Whiskey Delta – Chapter 45
“When you have secured the area, make sure the enemy knows it too.”
-Anonymous
There was a discernible pause on the other end of the line. Saunders knew she mist have heard right, otherwise she would have heard back by now. Her reply certainly indicated just how confidence she had in this plan.
“Alpha team, this is Big Bird. Are you sure you’ve thought this through?”
She looked over at Mill, who was nodding towards the main terminal. Their explosions had taken care of their immediate problem, but had also woken up the neighbors. As expected, Whiskeys were now converging on their position. He looked in multiple directions with his scope and confirmed that just about every approach was littered with walking corpses.
“No choice,” Saunders replied. “In no time at all, this location is not going to be secure. It has to be a mobile pickup, and it has to be now.”
She was sure the Colonel was cursing on her end. The delay was just long enough to get out a few good expletives. Still, she complied.
“Standby. We’re en route but are still ten mikes away. Touch down will be on the south end, so maintain your position.”
Saunders let go the comm and took a deep breath. Holding their position meant fighting off anyone who made it to them before the Herc touched down, which put the pressure on just a little. Whiskeys were most dangerous when they built up momentum, when a target sat still long enough for them to get a running start at it.
But alas, no choice. She grabbed her rifle and chambered a round.
“Alright, everyone who can raise a weapon, do so now. We got incoming from all directions and we need to hold em off long enough for the Colonel to land our evac plane. Sanchez, Beaumont!” the Private and his dubious looking Sergeant book looked up from the rear of the bed. “Get on that SCAR and that M4. Shoot from the bed and cover our wounded.”
Sanchez nodded and took hold of the SCAR while Beaumont stuck with his M4. He inspect the weapon and began to look even more ambivalent. He slid his way from the ebd and began to approach her. Unfortunately, she still had to her squad to deal with and made him wait until she was done issuing orders to them.
“We’ve got a few advantages here. The northern approach is open so we’ll have good sight lines. The southern way is blocked up by the hangars, but they’ll have to sneak through the alleyways to find us.” She eyed the narrow spots between the nearest bays and gauged them to wide enough to admit more than a few bodies, provided they moved single-file. “How many more Claymores do we have?”
Mill checked his satchel and that of Kobayashi and Whitman. “Just the four, it seems.”
“Good, we’ll mine those alleyways with what we have left. That far side next to the parkade, we’ll have to cover, and let’s hope they dnt’ figure out they can just wander around too quickly. In the meantime, Kobayashi and I will take them at long range. Mill and Whitman, you’ll cover us with the SAW and your SCAR if and when they get within one hundred meters. If they manage to get around us, we’ll just form a circle and shoot anything that get’s too close.”
“Ma’am?” said Beaumont, not to be ignored any longer. “What about ammo?”
Saunders looked to her pouches and realized the crux of the Sergeant’s problem. They had enough magazines between them to keep every SCAR in the squad shooting until the Herc came, but his M4 only had the one magazine from the looks of it.
“Shit. I don’t anyone else managed to grab any more before the Stryker went up did you?”
Mill and Kobayashi both shook their heads. “Okay then,” she said, getting to the one thing she was hoping to avoid. “I guess that means we’re using the LT’s and Sarge’s weapons.”
“Oh man,” said Whitman. “Dibs on Sarge’s! I want that fucking grenade wauncher when those cockshuckers come!”
Saunders groaned. Whitman’s speech was improving, much to her chagrin. They could expect plenty more out of him before they got free, it seemed. “Fine, whatever. Beaumont, that leaves you on the LT’s. Check his suit for M203′s too. If they get to within fifty meters, those will come in handy.”
Beaumont dropped his head and examined his boots. “Ma’am, if it’s all the same, I’ll stick with the M4.”
She looked up at him suddenly. “I beg your pardon?”
He sucked in a deep breath, looked up briefly to catch her in the eye. “I think the LT would want you to have it. Besides, I figure me and Sanchez should conserve our ammo until any of those monsters get within spitting distance of the truck.”
Saunders considered that and nodded. Mill agreed. “Doesn’t hurt to have a last line of defense, ma’am. As your NCO, I concur.”
“Alright,” she said with a smile. “I’m leaving our wounded and your dead in your capable hands Sergeant. See you on the plane.”
Beaumont snapped his heels together and gave her a salute. Quickly, he had gone from being in a fugue state to being once again eager to prove himself. She had to believe this was a good thing, even flattering somewhat. Whereas before he was eager to please the LT, now he was hoping to garner her faith in him, even seemed to be suggesting she was fit to fill the LT’s shoes.
Just until he gets back into them, she reminded herself.
“Alright. Whitman, as the scrawniest and fastest amongst us, you’ve drawn the short straw. Collect Claymores and begin deploying them between those hangars.”
Whitman moaned but kept his mouth shut for once. Mill and Kobayashi began handing their compliments to him while she returned to the truck. Sanchez was waiting there with two weapons which he handed over readily. She recognized which was which from the way they had personalized them.
Coyote, one said in black pain on the side. That was Dezba’s. She hoped Whitman enjoyed playing with it and didn’t accidentally blow himself up in the process. The LT’s, that one had the Rattlesnakes insignia slapped on the side of the butt. She felt a curious sense of significance as she took it in hand, knowing it was now hers to fire. It was almost as if the honor of commanding these grunts, as they made their final stand here, had finally passed to her.
Up until now, there simply hadn’t been time to think of it, at least not in terms of anything other than a terrible twist of fate. The look on Beaumont and Sanchez’s faces, which told her they weren’t so afraid, made her think that she was alone in thinking that. She had assumed they must hate her for getting their man killed. But perhaps she was alone in thinking that too.
“You okay, ma’am,” Sanchez asked when he noticed how she was lingering. She snapped to and considered the question, and answered honestly.
“Yeah, I think I am. And I think we’re going to be okay for awhile yet.”
Sanchez looked at her sideways. Perhaps her words sounded a bit odd, but it didn’t matter. Before this was over, she was determined to make them true.
* * *
Whitman was back at the vehicle just in time to get a reaming.
“Took your sweet ol’ time in there Private!” she said, tossing him Dezba’s weapon. He looked at it reverentially and slid open the launcher, stocking it with a grenade. The face he made when he slid it shut made her feel especially creepy.
Boy and their toys.
Kobayashi, for his part, looked perfectly focused and at ease. But then again, he always looked that way, especially before a fight. She had come to see it as his “nervous face”. If she were to have looked down and seen something else plastered on his face, she would have been worried.
Mill was ready, his SAW poised and placed on their hood for support. In a pinch, he was ready to swing it around and provide cover for their western flank, should the Whiskey’s find the open parkade before they were safely away. To her rear, even Beaumont and Sanchez seemed ready, their eyes peeled for trouble and their weapons at the ready.
That just left her, breathing slowly and watching the approaching line of Whiskeys advancing from across the field. They were well over one hundred meters now, and thick enough that she believed she could take down more than one with a single shot. But they need to wait just a few seconds more. Killing them at this distance was more than possible, but they needed the damage to count. Once they closed in and tightened even further, multiple waves coming from the terminal and other buildings to converge on their position, they would be able to punch some mighty holes in their lines.
And beneath her, in the cab, sat the sealed bag that contained the prize. The thing that had made the entire mission necessary, and which might alter the course of the war. Those were some pretty heady stakes they were dealing with, and she was the one to make sure they came out on the winning side of that.
She breathed…
She checked her chrono… Seven minutes and counting til the Herc touched down. The Colonel’s last update that said they were ten minutes out felt like hours ago. Time itself was slowing down.
Kobayashi raised his launcher to his shoulder and began sighting. According to her own enhanced optics, the farthest of their targets just passed the 100 meter mark. And the northernmost group was converging with the ones coming from the east, as expected. Just a few more seconds…
“Ready…” she said. Mill raised his weapon for a second and crinked his neck. It emitted some loud cracks, and he went right back to sighting.
“Ready…” Whitman slowly extended his right finger to take hold of the grenade launcher trigger while his left supported the stock. He inched forward to get behind Kobayashi on the firing line. He wanted to be there when they unleashed a forty-millimeter surprise on their asses.
“Ready…” he hers words disappeared in the air and all sound seemed to be sucked out of the world. All there was was the faint background noise of growls and gnashing coming from the advancing host. This was it, the final exchange which would either see them safely home, or send them to an early grave. They would either return home heroes, or waste away in a forgotten in a dead city, their names never to be heard again.
All of converged on this very moment, and the final order to engage.
She could feel it in her bones. It was electrifying and scary all at once.
She picked her target, two in a row, and began to squeeze.
“FIRE!”
