Whiskey Delta – Chapter 25

“War should be the only study of a prince. He should consider peace only as a breathing-time, which gives him leisure to contrive, and furnishes as ability to execute, military plans.”

-Niccolo Machiavelli

The last of the sun had set. The sky was filled with stars. Braun watched the open doorway from his spot on the floor, his bag pulled up to his waist, leaving his still-armored upper body free. Around him, all the other members of his squad were sleeping soundly. The evacuees were doing the same in the next room on their procured mattresses.

He breathed an easy sigh, the first he’d experienced in days. Everything seemed in order, everything taken care of. The motion detectors were all in position, the M18′s and V69′s all planted in the field, ad the Stryker had been parked in the building basement, the entrance grate welded shut so nothing could wander in. There was nothing left to do now but relax and wait for morning.

This must be what it feels like to put the house to bed. He looked forward to that someday, to a home, kids and a woman. When the process of putting an end to the day didn’t involve land mines, perimeters and terrible creatures wandering in the night.

And yet, nothing had tripped their sensors. The hour was getting early, and it appeared as though it might be safe to drift off after all. He was sure he’d regret it, always seemed to follow that permission to drop one’s guard was followed inevitably by a boot in the ass. But his eyes would not be denied any longer, and closed themselves shut. His head became heavy and lay back against the bag’s foam pillow. He let off a small grunt of fatigue and felt himself slowly drift.

Just a few minutes, and he would be with the others. Somewhere better than this…

*                    *                    *

“Lieutenant! Lieutenant, wake up!”

Braun rolled onto his side and checked his watch. The faint traces of another time and place receded from his mind, becoming blurry and opaque as he tried to retain them. Standing in the shadowy crevice, the taste of cool water in his mouth, looking out at a sky so blue it was heartbreaking. As soon as he got to one knee, it was forgotten, the cruel numbers on his wrist the only thing that mattered.

“One hour… one fucking hour.”

“What’s that, sir?”

He looked up and saw Saunder’s face. He blinked hard to clear the mucus from his eyes. “Nothing… what is it, Corporal?”

“The outer marker has been tripped. We got Whiskeys in the park.”

Braun nodded. One hour of sleep, time enough for a single dream, and they had come. He couldn’t remember what he had been dreaming of, but remembered suspecting this would happen. Always too much to expect a night of solid sleep while on an op.

“Alright, rouse the squad.”

“They’re already in position, sir. We’re ready and waiting.”

Braun grunted. And he was the last to wake on top of everything else. He found his SCAR in the corner and slung it over his shoulder. His helmet came next, which lit up the moment he strapped it on. The bright display appeared in his field of vision, the Night Vision coming on a second later. He connected the scope up and proceeded to the window.

He found Dezba leaning against the wall. His own display glowed green in his visor. He pointed to the field below and keyed his comm.

“Looks like just a few,” he said. “Couple stragglers looking for a meal. Probably thought they could snag themselves a deer.”

“Got a taste for venison, huh?” Braun nodded and raised his scope. He spotted the target below. Three wandering in close relation to each other, their eyes wide and glowing a bright shade of green.

“We might be okay,” said Cobb from his other side. “As long as they keep wandering straight ahead, they won’t trip anything.”

“An explosion will attract any others they got in the area.”

Braun nodded to both of them in turn. A perfect appraisal of the situation. On their current course, they would walk clear through the park and head off down the side street. But if they converged on the building, for whatever reason, they would likely trip one of the Claymores or Valmaras they had set up in the twilight. Hell, even if they did a little ambling a few feet from their current position, and they would set off a fragmentation or bounding mine. A quick flash, followed by hundreds of ball bearings or pieces of tiny shrapnel from ground level or overhead.

It would make for a good show, but the light and noise would be an irresistible draw. The one thing they couldn’t resist, aside from the smell of raw flesh, was bright lights and loud noises. Was it pure animal instinct, or an innate awareness that these things were indicative of human activity? Smart money said the odds were about even these days. No one could tell…

Saunders appeared next to him a second later, her sniper rifle resting butt-down on the floor. Next to her crouching body, it looked ridiculously bulky, the kind of thing no one would expect a woman her size to wield. And yet, she had it locked and ready, prepared to cut anything that got in their way to pieces.

“Sir, should I set up?”

Braun looked at the barrel of the gun, noting the excessively large bore of the thing. “One shot and every Whiskey will be here in under a minute.”

“Might be that way as it is,” said Cobb.

“They trip any munitions, it’s that much less for when the rest of them come. Might make sense to stir em up, lure them into an attack instead of waiting for it to happen on its own.”

Braun glared at Dezba angrily. It wasn’t good strategy to encourage a confrontation, but in the event that one should prove inevitable, it made sense to ensure that they it came quick and with minimal impact on their defenses. Still…

“I’d rather not assume anything, Sergeant. Saunders, set up but you hold your fire until I say otherwise.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, and moved to the next room to grab a spot at the other window. Braun took a deep breath and raised his scope again. They were still moving down there, wandering aimlessly around in seeming circles. He couldn’t tell what was driving them, perhaps they were following the scent of deer droppings. Maybe they were picking up on some traces of their sweat and musk from earlier. Even suited up, there must have left some traces. Nobody knew exactly how acute their senses were…

Saunders came in over the comms. “Got em in my sights, sir.”

“Standby,” he ordered. He looked over to Dezba. He spotted the detonator in his hands. One click and all the C4 they had planted around the outer ring of the park would go up. Not until it was flooded with Whiskeys though, as planned.

Saunders came back on the comm. “Movement at the perimeter, sir. Spotting seven more Whiskeys.”

“Shit.” Braun stood up and aimed his scope out the balcony door. He scanned from left to right, seeing the faces of the dead wandering into their sector. They were moving at a perpendicular angle, passing onto the grassy field and through the shrubs. Within a few minutes, they would be in the exact same position as the others.

“That makes ten,” he said. Still not enough to justify expending their munitions, but they were clearly being drawn by a common source. Cobb and Dezba began donating their two cents on the subject.

“Looks like a party’s brewing, sir.”

“One would think they were expecting somebody to greet them.”

Braun smiled and keyed the comm. “Kobayashi, Mill. How do things look down there?”

Mill replied from the lobby. “We’re all set sir. Nobody’s getting in without our say so.”

Braun drew a breath of reassurance. Between their mines, the perimeter, Kobayashi’s grenade launcher and Mill’s SAW, nobody was getting inside.

“More movement, sir.”

Braun scanned to the edge of the field where the last of them came from. Nothing.

“Where?”

“South-west corner, sir.”

He corrected his aim, saw the dozen or so who were coming from that angle.

“Party indeed,” said Dezba. He raised the detonator and nodded to Braun.

“Wait…” Braun said with a raised hand. They did, but every second that passed now as interminable, waiting on a possibility that seemed less and less likely with every second that passed.

“Why the hell are they all coming here?” said Saunders through the comm.

“Could be their hunting grounds…”

“Could be their expecting Beaumont and his men to shoot at them.”

Braun considered that. Seemed downright stupid, but far smarter creatures than the Whiskeys had been known to be creatures of habit. And this habit seemed to be drawing more than its fair share of participants. Saunders keyed the mike again to announce more coming.

“Where?” he asked.

“From the north, the side street running perpendicular. Twenty or more.”

Dezba sighed heavily and raised his mask. Braun did the same. Privileged communique time.

“Sir, are we still concerned about not drawing Whiskeys to the area?”

He noted the tone in his voice. He had been bitter since their last conversation. But any fool could see he was right. Whether they wanted it or not, a confrontation was brewing. The only question now was whether or not to facilitate it or wait for it to happen.

“How many of them are in range?”

Dezba closed his helmet and looked below to do a quick survey. He turned his HUD’s night vision on again to get a better look at the numbers of bright green eyes wandering around in the park. “Not enough. The main bulk is still hanging around to the south-west and the north.”

“Alright.” Braun put up his scar and slid the grenade launcher open, popped a M203 from his vest, checking to make sure it had the blue top. Didn’t want to stir things up too much, not before Dezba unleashed hell on them.

“Sir?”

He slid the launcher shut and got to his feet. “Just be ready, Sergeant. I’m going to draw more of them to you.”

Carefully, he stepped to the open door. Any farther out and he would alert them to his presence, which at the moment was unwanted. He needed as many of them as possible converging on the spot he picked for them. His aim had to be perfect. Raising the launcher to just above waist height and angling it upwards, he pulled the front trigger and absorbed the small air burst recoil.

A barely audible grunt was heard below. Returning to the window, he raised his scope and began surveying again. In the field, just a few feet from where their first line of defense had been planted, a small plume of grainy smoke began to appear. Those Whiskeys that were closest to it began to take an interest, the hissing noise and gathering cloud disturbing their senses. One by one, they began to converge. Farther out, the crowds were slow to take notice; but soon, they too began to converge on spot where the smoke grenade had landed.

Dezba keyed his comm. “Nice work, sir. The crowds beginning to converge.”

“Give em a few seconds, Sergeant. Wait for as many as possible to cross the outer line.”

Dezba didn’t need to be told. He raised the detonator and kept his thumb poised and erect. From their window, from the next room, and from the lobby, every member of their squad watched and waited as the Whiskeys all began to wander into the thick of the brush, searching for the source of activity that had pierced the silence. The seconds stretched on, each one longer than the the one before. Every breath strained, every finger itched, and every nerve tightened to the point of fraying completely. Hearts pumped and skin turned cold, poised and waiting for the last second when it would all blaze up in a bright instant.

“Do it!”

Dezba’s thumb descended…

*                    *                    *

Beneath them, obscured by the smoke, a rotting mound of flesh and teeth stumbled upon an open canister, lifted it to his face to see what was producing the noise and ugly blue smoke. It growled as the smoke blew in its face, the container providing to be nothing more than solid, unappetizing metal. Slowly, its angry wail of confusion spread outwards amongst its brethren, each of them moving forward in the hopes of finding fresh, tasty flesh to gnaw on.

Tossing it down, the creature began to wander outwards, seeking the source of the tiny thing that had landed in its world. It saw so many standing about it now, all drawn in from the expectation that more fire and lights would be happening tonight. More smells of wonderful flesh, musky fur, animals that bounded when they approached and the ones who spit fire. Night after night they came, seeking out those hurtful ones who kept burning and piercing them. Night after night, they hoped to finally get a hold of them and break them to pieces, feed on their delicious limbs.

He wandered out with speed, moving to the others that were moving in. His growls of anger stoked them, sending them away from him in all directions. Where… where… Somewhere, the things that smelled so good were to be found. They would be here tonight, as they were every night. They foraged back and forth through the grass and sharp twigs, pushing through all barriers to stomp out what was surely hiding on them. Looking for the smells, looking for the noise, looking for the lights that drew them to their lair…

And when they reached the edge of the soft ground, another noise came. A sound from far off, short and decisive.

And then a loud click, near and threatening.

The world went bright… very, very bright…