicles left and sometimes returned. Late
in the day the large four-door sedan returned to the barricade. A man exited
the driver’s door excitedly. He approached one of the gate guards, laughing.
Quickly they talked and two of the guards followed the man to the back of the
car. The driver opened the trunk and removed two tied and gagged individuals.
They were young, maybe in their teens.

Brad watched them intensely through
the scope of his rifle. From their dress he couldn’t identify them as male or
female, only that they were young and afraid. The driver seemed to be proud of
his find. He pushed the kids around in front of him, boasting to the guards
before stuffing the two back into the trunk of the car. The driver walked back
towards the front of the vehicle and entered the vehicle, slamming the door
behind him. The guards lifted the barricade and allowed the sedan to pass
through and back down the road to the left.

After a few minutes Sean crawled up
on them from down the trail. They got back low behind the log. “I’ve seen
enough, it’s time to act,” Sean whispered.

“What’s the plan?” Brooks asked.

“We’re going to ruin their day.”

28.

The team rallied back under the
cover of the stone wall. Sean sketched a rough layout of the road and buildings
on the mud surface of the trail. He placed pebbles along a line that symbolized
his men along the ridge, then drew in the intersection and marked X’s where the
building and barricade sat. “I was really hoping we could hold off, possibly do
this tomorrow with a couple more shooters,” Sean whispered.

“Then why don’t we?” Brad asked.

“No time, these guys have run loose
long enough, done too much damage. It’s time we let them know that they are not
the big dogs anymore. We’re going to send a message that the baddest
motherfuckers in the valley have arrived, and they have plenty to fear,” Sean
said.

“How do you propose we make this
grand gesture? Without getting ourselves killed?” Jorgensen whispered
skeptically.

“Here,” Sean whispered back,
pointing at the sketch in the dirt. “There are only eleven of them, they aren’t
tactical, and they mostly cluster in and around this building’s entrance. They
think they are smart but the fools put themselves in a low spot where two
valleys converge. We hold the high ground. Sure, the uphill terrain, the choke
point, it all makes sense for holding off primals, but we are going to use it
against them tonight. This isn’t a video game where they can hit reset and try
again. By the time they realize what’s going on they’ll be bleeding out.”

Sean moved the stick across the
sketch. “I will be far on the right flank just below you. Brooks, you have far
left. Brad, you’ll take up a one-man skirmish line all along the wall.
Jorgensen, I trust you are handy with that rifle … I’m gonna sit you at the end
of the rock wall.” Sean pointed his stick at every point where he wanted a man
located.

“Brooks, you and I will stay
whisper quiet on the flanks. Angels of death. Pop them when nobody is watching.
Hit the ones hanging back so the others don’t know where the fire is coming
from. Shoot to wound.”

Brooks squinted at the comment.
“Wounding kinda goes against the book, don’t it?”

“Not this book. I want to fuck
these guys up, leave them wounded and screaming, the more chaos and panic the
better.

“George, you have one job, and one
job only. I want you to find a tidy little hole in the wall where you can stay
in cover, yet still keep your scope on that gun truck by the barricade. Your
only responsibility is to kill anyone who tries to get on that gun. No matter
what you think may be going on around you, glue your cross hair to that turret,
we can’t afford to get pinned down.

“Brad, you have the fun work, you
will go loud, I want the primals to know there’s a party going on. Direct aimed
fire from the wall, get their attention and harass them. One to two shots then
move, don’t pop up twice from the same location. I want these fucktards
thinking we have one rookie gunman up here. Let them get cocky and run outside.
I want them looking at the wall while Brooks and I put them down.

“Once they are all on the ground,
back in cover, licking their wounds, I have a surprise for them,” Sean said,
pulling two parachute flares from his pack. “These are my last two, you know
what happens when they go off.”

Brad nodded, “It’s a primal dinner
bell.”

“Exactly. If all goes well, these
guys will panic, they will be bloodied and maimed. In no shape to fight. I’m
hoping they crawl back to their base with the horde in fast pursuit,” Sean
said. “These primals are going to make for one hell of a force multiplier. Once
the primals come on scene, go quiet, dig in and enjoy the show.”

Jorgensen still looked skeptical.
“These men, these raiders, they have been here a while. I’m sure they are
prepared for the Buhmann. Even if a horde does go to the port, they will know
how to fight them.”

Sean nodded in agreement. “I’m
counting on that. They should have some sort of defense against them by now. I
don’t want their main camp overrun, or any civilian hostages killed. My hope is
the longer we can keep them focused on the Prim— Buhmann, the easier we will
find it to get closer to the main camp without being detected.

“Any more questions?” Sean asked.

The men looked down at the crude
drawing thoughtfully before looking up and shaking their heads.

“Good, get into position. Brad, you
get to light the candles. I want this party kicked off in thirty minutes … that
will be just before sunset when these guys are planning to go silent for the
night.”

They broke up the huddle. Sean and
Brooks crawled off in opposite directions, headed for their assigned flanks.
Brad stayed low against the stone wall, allowing the others time to get into
position. He had set the timer on his digital watch. He stared as the seconds
slowly counted off.

Jorgensen was still on the ground
in front of him. He had rolled to his hip and was pulling rounds from his pack,
placing them in his coat pocket so he would have easy access to them. Then he
began silently moving the rocks in front of him to provide for a concealed
firing position. He put his pack in front of him then rested his rifle so that
he had a clear view of the G-Wagon’s turret.

“You going to be okay with this
George? Living men aren’t the same as a deer,” Brad whispered.

Jorgensen looked back at him. “Friend,
I have more regard for a deer than I do those animals down there.”

Brad stared at him silently for a
moment. “Okay then, good luck,” he whispered as he crawled off towards the far
end of the wall. He took his time, making sure he made no noise. He didn’t want
to do anything wrong and blow the assault. As he crawled he felt his heart rate
increase. Regardless of how much he tried to relax, it continued to thump.

Even though there was a stiff chill
in the air, he began to sweat. He was feeling his muscles twitch; the
pre-mission jitters were back. Brad grinned and shook his head. He was back
doing what he’d been trained for. To hunt and kill the enemy. It was what he
was good at. The men below him would pay a high price for the crimes they had
committed in this valley. Brad steeled his mind as he crawled another ten
meters, then rolled back against the wall.

He pushed in tight and looked down
at his watch: less than three minutes to go. Brad double-checked his weapon. He
cautiously pulled the charging handle, just enough so that he could see brass.
He let the bolt go forward, then tapped the forward assist the way he had done
hundreds of times before. He pushed the magazine release and let the
thirty-round mag slide into his gloved hand. He pressed on the top rounds,
feeling the resistance, pushing them back with his thumb, ensuring they were
properly seated. Thirty-round capacity, but he only loaded twenty-eight,
cautious not to put too much strain on the springs. Brad reseated the magazine
and pulled down, making sure it was secure.

He checked his watch: sixty
seconds. Brad got to his knees and pressed his non-firing shoulder against the
wall. He raised his body, bringing his rifle up and over the wall in a fluid
motion. It was time to start the ambush. He aimed down range toward the enemy.
Quickly his eyes scanned right to left, prioritizing targets. Four men
positioned by the barricade, more standing by the parked cars. The distance was
long for his M4, but he would get them moving. Brad glanced at his watch.

“Time to say goodnight, boys,” Brad
whispered as he flipped the selector switch from safe to semi and focused on a
man standing just in front of the barricade. He aimed high, above center mass
to compensate for the range. He squeezed the trigger and felt the response from
the rifle and the sound of the buffer spring doing its work. Brad didn’t wait
to see if he had a hit. Instead he rolled back to the ground and began crawling
further to the left towards Brooks.

He pressed in tight to the wall. He
heard the yelling below, someone shouting orders. The yells were quickly
answered by the barely audible clack of Brooks’s suppressed rifle. Sporadic
gunfire started below, scared men firing rounds off into the tree lines. Then
the loud crack of Jorgensen’s rifle. Someone must have gone for the mounted
gun. Bad move. Panicked shouts, pain-filled screams and calls for help filled
the valley floor.

Brad again pushed his shoulder to
the wall and popped up. Just in front of the door to the building, three men had
run out. Their C7 rifles were up and aiming for the barricade. They hadn’t
identified the source of the fire yet. A silenced round knocked down the man
standing to the left with a hit low to the abdomen. Brad focused on the man in
the middle. He had just looked over to watch his comrade stumble. Brad lined up
on him and pulled the trigger. Again he dropped and rolled to the ground
without confirming his hit. He quickly crawled back to the right towards
Jorgensen. When he was within three meters of his friend he popped up again and
searched for targets.

Searching left to right, he was
finding nothing worth killing. Men were on the ground screaming in agony,
having been maimed by the snipers’s well-placed shots. Brad continued scanning
for threats. Most of the guard force was down and bleeding, some were firing
blindly over the barricade, or up at the face of the hill. An occasional round
skipped off the earth high above Brad’s head. He saw a man in his peripheral
rise from the far side of the G-Wagon. He fired blindly then opened the door of
the gun truck.

Brad pivoted in that direction just
as the man disappeared into the cab of the vehicle. He watched as the man
climbed up into the turret. He went to rack the heavy machine gun, but before
he could begin to move the charging handle a loud crack from Jorgensen’s rifle
dropped him back into the crew compartment.

Brad spotted a man in a policeman’s
uniform kneeling near a parked car at the far end of the lot. The man appeared
to think he was well-hidden, cowering at the corner of the hood. Brad clicked
the selector switch another notch and took aim, firing a three-round burst.
This time he stayed in position, watching rounds tear through the hood of the
vehicle and into his intended target. Brad dropped back to the ground, crawling
closer to Jorgensen.

As he moved, he could hear the
men’s screams intensify, pleading for help. He heard a car engine start
followed by a loud
twang, twang
as suppressed rounds tore into the
vehicle’s engine. The desperation fire from the ground picked up as men fired
wildly in all directions, hoping to make the killing stop. Brad was ready to
pop up again when he began to hear the first of the primal moans. Instead of
rising up he crawled to Jorgensen’s position, nestling in behind him.

Bread reached out with his hand and
slapped Jorgensen’s boot so he would know that he was there. Jorgensen looked
back at him. Brad continued crawling until he was alongside him, then Jorgensen
took his right arm and slapped Brad on the back. “The Buhmann has arrived,” he
said, not needing to whisper with the sounds of the sporadic fire from below
covering his voice.

Brad slowly lifted his head so that
he could see over the wall. As Sean had predicted, the Buhmann and several
creepers had responded to the noise. They were coming up the road from the
south in force. A wall of creepers had formed and were pouring over the
barricade. Occasionally a faster primal would rush through the mob, moaning in
rage as it tackled a wounded man. Brad looked down at them, still frightened at
seeing them en masse.

The screaming men on the ground
hobbled and crawled, fleeing back down the road, headed towards the port and
the main camp. Some turned and fought the primals. One made a desperate run for
the mounted machine gun, but he was quickly dropped by a suppressed rifle
before he cleared half the distance. Brad watched as the man was cut down, his
momentum causing him to roll into the waiting hands of the creepers.

The sun’s light was fading from the
valley. The orange glow of the setting sun blanketed the scene below; bright
muzzle flashes from the desperate men threw creepy shadows over the slow-moving
mob. Sean’s flare popped and launched high in the air, the bright burning light
hanging from a parachute. The slow floating star drifting towards the ground
infuriated the primals. Brad watched them arch their backs and scream into the
night sky. More had surrounded the barricade as they slowly came out of the
woods. Alphas that had held back initially now showed themselves, joining the
fight.

Brad watched as the primals swarmed
over the wounded men, removing limbs and ripping their torsos open. Men that
were able, struggled to their feet and tried to run, leaving the more badly
wounded behind. Soon the shooting and the last of the screams had stopped. Only
the moans remained.

“Where do they all come from?” Brad
whispered as he watched hundreds of them pour over the barricade and march
towards the port.

“These things are everywhere.
Because we do not see them, we assume they are gone. I believe many of them lie
dormant in homes, just waiting for a reason to attack, a reason like this,”
Jorgensen said.

“I won’t lie George … that is some
scary shit.”

Brad heard a rustling in the brush
and turned in time to see Sean crawling through the high grass, rejoining them
at the wall. “Well gentlemen, I would consider that a success.”

“So what now?” Brad asked.

“Now we lay low and rest. Let these
things pass through the valley and do their thing. Tomorrow after the sun comes
up, we push forward,” Sean whispered.