Only the Dead Live Forever (17 page)

30.

The Sea
Stallion’s blades were already turning at high speed. The roar of the engines
and the wash of dust made communication impossible. Gunner was just outside the
radius of the large rotor blades, speaking to the helicopter’s crew chief. Then
he ran back to the edge of the road where the rest of Charlie Group had
assembled, and pulled Sergeant Hahn and Sean off to the side.

Everyone was
standing nervously over their gear of overstuffed rucksacks and long rifles,
waiting for instructions. Each of them was dressed in their newly-acquired bite
shirts under their heavy body armor. Brad and the other three soldiers were in
MultiCam while the rest wore the tan, Navy issue uniforms. Brad looked to
Chelsea to try and get her attention; she saw his stare and looked away.

Sean and Hahn
ran to the group, yelling for them to move out. Brad grabbed his heavy rucksack
and looped the straps over his shoulders. He joined in line behind the rest of
Charlie Group running toward the loading ramp of the aircraft. He followed
until the line quickly stopped, then dropped into a seat on the port side. When
everyone was onboard and set, Gunner flashed a thumbs up to the crew chief.

Slowly the CH-53
rose into the still dark, early morning sky. The ramp remained down and they
could see the dim outlines of the darkened camp as they flew away back out over
the Arabian Sea and towards the Gulf of Aden. Quickly they were up and at
cruising speed; the two hundred mile trip to the main land would take them just
over an hour. The sun was starting to break the horizon and the sky glowed in
response.

Brad tried to
relax. He went over the checklists in his head. He didn’t have to worry about
forgetting anything; everything he owned was in his pack or on his person. He
was carrying food and water for six days, which might seem like a lot, but not
for continuous operations. Lately he had trained himself to survive on as
little as one meal a day. One high calorie meal a day had done little to
prevent the weight loss he had experienced in the last month.

He had two
hundred and ten rounds of 5.56 ammo strapped to his vest and another hundred
and forty rounds in his pack. He carried seventy-five rounds of 9mm ammo, not
counting the fifteen rounds loaded into his Sigma pistol. The tomahawk was
strapped to his hip, his fighting knife on the left breast of his armor. Brad
had reluctantly discarded his helmet in exchange for a lightweight boonie cap.
He had two changes of uniform and a light poncho liner in a bivy sack.
Altogether, his kit was over eighty-five pounds.

The helicopter flared
and changed altitude as they approached the coast line. The CH-53 cut right to
approach the city in a slow, sweeping arc, out and away from their true
objective. Just as in normal combat operations, the idea was to deceive the
enemy of their true landing point. The helicopter neared the edge of the city
and several times made false insertions.

The crew chief
gave a five minute warning and everyone gripped onto their rucksacks and
weapons. The Sea Stallion made another dry landing nearly two blocks from the
target building before it leapfrogged up and sped to the actual drop site. The
bird lowered and hovered just over the building as the crew chief yelled for
them to get out. Quickly they grabbed their gear and poured out of the
helicopter. The Sea Stallion crew members grabbed web and sling load materials
and dumped it onto the deck just as the throttles went up and the helicopter
roared away.

Brad watched as
it made more false insertions and slowed its speed to lure any hunting primals
away from the target building. Charlie Group cleared the area and made a full
circle perimeter along the inside of the roof. They had formed a basic
perimeter with the Alpha element taking responsibility of covering the two
rooftop entrances. Then they dropped and became silent, listening for any
movement, and smelling the air for signs of the primals.

Brad sat
uncomfortably; he had unwisely chosen a position amongst broken stone and
debris. The sun was now in full force and he could feel the sweltering heat and
the sweat rolling down his back. The building they had chosen was three stories
high. The roof was constructed of concrete but mainly held together by asphalt.
The edges of the roof were skirted by a three-foot wall. Small vents, chimneys,
and two roof access structures were almost randomly placed.

Brad quickly
made a visual check of the rest of the Bravo element. Sean was in the middle of
the hasty perimeter kneeling next to Hahn and Gunner. Chelsea and the other
techs were in a broken line along the east end of the roof. Brooks had taken up
a crouched position near the south wall where he could observe both roof access
structures.

After waiting
over ten minutes in silence, Gunner stood and called everyone to his position
near the center of the roof. Brad got to his feet in the middle of the debris
and looked around to make sure everyone had received the message. Brad reached
for his rucksack that he had dropped near him just after exiting the
helicopter.  As he grabbed the top handle and went to lift the bag, he felt a
sagging in his knees and heard the creaking sound of splitting wood. He quickly
released the handle and stood motionless. For an instance he had felt a
sensation of dropping. He relaxed and took a deep breath as he slowly took a
step forward.

Just as he
leaned forward the roof gave out from underneath him. He dropped fast as if a
trap door had opened. He slipped feet first with no time to outstretch his
arms. He slapped his face on a beam as he fell through layers of rotted wood
and asphalt. He consciously fought to hold on to his rifle as he slapped into,
then through, a large pile of debris. He felt as if he was lying on piles of
rotten bodies and skeletons. A hot white flash of pain rushed through his body.

He couldn’t see.
The quick movement from the bright outdoors to the dark interior of the
building had blinded him. He quickly checked every inch of his body for
injuries. He felt okay, except for the stinging burn on his face and the taste
of blood on his lips. He stretched out his arms and felt the cushioned mess
around him. Brad went to straighten his legs and felt the searing pain in his
thigh. Apprehensively he dropped his arm and felt a large wooden splinter
piercing through the top of his leg. He had apparently fallen into a junk room
loaded with piles of broken furniture and masses of garbage bags filled with
refuse.

Brad could see
light from the hole he had fallen though, a narrow break in the roof maybe ten
to twelve feet above him. He tried to stand but found himself tangled in the
mass of broken furniture and garbage bags. The pain was unbearable, and made
putting weight on his right leg impossible. He heard a voice call his name from
above. They were obviously trying to stay away from the break in the roof. He
shouted back a quick reply.

Brad again tried
to untangle himself from the debris when he heard the first moan.
‘Oh shit,’
he said to himself as he lay there, silently listening. He concentrated on
trying to find the source of the noise. There was a skirmish of activity behind
him and the noise sounded muted, possibly through a wall. Brad closed his eyes
and slowly opened them again, trying to let the light from the hole in the
ceiling bleed into the room.

He began to make
out the far wall, maybe ten feet away. He could see garbage and debris all
around him; it was piled thick to the ceiling and pressed against a battered
and destroyed door.
‘Oh no,’
he thought again as he realized where he
had fallen. He was positioned in the middle of a makeshift barricade. Brad
twisted hard in the garbage and was able to make out a larger portion of the
room opening up into the darkness.

‘Now,’
the question he
asked himself.
‘Are there primals in the room? Or are they all on the other
side of the barricade?’
Another moan, coming from deep within the dark
corners of the room, answered his question. The moan was joined by more screams
from the other side of the door. Brad saw a shadow in the light above; he
strained his eyes to see Brooks lying flat looking, into the hole. 

“You okay down
there?” Brooks yelled.

“Leg is dicked
up, but I’ll live, if that’s what you are asking. I’m also not alone, if you
were curious.”

“Yeah I can hear
the bastards, how many?”

“Hell, I don’t
know,” Brad said, shouting over a building chorus of screams and moans. “Sounds
like a swarm. I have at least one of them in the room with me; the rest are on
the other side of a door.”

“What did you
fall in, buddy? You’re in a rat’s nest of shit down there; can you crawl out?”

Brad bent his
body and strained his arms, trying to get a handle onto something solid. He
reached a long, broken board and was able to get a few fingers around it. He
began to pull hard to straighten himself; getting his other arm around the
board, he pulled with all of his strength. Just as he finished pulling himself
to a painful kneeling position, there was a crash into the pile. A primal had
hit it at a full on run. It was snarling and thrashing at the barricade, trying
to get at Brad.

Brad was now in
complete panic mode, scrambling to get out of reach of the creature, ignoring
the pain, and fighting off the shock. With no room to maneuver the M4, he
pulled his M9 and tried to get a good angle. Holding the pistol with a bent
arm, he fired at the frenzied creature which was moving fast and jumping around
the pile. Brad fired again, unsure if he hit it. He fired a third time and saw
a portion of the creature’s jaw explode, but it continued to come at him,
attacking the barricade from different directions. Brad pressed hard against
the obstacles behind him, using his good leg to press back and create a dead
space. He brought up the pistol, took careful aim, and finally put down the
primal.

The same
gunshots that had killed his immediate threat also sounded the dinner bell for
the crazies on the other side of the door. Brad forced his way through the
pile, crawling and dragging himself toward the creature he had just killed to
get to the inside of the room and out of the barricade. As he crawled, he
looked back toward the door and saw the first of many hands grab at the
battered wooden door.

“Talk to me down
there, I can’t see shit from up here!” Brooks yelled.

Brad finally
freed himself from the barricade and out of the cluster of garbage. He slipped,
rolled to the hard floor, and then rolled back further, falling flat on his
back onto a carpet. He looked around and saw more loose refuse and garbage.
Brad struggled at his armor and finally located his flashlight. He quickly
panned it around the void, relieved to find he was alone. The single primal
must have occupied this hide out. It had probably been wounded somehow and
turned here alone, or was abandoned here. Either way, it was not his problem.

“I’m clear, but
there are a lot of them trying to get in,” Brad yelled up to Brooks.

Brad took a look
at his leg; a large, broken piece of wood had entered the right side of his
thigh, piercing through the top of his leg. It came clean through the top and
there was no bleeding, so he hoped it missed the artery. There was no time for
self-surgery, so he wrapped and stabilized the splinter as best he could with
dressings made from his gear. Another pounding and a sound of ripping wood woke
his thoughts again.

Brad holstered
the M9 and swung his suppressed M4 back into action. He watched the break in
the door as creatures poured out. The barricade looked like hell, but it seemed
to do the job. Everything that poured into it was quickly bogged down in the
piles of broken furniture and garbage. At least five of them had breached the
door and were piled into the mess now.

Brad heard the
blast of a twelve gauge shotgun come from above, then another crash and the
sporadic sounds of suppressed small arms fire.

“Hold on buddy,
Alpha element is on its way down. They just breached the door,” Brooks shouted.

“No, come on
man, I can’t get out through that door. It’s blocked solid by the barricade,”
Brad shouted back over the roaring of the primals.

“Don’t worry
about it, just keep yourself safe,” Brooks yelled.

Brad raised the
suppressed rifle to his shoulder and took an aimed shot. He struck one of the
tangled creatures square in the top of the head. Slowly, Brad used his hands to
right himself and to move farther back into the room against a far wall. He
propped himself up and raised his rifle, killing another primal that was
burrowing through the barricade. Brooks kept calling down, telling him to hold
tight. Alpha was in the hallway and would be on him shortly.

There was a
muffled explosion. Brad saw sparks from outside the destroyed door. The rest of
the door was yanked back and off of its hinges. He heard the men outside
shouting instructions, and a light shone into the pile. The last three primals
were quickly put down. Brad tried to stand; he struggled but made it to his
feet. He looked into the blinding light.

“You okay in
there, bro?” he heard the elder Villegas call out to him.

“I’m good, but I
can’t get out that way.”