by W. J. Lundy
Brad saw Chelsea sitting a few seats down from him. He extended out of his seat so that he could smile at her. Chelsea acknowledged him with a short wave. The helicopter was loud and they hadn’t been given head phones, so verbal communication was impossible. He sat back and watched the ships fade into the distance. The helicopter leveled out and sped towards the island.
From the Sea Stallion’s view, the island appeared desolate. On the approach, they flew over a teal-colored shallow lagoon before the helicopter increased elevation and covered a range of red rock formations. Brad could see the shapes of a small village in the distance, but nothing resembling an airbase.
The pilots pitched the helicopter forward and sharp to the right as it flew parallel to a dusty dirt road. The road eventually ran into and was blocked at a hastily-strewn fence. Finally the camp slowly came into view; a virtual tent city. Fixed-wing aircraft had been positioned along the sides of the dirt road, and vehicles of every type were neatly parked in a large gravel lot. The camp reminded Brad of images he had seen of the Sudan rather than a U.S. military installation.
28.
When the crew chief slid the door open, the heat hit them straight on like a blast furnace. It felt like it had to be a hundred and twenty degrees, but could have very well been hotter. Brad looked at his watch. It was barely six a.m. and the heat was already unbearable. The pilots calmly began powering down the helicopter. The hurried and rushed tempo of earlier seemed to have been left on the ship.
The crew chief removed his head gear and goggles and stepped onto the dusty road. He moved to the back of the helicopter, and Brad watched as the ramp was lowered. More men approached from out of Brad’s view. They calmly walked up and started casual conversations with the helicopter’s crew before one of the men walked to the open ramp and introduced himself.
“Good morning, I am Tech Sergeant Robertson of the U.S. Air Force. Please exit the helicopter from the ramp. Please grab a bag on your way out. Don’t waste my time searching for your own bag; just grab something and exit. We’re all headed to the same place,” the man shouted.
Brad got to his feet and lined up behind the other passengers. He saw a pile of backpacks and rucksacks, along with the green sea bags. Brad spotted his large MultiCam rucksack in the pile near the large foot locker filled with weapons. He moved near the pile and grabbed the two closest bags as he followed the line out onto the gravel road.
A group of sailors had formed a work party and were taking the carried bags from the passengers before stacking them in a cart. Brad and the rest of the passengers continued walking. As Brad passed by the cart, he could see that it was harnessed to a pair of donkeys. “Where the hell have we landed?” Brad mumbled to himself.
The tech sergeant walked them across the road and to a clearing. He instructed them to line up in a formation facing west. Brad watched as their formation was joined by other passengers from helicopters that had just landed. A sailor next to Brad said they were intakes from the other ships. Brad counted close to thirty people. The donkey carts were full, and were slowly led away towards the tent city.
They were instructed to listen for their names and move to the left or the right. The tech sergeant read names from a clipboard and gave out directions. Brad heard them call Nelson, Tony, and Chelsea to the left. Soon there were only a few of them remaining in the formation. Brad finally heard his name called and was instructed to move to the right. He fell out of the formation and found a group of men gathered around a stocky Marine.
Brooks and Sean were also in the newly-formed group. The Marine introduced himself and they followed him down the dusty road. There were only six of them out of the original thirty or so that had landed. The Marine explained that they had been separated from the camp support folks and that they would be assigned to security and recon groups. First, all of them would be reunited with their weapons and gear; next, they would be assigned a housing tent.
Brad walked alongside Brooks as they stepped onto a small wooden deck positioned in front of a green tent. They were quickly briefed and split up into groups. The rest of the men were led away by escorts, while Brad found himself standing with just Brooks and Sean.
A fourth man walked out of the tent and embraced Sean in a hug, then did the same with Brooks. The man was blonde and leathered, which gave him the appearance of an old surfer dude. He looked much older than the rest of them, but he carried himself like a warrior. The man turned, looking Brad up and down.
“So who is this?” the stranger asked, pointing to Brad.
“This is Sergeant Brad Thompson. We picked him up back in the Stan, he’s okay,” Sean said, smiling. “Brad, this is Gunner, a prior military type, retired and gone independent contractor, but currently recalled.”
“Good, well glad to have you onboard, Brad,” the man said to Brad, extending his hand.
“Likewise,” Brad answered, returning the handshake. “So what kind of contractor were you?”
“Mostly security stuff, embassy escorts, some transportation shit. Got stuck in Qatar on my last job. Made my way down here,” Gunner said.
“And what exactly is this here?” Brad asked.
Gunner stopped and looked back at Sean. Sean just grinned and shrugged his shoulders. “You know what? You guys make your way to the carts and grab up your gear before it disappears on you. We are in tent six at the end of this row. Charlie Group is our designation. Charlie works and sleeps out of tent six. Go get settled in and then I’ll show you around. We’re off the rotation for a day or two so we have some time to settle in.”
Brad followed Sean and Brooks toward the now nearly empty cart. He found his rucksack on the ground along with the issued sea bag from the ship. His bag had obviously been gone through, but it was hard to tell what was missing. Sean lowered the locker from the cart and opened the lock. Their weapons and ammunition were still there. For now, they reclaimed only their sidearms, and left the rest in the locker.
Brad grabbed Brooks’ rucksack along with his own, while Brooks hoisted the heavy locker onto his shoulder. Together they followed Sean towards tent six. The tents’ openings were lined up with the road and were stacked west towards the fence. Each tent had a small deck in front and a wooden stake giving it a designation. Tent six was as nondescript as the rest of them. Sean stepped forward and pulled back the flap covering the entrance.
The sides of the tent had been rolled up to allow for air flow. Normally, in the best of times, air conditioning units would be set up to make the tents livable. In this camp, air conditioners were not an option. The tents were old; the floors were made up of scrap planks and lumber material. Instead of the bunks, there were rows of issue cots lined up along one wall. No lockers or even foot lockers were present. This was Spartan living at its finest.
Sean headed toward a section of empty cots. Most of them had gear piled on top, and a few contained sleeping men. Brad dropped his heavy rucksack on an empty cot and tossed Brooks’ rucksack on another. Sean selected an empty cot across from them. They opened their rucksacks and took inventory of their gear before Brooks opened the locker and distributed their weapons. They made note to try and get the remaining rifles to the Marines.
Gunner walked through the tent’s opening and jokingly complimented them on their cot selection. Sean talked to him about the Marines’ weapons and Gunner said he would make sure they got sent to the support side. After getting more instructions on the rules of the tent, as well as the location of the latrines and mess tents, Gunner asked them to finish what they were doing and follow him back outside.
Brad put on his holster and checked the magazines for his M4. Quickly he closed the straps on his rucksack and left it on top of his cot, then got to his feet and joined the rest of them on the deck. Gunner asked them to follow him down a narrow, roughly-built boardwalk as he talked to them. While they walked, Brad could see that the camp was awake and a bustle of activity was going on near the airfield.
“Place doesn’t look lik
e much,” Gunner said as he walked. “But trust me, this is a fully functioning camp. We are trying to become self-sufficient. We’ve captured some large fuel tankers from the Gulf, but most of the fuel goes to the fleet and the few aircraft we still have operational.”
They approached a fork in the boardwalk at the end of the row of tents. The path branched off with one leg moving toward the gate and the other off toward the makeshift airfield. Gunner stepped off the trail here and they followed him up an incline of rocks. Finally they were on a small outcrop that overlooked the camp. Brad could see that the main fence still continued around the rocks, although in some places it was no more than strands of barbed wire. But they were still entirely contained.
Sean looked down at the tent city., “How many boots on ground?”
“Close to five grand, not counting those in the fleet. Maybe another five or so in the village. Not sure about those numbers, we haven’t taken time to do a good count.” Gunner answered.
“The village?” Brooks asked.
“Yeah, there’s a small village on the shore. Farm people and fisherman. Good folks, a lot of them are already employed by us. They provide a lot of food to the camp.”
Gunner stepped off and climbed farther up the hill until he found a spot with large flat rocks. He leaned back against one and fished a cigarette from his pocket. He offered one to the rest of them but they declined.
“So what’s the outlook here, Gunner?” Sean asked.
“Not good, Brother. I don’t see how things here can end well. The admiral is pushing for a new start. He sent us out on raids to the main land, salvaging goods and supplies. We have had some luck raiding major ports, but the planes are too small to bring back anything substantial.”
“You finding any survivors out there?” Sean asked.
“Some, but not many. The ones we do see run or hide from us. There are a lot of bandits on the mainland. Lately we’ve been looking for ghost ships. The fleet will grab them on radar and we’ll take them down. If they have goods worth taking, we bring them back and we take in the crews if they’re healthy. We’ve only had a couple of radar contacts in the last few weeks though.”
Brad tossed a rock and finally spoke up. “Eventually supplies will run out and this is a desert island. How do they plan to feed everyone when the fuel dries up?”
“Exactly. This has become a heated discussion. At first the admiral said this was just a rest stop while we waited to see how things played out at home. Now he’s making long term plans. Yes this place is secure, I give him that. But people don’t like it here and the ones that try to escape are dealt with harshly.”
“What happens to them?” Brad asked.
“Let me just say we don’t have a prison here. They say they take them back to the fleet. But I have heard rumors they are ditched at sea. No room for troublemakers out here.”
“Alright, so let’s get down to it. What is our exit strategy, Gunner? I’ve known you long enough to know this isn’t your home,” Sean said, giving Gunner a serious stare.
“I already know you spoke to Master Chief Swan on board the Barry. He’s the one who called ahead and made sure you got assigned to Charlie Group. Not like that was a lot of trouble,” Gunner smiled. “He also told me your sergeant here can be trusted, so I hope that pans out for us.”
“Brad is one of us, don’t worry about him. So what’s the plan?” Sean asked again.
“Charlie Group is mainly responsible for heavy inland recons. In two days, we’re supposed to be hitting Yemen main. A city on the coast. They usually bring us in and drop us off by CH-53. We set up security and gather salvaged supplies in large cargo nets. If we locate any large holds we tag and mark them with a GPS for later recovery. A few hours later, the 53s come back, we sling-load the cargo, and get out of Dodge.”
“Sounds like a lot of work, but continue,” Sean said.
“Well, day after tomorrow we’re going to change things up. As soon as we’re dropped, we’re going to beeline for the airport. One of the kids in Bravo Group fought his way through there before being plucked from the embassy. He thinks they still have some heavy lift fixed-wings on the ground.”
“Not a lot to go on, is it?” Brooks said.
“No, it’s not. Pilots have flown over the airport in the past few weeks. They have confirmed aircraft on the ground, but who knows if we can get them in the air.”
“What’s the city look like?” Brooks asked.
“One hundred percent fucking infested. But hey! Only the dead live forever …” Gunner laughed. “Are we all on board with this or what?”
Brad stood and took a step towards Gunner. “Gunner, I can fully commit to your plan, but we came with other people. We need to get them out also. Or at least offer them the opportunity.”
“Yeah, I know. Master Chief told me you all came with more troops.” Gunner sighed before continuing. “Here’s the thing. I’ve done a bit of ground work and requested some mechanics for our next raid. Said we might be looking for operational generators and shit like that. It’s going to be tough to explain why I need the three greenest techs on the camp, but that gets me your Marines. The pilots and two civilians are another problem; I don’t see how I can pull them in without raising red flags.”
“Just see what you can do, I understand we can’t save everyone,” Sean said.
“Save everyone? Are you shitting me, Sean? Do you know what’s waiting for us back home? This place is a paradise compared to what’s back there. If anything, we’re all headed to a quick death,” Gunner said.
He looked Sean in the eyes. “I was stateside when this shit started. I got stuck doing State Department escorts. Running high level-types home from the embassies. Most of the big stuff was busy, we took private jets.”
“You were back home? What’s it like?” Brad asked.
“Last time I was there I was taking a family back from Jordan. We landed at Andrews; Reagan had already been overrun. When we flew over we could see that the city was a burning mess; they had road blocks everywhere, but most of them were down. Military was scattered, no command, and no control. The family begged me to take them back to Jordan. But that wasn’t in the works.”
“What happened to them?”
“They were taken away by State Department vehicles,” Gunner said, shaking his head. He reached into his pocket for another cigarette. “The jet was refueled and rushed me back to Qatar for another pickup. City was dark when we got there; airport was empty. We damn near crash landed. Runway lights were all off and we clipped a utility vehicle on the ground.
“My team and I left the pilots on the ground. They were going to try and secure transportation. We grabbed a vehicle and headed to the embassy over land. It was poor decision-making on my part. We only made it two blocks. We fought our way to an apartment roof and held up for three days. Never heard from the pilots again. On the fourth day, a Chinook picked up my distress beacon and got us out of there. We sat at the embassy for two more days before the admiral finally pulled us out.
“If you are planning to go back to the States because you think it’s better than this … think again. We all have our reasons for going back. Safety won’t be one of them.”
Sean slapped Gunner on the back. “Understood, Gunner; that just came out wrong. I appreciate the plans you have laid out. Let me track down my Marines. We’ll be ready to roll with you when we get the go.”
“Brief them on the raid mission only, don’t say shit else. No one outside of us knows the real intentions of tomorrow’s mission. We’ll let them make that choice on the ground. After the CH-53 drops us in the city, we’ll wire up a perimeter. If they decide to not go back with us, the birds will be back to take them home ... Long after we are gone,” Gunner said with a grin.
“Don’t worry, Gunner; they’ll want to go with us. We’ve been through a lot,” Brad said.
29.
The trio found the Marines late that night, gathered outside of the chow tents. Chelsea
said her group leader had already informed them about the raid. Sean didn’t elaborate on the mission or why they were selected to join Charlie Group, just that he wanted experienced Marines on his raid, people that he could trust, and not a bunch of broke ass sailors with no boots-on-ground time. The Marines were excited to be back working with Sean again.
Sean gave them a detailed packing list for the mission and left them. Gunner had warned him again about spending a lot of time with people outside of the group. The camp’s cohesiveness had broken down, and rumors spread fast. They didn’t want anyone getting suspicions about the real intentions of the raid. The trio went back to tent six and did their own pre-combat checks and inspected their equipment.
Brad found that most of his gear was still present. After a good washing, he reverted back to his Army issue MultiCam uniform and stuffed the Navy crap back into his sea bag. He did keep the boots though; his old ones had a lot of miles on them and were starting to fall apart. The only things he noticed missing were his scout binoculars and most of his spare magazines for the M4.
Sean was pissed when he discovered the satellite phone was gone along with the batteries. Even though it had been useless to them for a while, they had gone through a lot of trouble to get it, and he wasn’t happy to see it missing. Sean and Brooks decided to stay in their familiar Navy uniforms, not because they liked them, but because the civilian gear they had been wearing was a mess and was ripping at the seams.
Gunner took them to the supply building, one of the few hardened structures on the camp. Each of the trio were issued a new fighting knife, which Brad thought was of far less quality than the karambit he already carried. He figured he would pass the new one off to a Marine.
They were also given a small pry bar and a tactical tomahawk, along with a bundle of batteries, more spare magazines, and some new gloves. Each of them was given a Kevlar shirt which the supply petty officer called a bite shirt. He explained the shirt was originally designed when working with sharpened sheet metal on aircraft, but had also proven useful in close combat with primals.