by John Holmes
“LISTEN UP!” shouted the grizzled Master Sergeant. “I WANT EVERY NCO OVER HERE WITH ME. SPECIALIST AND BELOW, GO WITH THE SERGEANT MAJOR.”
He held out his hand and grasped mine, pulling me up off the roof, his grip iron tough. “I know who you are, Sergeant Major. When you get home to New York, you take a good look at that beautiful skyline for me.”
I was pretty shaky, my ear ringing. Urban’s body lay there, blood pooling around his shattered head. I looked down at the corpse, shook my head. What a waste.
I turned back to Bennett. “I’ll try to send the aircraft back for you, but no promises.”
“I ain’t gonna hold my breath. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I got work to do.”
About half the men had walked across the roof over to our group. The rest clustered around Bennet, and he started speaking to them. As I walked away, he raised his voice to be heard over the banging on the door.
“Listen up, cupcakes. This is why we wear the stripes. Time to put our mouths where our money is. Maybe we’re gonna make, maybe we ain’t, but they are going to tell stories about us as long as there is America. So redistribute ammo and let’s keep this roof from being overrun until the President is out of here and safe.” He had to raise his voice over the approaching Osprey.
I ran back to my team and checked on Epson, who was still out of it from my punch. Maybe I had hit him too hard, but damn the guy pissed me off. I detailed two of the new guys to help him onto the aircraft. The rest of us formed a tight cordon around him.
McHale brought the VTOL into a hover Smoke was pouring out of one engine. Bennett looked back at me, gave me a salute, and turned to his men. As we boarded, the door to the stairway burst open and a stream of zombies came pouring out. Two of the junior enlisted guys broke off from our group and joined the NCO’s. Rifle fire crackled and hammered, spent brass flying. The other doorway crashed open and Z’s came out of the stairway we had used. At a shouted order from Bennett, half the men turned and started firing at them. Tracers zipped past us as the tail ramp banged down on the edge of the roof, the Osprey tilting wildly in the roaring winds.
We ran up the ramp, the senior officers going first. I was the last man on, just as we started to lift, the combat below descended into a wild melee of hand to hand fighting. Some of the Sergeants started jumping off the roof, rather than face being turned. I went over to Epson and grabbed him by the shirt and hauled him to where the ramp was closing. I yelled in his ear “LOOK!” he tried to turn away from the carnage, but I grabbed him by the jaw and turned is face to watch. As we flew away, the last NCO fell in a welter of blood and gore.
I let Epson sit back down in the canvas seat. He looked at me with hollow eyes for a minute, finally looking away, but looked back and nodded. I put my face in my hands and started shaking. .
Chapter 8
We flew back to the USS New York in silence, or as much silence as we could get with turbulent air and rough running engines. I strapped myself into a jump seat, crammed earplugs in, took off my helmet, ran my fingers through my greasy hair, and instantly fell asleep, ignoring the mask pressed tight against face.
I was out for maybe fifteen minutes when we started our approach to the ship. Someone slapped my knee, and I jumped, raising my rifle and looking around for a target. The guys around me laughed at my reaction. I must have been a hell of a sight. We had been running and gunning the entire day, from the minute we got off the C-130 that morning till now, as the last rays of the setting sun fell behind the Olympic Mountains. I had sweat, grease, camo paint, blood on my face and drool puddled in my mask.
A crewman handed me a commo set, and Epson held up two fingers, meaning, I guess to turn to channel Two. I ignored him and hunted around for the aircrew external channel. McHale’s steady voice, talking with the ship, came over once I found it.
“…ight control Main, understand you are declaring an Emergency.”
“Roger, one engine is out, controls shaky. I hope you don’t care about your paint job.”
“Just do the best you can. Put it in the water if you need to.”
“This is Voodoo Six, understood. Fuck That. On Final Approach.” Frigging great. I just closed my eyes and wished it would be over quick. It was, thankfully. The other engine quit just as McHale set it down on deck, easy as pie. The ramp dropped just as smoke filled the cabin, and we ran out like our asses were on fire. A Navy fire crew sprayed us with foam as we exited, covering me with some nasty crap that soaked my already disgusting uniform. It coated my gas mask and made me blind.
Rough hands grabbed me, someone yelling in my ear “COME WITH ME!” I let them guide me off the deck and into a decontamination room. I took off my body armor and ripped off my tattered and filthy uniform. By the time I got down to my boots, last of all, I was getting sprayed with harsh, caustic chemicals. Someone took my clothes away, and I held my breath and unmasked, letting the chemicals wash over me. I made sure that the stuff got all in my artificial leg, washing out any contaminant.
The chemicals were followed by a cold shower of seawater that stung and burned all the little cuts and scrapes I had accumulated over a hard day of fighting. By the time we were done and the next bunch of guys came in, I was so exhausted I was ready to fall over. I couldn’t even be bothered to put my leg back on, just pulled on a set of coveralls a crewman handed me. As I dressed, Brit strode into the locker room. She ignored the dozen half naked guys and walked right over to me and pushed me up against a locker, standing on her toes to kiss me hard on the mouth.
“Happy to see you too, hon” I said after she let me breathe.
“I’m glad you didn’t get your pecker shot off” she said loudly “cause you’re gonna need it tonight.” That last one was for the benefit of the guys standing around, because they had started whistling and making wolf growls while she kissed me.
“The rest of you, well, I’m sure you can find a sailor to play hide the salami with.” She walked out of the locker room with an exaggerated wiggle.
“HEY!” I said, snapping my towel at Williams, who was staring too long. “That’s my wife!”
A Navy Petty Officer stuck his head in the room. “Sergeant Major, they need you in the briefing room.”
I sighed and rolled up my empty pants, hooking my leg up. The Petty Officer guided me down a long hallway to a room that was full of brass. General Harkness stood at the end of the table. President Epson sat at the end, already decontaminated.
“Good” said Epson. “We can start. General, give us the bad news first.” Harkness launched into a crisp briefing style, doubtless honed by thousands of Power Point briefings.
“At approximately 09:32 local time this morning, during the Scout Team assault on Acting President Taylor’s compound, a signal was sent from a satellite transmitter. This signal activated devices that were embedded in surviving large population centers. In CONUS, the devices were actually activated by Department of Homeland Security personnel. Overseas, the weapons were automated.” He actually turned to motion to a screen, reflex from too many briefings. He stopped and caught himself and continued.
“From what we can tell through satellite feeds, they hit England, Japan, Singapore, and every other major surviving population center. We have coms with the Continental European Task Force that was clearing southern France, but they are low on ammo and have no place to go. Gibraltar was hit also.”
One of the Air Force officers interrupted. “We might have some air assets surviving that can get some of them out.”
“Negative. Any air that can make it back here needs to come back with Americans or empty to save fuel.” That came from Epson. He glared at the Colonel, but he didn’t back down.
“Sir, with all due respect, I think you’re going to want every fighting man you can get your hands on, civilians be damned.”
“He’s got a point” I interjected. “If you think things were bad before, we’re up the shit now.”
Epson gestured to Harkness, dismissing us. “Noted. Continue.�
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“We lost Bermuda, Portland, and Norfolk. The 82nd guarding the oilfields in Mexico is very dispersed, but their main FOB and the port of Vera Cruz is gone. Individual units have been ordered to E & E back to the US, but that’s thousands of miles through bandit and zombie country.”
“What about here?”
“Sir, except for New York, everything is gone. Task Force Bronco, in the Midwest, is gone. Task Force Hollywood, same thing. However, in Upstate NY, Colonel Scarletti arrested and shot every single DHS trooper assigned to Task Force Liberty the minute the assault on the compound started. Once we informed him of the new virus, his teams hunted them down and disabled them.”
The room fell still. Everyone was taking a minute to let that sink in.
“OK” said Epson. “I want briefs on every military asset we have. What about the carriers?”
After the ZA, we had four carriers still functioning. Lincoln, Roosevelt, Stennis, and Reagan. The rest were laid up in Bremerton Naval Base for spare parts. They were stationed, one on each coast and two in the Gulf of Mexico to support clearing operations.
“Gone” said an Admiral. “We lost coms with all four.”
“Jesus Christ” muttered the President of what was left of the United States.
The Admiral, his name plate said KINCAID, said “The Reagan is drifting off the coast about two hundred miles out. I’ve got a SEAL platoon on the Reagan’s escorting cruiser who are going to board and try to clear it. If they can, the cruiser crew will attempt to decon the ship. It’s going to take weeks though. We have positions on the others, and we’ll try to the same there. Their crews, though…”
Epson made a pyramid out of his fingers, staring at nothing for a long minute. Then he spoke.
“I want an OPORDER on my desk in three hours. Admiral, take us out to sea. I assume we can get past the fallout?”
Kincaid nodded. Epson continued “General Harkness, have your people get on the horn with every unit they can, and order them to make their way to New York. Air Force units also. Navy units will conduct refugee operations on the east coast and attempt to bring as many civilians back to New York as possible. Dismissed. Sergeant Major, you stay. ”
The room emptied quickly, except for Epson and two big ass Marines. Both stood on either side of Epson, but back against the wall. I looked at them closely, but they stared me down. Fuck them, I was too tired to play head games. I sat down across from Epson.
“Sergeant Major” he started to say, but I held up my hand.
“Save your bullshit, I’m going home.”
He looked at me for moment, said “That’s what I was going to say. I appreciate what you did for me back there. What you did for your country. I’m putting you and your team on the next plane we can scrounge up. The Air Force says there are some C-130’s operational out of a rough airfield in Northern California. I can get your people there by helo once we rejoin the fleet and head south.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. Black spots were starting to dance around the edge of my vision. Home. My farm. My fields. My son. I stood up and turned my back on him, walking to the doorway. I opened it and Brit as waiting for me in the corridor. The ship heeled to one side as the engines kicked in, and I felt my knees go week. Brit’s red hair seemed to dance like a fire, and the last thing I remembered was the floor rushing up at me.
Chapter 9
I woke in a hospital bed next to Ziv, who was still apparently sedated. I had an IV stuck in my arm and a bandage on my forehead. Brit sat next to me in a chair, a paperback folded on her lap, head back, snoring. On the other side of me lay Red, foot elevated up on a pillow, eating popcorn. Hart was sitting near him, doing a crossword puzzle.
“About time you woke up, really Paleface” he said as he tossed down another handful of popcorn.
At the sound of Red’s voice, Brit woke with a snort, dropping the book out of her lap. She sat up and stretched, arching her back. Catching me staring at her, she laughed. “You can have me when you can get out of that bed.”
I tried to sit up and immediately fell back onto the bed, head swimming. A Navy Corpsman came in with a couple of charts. Making his way over to Ziv, he checked a drip IV and took his vitals. Then he came over to me.
“How are we doing?”
“We” I said “feel like shit, Doc.”
“I would think you do. Exhaustion, dehydration, and, believe it or not, the flu. Another day in bed, you should be OK.”
I nodded over to Ziv. “How’s he doing?”
The corpsman looked at Ziv’s chart. “We have him under to help him heal. Tough bastard, though. Took a 5.56 round in the side, just missed a rib, and went through his lung. He got really lucky; usually an M-4 round will tumble if it hits a bone. Hit the rib dead on, the bone fragments would have shredded his guts. Just a glance, and it would have tumbled and probably hit his heart. As it is, he went into shock from blood loss. Good thing we were here.”
“When can he move?”
“By the time we get to where y’all are getting dropped off, he should be able to get around in a wheelchair. Good enough for helo transport. It will be a few weeks before he’s up and moving around, and a few months before he’s back in fighting shape.” I mentally halved his estimate, knowing how much of a force of nature Ziv’s will was.
“I’ll tell you what though, that sumbitch got some serious scars. You too, and him” he said, pointing to Red. “What’s with all them bite marks?”
Hart stood up, towering over the man. “None of your business. Now, run along.” After he left, she took her chair and sat down in front of the door, blocking it. “So what’s the plan, Nick?”
I took a long drink of water from a bottle that Brit handed me. I could feel the engines rumbling through the ship, and it heaved up and down as we plowed through the ocean. That didn’t help my head.
“We’re going to get lifted by helo out to a rough strip airfield that was supporting operations in Northern California. From there, back to NY, I assume.”
Red stopped stuffing his face long enough to ask “What about us?” He gestured to himself and Ziv. “Thank God they saved my foot, but I’m not going to be mobile anytime soon. I can get around in a chair, though.”
“You heard the Doc, Couple more days and Ziv will be able to move. From there, a nice easy ride back to New York, and back home.”
Hart took a break from cleaning a pistol. “What about, you know, everything else?”
I took a few minutes to fill them in on what had been out in the briefing. “So I guess, in a way, we got lucky for once.”
“For once” muttered Brit. “Nick” she said. “We talked it over while you were out. We’re done when we get home. No more Army bullshit, no more scout stuff.”
I got an uncomfortable feeling, but I had to say it. “It doesn’t work like that, Brit. You know that. Red, Kelly and I are both on Active Duty now. We can go home, but if they need us again, we have to go.”
Her blue eyes blazed up and she said angrily “Until when, Nick? Until you’re dead? Until one more of us comes home in a body bag? Or even worse gets turned? Because they wave that pretty little red white and blue thing in your face?” As she spoke she was getting more and more angry.
“Brit …” Red started to interject. She shut him down with a knife motion of her hand.
“Don’t say shit, Angelo. You are just as bad as he is. Anywhere the great Zombie Killer goes, you follow him like a puppy.”
“Hold on a second” I tried to get a word in, but she was having none of it.
“Hold on a second yourself. I mean it, Nick, I’ve had it. I don’t care what shit Scarletti has on us. You already lost your goddamned leg, we almost lost our son, and if you keep it up, you’re going to lose your wife, too.”
She got up and stormed out of the room, slamming the hatch behind her, like some angry goddess pissed off at us mortals.
“She’s right, you know. We” and she indicated herself and her husband, lyin
g there with his foot elevated in a sling “are done with it.” I knew better than to even look at Red, because he hardly ever won an argument with his towering wife.
Creaking, wheezy laughter issued from the bed next to me. “Haha, Nick, you are in shit now” said Ziv, with half open eyes. “I would rather go through hell than have that woman mad at me.” He coughed convulsively and groaned “Sranje , neko mi se cigaretu.”
“No cigarettes for you until you’re up on your feet again, Sasha” said Kelly, handing him a glass of water. “We’re serious, Nick. We’re all done, and if you do love your wife, you’ll go tell the Army to fuck themselves.”
I sighed, and lay back, putting a pillow across my face. Women.
Chapter 10
One of the plane crewmen ran back with a fire extinguisher, spraying foam all over the burning electrical lines. Smoke welled up and he collapsed, inhaling too much of the burnt insulation. I tried to stand, but the plane tilted downward in a dive and I was thrown towards the back ramp. Brit went flying past me, her head hitting the bulkhead, and there was an audible SNAP. She collapsed lifelessly onto one of the canvas benches.
I screamed uselessly, trying to reach Brit, but the plane started into a flat spin. A pallet broke loose and slid towards me, stopping when it crashed into the side, pinning my legs. Ziv’s stretcher had been turned over, and he was wedged up next to me, blood pouring out of his mouth. The centrifugal force drew the blood up across his face and it splattered across me as I frantically worked to free my artificial leg from under the pallet. I grabbed my combat knife and cut away the pants leg, even as fire raced up towards me, fuel spilling from a broken line. I looked over to the right where the rest of the team was strapped in. They were burning, the closest to me, Bognaski, a flaming torch with a melting face, trying to beat the flames out, screaming.
The plane turned over, and one of the wings tore off, leaving a gaping hole in the fuselage. Air howled through the opening, debris and flames followed by Brits body, flopping like a rag doll. The flames chased her, fed by the furious wind. My leg pulled free when the pallet shifted, and I started tumbling end over end, one second weightless and the next slammed into the floor. Stars swam as I smashed my nose into the floor, then blood flew when my arm impacted the fuselage. Some burning fuel splashed across my face, searing into my skin and blinding one eye. I tried to wipe it away and my hand caught fire. One more tumble brought me towards the hole in the wall, and I grabbed at a strut with my other hand, pulled as hard as I could, and flung myself out into the night, still on fire.