by W. J. Lundy
Brad made his way to the main gate. He spoke to the remainder of his men, informing them of his plan and that he would be leaving with the SEALs in the morning. Many volunteered to go with him; he explained they would be needed to provide security to the camp. Brad promised to return for them as soon as he could, and somehow he would make contact with the camp again. There were no arguments, and the soldiers shook his hand and promised to help him prepare his gear for the coming journey.
He went back into the guardhouse and took a seat on his bunk. Looking around his living space, he took stock of things he would need on the trip. He didn’t have much that the Army didn’t issue. Brad opened the mouth of his large rucksack and stuffed in his clothing and the remainder of his gear. He placed the most needed equipment on top or in the outside pockets. Tightly rolling his bedroll, he attached it to the top of his pack. He stared at his protective gas mask for a second before smiling and tossing it aside; it landed with a thud on the bulletproof plates that he had removed from his body armor long ago.
He checked and double-checked the ordnance on his vest. He still had twelve magazines for his M4 and three for his M9, plus a couple of frag grenades just in case. He looked over the snaps to make sure everything was securely fastened. He picked up the Sigma pistol, carefully removing the magazine and making sure it was topped off. For some reason he had started considering the pistol his good luck charm, even though he’d never fired it. Maybe the fact that he had never needed it made it lucky. Brad wiped the pistol off and tucked it into the smaller day pack that he had attached to the outside of his larger rucksack, then put on the overloaded vest and hoisted the heavy pack onto his back. Taking a last look around the room, he sighed, then headed out the door.
Brad found Brooks and Sean working on a late model Land Rover Defender in their makeshift motor pool situated between the warehouses.
“She was a gift from Junayd,” said Brooks over his shoulder as he watched Brad make his way to them.
“You don’t want to take the MRAP?” asked Brad.
“We thought about it, but decided it wouldn’t be right. That MRAP makes a hell of a life boat if your men ever need to bug out of here in a hurry. I don’t think I’d ever feel good about taking that piece of security away from them,” explained Sean. “There won’t be a lot of room, but we should do OK. Can you get your gear over here so we can start packing?”
Brad dropped the heavy rucksack and attached it to the vehicle’s roof rack. He saw that the SEALs had done the same with their own bags. Unlike the SEALs, who carried an abundance of weapons, Brad still considered himself a light infantry man. He carried a standard issue 9mm pistol and his M4 carbine augmented with the suppressor he’d been given. On his vest, he carried a full combat load of ammunition and two M67 fragmentation grenades.
The SEALs, on the other hand, humped a much larger kit. Multiple fragmentation grenades and anti-personnel mines (claymores) were strapped to the outside of their packs. Both of them had suppressed long rifles attached to the tops of their rucksacks. Shorter MP5 submachine guns were always slung across their chest for quick access. They wore H&K MK23 pistols on their hips, and even smaller .22 caliber MKII pistols were carried in their packs. Brad thought it was overkill to carry so many weapons when you only had two hands, but he appreciated the firepower when it was needed.
They spent the rest of the afternoon taking inventory of food and ammo, and deciding what to bring. Water took priority for space, and then food. The team wouldn’t have much more ammo than their personal allotment. There were large stores of it in the warehouse, but the team had unanimously decided that it would be better to leave it with the camp. There would be plenty of it at Bremmel, and they could always scrounge for more on the road. They finished off the packing with a row of four 5-gallon fuel cans strapped to a rack on the rear bumper of the vehicle.
“Ha! We look like damn hillbillies ready to move off to Beverly,” said Brooks with a deep laugh.
The last night in camp was spent sitting on the roof of the warehouse with Junayd and his elders. Sean had his map laid out in front of them, and Junayd was marking it with the best sources of fresh water, and helping them to plan the safest route back towards Bremmel. Méndez came to visit Brad and gave him a bundle of letters his men had written to their families back home. Brad knew that Méndez had a large family and that the last month had been hard on him. He knew it was a pipe dream, but Brad promised that if there was a way, he would see that their letters got delivered. Méndez gave him a last thank you for everything he had done to help get them off the road; he shook his hand and left Brad alone.
Brad broke away from the group discussing the trip; he wandered off to a far corner of the roof and laid out his bedroll and blanket. He thought about what they were attempting to do, and tried to put the thoughts of the ambushed convoy and the visions of Bremmel out of his head. As hard as he tried to block it, the face of PFC Ryan and the night he’d died in the desert always played back in his head like a cheap movie. I’m definitely going to need some counseling when I get home, he thought to himself.
4.
Sean woke him just before dawn; he slowly brought himself to his feet and stretched out the aches that you get when you choose to sleep in a corner on a roof. Cole and Henry were on watch in the snipers’ nest. Brad walked over to them and shook each of their hands and told them good bye. He walked back to the ladder well and lowered his way into the warehouse. Most of the occupants were still asleep, and he was careful not to wake them. He ventured out of the large overhead door that usually stayed open these days and headed towards the motor pool.
When he got there, he found Brooks making some finishing touches to the load on the vehicle. Brooks saw Brad and tossed him an energy drink.
“Sorry buddy, no coffee today but this has just as much kick,” laughed Brooks.
Brad accepted the drink happily and helped him check the straps on the vehicle’s roof rack. Sean walked over with a plate of foot bread sandwiches he had managed to scrounge up from the Afghan kitchen and handed them out. Taking a big bite from one, Sean paused to open the Defender’s door, then jumped into the passenger seat. Taking that as a sign they were ready to leave, the rest of the team mounted up.
Brooks started the engine which purred to life; it was noticeably quieter than the MRAP. He put the Defender into gear and slowly moved towards the vehicle gate. When they arrived, they found a soldier on duty with one of Junayd’s men. They both walked over to the Defender to greet them. Brooks put the truck in park, and Brad and Sean got out to shake their hands goodbye. Brad saw Hasan walk out of the guardhouse carrying a large green backpack and his AK47 slung over his shoulder.
“I would like to join you,” Hasan said, dropping his pack next to the already overloaded vehicle.
“I don’t know, Hasan. Nothing personal buddy, but this truck is already bursting at the seams, and another mouth to feed splits our food supply even more,” said Sean.
“That is true, friend, but I also know the area. I know the tribes. I can be useful in finding more food. I will not be a burden to you, and four guns in the fight is better than three,” Hasan answered. Sean looked over at Brooks, who gave nothing more than a shrug of his shoulders.
“What do you think, Brad?” Sean asked.
“It’s his country, who am I to tell him no? The more the merrier, right?” Brad answered with a grin.
“Okay then, throw your bag on the roof and get in,” Sean said to Hasan, smiling.
They made their way down the city streets. Occasionally, the vehicle would pass a building and they would see a primal move out of a darkened alley or a doorway to moan at them. The sun was just beginning to break the horizon and the temperatures were cool, so they knew the primals would be active until at least mid-day. They were willing to takes those chances and decided it would be an acceptable risk, especially since they were mobile and moving at a high rate of speed. Brooks made a few passes down side streets and one extra
unnecessary turn down a long road before cutting onto the Hairatan road. They hoped the extra maneuvering would make it harder for the primals to follow them out of the city.
There is only one way in or out of the city located on the northern border of Afghanistan—and that is the Hairatan road. The other path to civilization would have been through Uzbekistan to the north and over the river. With the bridge out and the packs roaming the other side of the river, the Hairatan road was their only option. Brooks followed the road carefully, easing the Defender onto the cleared lane of the highway that Brad and his soldiers had opened up almost a month earlier when they’d first entered the city.
As the team made its way down the highway, Brad recognized the dead bus blocking the far lane when they passed it; he also knew that the other MRAP rested silently in a ditch on the other side. Slowly the congestion of twisted and broken vehicles thinned out and the road started to clear. Brooks found a comfortable spot near the center line of the highway and eased the vehicle into a cruising speed of forty miles per hour.
They drove for hours. Brad watched Brooks drive with a look of confidence as he avoided obstacles. Brooks wasn’t an easy man to get to know; he wasn’t a social creature like Sean. In the past, it was common for soldiers to ask others questions about home, families, or where they were from. More recently, it was considered taboo to talk about such things. Many soldiers like Brooks would consume themselves with work to avoid personal feelings. Brooks was all business, typically only showing his face when there was a job to be done. The big man even spent his down time preparing for his up time. Brad rarely saw him joke or slack off with the rest of the men. Today Brooks was on the clock and held the wheel firmly, clearly aware that it was his responsibility to keep them safe.
Brad began to space out watching Brooks; the hot sun and the lulling sounds of the tires humming on the pavement caused his eyelids to become heavy. He caught himself nodding off more than once, often waking with a start. The Defender purred down the road, and the non-descript countryside going by in a blur made it hard to stay awake. They curved around and away from the river before entering the vast open terrain. Brad looked out and saw nothing but open dunes; the green was fading into the red and tan shades of the desert as he rested his head against the window and drifted off to sleep.
He woke to the sounds of crunching gravel and lifted his head. They had pulled off the road and Brooks was easing the vehicle up to a walled-in villa. It looked to be a large, two-story house surrounded by an eight-foot wall. From the condition of the place, it looked to have been abandoned long before the outbreak, but you could never be sure in Afghanistan. Brooks parked the Defender where it could not easily be seen from the road and killed the engine. The men got out, stretched, and checked their weapons.
“This is the place. Junayd said it would be empty and easy to defend,” Sean declared, walking towards the wall’s gate. “Brad, you want to help me clear the house?”
“Okay, right behind you,” Brad replied as he grabbed his M4 and screwed the suppressor onto the barrel.
Sean walked over to the heavy wooden doors that marked the entrance to the courtyard; he had his silenced MP5 at the ready and waited for Brad to join him.
“What do you make of this?” Sean asked, pointing. The heavy wooden door was covered with scratches; some of the gouges looked to be stained with blood. Sean pointed at a crack in the door where Brad saw what looked to be a broken finger nail still stuck in the groove.
“What the hell? Someone wanted in here pretty damn bad,” answered Brad.
He took a step back away from the door and raised his rifle while Sean pulled on the handle. The door didn’t budge and was clearly locked from the inside.
“Hmm, we seem to have found ourselves in a bit of a pickle,” Sean mused.
“Well it’s obvious nobody is home, maybe we should just continue on our way down the road,” chimed in Brad.
“Nope. Sorry buddy, this is our stop. I want to hit Bremmel in daylight tomorrow; that means we stop here for tonight.”
Brooks walked over with a large crow bar and tried to stick it into the door to pry it open. The door had a steel frame and lip that made it hard to set the bar. He tried to get it into a good position, but any amount of force would just pop it out. Finally giving in to frustration, Brooks pulled the Defender up close to the wall.
Brad, shaking his head, said “Screw it,” and climbed up onto the hood of the vehicle, then high onto its roof. He turned to look at the wall, checking to make sure the top wasn’t covered with broken glass or nails, which was common in this area to deter thieves. Satisfied that the way was safe, he grabbed hold of it and pulled himself on top.
He could see down into the courtyard and at the lonely two-story home. The entire house was circled by the wall; the building was horseshoe-shaped and its mouth opened towards the wall’s entrance. Brad looked left and right several times; although his instincts were tingling, he eased himself flat on the wall. Seeing nothing, he grabbed on tightly and swung his feet over the edge. Hanging by his fingers, he let go and dropped the last couple feet to the ground, landing with a thud. Brad called over the wall to say that he was in, and then moved back to the door.
He readied his weapon and took another look all the way around to make sure he was alone, then examined the door and found it was locked in place by a large steel bolt. Through one end of the bolt was an antique-looking padlock that prevented Brad from turning and sliding the bolt. He called back over the wall to tell the men what he had found.
“Stand back!” Sean yelled. “I’m going to toss over the crowbar.”
Brad took a step to the side, then saw the crowbar sail over the door and hit the cobblestone with a loud metallic CLANG which echoed off the building’s walls.
After picking up the crowbar, he went back to the wall and placed the flat end of the bar against the bolt in the door. As he started to apply downward pressure, he heard a distant rattle inside the house, as if furniture had just been knocked over. Brad froze in place and turned to look at the house. He waited and listened but, hearing nothing, continued to pull on the bar. Suddenly there was a loud crash, and more sounds of tumbling furniture coming from the house behind him. He spun around to look at the front door, located at the bottom of the horseshoe, and was shocked when he saw it rattle from a booming impact.
“Ahh, Sean? I think I have a problem,” he called out.
“I’m assuming that isn’t you making all of that noise in there?” Sean called back over the wall.
“That would be a correct assumption,” Brad yelled back. He applied more pressure to the bar and, disappointed, did not even feel the bolt budge. He heard another loud BOOM against the front door. Brad pulled the bar from the bolt and tried to ease it into the door frame. He pulled as hard as he could and the door itself began to split, but it was still solidly sealed shut.
Brad heard another thundering BOOM, and glanced back just in time to see the front door of the house start to give. He dropped the crowbar and turned to face the door; taking a knee, he brought his rifle up and tried to adjust his eyes on the doorway nearly twenty feet away. He watched the door shake again from an impact, freeing dust from the boards and the overhang. Brad pulled the rifle tight into his shoulder, aimed where he hoped a head might be on the other side of the door, and squeezed the trigger. Three rounds, one after another, poked holes into the wood. There was a momentary pause in the pounding on the door, then a thud. Brad let out a sigh of relief just as another loud BOOM sounded out. Brad lifted his rifle back to his shoulder and fired another three rounds into the door. Another crash, and this time the door gave way.
The door flew open and a primal dressed in white and covered with gore tumbled forward. Not expecting the door to give, its momentum took it to the ground. Brad lowered his point of aim and pumped aimed shots into the thing’s head. He blinked his eyes, trying to get them back into focus on the dark doorway, just as he watched five more pouring out. They
were coming at a full sprint. Brad took out the leader with quick shots to the head, then watched it slump to the ground, tripping up a female behind it. He kept firing on the others as they closed the distance. He clipped one in the top of the forehead, making it fall. “Two left,” he murmured to himself as he pivoted and shot one in the face.
The last one collided with him in a hard impact that forced him back against the door. Brad dropped his shoulders and pushed the rifle between them as hard as he could to break the primal’s grip. He knocked it down and at the same time he fell backwards onto the ground. Still on his back, he propped up on an elbow and tried to raise the rifle. In his peripheral he could see two more stepping out of the house, and the one that had tripped earlier was getting to its feet.
Directly in front of him, he could see that his current play date was rolling back to its belly and pushing itself up. “Fuck me,” Brad said to himself, dropping the rifle and drawing his M9. He quickly pulled the trigger, punching three holes into his date’s neck and face, killing it. He rolled to his side just as the other three closed on him. Before he could take aim, Brad heard the rapid firing of Brooks’ MP5 as rounds ripped into the charging primals. Brad watched as their heads exploded and their bodies collapsed to the ground. He stared at the fallen, motionless primals in the dirt, then dropped to his back in complete exhaustion.
Brooks lowered himself off the wall, stepped over Brad and walked toward the heavy door. He looked at the antique lock and held it in his hand. Letting go of the lock he let out a grunt, took a step back and fired a shot into the lock, shattering it. He fidgeted with the lock, freed it from the bolt, then pulled the bolt and swung the door open. Sean and Hasan stepped inside.
“Wow, you should have just opened the door and let us help,” gasped Hasan as he looked at all of the primal bodies lying in the courtyard.