Whiskey Tango Foxtrot (Escaping the Dead) by W. J. Lundy Page A

use against them. Primals couldn’t be
intimidated into surrender.
     Battle
drills called for shutting down the immediate threat as quickly as possible,
then getting very stealthy, running and hiding from the later waves of primals
that always showed up.  In the city it was pointless to attempt to stand
your ground, there would always be too many.  Stealth and escape were the
only things that worked.
     
    “Take
the shot,” the spotter whispered.
     
    Who
knew what they would do when the ammo ran out.  Close combat with primals
was a nightmare; they were fast and strong and never tired.  They didn’t
hesitate to strike and they didn’t quit if they thought a meal was
nearby.   Brad needed to make long term preparations, but his people
were always too busy surviving to look to the future.  They needed to make
contact with the States, their families, and their command.  They needed
help.
     
    “Firing,”
Brad said as he focused the sight picture and pulling the trigger during the
natural pause in his breathing.
     
    The
SEAL team Chief is the only one to have had contact with the military after the
attacks, but even that was lost when the satellite phones batteries died. 
Sean had told him that NATO pulled out all of the soldiers in the first
days.  They had been re-called to defend their homelands.  Brads men
were not so lucky, blindsided by the fog of war.  The government gave
little advanced warning that the attacks were coming, as always ‘ the need to
know’ didn’t reach the soldiers on the ground or in remote camps. 
They were afraid if the intelligence about the biological attack leaked, the
enemy would strike early, before the Special Forces could stop them. 
Either way we lost.
     
    “Hit,
head, target down,” confirmed the spotter.
     
    The
fog of war and Murphy’s Law had taken down innumerable members in the
attacks.  Now they were alone, lost and outnumbered.  A dozen men
from a lost patrol are of little concern to the big picture in the fight for
humanity.  The United States was under attack and fighting for
survival.  How could they spare resources to look for others when they
were fighting for themselves?  Those were the arguments he used to justify
the abandonment to his men, but he didn’t have one for himself.  As hard
as it would be to leave the safety of this compound the decision was
clear.  Someone needed to leave, to reach out; without support they
wouldn’t make it out here alone. 
     
    “Roger,
Hit,” Brad replied opening the bolt and chambering another round.  This
was his seventh kill this morning, and the start to a long watch.

1.
     
     
     
    Forward Operating Base Bremmel
     Zero day plus one.
     
     
     
    He
wasn’t a bad soldier, just misunderstood.  Sergeant Robert Logan was
always in trouble, not on the job, but for things he did on his own
time.     His last adventure had caused him to oversleep
and not show up on time for duty.  That cost him his team leader position
and sentenced him to a week of working in the chow hall.  Now the rest of
Echo Company was preparing for a patrol, and he was getting ready for a day
slinging hash.  Time in the mess hall sucks, but not as bad as watching
your men roll out without you. 
    Robert
was helping Corporal Méndez prepare his crew for today’s mission; this would be
his first as team leader.  Robert was nervously quizzing him to make sure
he was ready for the responsibility.  Méndez asked him to relax,
everything would be fine.  He had a solid crew, Specialist Eric was a good
driver and Private Ryan was one of the best gunners in the company. 
Besides, it wasn’t Robert’s concern today, his job was serving up breakfast and
the last thing he needed was to be late for work again.  Robert shook his
former teammate’s hands and wished them luck on today’s patrol, then walked
away towards the chow hall.
    It
felt strange for Robert to be going to work without the body armor and weapons
he was