War Dogs Heading Home Read online

  ☆

  War Dogs

  Heading Home

  Book 1

  Wounded Warriors of the Apocalypse:

  Post-Apocalyptic Survival Fiction

  AJ Newman

  .

  ✼

  Acknowledgments

  This book is dedicated to Patsy, my beautiful wife of thirty-six years, who assists with everything from Beta reading to censor duties. She enables me to write, golf, and enjoy my life with her and our mob of Shih Tzu’s.

  Thanks to Patsy, Wes, Richard C, David, and Richard S., who are Beta readers for this novel. They gave many suggestions that helped improve the cover and readability of my book.

  Thanks to Sabrina Jean at Fasttrackediting for proofreading and editing this novel.

  Thanks to WMHCheryl at http://wmhcheryl.com/services-for-authors/ for the great final proofreading and suggestions on improving the accuracy and helping me to tell a better story.

  Thanks to Christian at Covers by Christian for the fantastic cover.

  AJ Newman

  Copyright © 2019 Anthony J Newman. All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. All events, names, characters, and places are the product of the author’s imagination or are used as a fictitious event. That means that I thought up this whole book from my imagination, and nothing in it is true.

  All rights reserved. None of this publication may be copied or reproduced without prior written permission from the publisher.

  Published by Newalk LLC.

  Owensboro, Kentucky

  Main Characters

  Jason Walker – The main character of this story. Jason is 28 years old and has brown eyes and brown hair when the world collapsed. He joined the Army after high school. He decided to re-enlist when the Army offered to make him a Patrol Explosive Detector Dog (PEDD) Handler. He was assigned to an Army K9 unit in Europe when the SHTF. He is a bit socially backward and awkward around women. He can kill the enemy but can’t deal with crying ladies.

  MMax – Pronounced Max. MMax is a black and tan Belgian Malinois K9 born at Lackland AFB and assigned to Jason. He is Jason’s best friend, and they’ve been together for two years since he was assigned to Jason. MMax was trained to find explosives, spot ambushes, and to neutralize enemy threats. I have taken some poetic license concerning MMax’s personality and behavior to make him more likable.

  Jan Walker – Jason’s mom and one of his heroes. She was a nurse and an avid gardener. She loved to run and participated in 13 and 26k marathons. Not bad for a 55-year-old woman.

  Zack Walker – Jason’s dad. He was a lot like Jason in appearance and demeanor. He is a prepper and good mechanic. He disappeared before Jason returned home from the war after the lights went out.

  Billie Johnson – Jason’s Mom’s new friend and fellow survivor. She is a very disciplined and strict momma bear type who is protective of her bratty kid. She is an attractive blonde haired lady who hates Jason for a strange reason.

  Mark Johnson – Billie’s bratty, spoiled kid. The boy is a troubled kid who spent most of his time reading or annoying other people. He is a lazy, selfish, spoiled brat. He isn’t very likable.

  Tina – She is a liver and white Springer Spaniel who also helped save Jason’s life on many occasions. She has been by Jason’s side since TSHTF.

  Karen Martin – Jason saved her two daughters and her from an evil thug. She was a Biology teacher at a local high school. She became close to Jason and joined his group of survivors.

  ☆

  Chapter 1

  March 15, 2038: TSHTF minus 10 days (TSHTF = the shit hit the fan)

  Heathrow Airport, London, UK

  “Another patrol, another day in hell,” thought SSG Jason Walker. The Jihadists were sniping and blowing up our units who were trying to take back Heathrow airport in London. The war in Europe was certainly a living hell for us War Dogs, but it was a piece of cake compared to the end of the world as we knew it.

  I was always the one to crack a joke to help raise the spirits of my fellow soldiers when we fought and died across Belgium, France, and Germany. We kicked the damned Syrians, Iranians, and Russians out of Europe, and then the enemy shocked us with a surprise invasion of England. My unit, The War Dogs, was part of the 101st Airborne Division. One War Dog handler and K9 were assigned to each squad. MMax and I had made over two dozen jumps together. Seven were in combat. We were the first into London and the first to see all of the headless men, women, and children. I haven’t cracked a joke since then, and I’d be hard-pressed to tell one now. I had to settle for the joke being on the Iranians because they’d tried to do their best to kill me and failed.

  The 3rd Brigade of the 101st Airborne Division, “The War Dogs”, was highly regarded as the best at finding and killing the enemy. We had killed more than any three other units combined, and my squad had most of those kills. MMax, my black and tan Belgian Malinois MWD (Military Working Dog), and I even went on missions while the others slept. I didn’t need much sleep. The problem for me was that I had begun to like the up close and personal killing. Even in my exhausted state, I knew this was wrong.

  MMax was born at Lackland AFB and was a product of the Defense Department’s Military Working Dog Breeding Program, also known as the Puppy Program. The puppies were fostered out until they were mature enough to return for training. MMax and I first met there, and we trained and bonded at Lackland. The staff trained MMax to become a Warrior Dog and prepared me to support him. MMax was trained to detect explosives, alert at an enemy ambush, catch and take down a fleeing bad guy, and to stop attacking if I yelled “Out!”

  The extra M designates that Max was born at Lackland and not purchased from a civilian source. I always tell the other soldiers the first M was for Mad, and don’t make Mad Max mad or he’ll bite your ass. MMax was highly trained and would not hurt anyone unless they threatened him or me. Of course, if I said ‘attack’, MMax would attack until I called him off.

  Belgium Malinois dogs are sturdier than other working dog breeds. They have less medical problems than German Shepherds and weigh twenty pounds less. Twenty pounds is a lot when the dog is harnessed to you during an airborne insertion and you hit the ground or have to carry a wounded dog to safety.

  The Jihadies had seized control of the airport and our mission was to clean them out. I was only a few feet in front of Sergeant Maria McGill, a feisty Latin/Irish beauty who was as good on the battlefield as she was in bed. Yeah, we got too close, and she got too serious. She also wanted me to see a shrink, and that dog won’t hunt. I wasn’t serious about anything but MMax and killing the enemy, so we broke up. It kinda made for a tense situation on the battlefield that no one needed. Murph, Corporal Billy Murphy, was beside Maria, and then the rest of the squad followed.

  MMax slowly walked around the burned-out husks of cars and rubble as he sniffed for explosives. The odor from the burning diesel fuel and tires sometimes masked the odor from plastic explosives. The fumes burned my nose and eyes. MMax discovered the IED and reacted as he had been trained. He stopped, sat, and pointed his nose at the explosive. This warned me, and I shouted out, “My Dog alerted!” and motioned for the squad to stop, but a bit too late. Searing heat and a blast wave hit my body. I heard MMax yelp in pain and go silent.

  The explosion shredded my left boot and hurled my bruised and battered body against an overseas shipping container. Yes, I could see my life passing by as I flew through the air. I dropped to the pavement feeling as though someone had kicked me in the crotch and run over me with a garbage truck. I landed on my back on top of some rubble, and something snapped in my back. The thick blood running into my eyes rendered me blind, and I couldn’t move a muscle. The air was full of dust, and t
he odor from burned cordite was pungent. I thought I was dead. Wait, I thought, “Dead people, can’t hear the sounds of the battle raging around them. Dead people can’t smell the burning odor of cordite or the smell of iron as the thick blood oozed under my nose.”

  That’s when I laughed to myself and thought, “I am alive, and these bastards didn’t kill me. Well not yet anyway.”

  I blinked my eyes and saw Maria laying a few feet from me with blood on her face. I could see a medic attending to her. My heart sank until she looked up at me and smiled. I tried to speak but couldn’t so I waved. Several of my friends in the squad I was assigned to were wounded, but no one died because of the IED blast. MMax, my K9 friend, had saved us all. I laid there trying to reach for him but, I couldn’t move. I was afraid MMax had died in the blast.

  I tried to move when I heard the medics arrive. I could vaguely feel my arm when one started an IV. I sure as hell felt the searing pain in my back when they rolled me onto the stretcher. Then I heard one say, “Stop! There’s a piece of metal sticking out of his back.”

  I heard my shirt and undershirt being torn so the medic could survey the wound and then suddenly another sharp pain when the medic pulled the metallic shard from my back. I was on my side receiving a temporary patch when I heard a woman’s voice. “Hurry up. He’s got bleeding from his crotch area.”

  “Now wait a darn minute,” that’s not something a guy wants to hear as he remembered the feeling of being kicked in the crotch just before he was blown through the air. Naturally, my mind wandered to what specific part of my body was bleeding.

  I tried to get my lips to ask the question when I felt a stab in my hip and heard, “This man is a hero, according to what his buddies tell me. We need to save him. This will deaden his pain as you …”

  My mind became fuzzy as I tried to ask … “as you what?” What the heck were they doing? That was the last thing I remember until a couple of days later.

  I was flown to a U.S. Air Force hospital in Iceland, a few miles outside of Reykjavik. It had replaced the one in Ramstein, Germany after the first Iranian terrorist invasion of Germany. Germany had the UK drop a small tactical nuke in the area close to the base. It killed over a hundred thousand of the invaders that were staged there to invade the rest of Europe.

  The war was very complicated because Iran and Syria used proxy fighters from all over the world to do their fighting, until we began whipping their butts. The United Nations fought against attacking Iran and Syria because they weren’t actually fighting. The fix was in at the UN, and the USA and Great Britain lost every vote, thanks to the Russians and French.

  I don’t remember any of my stay in Reykjavik until the day before we were to fly back stateside. I remember waking up with the sun shining in my eyes and hearing a din of voices. They were all mixed up, and for several minutes, the words just blended. I was drowsy from the painkillers, but finally opened my eyes to see a pretty nurse reading to me. The book covered half of her gorgeous face. I watched her lips move, but could only hear the roar of a million sounds from the battlefield. She smelled like lilacs and honey, and had corn silk-colored hair. Her skin was smooth-looking and blemish free. I think I fell in love with her. Okay, maybe lust crept in there a bit, but like a dog chasing a car, I couldn’t do much about it.

  Suddenly, the other noises went away, and I heard a voice crystal clear. “… has declared war on Syria and Iran. The President is expected to sign the Declaration of War this morning. Iran and Syria with Russian support just landed over a hundred thousand troops in England. The Bill includes a provision to restart the Military Draft, and will include women for the first time in U.S. history. Oh my, I’m glad I’m already a nurse, or I might be drafted to shoot people. Anyway, those are today’s headlines.”

  I smiled at the pretty nurse and tried to speak. I felt my jaw try to move a bit, but words didn’t come out of my mouth. I heard the nurse. “Don’t try to talk. Your commanding officer has put in papers for a medal. You saved a dozen of your fellow soldiers from probable death. You’ve been through a lot of surgery to your foot, back, and mouth. Oh, you’ll recover okay, but your jaw is wired shut, and you have had dental implants inserted to replace the teeth you lost. Now, rest.”

  I wanted to ask her a hundred questions. Where is MMax? How long have I been here? Why is there stabbing pain in my foot, groin, and back? Are you single? Why can’t I move my left leg? Where are my buddies? Would you date a patient? Where is MMax? Then I heard her say something into her cell phone. “Yes, he woke up and tried to speak. He appears to be in pain, as expected. Okay. I’ll increase the IV sedation. I’ll see you at the hotel tonight.”

  I now knew a doctor had beaten me to the pretty nurse, and I watched her increase the rate of the medicine dripping into my IV. A calm feeling washed over me when I heard a strange man’s voice. “He’s under. Now we can move him into the medical pod without causing him too much pain. They’re shipping him back to the states today. The lucky bastard is going to that new VA Hospital in Nashville, near his hometown. I’ll take over …”

  That was the last thing I remember. Crap. The only thing I remember about my nine days in Iceland. They placed me in a medical pod transportation vehicle and shipped me to the airport. All I knew is that I was going home.

  I was born and raised in the Nashville, Tennessee area and lived in several small towns before my dad and mom settled down outside of Walterhill, Tennessee. I lived there until I joined the Army. I had a great childhood and loved living in Middle Tennessee, but joined the Army instead of going to college as my brother and sister did. It wasn’t that I was dumb or anything. I just didn’t like sitting in class every day. I wanted some excitement, and when I got bored, I manufactured the excitement. Naturally, I stayed in trouble in high school, but was never caught at my best pranks on fellow students and teachers.

  March 25, 2038: TSHTF or day Zero

  Aboard a KC-135 at 25,000 feet about 150 miles from Nashville, TN

  I awakened to the sound of the droning engines, and knew I was on a plane. My home was just outside of Nashville, and I was confident they would take me to the new VA hospital there. Then, sadness washed over me because I still didn’t know if MMax was alive or what had happened to him. I bumped my elbow against my pod, and one of the medics rushed over to tend to me. I called out to him the best I could with my jaw wired shut. “Mnniick, Munnick,” I called out, or something that sounds like that. He stared down at me with a confused look.

  The other medic came over. “He’s in a K9 unit, and I think he wants to know how MMax is doing. Sergeant Walker, MMax is actually on this plane and is recovering nicely. He’ll stay on the plane and fly on to Lackland AFB where they have vets who specialize in K9 injuries and rehabilitation. I’d love to let you see him, but neither of you is in any shape to move from your transport pods.”

  That made me feel better, and I mumbled, “Thuank youuu,” to the medics. MMax was alive, and I would do anything to see him again. I knew I had to work hard to get myself healed, and then I could go to Lackland and see my pup.

  It was several hours later, and the medics and crew were discussing some troubling world news that had occurred while I’d been sleeping, under the influence of potent sedatives and painkillers. One man told another that Russia warned the U.S.A not to attack Syria or Iran. Russia threatened massive retaliation if their allies were attacked. The UK, Germany, France, and the U.S.A had launched hundreds of cruise missiles, bombers, and fighters to pound the two countries.

  Later that night, the plane lurched a couple of times, lightning flashed and lit up the cabin. The clap of thunder followed a few seconds later. One of the crewmen mentioned the aircraft we were on was a KC-135, was seventy three years old and due to retire two years ago, but the war in Europe had caused the military to extend using them. I thought, “Oh crap, I’m in a plane older than my grandfather flying across the ocean in a major thunderstorm.”

  Then I heard a woman’s voice, “Prep
are your patients for landing. We’ll be told to head to our jump seats in ten minutes.”

  I listened to the conversation when abruptly there was a blinding flash from the windows, the lights went out, and sparks flew around the inside of the plane. The flash was gone, but I couldn’t see. There was a buzz of yelling and directions given, but no one panicked. The medics and doctor tried their best to prepare their patients for the inevitable crash. However, they remained calm in the face of death and destruction.

  The plane lurched, and I felt the sickening feeling that I was falling. The medics scrambled around in the dark and closed the medical pod next to me, and then began closing mine. I heard him say, “That last blast of light wasn’t from the storm. I turned your meds up, and you’ll be zonked out before we hit the ground. Good luck, you lucky bastard.”

  I felt the plane level off a bit and then start a slow glide down when my mind became fuzzy, and everything went black. The pod snapped closed, and now I had complete darkness and silence. I can remember to this day, the medic called me a lucky bastard just before the plane was going to crash. At the time, my fuzzy mind thought it was a sick joke. Now, I fully understand his meaning.

  I had nightmares so real that I couldn’t tell if I was living the events or dreaming. One, I’ll never forget, but won’t tell anyone had me hunting the enemy with MMax. There were two Jihadies, and we snuck up behind them and jumped on them. I could see myself tearing the man’s neck apart with my fangs. I turned to see MMax had his man by the wrist. I shook my man until the blood stopped gushing from his neck. I felt the rush of the kill, and then the crush of guilt for so savagely killing the man. I’d had similar dreams before.