A soldier with a slight hunch in his posture, like he was carrying too heavy of a backpack, stood next to Stark. “Lieutenant Elwood, 3rd Platoon, we go by the Heartbreakers.” Elwood’s look was anything but. He looked like he belonged in his mother’s basement playing a role-playing game with four of his closest virgin friends. Kinnick nodded to him.
The last platoon leader was tall. If he hadn’t played basketball in college, he should have. “Lieutenant Dearborn, 4th Platoon, we are the Associators, sir.
Kinnick eyed his officers. “Your men look good. I trust you are prepped for an extended patrol into the field?”
“Yes, sir,” they said in unison. Kinnick turned to Hunter.
“You hear that, Master Sergeant? We got a real group of hard chargers here. I like that.”
Hunter gave him a fake smile and swapped the chew around in his mouth. “Hope they can scrap as good as they holler.”
Kinnick stretched a large map of Colorado on a table. “Please take a look at this map.” He waited for the officers to move closer. “First Platoon, you’re going to put down here.” Kinnick pointed to the pass farthest south. “South Fork. The helos will drop you here. It’s flat and above the pass that you must defend. I would recommend deployment on either side of the pass. Worst comes to worst, you can throw rocks at them.” His officers gave him a pity laugh, not knowing that he was dead serious.
Kinnick’s thumb tapped the map. “I don’t expect much added pressure your way after we block the tunnel.”
Wyman nodded, his thick wrestler’s neck relinquishing his head for a moment.
“Lieutenant Dearborn, you’re going to be in a difficult position.” He looked up at the man. Dearborn’s look was cool as if he were at the free-throw line and the game was at stake. “I don’t like it, but we’re going to split your platoon. Your 1st squad will be at Mosquito Pass.” Kinnick tapped the map, tap-tap-tap with his fingertip. “Now, the land around this pass is very rocky. They’re going to put you down here.” He dragged his finger across the map a bit. “It’s about two miles away and you will have to ruck in. Our pilots assure us there is no alternative because of the terrain.” He let his finger run along a thin gray line on his map. “You’re going to have to follow the road up the pass and climb to defensible firing positions.” He looked back up at the towering lieutenant. “Second squad, 4th Platoon, will be headed to Independence Pass. Those lakes around the road provide a nice funnel for the Zulus.” He let his orders percolate into their minds. “Questions?”
Dearborn nodded slowly, his eyes frigid. “Yes, sir. Can they swim?”
Kinnick blinked. The question was simple yet caught him off guard. People could swim. Why not these disgusting bastards?
“From everything I’ve read and seen, no, they cannot. Master Sergeant, have you seen any aptitude in them for swimming or anything out of the ordinary?”
“Nah. They’re about as useless as tits on a hog in the water. Doesn’t mean they can’t float their dead ass across by accident though.”
Kinnick nodded. “Lieutenant, your flanks will be relatively secure at Independence but do not neglect them.”
Dearborn ducked his chin in acknowledgment.
Kinnick made eye contact with Stark and Elwood. Stark’s eyes were the color of ice and Elwood’s the top of a buttermilk biscuit. “Second and 3rd Platoons will be putting down at Eisenhower Tunnel. Here we will clear the tunnel, seal it. This is pivotal to the plan. If we cannot get the tunnel sealed, the dead will continue on into Colorado unimpeded and all of this is for nothing.”
He put both his hands on the table, leaning in over the map. He made sure to lock eyes with the two lieutenants so they understood the importance of that part of the mission.
“After the tunnel is sealed, we will move by foot about three miles to Dunluce Pass.” His finger jumped a bit on the map.
“This will be the focal point. Dunluce is where we expect to meet the main body of the enemy. When we close off the tunnel, the natural flow of the land will push the Zulus to Dunluce, and to a lesser extent, Mosquito and Independence passes.”
“What air assets will we have available to us?” Stark asked. He rested his arm on the butt stock of his black M4A1 carbine.
Kinnick shook his head no. “None. We haven’t been allocated any air assets aside from a drop-off.”
“No medevac or close air support?” Dearborn said asked in disbelief. The tall soldier looked down on them all.
“You heard the colonel. Just a drop-off, and no love after that,” Hunter said.
“What about armor or Stryker support, sir?” Stark asked, fire hidden behind his eyes. He was beginning to see the mission for what it was: a swift and certain execution. Boots shuffled on the concrete hangar floor.
“I would love a battalion of Strykers or Bradleys, really anything that could put some hurt out there, but that was not my decision,” Kinnick said.
“What support are we going to have out there?” Elwood questioned with a look at his peers for approval.
“The terrain,” Hunter paused and spit on the concrete, “should be in our favor. The Zulus don’t climb well. Use it to your advantage.”
“Is that confirmed, sir? That they don’t climb. I’ve never seen it, but that doesn’t mean they don’t do it,” Wyman said.
“It’s not confirmed. There is much we still don’t know about them, but I know headshots do the trick. Remind your soldiers of that. Avoid body shots.” The lieutenants nodded.
“Remember, gentlemen, we need only to hold until it snows. It could be a week from now or a month, but we will hold. The alternative is that the vice president will launch thermonuclear weapons against the West Coast.”
The young platoon leaders’ eyes widened even as they tried to take it in stride.
Elwood blinked rapidly. “Sir, they are going to nuke the United States?” he asked.
“That’s correct, Lieutenant. If we fail to hold the passes, they will launch against our cities.”
“Jesus Christ,” Wyman cursed, his mouth dropping open.
Kinnick had debated whether or not to throw in that beautiful prospect of what happened if they failed. He would want his superiors to be forward with him about what was at stake. His men deserved to know the reason why they fought was so much greater than survival.
“You’re not some speed bump in the way of the Zulus: you’re a wall they must never get over. You’re a line they must never penetrate. We must hold at all costs. Millions of living Americans are depending on you.” Definitely not millions.
“We’re going to be working in the mountains. Our communications will be disrupted until we can get some high-frequency radios up and running. Our GPS will be spotty and unreliable at best. I hope you paid attention in land navigation. Do what you can to keep me posted on your situation. That’s all, men. Best of luck, remember your motto: Always Steadfast.”
“Hooah!” they shouted. His officers walked back with their respective depleted platoons.
Hunter shuffled up next to Kinnick. “It’s going to be tough out there with no support. They’ll be on an island. Alone,” Hunter said, holding his tan LW SCAR. Strapped to his back was a scoped Mk 12 Special Purpose Rifle, and on his hip, a Beretta M9A1. His vest and battle belt held at least fifteen magazines.
“I would take a group of boy scouts up there if that’s all we had. We simply have to try.”
“I understand, sir. I was thinking.” He rolled a tin of chewing tobacco out of his pocket and slapped his index finger on the top. “We could attach myself and the others from ODA 51 to each of the platoons. I know the platoons have their own NCOs, but it might stiffen them up a bit. Ya know, give them a bit more confidence when they are alone, staring down the barrel of a gun.” He shoved a wad of dark brown chew in his lower lip.
“Or a horde of ravenous cannibals.” Kinnick tried to figure out what was the best use of his tiny forces. “I’ve considered that. I would rather have all of you with me, but you may be right. I�
�ll have about fifty men with me to address the brunt of the infected force.” The SF guys would be a nice thing to keep in my back pocket for when things get hairy. They would also ensure the success of the units they were attached too.
Hunter shrugged. “It’s up to you. We are your instruments of death.” He gave Kinnick a fake bow.
“If only I had a couple thousand clones of you.”
“The world would tremble,” Hunter said with a grin, squeezing his chew-filled lip back into his gums.
“I don’t want to do it, but let’s put Sergeant Turmelle with Wyman’s 1st Platoon, and Sergeant Hawkins can take Dearborn’s 1st squad. You, however, are with me. Will you let the LTs know?” Kinnick said. Hunter walked off to give the news. Kinnick turned to Turmelle. Turmelle’s eyes said he was ready for anything, including giving his life.
“Thank you for everything. Keep them in one piece out there.”
“I would say it’s been fun, sir. But this has been a real bag of dicks. See you in a few weeks,” Turmelle said. Turmelle slapped hands with Hawkins. “Sins and skins,” they said to one another. He hefted his pack and walked off.
“Sergeant Hawkins, we couldn’t have done it without you. I’ll see you when this is over,” Kinnick said. He stuck out a hand and the half-Asian man took it. He said goodbye with his eyes.
“When this is over,” was all Hawkins said, and he walked off to join his new platoon.
Hunter returned to Kinnick. “The men are ready, sir.”
All of his company stood in a loose line of helmeted, camouflaged soldiers. Kinnick unslung his M4 carbine. He eyed the soldiers staring back him. They looked to him for inspiration. He was responsible for each and every one of their lives. If they die, it was because I led them to their deaths.
Young, bright eyes stared back. Scared eyes hid next to them. Eager eyes were next to those. Every soldier wanted to get some.
“We are with you, sir,” a soldier shouted in front. Kinnick licked his lips, for the first time realizing how dry they were and how nervous he was.
“Gentlemen, let’s get this done,” he barked. Kinnick held his carbine in the air. The men surged for their helicopters, yelling at the top of their lungs.
STEELE
Little Sable Point, MI
He leaned on the built-in fake plastic table inside Tess’s camper. Despite the coolness outside, the camper was hot and stuffy from the body heat of all the people crammed in. The wind whistled outside and the camper shuddered under the assault of the strong gusts of air.
Storm clouds brewed over the huge lake like a collecting army of darkness in the sky. In the clouds’ shadow, the volunteers of Little Sable Point buried their folly in a shallow ditch outside the camp, a task that Steele had set them to with no discussion. The murder of the Chosen men very well could be their death sentence. Little Sable Point had dug their own grave six-feet down, and now it was Steele’s responsibility to drag them out.
Thunder sat crushed in a corner, his belly pressed uncomfortably against the table. Next to him was Kevin, who was sandwiched between Thunder and Ahmed. Ahmed sat on the very edge of the table, leaning with his knees spread wide. Tess presided from her futon-style bed, her knees pulled up to her chest in an effort to separate herself from them. Gwen sat across from Thunder, her arms folded below her chest, a dour look scrawled over her face. Garret and Half-Barrel stood in the kitchenette, spanning wall to wall.
Steele stood in the middle of the narrow aisle. His arms were folded tightly over his chest. “What happened?” Steele asked. He eyed them all in turn. Someone had to have known who shot first. Everyone sat silent, knowing that no matter the perpetrator the results were dire for all.
“I’m standing in the middle shaking hands with Peter, and some lackwit fucking shoots one of the Chosen. If that isn’t bad enough, the whole motley crew jumps in and a gun battle starts. How the fuck am I going to get these fools to come to the table again with that breach of trust?”
“They’re crackpots anyway,” Tess said from her corner.
Steele pointed a finger at her, shaking his head. “No, Tess. You saw their camp. The crackpots are the majority, and we just killed eight of their men. How do I bring that to the table? Of all people, you should want to negotiate. Pagan’s life is at stake, and they have no reason to not kill him now.” She put her chin back down on her knees, admonished by him. He turned toward Thunder.
“I thought you had them thoroughly scared enough to not shoot.”
Thunder coughed into his fist. “It was their first fight. Everyone was jumpy.”
Steele clenched his jaw. “It’s their second fight I’m worried about. Can we still count on your men?”
Thunder’s eyebrows tickled one another like two caterpillars mating.
“I don’t like the way you’re talkin’ to me. But I like you, so I won’t lie to you. My club is tied to this place. A few of the boys have girlfriends and the like in the camp, but if it’s time to leave then we won’t hesitate to go.”
And I have no choice but to let you, even if I wanted to stop you. Our fragile experiment is unraveling.
Tess didn’t look pleased, and why would she? The community she had started was now at war with one that was vastly larger. Now, the men responsible for its security were discussing the option of leaving.
Steele ran his fingers through his beard. The situation couldn’t get any worse.
“Well, I’m open to suggestions. What do we do?”
Silence met him. “Kevin? Ideas? Some historical plan that worked for an ancient hero or general?” The lanky man shook his head no. “You mean in the history of the world, there is no nation, state, or city that has had to deal with anything like this?”
Kevin shrugged. “Well, of course, there’s plenty of examples of smaller forces defeating larger opponents. Roger I at Cerami in 1063. Aussies at Long Tan in Vietnam. But those were trained armies. For us, I got nothing.”
“Of course. Now you’re quiet.”
“I mean there were the Hussites led by the famous Jan Žižka at Viktov Hill?” Nobody said anything and they sat in silence trying to decide if Kevin had fabricated the man and battle.
“Please, enlighten us.” Steele demanded.
“A poor Protestant peasant army withstood an attack by crusading knights in the 1420s.”
“That sounds closer. How’d they do it?”
“Scholars debate. But the untrained peasants held fortifications of battle-wagons, and a host of town militia surprised and flanked the attacking knights in a vineyard. Not sure what we can do with that.”
“I’ll keep it in mind for what it’s worth.”
He looked at Ahmed. “Any tricks up your sleeve?”
“No,” he said flatly.
“Gwen?”
“We could give our captive back and tell them it was a misunderstanding.”
Steele turned his lips down. “You want me to walk into their camp, tell them it was an accident, and give their man back. Sorry, Pastor. I killed eight of your men, but you can have this one back.”
Her mouth closed. Her lips were pensive. “I didn’t say it was great, but it’s something.”
“Any other ideas? This is supposed to be a debate. A meeting of the minds. I would appreciate an idea that doesn’t get me and you all killed in the process.”
“We could kill the captive, ditch their gear, and if any more of them come a knocking, tell them we never heard of ’em,” Thunder said.
“They asked for me by name. They know we’re here,” Steele retorted. He sighed.
“I’ll leave you to it, but I’m going to talk to Peter. See what intel I can gather from him. Numbers, strategy, anything that will give us an edge. Please try and figure something out. Double the guards at the gates. Ahmed and Kevin, grab Margie and Trent and take turns in the lighthouse.”
“I’ll do it,” Gwen said.
“Babe, please. It’s cold and windy, no place for someone in your condition.”
> She rolled her eyes. “It’s not a condition. I’m pregnant. I’m a good shot, just as good as Ahmed, and I want to help.”
Ahmed smiled in defeat. “She has a point.”
“Then be my guest,” Steele said in a short manner. “What would I know?”
He let the screen door bang closed behind him as he left the camper. I guess this is the new definition of shit creek. The wind whipped his borrowed Army Combat Uniform, stinging his cheeks red as he walked. He shuffled past the red-brick lighthouse, making his way to an abandoned semi-trailer at the farthest end of the enclosure. A small number of tents and cars sat parked there. Only a few people would be close enough to hear this.
Max stood guard like a goofy child’s doll with a gun. He stood at attention as Steele approached, puffing his chest out as far as he could. He threw a hand up in a terrible mock salute almost dropping his gun in the process.
Steele inspected him and gave him a once-over. “No need to salute, Max. We aren’t in the military,” he said.
Max’s knuckles half-hovered near his forehead, blinking, trying to decide if Steele was testing him or not. After a moment, he finally let his hand rest at his side.
“The d-d-door has been locked the entire time, s-sir.”
Should I fight the ‘sir’ battle again? Or leave him be?
“Good work, volunteer.” Steele jangled the key in his pocket, wrapping his hands around the silver lock. Max watched him with renewed interest. His eyes leapt from the lock to Steele’s face. Steele tried to ignore him.
“I shot one of them today. I pulled the trigger and I saw him grab his chest,” Max said half to himself and half to Steele. It sounded like he was searching for validation for his actions. It was as if he were asking Steele to explain the cascading emotions roiling inside him.
Steele stopped and set the opened lock down. He’s not ready for this. This is as much my failure as it is his emotional immaturity.
Steele looked down into the young man’s eyes. “A lot of people were shooting out there today. It probably wasn’t you.” Max hung onto his every word as if he spoke the gospel.
The Rising (The End Time Saga Book 3) Page 25