Escape The 1st Omnibus: WTF Books 1-3 (2 page)

“Henry! Drive! Get us out of here,” Brad yelled.

Henry hit the accelerator hard. The huge MRAP lurched forward, making a sickening crunch as it plowed over and through the mob. They were still climbing and holding on to the sides of the vehicle as Henry pulled away from the crowd and Méndez’s vehicle moved alongside. He could see that Méndez’s truck had finally closed its hatch, but still had about eight of the crazies holding onto the top.

“Cole, can you see Truck Three?” Brad yelled.

“It’s lost, Sergeant, the doors are open and those guys are dragging them out. What the fuck? They’re ripping them apart!” he shouted back.

“Get it together guys! Henry, calm down and drive right. Those fucks aren’t getting in this truck. We’ll deal with them when we get away from that mob.”

They drove for what seemed like an eternity. The crazies were still banging and pounding on the sides of the armored vehicle. Every now and then one would tumble onto the hood of the truck or fall off the side. No one said anything. The men just stayed focused, Henry hunched over the wheel. Finally, the internal radio broke the silence and Brad’s headset squelched.

“
Sergeant? What just happened?”
It was Méndez from the trail vehicle.

“I don’t know. We need to get back to the convoy,” Brad answered.

“
Sergeant
,
we can’t see Jones and Truck Three; we have to go back.”

“Truck Three is gone. There is no going back there. What’s your crew’s status, Corporal?”

“
We’re okay but my gunner is fucked up, and those guys are still on the roof. Looks like you have a bunch on you also.”

“Okay Corporal, take care of your gunner. Follow us. I’ll be back with you in a minute.” Brad reached for his radio handset and tried to call the convoy; after three tries and no response, he gave up.

“Méndez, I think we are alone here. We have to lose these shitheads on our vehicles. Do you understand?” Brad said into his internal mic.

“
I understand Sarge. What do you want me to do?”

“We’re going to stop. You stop about twenty feet away and I’m going to shoot the bastards off of your truck,” Brad answered.

Brad asked Henry to slow the vehicle and turn it so his firing portal faced Méndez’s truck. When the vehicle had come to a complete stop, the things on top became frenzied. Brad could hear them clawing and pounding at the armor above. Brad knew in that moment that the enemy outside wasn’t human. They didn’t behave rationally. He didn’t know what they were, but they weren’t people. Not anymore.

He eased open his firing port just enough so that he could fit the barrel of his M4 out. He had a small internal debate in his head: whether or not it was okay to shoot one of these unarmed civilians, human or not. But then the answer came back to him, in the vision of Truck Three’s gunner being torn apart. He looked through his optics and took aim at one of the crazies on Méndez’s truck. He put the cross hair center mass on a large male that had his fingers wedged into the door jam. He pulled the trigger and felt the recoil in his shoulder. ‘
Nothing! Damn. I missed?’
He took aim and fired again; this time the man’s left arm went limp but he still howled and pried at the door with his right. Brad looked through the sight and fired four more times. Finally the man loosened his grip, fell to a knee, and then tumbled off the truck.

“Holy shit! How in the hell did that just happen? That freak just took six shots. This shit ain’t right, Sarge,” Cole shouted as he watched through his own portal.

Brad ignored him, taking aim on the next one, an overweight man sitting on the hood. This time he aimed at the head, and blew the man’s brains out onto the windshield. He finished off one more the same way.

“Now it’s your turn, Méndez,” he said into his headset.

“Roger. I’m on it,”
came the reply.

He watched as Méndez slowly opened his armored window and fired off close to thirty rounds before he announced that the MRAP was clear. They sat quietly for a minute before Brad decided to get out.

Brad undid the combat lock and slowly opened the door. He looked over and saw that Méndez was also exiting his vehicle. Brad stepped to the ground and saw one of the bodies lying in a slump near a tire. The man looked like he had been clawed and bitten;
maybe as a result of the rough ride on the MRAP?
Brad thought. He saw a leg hanging from the top of the truck. He grabbed for it and pulled the body free of the vehicle. It hit the ground with a thud. It was a female wearing a light shirt. Brad could see she had taken several shots from Méndez’s rifle and her wounds were covered in fresh blood. She also had several deep cuts and at least one older bullet wound in her abdomen.

“What
is
this?” Méndez said. Brad turned and saw Méndez standing behind him.

“I don’t know, man, but I know we killed them. Maybe it’s a bio weapon, you know terrorist are always into some crazy shit.”

“You heard from the convoy?” asked Méndez.

“No man, I’m kind of hoping the radio is out. My antenna looks like it was ripped off. Last I heard they were engaging a mob. I hope it’s not the same shit we just saw. How’s your gunner?”

“He’s bad, Sergeant. Those things tried to pull him out of the hatch. He had his harness on, but they still dislocated his shoulder. Looks like one of them took a bite out of his forearm too.”

Brad walked over to Méndez’s truck. They had Private First Class Ryan laid out in the back. Ryan had sweat dripping off of him and a tourniquet on his arm. Méndez’s medic and driver, Specialist Eric, was treating him.

Eric looked up when he saw Brad. “I don’t get it, Sarge. He’s burning up with fever. He hasn’t woken up since he passed out after the attack. I started an IV, but I don’t think it’s helping.”

“Okay … Good job soldier, just do the best you can. We’re going to mount up and try to get back to the convoy. We’ll get him help soon.”

Beep Beep Beep
. Brad turned his attention to his MRAP. Henry was beating the horn. He leaned his head out of the window and frantically yelled, “Sergeant, they’re back about five thousand meters and on the run.”

“Cole! Get that gun up, suppress and take them out!” Brad yelled.

“On the way, Sergeant,” Cole answered as he racked the M2 machine gun, chambered a round, and then pointed it in the direction of the approaching mob.

“Méndez, mount up and get ready to move,” Brad ordered.

Thump, thump, thump, thump.
Cole had started firing his big gun while Brad climbed into his seat and secured his door. He watched Méndez’s truck pull around and angle behind him.

“Let’s go! Back to the convoy, Henry. Cole, keep pouring it on them!” shouted Brad.

He looked back through the window and could see the mob cresting the hill just meters from where they had been. Cole was knocking them down with the big gun; pausing only to reload. Brad saw some of them moving on the ground and then get back up.
‘What the hell?’
he thought.
‘Nobody takes a fifty caliber round and survives.’
He looked through his scope and saw a man limping down the road with a softball-size holed near his hip, but he was still trying to jog after them. After about five yards, the man fell flat on his face. Eventually the pack faded from view and Brad ordered Cole to cease fire.

Henry spoke first. “Sergeant, how is that possible? We are almost ten miles from the FOB and those things caught up with us. They aren’t Kenyans, Sarge! Nobody is that fast, they didn’t even look tired.”

“I don’t know, Henry. I shot that guy six times before he went down. Cole was tearing that crowd apart with the big gun, and I swear I saw some of them get back up. Let’s just keep it together and we’ll figure this out.”

Brad spoke into the internal radio, “Méndez, take point and recon ahead. I don’t want any surprises up front.”

The more maneuverable Humvee passed the MRAP and pulled away. Méndez’s truck was far ahead now and running as a scout, staying just within sight of Brad.

They drove for close to an hour without seeing anything or hearing a word on the radio. It was getting late and the sun was beginning to crest the mountains. Brad knew they would only have another hour or so of daylight.

“
Sergeant, I can see the convoy. I’m stopping,”
squelched the radio.

“Roger that, Méndez, we’ll hang back. What can you see?” asked Brad.

“
Not good, Sarge, I can see the vehicles, looks like maybe one or two are missing. There are no people. Nothing appears to be alive down there.”

“Stay in position, Méndez. I’m moving to your location,” Brad responded.

The MRAP moved forward and pulled up alongside the Humvee. Brad used his scout binos to look at the scene ahead of him.

“Looks like the lieutenant circled the wagons,” he muttered. The convoy was still in its defensive perimeter. Brad didn’t see anyone in the turrets and the razor wire barrier looked like it had been dragged inside their safe zone.

Brad continued to scan but he didn’t see a single living person. Most of the vehicles had their doors open and the turrets still had mounted weapons on top. Brad knew his people wouldn’t leave their vehicles and weapons like that. He did a vehicle count and compared it with the convoy order he had received early that morning. Two MRAPs were missing from the convoy.

Brad had an idea of what might have happened by the way things were strewn about. The perimeter had been overrun and the lighter vehicles had easily been overtaken in the same way they had lost Truck Three. The heavier MRAPs were able to take the initial blow and remain secured. Brad guessed that the MRAPs had fled the mob and were pursued by the attackers in the same way the Bremmel mob had chased his team.

With his two vehicles on line, they approached the perimeter. As they got closer, he could tell that it wasn’t going to be pretty. The soldiers hadn’t abandoned their positions. Parts of them were scattered everywhere, as well as several bodies of the crazies that had attacked the convoy. They pulled to within one hundred meters of the perimeter. He had Cole and Eric mount the guns and provide cover while he and Méndez went in on foot. Not only did he want to protect his men from any physical danger, he wanted to save them from the experience of finding their friends slaughtered.

As he walked through the wreckage, it was clear the soldiers had put up a tremendous fight. There was blood everywhere; pieces of body armor and protective equipment had been torn apart and were strewn around. Brad saw a fighting position with a pile of brass and dead bodies. Many of the dead were slashed and cut apart. Located near the pile was a dead soldier Brad recognized, still with a fighting knife in his hand.

They found the lieutenant’s Humvee with the doors open and bent. The inside of the truck was smeared with blood and its contents were tossed everywhere. One MRAP had dead bodies draped all over it and surrounding it; all shredded by the MRAP’s fifty caliber machine gun.

‘Whoever manned that gun must have gone down hard,’
Brad thought.

“Over here!” Méndez called.

Off to the side of the perimeter, they could see where sets of big tire tracks led away from the fight; it appeared that the vehicles had dragged the defensive razor wire with them. There was a trail of bodies marking where the vehicle tracks veered away into the distance. From the tracks and drag marks, it was obvious that the mob had followed them into the desert.

They found nothing else. They took a trailer off one of the MRAPs and loaded it with anything they could find in the convoy that they might need later: cases of MREs, bottled water, five-gallon cans of fuel, batteries, and as many ammo cans as they could carry. They grabbed a spare gun for each truck and called for Henry to bring down their vehicles so they could connect the trailer and top them off with fuel. Méndez located a sniper rifle and a couple of light 240B machine guns that he loaded in the rear of the MRAP.

After they were sure that everything useful had been recovered, they mounted back up. Brad decided it was best to stay the night near the convoy in hopes the two MRAPs would circle back. He directed the vehicles to move off road and drive to a small ridgeline that overlooked the convoy’s final resting place. They pulled into a nice hide where the vehicles could be concealed by some large rock formations yet still able to see the road and the approach to the ambush site.

The men were exhausted. Brad told them he would take the first watch and instructed the others to get some rest. He walked over to check on PFC Ryan. He was still hot with fever and unconscious. The wounds around his forearm had grown a deep purple in color and angry streaks had begun to snake up his arm. It didn’t look good. He was still laid out in the back of the Humvee. Quietly, Brad closed the door and walked past Eric and Méndez who were sleeping off to the front of the truck.

He climbed on top of his MRAP and slowly scanned the horizon with his night vision scope, looking for any danger. Finding none, he settled into a comfortable position and carefully watched the road. The desert had become quiet and lonely in the twilight hours, the shadows growing as the sun slowly dropped behind the distant mountains.

Later, in the darkness, he heard moans and crowd noise coming from the road. Through his scope he could see the mob from Bremmel moving toward the convoy ambush site. The group paused when they reached the vehicles. Brad felt the hairs stand on the back of his neck while he waited to see what they would do. He looked behind him and could see that the rest of his men were also up and looking at the road.

The mob suddenly started moving again and continued to follow the road which led to the village that Brad and his men had patrolled earlier that day. Brad was relieved that the crazies didn’t appear to be good trackers. Once again it became quiet; a strange sensation in itself for this part of Afghanistan where jet aircraft or distant explosions were normally heard all through the night.

Brad watched for an hour more and then woke Henry to take over. He climbed into the back of the MRAP and drifted off to sleep to sound of Henry shuffle around on top of the large vehicle.