by Byrd, Daniel
It was drastic, but Hampton was okay with the idea if it meant saving anyone they could. Besides, that hospital was the best medical facility the U.S. had in Europe. “I'll have them there right away, sir.”
“ASAP, Hampton.” Houseman glared, almost like his eyes would get the point across if his mouth didn't. “ASAP.”
“Understood,” Hampton replied, “as I said, I have a unit in standby that I can send in.”
“Make sure they understand the gravity of the situation, Major, and that their orders could change on a moment’s notice.”
Hampton swallowed, not wanting to guess at what the Houseman meant by that. He wasn't used to being referred to by his rank by Houseman, even if it was formal. The man was just as much his friend as he was a superior, but the rank came first. “Yes, sir.”
“Get to it,” Houseman growled. He then stomped away with determination and fury mixed into every step. Hampton realized how tense he was himself and panicked as he looked for a means to contact Captain Steffa. He almost felt a little bad for dropping this on him, but orders were orders. There was no going against them in wartime without consequences, and with the zombies being a clear and present danger, it wasn't like any arguments could be made. Drastic measures had their room in times like this, no matter how questionable they could be.
***
First Lieutenant Bartlett took a deep breath as she focused on the commands coming through the radio The past few sentences had gone right over her head, which was saying something for a fighter pilot.
“Bartlett, did you catch that?” It was Captain McCall’s voice. As always, he had the confidence of a leader flying with no fear.
“Affirmative,” she stated quickly, praying he wouldn't ask for a recap like an unconvinced school teacher.
“Good. Keep your wits about you. We're going by directions from the ground forces. They'll be using laser rangefinders to aid us in delivering bombs to targets with minimal damage to anything else. I need everyone's eyes and ears.”
“Mostly ears,” an unwelcome guest pestered. Bartlett sighed heavily. A laugh followed in her ear. “Peacemaker, I can tell that's you by the way you breathe.”
“Forgive me, Loudmouth,” Bartlett spoke condescendingly, “next time I'll just voice my disapproval if that's fine?”
“Well, I am a superior, and since you asked permission…”
“Okay kids, quiet down,” McCall chided.
“This is Loudmouth, roger that, Mother Goose.”
“Old name, Loudmouth,” McCall replied with disdain, “old name.”
“What's wrong, Mother Goose? Cranky because we were woken up to do our job? Did you forget your combat dump?”
“No, I'm cranky because you're trying to start shit as always.”
“Yes!” Bartlett pumped her fist in victory. Davenport didn't let her comment slide.
“Peacemaker, pipe down and quit getting excited. This is an emergency, remember?”
Bartlett brought her hand back to the center stick and squeezed hard, wishing she could kill the cocky bastard without crashing herself in the process. It wasn't too much of a crime, right? They'd chalk it up to the stress from the situation. Then she remembered her family back home and pushed the sinister thoughts from her mind. She just couldn't figure the asshole out, no matter how much Captain McCall assured her that Davenport was hurting inside after the bombings of the southeast U.S. The only thing she assumed existed inside of the jackass was a lot of hot air and narcissism, and that wasn't even counting his superiority complex.
“Cut the chatter,” a commanding voice chimed in over the radio. Bartlett didn't recognize it at all, and apparently Davenport didn't either.
“Sorry, sir. Just having some friendly banter is all. Helps keep us all calm in the face of terror and such.”
There was an annoyed grunt from the other side. “Well, Captain Allen Davenport, I'll be sure to remember that when I reprimand you back on the ground.”
Bartlett had to fight the urge to chuckle as Davenport whined. “That's a little harsh, don't you think?”
“Loudmouth.” McCall sounded concerned about something.
“Harsh is what you'll see if you don't shut up!” the voice boomed. Apparently, Davenport took that as a challenge.
“I’ve got to use words to communicate with the ground forces, sir.”
“Loudmouth.” McCall was more firm in his address. Bartlett had no idea what was going on, but whoever was arguing with Davenport was growing livid.
“Captain?” It was Maynard’s turn to voice his concern. He was doing better than Ra’Shaad, who was audibly trying to keep himself from laughing aloud over the radio.
“Listen here, you piece of shit! I can have you tied to the wing of an aircraft and dropped from high altitude if you keep running your damn mouth!”
Davenport didn't like competition with his ego. “Who the hell-”
“Davenport!” McCall yelled into their ears.
“What?!”
“You're yelling at General Doe!”
Bartlett could only hear the muffled sounds of the jet engines behind her, and the wind rushing past the canopy. She'd never met the General of Ramstein Air Force Base either, but she also wasn't quick to pick fights with everyone. Just Davenport. Still, it was so nice to know Davenport had just been put in his place. He was stammering to find the right words.
“Um…sir, I-”
“Quiet. The only words I'd better hear on this frequency better be transmitted to the ground to confirm targets. Weapons tight.”
A collective confirmation sounded off from all of the pilots of Helsing. General Doe was satisfied with that, apparently.
“Over and out.”
The radio went silent. Bartlett eyed her instruments. Everything was nominal up in the sky, but below was a perfect example of why the term “Charlie Foxtrot” was coined. Ra’Shaad finally spoke up.
“Man, how do we even hit something we can't see? I haven't flown a night mission before. How does someone on the ground guarantee we don't blow up civilians?”
“Fucking magic,” Taylor mumbled, no hint of humor in his tone.
“He's not wrong, you know?” McCall said with a laugh. “Helsing Squadron, we’re circling the base until we have attack orders.”
“Yes, sir,” Bartlett replied, following his direction as they moved in formation.
“Not a good time for kill count, huh, Mother Goose?” Davenport asked rhetorically.
“Negative, Loudmouth.” McCall answered dully. “Maybe next time.”
“I'll take you up on that, Mother Goose. Peacemaker?”
Bartlett let the question linger for a moment. “Sure, Loudmouth. I’ll be happy to show you how to fly next time.”
“Hey, Peacemaker, I'm surprised at you! Maybe we can be friends after all!”
Bartlett smiled, but that was torn away when a call came in from below. Their first coordinates. McCall confirmed the location and guided the squadron in that direction. Bartlett began to sweat, but she'd had time to think it all over since Megacorpse. Resolve settled, she readied herself to drop her payload as they began to dive over the target area.
***
Ethan and the rest of Steffa’s unit were gathered outside near a few German YAKs. Steffa had given them orders to be ready for him there and await his official briefing on their special assignment. Now, Ethan wasn't new to the army, so he was used to the idea of volunteering for special assignments unless you'd pissed off the wrong people. It left him wondering just which had occurred. Other personnel were busy loading crates into the trucks nearby, but Ethan didn't have time to dwell on that since Steffa had just appeared from within the compound. Everyone snapped to a salute.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have the pleasure of leaving this base. Now, before you go and start celebrating, let me inform you that this is on official business. We've been entrusted with securing the Landstuhl Regional Medical Center.”
“The hospital south of her
e, sir?” one of the other soldiers asked.
“That's right. It's a valuable asset, and the infection has been reported there too.”
A chorus of swears went around. Everyone understood the implications of an infectious disease in a place where the sick resided in the first place. That many people packed into one place was bound to cause a huge problem, and fast.
“Are we the only ones going in, sir?” Ethan asked hesitantly.
“We’ll be providing backup for the German forces already on the scene. Fortunately, the hospital is military, so we have friends on the inside.”
“Understood,” Ethan replied, feeling slightly better. At least they weren’t the front line of that trouble.
“We’ll be wearing MOPP gear for the assignment. It’s already been loaded onto the YAK, so be ready to suit up on the go.”
Ethan nodded. So that’s what the crates were for. Mission Oriented Protective Posture was something he’d only worn once on his first tour of Iraq. How much protection against any toxic environment worn is determined by levels, with four being the worse-case scenario. Someone else in the unit had the same idea Ethan had.
“How much are we wearing, sir?”
Steffa looked to his questioner and frowned. “MOPP Four. Everything, people.”
Nervous glances were exchanged, but the only words spoken were a muttered, “Holy shit…”
Steffa decided to speak up before their imaginations strayed too far. “It’s our duty. Don’t let the thought of the unknown shake you. We know what awaits us. We can beat this. Now, let’s load up. It’s not a long trip south, so just focus on our mission, not on what it entails.”
Ethan looked down to his carbine, his gut seizing up with the idea of shooting people who weren’t even in a war zone. The undead were a threat, but just how did they even get into the hospital? This didn’t make sense to him, but he decided to take Steffa’s words and focus on what was to be done. They all gathered aboard the transport, where they began their short trip south.
***
Hell had been released into Ramstein. While Houseman and the other heads of the military strength were planning defenses, forces were being deployed to tackle the threat head-on as it emerged in the civilian areas. Analytics were going through every possibility, but no one had a good answer. There were no possible vectors. No birds like in Austin. No one with possession of the virus within the base. It had become the closest thing to a military state since Joint Task Force Grave Robber arrived. Why had the infection sprouted up here?
Hampton was looking over field reports when a booming voice startled him.
“General Houseman!”
General Doe had entered the operations room again, and was walking a direct path to Hampton’s superior.
“What is it, Doe?” Houseman responded, a touch of irritation in his tone.
“I’ve just received word that the German Air Force is currently prepping two squadrons of bombers from Lechfield Air Base.”
Houseman didn’t seem fazed. “And?”
“There are no confirmed reports of the undead anywhere near there. The closest places would be here and Landstuhl. I'm curious as to why they seem so distrustful of us, considering our history. This base is still here because of our alliance.”
“It is an alliance,” Houseman assured him, “otherwise we wouldn't have been given permission to move so many of our forces into their country.”
“Yet the Inspector of the Air Force didn't seem pleased with the fact that we were struggling with the undead here. That and their military is aware of the trouble in the hospital.”
Houseman crossed his arms. “What are you trying to tell me, General?”
“I'm trying to warn you,” Doe stated plainly, “that we're overstaying our welcome. Germany has suffered two terrorist attacks just today, and now they have their military playing whack-a-mole with sporadic breakouts of the virus.” Doe stepped closer to Houseman. “You know what desperation drove us to do.”
“We have nothing to worry about, General. You make sure the base is secured, and I'll worry about my mission.”
Doe gave a mocking chuckle as he began to leave the room. “Your mission is going to get us all killed, sir.”
Hampton tried to make himself look busy, but he found Houseman eying him angrily.
“Hampton!”
“Sir!”
“Find out where those planes are headed. See if Doe already has an AWACS airborne.” Houseman went back to viewing the displays, deep in thought. “I don't want any more surprises tonight.”
***
The Landstuhl Regional Medical Center was intimidating in size, and Ethan was just looking at it from a tent in the back parking lot. The design was odd, resembling a prison with mainly long, straight buildings all connected to one another with a structure that ran through all of them. Then it hit him; the entire hospital was a collection of old medical buildings connected together. They had to enter the one from the parking lot to get in, and after that it was just a maze of wards and hallways. The main structure at the center was the only place that seemed remotely modern, but bigger and fancier wasn't always better when it came to combing through everything. The thought of having to help secure such a crazy place was overwhelming, and Ethan wasn’t the only one coming to grips with the idea. The entire unit was packed inside of one of many tents set up for operations, all carrying on nervous banter or trying to get their minds on the mission. The only person missing was Captain Steffa.
Steffa had left moments before to discuss something with the checkpoint guards at the entrance while the rest of his company finished preparations. He’d been pretty cool in his briefing, and wasn’t showing any signs of concern about their purpose. It made Ethan feel pretty good about the whole thing, but the worry was still there, eating away at his nerves. It really didn’t help that their radio operator was broadcasting the infrequent transmissions from inside of the hospital.
“Ward 12A, clear.”
Ethan looked at the gas mask grasped in his hands. They were all briefed on the vectors of the virus back in the States, but that only covered bites. He doubted equipment like this would prove very effective in protecting them from teeth, but then again they didn’t know how the virus emerged in Ramstein or the hospital to begin with. If it was now airborne, then even he didn’t give the world a fighting chance. What the hell was the point of what they were doing here? They were just prolonging their suffering; everyone would suffer longer because of their efforts.
“Okay, folks! Form up!”
Ethan and the others directed their attention to their leader, who was standing in the entrance to the tent, enjoying a last cigarette as he held his gas mask in his other hand. After his last pull he flicked the butt aside and pointed around the interior.
“We’re going in through the nearest entrance. There’s a checkpoint that we’ll have to be let through, per CDC protocols. Once we’re in, we don’t come back out until the ‘all clear’ is given. Expect to be stripped of clothing and hosed down in the aftermath.” Groans were shared, which only made Steffa laugh. “Come on, people. At least then you’re through the worst of it. Now look, German and American forces inside are already going through every room and checking patients and staff. It won’t be as bad as your imaginations may have led you to believe by now. There’s much more of us than any potential deadman in there, and plenty of armed personnel to shut them down. Just stick together, and focus on screening for bites, or anything else odd.”
Ethan didn't think that speech really had the impact Steffa was hoping for. The Captain glanced about, trying to judge the atmosphere for himself. Ethan knew everyone in here had served at least one tour, but even that didn't mean you'd seen every horror of war. The undead? At least extremists stayed down when they were ripped apart by automatic gunfire. Some of them has seen this shit back home, but like many things they'd also seen in the Middle East, it didn't guarantee it would be any easier to cope.
“A
re we focusing on any part of the facility in particular?” another soldier asked. Steffa crossed his arms.
“All of the patient wards have been screened. Now it's a matter of clearing the rest of the hospital. The ICU is good, and the pharmacy and clinic are green has well. Operation wings are in the process of being cleared, and the lobby itself is being used as the temporary operations center for the forces already on the scene. The main focus for everyone is Ward 3A.”
“What's there, sir?” one of the women asked. Anticipation practically fumed from everyone as Steffa played with the mask in his hands.
“Infectious Disease.”
That didn't bode well with anyone. It should've been obvious, Ethan thought to himself, but even he didn't want to guess at the worst possible place in the entire hospital.
“Why hasn't that been cleared already?” A corporal asked aloud. “What the hell?!”
“Because…” Steffa appeared nervous as he addressed the question. Ethan and the others all waited as the despair hung over them, dropping lower every second. “Because the first team sent in never came back. Radio communications ceased about thirty minutes ago. The entrance to the ward is locked down.”
If morale was ever a question, Ethan knew it just died with that revelation. Steffa rubbed the back of his head. Ethan had to wonder just what his commander was thinking. Was he even prepared for this?
“That explains the last transmission I picked up,” their radio operator said from the table.
“We don't have confirmation on what happened. Another team is prepping to go in as we speak.”
It was Ethan’s turn to ask questions. “Sir, were there confirmed infected in that ward?”
Steffa shook his head. “No. The bulk of the people in there were from Ramstein, actually. That strain of strep throat going around filled the place up once patients started showing signs of deteriorating health. Vomiting and severe fevers had the white coats worried, so they stuck the worst of them in isolation. It's just a precaution, but they're still in there with whatever the source is. Other than that the only other patients inside are your abnormal cases of TB and other influenzas. The ward is quarantined as is without this going on, so no one gets out without approval. Still, that means anything inside is a breeding ground for the virus, so it has to be dealt with.” They all knew what that meant. There was the potential they'd be dealing with fellow soldiers. Steffa attached his gas mask to his gear and cradled his M4. “It's time, people! Finish preparations and follow me!”