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

by Lundy, W. J.

  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 ma
chine 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.

  29.

  The primals flowed through the intersection and down the road towards the port’s main camp. As the mass bled through the valley, their broken feet slapped the cold pavement. They would snarl and growl at each other as smaller packs met and mixed together. The snarling and moaning echoed up the walls as they moved down the now dark road. If the team closed their eyes and tried to sleep the sounds worked into their dreams, causing them to be startled awake.

  Brad was sitting with his back against the wall, his poncho liner wrapped around his shoulders. Jorgensen was next to him. Jorgensen had pulled a sleeping bag up to his waist but kept his upper body free. Brad searched down the stone wall and could just make out Sean’s form guarding the right flank. Brooks was on the other side, leaning with his back to the hill watching forward, keeping vigil over the mob below. Brad tried to mentally plan his escape if the primals somehow made it up the steep hillside.

  He would have no place to run but up, back towards the hilltop overlook. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if they managed to get behind them, or somehow came at one of the flanks. To be surrounded with no hard shelter would mean death. Those scenarios were not likely. From experience the primals didn’t like traveling uphill. That’s what had kept the factory and the farms, both located on high ground, safe during the fall. The only exception was when they were in pursuit. If they made contact they would follow until their prey fell, or managed to break away.

  As the night slowly dragged on, they began to hear gunfire coming from far down the road. The primals had reached the raiders’ main camp. The firing was heavy and steady. The sounds reminded Brad of the prolonged engagements he had heard on deployments to Iraq and Afghanistan. The steady reports of automatic weapons and large caliber rifles were only interrupted by the occasional explosion. Sometimes a scream would reach them carried on the wind. It had become difficult to distinguish between human agony and primal rage.

  As dawn approached, the gunfire ceased. Looking towards the coast they could see billowing clouds of black smoke rising above them and blowing to the south. Brad raised up so that he could take in the view below. The road was littered with the dead. Corpses of both the primals and the defenders were intermixed. There were no signs of life in the once-bustling intersection.

  The smell of pungent smoke and primal death lingered in the air. Jorgensen was still huddled beside Brad, and both men had wrapped scarves over their noses. Brooks had moved closer once the sun came up; he was now leaning against his pack feasting on an MRE.

  Brad looked at him with a scowl. “How can you eat man, with that stink?” he asked.

  Brooks shrugged his shoulders as he crammed a mouthful of brisket into his mouth. “Food is fuel, brother,” he mumbled after swallowing.

  There was a rustling of brush and grass behind them. Both Brooks and Brad went for their weapons as Sean emerged from the thick trees to their rear. He looked up at the men he had startled.

  “Sorry fellas, nature called,” Sean said. “You guys ready to move out? I haven’t seen anything moving in over an hour.”

  Jorgensen began pulling himself from the bag. “I would like nothing more than to leave this place.”

  “Good, everyone gather your shit, we’ll move out in five. I found a break near the spot I had set up in last night, we should be able to follow it down,” Sean said before turning to gather his belongings at the end of the wall.

  They quickly got to their feet and organized their equipment. By the time Brad had his pack strapped to his shoulders, Sean was making his way back from his hiding spot. He had his long gun in his hands. He looked them over quickly, then nodded. “Brooks, would you mind hanging back a bit in over watch while we do some recon?”

  “Got you covered, Boss,” Brooks answered.

  Sean moved out, keeping Jorgensen behind him and within arm’s reach. Brad let them move a few paces ahead before following them back into the heavy underbrush. It was only a short distance to the path Sean had found. It was narrow, but the cut of the angle made the drop down the face of the hill manageable. Brad took his time navigating the path, not wanting to lose his balance carrying a rifle and the heavy load on his back.

  When he reached the bottom, he joined the other two men at the edge of the road. There was a large depression that skirted the shoulder of the road. Sean had gone prone and crawled to the very edge of the pavement. Jorgensen held back and was kneeling in the heavy snow-covered vegetation. Brad turned to look behind him, searching for Brooks. He was nowhere to be found. The man had faded into the hillside. Well hidden, he would be their safety net.

  Sean got to his feet, and without looking back raised his hand signaling for the others to move forward. He held his rifle just below his eye, swiveling left to right as he walked directly towards the roadblock. Brad joined them on the road, keeping Jorgensen to his left while he followed, sweeping his barrel to the right and stopping to look behind him every few steps.

  Sean posted himself near the left rear panel of the G-Wagon. The turret still held the C6 machine gun, although several attempted gunners lay dead below the mount. When Brad moved towards the back of the vehicle to join the others, Sean gave instructions for them to defend the road while he moved forward to clear the truck.

  Brad took up a position on the back right of the truck near the bumper. He held his rifle so that he could observe past the barricade yet still cover Sean as he searched. Sean moved to the front of the G-Wagon and opened the unlocked driver’s side doors. He swept inside, clearing the compartment, before moving around the vehicle and opening the passenger doors. He reached inside and grabbed the back of a man’s uniform shirt and pulled him out of the vehicle and onto the pavement. He did this twice more before declaring the vehicle clear.

  Sean reached down and grabbed a C7 rifle from the road. He locked the bolt to the rear and dropped the magazine. He placed the mag in his drop pouch then tossed the rifle onto the back seat of the truck. “Any rifles you find, clear them and put ‘em back here,” he said. “Like I promised George, these weapons and this truck … if it runs … will go home with you.”

  George nodded and lifted a rifle lying near his feet. Following Sean’s ex
ample, he placed it on the rear seat. Brad lowered his weapon and walked around to the front of the truck, looking down the long road towards the parking lot and steel building. “What’s next?” he asked.

  “Let’s search these bodies and check out that structure,” Sean said before turning to look at Jorgensen. “George, you hang back, cover the intersection for us.”

  “Alone?” Jorgensen asked.

  “You’re not alone, buddy,” Sean said, looking up at the hillside.

  Sean and Brad patrolled forward. They separated themselves, Sean eight paces ahead on the right side of the road, and Brad on the left. Whenever they approached a body they would halt, one man providing watch while the other searched it for weapons and intel. Most of the dead raiders were found outside, close to the barriers. They were easy to separate from the primals because their bodies had been mauled and torn apart.

  Brad found a middle-aged man with a full beard. He was wearing a parka with the camouflage pattern of a Canadian soldier. Brad felt through the man’s pockets, careful to avoid bodily fluids. In a shirt pocket he found a small bundle wrapped in a leather cloth. Brad untied it and laid it on the ground. Inside was a red passport with gold writing, several personal photos, and an identification card from what appeared to be a shipping company. Brad lifted the passport and flipped through it before tossing it to Sean.

  Sean held the passport in one hand, examining it. “Lithuanian. Guy is a long way from home.”

  “Aren’t we all? What makes a guy like this go bad?” Brad said, looking at the photo of the man in happier times, standing beside a woman holding an infant.

  “All about opportunity, he probably had it in him all along,” Sean mumbled.

  Brad tucked the papers and photos back into the man’s parka before rolling over a nearby primal body, a large adult male dressed in a khaki jacket and jeans. He had gaping neck wounds with powder burns on his face. Most of the primals were hit at close range, probably as they rushed their prey with disregard for their own safety. Brad looked at them. A good amount had been taken down, easily a four to one ratio. The raiders had managed to take several primals with them. It was a valiant yet failed effort. The primals had overtaken the men with force, overwhelming them, then ripping them apart. It was hard for Brad to find pity for the men that had died here. They deserved the savage death the primals had brought them.