Escape The 1st Omnibus: WTF Books 1-3

by Lundy, W. J.

  “It has definitely crossed my mind. Maybe we are intentionally being kept apart. We’ll find out soon enough.”

  They waited quietly in their racks. Winslow had been by twice to check on them and he had blamed the loud explosion on a steam pipe bursting below decks. The expression on Brooks’ face clearly showed what the SEAL’s opinions were of the story. Winslow had finally left them alone at just after eight in the evening. Before he left, he said he would see them again at six a.m. to lead them to chow. Winslow also told them to stay in the compartment and try to limit their movements to the head across the hall. The guards often got jumpy at night and nobody wanted to get hurt. The men intentionally kept their plans for an evening smoke from Winslow. They wanted to leave doubts of innocence in anyone’s mind in case they got caught.

  Just after dark, they snuck out of the compartment and into the passageway. They left Nelson behind to play decoy and to stall any visitors that might choose to peek their heads in. If the hatch opened while they were out on their ‘smoke’ break, Nelson would intercept them in the compartment. His job was to distract them with random conversation to delay the discovery of the missing men.

  Brad and Brooks quietly moved down the passageway following the map. Brooks had memorized the path so they wouldn’t look like lost tourists. They crossed paths with a few sailors in the hall, but they walked as if they were on a mission and no one questioned them. Finally they found the exit to the aft smoke deck. Brooks stepped out first, with Brad close behind him.

  The deck was large and located directly on the back of the ship. It wasn’t what Brad had expected to see: no rushing water wake trailing behind them or gusts of wind – the ship rested silently in the water. Brad searched the horizon and could just make out other vessels around them. The drone of equipment and blowers made for ambient noise. The sky was filled with bright stars.

  There were a couple other clusters of men, quietly chatting. It was dark and hard to make out anyone’s face. Brad followed Brooks to an empty section of the rail. Brooks fished out a couple of the cigarettes. Brad used a pack of matches they had acquired and he lit up. They leaned against the rail, making casual conversation about the weather and how bad the food was. No one seemed to notice them, or even care that they were on the deck. The other sailors were preoccupied with their own group’s conversations.

  Brad was halfway through his cigarette and was becoming impatient. He had never been a fan of smoking, and was hoping he wouldn’t have to light another one. He sensed movement at the rail next to him. Sean had finally arrived. He was alone and still wearing the tan uniform from earlier. He calmly stood against the rail and asked if he could bum a smoke.

  Sean took a cigarette from Brooks and shielded the breeze as Brad used a match to light it. Sean inhaled deeply and exhaled a cloud of smoke. He casually changed his position so that he was standing just behind the other two men. To an unknowing observer, they would appear to be strangers who happen to be sharing the same space.

  Sean stepped a bit closer so he was just behind their shoulders. He placed his hands in his pockets and spoke in a low voice. “Looks like you have gotten all settled in,” he said.

  Brad turned to speak, but Sean interrupted him. “Don’t turn around … I’m sure we’re clear out here, but let’s keep this very bland. If anyone notices, this was a chance encounter like in the galley line. I was told specifically not to meet with any of you until we reached the island,” Sean said.

  Brooks leaned out and spit over the rail. “So what’s the story then? Some odd shit is definitely going on here.”

  “Yeah, what’s with that explosion?” Brad asked.

  Sean blew another puff of smoke out over the rail. “There is a lot of shit going on here. I don’t have a lot of time to break everything down. What I can say is there appears to be a large portion of the crew that isn’t happy with this ‘new start’ idea that the admiral has conjured up.”

  “New start? First I’ve heard of that,” Brad said.

  “Well, that is the official code name for this flotilla at sea and the island base. The admiral seems to think that the fleet is better off out here in the middle of nowhere. He plans to make a home of the island and the nuke boats; at least until the good ol’ US of A gets its act together. I don’t know how deep things go. I heard some rumbling that he outright refused recall orders from the Chief of Naval Ops.”

  Sean paused to take another drag on the cigarette before continuing.

  “I’m not ready to judge the man just yet. I heard that he was warned from someone in Washington that returning would be a suicide mission. He declined the orders for the sake of the fleet. I don’t know, and at this point I really don’t care.”

  “So what does this mean for us?” Brooks asked.

  “Just keep playing along, okay? Transportation has been arranged to the island tomorrow. We’ll be placed on different work assignments. All of the fighter types are on salvage and recon teams. Yes Brad, I got you assigned to my group. But the rest of our people have been put on different things. Don’t sweat it right now. There’s already planning going on without us. There’s a plan to get back stateside in the works. Brooks and I have friends here on the recon teams.”

  Brad nodded before speaking. “What do we do now?”

  “Like I said, play along. Don’t cause any problems to prevent you from going to the island and being assigned to my group.”

  “And the explosion?” Brooks asked.

  “Some dumbass tried to steal a boat, thought he could escape to the coast. A jumpy guard dropped a grenade. A lot of stupid shit is going on. Get back to your racks and get some sleep. Act surprised when they tell you we’re leaving,” Sean said before he flicked the cigarette out over the rail.

  After they returned to their quarters, they had a short wait before the compartment door slammed open and the bright lights were turned on. Two new faces entered the compartment, shouting about short notice for an island flight. Winslow dragged in just behind them, apologizing for the short notice while he helped them fold up their bedding and pack their limited belongings in the sea bags. Quickly, they dressed and assembled in the passageway. The two strange men had them standing against the wall, holding their bags to the side, and then they sent Winslow away. He quickly wished them good luck and disappeared down the passage.

  More men started moving towards them. For the first time since they had arrived on board, Brad saw Chelsea and Tony, carrying identical sea bags and being rushed along by their own group of escorts. As the group passed them, Brad saw Sean walking in stride with another chief. Brad’s group fell in behind Sean and they were rushed up to the deck. They followed a walkway around and ended up at a large helipad.

  It was still dark and the morning air was cold. Brad searched the skies and saw nothing. He asked when the helicopter would be there, but was quickly asked to be quiet by his escorts. Then he noticed a pile of gear near the corner of the deck. Brad recognized the large locker that they had placed their weapons in days earlier. He saw his large rucksack and a good portion of his body armor in another pile. Brad tried to move close so that he could inspect his gear, but again he was grabbed and asked to just wait in place.

  They heard the helicopter coming in; Brad recognized it as a Sea Stallion, larger than the Army’s Black Hawk. It moved slowly over the water and lined up with the ship. Quickly it was on the deck, its rotor wash making communication difficult. Again they were being rushed to action. Brad felt the escort’s hand grip his collar as he was somewhat shoved and guided towards the helicopter and into the open bay doors. If Sean hadn’t warned him to play nice, he might have been tempted to turn and knock the pushy man on his ass.

  Brad was shoved through and almost fell to the deck of the Sea Stallion. He caught himself and was guided into a seat by one of the crew. A crew chief assisted with the loading of all of their gear and slid the door shut. He gave the pilots a thumbs up, and the bird climbed up and away from the tail of the ship
. Now that they were in the air, Brad could look out of the small porthole window and see the enormity of the fleet. He counted over forty large ships in the water. This was more than what he imagined a carrier strike group would normally be assigned.

  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. Gun
ner 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 like 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.”