Whiskey Delta – Chapter 23
“Friendly fire – isn’t”
-Anonymous
They made it to the lobby without incident. Whoever it was that was popping off rockets at them clearly hadn’t been able to get a line on their advance.A good indication that they either weren’t on top of their games, or rank amateurs.
Still, as far as deployment was concerned, things couldn’t have felt more different. It was one thing dealing with Whiskeys who were capable of showing a modicum of intelligence. It was another thing entirely to deal with an opponent who could shoot back.
The front lobby held all the telltale signs of invasion. Broken glass, tables and vending machines turned on their sides and used as obstructions. And of course, plenty of blackened, gory patches. Deploying in in a wedge formation, they the room and secured all corners. Not a sign of anyone holding it or waiting in ambush. Another clear sign that whoever was shooting at them wasn’t exactly thinking things through. Perhaps it wasn’t animosity driving them after all.
Braun activated his comm, called up Dezba. “Sergeant, what’s your status?”
His line crackled, Dezba;s voice coming in a second later. “We’re sitting pretty, sir. No contact down here.”
“Good,” he replied. “I need you to bring the Stryker around. When we take to the fourth floor, I want you and the Private to pull out front and perform some covering fire.”
A second or two of hesitation. “Do you mean to say you want us to draw their fire, sir?”
Braun smiled. “I’m thinking our quarry here might be a little off their game. They see you pulling around, they might not realize we’re outflanking them. Understood?”
“Yes, sir. Just give us the word and we’ll be your sitting ducks.”
Braun chuckled. “Standby,” he said, and shut his comm down. He motioned in the air for the squad to move, pointed to the far end of the lobby. Within seconds, they were through and on their way to the stairs, their boots clanking loudly as they made their way up to the fourth floor.
* * *
They sat at the intersection, the engine idling loudly. Dezba positioned the turret at the west side of the building, what little he could see. They wouldn’t have a clear line on them until they moved clear of the shadows and put themselves in harms way again. The LT had specified taking them down in one piece, but he was going to be damned if he wasn’t going to squeeze off a few rounds in reply. Just a warning shot or two, issued with fifty-cal rounds!
“This is grade-A retard shit, man.”
“Welcome to the army, Billy,” he replied, waiting on his comm. “Every halfway decent plan is retarded.”
“Let’s just kill em and be done with it.”
Dezba grabbed hold of the gun controls and gave them a light squeeze, safe in the knowledge that they were still secured. “Might yet come to that, soldier. Just hang on and let’s see what happens.”
“Cool, cool,” Whitman said, even though it was plain it wasn’t. For the next few minutes, they sat their amidst the vibrations and Dezba tried not to jump down his throat. The way his feet kept tapping on the floor, the way he was fidgeting incessantly. A thought occurred to him just then.
“Did you pop some pep pills before we dropped?”
Whitman looked at him, eyes wide. His pupils looked a little dilated suddenly. He knew that look well enough. An admission would just be a formality at this point.
“Um, what?” said Whitman, pretending he hadn’t heard.
“Did you pop some pills before we dropped?”
“No… not before we dropped.“
“God – ! I hate it when you’re high on those fucking things. You’re always running at the mouth.”
Whitman smirked. “You’d miss my sparkling conversation, sir. And speaking of running at the mouth, what the hell was that about the other night?”
Dezba bristled and looked back to the display. “Not sure what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, c’mon Sarge!” he said, way too loud. “You were itching to knock somebody’s block off. And I aint ever heard you say that kind of shit about civvies before.”
Dezba shook his head, kept his eyes on the display. “Nothing I haven’t said before.”
“Bullshit! You’re always saying the first and final duty of a soldier is to fight for those who can’t fight for themselves… or some such shit. That was totally not you, sir.”
Dezba refused to look. They were venturing into territory he refused to get into. Any further down this road, and he was afraid he would cease feeling anything again. He kept silent and hoped Whitman would go back to waiting and annoying him with his foot tapping. As insufferable as that was, it was preferable to talking about that night. Anything was…
“Alright,” Whitman said finally. “Keep your secrets. Just let me know if you’re gonna blow your stack. I’ll point you in the right direction.”
Shut the fuck up, Private, he thought. The boy was getting dangerously close. Any further and he’d forget himself. Not something he wanted to be doing right now. There were enough people asking to die, some of them were waiting up in that high-rise before them.
The LT’s voice sounded on the comm. “Stryker, this is Alpha team. Breaching in ten seconds, wheels up.”
Dezba keyed his comm, thankful for the interruption. “Roger that, sir. Stryker is Oscar Mike.” He turned to Whitman with what he imagined with a pretty harsh fucking glare. “You heard him, Private. Move us out!”
Whitman revved the engine and grabbed hold of the controls. “Hang on to your hat, Sarge. And pray we don’t get hit!”
Dezba would have smiled, in another time and place. “Don’t worry, Private. You’ll barely feel it if we do.”
* * *
Braun released his hold on the comm. He looked up at his squad, poised and ready on either side of the door. He nodded at them.
“Ready?” they nodded in return. Mill and Saunders grabbed two flashbangs from their belts, and Kobayashi braced himself in front of the door. His boot came up and smashed the locking mechanism clear, and the flashbangs went in right behind. A loud shriek sounded just as the bangers went off, followed by a loud yell.
“Move! Move!”
They were inside the room and on their quarry in no time at all. Two were already on the ground, a rifle in his hands. Mill secured him quickly, while the other two on the balcony were taken down by Cobb and Saunders. The one holding the launcher had still been on his feet, but Saunders quickly solved that with a sharp kick to the back of his knee. All three had the business end of a weapon shoved in their face and began issuing pleas of surrender by the time the echoing noise finally dissipated,
Raising his helmet, Braun took in the room in a bit more detail. Ammo boxes and crates had been piled against two walls of the room. All traces of furniture had been shoved into the adjacent bedroom, stripped down except for the mattresses. He could see several containers opened and scattered about, C-rations from the looks of them. A tall can in the corner also caught his eye, clearly the latrine since the room clearly didn’t have any working utilities.
He eyed the nearest one who was laid out on the carpet. He was blinking hard, trying to resolve his vision after the blinding flash. The cammo pants he wore were standard issue, as was the khaki shirt.He recognized the emblem too: a blue and gray yin-yang. He kicked his weapon away and waved at Mill to step off of him.
“Can you hear me?” the man looked at him and blinked hard. “I’m Lieutenant Braun. Two-hundredth Infantry Brigade, Rattlesnakes. Fort Vanguard, New Mexico. You’re with the twenty-ninth, aren’t you?”
That got a blink of recognition. “Yes!”
Braun nodded. “You boys are a long way from home, aint ya?”
“Yes,” the man said again, looking suddenly quite sad. Must have been the mention of home.
“Can you tell me your name?”
The man shivered and closed his eyes. It was as if it would only come with an effort. Finally, he gave him the basics.
“Sergeant Michael Beauvoir, twenty-ninth Infantry, Fort Belvoir. One-nine-seven, four-three-nine, seven-three-seven.”
Braun smiled. Name, rank, and SSN. Standard capture protocol. Now for the hard part.
“Why did you shoot at us, Sergeant?”
The man became visibly agitated. He closed his hands into tight balls and pulled them to his face. His next words were uttered through clenched teeth.
“I swore to hold this position against all opposition. To resist all attacks and wait for exfiltration. That was my duty! That was MY duty!”
“When did you get here?”
Beaumont blinked hard. His eyes became distant, and in time the look of dismay returned. Braun thought he make break down at any second.
“I… I…”
Braun waved at Mill to step back. He extended a hand to Beaumont and helped him up. He waved at the others to do the same. Cobb and Saunder found some impromptu furniture to sit them down on while Braun helped Beaumont over to the nearest stack of crates. He tried to get things rolling again, focusing on the Sergeant seemed comfortable answering.
“Who was commanding your unit?”
“Some Captain… Fischer. Ex special forces.”
Braun didn’t bother to ask what happened to him. It was obvious enough he had died some time ago.
“What was Homeland’s involvement?”
Beaumont shook his head. “They were the ones who put it together. Said it was a matter of national security. Said we were winning the war, coming out here…”
That distant look again. Braun tried to steer him back on track again. “Did they tell you what the mission was all about?”
Beaumont shook his head again. He began to rock back and forth on the crates. “Nobody… nobody told us a thing. Captain was the only one who knew…. only one who knew!”
Braun looked to Mill, then the other two captives. They didn’t appear to be doing so well either. All of them were sitting quietly, but looked severely on edge. no doubt they had gotten used to mirroring the Sergeant’s disposition, him being their commander in lieu of this Captain. That was the way of it. Robbed of any semblance of order or hope, the mind clung to whatever it could. Could be a man, could be a belief, could even be a familiar object. You simply clung onto it, until it broke.
“Listen, Sergeant. We can get you out of here, but it means coming with us. We’ve got our Stryker down below. We got food, water, and medicine. Might do your men some good to get something new to eat and a quick check up.”
Beaumont ceased rocking and began nodding quite furiously. Braun looked to Kobayashi. “Big man, you still got your med kit handy?”
“Yes, sir,” he said, placing his launcher aside and pulling the kit from his suit. It was a point of irony that their heavy weapons man was also their resident med tech, but he was qualified for it. One of the many reasons he had been selected. Opening it on top of one the crates, he produced a HR/BP monitor and a penlight. Beginning with the other two, he started giving them a quick check while Braun kept talking to the Sergeant.
“Sergeant, we’ve still got a job to do here, and I suspect it might have been the same thing you were sent in to do. Did your orders specify anything about a snatch and grab?” Beaumont nodded in that same anxious way. “We still have to complete the mission. But once that’s done, we’re set for exfiltration back to New Mexico. We get you there, our CO can start working on a way to get you home.”
Beaumont looked up at him, his eyes looking distant and bright for the first time since they met. “Home…” he said. “Yes… yes. That’s what we’ll do… with you guys. With you guys!” He jumped to his feet and began pointing at each of them in turn. “We go with you!”
Braun raised his hands and patted Beaumont on the shoulders. It took a second and a few calming words, but he coaxed him to sit back down. That’s when he called Saunders and stepped aside for a private word.
“Sir?” she asked, unclear on why he asked her over.
“Corporal, in the absence of the Sergeant, you are acting NCO. And what I’m about to tell you goes no further. Understood?”
She nodded and leaned in close.
“Your impressions on the Sergeant over there?”
She looked to her boots. “Sir, he’s broken, clearly.”
“Without a doubt. But that’s not the main issue. What are the odds our exfil is going to be able to perform an emergency landing to pick us up when this is over?”
“Landing?” she asked, but then quickly realized what he was getting at. “Oh, our exfil was only set for seven. If these men come with us…”
“Bingo. That Herc that’s supposed to pluck us from the ground is going to have to land. What are the odds of them being able to airlift a Stryker, ten personnel, and still make it back to base without spending their fuel?”
She ran the numbers through her head, eventually producing a best guess scenario. “Might be close, we might have to leave the Stryker behind. But that was the plan to begin with.”
Braun nodded. “Right, but it was also based on the idea that we’d need to dust off in a hurry, once we found our target. If we ask for a landing, we’ll have to move the exfil point back to where they dropped us off, and maybe even attempt a drive in exfil.”
That made Saunders reconsider. She tried to fathom that one and shook her head. “We’d need a crazy pilot, and an even crazier driver.”
Braun smiled. “We’re one for two then so far, Corporal. Fifty-fifty are pretty good starting odds.”
