Military Fiction: THE MAC WALKER COLLECTION: A special ops military fiction collection...

by D. W. Ulsterman

  Dublin was running across the clearing with Brando. The Doberman appeared delighted to have someone to burn off some morning energy with. Imran began to pick up two of the packs and strap them onto his back, straining just a bit under the weight.

  “My vehicle is not so far. A short walk and then we will be off to Wilfrid.”

  Imran’s mood seemed perpetually positive and he appeared as happy as Brando to have new company in which to share the day with.

  Bear grabbed four of the packs and placed two over each of his shoulders, giving no indication the additional two hundred pounds was even the slightest bother to him. He also carried the portable, laser guided anti drone gun in his right hand.

  Dublin made her way back to the group and picked up one of the last three remaining packs. Reese began to strap on two of the final three packs when a voice called out from behind him.

  “Now what the hell are you all doing? Trying to keep me from carrying my fair share, is that it?”

  Reese thought Mac was joking, but the look on Mac’s face said otherwise. He was upset.

  “Bear’s carrying four, you and Imran got two each….guess that leaves me and Dublin to carry just one pack, huh? You putting me in with the women, now? No offense to you, Dublin, but I ain’t used to being coddled, and I don’t like it one bit.”

  As Mac grumbled his dissatisfaction, Cooper Wyse leaned over and slowly placed the final pack onto his back, leaving none for Mac to have to carry.

  “Now Mac, way I figured it was you would walk ahead of us with your weapon ready to go. You might be the quickest and most accurate shooter here, right? So why not free you up to use those skills if they’re needed.”

  Mac shot Cooper a look of disdain, sensing the rancher was coming dangerously close to patronizing him. Bear quickly followed up Cooper’s suggestion with words of support.

  “I like that idea, Coop, like it a lot. And I can vouch for Mac’s ability with a gun. Nobody here better than him. What do you think Reese?”

  Reese took Bear’s lead.

  “Makes sense, Mac, don’t you think? Let us handle the supplies and you focus on keeping us safe, like you’ve always done.”

  Dublin interjected as well, though her attempt proved even more adept. She simply changed the subject.

  “Did you get a hold of Juneau, Mac?”

  Mac looked at Dublin, then back to the other four, and then back to Dublin.

  “Yeah, spoke with Franklin personally. They’re not in Juneau though – heading back to Anchorage. Franklin said Anchorage had three drone flyovers late yesterday. A fisherman went missing off of St. Paul. They think a drone might have sunk his boat for target practice. Had another twenty reports of drone sightings from all over the state. Things are tightening up back there real quick. I told him about our own drone attack, of course. How the timing didn’t seem right. How it knew where we would be.”

  Bear, born and raised in Texas, asked if Franklin had heard from the Texas Resistance. Mac nodded.

  ‘Yeah, Franklin got off the short wave with them just a few minutes before talking with me. The New United Nations has about a thousand tanks pushing into Texas now and at least that many drones flying out ahead of those tanks and bombing the hell out of anything that moves. Few thousand of the Resistance are holed up around Midland, while the rest of them are moving out toward El Paso and into Mexico if they have to.”

  Cooper’s eyes narrowed at the mention of Mexico.

  “Mexico? That shit hole? That place is worse than Canada. Run by the cartels. Just like up here, but instead of Muslim fanatics, it’s the drug lords. They’ll cut off your head just the same though. Why would they be going into Mexico?”

  Mac let out a sigh, his shoulders noticeably slumping.

  “To hide, I suppose. They are dealing with the New United Nations pushing them back. Either they fall into the water, or they get pushed back into Mexico. They don’t have much choice. Don’t have the weapons to fight back. Not yet. That’s where we come in. We make our way to this Manitoba priest. We get that weapon and we give the Texas Resistance a chance. We give them a chance and every other group that is rising up and fighting back.”

  Cooper Wyse finished strapping his pack on and then looked out across the clearing.

  “Well then, I guess we better get going.”

  Cooper slapped the backside of Licorice as he yelled out the word home. The horse immediately set off across the clearing and into the woods beyond as the other three horses followed close behind.

  Dublin appeared nearly as saddened by the horses’ departure as the rancher was.

  “Guess there’s no turning back now, huh?”

  Mac and Imran took the lead in front of the group as the other three followed closely behind them. Even without a pack, Mac soon struggled to keep his labored breathing quiet and hidden from the others as his mind kept repeating the same words in his head.

  Not dying today. Not dying tomorrow. Finish the mission…

  It was the very same refrain Mackenzie Walker had told himself nearly thirty five years ago when, bleeding from a gunshot wound just below his right shoulder, he struggled to cross eight miles of arid, rocky terrain to reach a CIA safe house on the outskirts of Borama, a Somali city just inside the Ethiopian border.

  Mac had reached that safe house just after nightfall, and within an hour, was being flown from the CIA safe house to a military medical facility aboard an American naval vessel in the Indian Ocean. He lost nearly a third of his blood before the medical team successfully closed the wound. Within three days he was out of bed and awaiting orders to return to Somalia to finish his mission. When those orders did not come, Mac Walker made his way back to Somalia on his own and completed what had been left unfinished – a single bullet into the back of the head of a particularly aggressive Somali warlord who had been funding a growing pirate operation that was crippling the shipping lanes into and out of the Gulf of Aden and the Red Sea.

  Not dying today. Not dying tomorrow. Finish the mission…

  Mac had survived a shot to the chest and finished that mission in Somalia all those years ago. He was intent on surviving this damn cancer long enough to finish this current mission against the New United Nations. It was what he did. It was who he was, who he is, and who he would always be.

  He wasn’t dying today, but given the pain again searing his lungs with each breath taken as he struggled to keep up with Imran, Mac Walker quietly admitted to himself he was no longer so certain about tomorrow.

  XVI.

  It took nearly thirty minutes for the group to make their way to Imran’s vehicle parked in another small clearing. Bear looked at the machine and laughed.

  “This thing actually runs Imran? Good god man, what a damn rust bucket!”

  Imran dropped his backpack and turned to face Bear, his normally friendly face now scowling at the much larger man.

  “This rust bucket has been my friend for a long time. She always starts. Always runs. Always gets me to where I need to go. Always. Show some respect.”

  Unlike Bear, Mac appeared impressed by Imran’s “friend”.

  “This is a CMP isn’t it? Canadian Military Pattern Truck. Guessing it’s World War Two era. Four wheel drive, extra heavy suspension. This thing can get someone there and back for sure. How’d you come by this Imran?”

  Grateful for Mac’s approval, Imran smiled broadly as he gently ran his hand along one of the heavily rusted metallic fenders.

  “That’s right! A CMP truck! I won it from the godfather himself! Card game! He loves to gamble. All night he plays cards. Smokes and drinks and plays cards. This time I won – years ago. I have been using her ever since. Carrying goods back and forth. Here, there, and everywhere. She always makes it. She always gets me back to Wilfrid.”

  Mac paused along the right door and noted three distinct holes near the bottom.

  “You been shot at?”

  Imran again smiled while nodding.

  “Muslim gang on
Highway 37 after picking up goods from the city of Prince Rupert. Drove right through them but they got off some shots. Followed me for almost twenty miles before giving up. They always give up. At least so far.”

  Dublin walked over to look at the bullet holes and then turned to Imran.

  “You travelled all the way down to Prince Rupert?”

  Imran’s pride in the success of his Black Market business was unmistakable as he answered Dublin.

  “I travel everywhere…wherever a good deal can be found. Wherever the reward outweighs the risk. I’ve been as far south as Vancouver a couple of times. As far east as Edmonton in the Alberta province, and as far north as Whitehorse in the Yukon Territory province, and also to the cabin we just came from of course.”

  Bear still appeared amazed Imran could travel so far and so regularly in what he had just recently described as a rust bucket.

  “You did all that traveling in this thing? Really?”

  Imran’s scowl returned as he dealt with Bear’s criticism of his beloved transport vehicle.

  “Yes, every time. You’ll see. She runs and runs and runs. Every time.”

  Reese was already loading up the packs into the back of the CMP. Its open truck bed was nearly seven feet long and at least five feet wide – plenty of room for all of the packs and to seat the rest of them comfortably in the back. Cooper placed his own pack into the back as well and then whistled at Brando to jump in. The Doberman gracefully leapt into the truck bed and then looked at the group as if to see if anyone had noticed how well he had followed Cooper’s request.

  Cooper in turn pointed out the extra large tread on the truck’s tires to the others in the group.

  “These things are what will get us across the glacier fields a few miles from here.”

  Imran slapped the side of one of the large tires.

  “No problems! Easy going!”

  Cooper Wyse grinned back at Imran’s enthusiastic devotion to his truck.

  “Easy going sounds just fine by me, Imran.”

  Seeing that all of the packs had been placed in the back, Imran opened the driver’s door and stepped into the cabin. He turned the key which resulted in the engine turning over once…and then going silent. Bear rolled his eyes.

  “Knew it. This piece of shit ain’t getting us anywhere.”

  Imran yelled out the window of the truck.

  “Big man needs to be quiet! You’ve offended Princess!”

  Bear glanced over to Cooper and whispered out of the side of his mouth.

  “Princess?”

  Cooper nodded.

  “That’s her name.”

  “The truck?”

  Again Cooper nodded.

  “Yeah – the truck. Her name is Princess.”

  Imran’s repeated his demand to Bear that he apologize to Princess.

  “Big man! I told you to apologize! You need to tell her you’re sorry!”

  Mac stepped over to Bear and pointed to the truck.

  “Just apologize to the damn truck, Bear so we can get going.”

  Bear looked down at Mac and shook his head.

  “You think if I apologize this pile of rust will actually start up?”

  Brando barked at Bear, causing Reese to laugh.

  “Even Brando thinks you need to apologize, Bear!”

  “I could give a shit what that dog thinks. He’s still on my list.”

  Brando barked again.

  Imran stepped out of the truck and stood directly under Bear. The man from Turkey pointed a finger into the face of the former NFL lineman while nodding toward Princess.

  “You apologize to her, Bear. Apologize and then we can go. You offended her.”

  Brando let out a low, menacing growl, his upper lip pulling back to expose his teeth. He wasn’t smiling though – the Doberman meant business. Then the dog jumped from the back of the truck, leaping over Bear’s right shoulder, causing him to stumble backwards and nearly fall over.

  Brando hit the ground and took off toward the tree line some fifty yards from where the group was standing around Imran’s truck. The Doberman stopped just short of the trees and stood still, continuing to growl at whatever was hiding within the darkness of the forest.

  Cooper put two fingers to his mouth and let out a piercing whistle.

  “Brando! Come!”

  The dog ignored Cooper’s command, remaining in his position between the trees and the group.

  Cooper whistled again and issued the same command for Brando to return. This time the Doberman complied, turning and quickly running to Cooper’s right side where he sat next to the rancher, though the dog still issued a low growl as his eyes remained looking into the forest.

  Cooper slowly drew one of his two six shooters that hung from each of his hips and whispered to the others.

  “Something out there is watching us, has to be the same thing that had Brando so upset yesterday. That means we’re being followed.”

  Everyone else followed Cooper’s example and drew their own weapons as well.

  A loud shriek issued from the trees, sounding equal parts human and beast.

  Mac lowered himself onto his right knee, aiming his weapon into the trees.

  Another loud shriek came from the tree line, though this time it was answered by a similar sound some hundred yards to the right. This second shriek was answered by a third that sounded no more than a few more hundred yards back from the first two. And then a fourth shriek came from yet another location, followed by several more.

  Cooper turned to Imran.

  “Might want to get your truck started Imran. Sounds like we have some real bad company making its way toward us.”

  Imran’s eyes were wide as he looking toward the tree line.

  “Yes, I think you’re right.”

  Imran once again attempted to start Princess, but like the first time, the vehicle turned over once and then went silent. The things in the forest continued to shriek. Whatever they were, they sounded excited – and hungry.

  Bear reached into the back of the truck bed and removed one of two Mossberg shotguns he had brought with him and then began to slowly walk toward the trees with the shotgun pointed in front of him.

  “I ain’t waiting for that pile of shit to start. Whatever wants to come out of those woods I’m killing.”

  Imran jumped out of the truck and opened its hood, a small hammer held in his right hand.

  “Apologize to Princess big man! If you want to go now, you need to apologize!”

  Bear looked back at the others while the sounds of the creatures’ shrieks continued to multiply inside the forest.

  Reese implored for the big man to do as Imran requested.

  “Can’t hurt anything, Bear. C’mon, apologize to his truck and be done with it.”

  Bear took another look toward the tree line and then walked angrily back to where Imran was leaning over into the engine compartment.

  “Fine – sorry about what I said. About your truck.”

  Imran turned his head to look back at Bear.

  “That’s fine, but you have to apologize to her, not me.”

  Bear looked like he was about to pick Imran up and throw him into orbit.

  “Oh, for god’s sake, you got to be kidding me!”

  Imran again turned his head to see Bear.

  “No, I’m not kidding, big man. You apologize to Princess. Then she’ll start for us.”

  Bear’s face grew red with rage as his hands gripped the shotgun tightly. The shrieking grew even louder and now they could hear the unmistakable sound of movement from the forest.

  “There’s at least ten of those things out there, maybe more. Whatever they are, they’re getting ready attack. It’s a pack of something, and they’re hunting…hunting us.”

  “I’m sorry about what I said. To the truck. Sorry. Sorry…Princess.”

  Bear’s apology, though said through tightly clenched teeth, appeared to satisfy Imran, who was tapping something lightly wit
h his hammer. The small man leaned back from the engine compartment, closed the hood, and began to make his way back to the driver’s seat with a satisfied smile on his dark, rounded face.

  “Ok – let’s go.”

  Cooper, Bear and Reese jumped into the back of the former Canadian military vehicle, while Mac and Dublin joined Imran inside the truck’s enclosed cabin. Brando began to bark aggressively, causing Cooper to hold onto the dog to prevent him from jumping from the truck bed.