“Little Sable, you shot first, so now we have to deal with the consequences. Roll those trucks inside. Gather their weapons and anything of value.” Steele walked over to one of the bodies and pulled out his tomahawk. He twirled it once in anger, looking down at the man.
The Chosen soldier lay on the ground broken and gasping for breath. His brown hair was stuck to his head with sweat and fresh blood. Blood flowed from the side of his mouth. His flesh had been jaggedly ripped apart by no fewer than three bullets. The fact that he hadn’t bled out yet was a miracle in itself. The man knew he was dead yet still fought it. Steele bent down. The man grabbed his hand, blood squishing in-between their fingers.
Steele waited a moment. The man gulped his own blood down his throat and rapidly blinked his eyes open as wide as he could manage. It was as if he were trying to see as much as possible before he expired. His existence ended a second later with a swing of Steele’s tomahawk into the side of his neck. The last bit of blood inside the mangled man sprayed onto the ground. Steele bent down and wiped his tomahawk blade on his long green sleeve and wedged his axe back into his belt.
The people of Sable Point stared at him blankly, equally amazed and shocked. They were afraid. They had finally seen violence up-close by their own hands and were shocked at what they had been a part of.
Steele pointed a finger at Peter’s body.
“Somebody pick him up,” he said then stormed back to Little Sable Point. On the way by, he shouted at Thunder. “Come with me.” Thunder adjusted his colors, a frown on his face. “We’re going to war.”
KINNICK
Golden Triangle, CO
The hangar was dark in the early morning. Boxes of ammunition and supplies had taken the place of the huge aircraft that normally resided there. He could make out the camouflaged, armed men inside. Guns rattled on magazines, grenades clanked on flashlights, and bullets clicked as they were prepped inside magazines. Soldiers in full combat kit or battle rattle milled about the tall and wide-entranced hangar. They checked each other’s gear, making small talk to calm their nerves. The soldiers hadn’t noticed their new commanding officer observing them from afar.
“They’re young,” Hunter said behind him. A C-130 growled as it lifted off in the distance, slowly rising in the air like a fat but determined pigeon.
“You were young once and went to war.”
“Not like this. We had the whole of America’s military might at our backs. These men have only a fraction of that and each other.”
“Then we’ll have to rely heavily on the senior non-coms to keep them on the right track,” Kinnick said in response, turning his back to the man. He felt every year of his age and then some. I am literally getting too old for this.
“Yes, we will,” Hunter said. He ran a hand through his beard. “Be wary of old men in a profession where men die young.”
Kinnick laughed. “Sometimes I think it’s only luck that’s keeping me on this planet.”
Hunter looped his fingers through his vest. “Luck or a curse.”
“Hard to tell the difference, isn’t it.” Kinnick watched them.
A nearby group of young soldiers talked loud, covering up their nervousness with male bravado. Another cluster laughed together. One man danced in the middle of the group like he was on a dance floor at a club. Even after all this, there is still some life left in the youth. Perhaps we can survive. They’re young but all are veterans now.
The senior soldiers looked on, checking gear. A few smiled as they listened to the stories the younger men bragged about. The veterans were his go-to soldiers. This mission would crutch on them. If any of them hadn’t been in the fight yet, soon they would have their baptism by tooth and nail.
“I wonder what they’ve been told about this mission?” Kinnick said to his senior NCO. He hesitated to call Hunter his friend, but if surviving together made men friends then they were best buddies.
“What does it matter? They still have to embrace the suck because that’s their job,” Hunter said. He spit chew from a ball in the side of his mouth. The brown liquid splatted on the ground. Kinnick knew the man had stocked up on little brown tins of chewing tobacco from the post exchange on the base.
“It matters,” Kinnick said. Men fight better if they know what’s at stake.
Turmelle and Hawkins joined them. They had huge packs filled with every known piece of gear, and they looked like they were going into the field forever.
“This is it?” Turmelle said. The curly haired soldier ran his finger along the hilt of his kukri as if it soothed his nerves.
“This is it, Sergeant,” Kinnick said. This is it. All that stands between us and nuclear holocaust.
“This is not enough men. This is not even an entire company,” Hawkins said. His voice was methodical. His ever analyzing mind had done the math, and they had come up on the less-than-winning side of the equation.
Kinnick eyed the man from the corner of his eyes. He’s right and you know it. “It will be enough. Come on.” He gave a terse wave of his hand to be followed.
Kinnick approached the reorganized company of soldiers followed by the remaining ODA 51 “Skins.” He had 102 men in his command given to him by General Monroe. The other soldiers and Marines from his search and rescue team had been reappropriated by their parent services. Their administrative skills would keep them out of the field.
One hundred and two plus three Special Forces Green Berets. The only superior who had any faith in the mission they were about to undertake was Monroe, yet he didn’t have enough faith to give him a battalion of men, let alone a full company or any air support. Am I the blind one here?
His four platoon leaders met him, all men in their twenties. They stood by a folding table sitting near the entrance of the hangar.
“Gentlemen, I am Colonel Kinnick. Captain Wilkes has been reassigned. I’m your CO for this operation. I understand all of you men are from the same brigade but have been reorganized into a new company.” The men nodded the affirmative. “That will be sufficient. I’m going to need men who work well together. I also understand that your platoons have been cut down by two squads apiece in your reorganization. Unfortunate, but we will make do.” Kinnick eyed them fiercely. We have determination on our side. “Now, who are you?” He pointed to a short man on the left.
“Lieutenant Wyman, sir.” Wyman was short with the build of a wrestler and had scrunched misshapen cauliflower ears to match. He continued, “1st Platoon, the “Minute Men”, C Company, 2nd Battalion, 21st Infantry. We are the Bunker Hill Brigade. Always Steadfast is our motto.”
“Let’s hope that remains true,” Kinnick said to the man.
Next to him stood a man with the build of a linebacker. Kinnick gave him a nod. “Second Platoon Leader Lieutenant Stark. The 2nd Platoon are the Regulators, sir.” His eyes were fierce as if he were already in the fight.
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 pointe
d 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. Garrett and Half-Barrel stood in the kitchenette, spanning wall to wall.
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