Whiskey Delta – Chapter 24

“Look at an infantryman’s eyes and you can tell how much war he has seen.”

- Bill Mauldin, “Up Front”, 1944

Braun stepped out onto the balcony and keyed his comm. The Stryker was visible just beyond the edge of the park, the small crater where the missile hit ten meters away.

“Stryker, this is alpha team. What’s your status, over?”

“We’re sitting pretty, sir,” Dezba replied. “We started getting worried when we didn’t hear any shooting, over.”

Braun might have smiled, were he not entirely fixated on the horizon. The sun was beginning to in the western sky, painting the buildings in a brilliant orange glow. What little bits of intel they were able to get from Beaumont and his men 0 that which could be called intelligible – said that the Whiskeys in this sector also liked to attack at night. Which meant the hoards would be coming.

That much Beaumont was able to convey quite clearly, not to mention his intense enthusiasm that someone else would be standing watch in his stead.

“We’ve taken three friendlies up here, and the intel we’ve gathered indicates that we can expect company tonight.”

A short pause on the other end. “Sounds familiar…”

Braun did smile this time. It was good to see Dezba back in the game, catching the important details.

“We’re going to put down for the night. Squad’s going to set camp up here, which means you boys need to extricate and get your butts up here.”

“And the vehicle?”

“Bring her to the lobby, lock her down. I’m sending Cobb and Mill help bring up supplies. Food, water, thermal bags. You know the drill.”

Another pause. “You find out who those people were, one’s who were shooting at us?”

Braun hesitated for a second in reply. It wasn’t something he wanted to convey over the air. “Just get your butts up here. Everything will be made clear in time.”

“Roger that, we’re Oscar Mike.”

He watched the Stryker pull forward and mount the curb. Whitman drove to the base of the building and performed a hard left, disappearing beneath the balcony. Braun turned around and stepped back inside. The three blue and greys were seating strategically throughout the room now. Saunders went back and forth, asking the two grunts basic questions while Kobayashi checked on the status of their health. All seemed in good enough health, at least physically. Mentally, all appeared to be holding on now, but weeks of being stranded had taken their toll.

That was another thing the Sergeant had conveyed once his spirits began to improve. Their unit had reached the area almost a month ago, judging from the date of their deployment. They had flown clear from Virginia, landing along the way to refuel at any airbase that was still operational. Once they arrived, things began to go bit awry. The details had been sketchy at first, the process proving quite difficult for the Sergeant to recount.

Some of it confirmed what he already suspected. The chopper set down shortly after sunset. The team deployed and began sweeping the area, looking for someone. Again, only the Captain knew who, and he had a device for identifying him, a box of some kind. However, the team was soon beset by an small group of Whiskeys. They had taken them out, but that only seemed to draw more, and more, and more…

They tried to fall back, but their chopper was already compromised. The pilot had attempted to rendezvous with them in an empty street, but as soon as his gears touched down, Whiskeys poured out of the woodwork. Next thing they knew, he was lifting off again, but crashed shortly thereafter. The Captain had ordered them to retreat, and fell not long after that. By morning, the Sergeant and four others were all that was left of a team that started out as twelve strong. They found their way to the chopper and grabbed as much ammo and supplies as they could. Their transmitter had been destroyed, but they were certain a rescue would come eventually.

And so they took to the nearest bit of high ground they could and waited. Their numbers had dwindled to three, the others succumbing to attacks, sickness, exposure, simply disappearing. Those that remained simply held out as best they could, fighting off the demons whenever they came, subsisting on C-rations and what water they could collect. At some point, they had given up hope of making it out. But rather than choose the coward’s path, they all agreed to go down fighting, spending every last breath and weapon they had until finally, the darkness closed in.

And then of course, we showed up…

Naturally, Beaumont’s spotty account of things also raised as many questions as it solved. For starters, his version of events occurred since the last team had been on scene and implanted Mr. Harmonn with the tracking device. From the way he described it, it didn’t sound like their CO was using a PDA or facial recognition software either. Beaumont’s description left little doubt that he was using the same tracker they were.

Which meant that HMS was also looking to harvest Harmonn, and were planning on it before the Mage and the Colonel were. But neither had mentioned anything about another mission or a fallen bird. The Colonel had been forthcoming about the tagging team that didn’t make it out. So why stay silent on these guys? Unless, she didn’t know about them…

Dezba and Whitman came through the door a moment later, followed by Mill and Cobb, their arms heavily laden with kit. They used the crates to unload the food and water, tossing the bags on the floor. Dezba and Whitman took the opportunity to survey the room, since this was the first time they had set foot in it.

“Holy fuck, man. We’re a long way from the Shangri La.”

“At least we got a window now. Won’t have to deal with your greasy farts anymore.”

Saunders was standing close by. She looked to Braun and shook her head. Slowly, she was catching on to the dynamics of their situation. It didn’t exactly inspire confidence.

As soon as they were unloaded, Braun waved Dezba over and stepped out onto the balcony with him. The squad was all assembled, and it was time to discuss a few things.

“What’s on your mind, LT?”

He looked out to the skyline, encouraged Dezba to do the same. He didn’t want others able to listen in or infer what they were talking about. First up, there was the matter of their rescue.

“These men are coming with us. Which means our mission profile has changed. We need to replan our exfil.”

“Yes, sir.”

One down. Next came the matter of digging in.

“We’re putting down for the night. We’ll need to secure this building, just in case some Whiskeys manage to find their way in. M18′s, motion sensors, the whole lot. Tomorrow morning we set out and take down Papa Zulu.”

“Yes, sir.”

And now, the final matter that needed to discussed. The one he had been holding back on until now.

“As commanding officer, I need to know that every member of my unit is working up to par. I got three people right now who are strung out and ready to snap, so I don’t need anyone in my squad making me nervous. You catch me?”

Dezba didn’t respond so quickly this time. There was no sense in broaching it nicely, and any roundabout talk would surely lead to denials and the usual shit. He had seen it enough times before to know that the only way to deal with it was to work fast, yank the band aid quickly. Let them know that their problem was a matter of public safety and not something they could keep to themselves.

“If something happened Sarge, or if your hiding something, you need to let it go. Don’t care what you do with it, just make sure it doesn’t get in the way.”

Dezba began to fidget. His feet wanted to move, but they were in too tight a space to be pacing. Instead, he just shifted back and forth, gave the fence a light kick. He looked down at his boots, checked his gun. Anything to keep from making eye contact. Anything to keep from feeling exposed.

It had to be bad, Braun knew. Something real bad. Nothing so mundane as sneaking pills or being drunk on the job. No, this was something far, far worse. Suddenly, he was regretting saying he didn’t care. Just a nicety anyway, something to let him know he didn’t need to explain himself. But dammit if he wasn’t curious…

“Are we clear, Sergeant?” He said finally.

Dezba cleared his throat and looked up at him. Nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“You got this, soldier?”

“I got this, sir.”

Braun patted him on the shoulder. “Good. Because unless the Sergeant lied to me, we’re in for one hell of a night.”

Dezba lost his look of discomfort. Slowly, his head and Braun’s turned west.

To the skyline…

To the setting sun…

To a night filled with milky white globes and rotting teeth…