Whiskey Delta – Chapter 11

Spectre by fxevo-d387t6x at deviantArt

“A general is just as good or just as bad as the troops under his command make him.”

- Douglas MacArthur

The daylight hit them like a sudden onrush of painkiller. Hard, fast, blinding and blissful. They were outside in the cool air and sun, their evacuees in tow. The second the doors swung shut behind the last of their party, Fourth Squad was moving up to intercept. Dezba guessed they must have had some blood and guts on them, because the Company medic was coming with them.

Dezba could barely hear them. His ears seemed to be blocking just about everything that didn’t seem dirty or life threatening anymore. He could see only their mouths, moving in slow motion as they set upon his squad and the civilians they were hustling out. He slowed his gate towards their vehicle and even let the doc pass him over when it was his turn.

The bright pen light in his eyes seemed to snap him out of whatever state he was in. The words seemed to slowly take form and acquire sound…

“Can you hear me? Did you get bit?”

“What?” Dezba heard himself yell.

“Did you get bit? Did any of them bite you?”

“No I’m clean!” he said incredulously. The Doc was unconvinced and began looking over him, making sure there were no tears or teeth marks on his uniform or person. Satisfied, he eventually left him alone and moved on to the next.

Dezba turned to look at the evacuees. They were running forward and grabbing just about anyone they could. It was all the doc could do to inspect them all in time. They even grabbed a hold of him when he got close, anyone in a uniform would do.

“Sergeant?”

Dezba turned around and caught sight of the LT approaching him. On instinct, he lowered his rifle to his side and stood slightly taller, coming to attention as Braun got within spitting distance. State or no state, he still knew how to behave like a soldier, especially when a better one approached.

“Sergeant, you alright?”

“Me, sir? Fine,” he said unequivocally. The LT didn’t seem to believe him, he nodded anyway.

“We, uh, are going to need to talk at some point about what went on in their, Sergeant. I’m still not totally clear on what went on in their before my squad linked up with yours.”

Dezba frowned. At the moment, he couldn’t quite appreciate the LT’s confusion. It seemed like it had been pretty obvious what went on. Since he was being asked, He did his best to encapsulate it for the man.

“What happened, sir, was we were ambushed. Those civies were up top waiting for extraction, and those bastards were lying in wait rather than trying to get them for themselves.”

“So you told me,” Braun said with a nod. “But your actions before that, what happened to make them come out of hiding and attack your men before we could reach you?”

Dezba was about to speak, but stopped short to clear his throat. He had forgotten about that, what with the carnage that followed. He had almost completely phases out during the better part of it in fact. Most of it still seemed like a bad dream, something the mind began to erase the moment one awoke from it.

“I, uh… I smelt them, sir.”

“Smelt them?”

Dezba nodded. The LT stared at him and waited for more. His piercing blue eyes began to seem very cold to Dezba, very cold indeed. Wiping his nose with his sleeve, he tried to fetch some more from his foggy mind.

“I could tell they were at the bottom of the stairwell. They weren’t making much noise, but they were stinking up the joint. I, uh, popped a flashbang and…”

He stopped there and looked back at the LT. His face hadn’t changed. The blue eyes were still cutting into him, driving home the stupidity of his actions, the thoughtlessness of his call. He eventually dropped his gaze to the ground and waited for the reprimand. When the LT did speak, he sounded surprisingly cool and even in his tone.

“At some point, First Squad is going to have to answer to the Colonel, possibly even the Mage himself. It’s important that we emphasize the success of this operation. Not to mention the implications… catch me?”

Dezba looked back up.

“Yes, sir…” He said automatically.

“As for as the Colonel is concerned, we diverted to pull civilians off of a undesignated sight. We stumbled onto an ambush, we engaged it accordingly. He asks you what happened, like why you didn’t wait for Second to back you up, you make sure to tell him that there wasn’t time enough and you evacuated your men to a safe position.”

“Yes, sir,” Dezba repeated. A second or two of silence followed, after which the LT shrugged.

“It’s true enough, isn’t it? Your squad managed to rack up at least two dozen kills, and we got about half that many people out alive as a result. You leave out the bit about you poking the hornets nest, and that looks pretty damn good, doesn’t it?”

Dezba nodded and issued a final agreement. “Yes, sir, Lieutenant.”

“Alright then,” said Braun, and then looked over Dezba’s shoulder to where the convoy was sitting. Dezba turned around to follow his line of sight. Beyond where they’d parked their Humvee’s, a M2 with the Rattlesnakes insignia marked on the side was parked. And where the TOW missile launcher usually sat, a whole whack of antenna were extended.

The CandC vehicle, Dezba thought. No wonder the LT wanted to get his story straight, the Colonel himself was now in their midst. No doubt to discuss who the hell had fucked his beloved timetable up and why.

“Carry on, Sergeant,” he said, and then began walking in the direction of the M2. Dezba heard the hydraulic noise of the back door lowering, and saw the Colonel emerge in his dress fatigues not a moment thereafter. Braun approached him and snapped out a quick salute, uttering something Dezba couldn’t hear.

“Oh God, it was so awful!”

Dezba looked back to his squad, all of whom were now congregated around their vehicle. Save Whitman, who stood back a ways next to the female civy they had extricated from the roof. As the doc looked over her to determine if she had any bites, he stood by and watched attentively. He could just make out what he was saying to her.

“No, no, trust me, I believe you. Yes… really bad. Don’t worry, the doc’s just making sure you’re okay. Yes, I believe you. You’ll be fine.”

Poor girl, Dezba thought. Just as soon as they arranged for some transport for these folk, they’d be hauled back to base for processing and debriefing. After that, they could probably expect to be shipped to Espanola for resettlement. That meant this young girl, whoever she was, could look forward to weeks of unsolicited visits from Whitman and whatever cheap charms he could bring her. Every member of First Squad knew from experience what kind of Whiskey Tango crap the boy considered to be romantic gestures.

Then again, she was alive. How did that factor in on the whole balance sheet of things?

“Poor… lucky, misfortunate girl,” he muttered, shaking his head.

*               *                *

“I say again, Lieutenant, we got armored columns moving up the road without any support on their flanks. I got tank and LAV commanders telling me they got Whiskeys closing in on their sides and they’s got to run them down with their own treads because the gunners got to duck inside for cover! You wanna explain this to me again?”

Braun cleared his throat. He wasn’t sure how else to put it. He had been dealing with the Colonel long enough to know that unforeseen circumstances didn’t exactly play well in his play book. But there was only so many ways he could say the same thing.

“Sir, as I said, First Squad detected the presence of civilians on top of this structure while we were covering the BCT’s right flank. With the help of our air support, we used a thermal scan to determine that they were not Whiskey Tangos and moved to intercept. I did not anticipate this would take us away from the BCT’s flank for more than a few minutes -”

“YOU-DID-NOT- THINK…?!” the Colonel yelled. A curious case of selective interpretation, but the LT could do nothing but nod.

“Yes, sir. I did not think we would be away from BCT’s flank longer than was necessary -”

“Necessary became a threshold which you passed five minutes ago, Lieutenant! The entire operation has stalled and I got offensive units sitting out there with their dicks in their hands because of it! Civilians are now waiting longer than they have to thanks to this little stunt you pulled!”

“Colonel!” Braun and Haynes looked in the direction of the M2′s open door. His lieutenant’s head was sticking out, the receiver from their comm box in his hand. “Rattlesnake actual on the phone.”

“Fucking hell,” Haynes muttered. He turned his baleful eyes back to Braun. “Let’s see if the Mage can’t unfuck this situation for us, Lieutenant.”

Haynes turned his back and stalked off to the rear of the Bradley. He took the reciever from the supplicating lieutenant the second his boots hit the ramp. Alone, Braun drew a deep breath and tried his best to think positive, not about the possible reaming he might be getting if the Mage was as pissed as Haynes was. Though, he considered, that seemed unlikely. Few people ever got as pissed as Haynes, especially when s0meone went about fucking his shit up.

The only surprising thing was that it didn’t happen more often. He left so much room for shit to go wrong…

He caught the last of it right before Haynes handed the reciever back to the waiting lieutenant.

“Yes, sir. Yes, sir. I’ll relay that, sir.” He turned around and put his helmet back on. Immediately, Braun could see the look in his eyes. Either the Colonel had just had his ass chewed out and was about to send some of that his way, or things had gone differently than anticipated. He returned to Braun, close enough that their helmets were almost touching. His eyes bore down into him.

“Word has just come down…” he began. “An evac bus is coming in to pick up these civies. They arrive in three mikes back at the highway. You and your men are to escort these civies to them… then proceed to back to the BCT’s right flank, clear out any Whiskeys that remain, and protect them for the remainder of this operation. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Braun said without hesitation. He had questions, but knew better than to ask. Like, for example, why he wasn’t being bent over the Colonel’s knee. But he had a pretty good idea on that already. Two dozen dead Whiskeys and a dozen freed civies, not a bad reason for a delay.

“Good. And load up post-haste, Spookys are dusting this place off in five mikes. Dismissed!”

“Yes, sir!” Haynes turned and quickly ducked back in his own M2. The ramp closed and the driver got her moving back towards the connector without delay. Braun felt the need to get moving to. He didn’t want to be anywhere near when the gunships started opening fire. Especially with soft-skinned civies on hand.

He found Dezba waiting on the other side of the convoy and grabbed a hold of him first. “Sergeant, get your men squared and be prepared to move out. We make for the highway in one mike.”

Dezba, who seemed much clear now, looked over at the civilians who were huddled not far away. Just about all them were sucking down water out of disposables and wearing blankets around their shoulders. The obvious question followed.

“What about them, sir?”

“We’ll just have to make room for them in their cabs. First has got a full cab right now, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, sir,” Dezba nodded. “The addition of the FNG has left just one seat and it aint comfy.”

“Make do, Sergeant. Between the lot of us, we gotta fit twelve people. Our Alpha Charlie one-thirties are dusting this place off in five mikes and we don’t wanna be here when they do.”

Dezba’s eyes widened. “Shit. On it, sir!”

Dezba fetched his squad and started barking at them to get their shit together. He grabbed the nearest civy and stuffed her in the back between Majorca and Jones. Whitman didn’t appear too happy with that. Running to the other vehicles in the convoy, he called out to the other members of Alpha Company to get moving.

“Wheels up, Vipers! We move out in one mike! Grab whatever civies you can and make room for em in your cabs. We drop em off up top and rendezvous with the BCT. MOVE!”

*               *               *

Whitman slowed them down as soon as they hit the ramp. From his spot on the passenger side, he kept noting the way he was looking out the window. He knew the feeling. A dustoff was always a good show.

“Private, watch the road please.”

“Sorry, sir. Just wanna make sure I don’t miss it.”

“You’re gonna be causing some of your own if you slow down any more. A pileup on the highway connector wouldn’t be too good right now.”

“What’s he talking about?” the civy asked from the back. To her side, Jones was only too happy to oblige.

“See, miss, what we got happening is some of our big birds are coming in to level the college with their big guns. It’s a real fireworks display. Better than Fourth of July-like.”

There was a pause before she answered. Dezba wished they had a rear view so he could see her reactions.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” she said.

Whitman tried not to laugh. “What the uh, verbally-challenged Private is trying to tell you miss, is that our air support is about to level your old institution. It’s going to be loud and intrusive and we’re real sorry, ma’am. Truly.”

Dezba would have laughed himself, but when would Whitman get an opportunity like this again? It seemed to be working too, judging from her reaction.

“That’s sweet, but I say good riddance. That place is a fucking nightmare to me now. I hope they bring the whole thing down.”

Whitman changed his tone real quick. “Ah, then you’ll love this!”

They reached the top and he brought them around so their left side was facing below. Hitting the breaks, he turned around in his seat.

“Cheech, man, move the fuck back! She can’t see!”

Majorca rolled his eyes and did his best to lean back a few more inches. The lady leaned over and looked out the window, using his leg as a balance beam.

“Where…?”

“Wait for it,” Whitman said, looking out his own window. Dezba, Jones and Mill were joining them too. Just about everybody in the company was, from the sound of it. Nobody was squaking at them on the box, which meant they approved of Whitman’s parking job. From where they sat, they had a relatively unobscured view of the buildings below. The whine of turboprops also indicated that the Spookys were well overhead now.

“Whatta ya think they’re gonna use?” asked Mill from up top.

“One-oh-five, no doubt about it,” Dezba replied.

Whitman shushed them both. “Any second now…”

A thunderclap signaled from overhead. Everybody in the cab held their breath for it to hit. Everybody but Majorca, who was grunting from the pain in his leg. There was barely a second of intervening time, followed by a loud whiz and an even bigger bang!

The boom shattered the earth-hugging building in a single blow and sent everything inside the cab rocking. Dezba barely caught the initial hit, as he and everyone else instinctively flinched when the blast went up. When he recovered, he saw a flaming ruin hugging the Earth now, and tons of debris floating to the ground. When the flames died down a little, all that was left was some standing walls and a whole lot of wreckage.

“Shit, man…”

“Hang on,” Dezba ordered.

More hits sounded against the earth a second later, several big, hard thumps they could feel in their bones. Smaller plumes of flame went up, throwing concrete from a broken foundation and sending all the walls that were still standing to the ground. The last of the community college fell down into a smoking crater, anything that was still inside now deader than Julius Ceasar!

“Oh my God!” the young woman said. “That was unbelievable!”

“I know right,” Whitman said, staring back at her. For what felt like a creepily long moment, they seemed to hold each others eyes. Dezba felt the same surge of pity creeping back up on him.

He cleared his throat. “Uh, Private. The Evac shuttle?”

Whitman looked at him blankly, then back to the road. “Right sir. Get us there in a giffy.”

Giffy? Dezba thought. Since when did his drive use that word in his vocab? Was the presence of a woman making him act all proper, or was it the fact that she mistakenly thought he was chivalrous? Whichever, he looked forward to dropping her off and ripping on Whitman about it later.

“What’s your name, miss?” he thought to ask. Whitman would need to know when he started stalking her later.

“Sandy,” she said. “Sandy Bloom.”

Hmm, Jewish girl. He was sure Whitman’s Whiskey Tango trailer park mom would love to hear about that.

“Well, Ms. Sandy Bloom,” Whitman interrupted. “Welcome to the Rattlesnakes. We promise to take good care of ya!”