Whiskey Delta – Chapter 44

“There is no type of human endeavor where it is so important that the leader understands all phases of his job as that of the profession of arms.”

- Major General James C. Fry

“They took the bait! They’re following us!”

Saunders keyed her comm and replied. “Good job, Corporal. We got our share of followers too! Meet you at the other end in three mikes!”

Saunders released the comm and looked back from the cab, watching as a clustering of rotted meat began chasing the tanker. Mill turned it to the south and punched the gas, Sanchez looking from the window and popping some rounds off at anyone who got too close too soon.

The rest were hot on the trail of their truck, as expected. Whitman put them into a tight turn and began moving down the tarmac. Not too fast, for fear that they might get ahead of their quarry too soon. Those who proved faster than the rest succumbed to a hail of bullets from Beaumont’s and Kobayashi’s weapons. Putting aside her rifle in favor of a SCAR, she sent the one’s nearest her sector down with single fire shots while Koby blasted the nearest one’s with his Desert Eagle. As per the plan, he had to save his grenades for when they were really needed…

“Nearing the end of the runway, closing in on the hangars.”

Saunders slapped the cab and yelled to Whitman. “Get ready to change course!” she yelled. Whitman slapped the roof of the cab and began picking up speed. Saunders placed her weapon down and lay flat in the bed and extended her limbs. She didn’t want any of their wounded flying out when they pulled their next maneuver. Koby did the same, using his massive frame to pin Braun and Dezba’s limbs to the bed floor.

She slapped the rear window of the cab. Whitman cranked the wheel to the right and aimed them south. He slammed the brakes at the same time, making the truck perform a half donut and leave some impressive marks on the runway. They sat for a second with the engine idling. Saunders looked up from the bed and banged on the window.

“What the hell are we waiting for, Private. Gun it!”

He raised his index finger to her. “One shecond…” he said, his words still slurred. He turned the wheel ever so slightly to the left, and aimed their bumper directly at the mass of Whiskeys that were still following them. “Just lining ‘er up.”

He hit the gas hard. The truck lept forward and picked up speed with a high whine from the engine. They lurched as the bumper came into contact with the first of their pursuers, then jumped as they were thrown under the wheels. Several loud thumps and bumps happened before they were clear and moving down the tarmac again.

Saunders caught sight of the mess they left behind. Crushed masses of pink and grey, a few still walking and turning about slowly to follow. She had to admit, the Private liked his work…

“Closing in on the hangar. Whiskeys are coming out of the woodwork.”

Saunders keyed her comm to reply to Mill. “We’re en route to you. ETA in tow minutes.”

“Roger that!”

At the far end of the runway, the sound of screeching brakes sounded out. Mill pulled the vehicle into a tight turn at the last second and sent the tanker sliding sideways towards the hangar doors. Had the doors been shut, they surely would have smashed into them. As it stood, they simply crashed into the wall with their backside. It was a lucky thing the tanker still had fuel. Even luckier that Whitman’s knack for hotwiring trucks extended to tankers. Though he claimed they were all the same, Saunder suspected that was merely a dose of false modesty on his part.

Mill’s SAW and the characteristic pop, pop, pop of an M4 could be heard in the distance.They were clear of the tanker and fighting their way back to the runway. Between them and the fast moving truck, Saunders spotted another fog of dead bodies. Grey and pale looking monsters who had huddled up to pursue the tanker, but were now coming about as they realized another truck was closer. Whitman put the bumper through another bunch of them and crushed them under the wheels. His preemptive yell of “Hang on!” doing little to prepare them for the impact.

A few more were scattered around them as they finally came to a halt a few feet from Mill and Sanchez. Both were running flat out for the truck, the monsters they had stirred from this end of the runway swarming around the tanker. Saunders stood up in the back and waved them on.

“Move! Move! Move!”

Sanchez rolled into the rear while Mill jumped into the cab next to Beaumont. His foot struck the head bag and he winced. “Goddammit!”

Whitman laughed. “Try widing with it for a couple owerz!” And then he hit the gas again. One more time they passed through the fog of Whiskeys, but Whitman aimed them for the spot with the least amount of resistance. Pushing through with only minor scrapes, they cleared the mass of bodies and hit the tarmac for the last time. Saunders looked to Kobayashi and nodded. He nodded back, grabbing his launcher. She wrapped the window again.

Whitman slammed on the brakes, nearly sending everyone in the back over the top. As soon as all four wheels touched asphalt again, Kobayashi stood and took aim. The Whiskeys were coming about once again to chase their target, but at the moment, the two bodies of them were clustered close together, with most of them just a stone’s throw from the tanker…

“Do it, big man!”

His gun popped and sent a grenade whipping through the air. It touched down true. The tanker went up in a massive blaze that cooked the majority of them instantly. Others were thrown forward from the shock and broke on the ground. Those that were furthest out were spared from the fireball for a few seconds, but then got the worst of it as the flames blew outward and enveloped them.

They felt it in the truck too, a blast of heat that just seemed to roll over them like a tidal wave. Everyone ducked their heads and waited as smoke and flame reached upward and dissipated into the sky. When they looked again, a huge pyre was all that was left of the hangar, the tanker, and the huge mass of bodies that surrounded it. As the echo of the explosion died down, all they could hear were the terrible roars of those Whiskeys that were still being burnt.

“Holy shit, that must  be a bitch,” she muttered. “They’ll just keep burning alive until the fire eats their brains.”

“I’d say the more likely outcome is their brains get cooked inside their heads.”

Saunders wanted to retch. She slapped Kobayashi on the arm for being so graphic with her. They were both interrupted when Braun moved from his spot and began muttering something of his own.

“What was that, LT?” she asked.

“I said…” he paused to breath. “They’re already dead. So who cares?”

Saunders cleared her throat and replied obligingly: “Yes, sir.”

It seemed cold, but that was the way of it now, she knew. No mercy and no pity. Not for them at least. You saved that stuff for your own and the people under your protection. Anything else… was forfeit.

*                    *                    *

She was in the back seat when the pilot looked up suddenly and patted her on the leg. She got up from her chair and looked out the window, her mouth falling open a few inches.

“Oh dear God.”

The plume was about a hundred meters high at this point. Smoke and flame rising into the air from South-East of the city’s center. Was this somebody’s bright idea of a smoke signal, or had some careless individuals merely set off a massive fuel supply?

“How far are we out?”

The pilot didn’t need to check their navmap. He had been monitoring it comprehensively since they entered California airspace.

“We’re within 200 klicks, ma’am. Radio silence is lifted and they should be able to read us.”

She grabbed a hold of one of the spare headsets and made sure they were on the Stryker’s frequency. “This Big Bird to Alpha Team. Do you read, over?”

No reply. She tried again.

“Alpha Team. This is Big Bird. We are en route and monitoring a large explosion in…” the navigator pointed to the navmap. “the Long Beach Airport. Do you read over?”

Still no reply. She removed the headset. “Are we in range for the squad frequency?”

“From our proposed rendezvous, yes. But if that’s them out there…” he shook his head.

The Colonel eyed the smoke plume again. “Divert course, take us closer to that airport.”

“Ma’am, if we stray too far from our course, we might not have enough fuel to make it back to base.”

The Colonel nodded. “Worse case, scenario, I’m wrong and we’ll have to call in a refuel or fly her home on fumes. But if we don’t check that out, and it is our people, then we run the risk of losing this whole mission. You want that on your hands?”

“No ma’am,” he replied curtly.

“Good, then adjust course. That smoke is your new beacon, use it.”

The pilot put his hands to the steering column and began to turning them gently to the west.  She waited a few minutes and couple dozen klicks before trying to raise the squad again.

“Alpha team, this is Big Bird. Do you read over? I say again, this is Big Bird. We are monitoring a large explosion in the vicinity of the Long Beach Airport. Are you on scene over?”

When the reply came, it seemed almost too good to be true.

“Big Bird, this is Corporal Saunders, team leader. We are on scene and awaiting exfil over.”