Plague War (Book 3): Retaliation

by Hodge, Alister

  ‘What’s with the trenches? They better not be thinking of putting soldiers out in front of the wall,’ said Steph.

  Mark glanced to his right and saw the Sergeant performing her own assessment of the battlefield. ‘Yeah I had the same thought myself. I’m hoping they’re only for creating a further obstacle to slow the swarm’s approach, but time will tell.’ He lifted his arm, by habit reaching out a hand to rest on her waist in greeting. Mark caught himself mid action, and pulled back his hand sharply before making contact, inwardly reprimanding himself at the lack of discipline. Their time had passed, and he owed his troops to occupy his mind with preparation for the coming fight.

  Mark turned away from the plain and walked back to the Geelong side of the wall. On this side, the ground was a hive of activity. What had been little more than a car park for earth moving equipment until the prior month, was now a series of buildings and roads. Barracks, storage sheds and a field hospital were housed within a series of huge steel-panelled buildings that looked like overgrown farm sheds. Uniformed men and women scurried around these buildings like worker ants, each moving with urgency to complete a myriad of tasks.

  ‘The platoon’s all settled in?’ Mark asked.

  ‘As good as you can be on a bed of cement,’ Steph said, knuckles whitened as she gripped the top of the waist-high barrier.

  Mark allowed a short grunt of a chuckle escape. The sheds might provide shelter from the weather, but no effort had been made to soften the enclosures any further after laying the cement slab. He’d secured an area near the front of one of the buildings where he’d left the soldiers to throw down their packs and sleep mats a few minutes earlier. No-one was fussed about the accommodation. Sleep was unlikely to be a high priority in the coming days compared to the need to stay alive.

  ‘Good. I want our ammunition dumps set up by day’s end. Our section of the wall stretches from this point toward the highway.’ Mark looked back at Steph, his eyes narrowing in concern at what he saw. His Sergeant’s face looked blank, eyes unfocused as if she hadn’t heard a word said. ‘Steph, are you ok?’ he asked, reaching out a hand to her shoulder in concern.

  Steph abruptly stepped out of hand’s reach, eyes focusing back on him as she re-joined the previous line of conversation as if nothing had happened.

  ‘So, that gives us around fifty metres of wall to defend. Not bad I guess, around one soldier ever metre and a half. Pity we’re stuck manning one of the key weak points,’ she said.

  Mark continued to look at her for a moment, debating whether to push the episode of absence any further, but then decided to let it drop. With the biggest battle of the war mere days away, everyone had plenty on their mind.

  Mark followed Steph’s finger to where it was pointed down at the entrance of a tunnel that burrowed into the wall not far away. A necessary evil to enable construction of the defensive structure in the first place, the tunnel was large enough to fit the huge earth-movers. On the Melbourne side of the wall, two huge steel doors closed the space, blocking any movement of the Infected through the tunnel. Although the wall was now complete, the tunnel would still be required one last time for the passage of those involved in the attraction of Carriers from the city centre. After that, the doors would be locked in place until the battle had run its course for better or worse.

  Mark shrugged. ‘Once those doors are closed, it’ll be no different to any other section of the wall. And it makes sense to have us near to it – we’re committing one detachment to support the helicopters as they herd the swarm. If we end up cutting it fine, I’d prefer not struggling to find our position on the wall to re-join our men.’

  Steph watched Mark descend a set of metal stairs on the rear side of the wall, leaving her alone at the top. She felt relieved at his departure and the chance to gain a few minutes by herself. Since returning to Geelong, the feelings of rage that she had experienced only during dreams had started to kindle inexplicably on occasions while awake. Moments before, when she’d seen Mark’s hand reaching toward her waist, she could have sworn something spoke to her from within her own brain. A command hallucination had screamed, ‘Kill him!’ It had taken every ounce of her strength to resist the sudden rage that had pulsed into her brain with the words. She had gripped the railing with all her strength, just to stop unsheathing her knife and obeying the command. The anger had left almost as quickly as it arrived, dissipating over no more than three breaths, leaving her confused and struggling to maintain her conversation without Mark noticing that something was wrong.

  Steph placed two fingers on her radial pulse and counted. Twenty beats a minute. It didn’t make sense, it should be racing after such an experience, and yet her heart rate was slower than ever.

  ‘Hey, Sarg!’

  Steph looked down at the voice and saw one of her Privates seeking her attention. She started down the stairs and off the wall to take up her duties once again. Whatever was going on would have to wait until after the fight.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Harry climbed down from the back of the Unimog truck along with the fifteen other soldiers it had ferried from Avalon airport to the wall. Moving off the side of the road, he dumped his duffle bag on the gravel and turned slowly in a circle to get his bearings. Things had progressed remarkably during the intervening months to his last visit. The wall now stretched for as far as he could see in either direction. The rear side was buttressed with steel mesh cages filled with stone, making the lower half of the wall over fifteen metres thick. Wide stairways zigzagged up the face at intervals of fifty metres.

  He unconsciously touched a hand to his chest, feeling for the doses of medication that he’d stolen from Canberra. Early trials on their small group of chimpanzees had shown promise, with only one creature demonstrating side effects. The animal had been euthanized after unpredictable behaviour had made it unsafe to work with and placed the other primates at risk. Human trials were not due to start for another few months. That the medication would be unavailable for the start of the Melbourne campaign, was news that General Black had not received well. He’d been in two minds about grabbing the vials when the opportunity had presented itself, as he knew that the medication had not been proven safe for human use, but Steph’s own words had been the deciding factor. Determining risk always changed dependent on the situation, and he’d allow his mates to make the decision themselves about whether to take the medication.

  A red cross on white background stood out amongst the sea of green and brown camouflage, showing Harry where the field hospital now stood. The imminent campaign for Melbourne had seen Harry recalled to the army for service within the Medical core. He felt a familiar anxiety build in his chest at the thought of managing plague victims once again. He managed the anxiety these days with Propranolol, a sympathetic nervous system blocker, that did little to dull the feeling in his chest, but left his hand steady and voice calm. The next weeks would see a return to the role he had named ‘the kind executioner’; holding hands and soothing panic while simultaneously preparing to kill his charge before they could succumb to the mutated Lyssavirus.

  He picked up his bag and headed for the hospital building, working his way through the crowd and around two 155mm Howitzer gun emplacements. The guns had their barrels raised at a steep angle to lob huge shells over the wall, capable of firing a projectile up to 18,000 metres. Harry inwardly shrugged at the decision to use artillery. The weapons would kill few Carriers, but damage done to legs would serve to slow and mediate the overall flow of the swarm.

  Harry paused at the edge of a tarmac road that passed in front of the hospital, waiting for a Unimog truck loaded with soldiers to drive by before jogging across to the other side. The four-lane road travelled the length of the wall to enable fast movement of troops, resources, and in the medical core’s concern – the wounded. Six parking bays sat before the front doors, enabling rapid offload into the premises. Harry eased his way past two field ambulances that took up a pair of spots, their rea
r doors reversed in to face the hospital. Harry grimaced as he saw the floor of one already splashed with crimson. At this early stage, he hoped it was due to an accident or misfire. If it was a self-inflicted gunshot, the soldier was about to learn the draconian measures recently adopted by the Australian Army to discourage troops from using this avenue to avoid facing the enemy.

  A military police vehicle pulled into the bay adjacent to the ambulance and screeched to a halt. Four stony-faced MPs emerged and headed for the entrance, one already with gun drawn. Harry tailed the group through the entrance, automatic doors sliding open and closed with an electronic buzz that made him feel he was entering a bizarre factory where wounded soldiers arrived for sorting. The fixable for patching up and return to the front; conversely, those broken beyond repair or diseased hit the true conveyor belt. Sedation and euthanasia followed by stripping of reusable uniform and items. Naked bodies were then neatly stacked in cold storage like nameless slabs of meat for future disposal. It was an environment where the staff had to leave their humanity at the door to function. Harry envied the soldiers on the wall, preferring to kill the enemy while fuelled with fear, adrenaline and the need to protect the man standing at your shoulder. Instead he got to kill, not the enemy, but rather his comrades while stone cold sober.

  The field hospital was housed under one large open metal shell building. To the right were two basic operating theatres that stood empty and waiting for use. Rows of beds took up the majority of the open space, each set up ready to receive plague bite victims. Four steel manacles hung from the sides of each frame to secure limbs. The mattresses were bare of sheets, waterproof rubber left exposed for ease of wiping down between occupants. For mass casualty influxes, a euthanasia kit hung from every bedhead. Each kit held a syringe of Propofol to render the victim unconscious, paired with a hammer and a steel spike to puncture the skull and destroy the brain. To Harry, the package exemplified everything that made the army so effective, being simple, quick and ruthless.

  Harry stopped at the edge of the room, leaving the MPs to walk past the first few rows of empty beds to the only one filled. An injured soldier lay in his uniform with one boot removed, a crimson field dressing wrapped around his foot. The man was pale and sweating from pain, his hands gripping the edges of the bedframe like it could somehow keep his agony at bay. The group of MPs stopped at the edge of his bed, and Harry watched as a doctor he recognised from the Geelong Hospital walked over to meet them.

  ‘Can I help you?’ asked the doctor. ‘This man is injured and needs to be prepped for emergency surgery on his wound.’

  The MPs ignored the doctor; instead the one with his gun drawn talked to the only other soldier present, a sergeant that stood behind the bed. ‘We were notified of a deserter?’

  The sergeant winced at the MPs words. ‘Not exactly. It was a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the foot, but Private Wilson states it was an accident while servicing his weapon.’

  The MP’s gaze flicked down to the young soldier who looked barely out of his teens. A frown creased his forehead, and jaw was clenched so tightly it looked like his teeth would shatter any second. ‘Then you’re a fucking idiot for forcing me to complete this task,’ he said as he lifted his pistol and chambered a round. ‘Every person in this army knows what General Black has ordered, there’s no way it can be avoided. Any deserter, or soldier suspected of deliberately self-inflicting a wound that would remove them from the line of battle, has signed their own death warrant. I am mandated to carry out this sentence at the earliest possible time or wear the same penalty myself.’ He aimed at the man’s heart, the barrel no more than a hands breadth away from his chest wall.

  ‘But it was an accident! I swear!’ spluttered the soldier, his eyes wide as reality hit home.

  The MP squeezed the trigger. The soldier’s torso thumped downward against the mattress with the force of the bullet, a small rose of blood spreading from the wound. The victim’s eyes remained open, his mouth an ‘o’ of surprise at his own death.

  Harry turned away from the scene, his gut sick at the sanctioned murder. He could understand why the General had issued such an order. Harry had viewed the swarm attack the walls of Queenscliff, knew the mind-numbing terror it had inspired, and yet that had been only a few thousand Carriers. The fight coming within mere days would bring millions against a force half made up of green soldiers; Tasmanian men and women who had never faced a Carrier outside the controlled environment of a training camp. And yet they would be asked to hold the line with their comrades against a legion of walking horrors, or go down fighting. They needed to know there was no option of retreat. Only death and ignominy would meet those who turned away from their duty.

  But it didn’t make it any easier to witness.

  Harry walked back through the automatic doors to get some fresh air. They could wait a few more minutes for him to check in and start work.

  ‘Oi! Old man! What the hell did you do with my mate Harry?’

  Harry started at the voice, caught off guard. He turned and saw Mark walking his way, tailed by a severe looking Steph. Harry forced a smile onto his face, as he reached a hand up to his new buzz cut. What had been salt and pepper, was now matte grey.

  ‘It’s all a master plan, mate. If I look old, the Carriers will leave me alone to go for the juicier young ones,’ Harry said, deadpanning.

  Mark grabbed his hand and shook it in a bone-cracking grip. ‘First chance I’ve had to say thanks for saving Steph’s life. The squad would’ve missed out on their best Sergeant yet if not for you and the brainiacs in Canberra.’

  Harry smiled, accepting his gratitude quietly. He glanced over at Steph to see her expression at Mark’s words, knowing that she’d ended their relationship a few weeks prior. His cousin met his eye with a lack of expression that bordered on psychopathic, a flatness that made his skin crawl a little. Mental health options for soldiers suffering from PTSD had been lacking in the armed forces prior to the plague, and were now non-existent. He’d have to try and make contact again in private to gauge how she was holding up since returning to her squad.

  ‘Victor said he’d seen you walking to the hospital, so we thought we’d take the chance to touch base before the shit hits the fan,’ Mark said.

  ‘I thought you left Vic back in Cob Hill to finish off with the farms?’ Harry said.

  ‘Yeah, but he’s back again - all troops from the different rural towns were recalled within the last few weeks. Black’s gambling everything on this one - it’s all or nothing,’ Mark said, the smile leaving his eyes for the first time during their conversation. He looked over his shoulder at the wall, eyes sweeping up from the wide base to the troops that walked the battlement at its peak. ‘The wall’s an impressive structure, that’s for sure.’

  ‘Impressive or not, it’s the Infected staying on the other side of it that matters,’ said Harry.

  Mark shrugged. ‘It’ll hold, or it won’t. We’ll have our answer in two days from what I hear, so worrying in the meantime won’t change a damn thing.’

  Harry looked back at Mark sharply. ‘Seriously? Black’s moved the battle forward? That’s a week ahead of schedule.’

  ‘Yeah, well battles don’t usually run to plan in my experience. I kind of agree with the man. If the shit’s ready to go, get the fight happening. The last thing we want is idle soldiers over thinking things and getting scared,’ said Mark.

  Steph interjected, nodding toward the hospital. ‘Are you guys ready to go with the change in time frames?’

  ‘I’ve barely walked in the door, but it looks like it should do the job. They were just dealing with an unsavoury case when I walked in, so figured I’d leave them to it for a few minutes until they actually know I’m here.’ As Harry finished speaking, the automatic doors of the hospital opened, and the Military Police officers walked out. Mark and Steph watched the men walk past in silence, their eyes accusing nonetheless.

  ‘I see why you mean it was a dodgy case,’ said Steph
as the MPs drove away from the curb. ‘Did they just execute a deserter?’

  Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak on the topic.

  ‘Those MP pricks are going to be majorly on the nose with the rest of the ADF,’ said Steph, her lip curling up in distaste.

  ‘I agree,’ Mark said. ‘It hasn’t gone down well with the average grunt holding a rifle. Black’s taking a major risk with that order.’

  ‘If only us researchers in Canberra had managed to get a medication up in time that could’ve been given to bite victims – maybe he wouldn’t have felt the need.’

  ‘That’s not your fault, Harry. You’ve said it before; medications take years to develop,’ Steph said.

  ‘Well we mightn’t have a product for mass release, but I have managed to get my hands on the most successful variant under testing in Canberra,’ said Harry. He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and withdrew a packaged syringe containing a sunset orange liquid. ‘We’ve had pretty good success with primates so far, and if no further anomalies arise, it should move into human trials within a couple of months.’

  ‘What was the anomaly?’ asked Steph as she took the syringe from Harry’s hand and held it up in the air to examine. Sun shone through the liquid, casting a burnt orange over her face.

  ‘A few episodes of aggression from a chimp, although inconclusive as to whether it was from the drug,’ said Harry, with a slight shrug. ‘But either way, none of them have progressed to full-blown plague symptoms, and I guess that should be viewed as a win. There’s four syringes; one each for you two, and Erin and Vinh. In the event that one of you got bitten, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I knew I’d had access to a potential cure.’