Chain Breakers (Nuclear Winter Book 3)

by Nathan Jones

  * * * * *

  Pete thought he would feel at least some regret at transferring from the area after being posted here for almost five years. But the simple fact was that the only real memories he was leaving behind were so painful he preferred not to think of them at all; other than those this place had been more like purgatory.

  Jack seemed equally eager to escape the bad posting. It was such a dead end assignment that only the dregs or new local recruits ended up here, and once here getting transferred anywhere else was practically impossible.

  To escape, and of all things end up with the Chainbreakers, was a dream come true for his friend. He couldn't stop talking about the exploits he'd accomplish as part of the famous company.

  “Be a bit realistic going into this,” Pete warned him. “Sure, the two of us might be the only real soldiers for a hundred miles in every direction around here. We might even be minor legends in our own right. But the 103rd faces worse on their best day than we've seen on our worst. They're the best, and we'll be joining them as two yokels from the boonies who probably won't hold a candle to them.”

  That took a bit of the wind out of Jack's sails. “Then we'll have some catching up to do,” he said stoutly.

  Morris had arranged for them to ride out to Saskatoon on the mail truck that came by every month, and from there they'd be juggled through the hands of various military paper pushers, finding rides where they could until they reached Missouri.

  There wasn't much in the way of farewells as Pete and Jack loaded their gear and hopped into the truck. The driver gunned the engine to life and started off, and the settlement was quickly lost to view behind hills in the rearview mirror.

  Just before passing out of sight of it Pete glanced at the farmstead that made up the tiny community's northeastern edge. It was the first time he'd deliberately looked that way for longer than he could remember. It didn't even occur to him to go offer his goodbyes, and anyway he was sure they wouldn't want to see him. They probably held a party when word got around town he was leaving.

  Not that he blamed them. Pete absently reached up and gripped the chain holding his dog tags through his shirt. He could feel the outline of the ring that also hung from it.

  It was an absent gesture, one he did without thinking whenever the painful memories rose. He wasn't sure if holding the ring reminded him of the pain or eased it, or just helped him focus on something other than things he tried hard not to remember.

  Either way, he wouldn't be sorry to see the last of the place. Sitting beside him Jack saw where he was looking, and that he was holding his dog tags, and rested a sympathetic hand on his arm.

  Pete looked away and let his hand drop. “Ever been to Missouri?” he asked.

  His friend snorted. “Growing up in the system doesn't give many opportunities for travel. I might've passed through there at one point while on my way to exile in Saskatoon, but nothing stood out to me.”

  He tried to smile. “Not even the humidity?”

  “Meh. You hear about how traveling to the eastern States is like getting slapped with a wet blanket, but when I was there it was still spring, before the humidity really gets bad.” Jack shrugged. “That or nuclear winter messed with the weather.”

  “Well you'd better brace yourself for it. We won't see much heat even when summer gets into full swing, not even with temperatures getting back to normal, but hard work even in cooler weather will be pretty miserable with humidity. Get ready to sweat a ton.”

  That just made Jack grin. “If I'm sweating I'm not freezing. Bring it on.”

  Escaping nuclear winter in northern Canada hadn't been high on Pete's list of reasons to be excited about leaving, but the more he thought about it the closer it moved to the top.

  And he definitely noticed the return to warmer climes as he and Jack meandered their way south as the military equivalent of hitchhikers, begging rides on supply trucks, troop transports, courier cars, and even the odd civilian vehicle as literal hitchhikers.

  In spite of that it took far less time to get down to Missouri from Saskatoon than the week it had taken him coming the other way five years ago. Some of that was the presence of far more vehicles on the road moving from place to place, some of it was that Missouri wasn't out in the boonies so it was actually possible to find people heading that way after only a few hours of searching. And a healthy chunk of it was Jack, so motivated to get into the action that he constantly wheedled for rides to leave sooner, drive faster, and stop less.

  Pete was surprised they didn't get kicked to the curb out in the middle of nowhere a time or two.

  They reached Lafayette around noon on the fourth day, riding in the cab of a delivery truck, and Pete could hardly believe he was looking at the same place. When he'd left the camp had been a relatively small military base nestled in the spit of land between the two major rivers. The camp was still there, although it looked twice as big, but an even larger town had grown up around it. There had to be at least a few thousand people living there now.

  It wasn't all mud and makeshift buildings, either. Most of the construction near the center of town now looked professional, with solid foundations and weatherproof exteriors. The streets were asphalt or cement, with a few of the smaller lanes crushed gravel. There were even trees and lawns. It was only at the outskirts of Lafayette where a sort of shanty town still existed, with the mud and crude structures he remembered.

  The military camp was surrounded by a double fence, and the buildings within were sheet metal garages and mess halls, wood frame barracks, and cinderblock storage rooms. Around the buildings Pete saw only asphalt expanses or well kept lawns, filled with recruits and soldiers training or running drills. At one end was a rifle range, and near it the only shoddy section of camp; deliberately so, since the ruined buildings were apparently being used for urban combat simulations.

  Pete left Jack with their stuff outside the headquarters buildings and made his way inside, working through the various levels of bureaucracy. It should've been a simple matter of handing in his transfer orders and getting passed on to his new unit, but apparently there was some snafu with his paperwork. He kept getting passed around until he finally ended up outside the door to Captain Renault's office, who was the current commander of the 103rd.

  He hadn't expected to be talking to the commander himself. Was that a bad sign?

  After about ten minutes of waiting the door opened, revealing an older man who was slightly overweight and had serious bags under his eyes from lack of sleep. His hair was shaggy and he was unshaven, and his uniform was a bit rumpled.

  Not unexpected, considering the guy had just lost almost half his men. Still, he wasn't what Pete expected from the commander of the Chainbreakers. Nothing like Captain Tremblay had been.

  That didn't affect the crispness of the salute Pete offered him. “Corporal Peter Childress, sir. Transferring into the Chainbreakers from 3rd Company in Saskatoon. I'm accompanied by PFC Jack Porter, also transferring.”

  “Right, we had word you'd be coming in.” Renault stepped aside, motioning for Pete to come in. Pete moved into the room, a bit of a mess with a desk overflowing with paperwork, and a musty, battered couch in one corner with a pillow and rumpled blanket on it as if the captain slept here often. Pete took up position in front of the desk, standing at attention, and tried not to show any sign of what he thought of the disordered space.

  Renault motioned him to at ease and held out a hand for Pete's transfer orders. Pete handed Jack's over as well, then stood patiently waiting as the captain read them. “Says here you were originally transferred from this company for assaulting a superior officer,” he said after a minute or so.

  Pete flushed slightly. “Yes, sir. There are mitigating circumstances.”

  “There usually are.” Renault kept reading, frowning slightly. “Although in this case it looks like there was a note addended mentioning that the man you struck wasn't a lieutenant at the time, so I have no idea why it was even put on
your record like that.”

  Knowing Vernon, Pete had a pretty good idea why. It also explained why the captain had wanted to personally see him to approve the transfer.

  After another few minutes Renault nodded distractedly. “All right. A solid record aside from that, except for this brief note about fraternizing with a civilian during an extended bivouac at a farm over the second nuclear winter.”

  Pete felt a sharp stab of grief, and had to physically fight to keep from reaching up and clutching at the ring hanging under his shirt.

  The officer didn't seem to catch his momentary loss of control as he continued. “I'd been planning to ask you some questions about the incident with Lieutenant Vernon, but at closer look it seems like a nonissue. Welcome back to the Chainbreakers, Corporal Childress.”

  His relief was soured by memories from the past, but he did his best to push them aside. “Thank you, sir.”

  Renault continued almost before he finished speaking. “Knowing your history with us, I'm putting you back into Epsilon Squad. Although don't expect to see many familiar faces. Most of the men you served with were transferred or served their time and went on to better things. And more than a few, I'm sad to say, were killed in action. You'll be serving directly under Sergeant Chavez as his second. You're jumping the line in front of one of his men who's due for promotion to corporal soon and who Chavez personally requested for the position, so expect some possible fallout from that, but I still feel this is the best fit for you.”

  Pete didn't know anyone named Chavez, although that was hardly a surprise. He wondered what had happened to Branson, though. With any luck retired; the man had seemed beaten down by it all sometimes, which no one could blame him for.

  “It'll be an honor to serve in Epsilon again,” Pete replied.

  For some reason the captain snorted in amusement at that. But rather than respond he picked up a set of folded papers lying on his desk and offered them. “Take these. Since you're here you might as well pick up the last of Epsilon's new additions before joining your new squad.”

  Pete accepted the written orders. “Sir?”

  “One of the recruits we've been training here.” Renault grimaced. “Epsilon is one of our few squads still in reasonable shape to keep operating, and I'd like to replace their lost men with nothing but veterans, but you and Private Porter will have to do there. You can tell Recruit Montgomery he's completed training early and been promoted to Private . . . that'll put your squad up to full strength and you can get back to work fighting this war. Hopefully the recruit will pick things up fast, or at least won't be too much of a liability.”

  Pete nodded noncommittally. Small surprise the Chainbreakers would be dragging some dead weight for a while, considering how many seasoned veterans they'd lost. Hopefully this Montgomery wouldn't be as bad as some greenies Pete had seen.

  Renault moved to the door, motioning a dismissal, and Pete saluted again and left to pick up Jack, find the new recruit, and go meet the squad.

  “So what's the word?” Jack asked as he approached.

  Pete shrugged. “We've been assigned to Epsilon Squad. It'll bring it to full strength, so we'll probably be back in action soon.”

  “Good!” His friend gave him a closer look. “Wasn't Epsilon your squad before?”

  Pete thought of all his former squad mates, all off doing other things or dead like Saunders. “It was.” He picked up his stuff and started for the recruit barracks.

  A bit of asking around pointed him to a gawky, scrawny beanpole of a guy with big ears and a crooked nose who couldn't have been more than eighteen. Pete couldn't help but look at the recruit and think, Did I look that young when I joined up? No wonder squad mates were always cracking jokes at my expense.

  Montgomery saluted when they approached, then seemed chagrined when he realized Pete was a noncom. “Can I, um, help you, Corporal?”

  Jeez, his voice even cracked.

  “You Montgomery?” Pete asked.

  The young soldier nodded warily. “Er, um, call me Monty. Short for Montgomery, you know? Jimmy Montgomery. Or really James Francis Mont-” he trailed off after a look at Pete's face and cleared his throat nervously.

  Pete held out the orders. “Congratulations, Monty. You've been promoted to Private and transferred to Epsilon Squad.”

  The kid's eyes brightened, and after snatching up the papers Monty enthusiastically shook Pete's hand before he could pull it back. He endured the gesture impatiently, then when the young soldier stepped back cleared his throat.

  “Epsilon will be at full strength when you join, which means we'll be back in action.” He noticed how Monty flinched at the news and frowned. “Will you be up to that sort of fighting?”

  His new squad mate did his best to straighten, his look of determination sincere enough. “I guess I'll have to be, si-uh, Corporal.”

  “All right. Let's go talk to your training supervisor and grab your stuff.”

  A bit of chatting as they got Monty's situation sorted out revealed that the recruit was eighteen, from some little town in Tennessee Pete didn't recognize and didn't plan on remembering. His motivation for joining the military wasn't unusual these days, a deep wrong suffered at the hands of the CCZ that he didn't elaborate on. But he'd also been having trouble providing for himself, so he'd signed up for steady meals as much as for a chance to shoot slavers.

  The Chainbreaker barracks were near the end of camp, closest to the motor pool. Pete couldn't help but notice that the soldiers lounging outside them were more unkempt than usual, with ragged uniforms that were in many cases unwashed.

  Again, understandable considering these men went out on difficult raids daily. Still, it spoke to a lack of discipline Pete hadn't expected.

  They received a few curious looks as they entered the barrack Renault had pointed Pete to. More hostile than welcoming, but soldiers tended to be protective of their space; it was one of the few things that was theirs.

  Epsilon, to his relief, looked slightly less ragged than the rest of the company, although a few members were unkempt. Sergeant Chavez was a man of middle years, medium height, and fairly forgettable features. The man wasted no time getting his three new squad members situated on bunks, then pulled Pete aside.

  “So you're my second, huh?” he growled. Pete shrugged. “I hear you used to be one of us, and your record claims you're competent, borderline exceptional.”

  “I've had plenty of experience fighting slavers,” Pete said.

  “Yeah, you've been a soldier for a while.” Chavez's eyes narrowed. “So you've probably seen what it looks like when a mostly intact squad gets some complete stranger in a leadership position, and what that does for cohesion.”

  Pete bit back a sigh. So that's how it was. “I realize it'll take some time for the men to adjust.”

  The sergeant snorted. “Time, Childress?” He pointed at the western wall of the barracks. “Epsilon goes on more raids into CCZ territory than any other squad in the 103rd. And Chainbreakers raid more than any other two companies combined. We don't have time to get used to you. We're sneaking into enemy territory and attacking them where they're strongest, and the only way we succeed is if every person here trusts his squad mates and his leaders and we all work as a team.”

  Those weren't unreasonable points. “So how do you want to play this?” Pete asked.

  Chavez sighed. “Renault wants you as my second, so you're Team 2 leader. Your team will be you and your buddy Porter, the recruit, and Private Nelson. We'll keep you on the easiest, least critical combat roles until we get used to working with you.”

  Well, he supposed it could be worse. Pete wasn't overjoyed about being considered the deadwood team, but Chavez couldn't afford to not use him on raids so he'd have a chance to prove himself before too long. “Are we going to train as a squad before heading out?”

  “We sort of have to, don't we?” The sergeant jerked his head towards Pete's bunk. “We'll start tomorrow. Get settled in, you have
the rest of the day for whatever. You'll probably want to spend it getting acquainted with your new squad mates, although most of them will probably be off doing their own thing.”

  Pete nodded and started to walk away, then stopped when Chavez spoke up behind him.

  “Oh, and welcome back.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Reputation

  Pete took Chavez's advice about getting to know the men in his new squad to heart, but kept it to introductions for now.

  The simple fact was that he was eager to get out and see how Lafayette had changed, and whether it was still the same in any way. And, although he wouldn't admit it even to himself, he also wanted to see if anyone he knew was still here.

  It wasn't too surprising that Jack tagged along with him when he headed out. Although when Monty asked to come along that was a bit unexpected; he hoped the kid wouldn't be one of those guys who followed anyone he knew around like a lost puppy until he felt comfortable in his new squad.

  Almost without realizing it Pete started off towards where the camp's civilian employees would be at work. It wasn't exactly out of the way, although there wasn't much to see going along that route; the only thing that made the view interesting was the laundry workers out hanging wash on lines.

  His odd choice of routes didn't go unnoticed. “So is there some reason we're walking through the laborers' section of camp?” Jack asked. “I mean it's cool if you want to ogle the laundresses, I certainly don't blame you, but I thought when you said you wanted to check out Lafayette you meant something a bit different.”

  Pete flushed. Okay, so he'd come this way secretly hoping to see Kathleen or Lily washing and hanging clothes, like he had so many times in the months they'd lived here. He didn't have any expectation of getting back with Kathleen, of course, and anyway she'd likely moved on years ago. Probably as quickly as he had.

  Besides, he wasn't sure he would've been able to talk to them even if he had seen them. What could he say? For that matter what did he even have to offer?