Whiskey Delta – Chapter 6

“The wise man does not expose himself needlessly to danger, since there are few things for which he cares sufficiently; but he is willing, in great crises, to give even his life – knowing that under certain conditions it is not worthwhile to live.”

- Aristotle

They stood together, watching the squat brown edifices that marked the landscape between scarred masses of urban sprawl. From a distance, the city really didn’t look that different. It was only with the addition of blackened smoke rising from random places that anyone could tell that the city was in a state of crisis.

That and the fact that explosions were erupting from pinpoint locations, the result of their aerial bombardment. The Falcons flying overhead, the AC-130′s buzzing overhead like angry wasps. It was like witnessing a thunderstorm in a way, the explosions and the noise arriving just seconds apart. It was quite the cacophony, hearing the jets swarm overhead while the bombs went off.

Braun took a second to sniff the air. Fetid water and rotten meat. Like always, whenever they cleared a population center. It was funny in a way. One could always designate an operation based on the level of stink. Wherever they were, it was. The more of them, the greater the stench. And judging from the particular stench, this day was going to be a red day! He was sure Haynes felt the same way, hence his tightened jawline.

Even with the smell of burning cordite blowing into their lines, the stench was still there. The two combined was rather intoxicating, like a fresh flame burning away the infection. It was encouraging, a reminder that they were ways to defeat the Whiskeys and purge their infectious nature. Even if they were leveling the city in the process, it was a real morale booster.

Colonel Haynes sighed. “That’s the difference there, Lieutenant. The reason why they fell and we’ll prevail.”

“What’s that, sir?” Braun asked.

“Air support,” he said happily. “The ability to blast the rotten motherfuckers from the air with impunity. Hell, artillery will do in a pinch if you’re not picky, but the moral is the same.”

“I hear that, sir.”

He did too. Of course, that didn’t stop Haynes from expounding on the matter though.

“Had they not been so concerned with harming our own people, knocking over our own neighborhoods… hell, we’d have had this infection licked a long time ago! He paused, sounding somewhat distant now. “ That’s the lesson in this, Lieutenant. You don’t go half-measures when you’re dealing with an infection. It’s all or nothing.”

Braun nodded. He knew enough not to spoil the moment with words of agreement or dissent. Haynes wasn’t one for dealing with the latter particularly well, and his opinions on the subject were well known. Stupid as they were.

“Bravo Company ready to go?”

“Ready to move on your order, sir.”

“Then let’s suit em up!”

Braun and Haynes both turned and advanced on the motorcade that was waiting by the side of the road. Arranged side by side, their vehicles waiting with their crews standing by, were Alpha, Bravo, Charlie and Delta companies. Making his way to the forefront alongside the Captain, Braun waited for him to give a final address, as was his tendency.

Not far from him, Lieutenants Hillier, Chavez and Naha took up their positions in front of their companies, joined by Gunnery Sergeant Mitchell  who stood closest to the Captain’s side, as was his tendency. All they could do now was wait while Haynes got the heroics out of his system and went out over every last detail that they already had been briefed on.

“Alright, listen up grunts! Below us lies a city many of you call home. It’s a city that’s running afoul of the disease collectively known as Whiskey fucking Deltas!”

The men of Rattlesnake Brigade called out for blood. The mere mention of the name inspiring them to demand vengeance. Braun could tell in an instant exactly who had called the city home at one time, before the crisis began. They seemed especially lit up and hungry to get some.

“The One-hundred-and-fiftieth is busy priming the mother fuckers with fire. And as soon as they are done, the Brigade BCT will deploy to strike at hard targets all along the cities main axis. And that, gentlemen and ladies, is where we come in!”

Another hoot, less blood-curdling and more affirmative this time.

“With the armored fist driving straight into the face of these fuckers, 1st Battalion’s job is simple. We provide fire support for the BCT’s flanks, but we also make sure that any Whiskey’s not burned up by the bombing or ripped to pieces by the Rattlesnake’s cannons get a head-full of hot lead. We flush out the fuckers from all positions next to the BCT’s main line of advance, we shoot the fuckers in the head, and we make sure civilians are provided a safe corridor to escape from.”

He reached into his vest and produced a small, yellow device with his left hand. On one side was a wind-up lever, on the other, a speaker and a tuner dial. He held the device up to illustrate the next aspect of the briefing. In his right, he pulled up the roster for items that were on the no-hit list. The G2 officer had been quite specific, making sure that anything that could be considered a defensible area would not be hit by them.

“Points of interest are marked on your maps. The Bataan Memorial Museum, the San Miguel Mission, the Physicians Medical Center, and the Rio Grande School. These are the locations that the Mage has designated as safe havens. Our Air Wing has been dropping disposable radios and supplies for weeks, instructing civilians to fall on these locations, take up defensive positions, and await further aid. Today, we liberate these people and bring them home!”

The Brigades lit up again with a general holler. Having covered all the points of their attack, the Colonel wrapped things up and gave the order to depart.

“Report to your vehicles and get ready to roll! We make Sante Fe in ten mikes!”

Braun and the other officers hopped from their spots and began moving to their respective companies. It didn’t take him long to reach Bravo, being smack dab in the middle of the motorcade. He spotted Dezba and his squad waiting at the front of that line, with Mill hailing him from the roof.

“LT! LT! Over here!” he yelled.

“What is it, Private. Make it quick!”

“Sir, word is we got some Specters flying support for us, is that true?”

“That’s affirmative, Private. Three AC-13o’s are on station and providing overwatch.”

“Holy shit,” Whitman replied. Next to him, Dezba was sure to interject.

“Sir, with that overwatch and all this bombardment, are we even expecting to extract anybody out of the city?”

Braun leaned in to the cabin so he could he could hear over the sound of revving motors, mere inches from Whitman’s face.

“What was that, Sergeant?”

“I said, sir, with this kind of fire superiority, it kind of seems like the Mage isn’t expecting there to be much to save.”

Braun nodded, trying not to let on that that very consideration had occurred to him as well.

“Just concern yourself with your drive plan, Sergeant. If there are pockets of civilian resistance left here, we’re sure to find them in the designated spots. They’ve been given food, ammo, and firearms to last the few weeks. And with all the radio traffic we’ve been throwing at them, they are sure to know we’re coming.”

“Request, sir?” Whitman asked, raising his hand as soon as Braun’s face cleared his window.

“What is it, Billy?”

“Tell us again how the Doc shit his pants in the Mage’s office…”

The entire vehicle erupted in laughter. Braun tried his best, but still managed a smirk. He must have told that story a dozen times by now, and it was beginning to grow in stature. He wasn’t sure he mentioned any soiling the first time he told it. But he wasn’t about to correct for any such details now.

“Later, Billy! Once we’ve cleared this city out.”

“It’s a date, LT!”

Whitman revved the engine. Braun ran as fast as he could to his own vehicle to get ready to move…