Regina tried to call him back, but the call went straight to voicemail. Regina left a message telling Earl to call her as soon as he could and gave him the switchboard number of the complex, so she could be paged. She very much wanted to know how Earl and Zoe were coming along, where they were, and if there was any chance they might be able to find their way to Texas.
18
After finding Lenny and his party a tent close to the civilian portion of the camp, McDaniels had precious little time to conduct anything even remotely approaching an orientation. He had meetings and other tasks to attend to, so he promised his son and the Howies he would return for them at around seventeen hundred hours. He pointed out the D-FAC on their way to the tent and advised them they could get some food and drink there.
“If anyone gives you any grief, tell them the deputy commanding officer has authorized you to use the facility, and if they have any issues, they can contact me directly,” McDaniels told them.
“Will do,” Lenny said.
“I’ll have some troops bring your gear to you, or if you like, I can have them take you back to the car. Your choice.”
Lenny looked at the others, then said, “I think I can find my way back to the gate, but maybe Mister Howie can help me carry the stuff back.”
“Absolutely,” Jim Howie said.
“Okay, I can arrange for that to happen. Give it an hour, and then head back to the gate. Bring your identification, but it shouldn’t be any problem.”
“Will we get our weapons back?” Lenny asked.
“I hope so because at seventeen thirty, we have gunnery practice.”
“What does that mean?” Belinda asked.
Lenny smiled. “It means we’re going to do some shooting at the range.”
***
Leonard McDaniels watched as his father stripped down the assault rifle while explaining each and every part and what it did over the sporadic crackle of firearms. Several hundred yards behind them, the lights in the parking lots surrounding the InTerGen office park snapped on as the sun disappeared below the horizon, leaving behind a dusky glow. One of the soldiers started a generator, and floodlights flickered to life, bathing the impromptu shooting range in stark, harsh light. From the corner of his eye, Lenny saw Belinda run a hand through her long blond hair and look around as McDaniels continued breaking down the rifle.
“Belinda, are you getting this?” his dad asked without missing a beat.
Belinda focused on McDaniels quickly. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry.”
“You need to stay tuned in to what I’m doing, no matter what happens around you,” McDaniels said. “You should always be aware of your surroundings, but don’t get distracted. Especially when you’re supposed to be learning how to maintain a Heckler and Koch assault rifle.”
“Yeah, pay attention,” Lenny said, giving her a good-natured push.
“I’m with you,” she said as she slapped his hand away.
McDaniels continued stripping down the rifle. There were more than a few parts, but Lenny was familiar with most of them already. The HK417 was little different from the M16s and M4s he had essentially grown up with, the major exception being the firing pin assembly.
“Do they jam often?” Belinda asked.
“The M4? Not as much as the first M16s did, but I had one with full mods lock up on me in New York City when I was danger close with the zeds. That’s why I’m carrying one of these now.” McDaniels slapped the HK417 slung over his shoulder.
“What’s danger close? Sorry, I really don’t know anything about military stuff.”
“It means my dad was right there with the zombies, and his rifle jammed on him. Danger close is where the bad guys are within spitting distance,” Lenny said.
“That’s right,” McDaniels confirmed. A group of Rangers entered the range, and they set up a few benches away. One of them walked toward McDaniels and saluted. His father straightened and returned the gesture.
“What’s happening, Sergeant Roche?”
“You mind if we set up over there, sir? We’d like to get in some gunnery practice before we get rotated outside the wall,” Roche said.
Lenny thought there was something mild-mannered about the Ranger, and he sensed the change in Belinda’s body language. The Ranger was also a handsome sucker, and Lenny felt a twinge of jealousy at the notion that Belinda might be attracted to him, even though he was at least ten years older.
“No, you guys go ahead,” McDaniels said. “Your chalk’s on the external security team? Call sign Badger?”
“Yes, sir.”
McDaniels nodded. “Attaboy, Ranger. You guys tear it up. Just let us know if you’re going to start lobbing grenades, all right?”
“No chance of that, sir. Thanks.”
“All right,” McDaniels said once Roche turned and walked back to his team. “This pretty much completes the tear down. Lenny, I want you to reassemble it first, then tear it down and do it all over again. Belinda, watch him. Once he’s done, you’re next.”
“Okay,” she said. “Cool, I’ve never done anything like this before.”
“Prepare to be amazed, then.”
The Rangers sighted on their targets and began firing; Belinda flinched at the sudden noise. McDaniels looked up and watched as the Rangers popped each man-shaped silhouette in the head, from ranges of one hundred feet to six hundred yards. Lenny noticed that the Rangers handled their M4s and Mk 17 SCARs with a precision that only a professional soldier could muster.
Glad to have them with us, he thought before turning his attention back to the Heckler and Koch assault rifle. He quickly replicated his father’s efforts and slipped part into part until he held what he thought was a fully operational battle rifle. He held it up in his hands, then passed it to his father.
“How’d I do?” he asked.
McDaniels pulled back the rifle’s charging lever, checked the breech, released the lever, then shouldered the weapon and pointed it downrange. He pulled the trigger, and Lenny hoped he heard a soft click in response. His father nodded and passed the rifle back to him.
“Excellent job. Strip it down. Belinda? Get ready.”
“Yes, sir,” she said automatically, and without even the remotest trace of sarcasm. It was tough to maintain the usual college sophomore façade of a peacenik when the world was falling down around your ears. Lenny was glad to hear that; while he’d always known his father would never turn someone away just because of their politics, he hadn’t wanted him to have to deal with Belinda’s admittedly annoying attitude. But she’d straightened up the second they’d arrived at SPARTA, and that was only a good thing.
“Lenny?” McDaniels prompted.
Lenny got back with the program and stripped down the HK. He didn’t move as quickly and methodically as his father had, but he felt his fingers were moving with a purpose as they pulled a pin here, pulled a rod there. Soon, the assault rifle was reduced to its basic components, and Lenny took a moment to arrange things on the bench. McDaniels leaned over it for a moment, then nodded to Belinda.
“Okay, girl. You’re up.”
Belinda stepped up beside Lenny and reached for the stripped-down lower receiver. Her movements were timid, hesitant. Lenny knew it was the first time she’d ever seen a military weapon outside of the movies. He looked up at McDaniels, but his father shook his head slightly. His girlfriend was on her own for the moment. She tried to reassemble the weapon, but couldn’t make the majority of the parts fit together. After several minutes, Lenny could tell she was getting frustrated.
“Here, let me help you out a bit,” McDaniels said. Without taking over, he instructed her on how to reassemble the firing pin assembly and insert it back inside the rifle, and how to inspect it to ensure that it was properly seated against the recoil plate.
It took almost ten minutes, and sometimes his father had to shout above the racket the Rangers made, but bit by bit, Lenny could see that Belinda was getting it. When she finally had the rifle put b
ack together, McDaniels took it from her, inspected it, and handed it back.
“Took a lot longer than you want, but good job,” McDaniels said. “Now tear it down and put it back together, and let’s send some rounds downrange. After that, we’ll clean up and call it a night.”
***
Gartrell sat at a table in the D-FAC, taking down a surprisingly tasty steak sandwich when two Special Forces NCOs approached him. They carried trays loaded with food and energy drinks.
“You mind if we dance with your dates?” Master Sergeant Donald “Dusty” Roads asked, parroting a line from Animal House. He’d even screwed on the urban black accent.
Gartrell had to smile at that. It had been a while since he’d thought about the boys from Delta Fraternity. “Have a seat, guys,” he said.
“You sure?” Master Sergeant Rick “Barney Rubble” Forringer asked, even though he immediately pulled out a chair and plopped down into it. He definitely looked like a real-life Barney Rubble—straw-blond hair, big nose, weak chin, small eyes—but that he looked like a living cartoon character was undercut by the fact he was one of the sharpest SF snipers Gartrell had ever known.
Roads was an intelligence operator, much taller and leaner than Forringer, and had looks that approached Hollywood handsome. Physically, they couldn’t be more different, but personally and professionally, the two men worked well together.
“It’s a free dining facility,” Gartrell said, “but don’t waste any time sitting down or anything, Barney.”
“I gather no dust when it comes time to chow down,” Forringer responded around a mouthful of food.
“The only thing he does faster than sit down to eat is lie down to sleep,” Roads said as he put down his tray and pulled out a chair.
“Wow, you know how long it takes me to fall asleep? That’s kind of creepy, man,” Forringer said. He dug into his barbeque chicken without delay.
“Why’s that creepy? I thought the two of you were engaged,” Gartrell said.
Forringer frowned. “Please. I’m trying to eat.”
“Like the commentary is going to throw you off,” Roads said. “I figure half the Ranger battalion could be attacking you with a tube of Astro-Glide and you wouldn’t even notice.”
“Boy, do I miss the days of ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.’ Seems like Dusty’s about to make a confession, Sarmajor.”
“Try not to get anything on the walls, boys,” Gartrell cautioned.
Roads grinned and started in on his own meal.
It had been a while since the three of them had broken bread together, especially since Gartrell had moved over to the Special Warfare Center and started training the next generation of Army Green Berets. Roads and Forringer had remained operational, though Roads had stepped out of the alpha det regime and worked directly for Major “Switchblade” Lewis as the senior intelligence NCO with the bravo detachment. Gartrell asked Roads how he liked working with the walking mountain known as Captain Chase, and was happy to hear a favorable review. Even though Chase was Big Army, Roads thought the huge officer was sharp as a tack and could read a situation for what it was without having to pull anything.
“All right, all right, enough foreplay.” Forringer had finished his chicken, and his lips were smeared with barbeque sauce. He licked them clean and reached for a cob of corn. “We’re here to find out the straight poop, Dave.”
“Such as?”
“What happened to Keith and the rest of the guys in the Big Apple?” Roads asked. “I knew Rittenour pretty well; we were pods from the 90s.”
“Ah.” Gartrell finished the last bite of his steak sandwich and leaned back in his chair. “Keith’s team handled themselves really well. Rittenour and Leary especially so—those guys were leaning forward in the foxhole the entire time. If not for them, I wouldn’t be here right now. Or I’d have a different pallor and would be eating you.”
“Did McDaniels screw the pooch again?” Roads asked. He and Forringer knew all about the bad blood between Gartrell and McDaniels. A lot of folks inside the community of Quiet Professionals had the inside line on that, since Gartrell hadn’t been the most restrained of individuals in his younger days.
Gartrell took a moment to gather his thoughts. “I’m not sure that Bill Meadows himself could have done things any differently,” he answered finally.
Forringer gaped at the invocation of one of the luminaries of the Special Forces universe. “You’re mentioning McDaniels and Meadows in the same conversation? I think this qualifies as a ‘what the fuck’ moment, and it frankly has me scared.”
“Try not to spot your thong,” Gartrell said.
“You want to try and clear that up a bit, Dave?” Roads remained fixed on target, which was what made him such an unflappable type of operator.
“Clear what up, exactly?”
“What happened in New York, and how McDaniels is suddenly a stand-up guy in your eyes.”
Gartrell was annoyed by the questioning, but he tried not to let it show. He thought back to what he had gone through, both with McDaniels and after. The truth of the matter was, Gartrell had always prided himself on being able to keep his emotions in check. He’d always thought that he had the ability to suppress his personal desires and put the mission first. But if that was truly the case, then chances were good he never would have pulled a weapon on McDaniels and threatened to kill him over another disagreement on operational matters.
And then, there was the boy, Jaden. An autistic three-year-old boy Gartrell had tried to save by leading him and his mother through the black subway tunnels beneath New York City. A boy whose final moments in life were full of terror and pain.
“Dude, you all right?”
Gartrell looked up and saw Forringer and Roads studying him, concern on their faces. He wondered what they had seen in his eyes in that moment when he thought of Jaden and his mother, and the fate he had led them to beneath the streets of Manhattan.
“Guys, there’s no mystery to it,” Gartrell said. “I last worked for McDaniels in… what, 2007? A lot of water has gone under the bridge since then. Things change. People change. McDaniels has changed. And me, too. He did what he had to do in New York, and he accomplished the mission. Now Keith, Rittenour, Leary… all the troops who went in with us are dead. That’s true, but it wasn’t because of McDaniels. It was because of the fucking stenches.” Gartrell pointed at the nearby TV, which showed a Stryker unit opening up on a gaggle of zombies ambling down a trash-littered highway somewhere in the middle of Texas.
“So that’s it, then?” Roads asked. “Nothing more to it? Things change, and McDaniels is a stand-up guy again?”
“Dusty, do you want to ask him for yourself? I bitched about the move he made in Afghanistan, and I still have reservations about it, but in the end, it was his call. He has to live with the fallout, too. And right now, we’ve all got a pretty big fight to get ready for, so we need to put aside the petty shit and soldier like we’re supposed to. We’ve got a butt-load of civilians in the compound now, and we have to protect them as well as this facility and preserve it so it can be used to accomplish its mission.”
Forringer cackled. “Hah, this is the command sergeant major talking, right?”
Gartrell didn’t smile. “Guys, I’m all about the mission. I’m the quick reaction force senior NCO, and I report directly to the lieutenant colonel in charge. We can discuss the guy’s merits all night long, but in the end, he’s the one calling shots. That shouldn’t be a gray area, right?” As he said the last, Gartrell looked directly at Roads.
Roads shook his head immediately. “Not for me, bro. I’m good with it.”
“Same here,” Forringer said. “If anyone’s interested, that is.”
“Of course we’re interested in what you have to say, sweetheart,” Gartrell said. “But what was your name, again?”
Forringer shook his head. “I knew it. You’re the kind who just won’t respect me in the morning.”
“Man, we don’t
even respect you now,” Roads said.
“Damn you. Damn you all to Hell,” Forringer said in his best Charlton Heston voice.
19
McDaniels awoke to the sound of sirens and the bang-bang-bang of gunfire from inside the complex. He rolled off his cot and snatched up his rifle as the rest of the officers in the tent sprang into action. Everyone armed themselves and made for the GP-Medium’s entrance as the alarm system wailed and floodlights snapped on. Over the loudspeakers, which had just been installed the day before, he heard a voice that sounded suspiciously like Captain Chase’s.
“Attention, internal security. Attention, internal security. Zed in the tent city. Armed reaction teams to respond. All civilians remain in place unless directly threatened.”
McDaniels bulled his way through the tent’s entrance and into the chilly night. Holding his assault rifle in both hands, he ran down the alley, dodging soldiers as they emerged from their tents, fully armed and ready for action.
“Hercules, coming through!” he shouted, and the soldiers stepped back to allow him to pass. McDaniels sprinted toward the tent city where the civilians were housed behind a series of revetments still under construction. Lots of people milled about in the semi-darkness. While the floodlights had been switched on, there were still wide swaths of area where the night remained impenetrable. McDaniels caught up to a group of Rangers, several of whom had their night vision goggles dropped down over their eyes.
“Rangers, what’s the story?” he asked.
One of them pointed down an alley. “Right down there, sir. One zed, down for the count. Looks like someone died and came back.”
McDaniels looked in the direction the Ranger pointed. Lenny shared a tent with Belinda and her family one alley over, so for the moment, his son was likely safe. When McDaniels started to enter the alley, the Ranger put a hand on his shoulder.
The Rising Horde, Volume One Page 22