Whiskey Delta – Chapter 22

“AIM towards the Enemy.”

-Instructions printed on US rocket launcher

The street was blessedly clear, one of the benefits of their being no two-way traffic in the city anymore. Beyond the downed chopper’s site, their was a string of empty parking spaces, the occasional large vehicle, like a street sweeper or a mail truck, that looked like they had been abandoned during the height of business hours.

The beeping kept pace with their speed, the sound having reached a crescendo now that they were withing five klicks of the target. They were getting closer still, but in a roundabout way. Right now, Braun’s main concern was retracing what was sure to be the exit of whoever had been aboard that chopper.

When they came to the spot where it landed, Braun ordered Whitman to halt and drop the ramp. He ran to the rear of the cabin and began issuing orders for a quick deployment and sweep.

“Gear up! I want three covering our rear, two in the front. Mill, you’re on me. We’re checking that downed bird.”

“Right, sir!”

Weapons were cocked, helmets put on, and the everyone save for Whitman was deployed a second later. Keeping their engine going, he shifted to the commander’s seat and began rotating the turret about, checking all sides for any sign of Whiskeys.

On the ground, Braun and Mill left the Stryker behind to approach the Sea King while Dezba and Cobb watched their fore. It occupied most of the street’s left lane, its landing gears collapsed against the asphalt, but the fuselage still looking relatively intact. Ten meters away, Braun raised his fist to Mill and ordered an all stop. Checking to make sure his optics were wired to his suit, he raised his weapon and got a close-up view on his HUD.

The small screen appeared in the center of his faceplate. Everything his scope was looking at, magnified by a factor of three, appeared in crystal clarity. He could see the lettering on the side more clearly now. DHS, and the department’s logo. He also spotted a pilot slumped over in the front left seat, his face obscured by his hanging helmet.

Dead, beyond a shadow of a doubt.

He could also make out the chopper’s alpha-numeric designation, but that was useless to him right now.

Or was it?

He keyed the commline. “Private, do these suits have up to date info on all our military units?”

“Not sure, sir. The Colonel said they were got updates from the defense network, but that’s not been in use for awhile.”

Braun nodded. There was no sense in not checking. Raising his arm, he flipped open the keyboard above his wrist and selected the search function. His HUD changed to what looked like an internet search page, except the only logo was the one of the DoD. In the search bar, he began inputting the numbers and letters. He hit Return.

Sikorsky SH-3. United States Secret Service. Virginia Field Office.

All but the very last line of that was useless, but the rest…

“Son of a bitch,” he said to the insides of his helmet. He keyed his comm. “Private, this bird came all the way from the East Coast.“

Mill moved closer and inspected it with his own scope. “Really? What were they doing all the way out here.”

Braun didn’t answer, but inside he felt a hunch grow stronger from the nourishment it just received. It was always good when a theory came together…

“Move up. Let’s check the interior.”

They closed the distance with a few quick strides. Braun came to the open side door and noted the gun mount, which was currently empty. But the telltale signs of gore around it spoke volumes. He raised his gun towards the cockpit but got nothing but an obscured view.

“Check the pilot,” he ordered. Mill jumped aboard and disappeared inside. Braun turned his weapon towards the front end of the street and waited. Most would say it was pointless to check, but they did anyway. You never left a man behind, not unless you knew they were finished. And if they weren’t, you had the good grace to do it yourself.

“He’s dead, sir,” Mill radioed. “Looks like he took a bite around his neck, but the coup de grace seemed to come from himself.”

Braun keyed his comm. “What’s makes you say that?”

“Well, sir. He had a bullet wound to his left temple, exit wound on the other side of his head. What’s more, I can see the gun in his left hand. He used his service weapon, most likely after he got bit.”

“Good man,” Braun replied. “Any signs of the rest of the crew?”

“No, sir, but I trust you saw the gun mount?”

Braun looked back to the door. Chances were, the gunner got ransacked, most likely as they were trying to take off. One probably slipped on board once they were airborne, bit the pilot and then gone took in the face from h9is side arm. After bringing the chopper in for a gentle crash, he finished himself off, rather than go through the agony of turning.

There were making progress. Now all they needed to know was where the rest of the crew was.

*                    *                    *

The road opened up ahead, a park to their front left and buildings on the right. A minor pile-up appeared, a couple cars which came together at the intersection. A passing look at the park showed some telltale signs of a fight too. Here and there, blackened patches marked the grass and foliage, and what looked like a few bodies strewn about.

“Watch that pileup, Private. Take the curb.”

“There’s room on the right.”

“Take the curb, Private. Don’t scrape us unless you have to.”

“What are we, in a fucking cab here?”

“No, but we aint in one your mom’s monster trucks neither. Now mount the fucking curb.”

Whitman did as he told and brought them up onto the sidewalk. They got a minor bump as they came around it and landed back on Asphalt. Braun was pleased the two up front were bantering like old times, it showed that whatever Dezba had going on upstairs, the mission was at least providing some distraction. Strange that mocking Whitman’s heritage would prove to be a good sign, but it there it was.

Keeping his hands on the rails and watching their left side, Braun saw a flash of brown amidst the park’s greenery. He strained to see it through the trees that were beginning to obscure their view, and was only moderately sure they weren’t seeing a Whiskey at work.

“Sergeant, bring the gun around to two-seven-zero.”

“You can just say nine o’clock sir.”

“Shut up Tango boy, men are talking.”

Braun watched the display screen move and tried not to laugh. Yes, everybody was getting on like old times. Almost made him think they might get this through this with just a few scrapes. The turret reached their left site and began broadcasting a picture of the park. There, amidst the lower bushes, was what he thought he saw alright…

“That’s a Black-tail,” said Dezba.

“Sure is, Sergeant,” he replied, equally impressed. “Not something you see in the city. At least… not this far into the core.”

Whitman himself snuck a look. “Are we thinking venison?”

Braun shot him a look, but then thought it over for a half a second. They could look forward to nothing but C rations for the next few days; was it so crazy to plan on adding a little fresh meat to the mix? At the moment, yes, he decided. There would be plenty of time for that once they had secured Pappa Zulu.

“Fucking Tango, no appreciation for wildlife.”

“Oh, I appreciate it! With steak sauce and taters! Mmmm-M!”

“Just hit the gas.”

A loud screech rung out, followed by a hard thud on their left side. The cabin rocked and they veered to the right.

“Fuck! What was that?”

Braun looked to the left side porthole. A stream of smoke was still visible cutting across their path. Only one conclusion.

“RPG! Hang on!”

Another screech sounded out, followed by a more distant thud. He looked up just in time to catch its point of origin. Beyond the park, a tall building that looked like it might also have been a hotel, once upon a time. His sharpened eyed picked up movement up on one of the balconies too.

“Sergeant, target bearing three-zero-zero, elevation oh-three-zero. Target only.”

Dezba brought the gun around and up and caught a view of the building. Whitman was moving them too fast to keep in view for long, but he saw the same movement. The enhanced optics caught a trace of mottled green uniforms and a few faces.

“What’s the call, LT?” asked Whitman.

“Hard right,” he said, aiming ahead. “Pull us into that side street, where they can’t pop off rockets at us.”

Whitman obliged, this time without discussion. Moving them half a block further, he pulled a hard right onto one of the side streets, smashing through an idle car at the corner. When they were just beyond the turn, Braun slapped Whitman’s shoulder.

“All stop here. Get ready to drop the ramp.”

“Sir?” he said, securing the controls and turning around. “What the hell was that? Are they shooting rockets now?”

He might have laughed had the situation not been totally fucked. “No, Private. But I think we just found our missing DHS team. At least that’s my feeling. Be ready to open the back, we’re gonna deploy by the numbers and take them alive.”

“Right on, sir,” said Dezba. Shutting down his own station, he grabbed a hold of his SCAR and slung it. Braun wasn’t sure if he should tell him to stay and man the gun. Whether or not it was necessary, he was sure he would take it as an order to sit this one out. That too was a question of necessity, one which he didn’t have time to ponder.

“You two sit tight,” he said finally. “There might be more of them out there, and I don’t want them taking out our ride. You keep her ready to move Private. Sergeant, stay on the gun and shoot anybody who pops out of the woodwork.”

“Right, sir,” said Whitman. Dezba seemed less pleased, but snapped out a curt nod.

Braun patted them both on the shoulder and went to the rear. Not a face amongst them wasn’t frazzled or freaked out. It had been some time since any of them had had to deal with enemy fire. Some of them had never witnessed it at all.

“Okay, squad, switch your comm boxes on and be ready to deploy. There’s a military unit out there, and they don’t seem to be taking kindly to our presence.”

“Who the hell are they, sir? I thought we were the only ones here.”

“Not so, Private,” he said to Mill. “Seems some folks from the DHS, possibly some other federal task force got grounded here. Who knows, they might be stranded, delirious, thinking anything that moves is hostile. Which is why we’re gonna deploy by the numbers, get into that building, and see if we can’t change their minds.“

The squad followed him out and moved into the street quickly. He centered the tall building in his HUD, zoomed in on the overhang which covered the entrance. To his sides, Cobb, Mill, Saunders and Kobayashi all stood, their weapons arrayed, each and every one of them ready to move.

“Sir?” said Mill through the comm. “What happens if we can’t convince these guys of our benign intent?”

Braun didn’t have to consider that one for long. “Then we let them know just how poorly we take to friendly fire.”