Escape The 1st Omnibus: WTF Books 1-3

by Lundy, W. J.

  The man still clutched an S&W Sigma pistol, which Brad grabbed and put it in his pack. Now that the building was clear, he called the MRAP on his headset and informed Méndez that the warehouse was safe and they would be returning. He told him to be ready to move when they got there. Cole and Eric tried the large overhead door and found it operational; even though the power was out, the manual chain system still seemed to work fine.

  Once the team was together, they quietly guided the truck back to the warehouse and pulled it and the trailer through the large overhead door. They parked the vehicle, and then started setting up a defensive perimeter. The warehouse only had the two entrances: the small entry door and the large overhead. Brad placed a metal clip on the chain and pulley system of the door to prevent anyone from being able to raise it. The bolt lock on the entry door didn’t appear to work, so they pulled it tight and secured it with some rope and zip ties, fastening it as tightly as they could. It wouldn’t keep a determined individual out, but it would give them warning if anyone tried to get in.

  Brad asked the men to unload and get a good inventory of everything in the trailer and onboard the vehicle. Then Brad and Méndez went into the office spaces and tried to search for anything to give them a means of working communication. The phones were dead, and the power was out so all of the computers were also offline. Méndez came back around the corner holding a cell phone he had pulled from the man’s pocket in the upstairs cubicle. The phone had full bars, but every number he dialed gave a busy signal. They had already tried the radios in the MRAP several times with no response; it appeared they were alone and without any comms.

  Méndez spotted a ladder well that went up to the roof. After climbing it, they saw they had an immense view of the entire compound and some of the city (most of which was burning). They could see a mass of the crazies moving down a city street far to the east. There wasn’t much to see across the river; the bridge was congested and blocked. It looked like the Uzbeks might have attempted to destroy the bridge. There was a large hole in the concrete on the Uzbek side. There wasn’t much to look at on the far side of the river, and no movement could be detected. They searched the horizon for aircraft but none could be seen; even the streaking of smoke that usually crisscrossed the sky was discouragingly absent.

  It was decided that the roof would make the best watch station so they moved one of the machine guns and a sniper rifle up to the top. The roof was surrounded by a three-foot wall that made staying in cover easy. They chose a spot in a corner facing the gate to place the machine gun and sniper rifle.

  They moved the body of the man from the cubicle downstairs and laid him under a tarp in a far corner of the warehouse. Covering the body didn’t change anything, but at least the men wouldn’t be distracted by having to look at it. Brad put Henry and Eric on the first watch then instructed Méndez and Cole to start doing maintenance on the MRAP and the rest of the equipment. He didn’t know how long they would have to hide in their new home and he wanted to make sure everything worked if they had to leave in a hurry.

  After they were done, the men laid out their gear and bed rolls in the loft. There was a small bathroom attached to the downstairs offices and the water was still running, so they filled every container they could find. Like everything else they had encountered, they had no idea how long it would last so they took advantage of the running water to take much needed sponge baths. Méndez and Cole covered watch while Henry and Eric took their turn cleaning up.

  The two nights of running and hiding in the desert had taken a toll on them. It was hard to remember how long they had been on the move. Brad thought it would be best to just let the men rest for the remainder of the day. They locked up tight and settled in.

  Brad was sitting on the roof in the small sniper’s position they had put together. As night came, the quiet of the city ceased. Whatever was roaming the streets seemed to get more animated after sunset. Brad wondered if the things worked better in the cooler night air. Whatever it was, they were definitely moving and making a racket.

  Through the night vision scope he could see far into the city, and he watched small engagements between local residents and the crazed mobs. He saw a small car speeding through the streets stopping occasionally to pick people up, and then drive off again. Intermittently, the car would skid to a stop and men with AK47s would jump out to spray sporadic fire at the mobs before they would jump back into the car and speed off again. At least someone is fighting them, Brad thought.

  He scanned the perimeter of the compound and saw the pedestrian gate where the crazies they had engaged earlier had come through, as well as the railroad entrance that they’d driven the MRAP through. He cursed himself for not securing those gates. It would have to be a priority tomorrow. There were hundreds of shipping containers stacked around the customs yard. Hopefully, they are filled with food and water, but not likely, he chuckled to himself. Tomorrow they would find out.

  A flare to the north of the city got his attention, and apparently the attention of the crazies as well. All over the city, he could see them lift their heads to the sky and run in the direction of the light. “Note to self, don’t use flares,” Brad said under his breath.

  He strained his eyes through the scope to try to see who had launched the flare, but he couldn’t make out the distant figures. Suddenly, he heard the report of heavy weapons; M240B and M249 light machine guns, the telltale sound of M4s, and the crack of M67 frag grenades.

  Eric looked up from the machine gun he had been manning on the corner of the building. “Hey! It’s a rescue; those are our guys out there!”

  Brad put down the rifle and picked up the more powerful binoculars. Even though they didn’t have the night vision of the scope, he could see clearly thanks to the illumination of the battle. He could see exactly what was happening, and it wasn’t rescue forces. “I think I found SFC Turner,” he said dryly.

  The missing men from the ambush were putting up a fight in a walled-in villa on the south edge of the city. They were putting out an impressive wall of fire but, unfortunately, every crazy in the city within earshot was stopping in its tracks and heading toward the commotion. “Shit, they need to get out of there! They can’t hold off that many,” Brad said.

  “Let’s take the MRAP, we can get them out,” yelled Eric.

  “There’s no way, we would never break through that mob. Even if we did, we wouldn’t be able to open the doors or be able to man our turret. This is fucked,” Brad answered.

  The mob crashed against the large gate of the walled villa; the men fired down at them from elevated positions and tossed grenades into the crowd. The mobs would break and then rebound with more force than before. The wall began to give and Brad watched the soldiers fall back to the house, then reappear on the roof. He saw the flash of a claymore explode in the courtyard. When he looked back only two soldiers remained on the roof. He observed the rest sneak out of the back corner of the building and over a wall. The men on the roof dropped smoke and frag grenades into the crowd. Brad lost sight of them in the smoke and the gunfire ceased. All he heard then was the distant roar of the mob.

  “Man, I hope they got out,” Eric muttered.

  Brad scanned all around the building but he could find no evidence of the soldiers. The mob had taken the villa and they were now on the roof in a frenzy. They were attacking each other and screaming. It was hours before they calmed down and faded back into the city streets.

  The screaming and occasional gunfire continued through the night and went silent just before dawn. Brad didn’t sleep at all and he was sure his men didn’t get much rest either.

  At first light, he sent Eric and Cole out to secure the gates while Henry and Méndez provided cover from the small nest on the roof. Brad went down to the offices and started to rummage through the desks. Most of the paperwork wasn’t in English, and he couldn’t make shit out of the gibberish on the page. But finally he found a clipboard with what he was looking for—a manifest from the
rail companies. He could make sense of some of the brand names and the lot numbers. He hoped it would help them in breaking down some of the shipping containers. On his notepad, he wrote down a few numbers that looked like they belonged to produce or beverage companies.

  Armed with a pair of bolt cutters and two duffel bags, he headed out from the safety of the warehouse with Cole providing rear security. They moved to the stack of shipping containers, trying to decipher the numbering system from his notes and connect it to what they were seeing on the ground.

  “Well, it doesn’t look like they made this easy for us; nothing is in order,” Brad whispered to Cole.

  They decided to give up on the scavenger hunt and just start opening containers. Brad provided security while Cole cut the locks and seals on one of the large doors and then he helped him swing it open.

  The inside was filled with boxes of nails, bolts, and all types of construction fasteners.

  “Dammit! Strike one I guess,” Cole mumbled.

  They moved on and tried another four containers before they opened one completely filled with cases of energy drinks. “Shit, looks like we won’t be dying tired,” Brad joked and they both laughed. They dumped two cases of the drinks into a duffle bag and marked the location on a map Brad had drawn.

  The last container in the row was filled with canned goods. They couldn’t read the labels to know what it was exactly, but at least it was food. They marked the location, filled both bags, and headed back to the warehouse.

  Back at their hideout, Méndez used his utility knife to cut open one of the cans of food. They found a small metal pot in one of the back offices and built a small fire using pieces of broken furniture. He tilted the can and its contents plopped into the pot. “Fuck bro, that stinks. Man, you sure this ain’t dog food?” Méndez said.

  “I don’t think so. It has some goofy ass kid’s face on the can. If it was dog food it would show a dog,” answered Cole.

  “Well damn, man, this shit is awful. No wonder Afghans are always pissed off if they be eating on this slop. Whatever happened to Chunky soup? How do you fuck up soup? Sarge, you sure we can’t just eat the MREs?” Eric griped.

  “No, we need to save them, and I want to keep the light stuff loaded in the packs and on the truck in case we need to bug out. This is what we got so dump in a couple more cans and bon appétit!” answered Brad.

  They ate in silence. After a minute, Méndez reached down to open another can; everyone looked up at him. “You know, once you get over the shit taste, it really ain’t so bad,” Méndez chuckled. All the men laughed together.

  “I bet that stuff is going to give you the shits too,” Eric blurted out.

  “So what’s the plan anyhow, Sergeant?” Henry asked suddenly, effectively killing the jovial mood.

  “Well for now I’m thinking rest, fortify, and build up our resources. After that I am pretty wide open to suggestions,” Brad answered back. “I mean, we’re far away from our area of operations; our command is gone; and our home base is destroyed. The only hint that anyone even knows we’re here is that UAV we saw two days ago. And they might not even know who we are.”

  “Do you think Sergeant Turner got out last night?” Eric asked.

  “I don’t know, buddy, but if anyone could it would be him. Remember they escaped the ambush and they made it this far. Plus they chose to go to the city and not lock up tight in this warehouse,” said Brad. “They have the confidence and training to make it, so I’m not giving up on them yet. I’ve patrolled this way before and there really isn’t shit past Hairatan. Beyond the city the road fizzles out. There are some villages and farms going out along the river, but there’s no bridge. Eventually we will have to make a choice: to try to cross the bridge into Uzbekistan on foot or head back into Afghanistan. We could try for Mazari Sharif, it’s about a half day’s patrol to the south, but after seeing this place, I got a bad feeling about that also,” Brad finished.

  “My vote is stay put for a few days and see if communications come back up,” Méndez said. They all came to an agreement to wait things out for a while. Cole and Eric moved back up the ladder to the roof to start the evening watch.

  Brad had settled into his bedroll up on the loft of the warehouse. Damn! he thought, if I’d known we weren’t going back to base that night, I would have brought my pillow. He smiled to himself and placed the S&W pistol he’d found earlier by his side.

  Once he stopped moving, exhaustion took over and he drifted into a dreamless sleep. He felt a hand grab and shake his foot. Brad jumped up, grabbing the pistol and pointing it into Cole’s shocked face. “Oh shit, my bad, Sergeant,” uttered Cole. “I shouldn’t have been so quiet.”

  Brad lowered the pistol and relaxed. “What is it Cole?”

  “Sergeant, you need to get up top. Something you need to see,” Cole answered.

  Brad sent Cole ahead and he stopped to put on his boots and his vest. He looked at his watch. Damn, it’s only been two hours. He climbed the ladder and settled into the nest with Eric and Cole. “What do we got, fellas?” he whispered.

  “Over there Sergeant, just past the fence in that little building,” Cole said, pointing with his finger. Brad picked up the binos and looked down at the building.

  “I don’t see anything, guys,” he said.

  “Just wait, Sergeant. There it is,” Eric said, pointing. Brad saw three flickers of a red light followed by three long flashes and three more flickers.

  “Oh shit guys, that’s Morse code, someone is signaling. But who are they talking to?” Brad whispered.

  “It’s got to be us, Sergeant. We’re the only ones up here,” Eric replied.

  “Go wake up Henry, he’s good with this nerdy shit, and grab the red lens flashlight off my bag,” Brad said.

  Moments later Henry was crouched in the sniper’s nest with the flashlight and a pen and paper. After checking his work, he finally spoke. “They said ‘we are two U.S.’, and they want to come into the compound.”

  “Well, ask them who they are,” snapped Brad.

  After another set of exchanges Henry spoke again. “They just say, ‘we are two U.S., request permission to enter your perimeter’.”

  “What do you think guys?” Brad asked.

  The men looked puzzled that Brad was asking for advice, it wasn’t typically his way.

  “Come on guys! Cut me a break, this isn’t exactly a military op any more. I’m open to suggestions.”

  “I say let them in, Sergeant. Why would they tell us they are coming if they were up to no good?” Cole said.

  Brad smiled. “You make a good point, Cole. Henry, tell them to come in but stay in our line of sight.”

  They watched as the two men broke cover of the building and walked in a slow crouch to the fence. Brad thought they would circle around to the perimeter gate. But without making a sound they quickly cut through to the inside, turned around, repaired the fence, and disappeared into the shadows. A moment later, they heard a tapping at the downstairs door.

  Brad looked over the roof wall and saw the two dark figures huddled at the door. He turned, and he and Cole rushed down the ladder, waking up Méndez. With his pistol in his hand, Brad undid the bindings on the door and let it slowly open outward. The two men hurried inside and closed the door behind them. The man in front dropped the dark hood he had been wearing, gave a toothy, bearded grin, and extended his hand to Brad.

  “U.S. Navy SEALS, we’re here to get you out,” he laughed. Brad didn’t return the handshake and instead just stared at the man. “Why so stern, Sergeant? Just fucking with you. We’ve been watching you guys the better part of two days. It’s good to be inside with you. It’s not a lot of fun out there in the city,” the man said.

  “So who are you guys? Where did you come from?” Brad asked.

  “Damn kid, where are your manners? Getting all personal and not even offering a guest a beverage,” the man replied.

  “Shit, my fault,” said Cole, laughing and holding
up a couple of cans of energy drink.

  They all chuckled and moved to the interior of the warehouse. Méndez secured the door and followed them inside. Brad looked the men over; they were solid but not large. Both had overgrown beards and they wore an arrangement of camouflage. Instead of issue boots, they were wearing civilian-style hiking shoes.

  Both men carried huge packs and an assortment of weapons. The chatty man carried a large scoped rifle and had a suppressed MP5 strapped to the top of his pack. His partner carried a scoped M14 as well as a silenced MP5, and they both had large handguns at their hips. They wore dark-patterned cargo pants and large, dark-and-tan-splattered hooded jackets—they definitely blended into the terrain here in northern Afghanistan. The man saw the pot and asked if they had any more.

  “Tastes like shit,” answered Brad, “but suit yourself.”

  Méndez smiled, reached over to stir the coals on the fire, and started to open a couple of cans of the Afghan slop.

  “So you care to make a proper introduction now?” Brad asked.

  “Yeah, sorry about that,” the man laughed. “I’m Chief Sean Rogers. This is my partner Petty Officer Brooks. We really are SEALs,” he smiled, “but we sure as hell ain’t in any condition to get you all out.”

  “How did you get here? What are you doing all the way up here?” Eric asked.

  The chief began to speak. “Well, we’ve been up here for a week now. We started about a hundred miles from here; been in the city for three days now. You guys were smart to hole up here. There ain’t shit but bad news out on those streets. We saw your Army brothers last night making all that noise. It was real John Wayne of them picking that fight, but also really fucking stupid. We’ve been watching you guys, trying to make sure you weren’t fucking stupid too. We don’t like to make camp with stupid people.”

  Sean paused to open the can of energy drink and he gulped it down, spilling some on his beard. “That shit done yet?” he asked, digging a canteen cup out of his pack and handing it to Méndez. Brooks dug out a similar cup and handed it over; Méndez poured the contents of the pot between the two cups and handed them back.