Escape The 1st Omnibus: WTF Books 1-3

by Lundy, W. J.

  ESCAPE

  The First Omnibus

  Whiskey Tango Foxtrot Vol I-III

  W. J. Lundy

  www.phalanxpress.com

  Escape

  The First Ominbus Vol I-III

  © 2014 W. J. Lundy

  Escaping the Dead

  © 2013 W. J. Lundy

  Tales of the Forgotten

  © 2013 W. J. Lundy

  Only The Dead Live Forever

  © 2013 W. J. Lundy

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental. All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

  Whiskey Tango Foxtrot

  Escaping the Dead

  W. J. Lundy

  The gravel crunched under the heavy wheels of the Mine Resistant Ambush Protected Vehicle (MRAP) as Staff Sergeant Brad Thompson looked out the passenger window, tirelessly searching and scanning for threats. They’d been briefed for a short, four-hour patrol to recon a village, but they had already been on the trail for over five. First, a suspected roadside bomb had slowed their approach to the village and then their radios had failed shortly after arriving. To make matters worse, confusion and lack of communications had caused an argument that further delayed their return to Forward Operating Base Bremmel.

  Nobody wanted to be alone on the roads after dark, especially in an area where the Taliban owned the night. Brad’s men were hungry and tired but still remained vigilant. His driver, Henry, was gripping the wheel tight, and Brad reminded him to stay focused. Cole, the gunner, was on the .50 caliber machine gun up in the turret. Brad could hear the squeaking of gears when Cole rotated the turret to get a better angle on blind spots as they drove down the dusty trail.

  Suddenly the vehicles ahead all began to slow down, and then came to a stop. Brad’s headset squelched and he heard Lieutenant Rogers call his leaders forward to the command vehicle. Brad undid his harness while telling Cole to keep scanning his sector for targets. “Henry … I’m going forward to see the lieutenant,” Brad said in a tired voice. He opened the door and took the long step down, bracing himself for the drop. Gripping his M4 with his dominant hand, he swung down, landed hard, and began the walk forward.

  Passing the dusty vehicles, he looked inside and saw the tired and drawn faces of the passengers. He found the lieutenant leaning over the hood of an older, armored-style Humvee. Lieutenant Rogers was talking to their platoon sergeant, Sergeant First Class Turner, and a couple of the other squad leaders about the return trip to Bremmel. They all had disgusted looks on their faces, and Brad worried the argument from earlier would kick back in.

  “Staff Sergeant Thompson, glad you could join us,” complained SFC Turner. “I was just trying to explain to the lieutenant that this communication outage makes no sense. All of our internal radios are working, and we should have been able to pick up the FOB once we cleared that last ridge. We still aren’t picking up shit. We ain’t even seen any aircraft in the last three hours.”

  Brad scratched at the five o’clock shadow on his chin. Turner was right, it didn’t make sense. He had never experienced anything like this. Even though the butt of many jokes, military radios had almost always been reliable. “What about the Blue Force Tracker?” Brad asked.

  “It’s still not working, I mean, we can navigate but nobody is sending messages or replying to mine,” the lieutenant answered. “This isn’t right! It’s all wrong,” he mumbled. “I want suggestions, and I want them now. I don’t want to continue down this road with no comms and no air support.”

  Brad paused apprehensively before he began to speak. “Let’s halt here, Lieutenant. We can hold back the main body and set up a defensive perimeter. I can take my gun truck and two of the lighter Humvees back up the road to Bremmel. Without the main body we can move faster and avoid threats. When I reach Bremmel, we can figure out what’s up with the comms and send a couple birds back to escort the rest of you home.”

  Turner shook his head and grimaced. “I don’t like the idea of splitting our force when I don’t know what’s lurking out there … but it may be the best course for what we got going.”

  “Okay then, let’s stop wasting time. Sergeant Thompson, pull your truck ahead and get ready to move out with two trucks from second squad. I want you guys rolling in five mikes,” Lieutenant Rogers barked.

  Brad walked back to his truck and jumped into the passenger seat. “Alright fellas, let’s mount up. We’re going to break out of the formation and move to the front.”

  “What’s up Sergeant? What’s going on?” asked Cole.

  “We are going to route recon ahead and link back up with Raider at Bremmel. If we move fast, we can make it back in time for dinner,” answered Brad.

  “Hell, yeah! I hear that, Sarge,” answered Henry as he pulled the MRAP out of the column and slowly moved to the front of the convoy.

  As the MRAP passed the front vehicle, two more trucks dropped in behind them and they picked up speed. Brad lifted the radio handset and announced, “Charlie six, Charlie four, radio check.”

  “Charlie Four, this is Six, I read you loud and clear,” came the response.

  “Roger that Six, Charlie Four on mission,” Brad answered. “Hey Henry, how ‘bout you put that pedal down and get us home. Cole, keep your eyes open and on the horizon. I don’t want any surprises.”

  The MRAP roared as it picked up speed and they quickly moved east along the road, throwing dust behind them.

  Things really were strange. The road to FOB Bremmel was typically quiet in the daytime, especially by late afternoon, but they were used to seeing at least a shepherd or a stray jingle truck. Today they hadn’t seen anything moving west away from the base. Brad started to get a bad feeling and consciously noticed his heart rate begin to quicken. They were now less than five miles from the base.

  Brad keyed the mic on his radio handset and tried to call FOB Bremmel. “Task Force Raider, this is Charlie Four, over.” Brad heard nothing but static and tried again. “Task Force Raider, this is Charlie Four, over.” Again nothing. He tried the convoy. “Charlie Six, this is Charlie Four, over.”

  “Go for Six,” squelched back on the radio.

  “This is Charlie Four, still no response from Raider.”

  “Roger, Charlie Four, stay on mission, Six out,” came the answer from the radio.

  Brad looked to the left and could see the worry on Henry’s face. Things definitely were not right. Brad checked in with the two scout vehicles behind him and asked them to tighten up the formation as they got closer to Bremmel. They moved down into a saddle and up the other side as they made their final approach in the direction of the road to the FOB’s front gate. They reached the top and made a hard turn onto the paved road. Suddenly, Henry slammed on the brakes and everything in the truck crashed forward. Brad heard the trucks behind skidding to a stop. “What the fuck, Henry!” Brad shouted, and then looked up and saw FOB Bremmel.

  The FOB was burning. There were people running all along the perimeter, pouring over the walls. There was no gunfire, but the base was being mobbed.

  “Permission to open fire!” Cole shouted.

  “No! Hold your fire. They are out of range anyhow and we don’t know what’s happening,” Brad shouted back.

  Panicked, Henry looked to Brad. “Jesus! Sergeant, what’s going on down there? Why is there no gunfire? Did we lose the base? What’s going on?”

 
; “Everyone lock it down. Cole, keep your eyes on that gun.” There was a knock on his side window. It was Corporal Méndez from the Humvee that had been behind them.

  “This is bad, Sarge, what is this? How could all of them civilians take out the base? What are we going to do?” he asked.

  “Méndez, get back to your truck. Get your guns up and keep an eye out. It looks like nobody has noticed us up here. I want to keep it that way. I’ll be with you in a minute,” Brad answered as he lifted his radio handset. “Charlie Six, this is Four.”

  “Go for Six.”

  “Six, this is Four, we are one click from Bremmel. Bremmel is overrun.”

  “Repeat your last, Charlie Four.”

  “I said we are one click from Bremmel … Break … The base has been overrun and is burning!” he yelled into the handset.

  “Calm down, Sergeant, I need you to give me a clear answer on what you are seeing.”

  “I told you! The base is overrun with civilians … the gate is open and it’s burning.”

  “Wait one Sergeant, we have a group of civilians approaching the back of our perimeter,” came the reply from the radio.

  Cole spoke from up in the turret. “Sergeant, you might want to look at this.”

  Brad turned his attention from the radio and looked up. He saw that a small ant trail of people were moving out of the base and headed in their direction. They were moving fast, not quite a run, but definitely at a quick pace.

  “Charlie Six, we are being approached by the mob from the base, please advise,” he said into the radio.

  “Charlie Four break contact, return to the convoy” crack crack crack “we are under assault, we are engaging with less than lethal. Return to the convoy.”

  “Roger, Charlie Six, we are en route.”

  “Less than lethal not working, they are swamping the—” crack crack crack “trucks … they’re dragging off the crews! … Open fire!”

  “Charlie Six, this is Four. What’s going on?” Brad shouted into the handset.

  “Uhhh, Sergeant! They’re getting closer!” yelled Cole, now in a panic.

  Brad looked up and saw the approaching mob was within a thousand meters and moving very quickly. He lifted his M4 to use the advanced optics to get a better look. He could see a large group had separated itself from the main ant trail, and was distancing itself from the rest of the group. He looked at the man in front and saw he was wearing a traditional man’s dress but his head was bare as were his feet. The man was at a fast jog and his face was filled with rage. Then Brad noticed with alarm that the man’s chest was covered in blood. He scanned the crowd; they also were covered in dark stains and bearing the same enraged expressions.

  “Cole, give them a burst. Keep it far off! I don’t want you hitting them by accident,” Brad ordered.

  “On the way,” Cole responded.

  The large weapon thumped in a quick report as it poured a six-round burst into the path of the approaching mob. Rounds skipped off the ground in front of them, kicking up sparks and dust. They didn’t even flinch; they kept running at the same pace without missing a beat.

  Henry was becoming panicked; he was shaking in his seat. “This isn’t good Sarge, we should leave.”

  Brad didn’t look away to answer; he was fixed on the mob. They were only seconds away and building speed. When they hit the vehicles it was with a force like a tidal wave. The armored MRAP shuddered but took the impact.

  “Cole! Button up!” Brad screamed.

  Cole dropped into the vehicle, slamming and locking the hatch shut behind him. The towering height of the vehicle repelled the mob to some extent, but the two Humvees behind them didn’t have the same luck.

  Brad heard the gun fire from Méndez’s truck, and looked back; he could see the mob swarming over the vehicle. In the turret, Méndez’s gunner was being grabbed at. He was firing madly, and the Humvee took off, wildly out of control. The third truck was backing up, trying to escape the mob. Brad saw the empty turret but couldn’t see if the gunner had been able to escape and close his hatch. The Humvee was being pressed against the stone wall behind it and suddenly, Brad saw the gunner hadn’t escaped; he was being ripped apart by the mob. He could see a bloody flurry of activity in the cab of the Humvee as well.

  “Henry! Drive! Get us out of here,” Brad yelled.

  Henry hit the accelerator hard. The huge MRAP lurched forward, making a sickening crunch as it plowed over and through the mob. They were still climbing and holding on to the sides of the vehicle as Henry pulled away from the crowd and Méndez’s vehicle moved alongside. He could see that Méndez’s truck had finally closed its hatch, but still had about eight of the crazies holding onto the top.

  “Cole, can you see Truck Three?” Brad yelled.

  “It’s lost, Sergeant, the doors are open and those guys are dragging them out. What the fuck? They’re ripping them apart!” he shouted back.

  “Get it together guys! Henry, calm down and drive right. Those fucks aren’t getting in this truck. We’ll deal with them when we get away from that mob.”

  They drove for what seemed like an eternity. The crazies were still banging and pounding on the sides of the armored vehicle. Every now and then one would tumble onto the hood of the truck or fall off the side. No one said anything. The men just stayed focused, Henry hunched over the wheel. Finally, the internal radio broke the silence and Brad’s headset squelched.

  “Sergeant? What just happened?” It was Méndez from the trail vehicle.

  “I don’t know. We need to get back to the convoy,” Brad answered.

  “Sergeant, we can’t see Jones and Truck Three; we have to go back.”

  “Truck Three is gone. There is no going back there. What’s your crew’s status, Corporal?”

  “We’re okay but my gunner is fucked up, and those guys are still on the roof. Looks like you have a bunch on you also.”

  “Okay Corporal, take care of your gunner. Follow us. I’ll be back with you in a minute.” Brad reached for his radio handset and tried to call the convoy; after three tries and no response, he gave up.

  “Méndez, I think we are alone here. We have to lose these shitheads on our vehicles. Do you understand?” Brad said into his internal mic.

  “I understand Sarge. What do you want me to do?”

  “We’re going to stop. You stop about twenty feet away and I’m going to shoot the bastards off of your truck,” Brad answered.

  Brad asked Henry to slow the vehicle and turn it so his firing portal faced Méndez’s truck. When the vehicle had come to a complete stop, the things on top became frenzied. Brad could hear them clawing and pounding at the armor above. Brad knew in that moment that the enemy outside wasn’t human. They didn’t behave rationally. He didn’t know what they were, but they weren’t people. Not anymore.

  He eased open his firing port just enough so that he could fit the barrel of his M4 out. He had a small internal debate in his head: whether or not it was okay to shoot one of these unarmed civilians, human or not. But then the answer came back to him, in the vision of Truck Three’s gunner being torn apart. He looked through his optics and took aim at one of the crazies on Méndez’s truck. He put the cross hair center mass on a large male that had his fingers wedged into the door jam. He pulled the trigger and felt the recoil in his shoulder. ‘Nothing! Damn. I missed?’ He took aim and fired again; this time the man’s left arm went limp but he still howled and pried at the door with his right. Brad looked through the sight and fired four more times. Finally the man loosened his grip, fell to a knee, and then tumbled off the truck.

  “Holy shit! How in the hell did that just happen? That freak just took six shots. This shit ain’t right, Sarge,” Cole shouted as he watched through his own portal.

  Brad ignored him, taking aim on the next one, an overweight man sitting on the hood. This time he aimed at the head, and blew the man’s brains out onto the windshield. He finished off one more the same way.

  “Now it�
��s your turn, Méndez,” he said into his headset.

  “Roger. I’m on it,” came the reply.

  He watched as Méndez slowly opened his armored window and fired off close to thirty rounds before he announced that the MRAP was clear. They sat quietly for a minute before Brad decided to get out.

  Brad undid the combat lock and slowly opened the door. He looked over and saw that Méndez was also exiting his vehicle. Brad stepped to the ground and saw one of the bodies lying in a slump near a tire. The man looked like he had been clawed and bitten; maybe as a result of the rough ride on the MRAP? Brad thought. He saw a leg hanging from the top of the truck. He grabbed for it and pulled the body free of the vehicle. It hit the ground with a thud. It was a female wearing a light shirt. Brad could see she had taken several shots from Méndez’s rifle and her wounds were covered in fresh blood. She also had several deep cuts and at least one older bullet wound in her abdomen.

  “What is this?” Méndez said. Brad turned and saw Méndez standing behind him.

  “I don’t know, man, but I know we killed them. Maybe it’s a bio weapon, you know terrorist are always into some crazy shit.”

  “You heard from the convoy?” asked Méndez.

  “No man, I’m kind of hoping the radio is out. My antenna looks like it was ripped off. Last I heard they were engaging a mob. I hope it’s not the same shit we just saw. How’s your gunner?”

  “He’s bad, Sergeant. Those things tried to pull him out of the hatch. He had his harness on, but they still dislocated his shoulder. Looks like one of them took a bite out of his forearm too.”

  Brad walked over to Méndez’s truck. They had Private First Class Ryan laid out in the back. Ryan had sweat dripping off of him and a tourniquet on his arm. Méndez’s medic and driver, Specialist Eric, was treating him.