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

by D. W. Ulsterman

  Dublin reached a hand out to him and leaned in, sensing something was troubling Mac terribly.

  “Mac – what is it? What’s wrong?”

  Still unable to meet Dublin’s gaze, Mac quickly wiped the tears away from his eyes. Finally he looked back at her, his mouth curled downward as he fought the urge to start sobbing.

  “I pissed myself, Dublin. Couldn’t stop it, it just happened. I…I just pissed myself.”

  Dublin drew herself closer to Mac, again wrapping her arms around him.

  “Sshhhh, it’s ok, Mac. It’s ok. There’s a bathroom in here, remember? You can go in and clean yourself up. It’s fine, really. I won’t tell.”

  Dublin felt Mac stiffen at her words. He again leaned back away from her.

  “That won’t be necessary. I don’t need you covering for me.”

  The familiar determination had returned to Mac’s face as he slowly stood up to face Reese and Cooper, a small groan escaping him from the effort.

  “Just want to let you two know – I just pissed myself, alright?”

  Reese looked back at Mac and tried to smile, but wasn’t quite able to pull it off.

  “That’s ok, Mac. No big deal.”

  Mac glanced over at Coope, who appeared bored by Mac’s admission of losing control of his bladder.

  “Hell, Mac, look on the bright side.”

  Mac frowned back at the rancher, not sure what positive could be found in one urinating all over themselves.

  “And what bright side would that be, Coop?”

  Cooper flashed a wide smile.

  “You didn’t shit yourself, so you still got that going for you.”

  Mac stood there silent for a brief moment before he broke out laughing, finally allowing the tears to stream down his face.

  It would be the last time anyone would hear Mac Walker laugh.

  In the locomotive, Yakov pulled the train’s whistle as they sped past another trackside sign that read, CHURCHILL STATION – 120 KILOMETERS

  As Mac made his way slowly into the passenger car’s small bathroom facility, he again heard the calm, assured voice of the Old Man speaking to him.

  “Open your heart and listen to the words of the priest. You’re almost there now.”

  XLVII.

  The final stretch to Churchill proved increasingly uncomfortable for those inside the passenger car. The tracks leading to the outpost had not been used for years, and were clearly suffering from various degrees of neglect, causing the train itself to vibrate violently as it made its way closer to Churchill, slowing the speed of travel considerably.

  Outside, large areas of snow and ice were disrupted by smaller areas of green, grass covered knolls and the occasional dark green spruce tree. To the east of the tracks were the massive blue waters of the Hudson Bay. Although it was just mid-afternoon, the sky was already turning toward darkness.

  Mac, Dublin, Cooper, and Reese were suddenly thrown forward in their seats. Mac actually fell onto the floor, while the others were able to catch themselves before doing the same. A series of increasingly strong vibrations rumbled directly underneath them as the entire train lurched sharply to the left before coming to an abrupt halt.

  Dublin and Reese helped Mac to his feet while the sound of the Russian cursing loudly from outside made its way down the train and into the passenger car. Cooper Wyse looked outside and then back to the others.

  “Jumped the track. Looks like we might be walking the last part there.”

  Mac was making his way toward the exit door as Dublin’s eyes watched his progress. She knew Mac was likely no longer capable of walking any distance.

  Standing outside, the temperature felt to be near freezing, causing all of them to bundle their coats around them more tightly. Mac was clearly determined to not appear uncomfortable, walking as quickly as he could toward Yakov and Bear, who both stood just outside the locomotive’s cab.

  “What happened, Yakov?”

  The Russian watched as Mac came toward him, and then raised his arms out from his sides.

  “What happened is shit tracks make train run off. Lucky to be going slowly when it happened. Going to take long time to move train back onto track.”

  Mac looked over at the front of the locomotive, noting how it was tipping slightly to its left side.

  “How long is a long time, Yakov?”

  The Russian began to stroke the remaining portion of the beard that the seeker had not torn off, as he muttered to himself in Russian.

  “Need at least half a day. Maybe longer.”

  Reese was directly behind Mac and overheard Yakov’s timeline.

  “We’re only about five or six miles from Churchill. How about we just start walking down the tracks on our own? Maybe there’s equipment there to help move the train back? That would be better than sitting still around here, right? Shouldn’t take us more than two, maybe three hours to get to Churchill on foot. Mac, what was it that Calhoun said to look for when we get there?”

  Mac was staring down the tracks when he answered Reese.

  “The church – he said to look for the church.”

  The Russian nodded at Reese’s suggestion to walk the remaining way.

  “Ok – we go.”

  Cooper interjected.

  “Hold up. Gonna be dark in less than two hours. Like I told Reese earlier, this is polar bear country. Supposed to be lots of them up this way – wolves too. We would be better off bunking in the passenger car for the night, and then heading out at first light.”

  Mac paused to consider Cooper’s suggestion. Before he responded, Bear raised his own question.

  “Didn’t Cahloun say he needed us to locate the priest ASAP? Within twenty four hours?”

  Cooper indicated agreement with Bear on that point, but continued with his suggestion they not travel out in the open at night.

  “We made good time today, if we leave at first light, we’ll still be close to meeting that deadline.”

  Brando cocked his head to the side as the howl of a wolf broke across the landscape, followed by several more howls from the direction they intended to travel into Churchill.

  Whether it was the sound of the wolves, or something else, Mac had made up his mind.

  “We stay here tonight, then go out in the morning, just like Coop said. I want one of us up at all times keeping guard. I’ll take first shift. We had to have put a lot of distance between ourselves and those seekers, but I don’t want to risk being caught by surprise by them or anything else out there.”

  Nobody disputed Mac’s instructions, as each of them made their way silently back into the train’s passenger car.

  The group sat down to a brief meal of dried fruit and water. Once again, Mac ate or drank very little. As the others settled down to try and sleep, he sat in a corner of the train car by himself, a loaded shotgun sitting across his lap. The pain in his lower back had returned with a vengeance, causing him to have to constantly re-adjust his position in his seat.

  Just put the barrel of that gun under your chin and pull the trigger, Mac. No need to suffer anymore. Don’t be a burden on everyone else. One little tug and it’s all done. Might leave a little mess for them to clean up, but they’ll be able to move a lot faster without you. They’ll be safer without you.

  Mac recognized the voice. It was August Hess, the man who had injected him with the deadly, untreatable cancer. He wasn’t sleeping though. He couldn’t be dreaming. How could he be hearing Hess’s voice, a man who he had watched die over two years ago?

  Don’t bother worrying about that, Mac. Just focus on the pain. It will only get worse. And your lungs. They are just about used up. Pretty soon you won’t be able to breath at all. Like drowning inside your own body. Why put yourself through that, Mac? Why put your friends through that? Just pull the trigger. Let it all go and be done with it.

  Mac blinked his eyes several times and then shook his head from side to side while attempting to take several deep breaths. He had to be
asleep. Either he was asleep or he was losing his mind – possibly both.

  Stop trying to figure things out, Mac. Sometimes you just have to accept what is, and what is for you right now, is a miserable, painful, suffering burden of an existence. So man up and pull that trigger. End it. Do it, Mac! Do it while they are sleeping!

  The weight of the shotgun felt good in his hands. It would be an easy enough thing. Simply place the butt of the gun on the floor, rest his chin at the end of the barrel, and reach a hand down to the trigger and pull. He wouldn’t feel a thing. Just darkness, a release, and an end to his suffering. More importantly, Mac wouldn’t be a burden to the others. His condition wouldn’t put them in more danger.

  Mac watched his hands slowly place the end of the shotgun on the floor and then felt hard, cold steel as he placed his chin firmly atop the double barrel tip. Just one little flick of his finger and he could rest. Rest for good.

  Yes! That’s right, Mac. You’re so tired. Do it, Mac! Pull the trigger! Do it now! Do it!

  Mac closed his eyes tightly, his lower back screaming in pain, his breath issuing in and out of his destroyed lungs in a series of shallow, rasping wheezes. It really would be so much easier.

  “Fuck it.”

  XLVIII.

  The light nearly blinded Mac as he stood up in an attempt to see where it was coming from. He cried out in shock as he saw what appeared to be a massive cross coming from the center of the light.

  I must be dead, and looks like I was wrong about the whole no God thing…

  Mac blinked his eyes several times as Bear shouted out from behind him. The cross had disappeared, though the light remained.

  “Who is that, Mac? Can you see?”

  Bear stood next to Mac, his right hand over his eyes as he too peered into the brilliant glare pouring through the train car windows.

  Then darkness returned.

  Outside the passenger car, the sound of a heavy vehicle door closing echoed in the night, followed by footsteps slowly coming toward the back of the train.

  “Hello! Is this the group from Alaska?”

  The accent was unmistakably Middle Eastern. Mac held the shotgun in front of him, fearing they had possibly been followed all the way to Churchill by another group of Muslim bandits.

  “Everyone get back from that door. Get back and get yourselves low. Coop, you still have some ammo left in those revolvers, right?”

  Cooper’s voice replied in an almost whisper.

  “Yeah, Mac – already have them out and ready.”

  The voice from outside yelled to them once again.

  “Hello! I am here to take you to The Reverend Father! Is anyone here? Are you ok?”

  Mac stifled a cough and then looked back to the others inside the train car.

  “Wait here.”

  Before Mac reached the exit door, someone began knocking on it from the outside.

  “Hello? Is anyone in there? You do not need to fear me – I am here to help!”

  Mac positioned himself against the far wall, just next to the door’s opening while Cooper Wyse crouched down behind a seat, one of his Colt revolvers pointed toward the back of the passenger car.

  “Go ahead and come in.”

  A silent pause greeted Mac’s instructions. Clearing his throat, Mac repeated himself.

  “I said come on in!”

  The door slowly opened outward, as the outline of an average sized man filled the void. Mac inched closer to where the man stood.

  “Ok, that’s far enough. Stay right there. Keep your hands real still. Somebody light up a lantern so we can get a good look at our guest here.”

  Dublin reached up and struck a match, lighting one of the two interior lanterns inside the passenger car, a warm glow pushing back against the darkness and revealing the young, friendly face of a thin, dark haired man who was smiling back at her.

  “Hello, my name is Khalid. I work with The Reverend Father. You know him as the priest. I was told to investigate the noise we heard earlier, that it may have been your arrival. I was to ensure you were uninjured, and transport you back to the church if need be.”

  Though Khalid’s accent was noticeable, his English was excellent, and he spoke as one who had received considerable education during his life.

  Mac moved behind Khalid, placing the barrel of the shotgun against his back.

  “Hello there, Khalid my name’s Mac. We are the group from Alaska. Can you tell me a little about why we are here?”

  Khalid stood unmoving, and though the smile had fallen from his face as he felt the gun at his back, Khalid remained calm, his soft voice measured and deliberate as it spoke.

  “You are here for the weapon, for the hopeful destruction of the New United Nations.”

  Both Bear and the Russian walked toward Khalid, looking the smaller man up and down carefully. As they did so, Mac posed yet another question to him.

  “And who sent us here?”

  Khalid began to turn around to answer Mac, but a jab of the shotgun barrel against his back froze Khalid in place.

  “That would be the Texas Resistance. They contacted you as they had nobody available or with the ability to bypass the border and make their way here to Churchill. Your location in the newly freed Alaska allowed the opportunity to travel here and secure the weapon.”

  Mac pressed Khalid again.

  “And how do you know this?”

  Khalid looked back at Bear and the Russian, whose eyes were locked with his own.

  “The Reverend Father, the priest…he told me.”

  Bear took another step toward Khalid.

  “And why would he do that? What’s your purpose here?”

  Khalid continued to meet Bear’s gaze, giving no indication of being intimidated.

  “I’m the weapon you seek. I’m the key to destroying the New United Nations.”

  Cooper Wyse rose slowly from his position behind one of the train car seats, glancing at Khalid and to Mac. Brando sat silently next to the rancher, seemingly uninterested in the new visitor.

  “Care to explain how that is Khalid? How are you the weapon?”

  Khalid gave a subtle grin in response to Cooper’s question.

  “That will be explained to you in detail at the church. We should be going now. I don’t wish to worry The Reverend Father. Please…let us go. I have a vehicle outside, large enough for all of you. We can be to the church in mere minutes.”

  Like Bear, Yakov had stepped closer to Khalid, his face revealing his continued distrust at the man’s arrival.

  “You sound like Muslim. Yes?”

  Khalid calmly looked back at the Russian and nodded.

  “Yes, I am a Muslim. That is my faith.”

  Yakov was now just inches from Khalid’s face.

  “And why would Muslim work with priest? Your people destroyed Catholic Church. Your people beheaded many priests.”

  Again Khalid nodded.

  “Yes, that did happen. Those were not my people though. They do not follow my faith. Not honestly. They are an abomination to that faith.”

  The Russian pointed a large finger at Khalid.

  “I don’t like him! No! Not one bit! Muslim dog!”

  Yakov spit on the floor of the train car, the liquid projectile landing just in front of Khalid’s feet.

  Reese stepped between the Russian and Khalid, while also looking at Mac who continued to hold the shotgun against Khalid’s back.

  “Our goal is to get to the priest. Khalid says he can take us to him. I say we stop stalling and do it. We’re running out of time.”

  Dublin joined with Reese’s suggestion.

  “Reese is right. If we have a way to get to the priest now, we should do it. Let’s go.”

  Cooper was the next to suggest the same.

  “I’m with them, Mac. Let’s roll. Better than waiting ‘till morning to head out. I’m guessing they have food, water, maybe medical supplies at the church?”

  Khalid nodded several tim
es.

  “Oh yes! Places to sleep. Food and water. Shower facilities if you wish to clean up.”

  Perhaps it was the thought of a hot shower that finally pushed Mac’s concerns aside. He lowered the shotgun and nodded toward the exit door.