by Lundy, W. J.
Torment
A Whiskey Tango Foxtrot Novel
W.J. Lundy
Illustrated by
Hristo Argirov Kovatliev
Edited by
Sara Jones
Contents
Torment
Author’s Note
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Tweleve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Thank you for reading
Whiskey Tango Foxtrot Series
The Invasion Trilogy
Donovan’s War
OTHER BOOKS FROM UNDER THE SHIELD OF
FIVE ROADS TO TEXAS
After the Roads
For Which We Stand
SIXTH CYCLE
DEAD ISLAND: Operation Zulu
Invasion Of The Dead Series
The Gathering Horde
Human Element
THIS BOOK WAS FORMATTED BY
Torment
A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller
The Soldier: Book One
W.J Lundy
COPYRIGHT
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. Some places, especially military locations and facilities, are intentionally vague or incorrect in layout and security perimeter. 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.
Notice: The views expressed herein are NOT endorsed by the United States Government, Department of Defense, Department of the Navy, or the Department of the Army.
© 2018 W. J. Lundy
Author’s Note
Torment is a story I first began writing in 2014 shortly after WTF 5 Something to Fight For was completed. I wanted to tell the story of how things unfolded back in the states and have it be a standalone book from the rest of the series. Because of the popularity of the primary story line, I kept shelving Torment and driving on with the Whiskey Tango Foxtrot primary band of characters. But then came The Invasion Trilogy, and then Donovan’s War. Torment fell further and further down the to-do list.
Eventually, I adapted some of the early chapters of Torment, into a short story and released it with Amazon Publishing’s Kindle Worlds under the title Battle for Orchard Hill. This was a decision I immediately regretted because I knew then that the story may never be completed. Then something happened; Kindle Worlds is gone, and with that, those chapters went back to the bench.
That motivated me to get back into the original manuscript and finish Torment, a story that I always enjoyed and thought needed to be told. Torment is not a rewrite of the Kindle Worlds novella, Battle for Orchard hill. Torment is the original imagining and telling of that story the way I always intended it to be.
If you read The Battle for Orchard Hill and gasped at the novella's ending, hungry for more, you will be happy to know that Torment is no short story—the content has tripled, the elements expanded and the heat turned up to high. Torment is now the book I always wanted it to be, and the first book of the Soldier Series, if the readers will it.
As always, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy Torment: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller. The Soldier Book 1
Prologue
A Path to Battle
He was shocked awake, the sounds of mortar fire and machine guns, screams, and the blaring of sirens still ringing in his ears. His heart pounded and sweat rolled down his back. Hands balled into fists, he searched for his rifle in the bright moonlight that cut through the thin curtains. He swung his feet over the side of the bed, looking at the open window, struggling to clear the cobwebs from his head and remember where he was.
Slowly, his mind focused. He stared at the curtains swaying in a calm breeze. Outside, the distinctive calls of an owl replaced the sounds of fading mortar fire. This wasn’t Iraq; he wasn’t lying on an Army cot southwest of Fallujah. He was in a rented cabin near Tallulah Falls. He looked at the clock on the wall; it was just past 0400 hours.
Hanging his head, the soldier said to himself, “It’s not a nightmare. To me, it’s real.”
“Decompression Syndrome” he called it—the effects of slamming on the brakes after running his life at terminal velocity for the last year. His brain was still catching up to his body. He just needed time to unwind the tight ball of wire he had wound up in his soul.
Knowing there would be no more sleep today, the man stood and stretched. A predawn hike through the woods would be good for him. He strolled across the cabin floor to the makeshift kitchen and turned on the coffee pot. Then he stepped out onto a covered front porch to consider the dark Georgia forest. Robert Gyles had been here for seven days, halfway through his two-week leave. When others opted to visit family or spend weeks on some tropical island, committing acts of debauchery, he chose the solitude of the forest.
Robert was at the end of his career. He’d spent plenty of post deployments doing crazy things, but this time he just wanted peace and quiet. After a year in Iraq, he’d come home to an empty apartment and news that his wife of four years had left him. Most of his belongings were gone and his credit cards all maxed out. While his buddies were headed off to Vegas, he couldn’t find much to celebrate. So he unplugged, grabbed his fishing pole and backpack, and headed to the forest, a place he always felt at home. Two weeks of tranquility would do his brain some good before he had to get back to the base.
The coffee maker ended its symphony of popping and bubbling, and he turned to enter the cabin. Just as he stepped through the doorway, his phone ring. He stopped and stared at it. Only a handful of people knew the number. He’d just picked up the basic burner phone in a kiosk outside the post exchange days before this trip. The only people with his number were his soon-to-be ex-father-in-law and his command. The company was on block leave, with most of his command running a skeleton crew, so his heart skipped a beat, wondering what his father-in-law would want. Or maybe it was Tracy… maybe she was coming back.
He held the phone in his hand and studied the display while it continued to ring. He didn’t recognize the number, but it was a Fort Stewart area code. His hopes vanished as he pressed the answer button and held the phone to his ear.
“This is Robert,” he mumbled, already preparing to hear a story from one of his soldiers. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d been bothered on leave to bail a Joe of out jail early in the morning.
“Sergeant Gyles?” The voice on the other end of the phone was apprehensive.
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“Sergeant, sorry to have to wake you so early in the morning in the middle of your leave. This is Lieutenant Michaels, platoon leader for Second Platoon, India Company.”
“Michaels?” Gyles grumbled, moving across the room to fill a cup of coffee. “Where is Lieutenant Andrews?”
“He’s checked out, Sergeant. Headed t
o Bragg. He had orders to the Eighty-Second and wanted to add the block leave on top of his moving. Guess he was eager to get away from Stewart.”
Gyles shook his head and took a sip of the hot coffee, remembering that Andrews was due to transfer out of the unit. “Okay sir, what can I do for you, LT?”
“We need you to report back to base, Sergeant—as soon as possible.”
Sighing, Gyles took another sip. “Who screwed up this time? Was it Collier? That dumb animal.”
“Screwed up?” Michaels asked.
“Hospital or jail? What did they do?”
“I don’t understand, Sergeant… the battalion is being recalled. One hundred percent have been ordered to report back to base. There is a national emergency going on; haven’t you been watching the news?”
“No, I’m on leave.” Gyles groaned. “Must be some mistake. India Company is on block leave; we’ve got seven more days.”
“I’m sorry. It’s not a mistake. The entire battalion is on alert—well, the entire division, really.”
“Wait, what the hell is going on? The entire division? Is it Korea? We’ve been through these alerts before and to be honest—”
“No, Sergeant, it’s not an drill and it’s not Korea. Something is happening here at home, a lot of lawlessness near the Capital. They are calling everyone in to provide riot control and humanitarian relief.”
“That’s not what we do,” Gyles said. “That’s a law enforcement and National Guard mission. Let the Army Reserve deal with that shit.” It wasn’t normally his style to argue with or lecture officers, but it was early in the morning, and he was confused as hell.
“It’s what we do now. We have a mission quickly spinning up. We need you back at Stewart ASAP. Call me at this number when you get in, and I’ll brief you on everything.”
“Now?” Gyles repeated, still in disbelief.
“We need you on the road. Call me when you get to the base, Sergeant.”
Chapter One
Day of Infection Plus Seven, 0300 Hours
Hunter Army Airfield. Fort Stewart, Georgia.
Sergeant First Class Robert Gyles stepped off the back of the open-topped HMMWV—High Mobility Multipurpose Wheeled Vehicle—colloquially called the Humvee or Hummer by those who used them. At the edge of the airfield, he was surrounded by other soldiers, the troops leaving trucks and busses and scattering in all directions. The field was as busy as Times Square on New Year’s Eve. Groups of uniformed men weighed down with gear quick-timed past him, searching for units of their own. He wore a heavy pack on his back and had a long rifle clipped to his chest; he was dressed for war. But that was not where he was going—at least he hoped not.
It was unseasonably cold for the time of year. He could see the condensation form on the exhale of every breath. He shook his head in frustration, thinking of the warm bed he could be in right now. An emergency phone call bringing him in was not what he wanted. And it was a vacation he really needed, a break after months in the desert. All he wanted was some fishing in the mountains. Gyles was a simple man… why was it so much trouble to disappear and be left alone for a week or two?
India Company was on block leave after having just returned from a twelve-month combat tour. The promise of a two-week leave was the only thing that had kept most of them hanging on over the final months of the deployment. Being back on an airfield after only seven days would be a kick in the balls to all of them. And why did it always have to be so damned early in the morning?
Gyles scanned the airfield, taken aback by the chaos. He’d seen full-blown drills in his career, but he had not seen this much activity since the division mobilized after 9/11. Something big was going on just miles away, and whatever it was had command on the edge of their seats. The old veteran missed most of the news. Between prepping his unit for block leave and dealing with family problems, he had intentionally tuned out while he was in the cabin.
His only current events updates were from the radio interruptions on his drive back to base. He heard the early news reports about the incidents in Europe and the Middle East. The broadcasters sent mixed messages, some calling it another terrorist attack, a new bioweapon making people crazy. Some news focused on the attacks; others, such as GNN, had blamed the military response for outbreaks of rioting and civil resistance. People were fleeing the violence in ways that rivaled the Syrian Civil War. Refugees were sick and trying to get across borders, while others fought for the last seats on aircrafts. With the spurs of panicked civilians, riots, and a fleeing public, the government was struggling to contain the chaos.
Early reports said the US borders were temporarily closed, conditions being evaluated daily. They said security was airtight, but activity was rising at open crossings as Human Rights groups attempted to smuggle in those stopped by the US Border Patrol. There were reports of violence along border regions in California, Arizona, and Texas. With many groups in full violation of immigration laws, martial law was instituted in several border cities between Mexico and the United States, and even along the Canadian border as rumors of rioting in Toronto spread.
As Gyles listened to the news, he figured command would just want to pull them back and go over contingencies. What else could they do? Military policing in the States was tricky business, and homeland defense was still one of their mission-critical tasks. But fighting illness and rioters wasn’t their specialty. The National Guard had already mobilized, and this was really their job; India Company were hunter-killers, not police officers and riot control. He clenched his eyes tightly, trying to push off the thoughts of what was sure to be a massive headache.
“But, hey, it’s good training, right?” he mumbled.
His men were the tip of the spear, and as much as it sucked to be standing in the cold, he would have been even more upset if his boys had been excluded. He stopped and stood his ground, watching large trucks of soldiers mustering at the end of a hangar bay. Everyone was rushing, always reactionary these days; never a step ahead.
Whatever, he thought, watching a flight of helicopters lift off. But damn, things are moving fast.
After only a week, this was soon. It usually took them weeks, or even months, to put an operation like this together. He was still surprised at the urgency, especially them demanding he drive through the day and night to report to duty.
“Why did I answer the damn phone?” he grunted.
Gyles rounded the corner, seeing a pair of Chinooks already spun up, turbines screaming over the early morning silence, rotating blades creating a storm of dust on the end of the flight line. He turned and spotted the rest of his men leaping from the canopy-covered transport trucks, the soldiers falling into columns with heads down, marching ahead the way he had done himself on dozens of drills before. Their efficiency made him smile. Even tired and pissed off, the sight of his men gave him strength. He took a deep breath; it was time to put on the game face. Even false motivation was better than no motivation.
Gyles spotted a lean and baby-faced-looking man in brand new camo. With the new guy was his recently assigned platoon leader—the same lieutenant who was lucky enough to make the call to cancel his leave and order that he report for duty. The babyface and LT were talking to his commanding officer. The man in charge spotted Gyles and waved him over. Gyles grimaced, watching the LT snap a stiff salute as the company commander dismissed him so he could speak to his platoon sergeant in private. They knew each other well and chewed a lot of the same dirt. Gyles had just completed a year in Iraq with the man, Captain Younger, who approached him and shook his hand.
“Kids,” Younger said with a smile. “Catch me up, Sergeant. Tell me, how was your time off?”
Gyles shrugged. “I didn’t catch many fish but filled the river bank with empty beer cans. Thanks for the recall, by the way.”
Younger nodded, sensing the sarcasm. “Well, you can thank the President for that,” the captain said, tightening his brow. “Listen, I need a good platoon sergeant out here today. Lie
utenant Andrews already checked out and is on his way to Bragg, so you’ve got a replacement platoon leader.” He paused and tossed a finger toward the young officer gathered feet away, staring intently at a folded map. “That’s Lieutenant Michaels. He just arrived a few days ago. Wish you had more time to get to know each other before your first mission, but it’s not going to happen. Listen, he’s new, and he’s as green as the Jolly Giant’s balls, but he’s good people.”
“What about the doc?” Gyles asked. He’d heard early rumors that a medical officer from the US Army Medical Command (MEDCOM) would be attached to his unit. He didn’t know why, or what that meant for his mission.
“Well, just do what he says; he has command and control over this one.”
“A doctor in charge? Who is he? Army?”
Younger frowned. “No, he’s something different. His assignment orders came from MEDCOM, but he’s not military. Best we could determine by looking at his papers, he’s with the Public Health Services, loaned out from the Centers for Disease Control… part of their Epidemic Investigative Service.”