Lee sighed, frustrated by everything that was going on. The desertions, the ambush attack, the fact that an old field grade officer with too much rank and too many years suddenly wanted to foist a platoon of senior citizens on him. And frustrated that he couldn’t decline the proposition, not if the list he still held in his hand was accurate.
“Colonel, I need to discuss this with my senior staff. Major Walker here, as well as Sergeant Major Turner and Captain Beach, who’s my new battle captain. If they disagree—especially Turner—then I’m going to have to respectfully ask you remain here at High Point and assist the Third in whatever sustainment operations they might need help with.”
“And if we join you on the road?” Tackaberry asked.
Lee considered that for a moment, then shrugged. “We’ll discuss that later.”
“Not going to make trouble for you, Lee,” Tackaberry said. “If that’s a concern, I don’t want to run a battalion that’s now essentially two companies in strength. That’s not what I’m about here. I want to make that clear.”
“Understood. And very much appreciated, sir.”
“When can I expect your decision? My guys can be ready to go in fifteen minutes. It’s well past dawn, I’m sure we’ve all had our Geritol and statins and multivitamins by now,” the tall colonel added with a smile.
“Tell you what, sir. Get your team together and meet me back here in an hour. I should know how things are going to go then,” Lee said. “Major Walker and I have some things to discuss, so if you’ll excuse us—”
Tackaberry nodded. “Sure thing, Colonel. I’ll synch up with you in an hour.” And with that, the tall retired colonel strode off. A single rifle shot rang out in the near distance, and Lee turned toward it speculatively.
“Sir, if we have a mission, we’d better get down to planning,” Walker said. “Turner’s out there, he has the situation under control.”
“How long have we been losing troops to desertion, Walker?” Lee asked. He kept staring into the tree-lined distance, toward the drop zone that had been set up. Black smoke rose into the air, and it was copious enough to tell him the battalion had just lost another vehicle.
“Since Philadelphia, sir,” Walker said.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“We had other things to worry about, Colonel. Like staying alive. Like getting out of Philly, like safeguarding a convoy of civilians, like liberating High Point.”
“You didn’t think this is something I should know about?” Lee turned back to Walker then, facing him directly.
For his part, Walker didn’t flinch. “Is this really a surprise to you?” he asked. Before Lee could answer, he pressed on with, “You needed to stay focused on the mission, which is to get the battalion to Florida. Bringing manpower issues to you now was only going to be a distraction. Besides, are there any incentives to offer a soldier to stay with the unit when the people they care about might be under attack somewhere else?”
“Aside from the fact that we’ll have more capability to help in Florida? Of course not,” Lee said. “Walker, we keep having this kind of discussion. You hold stuff back, especially items like this which directly affect my ability to lead? I’ll have your head on a stick. Don’t think that I won’t. You need to become extremely cognizant of that. Understand?”
Walker nodded slowly. “Understood, Colonel. Understood.”
Lee jerked his chin toward the trailer. “Let’s get inside, get our updates, and then start planning the road movement.”
EIGHT.
There were no more klown attacks during the remainder of the drop recovery operation, but Rawlings and the rest of the soldiers in her squad combed through the woods anyway. They moved slowly and purposefully. Half the squad was in MOPP gear, out of an abundance of caution should the crazies have left any biological traps behind. But due to the vision restrictions imposed by the hoods and facemasks the protected soldiers wore, those without protective gear—most notably Sandra Rawlings—had to move along with them and scan the area anyway. It was a bit of a cluster. If someone set something off, most of the unprotected troops would get caught up in it regardless. There wasn’t a lot of troop density left, and as Rawlings took a quick count of the mix of soldiers and Guardsmen crawling through the brush around her, she realized how diminished the battalion had become.
Soldiers were becoming an endangered species.
They found the various points where the klowns had laagered, waiting to launch their attack. They didn’t inspect those sites very closely, for they had shit and pissed and fucked and whatever all over them while waiting. Blood was splattered everywhere, a result of the near-constant compulsion among them to mutilate themselves and each other. All of it was biohazardous, and Nutter warned them off. Like Rawlings, he was unprotected against biochems, wearing only his duty uniform and battle rattle. Even though he’d taken a round right to the chest, the scrawny little man was still up and at ’em, though his eyes looked as big as dinner plates to be this close to what had only recently been the lair of the Killer Klowns.
Eventually, they declared the area secure. There were two bodies in the thickets, klowns that had gotten so carried away with mutilation that they had killed off two of their own. The scarred, bloody bodies were gruesome, but their faces were slack and at peace, despite the crude, garish tattoos that adorned them. Rawlings still kept her distance. It wouldn’t be beyond the crazies to be feigning death, only to snap back to life and hurl infected offal in her face.
“They look like babies.” Campbell’s voice was soft, barely audible above the rustle of leaves as the breeze riffled through the branches overhead.
There was a forlorn note in the comment that caused Rawlings to half-turn toward her, while still keeping her eyes on the motionless corpses. “You have kids?” she asked.
“Not anymore,” Campbell said before turning and heading off to her left, rifle shouldered as she covered two soldiers in MOPP. “You guys be careful now, two dead klowns over here. Don’t take that as gospel, they could still be alive and waiting for some new meat.”
“Roger that,” said one of the soldiers, his voice muffled behind his mask. Rawlings recognized him as Sienkiewicz, one of the lightfighters from the headquarters company. No more easy duty for the TOC personnel, they were out here hauling and fighting with the rest of the troops.
As she continued scanning the area, looking beyond the corpses, Rawlings suddenly thought of Wade. Back in Boston, as dead as yesterday and as alive only in her memory. She wondered what it had been about him that had caused her to gravitate toward him. There were absolutely more competent soldiers around her, so it wasn’t because she thought he could protect her. And there were many more who had been even worse off; troops who had seen their entire units wiped out, their humanity shredded, their sense of self annihilated by the twisted, arcane horrors the klowns had inflicted on their quarry. But Wade had held on to that despite going through the wringer. He was still whole, though frightened. Even though likely younger than Rawlings, he had stamina and the remainders of a gung-ho attitude. He needed rest and refit, but he still soldiered on. In his own quiet way, Wade had been indefatigable.
Rawlings suddenly missed him intensely, and she wondered why. She had barely known him. In reality, they were essentially passengers on two trains that had passed each other in the night, only briefly visible through windows as they ripped past each other. Of all the people she had known in her life, she was puzzled that memories of Wade were the ones that came to her most often.
“All right, we’re secure here!” Nutter shouted suddenly. “Form up on me, we’ll file out of here and head back to the drop zone!”
Rawlings released a sigh of relief and dropped back with Campbell, heading back to where Nutter stood. Nutter looked up at her, then waved her back.
“You’ll be number three, Rawlings,” he said.
Rawlings raised a brow. “What, you don’t want a Nasty Girl behind you, Colonel?” She thought a
bout adding a crotch salute to the query, but that just wasn’t her style.
“Heh. Yeah, but not you.” He pointed at Campbell. “That is the most effective Nasty Girl I done ever seen, so I sure want her watching my back.”
Campbell snorted. “You think I consider this sweet talk or something, guy?”
“I’ve seen you fight, and you’re absolutely the biggest swinging dick in this outfit aside from Duke and maybe the sarmajor and his bully boys,” Nutter said. “So oh yeah, you got the security position, kid.”
“Oh really?” Campbell hefted her rifle. “What if I stumble? What if I rip off a burst in your back because of ineffective trigger discipline?”
“Just make it quick, girl. Make it quick—no one wants to live through this shit anyway,” Nutter replied. He looked past her as the rest of the squad started forming up, and he waved them to follow. “Form up!” With that, he turned and started trudging back toward the field. Campbell exchanged glances with Rawlings, then started off after the bantam lightfighter. Rawlings smiled to herself as she fell in behind the smaller woman but kept eyes out.
No one was ever safe, so everyone had to stay eyes out. Always eyes out.
The squad made it out of the trees without incident. Nutter led them back toward the trucks, which were now loaded and preparing to pull out. They’d brought more transport than what was necessary; the content of the air drop didn’t even fill the bed of one five-ton, much less three of them. The remains of the Stryker continued to smolder, releasing clouds of foul-smelling black smoke into the air. Rawlings caught the scent of burning meat as the vehicle’s crew continued to cook. There was no way to retrieve the corpses from the wreckage, at least not without risking the lives of those who might make such an attempt. The rest of the troops remaining in the field finished their work, and the lieutenant overseeing the operation yelled for the trucks to pull out.
Just the same, Rawlings kept eyes out.
“Cool, looks like shit is squared away,” Nutter said, looking around. “Once Duke and the rest of the boys get back, we’ll be rolling back to High Point.”
“You got something important to do?” Campbell asked.
“Hell yes, I gotta change my underwear. I let out a big fart during the attack, and now I’m feeling something trickling down my leg.”
“Nutter, you sure know how to wow the ladies,” Rawlings said.
“Hey, it’s in my DNA,” Nutter said with a shrug. “I’m a five-foot-six-inch sex machine. Babes can’t keep their hands off me.”
“Probably ’cause they like to hit you,” Campbell said.
“I provide whatever lovin’ I can, it’s my only duty,” Nutter said. He regarded the far tree line nervously as he spoke, as if waiting for something. His face brightened an instant later, and Rawlings looked over to see what he was so happy about. She saw Muldoon emerge from the greenery as he led the other squad out of the trees. The fire team looked no worse for wear. Muldoon advanced toward them with his customary swagger. Just another day in paradise.
Good old Muldoon, still shucking and jiving.
“That boy’s a bit sweet on you,” Campbell said, regarding the approaching troops.
“Who?” Rawlings asked, even though she already knew the answer.
“Don’t play stupid, Rawlings. You know who I’m talking about.” Campbell shifted her rifle in her hands a bit. The torn sleeve of her uniform flapped in the breeze. The exposed arm beneath was muscular, and Rawlings caught a glimpse of an armband tattoo encircling Campbell’s dark bicep. The tattoo looked like a link of chain wrapped around her arm.
“He doesn’t have much of a chance,” Rawlings said with a shrug. “At least while I’m still breathing.”
Campbell made an uh-huh sound in her throat. Rawlings snorted at that.
“What, you don’t believe me?”
“Don’t matter what I believe, Rawlings. One thing, girl—men like that, they always think we can’t carry our weight on account we have pussies instead of dicks. We are carryin’ it. Don’t let them think we’re not.” Campbell looked at Nutter, who was standing nearby. “That means you too, Nutter. You have a pussy too, right?”
Nutter looked scandalized. “Why are you beating on me? What the hell did I do?”
“Don’t sweat it, Nutter. You’re just one of the girls here.”
Nutter shook his head and stomped away, muttering under his breath. Rawlings and Campbell both smiled at his discomfort.
“Little guys are so easy to take down at the knees,” Campbell said.
“You know their platoon commander before?”
“Nope. Why?”
“He was a little guy too. Kept telling everyone ‘I’m in charge’ all the time. The rest of the platoon, they’d end every radio transmission with that. ‘Klowns at four hundred meters, stand by to fire. I’m in charge. Over.’ It was hilarious.”
Campbell laughed at that. “Little guys…they can be so funny sometimes.”
“What the fuck are you two giggling over?” Muldoon asked as he drew to a sudden halt. His face was a hard mask as he shouldered his rifle.
“People still laugh, Sergeant Big Ugly,” Campbell snapped. “What the hell is wrong with you? Forget about humanity and shit?”
Rawlings held up her hand. “Muldoon, we’re good,” she said. “We’re not infected. Just swapping stories.”
Muldoon glared at them from behind his sunglasses. “Do not laugh,” he said. “Never fucking laugh.”
Nutter hurried over then, probably wondering what the hell was going on. “Hey, Duke, I don’t mind if you shoot Campbell,” he said. “As a matter of fact, I kinda encourage that.”
“Pissant,” Campbell replied.
“You’re evil and must be destroyed.” As he spoke, Nutter held up a scolding finger.
“Not before I tell your sergeant about your pussy and all,” Campbell said. “Word’s out, fem boy.”
“Nutter, you find anything on the other side?” Muldoon asked. He was still on his rifle, and the remainder of his fire team noticed. They slowly pulled in their own weapons, eyes on Rawlings and Campbell.
“Nothing. No klowns left in there. We’re good to go.” Nutter looked at the other soldiers. “Yeah okay, guys, let’s not get all hot and bothered. There’s nothing going on here—the ladies aren’t infected with anything other than Chlamydia.” He leaned toward Muldoon. “But Campbell really is evil, Duke.”
“Rawlings, you know the shit,” Muldoon said. “You know not to laugh. What the hell has gotten into you?”
Rawlings felt a flush of embarrassment. “It’s no big thing, Muldoon—”
“Yeah, until one of the guys pops five warning rounds into your face. Then it would be a big thing, right?”
Rawlings nodded slowly. “Yeah. Then it’d be a big thing.”
Muldoon nodded back and looked at Campbell. “You’re all mouth, girl. You need to tighten your shit up if you want to run with the big dogs.”
Campbell made a great show of looking right to left, then pointed to the burning Stryker behind them. “Yeah, you big dogs really know how to put on a hell of a show, Sergeant.”
Muldoon shrugged. “Think of it whatever you will, kid. You won’t last for long if you don’t learn to get along. But hey, you’re going to stay here at the Underground Hotel, right? Nice cushy security job while the rest of us go forth and do great things, so I guess you have nothing to worry about.”
“I’m not staying here,” Campbell said. “Not going to make your life easy out there on the road, Sergeant. I’m tagging along with you sad sacks, ’cause you need someone who actually knows how to do shit.”
Muldoon snorted and lowered his rifle. “Well, well. Look who’s a regular water walker all of a sudden.”
“Hey, Muldoon!” The lieutenant commanding the recovery team waved him over. “Get your people mounted up, we’re rolling!”
“On it, sir,” Muldoon called over his shoulder. He then turned back to Rawlings and Campbell. �
��Girls, you really need to remember who you are, where you are, and who you’re with. This shit’s all been dress rehearsal so far. The real deal’s about to land on our necks with both boots, so you need to get yourselves squared away.”
Rawlings didn’t like that. “Hey, Muldoon? Go fuck yourself,” she said.
“Damn straight,” Campbell added.
Muldoon cracked a vague smile, but Rawlings sensed his eyes were locked on her behind his sunglasses. “You think you know the lay of the land better than I do...babe?”
Rawlings narrowed her eyes at the intentional dig. “What I know is that we’re the same rank, Muldoon. So you don’t really have a lot over me.”
“Saved your ass a few times,” Muldoon responded.
“Saved your ass a few times,” Rawlings countered.
“Gosh, Duke, sorry to break up this little lover’s quarrel here, but what do you mean when you said this is just a dress rehearsal?” Nutter asked. “I mean, I guess I haven’t been paying attention, but we’ve killed like two thousand klowns and lost a lot of guys in the process, so this has all seemed pretty real to me. You think shit’s gonna get worse than what we’ve already been through?”
“You know it, Colonel. You know it,” Muldoon said.
“Muldoon!” It was the lieutenant again. “We’ve got injured, so let’s mount up! You don’t come now, you walk!”
He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Let’s get to the trucks and get the hell out of here.”
NINE.
“That’s some pretty prime intel we have here, sir,” Command Sergeant Major Turner said after he and the rest of the command staff had reviewed the orders and intelligence summaries sent over from US Special Operations Command, located at MacDill Air Force Base in Florida. The commanding general of USSOCOM, an Army four-star named Stanton, had transmitted the intelligence data along with General Reynolds’s operation orders. Lee had to hand it to the special operators. The snake eaters had gone in close to reconnoiter Fort Stewart by ground, and the imagery Special Operations Command had shared was a fantastic addition to the aerials Reynolds had promised. Lee felt that he had a very good idea of what the One Fifty-Fifth would be rolling up on.
The Retreat #5: Crucible Page 5