Whiskey Tango Foxtrot (Book 4): Walking In The Shadow Of Death (5 page)

“What is it?” Brad whispered to
Parker.

“The primals, they’re here.”

“The mob, how the … how did they
find us?”

“It’s not the mob, it’s something
different. Come on, Chief wants you,” Parker answered.

Brad removed himself from out of
the warm blankets. He tightened the laces on his boots and crawled on his hands
and knees towards the entrance, carrying his rifle in his left hand. Once he
exited, the cold air hit him in the face, quickly waking him. Brad moved his
back against the rock face and closed his eyes tightly, trying to adjust them
to the darkness. Parker was beside him and anxious to move. Brad overheard him
whisper to the Villegases to stay put but be ready.

Ready? Ready for what?
Brad
thought to himself as he got to his feet and stood, bending low at the waist.

Brad followed Parker away from the
shelter and farther along the flat ledge they had built their camp on. Parker
dropped to his belly and began to crawl through the soft snow and pine needles.
“Great, not only does he wake me up, but now I have to get wet,”
Brad
thought as he dropped to his belly and silently crawled through the wet musty
leaves, following Parker to the edge of the rock face’s ledge. He spotted Sean
and Hahn ahead of him and in the prone.

He moved next to Sean as quietly as
he could. Sean had his night vision device lying in the snow next to him, but a
similar device was mounted to his rifle. He motioned for Brad to move over and
to look though the scope. The rifle was on a bipod looking out over the ledge
and down the path that the team had followed earlier to reach the rock face.
Brad quietly shifted his position so that he could see through the rifle’s
night vision optics. At the same time Sean picked up his goggles from the snow
and put them to his eye.

Brad watched the terrain appear in
visions of green and black, almost like looking at an old black and white TV
set with green filter. Brad saw flat trees. He could see the river and almost
make out the game trail they had followed to get to the current position. “What
am I looking at?” Brad asked in the lowest whisper he could achieve.

“Aim down the center of the stream
about two hundred meters, then go left a few degrees,” Sean answered.

Brad followed his instructions. It
was hard for him to judge two hundred meters looking though the optics, but he
just followed the stream then panned to the left. He froze when he saw them: A
small group of primals standing still in the snow and looking directly at the
rock face. Brad put the cross hair of the scope over one of their heads and
could almost see its cold dark eyes looking back at him.

“How long?”

“Hahn spotted them about thirty
minutes ago. They’re just standing there.”

“What are they doing?”

“I think they’re stalking us. These
are different than others, they must have broken from the pack and somehow
tracked us.”

“Alphas?” Brad said with shock in
his voice.

“Yeah, it’s your white buffalo in
the flesh. The smart ones.”

“What the fuck. Let’s kill them!”

“We have to assume the mob is close
by. If they call out we don’t want to get trapped against the rocks.  I
don’t think they have locked on our position, but they know we are close. I’m
going to stay on the glass while you get the guys ready to move out. Keep
moving up the rock face. Not the original plan, but we certainly can’t go down
there.”

“No, we stay together,” Brad said,
still watching the group through the scope. He counted nine of them. The
primals made small, quiet movements as they milled around an assumed leader.
There was a bulky male in the center of the pack. He moved normally and looked
healthier than the others. The rest of them watched him as if they were a pack
of wolves waiting for a signal to continue the hunt.

“This is not up for discussion.
Gather the men and gear and move out. Stay quiet and follow the game trail. If
they make a go at us, I’ll start shooting. But just keep moving, I’ll be right behind
you. We have to assume these are the fast ones so don’t stop.”

Brad shook his head and crawled
away from the rifle and back to the lean-to, knowing it would be useless to
argue. Hahn was already there and had moved the packs outside. The Villegases were
suited up and ready to move out. Daniel removed a claymore from his pack and
set it up so that it would blast down the game trail that led to their elevated
position. He rigged it for a trip wire and backed away from it.

“It’s my last mine, but hell, seems
as good a time to use it as any,” Daniel whispered.

 Brad nodded his agreement
then whispered for them to break a trail farther up the rock face, stay quiet
and keep moving, using stealth ahead of speed. Daniel nodded and stepped off
silently back towards Sean’s direction. Brad stuffed his blankets back into his
ruck and hoisted it to his shoulders. Then he reached down and lifted Sean’s
pack and followed after the others.

They moved close to the rock face
and away from the edge to conceal themselves. As Brad neared Sean’s position,
he quietly sat the chief’s ruck on the ground and crawled closer to his friend
behind the rifle. “Sean, we are ready to move. You sure about this?” he
whispered.

“Make it quick, their numbers have
already doubled,” Sean answered, ignoring the question.

“How are you going to find us?”

“Trust me, I can track you. Do me a
favor and take my bag. I have a feeling I’ll be in a hurry when I leave,” Sean
whispered.

“Can do, and just to let you know,
Danny booby-trapped the campsite with an M18.”

Sean let out a soft chuckle.
“Marines and their party favors. Thanks for the heads up.”

“Good luck, Chief,” Brad whispered.

“Luck’s got nothing to do with it.
Now get moving, I’ll be right behind you.”

 Brad crawled back towards the
rock face and lifted Sean’s bag with his free hand. Before he stepped off, he
looked out toward the edge and could see his friend’s outline and the soft glow
of the night vision scope’s eyepiece. He silently wished his friend well as he
moved out after the others, still feeling uneasy about the plan.

He quickly found the rest of them
as they continued to move along the ledge where the game trail eventually
turned hard and moved farther up the rock face. Brad pulled an infrared chem
light from his pocket; he snapped and mixed the liquids before cutting it open
with his knife. He poured some of the liquid out onto a tree branch to mark the
entrance to the new trail head. The IR fluid was invisible to the naked eye,
but with NVG devices it would glow brightly like invisible ink under a black
light. It would show Sean the way they had traveled.

Before moving up the new trail
after the others, Brad paused one more time to look back in Sean’s direction.
The snow was still coming down in large sticky flakes. The moon was bright
tonight. It reminded him of the hunters moons back home, when a full moon in
the sky made it possible to walk the forest trails without a flashlight.
Everything in the white-painted forest was glowing with a blue hue. Brad
searched the distant trail, but there was no sign of Sean. He turned and rushed
to catch up with the rest of the team.

Brad came up to the others ahead of
him, walking in column on the game trail. The trail had actually widened a bit
and twisted up again before starting to level out. When Brad turned to look
into the distance he could just make out parts of the night sky and the tops of
trees. They must be near the top of whatever high ground they had been
climbing. A loud explosion in the distance instinctively made him stop and duck,
bending low at the knees.

Parker and Hahn were ahead of him
on the trail; they stopped and looked back at him. Brad turned to look back
down the trail. They could hear the loud report of an unsuppressed weapon: two
quick shots followed by a rapid fire burst. The sound echoed off the trees and
up the trail. Hahn stepped back towards Brad and took a knee, aiming back down
the path. “That’s his submachine gun, they must’a got inside the rifle and
popped the claymore,” Hahn whispered. “It’s your call, Sergeant. You want to go
back for him, I’m with you.”

Another long burst of shots
followed by the single explosion of a frag grenade echoed over the forest.

Brad looked down the trail before
finally answering. “No.” He shook his head. “We stick to the plan. Besides, if
we go back now Chief will kick both of our asses.”

“Fair enough, then let’s create
some distance. We’ll find a good spot to wait for Chief.”

Brad nodded in agreement as Hahn
got back to his feet and moved out on the trail, passing the word to the others
as he went.

6.

They followed the game trail
through the remainder of the night and into the dawn. Morning came in with a
heavy blanket of fog. It was impossible to see more than ten feet in front of
them. The Villegases were exhausted from the pressure of being on point. On
full alert for hours on end walking a strange trail can take a toll on the mind
and body. They had no idea what was in front of them, or behind them. The
others began to rotate the point position to help them keep their wits.

Brad had moved up front and was
walking the trail alone. He could hear Hahn’s footfalls just behind him. They
had tightened up the spacing because of the dense fog. Even though the game
trail was well marked, they didn’t want to lose anyone in the woods. The
weather had changed with the fog. The temperatures had risen significantly. It
was still extremely cold, but no longer below freezing; the snow had become wet
and in places there was runoff causing water to pool on the trail. Brad’s
desert boots were becoming caked in mud and his toes were wet and painful.

They needed to find a hide. The men
had been going non-stop since the predawn contact on the ridge. Brad found a
place where the trail ducked into heavy brush and was skirted by high ground;
it wasn’t the best site defensively because of the limited lines of sight, but
it would have to do. He halted the small column and called the rest of them
ahead to his position. He watched as the Villegas brothers moved forward just
behind Parker and Hahn. The men looked physically beat. Wet clothing and
mud-packed boots made them a sorry sight.  

“We’re gonna rest here and wait for
Sean,” Brad said to them in a low voice.

Sergeant Hahn removed his pack and set
it on the edge of the trail. “You sure Brad? I mean, you know it might be
primals following us and not Chief.”

“You know Hahn, right now the only
thing I’m sure of is I don’t want to fucking walk anymore. By my watch we have
been in the bush for close to twenty-four hours. My feet are rotting in these
wet boots. Yeah, we can keep pushing, but where the hell are we going? We don’t
know if it’s two miles or two hundred miles to the next town,” Brad answered.

“What about the cabin, the one the
boy told us about?” Parker asked.

Brad nodded. “It should be close,
but Chief has the map.”

Joseph chuckled. “That wasn’t very
smart, was it.”

Daniel gave his brother a
disapproving glare. “Alright Brad. This is as good a place as any. Why don’t
you all set up on the ridge, my Bro and I will park down here. It’ll give us a
nice L-shaped ambush. If Chief is on the run, we will see him. If it’s the
other things, we will lay low and let them go by.”

“Thanks Daniel.  Okay guys,
let’s spread out in this high ground. Go ahead and get comfy, get dry socks on
and try to get some chow, get some rest but let’s keep one eye open,” Brad
said, not wanting to assign a watch.

“How long?” asked Hahn.

“Let’s give it some time man, not
like we have anyplace to be.”

***

Brad had found a position halfway
up the hillside. He was tucked in under a large bush. There was evidence
everywhere of small game. The spot was nearly void of snow and covered with
damp leaves and pine needles. He placed his sack on his low side of the hill,
and Sean’s rucksack next to it. He put the heavy insulated blanket on the
ground and plopped on top of it.

He looked off far to his right. If
he concentrated hard he could just barely make out the position of Parker; Hahn
was to his left and a bit higher up the hill. He couldn’t see the Villegases
but he knew they would be farther up the trail and in the bush on the opposite
side of the path. The brush was thick; he was pretty confident he could dig in
and conceal himself if he had to. Yet there were still numerous lanes where he
could peek though and see bits of the muddy game trail.

With his ground cover in place,
Brad carefully removed his boots and set the open side of them over a couple of
long branches he had managed to stick into the ground. He was hoping they would
somehow dry out in the moist cold air. He peeled the wet socks from his
water-saturated feet, then used a dry towel to swab away the moisture before
applying a bit of lotion to his wrinkled skin. After again patting them dry, he
rubbed them down with powder before putting on a pair of dry socks. Instantly
he felt the relief of the dry fabric.
What will we do when we run out of
foot powder and lotion?
Brad thought to himself.

Brad took a few minutes to sit and
listen. He was starting to hear the birds chirp and he could hear squirrels
rustling though some far off leaves. As a hunter he knew these were all good
signs; things tended to go quiet when an apex predator was in the neighborhood.
If the wildlife was relaxing, he felt a lot more comfortable.

He searched through his rucksack
until he found a stack of foil packets he had stashed in the bottom of his bag.
MRE packages were large and bulky, big brown plastic packages with lots of
goodies, but most of them were useless or redundant to things he already
carried on his kit. So Brad tended to break them down into what was important.
Usually nothing more than the main entrée in its foil packet made the cut. The
rest of it was just filler and the weight was not worth the investment.

Brad flipped through the stack of
foil packets until he found one that was the least unpleasant. He peeled back
the top opening the foil container.
Good ol’ number nineteen: beef roast
with vegetables,
he thought. The food was cold and greasy. Brad did have a
couple of the self-contained meal heaters but they put off a strong odor, and
he didn’t want to take any more risks than they already had. He slowly consumed
the meal, telling himself that
food is fuel
to get past the taste.

When he’d finished, he dug a small
hole and buried the waste. As his activity level dropped he began to feel a
chill, so he pulled a small blanket-like poncho liner from his pack. The thin
liner had a woodland green camouflage color pattern. Brad crossed his legs and
cradled his rifle in his lap with the poncho liner draped over his shoulders.

He tried to remain as still as
possible. The better part of concealment is not moving; the eye can pick up on
motion easier than anything else in nature. Brad sat silently on the ground
blanket. Occasionally he would slowly pivot his head from side to side. He had
lost visual contact with both Hahn and Parker. They must have dropped down into
their own ninja modes and disappeared. Brad got as comfortable as he could and
parked his eyes on the muddy trail, watching for any movement.

It wasn’t long until they heard the
sounds of a suppressed rifle. It was muffled and way quieter than a loud gun,
but they could still clearly make it out. That meant it was close. Brad looked
to his left and right and detected movement in the brush. He knew that Parker
and Hahn had also heard it and were back on alert.

Quietly and with as little movement
as possible, Brad put his boots back on. They were still wet, but far less so
than they had been. He heard more shots. It was definitely Sean’s rifle and
this last salvo was closer. He was on the move and headed this way.  Brad
had discussed this possibility with the men. If the enemy came in hot, they
would take advantage of their formation and go on the offensive.

The L-shaped position would slow
and catch the primals in the cross-fire. Hopefully it would do enough to end
the chase. Brad undid the snaps for his magazine carrier and readied his rifle,
watching the trail. Two more shots, this time very close and coming from Sean’s
suppressed .45 pistol, the pitch of the weapon far quieter than the rifle. Brad
lifted his M4 with his own suppressor attached and waited.

He saw Sean come around the corner;
he was moving fast with his rifle slung across his back and his MP5 attached to
his chest. After a few quick steps he sharply turned, took a knee and took two
quick shots before turning to run down the trail again.  Sean ran past
Brad and was flagged down by the Villegas, who quickly pulled him off the trail
and into the tree line. Brad watched back down the trail as two primals came
into view.

They were moving faster than the
ones they had seen a day earlier. Still not like the ones in the desert, but
these guys were pretty quick. Brad let them go past him. The entire point of
their ambush was to let as many of them as possible get into their kill zone.
They wanted to disorient the primals so that they could take them down quickly
without giving away their position. Two more came into view just as he heard
suppressed rifles from the Marines’ position engaging the others.

Brad aimed for the one closest to
him: a young man dressed in flannels. He had ripped jeans and bare feet.
Obviously he wasn’t too concerned with the muddy trail. Brad ended his worries
with a quick round through his forehead. Brad watched as the thing’s head
snapped back and sprayed red mist onto the primal that was following close
behind it. Before Brad could adjust his site picture, Hahn to his left dropped
the runner-up.

More came moving down the trial.
Now they sensed the proximity of the soldiers and began their screaming and
howling. The ambush was holding; the creatures were running past Brad and
towards the Marines and Sean further up the trail. This allowed Brad and the
other soldiers to kill off the rushing primals from the flank. For the most
part they seem to have remained completely undiscovered where they were hiding
on the hillside, firing through small lanes in the brush.

Another group of five came crashing
up the trail. But unlike the last two groups, instead of running past the dead
on the ground and charging at the Marines, one of them, dressed in jeans and a
torn T-shirt, howled and stopped in place, the others quickly stopping beside
him. The apparent leader looked at the dead on the ground and again put his
head back and howled. Brad waited to see what they would do, not wanting to
break his cover.

Brad watched as one of the primals
went to move forward down the trail towards the Marines. The leader lashed out at
him. They looked at the dead on the ground. This was the first time they had
ever seemed to take notice of their own fallen.  Brad watched intently as
the leader knelt on the trail and touched the muddy soil. He lifted his nose as
if to smell the air, then got back to his feet.

Brad watched as the Alpha in the
T-shirt turned towards his position. The thing seemed to lock eyes with Brad as
it put its head back and howled.  The others became frenzied and charged
up the hill in Brad’s direction.  He got to his feet and, with the rifle
in his shoulder, took aim as the Alpha primal lunged at him, baring its teeth
and screaming. Brad aimed center mass and screamed “Fuck you!” as he pulled the
trigger, hitting the leader several times and knocking it off its feet.

Brad saw the mass of them still
charging his position, rushing up the hillside. To his left and right Hahn and
Parker had also gotten to their feet and were firing and yelling back as they
moved in Brad’s direction. One of the primals broke the brush just in front of
Brad. Brad fired two quick shots, hitting the thing high in the neck and chest.
Wounded, the primal continued its charge and was almost on top of him. Brad
swung out with the collapsed buttock of his rifle and caught the thing in the
chin, knocking it to the ground.

Quickly Brad shuffled his feet and
stomped on the downed primal’s head while he continued to direct his rifle down
the hill at the remains of the mass. Another primal exposed itself on his
right, but was quickly dispatched by Parker’s rifle. Now fueled with adrenalin,
Brad started to move down the hill, closing the distance on the trail. He
caught movement on the left. Once identified as primal, Brad let loose with
three rapid fire shots, hitting it in the sides before Hahn clipped its head,
killing it.

Brad broke out of the heavy
underbrush and landed on the trail. There were several dead primals positioned
all around him. He looked far to his right, where he saw the Marines and Sean
headed in his direction. Parker came out of the brush just behind him followed
by Hahn. Brad found what he was looking for on the ground on the far side of
the trail.

With its arms flailing about, the
Alpha lay bleeding on the ground. It was looking up at Brad with hate in its
eyes. Hahn raised his rifle and covered the open end of the trail as Brad
approached the Alpha. There were two dark reds spots on the center of its
ripped T-shirt. The rounds should have destroyed the thing’s heart; one of the
shots must have severed its spine. Brad watched as it struggled on the ground,
trying to drag itself closer to Brad, its legs useless.

Brad moved closer with the others
slowly gathering behind him. “So what makes you not like the others?” Brad
asked the creature in a low voice.

The primal responded to Brad’s
query with a low gurgling growl. Blood and foam were forming on the creature’s
lips. Daniel had moved up beside Brad. The primal took notice of the Marine and
looked him in the eyes. “No matter how many times I see these things they still
freak me out. This is some shit you can’t get used to, man,” Daniel said.

“Did you see how he stopped looking
at me to look at you?” Brad said. “I’m telling you man, something is still
clicking inside of this one.”

“Yeah, but they’re still stupid,”
Joseph interjected.

“No,” Hahn said, looking back over
his shoulder. “Brad is right, this thing somehow halted them on the trail, and
he pointed out our position. This one was smart.”

Sean finally came up beside the
rest of them. He was covered in grime. His uniform top was ripped and blood ran
down his arms; his face was scratched and bleeding. Brad looked up at him.
“Hell Chief, you okay?”