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

by Lundy, W. J.

  “Yeah I saw that too. It’s a solid option, get that operational we could take it all the way to Boston,” Sean said.

  “What about the camp, how do we get past them?” Brad asked.

  “Hmm, I figure we will get to softening them up pretty soon here, let’s move back up top,” Sean answered.

  31.

  Sean moved them farther into the thick woods. As before, they moved the inner limbs of a large pine tree, making shelter beneath of it. Once inside the thick cover of the pine boughs, Brad got a false sense of security. The thick bed of needles and soft earth padded the ground under his bed roll. They made an early camp, trying to rest up for what would make out to be another long night.

  Brad had the first watch. His pack was pressed against the trunk of the tree. He was leaning against it with his poncho liner around his legs. Sean was behind him with Brooks just to his left. His two friends were in similar positions, sleeping soundly in the shelter of the tree. It wasn’t much of a watch, as there was little Brad could see, but the longer they sat the noisier the surrounding woods became.

  He picked up on the subtle sounds of wind in the trees. Looking up he could see the gentle sway of the limbs far above him. Birds chirped in the distance, and the branches of trees clacked together. He heard the crashing of dry leaves. The sound at first startled him, but concentrating and ducking his head Brad was able to locate the source of the noise. A pair of red foxes were jumping and wrestling in the thick leaves. He adjusted his position for a better view and allowed the pair to entertain him. The sight of the wild life relaxed him; he knew that the foxes wouldn’t let their guard down in the presence of danger.

  Brooks lifted his head and looked at his watch. Brad watched him sleepily dig through his pack for a bottle of water and drink thirstily. He looked to Brad and pointed at his watch, indicating that he was taking the watch. Brad nodded and looked back ahead towards the pair of foxes. He pulled his fleece skull cap down over his eyes and rested his head against the tree. Pulling in his knees and wrapping himself tightly in the poncho liner, he relaxed to the sounds of the wind. It was hard to imagine it was the end of the world here in the lively forest. He closed his eyes and easily found sleep.

  He woke to the sounds of Brooks and Sean crawling out of the cover of the tree. It was nearly dusk, the blue sky having transformed into shades of orange and purple. Brad saw that the others had left their large packs, so he stuffed his bedding into the top of his rucksack and followed them out into the open. Sean and Brooks were positioned just feet apart laying still and listening to the surrounds. When they were convinced they were still alone in the forest, Sean got to his feet and moved back towards the tree.

  Brooks joined them but kept his face towards the open woods as he listened. Sean pulled his map from his pocket and turned it over to the clean white back. With a black felt tip pen he quickly sketched out the encampment and sheltered cove from memory. Then he drew a line representing the valley and the roads, and finally added a dashed line representing the path they had taken to get to this point. He sat the finished sketch on the ground in front of him.

  “How are you all doing on juice for your NVGs?” he asked them quietly.

  “I have plenty,” Brad whispered back. Brooks nodded his head in agreement.

  “Good, we’re doing some night hunting, you’ll need them,” Sean said.

  Sean told them to pack light, only their weapons and essential gear. They would be doing a movement to contact tonight. His plan was to take out the night guards; he wanted to let the raiders know they were no longer alone, and that the primals should be the least of their concerns. He wanted the camp’s defenses in disarray. He wanted them on the defensive and locked down or all dead by the time his men arrived on the following night.

  “But won’t that make them harder to attack, losing the surprise I mean?” Brad asked.

  Sean looked at Brad, then at Brooks who grinned. “We aren’t attacking anyone.”

  Brad gave him a puzzled look. “I don’t understand.”

  Brooks put his finger on the map. “We don’t have to attack. We hold the high ground, we can toy with them for days if that’s what it takes. Why risk our people for a frontal attack against a dug-in force? And besides, we have friends on the ground,” he said, smiling.

  Sean nodded. “Either way the raiders will not leave this cove.”

  Brad still looked at them with a confused expression. Sean smiled and slapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry brother, you’ll catch up as it all comes together. Let’s move back to the cliffs.”

  Sean led them back to their hide at the edge of the cliffs above the village. The fires were all but out now, just a trail of smoke as the ring of tires and bodies cooled. The sun had completely fallen now, leaving the camp in darkness. Brad looked around. Even with the full moon his team was completely hidden in the tall grass on the incline above the cliff’s face. Looking out into the cove he could see dim navigation lights on the vessels anchored and tied together. Below, people were still moving about. He saw a set of guards walking the perimeter, and another man was standing at a high spot atop the berm wall.

  Brad searched the street front and the surrounding buildings. A few had small leaks of light coming through thick drapes. Most though had been completely blacked out. He saw a row of aged and rusted shipping containers. There were people sitting on the ground in front of them around a small fire. Brad focused on the group, watching their movements. He saw a woman venture out of the container, holding an infant child. She walked near the fire and a man stood, handing her a container he had filled from a larger pot on the fire.

  Brad watched as the roving guards made their way past the containers. He could hear them shouting, kicking dirt and gravel on the fire as they rushed the prisoners into the containers. One of the prisoners appeared to argue with them. This man was grabbed by his shirt collar and pulled to the ground as the others were locked into the container. The defiant prisoner made to stand but was quickly struck in the head with the stock of a rifle, then dragged across the gravel to a large ship’s mast where his hands were bound to it. Brad watched as the guards laughed, leaving the beaten prisoner unconscious and tied to the pole.

  “I think we found volunteers for tonight’s activities,” Sean whispered.

  Brad looked up from his scope and realized Sean and Brooks had watched the same scene unfold. “What do you need me to do?” Brad whispered with a hint of anger in his voice.

  “Just stay put and observe, Brooks and I will do the dirty work tonight. We are going to have to get in close so don’t expect us back for a while,” Sean whispered.

  “I can do that,” Brad answered, not turning to look.

  “If things go south on us, and I mean really sideway, fire off a mag then pop this and move out,” Sean whispered, putting the last remaining flare in Brad’s hand. “We should be back here before dawn. If not, wait for us at the hide. If we don’t make it there by late afternoon, meet up with the others and fall back to the barricade.”

  “Then what?” Brad asked.

  “Whatever you want, ‘cause you’ll be in charge if you don’t see us by then,” Sean chuckled.

  “You sure about this plan, Chief?”

  Sean nodded and shot Brad a thumbs up. He looked to Brooks who had his goggles down over his eyes. Sean made the motion of a man walking with his fingers and Brooks began crawling in the direction of the valley road, moving parallel to the cliff face. “Remember Brad, only use the flare if all hell breaks loose, controlled chaos is still in our favor,” Sean whispered as he turned and crawled after Brooks.

  Brad sat still, watching the others fade from his view. He was alone on the incline now. He looked around, trying to find a better position, something with more cover. Just to the left of him the ground was more broken and elevated. He could see where a tree had come down and fallen into the clearing, its large root ball upheaved and exposed. Brad slowly crept for the space. The trunk was weathered
and stripped of bark, the vegetation long gone. He found a spot where he could rest in cover yet still have an expansive view of the encampment.

  Brad flipped up the night vision from his eyes to allow them to adjust to the moonlight. He checked his rifle’s optics and powered up the scope. After doing a quick scan of his surroundings, he shut off the device and let the barrel of his rifle rest against the tree trunk. Brad removed his assault pack and let it rest on the ground behind him. He settled in, pushing his back against the trunk, getting into a body position where he could make minimal movements but still have an expansive view.

  As his eyes adjusted he could see more activity in the camp. More men moved around in the dark without the aid of lights. A guard quietly paced the pier that led out to the moored boat. Brad watched as more men walked towards a makeshift latrine. One man held rifles and lit a cigarette as another entered the latrine. Even though they were amateurs, Brad was impressed at their organization. Being sailors probably helped, they would already be used to splitting work and performing various watches. Being commercial sailors they‘d probably had military experience as well.

  Brad watched the man come out of the latrine. He took the rifles from the first man and lit a cigarette of his own, using his partner’s. The now empty-handed man turned and walked into the latrine. Brad watched the second man sling one of the rifles over his back and put another over his shoulder. He then walked farther away before leaning against an old battered fiberglass boat. He reached into his pocket, searching for something. Brad saw him pull out a white folded paper.

  A distant crack filled the air. Not as loud as an unsuppressed gunshot, but louder than a slamming door. Brad quickly scanned the area then back to the man by the fiberglass boat. The man had slumped over, still leaning against the boat, the paper fallen from his hands. The first man walked from the latrine and looked around. Seeing his friend against the boats, he threw his hands in the air in an exaggerated expression as he walked towards him, smiling. The man moved three paces, then another crack. Brad watched as the guard’s leg lifted to move forward. The man froze then collapsed heavily to the ground.

  Once it started, things happened fast. Brad scanned the surroundings, trying to keep pace with his shooters. Crack. He looked left and right, and saw the pair still roving the perimeter, another still pacing the pier. Brad turned and looked far to his right with his binoculars where the guard had been atop the berm. He was gone now. Brad searched again. He could see the second guard still standing below the barrier on the inside. Crack. The barrier guard fell forward, hitting the hard ground. Brad looked back to the top of the berm and saw that the top guard was in fact down, he had fallen and rolled down the barrier near the smoldering ring of burnt tires.

  Brad turned back, searching for the roving guards. They had paused and were looking around, having finally taken notice of the suppressed gunshots. The guards lifted their heads, intently listening but hearing nothing. They seemed to joke and one of them pointed off to the center of the camp where they had bound the prisoner. They stepped off, walking towards the mast at a brisk pace. As they neared, a guard stopped and picked up a rock, tossing it at the man. Brad watched the bound man struggle and kick his feet towards them.

  In the silence of the night, he could just make out their voices. Not the words but the exchange of angry tones. One of the guards picked up another stone and threw it at the prisoner, this time causing the bound man to cry out. The guards laughed, one handing the other his rifle as he reached down to gather another stone. Crack. Brad watched as a round tore through the chest of the guard holding the rifles; he fell sideways, spinning as he dropped at the feet of the bound man. The second guard dropped the stones and jumped back to his feet.

  He looked down at his dead comrade, the weapons within reach of the bound prisoner. The guard took a hasty step forward, reaching for a rifle. Crack. The guard’s neck exploded, spraying the prisoner with a mist of fluids. The prisoner covered his face with his free hand then slowly lowered it, searching in all directions. He used his feet to grab and drag a dead guard closer to himself. Brad watched as he dug a knife from the guard’s pocket and cut his bindings. With his hands free, he stood looking in all directions. He lifted a rifle from the dead guard, then took another in his free hand.

  He crouched and ran towards the shipping containers. He dropped the rifles at his feet, lifted a metal latch and swung the door open with a metallic screech. The man stooped to retrieve the rifles then disappeared inside. After a tense moment the man came back into the moonlight with a second man by his side. They stepped out and ran back towards the ship’s mast. The prisoner showed the new man the bodies of the guards, then held up a finger and pointed to the hillsides.

  A light shone across the rocky beach as a door opened on one of the wooden buildings that ran along the street. Brad couldn’t see the front of the building from his vantage point, but knew something was happening by the way the prisoners crouched down and took cover behind the mast. Someone called out but the men stayed hidden behind the mast. There was more shouting and the man that had been patrolling the pier took notice. The pier guard started moving in the direction of the building.

  The prisoners on the ground slowly stood with the rifles in their arms, just as the man from the building hurriedly walked into Brad’s view. He was pointing and yelling, still trying to figure out what was happening. When he saw the bodies of the fallen guards he froze and attempted to pull a holstered pistol. It was too late. The raider’s forward movement towards the prisoner had taken him out of the blind spot provided by the building and back into the SEALs’ line of sight. Crack. The man froze and fell into the dirt. This time the shot did not go unnoticed; the man from the pier lifted his rifle to fire on the prisoners. Crack. The pier guard spun around, firing a blind, unsuppressed shot off into the gravel as he dropped.

  Lights came on in the row of buildings below. The prisoners were caught and trapped in the open. Men moved out into the street. Brad could clearly see them, but they were far out of range for his rifle. A bright flashlight shone across the gravel beach, lighting the faces of the prisoners. The light moved past the body of the dead men. The light stopped on the man. Crack. The light dropped to the surface of the road and rolled.

  The prisoners raised their rifles and fired at the men wildly, muzzle flashes lighting them in a strobe. The guards fired back. Brad watched a prisoner fall with hits to the chest. Brad raised his rifle and considered firing. Knowing it was unlikely he would hit the guards at the extended range, he took his finger from the trigger. Brooks’s and Sean’s fire intensified, giving the remaining prisoner an opportunity to run back to the cover of the containers.

  Men yelled in panic on the ground. Some ran back towards the buildings. Others mistakenly ran towards the body of the man with the pistol. Three guards all armed with long rifles ran directly to the downed man and rolled him over, seeing the blood on his shirt. A man turned to look up at the hillside … Crack. The man’s head snapped back. His comrades dropped onto the stony surface of the beach. One crawled behind a body, using it for cover as he squeezed off several shots into the night.

  The man fired, pivoting to change directions as he swept the hillside. The man’s gunfire provided cover for the suppressed round that took off the top of his head. The remaining member of the trio, seeing his two friends killed, tried to run back to the shelter of the building. As he sprinted there was another crack. The man fell with a round through his pelvis, causing him to tumble and roll to the surface of the street. The man screamed and called out for help, the foreign words now easily reaching Brad’s ears.

  No one came for him. The man continued to scream. He finally rolled to his stomach and began to crawl towards the building. Crack. The man’s elbow exploded and he rolled to his back, screaming in agony. The man rolled again, screaming, pleading for help. No one came for him. Crack. The man’s head snapped back, silencing him.

  Yelling and shouting for orders came from
the row of buildings. A ship in the harbor blasted its horn loudly. Brad looked out into the bay and watched as the ship flashed its navigation lights. Probably sending some sort of prearranged signal. A door opened at the rear of one of the buildings. Four men crept out of a back door and along a wooden boardwalk, moving to the end of the long row of buildings. The man in the lead stopped at the corner. He turned back to face the men behind him, whispering instructions.

  Crack. A round ripped through the forehead of the leader and into the face of the man in front of him. The remaining men fired their rifles in panic, again at the hillside in all directions, not able to determine the direction of the enemy. A man jerked into a wall as he dropped his weapon and reached for his shoulder. The final man took a hit high in the chest and fell to the boardwalk. The man with the shoulder wound stood silently, holding his upper arm and looking up at the hill. He held his good hand over his head as if to surrender. Crack.

  The ship in the bay blasted its horn again and flashed its lights. A spotlight came on, searching the water and trying to reach the coast. A small boat began approaching with a smaller spotlight of its own searching the pier and shoreline. Brad watched as the prisoner broke cover from the container; he opened the door, shouting inside. A group of three women and two men stepped out. They followed the armed prisoners, running towards the pier. One of the women stopped, seeing the dead man near the fiberglass boat. She saw the rifles and lifted them, taking one and handing off the other. They ran past the dead pier guard, also stripping him of his weapon before dropping behind a large stack of car tires near the pier.

  Brad watched them squat behind the tires as the small boat drew closer. It headed directly for the pier, sweeping its spotlight across the water and the pier. The boat stopped forward movement as it bobbed in the water, its engine still idling softly. Two men were on the bow, both holding assault rifles. At least one more was in the cabin at the controls while another was on the stern manning the spotlight. The light panned from the end of the pier to the beach then completely down the shoreline.