Divided We Fall (Whiskey Tango Foxtrot Book 6)
Page 2
The private pulled away, trying to catch up with the others, and then looked back at Brad. “I’m sure the LT wouldn’t turn down the help, but you better hurry; we’re rolling in five mikes.”
The young soldier ran down the path, eager not to be left behind. “We’re on the way; tell them not to leave without us!” Brad shouted.
Chapter 2
Hairatan Customs Compound: Northern Afghanistan.
The soldier ran across the roof of the building, barely stopping in time before nearly tumbling down the open hatch and into the warehouse below. He caught himself and grabbed the rungs of the ladder. Gripping the side rails, he quickly slid to the bottom where the warehouse was tightly organized into individual living spaces. Fires smoldered in small metal rings, leaving a smoky scent in the cold dawn air. Most of the families had already reported for their daily work chores and the warehouse floor was empty except for a few women minding after small children who stopped and looked up at him, startled by his quick movements.
Making a quick dash for the large overhead doors, the soldier nodded his head apologetically and ran through the maze of blankets and bedding that covered the floor. He stopped for just long enough to survey his surroundings before continuing toward the guardhouse, quickly crossing the distance, and charging through the entrance. Heavy drapes and scraps of cardboard covered the windows, but the lanterns were still out; the nightshift guard force was not awake yet.
“Sergeant Turner!” he yelled as he moved through the narrow building, tripping and bumping into cots as he worked his way to the back in the dark. “Sergeant Turner!”
Startled awake, men rolled over in their bunks; some shouted obscenities while others pulled blankets over their heads. Turner sat up in his bed and looked at the excited soldier. “What the hell do you want, Mendez?” he said.
The soldier stopped just in front of Turner’s rack, gasping to catch his breath. “Sorry… to wake you, Sergeant… but… the drone… the drone is back… and we think it might have dropped something.”
His words suddenly caught the attention of the other men in the barracks, and Turner looked at the messenger wide eyed. “Dammit, get the scouts formed up and meet me by the vehicle gate. Hot damn, boys, this might be our lucky day!” Turner shouted. The bearded sergeant reached down and quickly pulled on his multi cam trousers and a thick thermal shirt. “Mendez! Hold up… how long has it been since you saw it?”
Mendez, who had already taken off toward the exit to gather the scouts, stopped and looked back. “We just spotted it, Sergeant; it looks like it dropped something in the container yard. Some sorta tube with a long streamer attached.”
“Good, get moving. I’m right behind you.”
Turner stood and stretched. He reached to a windowsill, grabbed at his green standard-issue canteen, and took a long pull of the cold water. Winter was nearing the compound and the temperature was dropping overnight. Soon, snow would come and the river would freeze. Survival of the camp was not in question, not from the weather, anyway; the Afghan people would make sure they lived through the winter—the problem was the Primals.
If the river froze, the hordes of crazies from the northern bank and the more populated city of Teremez would be able to cross. It was a constant concern to Turner since the first frost dropped over the compound a week ago. Maybe the drone would be the saving grace he’d been hoping for.
Turner strapped on his pistol belt then slung a rifle over his shoulder as he moved through the barracks toward the door. He stepped into the brisk air, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight. Despite the distance, he could see that soldiers in varying uniforms were grouping together at the main gate, making ready for a patrol. An Afghan scout walked among them, checking equipment and weapons. Turner reached into his shirt pocket and removed a half-smoked, hand-rolled cigarette. He placed it in his mouth and used a Zippo to light it.
Inhaling deeply, he closed his eyes, held in the smoke, and rolled his shoulders before exhaling. Turner stepped off toward the gate. As he moved, he watched the gathered men look at him; Mendez, with an Afghan scout close in tow, joined him halfway. The Afghan scout wore his traditional clothing of a dark wool sweater and cap. His beard was thick and his bushy hair pulled pack and tied. Close to his chest, he carried a collapsible AK74 with a hand-built suppressor.
“Morning, Hassan,” Turner said, greeting the scout as they met on the path. “Are we ready?”
Hassan had earned his place on the base, quickly becoming one of his most dependable scouts. After the initial attack and fight for common survival became apparent, the differences between them, created by wars, quickly vanished. Hassan returned to the compound shortly after Sergeant Thompson departed with the SEALs, telling their story and promise for a rescue. The scout brought in more survivors he’d gathered on his journey and was always roaming the nearby villages in hopes of finding more.
“Yes, the men are ready. We can depart at your discretion,” Hassan said.
“Primal activity?” Turner asked, looking at Mendez this time.
“No, Sergeant, the drone didn’t seem to move them. The Primals still seem to be sticking to the city side… and of course them ones across the river. The yard is clear,” Mendez said.
“Roger that. Send a runner to let the lookouts know we’re entering the rail yard. “
Mendez turned on the balls of his feet to look at another soldier, who had been listening close by. Mendez nodded and the soldier took off toward the positioned guard towers.
Turner held up his rifle and chambered a round. “Alright then, move ’em out.”
Mendez raised a hand and pointed at the gate. Two guards undid the latch and pulled it open just enough for a single man to exit through it. Hassan passed by the rest of the scouts as they formed into a column, their rifles unslung and held at the ready. Hassan was the first to pass through the gate and into the rail yard. The rest of the men moved out after him, keeping the formation tight. No need to spread out, as the Primals never attacked with grenades or explosives.
After moving fifty meters, Hassan left the blacktop road and stepped into the stacks of shipping containers. In the last months, the men of the compound completely walled in the camp with tall, fortified walls. Slowly, they enlarged the camp’s perimeter, trying to expand the wire and clear their safe areas. Technically, the rail yard was now in what they called a “green zone” completely enclosed by wire, but they never left the gates without being on full alert.
Hassan slowly patrolled forward, carefully clearing every corner as he moved. The rest of the men kept pace; another Afghan scout stayed close behind Hassan, and three soldiers with Turner closed up the rear. Most of the locks on the shipping containers were cut, the goods long ago inventoried and taken inside the main gates for safekeeping. Hassan stopped often to look at the ground to check for trails or the wires and engineer tape tied between the aisles to help identify if an intruder had slipped in.
They moved further in, around corners, and toward the center of the container holding yard. Hassan dropped to a knee, looked back at Turner, and tapped where a shirt collar would be if he had worn one. Turner nodded and moved to the front of the column and knelt next to Hassan.
Hassan pointed in the distance at an olive green, pill-shaped device with at least fifty feet of bright metallic streamer trailing behind it. “I believe this is your item,” he said.
Turner looked in the direction Hassan was pointing. Lifting his M4 to use the optics, he swept left and right before saying to Hassan, “Okay, let’s move up.” Turner then looked back at the rest of them and ordered, “Okay… you men get me a 360 security on this location.”
Turner reached out and slapped Hassan on the back. “Okay, take me to it.”
Hassan slowly moved back to his feet and crossed the open ground toward the olive green cylinder. All the while, the rest of the men spread out and circled the object, creating a full bubble of security as instructed. The cylinder was metallic wit
h heavy foam rubber cushions on both ends. A ring at the back connected it to the streamer. Hassan grabbed the object and pulled it flat, then rolled it over.
“Well, I guess it’s not gonna explode,” Turner said.
Hassan nodded. He then reached down and, using a small dagger, tapped the cylinder. “It’s hollow.”
“Can you open it?” Turner asked.
Hassan turned the object over, examining both ends. He gripped the heavy foam rubber cap and peeled it back until it popped off with an audible snap. Exposed at the tip was a small seam and a yellow arrow painted around the lip, indicating the direction to turn. Hassan paused to look back at Tuner before gripping the cylinder between his knees and twisting at the top. Quickly rewarded with the spinning of the cap, he spun it several rotations then it dropped off. Hassan reached into the tube and pulled at a thick nylon rope, removing a foam, black, egg-shaped object that split open as soon as it left the throat of the cylinder.
“I’ve seen this before,” Hassan said and smiled as he reached into the foam egg casing and removed the iridium satellite phone.
Chapter 3
Cloud followed the airman down the dimly lit corridors; the dampness of the hall affected his sinuses and the cold sent aches through his tired body. With nearly everything powered off to conserve energy, there was only enough ambient light to see the floor and bits of the walls. The deep mountain bunker was beginning to feel more like a tomb than a sanctuary.
Allowing the escort to stay just ahead of him, Cloud turned a corner and followed the airman through an open blast door. There were no other guards on duty in the lower chambers—not anymore. Everyone had moved to the upper levels now. Most programs had ceased; there was no longer a reason to keep the lower decks staffed. Security this low on the operations deck was limited to the elevators and access shafts. The corridors were silent other than the white noise created by the whirring of the ventilation fans; nevertheless, it still allowed their footsteps to echo off the walls hauntingly as they moved.
The escort stopped at an alcove and touched a glowing green-lit keypad before quickly entering a series of numbers. The door clicked with an electric buzz then the airman reached for a handle and pulled it open. Cloud followed him into a tight four-foot by eight-foot chamber, at the end of which stood another steel door with a camera mounted above it. Cloud stepped forward so that he was side by side with the escort and looked up at the camera. A red light mounted in the center of the door moved to green and the door slid open with a burst of air as the positive pressure leaked out. Cloud moved through the door and into a brightly lit command center.
“Colonel, if you need me I’ll be up front,” the airman said.
Embarrassed at having to be escorted, Cloud sheepishly nodded his reply. He moved out ahead of the escort to enter the great room, passing by empty workstations and cubicles; outdated charts and old bulletins covered the walls. Large monitors hung in a neat row—most powered off, others showing old situation maps or satellite photographs. As the crisis escalated and the situation deteriorated out of control, most of the staff were relieved or reassigned to other parts of the bunker. When the world went dark, there was nothing for most of them to do, nothing left to track.
At the end of the long row, the few remaining operators sat weary eyed, staring at flat screens as they scrolled through endless satellite images or reviewed week-old reconnaissance reports from the field. Cloud moved beyond them and entered a brightly lit, glass cutout room embedded into the corner of the chamber. A mahogany table surrounded by leather chairs took up most of the floor space, the outside walls were also covered with charts, a small table in a corner held a coffee pot, and a box on the floor sat, filled with brown MRE packages.
A man in dress uniform with General’s Stars on his shoulders sat at the end of the table, reading a report; he looked up, acknowledging Cloud as he entered. “How’d you sleep, James? Coffee is fresh, if you want some.”
“Thanks; slept like shit as usual,” Cloud said as he walked to the small table and lifted a cup, blowing grime from the bottom and using a rag to wipe it clean. He flipped a toggle and filled the cup with the steaming hot liquid. Cloud took a sip that burnt his lip then moved to the end of the table to join the man. He pulled out a chair, sat, and then looked at the older man. The general dropped the report and slid it across the table to Cloud.
Cloud lifted the single sheet of paper and began reading. “This the current lab result? So what’s with the strobe?” Cloud asked.
General Reynolds took a sip of his own coffee before leaning back in his chair. “Just one of the teams returning; all is secure, clean entry.”
“Good to hear. So I’m guessing you didn’t bring me down here for coffee.”
Reynolds set his cup on the table and spun to look out the glass panels into the control room. He then turned back to Cloud and pointed at the page on the table. “We’re getting nowhere with Aziz. We need the sample… I want that girl.”
“Well… unless we want to go to war with a regiment of Rangers, I don’t think it’s going to happen anytime soon. Did you try contacting Colonel Ericson? He’s a reasonable man.”
“Of course I tried. He’s not budging. Your boys from the sandbox have fed him a line of bull. He’s holding her tight… says we’re welcome to assist, but he’s not giving up the girl.”
“Can’t blame him for that. I mean, we did leave his entire regiment out of the evacuation plans… left them out there to die.” Cloud finished reading over the laboratory report and handed it back to the general.
Reynolds shook his head and forced a dry laugh. “I don’t think the bastard trusts us. I’m still working another angle with the response teams, but in the meantime, I need you to pursue this other option—the leverage—just in case. That is why I sent for you.”
Reynolds reached for a folder and removed a black-and-white overhead satellite image of the Hairatan customs compound. Cloud was familiar with the image and knew what it meant. “The phone’s been delivered. Predator dropped it this morning. We have a C-17 on standby, ready to go; I just need you to convince them to get on it.”
“Why wouldn’t they? We’re bringing them home.”
“James, that’s not all. I need to ask you. Do you think it’ll be enough to convince them to give us the sample? Will they exchange the girl for these men? This isn’t a cheap operation.”
Cloud leaned back in his chair and squeezed his hands together, contemplating the question. “I think so. That team that captured Aziz… they’re the real deal. If he thinks his men are at risk, and we can guarantee the girl’s safety,” Cloud paused and stared down at the photo, “then yes, they’ll make the trade—with assurances, of course.”
Reynolds sat up and looked directly at Cloud. “Assurances? Even for the sample… with everything that’s at stake? James, if you can’t pull this off, a lot of people will die.”
Cloud raised his head, leaning toward the general. “Sir, it doesn’t have to come to that. I can make it work. Colonel Erickson does not have the science to synthesize a vaccine from the girl, and they know it. We are the only hope any of them have for a cure. These men aren’t a trade; they are the reward for doing the right thing.” James turned in his chair, dropping his head again. “There’s another option; we could do the right thing. Send a team to Savannah, work together, let them help synthesize—”
“Dammit, James! We’ve been over all of this before; it isn’t up for discussion. Get them to give up the girl, or we’ll take her. The unity of the nation is at stake.”
The general stood and walked toward the glass, looking out over the command center floor. “The right thing,” he said then turned and leaned against the back wall. “Speaking of the right thing, James, I saw the utilization report. You hijacked our keyholes to do some private browsing.”
James frowned and his back involuntarily stiffened in the chair. “It was only briefly, sir, and I ordered them repositioned as soon as I finished.”
Cloud shook his head and looked down at his folded hands. “Sir, if you’d just give me a team, I could get my family out of there. Then we don’t need to have these discussions.”
“James, do you know how many people we have in this facility and how many of those still have families out there, families that are missing?”
“Then hell, sir, let’s get them all; we’re only at forty percent capacity, and more deserting by the day. Get the names and locations… I’ll start a priority list and let’s get them. It would have a positive impact on morale.”
“Sorry, James, it doesn’t work that way. We would lose control of this place if we tried. Half these men would go mad if we went after their families and confirmed their worst fears. You know that over three-quarters of those family members are dead. You just need to take comfort in the fact that your girls are safe.”
“For now they are.” Cloud got to his feet and used a rag to wipe out the coffee cup; he moved to the end of the room and set it back on the tray. “If you need me, I’ll be arranging the recovery of your leverage.”
Chapter 4
He rushed forward, tripping and crashing through boxes of spoiled produce, crates of rotten tomatoes, and wilted lettuce. The pungent stench coated his shirt and pants, mixing with the sticky blood and mud. Joe-Mac crawled ahead then stumbled to his feet; he heard them running down the aisle in pursuit just behind him. Spinning back to his front, he nearly tumbled into a maggot-infested meat counter.
Repulsed and fighting the urges to vomit while ignoring the spasms in his back and stomach, he pressed forward, gasping for air. Each breath took in the stench of death and decay. He spotted stainless steel double doors set into the back wall. Joe dropped his shoulder and lunged through, breaking into an outer storage area. Light cut in from the rear, and he continued running, gaining distance on the sounds of those hunting him.