by David Spell
After those structures were cleared, Tim’s voice came over the radio, “Reserve to CDC One, exterior buildings are secure. Request permission to assist units in the high-rise.”
Chuck smiled to himself. He knew that the warriors wanted to be in the middle of the fighting and was surprised that they had waited this long to ask to go in. It was a testimony to their understanding of the tactical situation. Tim and Tom recognized the importance of having a force held in reserve in case other units ran into trouble and needed backup.
“CDC One to Reserve. Permission granted. Make contact with SEAL One when you get inside and find out where you can be put to work.”
“Reserve is clear.”
It took over three more hours before the scene was declared secure. Floor-by-floor, apartment-by-apartment, room-by-room, the warriors worked through the tall building. Many of the floors were unoccupied, but they still had to be carefully searched. Most of the cartel members inside their headquarters chose to shoot it out with the SEALs, SAS commandos, or the CDC Agents. The results were the same, their bullet-riddled bodies now lying in living rooms, doorways, corridors, and stairwells.
The mixed force of military and federal law enforcement completely overwhelmed the cartel soldiers. The Americans owned the darkness, as each member of the attacking force wore night vision goggles. The gangsters had no such luxury and were forced to fire blindly, hoping to hit something.
Two of the SEALs received minor wounds as bullets struck their body armor. One of the CDC Agents from Washington, D.C., LeMarcus Wade took a round to the head, his ballistic helmet saving his life. Wade was knocked to the ground and was unconscious for a few seconds, but quickly climbed to his feet and continued fighting, even though he was still slightly groggy.
Only twenty-eight of the Latino gangsters and six of the African-Americans surrendered of their own volition. These were secured with flex-cuffs and duct tape, then blindfolded and gagged. They were scattered up and down the tall building, the team leaders recording in a notebook where they had been left.
The sky over Atlanta began to lighten, the sun slowly making it’s climb in the eastern sky. By 0700 hours it was daylight, and at 0820 hours Andy’s voice came over the radio, “CDC Two to CDC One, we’ve linked up with SEAL One. The building is secure. How do you want us to proceed with getting the hostages and the prisoners out?”
“Have Reserve escort the victims down and the rest of you figure out a way to get the prisoners to the lobby. Maybe we can find the generator and crank it up so you can use the elevator? Those clowns were using it a lot.”
“Marine One to CDC One, one of my Marines is an engineer. I can have him attempt to locate and get the generator going.”
“CDC One clear. I’ll be on the ground in a few. Well done, gentleman.”
Major Singleton dropped McCain off at the medevac point, and then lifted off again to provide air support for the ground units. A humvee was waiting for him, Kevin Clark seated behind the wheel. The colonel nodded at Chuck as he got into the passenger seat.
“I left Thompson and Whitmer at the intersection. I figured you deserved a ride. Good work getting Corona. Were you able to interrogate him?”
McCain glanced over at the former Army Ranger and shrugged. “Not really. I tried but he wasn’t very talkative. It didn’t matter because he had the virus with him in the humvee.”
Chuck had left the padded bag in Major Singleton’s helicopter for safekeeping. The CDC agent didn’t elaborate any further on his time with the cartel leader and Clark didn’t press it. Corona was dead and as far as Kevin was concerned, he didn’t care if McCain had executed the bastard on the side of the road. The bio-terror weapon was back in the hands of the good guys, meeting one of their primary objectives.
Kevin dropped Chuck off in front of the building, next to the undamaged LAV where Gunnery Sergeant Gray stood, dried blood on his face. The right sleeve of his fatigue jacket had been cut open, bloody gauze wrapped around his bicep. Gray was clearly in pain, but he continued to cover the front of the building, his M-16 braced against the side of the armored vehicle.
McCain held his hand out to the Marine. “I’m sorry about your men, Gunny. You guys fought like hell, and I’m not sure we could’ve done this without you.”
Gray took the offered hand and nodded at the men around him. “Thanks. They’re good Marines. Have you heard anything from the base hospital?”
“No, but I’ll give them a call on the SAT phone in a few. How bad were they hurt?”
“Four wounded. The two most serious were a round to the head and another guy took one to the throat. I doubt they’ll make it,” he commented, shaking his head. “The others both caught rounds in their legs.”
“What about you?” Chuck asked, nodding at the Marine’s bandaged arm.
The Marine looked offended that McCain would even mention such a minor gunshot wound. “This is nothing. I’ve hurt myself worse in training. What about the guys who shot my Marines? Did you get them?”
“There were four of them in that humvee, including the cartel leader, Antonio Corona. They’re all very dead.”
The Marine non-com looked into Chuck’s face and gave a slight smile. “Well, that’s good to hear.”
“Air One to CDC One.” The drone pilot’s voice sounded excited and McCain got the feeling that he wasn’t going to like what he had to say.
“CDC One, go ahead.”
CDC One, you’ve got several groups of infected converging on your location.”
“How many and which direction are they coming from?”
There was a pause. “Sir, they’re coming from every direction. I’m estimating close to a thousand. They’re moving pretty slow but they’re coming your way. I’m guessing all the gunfire finally got their attention.”
Chuck had three quick pictures flash through his mind. The first was from his and Elizabeth’s recent sprint through the forest being pursued by hundreds of Zs, the feeling that they were going to die still vivid in his memory. A second image popped up, this one of McCain, the CDC agents and a small group of law enforcement officers being overrun by a pack of several thousand Zs near the Atlanta Braves stadium. One of his men, Luis García, had been killed along with so many others.
The third picture was of that terrible day on the University of Georgia campus when Rebecca Johnson had been mortally wounded. Afterwards, the CDC agents had killed as many of the zombies as they could, even entering the stadium where thousands of infected were feasting on fresh victims. Chuck had barely survived that day, as well.
Gray heard the radio traffic and saw the dark shadow pass over McCain’s face. Then just as quickly as it came, it was gone and the big man took charge.
“CDC One to Air One. Distance and ETA?”
“The closest group is coming from the north, down Peachtree Road. They’re a mile out. I’m estimating three to four hundred, all coming from the Lenox Mall area where you were earlier. Plan on them arriving in thirty minutes.
“The others are similar sized groups, most a couple of miles away. The second closest group is a couple of hundred. I’d say you’ve got forty-minutes to an hour before they show up.”
“CDC One to November Golf One and Alpha Foxtrot One, are you both clear on that radio traffic?”
“Roger, what are your orders?” Colonel Clark asked.
“I’m clear,” Major Singleton answered.
“Alpha Foxtrot One, you and the other two air support units are weapons free. Air One will guide you to the packs of Zs and I want you to kill them all. Minimize property damage as much as you can, but eliminate those Zs.”
“Alpha Foxtrot One, roger.”
“November Golf One, we’ve got your three hummers and one mobile LAV. The first group is coming right at you. Hold your position but let’s use the vehicles to take out any stragglers that manage to sneak past Alpha Foxtrot One’s guns.”
“Roger, we’re on it,” Clark acknowledged.
“CDC O
ne to all units. Secure the prisoners in the lobby and leave two guards with them. If anybody tries to escape, shoot them. Put the hostages wherever you think is safe. Leave them a few weapons, just in case. Everyone else, reload and let’s get ready to kill some zombies!”
McCain stepped off to the side, pulled out his satellite phone, and dialed Admiral Williams.
“Hello, Mr. McCain, it’s good to hear from you.”
“I’m assuming you’re watching the video feed from the drone and have been monitoring our radio traffic?”
“That’s correct. You and your men have done an excellent job. Something happened with the video, though, when you were trying to take Antonio Corona into custody. There’s a big chunk of footage that we don’t have. I’m assuming he is no longer with us?”
“Yes, sir,” Chuck smiled, realizing that Williams had probably had the drone crew delete the footage of him feeding the cartel leader to the zombies. “He was shot trying to escape, but, as you heard, I did recover the virus.”
“Outstanding work! What do you need now?”
“More transport. We’ve got the forty-three women we rescued and thirty-four prisoners. As soon as we deal with the zombies that have us surrounded, we’ll be ready to pull out. Also, one of the Marine LAVs is damaged and we’ll need to make arrangements to get it back to the air base.”
“Let me know when you want the transport enroute. I’ve got a Chinook waiting on the tarmac just outside. There are twelve FBI agents and eighteen army Rangers in the helicopter. They’ll be relieving you and cleaning up the scene. We should be able to get all of your people out of there in two trips, plus Colonel Clark’s vehicles and the operable LAV will be driving out.”
“Yes, sir,” Chuck said, wondering to himself where the additional personnel had come from. The admiral had told him that there were no other troops or law enforcement available for their operation. He would definitely ask him about that later.
“One more thing, Admiral, can I get a status report on those casualties that were brought in?”
McCain heard Williams sigh. “I’m sorry. One of the Marines was DOA and another died in surgery. The other two are in stable condition.”
“Thanks for letting me know, sir. I’ll pass it on to Gunny Gray.”
Buckhead, Atlanta, Wednesday, 0910 hours
As it turned out, air superiority won the day. The drone pilot guided Major Singleton and the other two Pave Hawks to the closest pack of zombies, the group shuffling south on Peachtree Road on a collision course with the recently liberated Buckhead neighborhood. The major maneuvered into position, hovering at five hundred feet, this time allowing Corporal Baker to go first. The crewman triggered a short burst at the lead Zs, making sure the gun was operating correctly.
The 7.62mm rounds ripped the first several zombies apart. Every fifth round was a tracer, allowing Baker to see exactly were his bullets were impacting. The corporal began firing longer bursts, starting at the front of the large group of infected and working towards the rear. The Zs were spread across the five-lane road as they meandered south, and Baker moved the muzzle slightly as he fired, mowing them down.
Soon, the barrels of the minigun were spinning empty, the two thousand rounds of ammo used up, over half of the zombies eliminated. Singleton swung the helicopter around so that Sergeant Thomas could bring his minigun into play. In two minutes, the rest of the Zs had been blown apart by the sergeant’s accurate fire.
The drone crew gave the coordinates for the next closest group and the second Air Force helicopter made quick work of them. The process was repeated for the next forty minutes. Air One then had the Pave Hawks circle around to each area once more, eliminating stragglers.
At 1005hrs, the area was pronounced clear and everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Chuck called Admiral Williams and requested that the Chinook head their way. He then ordered his men to prepare the rescued hostages and their prisoners to leave.
The Rangers were the first ones off the big helicopter where a squad of Marines waited to escort them and the FBI agents from the grocery store parking lot to the scene of the battle. A burly Ranger captain looked McCain over as they shook hands in front of what had been the cartel HQ. Chuck introduced him to Andy and Scotty, letting them walk the soldiers and federal agents through the area of the shootout.
The agents from the Federal Bureau of Investigation were clearly unhappy with being dumped into the middle of Atlanta to serve as a cleanup squad for a much less prestigious federal agency such as the CDC Enforcement Division. One of the newcomers, however, had a mission of her own. Special Agent Maria Sanchez’s camera hung from a strap next to the M4 rifle across her chest. She was designated to take photos of the bodies and the scene as she and her teammates cleaned it up.
What none of her colleagues suspected, however, was that she also planned to snap a few photos of the shooters who were responsible for this massacre. She knew that the Tijuana Cartel would want payback and this was one way that she could repay the debt that she owed them. Maria saw bodies scattered all around the high-rise building and her team had been told that almost a hundred and fifty dead gang members were both inside and outside the tall edifice, as well as the two smaller structures on either side, and other locations within a two-block radius.
A tall, muscular figure wearing black was having a conversation with one of the Rangers with whom she had flown in with. Two other men, one even taller and bigger with a bushy beard, the other shorter and wiry, flanked the first man. They were similarly dressed in black BDUs, the words ‘Police’ stitched across their backs. Those must be some of the CDC agents, Sanchez realized. The others clearly deferred to the muscular man.
Maria raised her camera to take a picture of the front of the Peachtree Summit Luxury Condominiums. She shifted her angle slightly and snapped several photos of the CDC officers. Uncle Pepe will be able to find out who they are, she thought. His influence goes very deep.
The soldiers and the feds were tasked with bagging bodies and securing all the weapons on the scene. The body bags, the recovered firearms, along with the soldiers and FBI agents, would be removed the next day. A repair team would be sent from Dobbins for the damaged LAV, along with a Marine security element. They would arrive later in the day on Wednesday.
By 1120 hours, McCain had released Clark’s National Guard humvees and the operational LAV. The rescued women were already at Dobbins Air Force Base, being checked and treated by the medical staff. The Chinook had returned to Buckhead and was just lifting into the air with the prisoners and several Marines to guard them. The two Pave Hawks touched down and took on the SEALS, the SAS, and Tim and Tom.
Major Singleton’s helicopter was the last ride out. When she landed, McCain let his CDC team board ahead of him. The big police officer took a final look around, making sure they hadn’t left anyone behind before climbing into the helicopter with his men.
“Is that it, Agent McCain?” Singleton asked.
“Yes, ma’am, mission accomplished. Do you have any beer at the base? I think this calls for a drink.”
“As a matter of fact, we do. Beer and maybe even something stronger.”
“Well, then, let’s get back to Dobbins!” Chuck said, with a smile.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Change is Here to Stay
Dobbins Air Force Base, Marietta, Georgia, Thursday, 0850 hours
The shooters and their support team had been allowed to eat, rest, and clean their weapons Wednesday afternoon and evening. Thursday morning, the debriefing would begin in ten minutes. McCain was hoping to be back with Beth, and to have his team reunited with their loved ones, by Thursday afternoon. The warriors had finished breakfast and were moving towards one of the empty hangars to start their meeting.
Chuck held his coffee cup under the spout of the large urn in the front of the base dining hall. Scotty Smith walked up behind him, also holding an empty mug.
“Hey, Scotty,” Chuck greeted his friend. “I haven’t gotten t
o talk to you and Andy and the rest of the guys, but great work yesterday.”
Smith nodded his thanks, more subdued than normal.
McCain turned and started to go, but something was off with the big former Army Ranger.
“You OK, Scotty?”
“I don’t know, Chuck. I’ve got a lot of stuff whirling around in my head.”
“What kind of stuff?” McCain asked, sipping his coffee.
Smith took a deep breath, held it, and then let it out. The bearded man glanced over at his boss and shrugged. “Like I’m wondering if I should ask Emily to marry me.”
Chuck nodded and gave a slight smile. “So, killing a bunch of bad guys and rescuing a big group of hostages has got you thinking about marriage?”
Scotty laughed. “I know it sounds strange, but no one’s ever accused me of being normal. When we were with Melanie’s in-laws a couple of weeks ago, and Elizabeth told us how you guys met and fell in love, I saw Emily keep looking over at me, like she was hoping I’d take the hint or something.
“Man, I was impressed with you breaking in and killing those four kidnappers, especially the part where you had to beat that one guy to death. Good stuff! But, Em was more into the whole love story part of the rescue.
“I’ve been thinking about it and what impressed me the most was the fact that you were brave enough to ask Elizabeth to marry you. I mean, these are crazy times that we’re living in, but you still went for it. I really love Emily and think I need to follow your lead.”
McCain grinned at his friend and slapped him on the shoulder. “I think you should. Emily’s a keeper and she actually seems loves you.”