by Ts Alan
***
Most of the trips to the U.S. Army sustainment headquarters had consisted of removing as much salvageable food and sundry items that still remained intact. Rodents had made meals of a great amount of the MREs and toilet paper, but spared much of the military clothing and footwear. This was their second time in which they concentrated on removing weapons, but mainly munitions, which were comprised primarily of ammunition for individual and crew served weapons—the heaviest armaments being hand grenades, standard 40mm rounds for the single-shot grenade launcher attachment for the M-4 and M-16 machine gun, and cartridges for the Stryker weapons system.
A great portion of the hand grenades and grenade launcher rounds, had been buried under a roof collapse. J.D. was surprised the force of the collapsed ceiling hadn’t detonated an explosion of epic proportion. With the damaged ammunition boxes partially buried, and having been exposed to rain pouring in from the large roof opening, J.D. was forced to forego recovery of most of the munitions cache. However, Sergeant Lott assured him that it was unlikely the water deluged boxes of munitions suffered any compromise. Nonetheless, J.D. felt that it was prudent not to disturb the debris that covered the live ammo.
Having filled two LMTVs with as much munitions as could be salvaged, along with the remaining clothing, the four-vehicle convoy departed using 34th Street as their main thoroughfare across town. Sergeant Lott drove the lead vehicle, a Stryker ICV. Paul Wiese was at the weapons station and Private Peter Schumacher was assigned to communications. Following the Stryker were the two cargo trucks, followed by a Humvee. Behind the wheel of the Humvee was Lieutenant Duncan. Seated next to him was Private Doug Tyler. J.D. stood in the gunner’s turret of the Humvee, facing the rear of the vehicle. He moved his head back and forth, utilizing his transmute ability, watching the rear flank as well as the rest of their surroundings.
As the Humvee neared the intersection of 10th Avenue, J.D. noticed something odd, something out-of-place—it was two City of New York Department of Sanitation collection trucks. Both were on the east side of the avenue, fifty feet from each corner. This was wrong. These trucks had not been there on previous trips. He looked at the cab of the truck at the northeast corner. He clearly saw someone behind the wheel.
“Ambush!” J.D. screamed over their communications system. “Ambush. Move! Move! “Don’t let them cut us off. Punch it, Ryan. Punch it!”
***
As the Stryker approached the intersection of Dyer Avenue, a sanitation truck quickly sped across the street and crashed into it, forcing the armored personnel carrier to careen sideways up onto the sidewalk.
***
It was too late. J.D. heard the crash ahead of him and then the sanitation trucks behind closed off the street. He rotated himself around and repositioned the machine gun as he called to Ryan to get out from behind the LMTVs. Ryan moved right. Ahead the Humvee crew saw the sanitation truck that had plowed into the Stryker. Another white garbage truck moved into the intersection. Someone was trying to box them in.
***
Suddenly the Stryker lurched and slid sideways with a thunderous crash. John Lott was at the wheel but had not seen the threat vehicle approaching. His command helmet struck the instrumentation as the Stryker abruptly stopped. Disoriented, it took him a moment to comprehend what had happened. Something hefty had hit the vehicle, but John had not felt an explosion, which meant it that it must been a large non-explosive object moving at a high rate of velocity to have caused such an impact as to have forced the 22+ ton, slat armored Stryker sideways.
***
Ryan stepped onto the gas. J.D. pulled back on the bolt latch release of the M2 Browning machine gun and released a barrage of .50 caliber projectiles at the city vehicle. He knew what was ahead was not a military operation. The army would have simply blockaded the roadway with military vehicles and shown their superior strength. No, this was someone else. Perhaps Stone. Perhaps other survivors. Whoever they were they were not military, and they had hostile intentions. These were marauders.
***
The light utility vehicle at the lead position slammed on its brakes and skidded to a halt less than fifty feet from the intersection as the large white truck before them completed its blockade. The LMTV that followed did the same and almost rear-ended the first. Abruptly as the sanitation truck had appeared, it quickly reversed position. As the rig backed away it revealed four military Humvees obstructing the team’s escape.
***
Speeding to the intersection J.D. could see that the men with their weapons raised were not military personnel. He squeezed the trigger on his crew weapon again, this time aiming at the Humvees, and, again, 550 rounds per minute burst from the Browning’s barrel. Except without the firepower of the Stryker, J.D. was out gunned. The enemy returned fire. Two of the four Humvees before him were armed with the same caliber machine gun as his, and J.D.’s 4-wheel drive vehicle was not an up-armored variant, and therefore did not have a ballistic windshield. When the enemy fired from all of their four positions, they targeted the charging Humvee. A multitude of ballistic hits ripped through the Humvee’s grill and into the engine compartment. With a fierce explosion, the hood of the Humvee blew up into the air in a twisted mess, partially blocking Ryan’s view. Then abruptly the front tires blew out. As Ryan tried desperately to control the vehicle, a hail of bullets ripped through the windshield striking him. The Humvee jolted, flipped on its side, and then skidded along the street toward the enemy.
***
“Ambush!” Jonas McGann heard his commander cry over the armory communications system. He immediately paged Lieutenant Alexander, trying to keep the panic from filling his urgent call.
James had been in the armory’s basement, in the “dojo,” sparring with Peter Dunne. Still dressed in his workout attire he quickly headed to the second floor.
“It’s the colonel, sir,” Jonas responded. “I heard the commander say, ‘ambush.’ Then it sounded like gunfire and an explosion. Then the comm went dead… I can’t raise anyone, sir. What should we do?”
“Call all base personnel to arms. Take up defensive positions. And keep trying to raise the colonel.”
“But if they’re under attack—”
“Private,” James interrupted, “it could be a ploy. We defend this base and the civilians. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then deploy the men. Immediately.”
***
Sergeant Lott made his way to the troop compartment to check on Wiese and Schumacher. As he stepped out of the driver’s area he heard the sudden eruption of gunfire and then an explosion. He knew that they were under armed attack. He saw that his men were down; both Paul and Peter were on the floor. John knew he must get to the weapons control system. As quickly as he could he brought it online and turned the weapons platform toward the enemy.
***
The Humvee slid to a stop less than thirty feet from the intersection. J.D.’s head spun with a multitude of flashing prickles of light. Everything was out of focus. He heard shouting, but he couldn’t comprehend if it was friend or foe. Roughly, without warning, he found himself being dragged from the turret he was haphazardly hanging out of. A great roar filled the afternoon air. He was abruptly released.
***
Lott grabbed the joystick of the fire control computer, turned it left and aligned the targeting sight on the monitor, and then depressed the firing mechanism of the Stryker’s MK19 grenade launcher. Each enemy vehicle exploded in rapid succession, sending the opposition fleeing.
***
The base personnel had deployed, each taking up a strategic position on the armory’s roof. James pulled the Stryker ESV across the entry to the armory, and then took a seat behind the communications console. Peter Dunne sat behind the weapons station and watched for any sign of the enemy through the targeting monitor. They waited.
; ***
Bruised, battered, and still shaken from the Humvee trauma, J.D. thought he heard the sound of the Stryker starting, but he wasn’t sure. What he was sure of was the sound of pained cries from inside the destroyed Humvee that now had gone from a smoldering front end to an inferno. J.D.’s instinct as a paramedic kicked in. He felt a rush of adrenaline and a burst of whatever it was that fueled his transmute side, and everything became clear.
Whoever had tried to pull him so briskly from the open hatch had fled. A brief glance of the Stryker told him that John was alive and on the move. Bursts of fire erupted from the Stryker and crashed to the street, laying down a thick cover of smoke. It was the ICV’s M6 smoke grenade launcher.
Doug Tyler was dead. His face had been ripped apart. The tall, thin private had been killed instantly. His body now lay atop of Ryan. Ryan struggled to get himself free of the weight of the dead man and out of the Humvee. J.D. pulled Doug’s corpse out of the vehicle, and then grabbed onto Ryan, pulling him by the collar of his Improved Outer Tactical Vest (IOTV). Dragging him several feet into the street away from the vehicle, the Humvee’s gas tank abruptly erupted. J.D. immediately fell across Ryan to protect him.
Ryan’s face and forehead were bloodied. Glass fragments from the windshield had peppered him. Most of the facial wounds were superficial, and none had penetrated his eyes; his sunglasses had protected him. However, there was a wound to his left arm that was severe.
Most of the bullets that had the passed through windshield had struck Ryan in the vest. Ryan had been lucky; the bullets had fragmented upon penetrating the upheaved hood and windscreen, and therefore had been stopped by the front trauma plate of his IOTV. If the shots had not shattered, Ryan would have been fatally wounded. Though the IOTV was able to withstand a direct impact from a 7.62mm bullet, it was incapable of stopping .50 caliber.
The wound to Ryan’s left arm was just past the vest’s enhanced side ballistic insert. The bullet fragment had penetrated into his deltoid. It was not an immediately life threatening wound, but the disjointed slug was imbedded deep into the muscle causing great pain and blood loss.
The exchange of gunfire had not stopped after the four enemy Humvees had been destroyed. The enemy had continued to blindly shoot through the smoke screen. Sergeant Lott had freed the Stryker from the garbage truck and backed the ICV up near their overturned burning truck, simultaneously lowering the Stryker’s rear deployment door. The Stryker’s heavy caliber machine gun let loose on the advancing rear guard, taking out three of the enemy before the marauders ceased their advance.
Paul Wiese and Peter Schumacker came to J.D.’s aid, shouldering the semi-conscious Ryan into the Stryker. J.D. waved and radioed his LMTV driver teams to fall in behind the lead vehicle. It was time to make their escape. From the dissipating smoke came more rapid bursts of gunfire, but it didn’t appear to be directed at them. J.D. realized why. The distinctive shrill cry of Four Fingers the half-mute came from just beyond the smoke.
J.D. radioed his men and gave orders to move out. As he turned to jump onto the retracting door of the Stryker, a half-mute charged through the fading smoke screen and struck him down.
Tumbling, the two landed in front of the oncoming trucks that had fallen in line behind the ICV. There was no time for the first driver to stop. A loud thud and crunch came from under the carriage of the LMTV.
The Stryker slammed into the burning enemy Humvees, smashing them out of the way. Peter called to John to tell him that their commander was down. The Stryker kept moving forward, picking up speed. The rear deployment door closed. Sergeant Lott had his orders—move out and do not stop for any reason.
The second truck driver saw the mutilated corpse of the half-mute and his commander scrambling to his feet. J.D. had barely cleared the front of the first truck. There was no way he could have survived trying to let the tactical wheeled vehicle pass over him. Though the vehicle’s ground clearance was 22 inches with a full payload, the clearance at the under axel was scarcely over 14 inches, and J.D. had a backpack on.
Almost as soon as the driver had stopped another half-mute leapt on the driver’s side. The flesh-hungry ogresque creature tried frantically to grasp onto the closed driver’s door window, but kept failing, which only enraged it more.
J.D. was on the passenger side of the vehicle. He grabbed the door handle only to find it locked. He yelled to Finlay MacKay to move out, as he climbed up in between the cab and cargo bed—using the spare tire that was secured to the back of the cabin for an anchor—and pulled himself over the rail and onto the supply boxes.
The half-mute had not given up. As the truck began to move, it again leapt up, this time grabbing onto the handrail of the vehicle’s cabin. The creature quickly moved to the rear of the cabin and crawled around the extended air intake tube. J.D. was on the radio, ordering Finlay to pull ahead of the other cargo truck and alongside the Stryker, letting John know he was going to jump onto the top of the ICV and access the gunner’s hatch.
J.D. saw the thing frantically trying to climb over the boxes and into the bed. It was Four Fingers! There was no point to try and do battle with it on a moving truck by using his blades. J.D. reached for his pistol but as he did Four Fingers fearlessly charged. He never got the pistol from its holster. Instead J.D.’s fast twitch reflexes of his transmute side and his martial arts instinct simultaneously kicked in. He used the creature’s momentum to heave it off the back of the truck. J.D. was certain that would put an end to the creature that apparently had been stalking him. J.D. was wrong. Four Fingers tumbled for a moment then stood up. Four Fingers let out a cry directed at J.D. It was as loud and shrill as previous encounters, but this time it was much angrier. For a moment Four Fingers stood in the street glaring and pointing an index finger at J.D., as the truck drove further away. Then Four Fingers limped away. J.D. knew this wasn’t going to be the last time he would see the mutant, he was certain of it.
***
J.D. knew it wasn’t a wise choice to leap from one vehicle to another while doing 45 mph. He always wanted to be a stuntman, but even stuntmen used precautions. His precaution was to have the vehicles slow to 20 mph. He threw his backpack over first to lighten himself. He nearly overshot his toss.
The Stryker moved left to avoid a car, the LMTV swerved left, just missing the vehicle as he heard John shout, “Obstacle, move left,” over the comm system. J.D. lost his balance and fell back onto some crates. Recovering, he leapt from the truck. It was ungraceful. He landed on his stomach, rolled, and struck his head on the slat armor. His helmet absorbed the impact. He radioed his men he had made it. The vehicles sped onward, back to the armory.
***
Inside the vehicle, J.D. quickly released Ryan’s vest using its hidden release lanyard, which was designed to allow medical personnel easier access to the casualty and remove the components. J.D. cut away Ryan’s left sleeve with a pair of trauma sheers and exposed the wound.
He placed a compression bandage on Ryan’s deltoid and told Peter to keep pressure on it. Ryan looked up at his commander. J.D. wished he had some Yunnan Baiyo herb or Celox to act as a hemostatic agent to stem the flow of blood, but he didn’t.
“I’m going to die, aren’t I?” he asked J.D., believing the wound was life threatening.
“Die? That would be an inconvenience to me, Lieutenant,” J.D. told him, as he prepared a syringe of morphine and then injected it into a vein.
Ryan spoke, fearfully, “I don’t want to die.”
“Good. You won’t. But if it makes you feel better, Ryan, how about I order you not to?”
Ryan smiled. “Yes, sir.”
Ryan drifted off. The morphine had taken effect.
***
The skirmish had been brief, perhaps no more than four or five minutes, but the results of the firefight had been devastating, far more than just the physical loss of life. J.D. had been careless, and he
knew it. Doug Tyler’s death, Ryan’s injury, and the emotional devastation that would carry over to everyone in the armory had been a result of his under planning. James tried to console him; trying to convince him he was not at fault, that they simply did not have enough men to keep the armory safe and to assign to needed away missions. Nevertheless, this did not ease his guilt.
He once had a brief conversation with Kermit in regard to his idea of how to flush the transmute flock out of the armory. Kermit had warned him, “There’s no room for bravado or carelessness.”
J.D. had responded with, “Every plan has an inherent degree of risk, but risk is the price you pay for opportunity.” It had been his plan so he entered the building alone. Getting the transmute flock from the building had worked but bravado almost got him killed.
Nonetheless, J.D. had not taken the risk alone at the Javits. Poor planning, carelessness, and a bit of bravado had been his downfall, and the price of opportunity had been too high.
Lott and Bigtree had told him about the scavengers, but in his arrogance and over confidence he hadn’t planned for that probability. He should have had more men. His men should have been better trained. Most were civilians, not soldiers. Soldiers went to basic training for ten weeks. His men barely had four weeks of minimal training.
The High Mobility Multipurpose Wheeled Vehicle (HMMWV or Humvee) he had used was inadequate in battle. He had used one that had belonged to the 69th Regiment, one that had been abandoned at the armory. These were just standard Humvees, not a variant, no “Up-Armor” kits installed.
What had happened could never happen again. Immediate changes needed to be implemented and he knew it. It would start with abandoning the use of Humvees that were not properly equipped for battle, a more intense and longer training period before allowing men into the field, having more men trained on the Stryker systems, and mainly taking any potential threat, no matter how insignificant, as a real danger.