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

by Lundy, W. J.

  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.”

  2.

  When Brad regained consciousness he found himself suspended in the air and in the dark. The seat restraint was cutting into his abdomen. He wasn’t quite upside down, but more at a right angle to the ground. Lights began to flash on, and he could hear people shouting back and forth. Brad’s ears were still popping from the quick descent and the sounds were coming through muffled. He could hear voices but couldn’t put names to the clouded shouts for help.

  He swallowed hard and his ears popped, finally letting in the orchestra of sounds. He could hear metal being ripped away, men struggling to move about the fuselage of the aircraft. He saw movement below him and he waved his arm, drawing the figure’s attention. Sean looked up at him, smiling. “Come on Brad, this is no time to be hanging out. We have work to do.”

  “Thanks smartass, now how about giving me a hand,” Brad said back in protest.

  Brooks moved up from behind Brad, slowly clapping his hands. “Good job buddy,” Brooks said grinning as he reached up and pushed on Brad’s shoulders to take the weight off his seatbelt. At the same time Brad undid the buckle and dropped out of the seat. With the help of Brooks he managed to land on his feet.

  “Seriously, now are you—” Sean began to ask before he was cut off by calls for help coming from the front of the aircraft. They heard a muffled cry and Gunner shouting. Quickly the trio worked their way forward, stepping over bags and pieces of the aircraft that had come loose. They had to step high over objects then duck low to make it up the body of the aircraft. Near the front they could see the illumination of lights.

  As they moved closer to the light they could see Gunner and Hahn pulling against the door to the cockpit. They could hear Nelson on the other side shouting for help. The door was creased and deformed due to the shifting of the walls of the fuselage causing the door frame to buckle in on itself. Hahn was frantically pulling an
d punching the door, pausing only long enough to step back and throw his shoulder against it. Gunner had found a fire axe and was preparing to swing it.

  Sean quickly stepped forward and gripped Gunner’s shoulder with his gloved hand. “Stop! Come on now guys, let’s calm down for a moment.”

  Brad could still hear Nelson yelling from inside the cockpit. Gunner looked back at Sean. His uniform blouse was streaked with blood; he had a gash going down the sleeve of his shirt, and bright red blood was dripping from an open wound. Gunner stared at Sean with glassy eyes. “Why don’t you take a break, Gunner, we can take care of this. Brooks, can you help my friend out with his arm?” Gunner nodded in recognition and took a step back before leaning against a battered console that had come loose and fallen across the floor.

  Brooks stepped around them and quickly got to work tearing away Gunner’s uniform, exposing a deep cut across his bicep. There was another crash as Hahn again launched himself at the door. Brad called out to Hahn, “Sergeant, give me a SITREP.”

  “Huh? What? Situation report?” Hahn stopped what he was doing and spun around on his feet. He looked back at Brad with a dazed expression. His head was scraped open and bleeding and his nose looked broken; thick blood and mucus covered his upper lip.

  “What is the situation here Sergeant!” Brad asked again.

  “Ahh we’re ahh … Sergeant … they are trapped in the cockpit. Nelson says Kelli is hurt and bleeding badly. We need to get to them,” Hahn answered, finally calming down.

  “Okay, thank you Sergeant, where are the rest of the men?”

  “Oh … ahh, Theo is dead,” Hahn said matter-of-factly, directing his flashlight at the seats suspended above them. A broken and crumpled figure hung lifelessly. Specialist Theo’s neck was broken and twisted at an off angle. “Joe took his brother and Parker outside. They’re setting up security.”