Whiskey Tango Foxtrot (Book 4): Walking In The Shadow Of Death

by Lundy, W. J.

  Find us a way home. When you return, I will be waiting.

  Brad held the paper in his hand, reading it several times before folding it and placing it into the breast pocket of his shirt. He packed everything into the rucksack, checking his weapons and ammunition before moving back into the large space of the loft. The others were already up, cleaning their areas and preparing for the day. Brad walked to the infirmary tent, going inside and hoping to find Chelsea.

  He found Kelli on her bunk. She smiled at him when he walked in. Daniel and Gunner were still asleep, Gunner snoring loudly. Brad walked to Kelli. “Have you seen Chelsea?” he asked her.

  She smiled at him. “She’s gone, Brad.”

  “Gone?” he asked.

  “She went to help Mrs. Murphy in the house. She said she couldn’t watch you walk away again. Just make sure you come back, okay?”

  Brad returned Kelli’s smile. “I promise,” he said.

  “Brad,” Kelli called out as he exited the tent, causing him to stop and look back.

  “Thank you for what you did for me,” she said. “You know I owe you one.”

  “Just take care of her, okay?” Brad said as he left the tent, grabbing his bag as he passed it.

  He navigated the ladder and joined the others in the stable. He found the rest of his team suited up and ready to go. “’Bout time you joined us,” Sean joked as Brad cleared the last rung of the ladder. “The boys brought us some sandwiches and filled some water bottles if you’re interested.” Sean pointed to a nearby table.

  Brad acknowledged him by grabbing a sandwich and stuffing half of it in his mouth. He chewed heartily and washed it down with a huge gulp of water. “So George, how long is this walk today?”

  “I have good news there, friend. Murphy has offered to loan us his car. I’d say we will be in position by late morning,” Jorgensen said.

  “Really? Things are looking up,” Brad said, smiling.

  Brooks laughed, “Don’t get too excited, Thomas tells me it’s a real piece of shit.”

  Sean lifted his heavy rucksack to his back. “You guys ready?” he said before heading to the door. Brad lifted his own pack and followed the rest of the men outside. Thomas was waiting for them by one of the other outbuildings. He swung open the door of an old-style pole building to reveal a four-door 1990’s Renault Clio. “What the fuck is that?” Sean asked, looking at the tiny car.

  Thomas grinned. “It’s Mom’s old car, she used to drive it when she worked at the clinic. Don’t worry it still runs pretty good, we take it for rides every now and then.”

  Thomas opened the driver’s door and put the car in neutral. Jeremiah and the other boys walked behind the car and pushed it out of the barn and onto the driveway. Jeremiah came out carrying a large bundle of rope. “There isn’t much room inside. I’m afraid you’ll have to lash your bags to the top.”

  “Fair enough, I s’pose,” Jorgensen said as he hoisted his bag to the roof. The rest of the men stripped their bags of weapons, then lifted them onto the roof next to Jorgensen’s. Brooks bundled the bags towards the center of the vehicle as Thomas and William tightly lashed them together.

  Thomas held up the keys, and Sean took them. “You drive, George, I call shotgun,” he said, tossing the keys to Jorgensen.

  “It’s all gassed up. You will have plenty of fuel. You’ll have to pop the clutch to get her started though,” Jeremiah said. “Just bring it to the top of the hill, give us some time to remove the barricade, then you can be on your way.”

  Sean looked at all of them, “We ready?”

  Brad opened the rear passenger door and squeezed into the back of the car. Brooks got in beside him with the other two men in front. Jorgensen put the key in the ignition and depressed the clutch. Jeremiah and his sons began to push the car down the drive. When it hit the hill it picked up speed. Jorgensen released the clutch. The Renault backfired then revved to life. Jorgensen drove the car past the house then up the far side of the hill as he had been asked. He then put the car in neutral, nursing the throttle, making sure the small car didn’t stall out.

  They watched the boys run past them and down the hill. Quickly they dragged the large trees away from the entrance to the road, then rolled away the boulders. Thomas shot a thumbs up to his father waiting at the top of the hill. Jeremiah walked back to the car and wished the men good luck as he slapped the roof. Once again the Renault was put into gear and they were again rolling down the driveway. Jorgensen slowed, turned onto the main road and accelerated.

  Jorgensen navigated the car down the paved road. It had been days since snow had fallen so much of the road was clear, or only slightly marked with the melting snow. He drove cautiously, avoiding the deeper banks of snow that had accumulated and frozen in low spots as the snow melted. For the first leg of the trip and until they reached the turn off to the factory, they followed the tracks of the pickup truck. Jorgensen said they would have another thirty kilometers until they neared the camp.

  The trees had grown thick as they got closer to the coast. The road began to twist following the rolls of the hilly terrain. Occasionally they would pass a house, or a cluster of buildings, all of them showing signs of forced entry: kicked-open doors or broken windows. It was obvious the gang had traveled here. As they continued to get closer to the camp, the tension in the vehicle rose. The men readied their weapons and checked their magazines. Jorgensen slowed as they drove past a burnt-down home. The house itself wasn’t unusual. Several homes had burnt since the fall. What was different was the five bodies lying face down in the driveway in front of the home. Brad clenched his jaw, watching the bodies as the car slowly rolled past.

  “How much farther?” Brooks asked impatiently.

  Jorgensen looked at Brooks in the rearview mirror. “Not much further, there is a place up ahead where we can hide the car. We will travel the rest of the distance on foot.”

  The car moved on, following another very long bend in the road. As the car pulled out of the curve, Jorgensen slowed then turned off on to a barely visible side road that cut up and away from the main road. The side road was composed of loose gravel that was covered in snow and ice. Quickly the car began to slip and the wheels spun, losing traction. Jorgensen put the small car into reverse and used the slope of the hill to turn it around. Then he eased it to the side of the narrow road before cutting the engine and applying the parking brake.

  “End of the road, friends,” Jorgensen said as he removed the keys from the ignition and stowed them in the glove box.

  The team quickly exited the vehicle and removed their gear. They gathered brush from nearby and hastily camouflaged the Renault. It wouldn’t do much good on close inspection. But the brush would at least cover the glare from the paint and windshield from reflecting down to the main road below them. Sean made a quick walk-around inspection of the vehicle before signaling to Jorgensen to lead the way.

  They continued following the road up the hill until it ended at a small overlook. There was a small parking area here, with trash cans and picnic tables. It looked to have been a park at one time, but it was empty now with no signs of life. They followed Jorgensen diagonally across the parking lot and to a small foot-trail that continued up the high hill.

  “There is another overlook at the top. That is where we will be able to see the intersection,” Jorgensen said.

  “How far is it from the top of the hill to the intersection?” Sean asked as they walked.

  “I didn’t pace it out, but I’d guess twelve to sixteen hundred meters. Somewhat out of reach of your rifles if that is what you are wondering. But there are plenty of firing positions,” Jorgensen said.

  “Are you a sniper, George?” Brooks asked.

  “I am a hunter,” Jorgensen muttered as he continued trekking up the trail.

  It took them another thirty minutes before the trail leveled out and again traveled to the south. Jorgensen continued leading the way, walking point. Being an experienced hunting guide had ser
ved him well. He moved along the trail slowly as if stalking a deer, pausing often to check the trail and to look back as if checking on his clients. He moved quickly and quietly, feeling very comfortable in the forest.

  At a sharp corner in the trail Jorgensen stopped and took a knee, signaling for the rest of them to come forward. “This is the spot.”

  Sean looked around them in a 360 before shaking his head no. “See if you can get us closer,” he whispered.

  Without speaking, Jorgensen indicated a narrow path through heavy brush. Just beyond the brush you could see bright light coming through the leaves where a break in the forest started. He mimicked with his hands for them to crawl and follow behind him.

  It didn’t take long. Just beyond the heavy brush more signs of a hiker’s path developed, with flattened dirt and even an occasional piece of litter or names carved into a stump. Jorgensen moved down the path, crawling on his belly to keep himself concealed among the high grass that surrounded the trail. Again he stopped at a large wall made of dry, stacked stone. He scooted then turned so that he was sitting with his back against the rock wall.

  It looked to have been a popular picnic site for hikers. Brad could see how the path moved in and next to the wall. Names had been written on it in paint; stumps and logs were carved into rustic benches. Jorgensen used his hands to call them all together. Again he used his rudimentary sign language to tell them to slowly peek over the wall. Sean first lifted his head. The grass was high here, and even with his head above the wall he had to use his hands to part the vegetation to see the intersection below.

  Sean looked, pivoting his head from side to side before dropping back into the cover of the wall. He brought his hands in towards his body, signaling for the others to come closer.

  “You did good George,” Sean whispered. He looked at Brad and Brooks. “We’re going to spread out along the wall and observe for a while. George, you’re with me. Brooks, take Brad that way and find a good observation point.”

  Brooks punched Brad on the shoulder before he rolled back to the prone and began crawling farther down the stone fence. He moved slowly, making it easy for Brad to stay just behind his heels. They moved beyond the wall and created at least fifty feet of separation from the others before they settled into heavy grass in search of a hide. Brooks lay with his head facing the road and pushed backwards, being careful not to disturb the high grass in front of him.

  They crawled back until they found a downed tree. It was large and solid and would provide a safe firing position. Quietly they rolled over the log and into the depression behind it. Brooks pulled a shoulder release on the strap of his pack and let it drop beside him. Brad did the same and settled up next to the large tree trunk. They sat silently listening, trying to adjust to the sounds of their environment, hearing the winds blow through the trees above and behind them. Birds chirped intermittently.

  It was still early in the day, maybe late morning. The sun hadn’t hit the top of its arch yet. As they sat, they heard the sound of a car engine. It got louder until it seemed to be just below them. The engine stopped and a car door creaked open and slammed shut. They heard the vague sounds of voices on the winds; they couldn’t make out the words. There was another noise. A squeaky door opening followed by the slamming shut of another, or possibly the same one.

  Brooks tapped Brad and moved his head close. “Okay, let’s take a peek,” he whispered.

  Brad let his rifle lay against the pack, turned over and got his knees beneath him. Slowly he raised up until his head was level with the stump. Then a bit higher until they were above the tall grass. Even with the sounds echoing up, Brad was shocked to see how close they were. He had imagined they were farther away.

  The hill gradually fell away from them for maybe thirty feet before it quickly dropped to the ground below. A wide blacktop road ran along the bottom of the hill, traveling left to right. Immediately below them and on the far side of the road sat a large paved parking lot. There was a long steel building located at the back of the lot. It was close, maybe four football fields from their current position.

  Several cars were parked in front of the building. Looking to the right you could see the main north/south road. Here a barricade had been positioned. Two police cars painted white with a number of saw horse barriers blocked the road. Behind them sat a parked Canadian Army G-Wagon. The armored military vehicle built on a Mercedes G-class platform was painted in dark olive green holding a mounted machine gun.

  They heard a door open and focused on the building across the street. Four men exited, two of them in police uniforms, C7’s slung over their shoulders. The other two were in civilian clothing, wearing heavy coats. They all walked towards a car, laughing. The two dressed as civilians entered the car and drove off. The two uniformed men strolled towards the road block. One of them pulled himself to the hood of the G-Wagon and fished a package of cigarettes from his pocket.

  The man offered a cigarette to his comrade and they sat quietly, smoking. There were other sounds of a car approaching. The men casually looked up as a larger four-door sedan drove up the road from the left towards the barricade. The uniformed men approached the vehicle and joked with the occupants before lifting the barricade and allowing the vehicle to pass to the south.

  “Must be on their way to rape and pillage,” Brooks whispered.

  A door at the building opened and more men came out. They also laughed and joked, loitering around the parking lot. Most of these new men were also in uniform, but in mixed varieties: police, military, even a couple in firefighters’ jackets. They seemed to have no purpose other than to man the barricade. Brad counted eleven of them, all armed with rifles or sidearms.

  They watched through the rest of the morning and into the afternoon. Vehicles left and sometimes returned. Late in the day the large four-door sedan returned to the barricade. A man exited the driver’s door excitedly. He approached one of the gate guards, laughing. Quickly they talked and two of the guards followed the man to the back of the car. The driver opened the trunk and removed two tied and gagged individuals. They were young, maybe in their teens.

  Brad watched them intensely through the scope of his rifle. From their dress he couldn’t identify them as male or female, only that they were young and afraid. The driver seemed to be proud of his find. He pushed the kids around in front of him, boasting to the guards before stuffing the two back into the trunk of the car. The driver walked back towards the front of the vehicle and entered the vehicle, slamming the door behind him. The guards lifted the barricade and allowed the sedan to pass through and back down the road to the left.

  After a few minutes Sean crawled up on them from down the trail. They got back low behind the log. “I’ve seen enough, it’s time to act,” Sean whispered.

  “What’s the plan?” Brooks asked.

  “We’re going to ruin their day.”

  28.

  The team rallied back under the cover of the stone wall. Sean sketched a rough layout of the road and buildings on the mud surface of the trail. He placed pebbles along a line that symbolized his men along the ridge, then drew in the intersection and marked X’s where the building and barricade sat. “I was really hoping we could hold off, possibly do this tomorrow with a couple more shooters,” Sean whispered.

  “Then why don’t we?” Brad asked.

  “No time, these guys have run loose long enough, done too much damage. It’s time we let them know that they are not the big dogs anymore. We’re going to send a message that the baddest motherfuckers in the valley have arrived, and they have plenty to fear,” Sean said.

  “How do you propose we make this grand gesture? Without getting ourselves killed?” Jorgensen whispered skeptically.

  “Here,” Sean whispered back, pointing at the sketch in the dirt. “There are only eleven of them, they aren’t tactical, and they mostly cluster in and around this building’s entrance. They think they are smart but the fools put themselves in a low spot where two valley
s converge. We hold the high ground. Sure, the uphill terrain, the choke point, it all makes sense for holding off primals, but we are going to use it against them tonight. This isn’t a video game where they can hit reset and try again. By the time they realize what’s going on they’ll be bleeding out.”

  Sean moved the stick across the sketch. “I will be far on the right flank just below you. Brooks, you have far left. Brad, you’ll take up a one-man skirmish line all along the wall. Jorgensen, I trust you are handy with that rifle … I’m gonna sit you at the end of the rock wall.” Sean pointed his stick at every point where he wanted a man located.

  “Brooks, you and I will stay whisper quiet on the flanks. Angels of death. Pop them when nobody is watching. Hit the ones hanging back so the others don’t know where the fire is coming from. Shoot to wound.”

  Brooks squinted at the comment. “Wounding kinda goes against the book, don’t it?”

  “Not this book. I want to fuck these guys up, leave them wounded and screaming, the more chaos and panic the better.

  “George, you have one job, and one job only. I want you to find a tidy little hole in the wall where you can stay in cover, yet still keep your scope on that gun truck by the barricade. Your only responsibility is to kill anyone who tries to get on that gun. No matter what you think may be going on around you, glue your cross hair to that turret, we can’t afford to get pinned down.

  “Brad, you have the fun work, you will go loud, I want the primals to know there’s a party going on. Direct aimed fire from the wall, get their attention and harass them. One to two shots then move, don’t pop up twice from the same location. I want these fucktards thinking we have one rookie gunman up here. Let them get cocky and run outside. I want them looking at the wall while Brooks and I put them down.

  “Once they are all on the ground, back in cover, licking their wounds, I have a surprise for them,” Sean said, pulling two parachute flares from his pack. “These are my last two, you know what happens when they go off.”