Whiskey Tango Foxtrot (Escaping the Dead) (3 page)

The going was
slow.  The MRAP rolled along at close to forty miles an hour on the black
top surface.  But this wasn’t a well maintained road and they had to stay
aware of obstacles and potholes, this was no time for a broken axel.  Brad
had traveled the Hairatan road early in his tour and knew that it ended at a
bridge and border crossing.  Last time he was there, he visited the small
Afghan Army post and had lunch with some of the US soldiers who were stationed
there as trainers and advisors.  He hoped they would still be there.

Henry stopped the truck
again.  Brad looked up and saw a silent MRAP sitting in the center of the
road.  Nothing moved around the lonely vehicle.  The sun had just come up
and they could see that the doors were all closed. 

“Bring it in slow
Henry,” Brad said.

Henry eased the truck
forward and when they were about fifty feet away Brad asked him to stop. 
Cole was already in the turret and said he saw no movement.  Brad, Méndez
and Eric dismounted the MRAP and slowly approached the abandoned vehicle.

“Cover me while I move
up,” Brad ordered to the two soldiers behind him.

He slowly crept forward
and hugged the back corner of the large vehicle.  He looked for signs of
people but found nothing.  He put a foot on the back step and raised himself up
to peek into the truck.  It appeared empty, and unlike the vehicles at the
ambush site, this one had the gun removed from the turret.  Brad walked
around to the driver’s door and slowly opened it while trying to keep his M4
aimed with his free hand.  The door squeaked open to reveal an empty
cab.  Brad stepped up into the vehicle to find a handwritten note.

Anyone who finds
this.           

We are the six
survivors of Echo Company, 2
^nd
Brigade.  We were attacked on
route A62 by a large population that approached us yesterday in the late
afternoon.  They ignored warnings from our roadblock to stop, and kept
running for our perimeter.  We used the limited bean bag shotgun rounds to
try and turn them, but they had no effect.  We opened up with our rifles,
but we were quickly overrun, and they were in so close it was hard to fire
effectively without hitting each other.

Most of our men were on
the perimeter and were not able to flee to the safety of armored vehicles,
several of us were able to board two MRAPS, but because of the mass of people
we could provide little to no covering fire, instead we fled like
cowards.  As we left we could see our brothers fighting hand to hand, but
they had little chance when up against 100 to 1 odds.  We pushed our way
out of the perimeter and into the desert with at least twenty of the things
holding onto our trucks.  We took turns shooting at each other’s vehicles
through the firing ports until we lost the clingers.

We drove for several
hours before stopping and resting for the night.  Within a couple hours
our guards heard the mob approaching, but this time we were ready and we opened
up with our 50 caliber machine gun and the light machine gun on the other
truck.  The Mob went down but they didn’t stop, soon they had closed to
within one hundred meters and we were forced again to run.  It appears
that this enemy can take several hits, and is immune to pain or
exhaustion.  They do bleed out and die, but they are hardened and don’t
quit until dead, head shots work best.

We drove through the
night until we hit the Hairatan Road.  We decided our best chance was to get to
the Afghan army base at the border so we traveled north.  This truck is
out of fuel and instead of splitting the precious fuel we have left we have
decided to abandon this vehicle and use what we have to get to the
border.  We have almost no water left, and only a little food.  We
haven’t seen anyone or heard anyone on the radio for at least 24 hours.

If you find this note
please give it to the nearest NATO ISAF military units for a reward.

Signed,

SFC Turner

Brad read the note and
walked back to Méndez and Eric.  He handed the note to Méndez and watched him
read it silently.  “Oh shit, this is bad man,” Méndez mumbled. 

“Let’s get back in the
truck so I can think,” Brad said.  They mounted the MRAP and sat quietly
while Brad stared at the note.

“Sergeant, there is a
haboob coming from up the road,” said Cole. 

Brad looked up and saw
a large gathering sandstorm, and ordered Cole to close the hatch.

As the sandstorm got
close Brad looked at it through his binos and saw that it wasn’t a storm at
all, but a mob of at least a thousand coming down the Hairatan road. 

 “Shut off the engine
Henry, everyone lock the doors and get down,” Brad yelled.

“What are we doing Sergeant? 
Why don’t we run?” asked Henry.

“We don’t have
time.  I think if we are quiet they will go past us.  They didn’t
touch the abandoned MRAP.  If we are lucky and keep our mouths shut they
will go right by.”

The mob hit them, but
not with the violence of their first encounter.  They didn’t seem to move
as fast when they weren’t chasing prey.  They walked quickly but not at
the speed they saw earlier.  They were clumsy and Brad could hear them
bumping against the heavy armored vehicle.  A couple even climbed up and
over the truck, but none looked inside the darkened interior. It took 15
minutes for the herd to pass and another 20 minutes for the stragglers to go
by.

Brad slowly lifted
himself from the vehicle floor.  The inside of the truck had gotten extremely
hot with the windows closed and the AC turned off.  He raised his head up
and looked as best he could in a 360 to make sure they were alone.  When
he was certain, he gave the all clear and told Henry to fire up the engine as
he opened his window.  He looked outside and saw that the mob had made a
wide path in the sand and littered it with pieces of clothing and shoes. 
They seemed to march with purpose and didn’t quit.  Brad wondered how they
decided where to go.

He got out of the MRAP
and walked among some of the things dropped by the mob.  He leaned down to
pick up a shoe when he heard the shuffling sounds of something
approaching.  He looked back at his truck and saw his crew signaling for
him to get to cover.  But it was too late. The thing had already spotted
him and started moving directly at him.  Lucky for Brad this thing had a
gimped leg, it looked like it had a blown out knee by the way it dragged its
foot behind it.  “Sergeant! Shoot it!” Cole yelled from the turret.

“No, hold your
fire.  If we shoot with the mob still that close they might come back for
us,” Brad answered. 

Brad pulled out his
karambit knife and dropped into a fighter’s stance and waited for the crazy to
get within range.  When it got close enough the crazy lunged at Brad head
first, which was a mistake, as Brad was an experienced wrestler.  He
grabbed it by the hair on the top of its head and buried the karambit deep into
the side of its neck.

Brad thought that would
be the end of it, but the thing continued its lunge, and grabbed at Brads
legs.  Brad had to make a deep sprawl so he could land on top of it, and
keep his legs out of range.  He yanked out the knife and plunged it deep
into the base of the things skull.  This time the creature went limp and settled
onto the ground. 

Brad got back to his
feet and wiped his blade off on the things pants.  He noticed his hands
were shaking, and he was shocked at the strength of the creature, and that it
didn’t quit, even with five inches of steel in its jugular.

Brad dropped to the
ground and sat there for a second before dry heaving into the sand next to
him.  When he looked up, his men were standing around him and looking down
at what he had just killed.  Brad rolled the man over and saw that he
looked like a middle aged Asian man.  Not like the typical Afghan they ran
into around this area.  He reached into its jacket pocket and found a
tattered wallet.  The identification card wasn’t in English but he recognized
the papers from his time earlier working at the border.

Brad folded the papers
and put them in his pocket.  “What is it Sergeant?  What did you
find?” asked Cole. 

“Nothing guys, do a
quick check on the truck and make sure nothing was damaged. Méndez help me look
this thing over some more,” Brad answered. 

When the others moved
away, Brad told Méndez that he was sure the papers were Uzbekistan
identification documents.  “What do you think that means Sergeant?” Méndez
asked.

“Well, I hope it
doesn’t mean that this has spread into Uzbekistan.  I hope it doesn’t mean
that the border post has been lost.  I hope it doesn’t mean we are
screwed.  Méndez I need you to help me keep this from the men until we get
to Hairatan, I need these guys to stay focused,” Brad said.

“I think you have a
point Sergeant,” agreed Mendez, “I won’t say shit till we know for sure what we
are looking at.”

Brad and Méndez walked
back to the truck and got on board.  “Let’s move out Henry,” Brad said in
a low voice.  Henry pulled the vehicle forward and around the abandoned
MRAP in the middle of the road.  They passed a sign that said ‘Hairatan
15km’.  “We will be there soon guys, just stay sharp,” Brad said. 

“If there is anything
left there.  I mean you saw that pack of them.  They came from where
we are headed.  What do we expect to find there?” Eric said.

“Just keep your head on
straight and worry about that when we get there,” ordered Brad.

The road to Hairatan
passed through the arid desert before it moved near the Amu Darya River. 
Brad could see things slowly begin to lose the tan beige of the desert and turn
green.  As they got closer to the river they would pass an occasional mud
hut.  They continued on as the road turned to the east and skirted the
river; they could see it below them on the left.  Still, they saw no sign of
life.  As they got closer to Hairatan they started to see more and more
abandoned vehicles.  Some looked as if they had been trampled; others were
rolled over with shattered windshields. 

Henry carefully
navigated around the broken and battered vehicles but the congested road soon
got to where it was almost impassable.  Henry eased the vehicle to the
shoulder and prepared to go off road to skirt a large bus that was broken down
blocking the left lane.  Henry pushed the accelerator and the MRAP began
to climb the embankment.

“No! Stop!” Cole yelled
from the gunners hatch.

Henry hit the brakes
and the vehicle slammed forward then stopped. 

“What is it?” Brad
asked. 

Cole pointed forward.
Brad opened his door and stood in its frame to get a better vantage
point.  Ahead and off to the side, he saw the missing MRAP.

It looked like they had
attempted the same maneuver to get around the bus.  They must have climbed
the embankment and tried to skirt around the bus when it lost traction and slid
into the deep ditch at the other side of the bus.  The MRAP and ditch were
out of view of Henry and he never would have seen until it was too late. 
Brad asked Henry to back up, and then they all got out and wearily approached
the disabled MRAP.

Just like the abandoned
truck on the road, this truck also had its mounted gun removed.  Brad took
that as a good sign.  When they got closer they could see that the crew
spent a considerable amount of time trying to recover the vehicle.  They
saw spare tires and cables tied and propped under the MRAP in every position
imaginable to try and right it.  There was no sign of the crew, and this
time there was no note.  The vehicle was empty and they took everything
removable with them.  It looked like they must have lost the fight with it
and were forced to abandon the truck.  Brad was hoping he wouldn’t have to
make the same decision.

The bus blocking the
road was wedged in tight and there didn’t seem to be any way around it. 
The other side of the road had a sharp drop off.  Brad approached a car
near that side and looked inside, the keys were missing and the windshield was
smashed out.  It looked like the last owner of the car had been dragged through
it.  Brad reached through the window and put the car in neutral and
started to push it.  Méndez picked up on what Brad was doing and leaned
into the back of the car.  They pushed hard and Brad steered the car out
over the edge of the cliff.

Brad instructed Henry
to follow them down the now cleared up lane.  Cole stayed in the turret to
provide cover while Eric and Méndez helped him push vehicles over the
side.  It was hard work but eventually they had made it through the pileup
and the MRAP had room to maneuver again.  Eric got back inside the truck
while Brad and Méndez elected to ride on the hood.  They were starting to
approach the outer edge of the city of Hairatan.  The road forked and Brad
instructed Henry to stick to the north fork which would take them along the
river and to the Afghan army post.  As they approached, Brad could start
to make out the steel girded Friendship Bridge which connected Afghanistan to
Uzbekistan, an important trade route and path for military shipments.  He
wasn’t happy that he could already tell the bridge looked heavily damaged, and
some vehicles even appeared to be burning. 

The head of the bridge
on the Afghan side is barricaded and you can’t just drive up to it.  Brad
instructed Henry to move the MRAP up onto the railway bed that ran parallel to
the road, and around the barriers.  The MRAP slowly climbed the railroad tracks
and eased into the customs station.  Strangely, there were no train cars,
and the inspection station was eerily quiet.  Brad and Méndez dismounted
with Eric while Cole stood watch in the turret.  Brad asked Henry to kill
the engine while they listened.

They heard them before
they saw them, four males and a female running towards them from down on the
far side of the barricade.  They were running along the fence trying to
make their way to the gate so they could get around and at the soldiers. 
Brad watched them as they crashed through the gate and began coming up the
embankment.  He looked through his red dot site and took aim at a large
man in a yellow shirt leading far out in front.  He pulled the trigger and
hit him in the chest with a 3 round burst.  The man fell and the others
ran over him.  Brad told the men to open fire.

They took carefully
aimed shots that hit the crazies several times, but they kept coming. 
“Aim for the head,” Brad yelled.  And he again aimed for the lead runner,
putting the red dot just below his chin and pulling the trigger.  He saw
his rounds pop through the neck and face of the runner.  When he lowered
his rifle all of them were down.  They changed out magazines in their M4s
and looked around.  He saw off in the distance, the man in yellow he
initially shot three times in the chest was getting back to his feet and making
his way back towards them.

They stared at the man
in awe.  Brad raised his rifle and placed the dot over the man’s heart and
pulled the trigger.  Yellow shirt spun around and fell, but rolled back to
his belly and got back to his feet and started walking again towards the
soldiers.  Brad aimed at the man’s leg and took a shot, yellow shirts knee
buckled, and he went into the dirt, but began crawling towards them.  They
just stood and watched the man crawl until he was less than 10 feet away when
Brad placed a shot in yellow shirts head stopping him.

“What the fuck was
that?”  Méndez muttered. 

Eric walked to the
downed man and rolled him over to his back.  There were four holes going
across the man’s chest, two in the abdomen, one in the heart and one in the
lungs.  “How is this possible?  You shot him three too many times to
kill him and he kept going,” Eric said.

As they stared at
yellow shirt, Cole shouted “Contact right!”  Brad spun to see two more
figures running towards them.  The two crazies were wearing border guard
uniforms.  At first Brad thought maybe help had arrived, but he could hear
the high pitched whine of their moans.

Without instruction,
they raised their rifles and dropped the former guards with well-aimed shots to
the grapes.  They walked over to the downed men and one of them had a
gaping wound on his shoulder; the other was missing a good portion of his
neck. 

“It looks like whatever
this is, it keeps them alive.  Look at these wounds; these guys should
have been immobile,” Eric explained.

“It’s definitely not
good Eric, I don’t know what to say right now,” Brad answered. 

Méndez rolled one of
the guards over and found a Makarov pistol in the man’s holster.  “No
sense in leaving this,” Méndez said as he tucked the pistol into his body
armor. 

“Back to the truck
guys, I’m sure this shooting attracted a lot of attention,” said Brad.