by Lundy, W. J.
“Shit, we don’t have any silenced guns,” said one of the soldiers.
“Here,” said Brooks, handing the soldier a Ruger MK II with a suppressor from his pack. “It’s small but it’s easy to shoot and it will knock them down if you get them in the nugget. Make sure you hit the head,” said Brooks.
Chief reached into his pack and handed his own MK II to Turner. “I’ll be wanting that back, Sergeant,” he said with a smile.
Once the men familiarized themselves with the pistols, they slowly stepped out the door and made their way into the hot street. Brad followed them and hugged the wall. He had two soldiers right behind him and they mimicked his movements. He waited for Brooks’ team to make it past the corner, then Brad bounded forward, looking back to watch Sean and his men fill his previous position. They moved quickly and quietly through the city until they saw Brooks’ fist shoot into the air. Brad and his men dropped to the ground and looked for cover. Brad listened intently for a sign of what was going on up ahead.
He heard the clack, clack of Brooks’ MP5, then the sound of the MK II. Brad took a knee and looked forward as he saw both men walking backwards toward them, firing as fast as they could. Brad got to his feet. He looked through his scope and spotted a group of fifteen to twenty coming at them from the alleyway. Before he could pull the trigger, Sean had already brought his group forward and was taking quick, aimed shots, thinning the number of the pack headed at them. Turner faced a building on the street and pried its door open, then turned and provided covering fire while the men dropped inside.
Sean and Brooks were the last ones in and they quickly barricaded the door. The pounding and screaming from the outside was deafening. “Find another exit!” Sean yelled to Brad as they began piling objects against the door. Luckily the door opened out, so the things were pressing it shut as they forced themselves against it.
Brad ran down the long hallway and kicked in an apartment door; as he stepped inside, two crazies came at him from a bedroom. Brad fired at them from the hip with his M4, hitting the first high in the chest and turning it sideways while the second came crashing into him, both of them falling to the ground. Brad was fighting to keep its head and snapping jaws away from him, while the thing scratched and clawed at his body armor. One of the privates followed Brad into the room and quickly ended the crazy with a soccer kick to the head, knocking it loose from Brad. Turning, he then terminated the other one with a burst to the skull from his unsuppressed M4.
The noise of the soldier’s rifle made Brad’s ears ring, but he pushed through the small apartment and saw a window. He broke the glass with the butt of his rifle and peeked outside. The window opened into an alley on the side of the building. There didn’t appear to be a safe way out, but the building across from them had a fire escape with the ladder extended.
Brad gathered the men into the apartment, and told them to get out the window and up the ladder across the alley. He ran back into the hall to find Sean and Brooks finishing the barricading and booby trapping of the door with a claymore mine and trip wire. Brad led the SEALs to the apartment and out the window.
As he suspected, the alley was a dead-end. The open end pointed back to the street where the mob had gathered. Although the alley empty, heading toward the mob was not an option. They quickly made their way to the ladder and climbed as high as they could, pulling themselves over the top rung and onto the building’s roof, then pulled the ladder up behind them.
Sergeant Turner made his way over to them, announcing that the roof was clear and the access door was secure. With a thundering clap they heard the improvised claymore explode in the building below them. The explosion blasted and partially collapsed the building and blew a cloud of dust into the street out front.
“Well I think they know we’re here now,” Sean said with a smile.
“No worries though, I don’t think anything saw us climb this ladder. If we lay low, they should go back to their nests—in a day or two,” Brooks said. Brad frowned at the statement, especially with the sun still high in the sky and his camelback only half full.
Just as Brad was beginning to think it was going to be a long night, they heard the report of AK47s coming from down the street. Brad looked up and over the edge of the roof and saw the small white car. Two men in Arab garb jumped out and began shooting at the mob in front of the destroyed apartment building. When the mob got too close, they jumped back in the car, drove farther down the street, and did it again, effectively leading them away from Brad’s position.
“Son of a bitch! It’s Junayd!” Brooks said. “Look at that shit; he’s clearing the way for us.”
Everyone ran to the edge of the roof to look out below; just then, a large open-bed truck pulled up in front of the building. A man jumped from the cab and waved frantically at them.
“Well, what do we do, Chief?” asked Brad.
“Looks like he’s offering us a ride, rude to turn them down,” Sean answered.
Wasting no time, they all made their way back down the ladder. They ran around the corner and jumped into the back of the truck. A small Arab man closed the tailgate behind them and they sped off.
The truck drove quickly down streets, changing directions every block or two, occasionally bouncing a primal off of its large steel bumper. Junayd’s men drove for some time until they were sure they had lost any followers. They pulled into a darkened side street with high walls on both sides, far from anyplace Brad recognized. Lifting their heads to look over the high tailgate, they saw the small car pull in behind them. Sean and Brooks got to their feet and leapt to the ground. A large Arab man approached and shook Sean’s hand, then embraced Brooks in a bear hug.
“My friends we are even now, you saved me, now I save you,” said Junayd.
“You got that right Junayd,” said Brooks, smiling at the man, “but we also gave you weapons and a car. It would be really nice of you if you could get us back home, and not just leave us on this street.”
“Yes friend, that is a very real possibility, but I need you to also allow my people into your home,” said Junayd. “We have seen that you have taken the customs compound; you must take in our people. This city is not safe for them. Take in my people, and we will safely bring you home.”
“Well it’s not my place to negotiate over, I’m only a guest there, Junayd,” answered Sean.
“I see,” said Junayd, frowning. “It appears you men will have a long walk home. You should hurry. It will be dark soon.”
“Hold up, I think we have room, just get us back to the warehouse and we can work this out,” said Brad.
“Wait Brad, we can’t trust these people, maybe we should just get out here. I think we’re better off on our own,” snapped Turner.
Junayd glared at the insult and turned to walk back to the cars. Brad quickly jumped from the bed of the truck and walked over to Junayd. “Junayd, if you get us safely back to the customs compound, I will open my doors to your people. We’re all in this fight together now,” Brad said, extending his hand.
“Agreed,” said Junayd, briefly touching his hand to his heart before grasping Brad’s in a tight handshake that quickly turned into a hug.
The ride back to the compound was quiet and uneventful. The vehicles pulled into a narrow ravine that twisted around and behind the customs compound. The large truck lurched to a stop and the small man dropped the tailgate of the truck. The men jumped out, stretched, and looked around. “Go through that hole in the fence,” said Junayd, pointing. “If you go through and follow the fence until it ends, you will see the railroad track that will lead you back.”
“How do you know that?” asked Brad.
“My cousin and I have been raiding and smuggling things from this customs yard for years. We only asked your permission to stay here to be polite,” Junayd said, giving Turner a cold stare. “We have plenty of work fighting those things in the city; we really do not need to be bothered with fighting Americans also. Get back to your warehouse and pre
pare your men. We will be at your gates shortly after the sun sets.”
“Why not wait till tomorrow? You know they are more dangerous at night,” asked Brad.
“More dangerous? Yes, but also more predictable. We will use distractions to move the packs where we want them while we deliver the people to you. Be ready for them,” Junayd said as he turned and walked back to his car. Shutting the doors, the engines started and the vehicles drove back down the ravine.
Sean walked by and patted Brad on the shoulder; a gesture that didn’t go unnoticed by Turner. “You did good Brad, now let’s get back to the hooch,” said Sean as he stepped to the hole in the fence, gesturing for the men to go through.
They made their way back to the warehouse and received a warm welcome from the waiting men. Brad briefed them on what had happened and that they were about to receive guests. Sean and a couple of the soldiers cleared the warehouse next door so that it could be set up as lodging for the incoming civilians. Brad took Sergeant Turner on a tour of the compound and helped his men settle into the building. They were more than happy to see the flush toilets and running water. Brad got Cole started on preparing the evening meal and then he told them all to get some rest. As Brad was leaving, Turner called him over.
“You’ve done well here, Brad, and you did good getting these men here safely. I just want you to know that I won’t step on your toes,” said Turner. “It seems the world has gone to shit quickly. I don’t know where that leaves the military, but I am a platoon sergeant and it’s going to stay that way. However, I think you have proven yourself, and you should be the acting lieutenant until we come up with something different.”
Brad grinned. “I appreciate the gesture, Sergeant, but I don’t think you have the authority to give battlefield commissions,” he laughed.
“Yeah, you’re probably right, but this is the best I got, Brad. It allows me to save face, and will keep the men from getting caught up in a power struggle,” responded Turner.
“Well then, sounds good to me. I have work to do, Sergeant, we can talk again later,” said Brad.
“Okay buddy; and how ‘bout you drop the ‘sergeant’ shit? We can catch up after I grab some shut eye.”
Brad walked outside the warehouse door; he bumped into Sean heading back in the other direction. He explained what had just happened with Turner.
“Well damn, I didn’t think the guy had it in him, but I think it was the right decision. I was afraid we wouldn’t be able to work together, maybe I was wrong,” said Sean.
“Sergeant Turner isn’t a bad guy, and he has a lot of combat experience. I trust him.”
They were beginning to lose the daylight, so they retreated inside and climbed to the roof. Just as the last bits of sunlight faded, they heard a distant explosion. A fire began to burn and they heard reports of the AK47 rifles.
“Well there’s Junayd, right on time,” said Brooks. They could see the primal crazies shifting in the streets and heading for the racket on the far side of town. Sean grinned when the two flares popped and went high into the sky. “They must have learned that trick from your sergeant,” he chuckled.
“Wherever they learned it, it’s working. Look at them all, they go to it like mosquitoes to a bug zapper,” laughed Cole.
Eric pointed down toward the railroad gate at the front of the compound. “They’re here.”
Brad stood to look and saw four large flatbed trucks overloaded with people; a few more than he had expected. He watched his men open the gates and guide the overloaded trucks in. They led them all the way down to the empty warehouse. Brad left the roof and made his way down the ladder. When he reached the small convoy of vehicles he was greeted by Junayd with another stiff handshake.
“Thank you my friend,” Junayd said. “These people had it very badly out there; I do not think you realize how much safety and security these fences will give them.”
Brad watched as his men helped women and children exit the vehicles and enter the warehouse. He moved into the building with them; it was dark, but they were afraid to turn on any lights while the overhead doors were still open. Sean and his men had laid out cardboard into makeshift mats on the ground for the people to sit on. Brad quickly noticed that the warehouse was laid out in a very similar fashion to the one they were using.
As he walked, he saw that Eric had converted one of the offices into a medical clinic where he was treating a small child while others had already started to get in line. The loft area was already occupied by several men and they were carrying their limited supplies up the stairs for safekeeping. Brad looked around and tried to get a count in his head.
“Junayd, you have nearly fifty people here; this will be a lot to feed,” Brad said.
“Seventy-two to be exact; and yes it will be a lot, but the city holds resources. Unlike Americans, we know how to live off this land. We will be fine my friends, shortly my men will return from their mini-Jihad against the monsters in the city. Let’s walk so that we may greet them,” said Junayd.
As if on cue, they heard the vehicles approaching the gate. While they walked, Brad saw his men working with some of Junayd’s men to open the gates and escort the small car in. Once the car pulled in and killed its engine, the small man from before stepped out with four other local fighters. Junayd exchanged words with the man and then patted him hard on the shoulder while facing Brad.
“This is Hasan, he is my best soldier.”
Brad extended his hand and smiled. “I think we almost met earlier today. Thank you for your help, Hasan, and good work getting the people here safely.” Hasan smiled as he returned the handshake.
The next several days were spent improving the small camp. The soldiers decided to give up the warehouse space to the civilians and they all moved into a small guardhouse near the gate. Although the guardhouse was smaller, it gave the soldiers privacy and relieved them of the guilt of leaving the families crammed into the single space. They continued to stand watch nightly on the roof of the warehouse in the sniper hide they had set up. With the help of Junayd’s men providing distractions so that the noise wouldn’t attract the primals, they were able to utilize some of the heavy equipment to move the railroad shipping containers into a large wall. After a few days’ work, the compound was now ringed in by the large forty-foot-long, ten-foot-high containers.
The men slowly made improvements to the camp’s perimeter. After the wall was constructed, they started to lose some of the fear of making noise. Any stray primal that moved too close to the compound was quickly terminated with the use of Sean’s suppressed sniper rifle. After a week, the camp was fortified. Containers stacked end to end completely enclosed the camp. They had a sliding gate and the men had cut access doors into the containers that held food or other valuable supplies. Brad was extremely happy with the progress made.
Late on the thirtieth night after the outbreak, Brad made his way to the communal fire pit inside his former residence. The warehouse now was divided into small shacks constructed of cardboard and crates salvaged from inside the containers. He saw Junayd with Sean and Brooks off to the side of the fire so he sat next to them. Once he was settled, a smiling young woman handed him a bowl of rice and dried meat. A child handed him an energy drink which made Brad laugh.
“You have done well by these people Brad! They would welcome you into their tribe,” said Junayd.
This gave all of the military men a laugh. “I am honored Junayd, really, but this isn’t my home. I think there is more for me than this.”
Sean gave Brad a serious look. “That’s exactly what we have been discussing lately. Brooks and I have decided that it’s time to move on; we have to see where things are at.”
“What are you getting at Sean, you want to leave? Where will you go?” answered Brad.
“Brad, I’m afraid we’ve been forgotten out here. We were thinking we could make our way to Bremmel; things should have died down by now. We should be able to gather supplies from there; then do our best
to make it to Bagram down Route 76. It won’t be easy, but I’m confident we can make it. Bagram fell fast in the early days of the outbreak; maybe there’s something left, maybe we can find an aircraft and get out of here.
“Oh yeah, and we want you to go with us.”
Whiskey Tango Foxtrot
Tales of the Forgotten
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.
PROLOGUE
It had been weeks since the first attack – since the day the world went dark and everyone had forgotten about them. The day he lost his company and most of his friends. They must have more to worry about than a half-dozen stranded soldiers in the back forty of the world. No contact, no messages, not even a flyover from a friendly aircraft. They were completely isolated and alone.
“Target, twelve o’clock. Primal on the wire,” the spotter whispered.
Brad’s team had done well for themselves, considering their situation. They had held up in the customs compound at Hairatan; they’d fortified it, made it a refuge. Their previous mission, in their old life, had been to patrol the streets looking for the Taliban. Now they worked with a former Taliban commander named Junayd, rescuing civilians and rebuilding in the furthest reaches of Afghanistan. Once enemies, they were now unified in a common goal to survive.
“Identified, primal on the wire,” Brad whispered, pulling the rifle into his shoulder and letting his cheek rest on the butt stock. Gripping the heavy M24’s handguards tightly, he forced himself to relax as he lined his dominant eye up with the scope.