Whiskey Tango Foxtrot (Escaping the Dead) (6 page)

“Son of a bitch!  It’s
Junayd!” Brooks said.  “Look at that shit; he’s clearing the way for
us”.   As everyone was running to the edge of the roof to look out
below; a large open bed truck pulled in front of the building.  A man jumped
from the cab and waved frantically at them. “Well, what do we do chief?”  Asked
Brad.

“Looks like he’s
offering us a ride, rude to turn them down,” Sean answered.  Wasting no
time, they all made their way back down the ladder.  They ran around the
corner and jumped into the back of the truck.  A small Arab man closed the
tailgate behind them and they sped off.

The truck drove quickly
down streets changing directions every block or two; occasionally bouncing a
primal off of its large steel bumper.   Junayd’s men drove for some
time until they were sure they had lost any followers.  They pulled into a
darkened side street with high walls on both sides, far from anyplace Brad
recognized.  Lifting their heads to look over the high tailgate; they saw the
small car pull in behind them.  Sean and Brooks got to their feet and
leapt to the ground.  A large Arab man approached and shook Sean’s hand,
then embraced Brooks in a bear hug. 

“My friends we are even
now, you saved me, now I save you,” said Junayd.

“You got that right
Junayd,” said Brooks smiling at the man, “but we also gave you weapons and a
car.  It would be really nice of you if you could get us back home, and not
just leave us on this street.”

“Yes friend, that is a
very real possibility, but I need you to also allow my people into your home,”
said Junayd.  “We have seen that you have taken the customs compound; you
must take in our people. This city is not safe for them.  Take in my
people, and we will safely bring you home.”

“Well it’s not my place
to negotiate over, I’m only a guest there Junayd” answered Sean.

“I see” said Junayd
frowning, “It appears you men will have a long walk home.  You should hurry. 
It will be dark soon”.

“Hold up, I think we
have room, just get us back to the warehouse and we can work this out,” said
Brad.

“Wait Brad, we can’t
trust these people, maybe we should just get out here, I think we’re better off
on our own,” snapped Turner.

Junayd glared at the
insult and turned to walk towards the cars. Brad quickly jumped from the bed of
the truck and walked over to Junayd. “Junayd, if you get us safely back to the
customs compound, I will open my doors to your people.  We’re all in this fight
together now,” Brad said extending his hand.

“Agreed,” said Junayd
briefly touching his hand to his heart before grasping Brads in a tight
handshake that quickly turned into a hug.

The ride back to the
compound was quiet and uneventful.  The vehicles pulled into a narrow
ravine that twisted around and behind the customs compound.  The large
truck lurched to a stop and the small man dropped the tailgate of the truck. 
The men jumped out, stretched, and looked around.   “Go through that hole in
the fence,” said Junayd pointing. “If you go through and follow the fence till
it ends you will see the railroad track that will lead you back.”

“How do you know that?”
asked Brad.

“My cousin and I have
been raiding and smuggling things from this customs yard for years.  We only
asked your permission to stay here to be polite,” Junayd said, giving Turner a
cold stare.  “We have plenty of work fighting those things in the city; we
really do not need to be bothered with fighting Americans also.

“Get back to your
warehouse and prepare your men.  We will be at your gates shortly after the sun
sets,” Junayd said.

“Why not wait till
tomorrow?  You know they are more dangerous at night,” asked Brad.

“More dangerous? Yes,
but also more predictable.   We will use distractions to move the packs where
we want them while we deliver the people to you.  Be ready for them,” Junayd
said as he turned and walked back to his car.  Shutting the doors, the engines
started and the vehicles drove back down the ravine leaving the soldiers. 

Sean walked by and
patted Brad on the shoulder; a gesture that didn’t go unnoticed by
Turner.  “You did good Brad, now let’s get back to the hooch” said Sean as
he lifted the hole in the fence while the men went through.

They made their way
back to the warehouse, and received a warm welcome from the waiting men. 
Brad briefed them on what had happened and that they were about to receive
guests.  Sean and a couple of the soldiers cleared the warehouse next door
so that it could be set up as lodging for the incoming civilians.  
Brad took Sergeant Turner on a tour of the compound and helped his men settle
into the building.  They were happy to see the flush toilets and running
water.  Brad got Cole started on preparing the evening meal and he told
them all to get some rest.   As Brad was leaving, Turner called him
over. 

“You have done well
here Brad, and you did good getting these men here safely.  I just want you to
know that I won’t step on your feet,” said Turner. “It seems the world has gone
to shit quickly.  I don’t know where that leaves the military, but I
am
a Platoon Sergeant and it’s going to stay that way.  However, I think you have
proven yourself, and you should be the acting Lieutenant until we come up with
something different.” 

Brad grinned, “I
appreciate the gesture Sergeant, but I don’t think you have the authority to
give battle field commissions,” he laughed. 

“Yeah you’re probably
right, but this is the best I got Brad.  It allows me to save face, and will
keep the men from getting caught up in a power struggle,” responded
Turner. 

“Well then, sounds good
to me.  I have work to do Sergeant, we can talk again later,” said Brad.

“Okay buddy, and how
bout you drop the ‘Sergeant’ shit?  We can catch up after I grab some shut
eye.”

Brad walked outside the
warehouse door; he bumped into Sean heading back in the other direction. 
He explained what had just happened with Turner.  “Well damn, I didn’t
think the guy had it in him, but I think it was the right decision.  I was
afraid we wouldn’t be able to work together, maybe I was wrong,” said Sean.

“Sergeant Turner isn’t
a bad guy, and he has a lot of combat experience, I trust him”.  They were
beginning to lose the daylight so they retreated inside, and climbed to the
roof.  Just as the last bits of sunlight faded, they heard an explosion
distant in the city.  A fire began to burn, and they heard reports of the
AK47 rifles. 

“Well there is Junayd,
right on time,” said Brooks.  They could see the primal crazies shifting
in the streets and heading towards the racket on the far side of town. 
Sean grinned when the two flares popped and went high into the sky.  “They
must have learned that trick from your sergeant,” he chuckled.

“Wherever they learned
it, it’s working.  Look at them all, they go to it like mosquitoes on a bug
zapper,” laughed Cole. 

Eric pointed down
toward the railroad gate at the front of the compound “They’re here.” 
Brad stood to look and saw four large flatbed trucks overloaded with people, a
few more then he had expected.

Brad watched his men
open the gates and guide the overloaded trucks in.  They lead them all the way
down to the empty warehouse.  Brad left the roof and made his way down the
ladder.  When he reached the small convoy of vehicles he was greeted by
Junayd with another stiff handshake.  “Thank you my friend,” Junayd said.
“These people had it very badly out there; I don’t think you realize how much
safety and security these fences will give them.”  Brad watched as his men
helped women and children exit the vehicles and enter the warehouse.  He
moved into the building, it was dark, but they were afraid to turn on any
lights while the overhead doors were still open.   Sean and his men had laid
out cardboard into makeshift mats on the ground for the people to sit on. 
Brad saw that the warehouse was laid out very similarly to the one they were
using.

As he walked, he saw
that Eric had converted one of the offices into a medical clinic and he was
treating a small child, and others had already started to get in line. 
The loft area was already occupied by several men and they were carrying their
limited supplies up the stairs for safekeeping.  Brad looked around and
tried to get a count in his head.  “Junayd, you have nearly fifty people
here, this will be a lot to feed,” Brad said.

“Seventy-two to be
exact, and yes it will be a lot, but the city holds resources.  Unlike
Americans, we know how to live off of this land.  We will be fine my friends,
shortly my men will return from their mini Jihad against the monsters in the
city.  Let’s walk so that we may greet them,” said Junayd.

As if on cue, they
could hear the vehicles approach the gate. While they walked, Brad saw his men
working with some of Junayd’s men to open the gates and escort in the small
car.  Once the car pulled in and killed its engine, the small man from
before stepped out with four other local fighters.  Junayd exchanged words
with the man, and then patted him hard on the shoulder while facing Brad. 
“This is Hasan, he is my best soldier.”

Brad extended his hand
and smiled. “I think we almost met earlier today.  Thank you for your help
Hasan and good work getting the people here safely.”  Hasan smiled as he
returned the handshake.

The next several days
were spent improving the small camp.  The soldiers decided to give up the
warehouse space to the civilians and they all moved into a small guard house
near the gate.  Although the guard house was smaller, it gave the soldiers
privacy and relieved them of the guilt of thinking about the families crammed
into the single space.  They continued to stand watch nightly on the roof
of the warehouse in the sniper hide they had setup.  With the help of
Junayd’s men providing distractions so that the noise wouldn’t attract the
primals, they were able to utilize some of the heavy equipment to move the
railroad shipping containers into a large wall.  After a few days’ work
the compound was now ringed in by the large forty foot long and ten foot high
containers.

The men slowly made
improvements to the camps perimeter.  After the wall was constructed they
started to lose some of the fear of making noise.  Any stray primal that
moved too close to the compound were quickly terminated with the use of Sean’s
suppressed sniper rifle.  After a week, the camp was fortified. 
Containers stacked end to end completely enclosed the camp.  They had a
sliding gate and the men had cut access doors into the containers that held
food or other valuable supplies.  Brad was extremely happy with the
progress made.

Late on the thirtieth
night since the outbreak, Brad made his way to the communal fire pit inside his
former residence.  The warehouse now was divided into small shacks
constructed of cardboard and crates salvaged from inside the
containers.   He saw Junayd with Sean and Brooks off to the side of
the fire so he sat next to them.  Once he was settled, a smiling young
woman handed him a bowl of rice and dried meat.  A child handed him an energy
drink which made Brad laugh.  “You have done well by these people Brad! 
They would welcome you into their tribe,” said Junayd.

This gave all of the
military men a laugh.  “I am honored Junayd, really, but this isn’t my
home.  I think there is more for me than this.”

Sean gave Brad a
serious look. “That’s exactly what we have been discussing lately.  Brooks and
I have decided that it is time to move on; we have to see where things are at.”

“What are you getting
at Sean, you want to leave?  Where will you go?” answered Brad.

“Brad, I fear we have
been forgotten out here.  We were thinking we could make our way to Bremmel;
things should have died down by now.  We should be able to gather supplies
from there; then do our best to make it to Bagram down route 76.  It won’t
be easy, but I am confident we can make it.  Bagram fell fast in the early
days of the outbreak; maybe there is something left, maybe we can find an
aircraft and get out of here.

“Oh yeah, and we want
you to go with us.”

Thank
You for Reading

Lundy W. J.  (2013-03-11).
Whiskey Tango Foxtrot. Kindle Edition.

If you have an opportunity,
please leave a review on
Amazon
.

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Volume
II in the
Whiskey Tango Foxtrot
series

 
Tales of the Forgotten

Is now available.

A Kindle exclusive sneak peek

Tales of the Forgotten

A Whiskey Tango Foxtrot Novel

By W.J. Lundy

 
PROLOGUE

It
had been weeks since the first attack.  Since the day the world went dark
and everyone forgot about them.  The day he lost his company and most of
his friends.  They must have more to worry about than a half dozen
stranded soldiers in the back forty of the world.  No contact, no
messages, not even a fly over from a friendly aircraft.  They were
completely isolated and alone.

“Target,
twelve o’clock.  Primal on the wire,” the spotter whispered.

Brads
team had done well for themselves, considering their situation.  They had
held up in the Customs compound at Hairatan; they fortified it, made it a
refuge.  Their previous mission, in their old life, had been to patrol the
streets looking for the Taliban.  Now they worked with a former Taliban
commander named Junayd rescuing civilians and rebuilding in the furthest reaches
of Afghanistan.  Once enemies; they were now unified in a common goal to
survive.

“Identified,
primal on the wire,” Brad whispered, pulling the rifle into his shoulder and
letting his cheek rest on the butt stock.  Gripping the heavy M24 hand guards
tightly he forced himself to relax as he lined his dominant eye up with the
scope
.

The
routines had become monotonous, the same tasks over and over.  His
deployment to Afghanistan had felt the same, but this was different. 
There was no real end to this, no day circled on a calendar to work
towards.  No goal to reach, no motivation to press forward.  This was
just surviving every day; day after day.  They would do patrols into the city
to salvage goods and locate survivors.  They had found plenty of the
later, but never any soldiers.  He feared his men may be the last
remaining US Forces in country.

“Range
twelve hundred meters, dial eighteen plus one click,” ordered the spotter.

The
compound was home now.  Survivors of all types seeking refuge had come
here looking for safety inside the fences.  They all came together working
the walls and doing the tasks that keep a camp running, soldiers and civilians
side by side now.  Brads men knew the compound wouldn’t stand against a
large mass attack.  How could it? Their own base had fallen in the first
days and that was heavily fortified. That was when the attacks came in the
thousands.  More recently they would come at the walls in twos or
threes.  Unless something alerted them, it was very rare to see more than
ten at a time during the daylight.  No one wanted to think about a mob
pressed against their gates, but they knew they were out there.

“Roger,
eighteen plus one dialed in,” Brad answered.

His
men hated the patrols.  But they were a necessary evil, essential to the
survival of the group.  This wasn’t like hunting the Taliban which could
lead to days or even weeks of boredom; broken only by minutes of unrelenting
violence.    This was constant.  The soldiers were almost guaranteed
to run into conflict every time they left the wire. And unlike before, there
would be no calls for MedEvacs or air support.  The last patrol Brad was
on they had searched the village market.  From all appearances the place
had been abandoned and well picked over, but they needed to break into the old
storage warehouse to be sure.

“Wind
from three o’clock, six miles per hour, dial wind right, two point three,” came
the spotter’s adjustments.

The
warehouse was infested with the primals.  When they opened the large double
doors they were immediately engaged.  They often found hives of them
behind locked, barricaded and closed doors like this.  In the early days
of the attacks, families would seek refuge in their homes securing themselves
in.  Often with wounded loved ones in tow.  Unknowing that their
injured family member would turn and attack them in their final hiding
place.  That was before we knew how it spread, how deadly it was. 
Before we knew a deep cut or bite would bring on the rage.

“Roger,
dialed two point three, target indexed,” Brad whispered making adjustments to
the rifle without taking his eye off the target.

It
had taken most of the day and a large deal of ammo to clear out that
hive.  They had no for sure strategy against them, the primals played by no
rules.  Primals would mass quickly and would pour from every direction if
they sensed prey.  No fear of injury or death, they couldn’t be
suppressed; there was no shock and awe to use against them. Primals couldn’t be
intimidated into surrender.

 Battle
drills called for shutting down the immediate threat as quickly as possible,
then getting very stealthy, running and hiding from the later waves of primals
that always showed up.  In the city it was pointless to attempt to stand
your ground, there would always be too many.  Stealth and escape were the
only things that worked.

“Take
the shot,” the spotter whispered.

Who
knew what they would do when the ammo ran out.  Close combat with primals
was a nightmare; they were fast and strong and never tired.  They didn’t
hesitate to strike and they didn’t quit if they thought a meal was
nearby.   Brad needed to make long term preparations, but his people
were always too busy surviving to look to the future.  They needed to make
contact with the States, their families, and their command.  They needed
help.

“Firing,”
Brad said as he focused the sight picture and pulling the trigger during the
natural pause in his breathing.

The
SEAL team Chief is the only one to have had contact with the military after the
attacks, but even that was lost when the satellite phones batteries died. 
Sean had told him that NATO pulled out all of the soldiers in the first
days.  They had been re-called to defend their homelands.  Brads men
were not so lucky, blindsided by the fog of war.  The government gave
little advanced warning that the attacks were coming, as always ‘
the need to
know’
didn’t reach the soldiers on the ground or in remote camps. 
They were afraid if the intelligence about the biological attack leaked, the
enemy would strike early, before the Special Forces could stop them. 
Either way we lost.

“Hit,
head, target down,” confirmed the spotter.

The
fog of war and Murphy’s Law had taken down innumerable members in the
attacks.  Now they were alone, lost and outnumbered.  A dozen men
from a lost patrol are of little concern to the big picture in the fight for
humanity.  The United States was under attack and fighting for
survival.  How could they spare resources to look for others when they
were fighting for themselves?  Those were the arguments he used to justify
the abandonment to his men, but he didn’t have one for himself.  As hard
as it would be to leave the safety of this compound the decision was
clear.  Someone needed to leave, to reach out; without support they
wouldn’t make it out here alone. 

“Roger,
Hit,” Brad replied opening the bolt and chambering another round.  This
was his seventh kill this morning, and the start to a long watch.