Escape The 1st Omnibus: WTF Books 1-3 (32 page)

Brad could hear the men joking in the lounge; the mood lifted with the sudden feelings of security now that the deck was presumed clear. Brad looked over his shoulder, opened the blinds behind him, and some light spilled into the room. Looking out, he was surprised to see the rains had finally stopped and he could see the moon.

“Looks like the weather finally broke,” Swanson said, breaking the silence.

Brad looked up and saw her standing in the doorway. “Yeah, looking that way. What can I help you with, Corporal?”

“Please, call me Chelsea,” she answered.

“Okay … Chelsea … What’s up?”

“Mind if I take a seat?” she asked as she looked at the sofa across the room from Brad.

“Sure, take a load off,” he answered, lifting his glass in a mock salute.

Chelsea leaned her rifle against the wall, plopped onto the sofa, leaned back and took a sip from her half empty glass before making a foul face.

“Here, add some water, it mellows it a bit,” Brad said, tossing her the water bottle.

Chelsea smiled and filled her glass back to the top with water, then took another sip, making the same face. “I don’t think it helped much. I’d kill for a Coke right now.”

“So what brings you to my office, Chelsea?’ Brad asked just before he took another sip of his bourbon.

“Just looking for some company,” she smiled back.

“What, the privates don’t entertain you?” Brad chuckled.

“Yeah, turns out that crude jokes and ball scratching get old after a while,” she laughed.

“Let me ask you Chelsea, how did you find your way onto this rig? Why weren’t you sent back to the States?”

“The States, I wish … I mean, what’s left of them, anyway. I haven’t heard anything from them in weeks. After the fall, this is where we were dropped. But it’s still better than on the ground. We were cornered against the walls of the airfield and we had been holding up for days hiding in the bunkers. With the armor, we were holding the lines, doing the best we could. Some officers were trying to get everyone out, but there weren’t enough planes on the ground to move everyone.”

“I’d heard they recalled everyone back to the States and closed the bases. My unit never got a warning; my company was lost in the field. At least you had the evac order,” Brad said.

“Oh, they tried, I’ll give them that … the first days of the evacuation were impressive; huge airlift flights leaving the ground and landing every few minutes. The Cobras and Apaches were tearing up wave after wave of primals, trying to cover the withdrawal. After a couple of days, the flights dwindled with the fuel supplies. Combat troops and those with special skills were getting priority to be sent back to the States. I was in a maintenance unit and kept getting passed over.

“Eventually, they asked for techs and mechanical types to volunteer to help get these rigs online as staging areas. Our commander jumped at the chance to get us out of that place. A Chinook helicopter picked up my team and dropped us here. It was good duty, considering … and they said once the Navy ship was replenished they would be getting us home.”

“Yeah, shitty luck I guess … what’d you know about the attacks? How did we lose Leatherneck? All that muscle and advanced warning, I’d figure they would hold forever.”

Chelsea took a long pull on her glass and spoke quietly, “We heard the rumors and were briefed about the ‘zombie’ attacks, or whatever they were, but nobody believed it. The camp was put on lock down, and nobody was allowed in or out. We had a hundred percent up on the walls but nothing happened. We joked about it, but folks were getting pissed off about pulling twelve hour shifts out on the wire.

“We heard stories of camps in the north getting overrun and about Bagram falling. Comms started failing, we lost Internet access … then the sirens blared in the middle of the second night. At first they came in ones and twos. Even though we were warned, the sergeants of the guard still hesitated; they didn’t want to shoot unarmed civilians. But that didn’t last long. Not after we saw the damage they could do.

“Eventually our gate was hit by a wave of thousands. The machine guns fired until their barrels warped. Airstrikes and gunships pounded them. It didn’t take long before the base was surrounded and they were in so close that we couldn’t get effective support from the artillery guns. The main gates fell; they swarmed and pushed in.

“The armor saved us; the Bradleys and Abrams tanks rushed forward and plugged the break in the wall. We thought we stopped them. The mass had been beaten back, their numbers dwindled, but we screwed up. It was the ‘No man gets left behind’ and the whole ‘brothers in arms’ thing that screwed us.”

“What do you mean by that?” Brad asked.

“We didn’t understand then how it spread. Some of our guys were really kicking the shit out of those things. But they got scratched and bit. Their buddies carried them back to base and took them to the medics. Hell, we didn’t know they would all turn; nobody told us that part. The hospital fell; units were torn apart from the inside. Segregation orders for the wounded finally came down, but too much damage had already been done.

“It was bad. We were pulled back and we fortified the airfield in final defensive positions. The armor formed a wall of steel and the Air Force dropped in ammo and supplies around the clock. Our guys on the line were holding them back, but they just kept coming. They are attracted to noise, you know … so the more we fought, the more were drawn in; a never-ending loop. When the captain told us we had been tasked to the oil rigs, I felt such relief to be leaving. Everyone knew they were fighting a losing battle.”

“What happened to the guys on the ground? Did you hear anything from them?” Brad asked.

“I don’t know. We left for the rig seven days after the first attack, and we stopped getting reports from the airfield on day ten. Maybe they all got out.”

“Yeah, I’m sure they all got out,” Brad said slowly.

“Are we ever getting off of this platform, Army?”

“You know what, call me Brad, and yeah, I think we will. We didn’t last this long to die out at sea. Why don’t you get some rest, Chelsea? It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.”

“Okay. Brad? Thanks for listening, I appreciate it. Goodnight,” she said, placing the empty glass on the desk and walking from the room.

Brad drained the rest of his glass and left it on the desk next to Chelsea’s. He stood to stretch out the cramps and was surprised at the whiskey’s effect on him. His tolerance must have slipped quite a bit after all of those months in the desert. Taking his own advice, he picked up his weapons and gear, then made his way to the third floor sleeping quarters.

The morning came with a brightness that Brad had forgotten existed in this part of the world. He had gotten used to the cool, long rainy days and cloudy skies. It was all they had seen since they’d arrived on the platform. Now the sun was shining brightly through his cell’s windows. The steel roof above him was radiating the heat.

He sat up in his bunk and rested his feet on the cool tile floor. The living cell he now occupied was far from luxurious, but it beat the hell out of anything he had stayed in since the first of the attacks. There wasn’t much to it; a large wardrobe locker and a desk sat on the wall opposite his tiny bunk. His gear was piled in front of him, taking up much of the floor space.

Brad heard a commotion in the hall. He stood, stretching and yawning, then pulled on a pair of MultiCam trousers before he opened the door and walked out. The men were moving about, strapping on their armor and prepping their weapons.

“What’s going on guys?” Brad asked.

“We're going outside. Chief said we’re going to take back the top deck. Good shit, right Sergeant?” Private Craig quickly answered.

Brad moved across the hall and into the lounge. He found Brooks drinking down a bottle of instant coffee.

“You have any more of that?”

“Sure, help yourself,” Brooks answered, sliding a couple of packets of the instant coffee across the table.

Brad twisted the cap off a bottle of water and emptied the packets in. Shaking the bottle, he watched the liquid change color. “So the guys tell me we’re moving outside today.”

“Yup. Chief wants the deck secured as soon as possible; with the sun shining bright it’s the best time to take advantage of the momentum we built last night.”

Brad took a swig of the bitter, barely warm coffee just as Sean walked in the door from downstairs.

“Good morning sunshine! I see someone decide to sleep in today,” Sean said, moving to take a seat at the table. “I assume Brooks filled you in on this morning’s mission?”

Brad nodded as he yawned and took another long sip from the bottle.

“You think you’re up to taking Swanson and a couple of the new guys out on your own? Brooks and I will pull the other two along. Probably best to leave the fly boys and civilians to hold the fort.”

“Works for me; better if we move as fire teams out on the deck anyhow. When do you want to get started?”

“Get your stuff together. We all meet below in fifteen.” Sean said, smiling.

Brad tossed his empty bottle into the trash can and moved back to his cell to prep his gear. The Marines were up, slapping each other on the backs and getting fired up for today’s operation. The bravado and camaraderie gave Brad flashbacks to a time before all of this shit—back to a time when he was running patrols with his own men. When Brad would get the pre-mission jitters and share in the excitement of going out.

Brad suited up and stepped into the hall just as the last of the men were making their way down the stairs. He found them assembled in the first floor lounge around the pool table. Sean had a fire emergency escape map of the platform laid out on the table. He had the three exits to the lower decks circled in red, and big X’s drawn through the doorways leading into the other two structures.

Sean looked across the table at Swanson and the group of Marines. “We’re going to sweep and clear the outside. Corporal, I want you to pick two of your Marines and join Sergeant Thompson,” Sean said.

“No problem, Chief,” she quickly replied back. “Wilson? You and Craig are with me.”

“Okay good. Captain, I want you and the civilians to hold this position. Nobody gets in or out while we are outside. Be ready to open the doors in a hurry.”

“Understood, Chief,” Bradley answered.

“Brooks and I will form the second fire team with you two then,” Sean said, pointing across at Walkens and Nelson, who nodded back in acknowledgement. “Gentleman, this is going to take a while but we’re not going to be rushed. Time is one thing we have plenty of.”

Sean broke down the rest of the plan to secure the third deck. They needed to first barricade the main stairway going down to the second deck. Then they would cut the remaining two ladders that led below to ensure that nothing could sneak up them. When they were sure that all ingress and egress routes were secured, they would work on clearing the final two structures.

“If everything goes as planned, maybe we’ll have lights and running water tonight,” Sean joked. “Let’s gear up and be ready to step out in five mikes.”

Brad was stacked against the exit door, looking at his team. “Let keep this simple, guys. Maintain eye contact with one another and cover your sectors. Don’t go pointing your weapons at your buddies. If we make contact, listen to the sound of my voice, I’ll tell you where I want you. Too easy, right?”

“Too easy, Sergeant, we got this,” Swanson answered for the others.

Brad looked up and nodded to Brooks, who unlocked the doors. Bill and Tony helped him push hard on the doors to ease the pile of broken and twisted bodies piled against it from the previous night’s battle. The right side opened just enough to allow the teams to exit. Brooks moved out with his team in tow and cut right; Brad, moving at the same time, took his team to the left.

Once outside, Brad moved just beyond the blind corner where he had been surprised by the giant primal days earlier and took a knee. The walkway was covered with corpses and the smell was horrible. They had been living with it for weeks now, so it didn’t hit him as hard as it had in the past. Swanson took a knee across from him, the two Marines just behind and facing in the opposite direction.

Sean’s team moved down the walkway towards the helipad stairs. Brad waited for them to get to their location and set in position. He sent Swanson and Wilson forward and then followed behind with Craig. Each team moved in concert, leapfrogging each other so that at all times six of the eight fighters were covering while two moved. Moving slowly, they overlapped their sectors, bounding and covering each other’s movements, until they reached the storage deck.

Brad’s team was on line just off the walkway looking down the right side of the storage deck. Sean’s group had taken up positions to the left. The deck appeared clear other than some tossed-about crates and torn tarps flapping in the subtle ocean breeze. The sun was in full effect, heating everything up. Brad could see bodies lying on the ground in various states of decay, but so far there was no movement.

Brad looked to Sean, who pointed at his own shirt collar indicating he wanted Brad to move to his position. He told Swanson to take charge and keep her eyes on the surroundings, then ran at a low hunch to Sean’s position and took a knee.

“What’s up boss?” he asked.

“Okay, let’s clear this deck in line. Eyes on everyone at all times. It’s pretty hot and bright out here so I don’t suspect we have any hiders, but let’s not take any chances. If anything, we can at least work out the kinks with the new guys. You take the right side, we got left, don’t get in front of us, keep the firing lanes open, and we’ll meet at the stairway,” Sean whispered.

“Got it, Chief,” Brad answered and turned to return to his group.

Brad’s people moved slowly, clearing every corner and obstacle as they moved on line with each other. The deck held pallet after pallet of MREs, cases of water, ammunition, and fifty-gallon barrels of different assortments of fuel. Most of the heavy stacks appeared undamaged. The most they found was sheathes of ripped plastic, flapping from crates, that had probably been blown loose in the storm.