by Lundy, W. J.
Eric looked up when he saw Brad. “I don’t get it, Sarge. He’s burning up with fever. He hasn’t woken up since he passed out after the attack. I started an IV, but I don’t think it’s helping.”
“Okay … Good job soldier, just do the best you can. We’re going to mount up and try to get back to the convoy. We’ll get him help soon.”
Beep Beep Beep. Brad turned his attention to his MRAP. Henry was beating the horn. He leaned his head out of the window and frantically yelled, “Sergeant, they’re back about five thousand meters and on the run.”
“Cole! Get that gun up, suppress and take them out!” Brad yelled.
“On the way, Sergeant,” Cole answered as he racked the M2 machine gun, chambered a round, and then pointed it in the direction of the approaching mob.
“Méndez, mount up and get ready to move,” Brad ordered.
Thump, thump, thump, thump. Cole had started firing his big gun while Brad climbed into his seat and secured his door. He watched Méndez’s truck pull around and angle behind him.
“Let’s go! Back to the convoy, Henry. Cole, keep pouring it on them!” shouted Brad.
He looked back through the window and could see the mob cresting the hill just meters from where they had been. Cole was knocking them down with the big gun; pausing only to reload. Brad saw some of them moving on the ground and then get back up. ‘What the hell?’ he thought. ‘Nobody takes a fifty caliber round and survives.’ He looked through his scope and saw a man limping down the road with a softball-size holed near his hip, but he was still trying to jog after them. After about five yards, the man fell flat on his face. Eventually the pack faded from view and Brad ordered Cole to cease fire.
Henry spoke first. “Sergeant, how is that possible? We are almost ten miles from the FOB and those things caught up with us. They aren’t Kenyans, Sarge! Nobody is that fast, they didn’t even look tired.”
“I don’t know, Henry. I shot that guy six times before he went down. Cole was tearing that crowd apart with the big gun, and I swear I saw some of them get back up. Let’s just keep it together and we’ll figure this out.”
Brad spoke into the internal radio, “Méndez, take point and recon ahead. I don’t want any surprises up front.”
The more maneuverable Humvee passed the MRAP and pulled away. Méndez’s truck was far ahead now and running as a scout, staying just within sight of Brad.
They drove for close to an hour without seeing anything or hearing a word on the radio. It was getting late and the sun was beginning to crest the mountains. Brad knew they would only have another hour or so of daylight.
“Sergeant, I can see the convoy. I’m stopping,” squelched the radio.
“Roger that, Méndez, we’ll hang back. What can you see?” asked Brad.
“Not good, Sarge, I can see the vehicles, looks like maybe one or two are missing. There are no people. Nothing appears to be alive down there.”
“Stay in position, Méndez. I’m moving to your location,” Brad responded.
The MRAP moved forward and pulled up alongside the Humvee. Brad used his scout binos to look at the scene ahead of him.
“Looks like the lieutenant circled the wagons,” he muttered. The convoy was still in its defensive perimeter. Brad didn’t see anyone in the turrets and the razor wire barrier looked like it had been dragged inside their safe zone.
Brad continued to scan but he didn’t see a single living person. Most of the vehicles had their doors open and the turrets still had mounted weapons on top. Brad knew his people wouldn’t leave their vehicles and weapons like that. He did a vehicle count and compared it with the convoy order he had received early that morning. Two MRAPs were missing from the convoy.
Brad had an idea of what might have happened by the way things were strewn about. The perimeter had been overrun and the lighter vehicles had easily been overtaken in the same way they had lost Truck Three. The heavier MRAPs were able to take the initial blow and remain secured. Brad guessed that the MRAPs had fled the mob and were pursued by the attackers in the same way the Bremmel mob had chased his team.
With his two vehicles on line, they approached the perimeter. As they got closer, he could tell that it wasn’t going to be pretty. The soldiers hadn’t abandoned their positions. Parts of them were scattered everywhere, as well as several bodies of the crazies that had attacked the convoy. They pulled to within one hundred meters of the perimeter. He had Cole and Eric mount the guns and provide cover while he and Méndez went in on foot. Not only did he want to protect his men from any physical danger, he wanted to save them from the experience of finding their friends slaughtered.
As he walked through the wreckage, it was clear the soldiers had put up a tremendous fight. There was blood everywhere; pieces of body armor and protective equipment had been torn apart and were strewn around. Brad saw a fighting position with a pile of brass and dead bodies. Many of the dead were slashed and cut apart. Located near the pile was a dead soldier Brad recognized, still with a fighting knife in his hand.
They found the lieutenant’s Humvee with the doors open and bent. The inside of the truck was smeared with blood and its contents were tossed everywhere. One MRAP had dead bodies draped all over it and surrounding it; all shredded by the MRAP’s fifty caliber machine gun.
‘Whoever manned that gun must have gone down hard,’ Brad thought.
“Over here!” Méndez called.
Off to the side of the perimeter, they could see where sets of big tire tracks led away from the fight; it appeared that the vehicles had dragged the defensive razor wire with them. There was a trail of bodies marking where the vehicle tracks veered away into the distance. From the tracks and drag marks, it was obvious that the mob had followed them into the desert.
They found nothing else. They took a trailer off one of the MRAPs and loaded it with anything they could find in the convoy that they might need later: cases of MREs, bottled water, five-gallon cans of fuel, batteries, and as many ammo cans as they could carry. They grabbed a spare gun for each truck and called for Henry to bring down their vehicles so they could connect the trailer and top them off with fuel. Méndez located a sniper rifle and a couple of light 240B machine guns that he loaded in the rear of the MRAP.
After they were sure that everything useful had been recovered, they mounted back up. Brad decided it was best to stay the night near the convoy in hopes the two MRAPs would circle back. He directed the vehicles to move off road and drive to a small ridgeline that overlooked the convoy’s final resting place. They pulled into a nice hide where the vehicles could be concealed by some large rock formations yet still able to see the road and the approach to the ambush site.
The men were exhausted. Brad told them he would take the first watch and instructed the others to get some rest. He walked over to check on PFC Ryan. He was still hot with fever and unconscious. The wounds around his forearm had grown a deep purple in color and angry streaks had begun to snake up his arm. It didn’t look good. He was still laid out in the back of the Humvee. Quietly, Brad closed the door and walked past Eric and Méndez who were sleeping off to the front of the truck.
He climbed on top of his MRAP and slowly scanned the horizon with his night vision scope, looking for any danger. Finding none, he settled into a comfortable position and carefully watched the road. The desert had become quiet and lonely in the twilight hours, the shadows growing as the sun slowly dropped behind the distant mountains.
Later, in the darkness, he heard moans and crowd noise coming from the road. Through his scope he could see the mob from Bremmel moving toward the convoy ambush site. The group paused when they reached the vehicles. Brad felt the hairs stand on the back of his neck while he waited to see what they would do. He looked behind him and could see that the rest of his men were also up and looking at the road.
The mob suddenly started moving again and continued to follow the road which led to the village that Brad and his men had patrolled earlier that day. Brad w
as relieved that the crazies didn’t appear to be good trackers. Once again it became quiet; a strange sensation in itself for this part of Afghanistan where jet aircraft or distant explosions were normally heard all through the night.
Brad watched for an hour more and then woke Henry to take over. He climbed into the back of the MRAP and drifted off to sleep to sound of Henry shuffle around on top of the large vehicle.
He woke to the muffled sounds of screaming. Instinctively, he knew it wasn’t his men; it was a loud howling moan, almost inhuman. He jumped out of his MRAP and saw his men gathered around the Humvee.
They were stone silent in disbelief. Inside, PFC Ryan was clawing at the doors and tugging on the handles trying to get out. Ryan’s face was a mask of rage.
“I don’t know what happened, Sergeant! I heard a noise in the Humvee and when I got close Ryan saw me and just started screaming. He’s going crazy in there. There is no way in hell I’m going to open the door,” Cole said.
“It’s okay, Cole, you were right not to open it or let him out. I’m not sure what’s going on, but looks like he may be infected with whatever turned those people on the road,” Brad answered.
“What do we do with him?” asked Cole.
Eric stepped between the men and the Humvee. “We can’t kill him like the others. He’s one of us.”
Cole raised his hand and pointed at the vehicle, “He’s making too much noise. He’ll attract the crazies. We have to shut him up!”
“What the fuck do you mean ‘shut him up’?” countered Eric.
“I mean if he doesn’t stop screaming, he is going to get us all killed,” Cole shouted back.
Brad just looked on. “He’s right,” he said, raising his hand, “and we’ve got to silence him.”
Eric stood his ground in front of them and pleaded, “Wait, how about you guys open the door, I’ll tackle him, we zip tie him, and cover his mouth. We don’t know what this is. Maybe it will wear off. Maybe there’s a cure. We can’t just kill him without knowing.”
After a heavy pause, Brad replied, “Fine, we’ll do that then, but let’s get it done quickly.”
The men gathered around the Humvee door on the far side. The plan was for Cole to open the door and when Ryan ran out at Brad and Méndez, Henry and Cole would drop a canvas tarp over him and wrestle him to the ground. Meanwhile, Eric would apply the restraints to his wrists and then gag him.
As soon as they opened the door, Brad knew their plan wasn’t going to work. He could see by the fear in the other men’s eyes that they knew it also. Ryan wasn’t a big man, and he wasn’t considered strong, but this version of Ryan did not tire out. Ryan kept fighting and clawing at the canvas. He bit at Brad’s leg through the tarp and the pain was unreal. Lucky for Brad, Ryan’s teeth couldn’t get through the heavy material.
They struggled with Ryan until they were all near exhaustion. Eric had only managed to put one wrist in a zip cuff, and it was taking everything Méndez and Brad had to keep Ryan’s head pinned to the ground. The whole time Ryan was letting out screams of rage. Brad’s arms began to get numb and he lost his grip. Even with the bad shoulder and bandaged arm, Ryan gained leverage. He was able to get a foot planted and he began to stand. Easily, he tossed Henry from his back, grabbed at Eric’s pants, and then started to lunge. Suddenly, his body went limp and he slumped to the ground on top of Eric, his single zip tied hand gripping Eric’s throat. Eric pushed Ryan off and saw that there was a knife planted square in the back of Ryan’s head.
“I’m sorry, it was too much, I didn’t have a choice,” cried Méndez.
“Wha … wha … You murdered him! You killed Ryan,” Eric squealed as he got to his feet and made a move toward Méndez.
With no thought, Brad stepped between the two men, slapped Eric and yelled, “Shut the fuck up, that wasn’t Ryan! He would have killed all of us. I don’t know what’s happening but if we’re going to make it … you better harden the fuck up!”
Brad paused for a moment to let it sink in before he continued. “Méndez! Grab your shovel and help me bury this soldier. The rest of you get packed up. We are rolling out of here as soon as it gets light.”
Méndez and Brad lifted Ryan’s limp body and carried him away from the trucks. They took one of his dog tags and his wallet. Without a word, they put his military ID card and another tag in Ryan’s breast pocket and buried him in the sand. When they were finished, they quietly walked back to their vehicles.
Brad went straight to the MRAP and saw Cole helping Eric load his gear into the back of the truck. “What’s going on, Cole?” Brad said.
“Well, Eric doesn’t want to ride in that Humvee after what happened, and I tend to agree with him. Besides, this way we can ride together and we can save on fuel. Who knows how far we will have to drive?” Cole answered. Brad nodded his agreement and helped them cross-load the rest of their gear from the Humvee.
They pulled out of the hide at first light. Not really knowing where to go, they decided the best bet was to follow the two MRAPs that had fled the mob ambush on the road. Their MRAP now had two more passengers, bringing the crew to five. It was a bit more crowded, but they all felt more secure being locked tight in one vehicle; Méndez and Eric, in particular, after what had happened in the Humvee. They drove past the quiet ambush site of the convoy and fell into the tire tracks of the two missing vehicles.
After a good hour of driving they saw a makeshift campsite surrounded by a pile of bodies. “They must have discovered what we did yesterday, the bastards like to follow,” said Brad.
“From the looks of it, the guards spotted them early and took off before they got close. We’re still a good hundred feet from the stop site,” said Cole.
Méndez stood to look out of the turret. “Good for them, maybe we’ll have some good news today.”
They settled back into the MRAP and continued to follow the trail. They drove all day and never saw anything else. When it got dark they decided to continue on, in hopes of meeting up with the missing vehicles. Brad eventually dozed off, lulled by the motion of the vehicle.
Henry woke Brad up with a shake. “Sergeant, where now?” It was early morning and the moon was still bright in the sky. They had come to a paved road and the tracks ended. It was hard to tell which way the trucks had gone. Brad exited his MRAP and took a knee on the pavement, searching for clues. He could see where the mob of crazies had entered the road, but it didn’t look like they knew which direction to go either. Some of the pack appeared to have just crossed the road and kept going. The rest traveled both left and right as if they couldn’t make a decision. Brad was surprised that they didn’t stick together; maybe they didn’t have the pack mentality he’d presumed.
He stood and walked back toward the truck, stopping when he heard a distant, familiar buzzing. He looked up and saw a small predator drone circling high above. Brad waved at the drone and turned on his IR strobe, hoping to let the drone know that he saw it. The drone reversed the direction of its orbit and reversed it again. Brad took this as a sign they had been seen, but he still didn’t know what to do. Then the drone went to a lower altitude and followed the road to the north before going higher and back out of sight.
Brad entered the vehicle and said, “Well I guess that settles that, follow the drone.”
“But Sergeant, that’s away from the main base. Nothing is that way but Uzbekistan,” argued Méndez.
“Corporal, it’s almost four hundred kilometers to the main air base; we aren’t going to make it there on our fuel and in these conditions. The border crossing at Hairatan is our best bet. There’s a railroad and a lot of truck traffic there so somebody should see us. The drone saw us, so they know where we’re at. Hopefully, we can join up with the other trucks and they will send someone for us.” The men reluctantly nodded in agreement, and Henry pulled the truck onto the road and headed north.
The going was slow as the MRAP rolled along the blacktop at close to forty miles an hour. It wasn’t a well-m
aintained road and Henry had to stay wary of obstacles and potholes; this was no time for a broken axle. Brad had traveled the Hairatan road early in his tour and knew that it ended at a bridge and border crossing. Last time he was there, he’d visited the small Afghan Army post and had lunch with some of the U.S. soldiers who were stationed there as trainers and advisors. He hoped they were still there.
Henry slowed the truck down to a stop again. Brad looked up and saw a silent MRAP sitting in the center of the road. Nothing moved around the lonely vehicle. The sun had just come up, and they could see that the doors were all closed.
“Bring it in slow, Henry,” Brad said.
Henry eased the truck forward and when they were about fifty feet away Brad told him to stop. Cole was already in the turret and said he saw no movement. Brad, Méndez, and Eric dismounted the MRAP and slowly approached the vehicle.
“Cover me while I move up,” Brad ordered the two soldiers behind him.
He slowly crept forward and hugged the back corner of the large vehicle. He looked for signs of people but found nothing. He put a foot on the back step and raised himself up to peek into the truck. It appeared empty but unlike the vehicles at the ambush site, this one had the gun removed from its turret. Brad walked around to the driver’s door and slowly opened it while trying to keep his M4 aimed with his free hand. The door squeaked open to reveal an empty cab. Brad stepped up into the vehicle to find a handwritten note.
Anyone who finds this.
We are the six survivors of Echo Company, 2nd Brigade. We were attacked on route A62 by a large population that approached us yesterday in the late afternoon. They ignored warnings from our roadblock to stop, and kept running for our perimeter. We used the limited bean bag shotgun rounds to try and turn them, but they had no effect. We opened up with our rifles, but we were quickly overrun, and they were in so close it was hard to fire effectively without hitting each other.
Most of our men were on the perimeter and were not able to flee to the safety of armored vehicles; several of us were able to board two MRAPs, but because of the mass of people we could provide little to no covering fire, instead we fled like cowards. As we left we could see our brothers fighting hand to hand, but they had little chance when up against 100 to 1 odds. We pushed our way out of the perimeter and into the desert with at least twenty of the things holding onto our trucks. We took turns shooting at each other’s vehicles through the firing ports until we lost the clingers.