Red Vengeance

by Brendan DuBois

  * * *

  I feel better as we move, the klicks passing by, the road rising some in elevation, and then there’s a honking of horns up ahead, and we pull over to both sides of the road, engines grumbling. I lean over, M-10 in hand, and Thor is panting with contentment, so I’m not concerned.

  First Sergeant Hesketh is striding down the road, talking to each vehicle as he passes, and when he gets to us, he says, “Just got a dispatch rider from Battalion,” he says. “The Captain’s reviewing the information, so everybody gets a fifteen minute break.”

  Sounds good to me, and the tailgate is lowered with a nice loud bang!, and I get out, helping Thor down, and I stretch my legs. Thor goes to the near truck tire and lifts a leg, and I say, “Keep that up, bud, and I’ll get you for damaging government property.”

  Balatnic laughs and we move about, and a couple of the guys slip into the woods to let loose, and so does one of the woman soldiers, Chang, who’s been a quiet sort since I took command.

  The minutes pass.

  I get a drink of water.

  The couple guys come back.

  I walk up to the front of the truck, look down the road. Small groups of soldiers are huddled together, sharing a smoke or a water bottle.

  Behind us the rear Stryker has maneuvered so it’s covering the road we’ve just passed, and Balatnic and two other soldiers are sitting on the broken asphalt, each taking turns rubbing Thor’s belly.

  I don’t feel right.

  The sky is partially overcast, and there’s a nice chunk of blue sky visible, which doesn’t happen that often. Usually that’s one heck of a cheery sight, but not today.

  Something is off.

  Bronson comes by, and it comes to me. “Bronson.”

  He glares at me. “Sergeant?”

  “Specialist Chang. Have you seen her?”

  He makes a point of glancing around. “Nope, I haven’t.”

  I say, “Get a detail, couple of guys heading up and down the convoy line. She’s not around.”

  “All right,” he says, and then I remember when I had seen her, walking into the woods, and I go in, and start moving quickly, it becoming dark with all of the crowded trees overhead, and I unsnap my holster, take out my 9 mm Beretta, and maybe I should have gone back and grabbed an M-4 and another soldier or two, but I want to move, and I want to move quick.

  * * *

  I don’t have far to go. I move, stop, move again, looking for colored objects, or things that have straight lines, things that don’t belong in nature. I go through the woods as quietly as I can, wishing I had Thor with me, and now I’m pretty pissed at myself, for moving too fast and not thinking things through. Some goddamn platoon leader I’m turning out to be.

  I see a flash of blue off to the left. I slow down my movements, get closer, I hear a murmur, and then silence.

  I pause, take my time moving forward, Beretta frozen rock solid in my hands, and I slide past a thick pine tree trunk, and the woods open just a bit. I can now make out BDUs, a young woman wearing a helmet. The blue I had seen earlier belonged to a pair of jeans, stretched out on the ground, being worn by someone that looked…

  That looked pretty dead.

  “Chang,” I whisper.

  She whirls around, knife in her hand. There’s blood on the knife and her hand. I step forward, looking around. She’s down on one knee. There’s an open plastic bottle of water at her side. She takes the water bottle and washes her hands, and then the knife. The man next to her isn’t moving at all, probably helped along by the severe gash in his throat. He’s bearded, maybe in his twenties or thirties, and his eyes are staring wide open in surprise.

  “You okay?”

  In a whispery voice she says, “I am now. I came out to the woods to tinkle, and I was jumped by this man and his friend.”

  With a dirty rag, she’s polishing the blade. I ask, “Where’s his friend?”

  She nods in a direction deeper into the woods. “Out there somewhere. I think I got him pretty good before he ran off.” She finishes wiping the blade and slips it back into a hidden scabbard in her right boot. “Sorry, Sergeant,” she says. “Should have been more situationally aware. Those two shouldn’t have been able to surprise me like that.”

  I slowly take in a 360-degree sweep of the area. There are broken twigs and a bent branch where it looks like someone had made a hasty retreat. “I think they got the worse of the surprise. You sure you’re okay, Chang?”

  A quick nod. “Ready to roll, Sergeant.”

  “Okay,” I say. “Head back to the convoy. I’ll be right along.”

  She looks troubled. “Can I take a minute?”

  “What for?”

  She nods at the dead man on the ground. “I still haven’t peed yet.”

  * * *

  I move ahead slowly, making sure I take everything in, and on a couple of branches, there’s fresh blood, so Chang had in fact paid back her second attacker. Good for her. I just want to follow the blood trail for a couple of minutes, see where it leads, see if these two have any friends or companions out there, companions with weapons who might start heading to the convoy to exact revenge.

  But I’m surprised at how quick it all concludes. The woods end at a hayfield, and up at the top of a rise is a nice house that was probably worth a hell of a lot when it was first built, more than a decade ago. Two full stories, exposed brick and stone, nice windows, nice shingles, two big stone chimneys and either end of the house. There’s also a big attached garage, and in the rear yard, an empty swimming pool, some playground equipment, and what looks to be a big powerboat on a trailer, covered with a torn tarp, the wheels of the trailer flattened into the ground. A couple of outbuildings have been built—post-war, of course—and there’s a fenced-in area where some chickens are rooting around.

  Oh, and at the end of the woods, another bearded man, sitting still, hands over his chest, breathing ragged, blood seeping through his fingers.

  I squat down in front of him. Behind his thick beard his skin is graying out. He notices me and says, “I’m hurt bad.”

  “I can tell.”

  “Will…will you help me? You’re Army. You’ve got medics and shit.”

  “Tell me what happened back there, and I’ll see what I can do.”

  He coughs. Frothy blood is coating his lips. “I’m…I’m hurt…”

  “You’re repeating yourself, and we don’t have much time. What happened back there?”

  He closes his eyes and I think he’s about to pass out, but he rallies and says, “My brother Rick. He comes runnin’ in. Says a convoy stopped by. Says we should check it out…We get there…See this cute Chink chick…all by herself…all by herself…”

  Another ragged cough. “It’s been so long…you know? The two of us…our parents were in Europe when the bugs attacked…just the two of us…and…it’s been a long time…”

  “So you thought you’d have a little fun with the young girl?”

  He closes his eyes, grimaces. “C’mon…you’re a guy…it’s been…it’s been a real long time…”

  I stand up, holster my pistol. His eyes are wide open. I say, “You got neighbors that’ll check in on your farm if they don’t see you or your brother walking around?”

  “Yeah…at some point…Shit, man, I hurt…will you help me?”

  I reach over, pat the top of his head. “I’m right on it,” I say, and I walk away.

  * * *

  At the convoy there’s still not much going on, but Specialist Chang is there, and so is First Sergeant Hesketh, and he says to me, “Captain’s compliments, Sergeant Knox, but you and the other two platoon leaders are wanted by the captain.” He points up to the end of the convoy line and says, “About ten meters from the lead Stryker, head to the left. Overgrown driveway, leads to a barn. Inside you’ll find the captain.”

  “Thanks, First Sergeant.”

  He sees Chang’s face and mine, and says, “Anything going on I should know about?”
/>   Chang looks a bit concerned, and I say, “Strictly routine, First Sergeant. Strictly routine.”

  I grab my M-10 and head out.

  * * *

  I walk up the cracked roadway and Thor decides to break away from having his belly scratched some more, and we pass by the troops and parked Humvees and trucks, and Thor looks pretty damn pleased with himself as a few more bacon pieces are tossed his way, and he manages to catch every single one of them in the air.

  “Show off,” I mutter, and he gives me a look as if to say, hey bud, I’m getting treated like the hero I am, what’s your problem?

  As Hesketh said, there’s an overgrown driveway, the paved asphalt torn up and cracked, chunks missing, grass and bush growing through. The driveway ends in a gravel lot, and there’s a huge barn before me, paint peeling, main door open. Captain Wallace’s Humvee is there, and besides the barn, that’s about it, just fields of hay rolling around on either side and to the rear. Her driver is standing by the driver’s side mirror, scraping his face—or pretending to shave, I can’t really tell—and I ask, “Where’s Captain Wallace?”

  He shrugs. “In the barn.”

  “And where’s Specialist Coulson? And her brother?”

  “Sorry, Sarge, they went for a walk with Corporal Miller.”

  I walk past the grooming soldier, check out the gloom of the barn’s interior. “Where there? I don’t see anybody.”

  “Go a little deeper, Sergeant,” he murmurs, scraping some soap off his left cheek. “You’ll find a ladder to the left. Start climbing. You’ll trip right over her, I promise.”

  Inside the barn there’s a smell of old hay and fuel. There are two John Deere tractors, back to back, their green and yellow paint scheme still pretty bright under dust and bird poop, but the tires are gone and it looks like some nests have been built in the exposed engines. Thor is behind me but when he spots the ladder and sees me start climbing, M-10 over my shoulder, he whimpers and lies down on the hay-strewn wooden floor.

  “Oh, so now you’re not so brave,” I say. “Fair enough, take a nap. You probably need one after eating all that damn bacon.”

  He doesn’t disagree and I start up the wooden ladder. It’s worn, shaky, and the wooden rungs creak as I go up, and my heart just ups its beat a bit, because I’ve never really liked heights that much. I feel pretty good when the ladder ends at a loft, and I can get off.

  And I do that, and there’s no one around.

  Damn.

  A ways down is another ladder, and now I hear voices. I walk over, wood creaking even more, and I go up the ladder, and thank God it’s shorter, but Wallace’s driver is right, I practically trip over Wallace as I get to the end of the ladder.

  We’re all in tight quarters, with me, Wallace, Dad, and Lieutenants Jackson and Morneau. It looks like we’re in a steeple—cupola, maybe?—of this barn, and the slats here have been punched out. The wooden floor is practically white and gray from all the bird droppings, and Wallace takes notice of me and says, “We have a situation here, Sergeant Knox. Care to take a look?”

  “Certainly, ma’am,” I say, and I elbow my way in and look out the opening. Damn, we’re high. I swallow and take a good look of the countryside. I can barely make out the state highway we’re on, and then the landscape drops away, a whole bunch of trees and green, and a few roofs nearby. In the distance—and it’s hard to judge, maybe ten or so klicks to the northeast—there are two billowing clouds of black and gray smoke.

  Wildfire.

  Or Creeper sign.

  Or probably both.

  Wallace says, “What do you think, Sergeant Knox?”

  “Can I see a map, Captain?”

  “Absolutely.”

  She passes over an old U.S. Geological Survey map of the area, and it’s been folded over and clipped to a metal clipboard. I take a couple of moments to puzzle it out, to see the state highway we’re on, compare it to the small hill to the left, and the taller peak to the right, and further to the west, there seems to be a river. I say, “The smoke’s coming from this state highway and Morristown Road.”

  “Very good,” Wallace says. “Go on.”

  I look to the map again, see where the roads converge, where they departed from, and I say, “Creepers are attacking on both of these roads, and it looks like they’re headed this way. They’re cutting off our approach to Battalion headquarters.”

  “Good again,” she says. “More?”

  More? What more could I say? I was just a sergeant, a newly minted platoon leader, and I’m not used to being the center of attention with two lieutenants, a captain, and a colonel, even if the colonel happens to be my dad.

  “Sergeant,” she says, voice sharp. “Time’s wasting. We’re here, the Creepers are out there. What do we do? Attack? Retreat? Hide?”

  Hide? That’s not what the Army does. Attack? Two Creepers—at least—moving in a pincer position, ready to assist the other and force us to split our already thinned-out ranks.

  Retreat?

  No.

  “Regroup,” I say, handing over the topo map to the captain. “My…Colonel Knox has indicated there’s an Air Force installation nearby, hopefully within driving distance. We go there, regroup, rearm and take some down time.”

  There’s silence in the tiny quarters, and Lieutenant Jackson grinds his jaw, takes a pair of binoculars, looks at the plumes of smoke. I think I know what he’s thinking. Kara’s Killers don’t run.

  Wallace gives me a funny look, and then catches Dad’s attention. “Some smart boy, you got there,” she says, handing the topo map and clipboard to Morneau. “Because that’s exactly what we’re going to do.”

  I half-expect Dad to look happy or triumphant, but he looks scared, which in turn scares me. He’s usually one cool and calm guy, under all circumstances, but something else seems to be going on.

  “Lieutenant Jackson, your binoculars, if you please,” she says.

  “Ma’am.”

  He hands them over and she brings them up to her eyes, focuses just a bit. “There you are…two Creepers, maybe two columns, on a move, heading this way. Colonel?”

  “Captain?”

  “Creepers have attacked large units in the field before, taking aggressive maneuvers if they feel threatened, like when we’ve moved division strength units close to their Domes. Or they’ll attack targets of opportunity when they’re out in the field, doing whatever it is that’s so damn important to them. But this…”

  She turns her head away from the binoculars. “It looks like they’re responding to us, to my company. Ever since that horse farm disaster, they’ve either been chasing us, blocking us by dropping that bridge, or prepping for an ambush. You’re in intelligence. Am I making sense?”

  Dad speaks carefully. “It certainly seems that way, Captain.”

  “Hunh.” She turns back to the outside, binoculars to her eyes again, and she starts murmuring. “Why are you damn bugs so pissed off at me? Did I insult your queen? Kill a member of the royal family? Or are you still pissed at that ‘eat shit and die’ comment? Hey, that wasn’t my fault…but still, I bet you don’t care. Damn.”

  A pause, and she speaks again in the same murmur. “Why are you after me and my troops?”

  Then she lowers the binoculars and her voice is crisp and louder. “All right. Everybody down to the ground. Colonel Knox, give my driver and the other lead drivers directions to this Air Force installation. Platoon leaders, make sure everyone’s ready to head out. Time for us to ask the Air Force for help, as much as it pains me.”

  So we head down the ladders, and Wallace being the good officer that she is, climbs down last.

  Chapter Sixteen

  We’re moving again, and I’m hoping that this Air Force place has hot showers, food, and at least a cot to sleep in, because my butt is seriously dragging.

  I make sure my platoon is in the transport truck, all squared away, and I help Thor up into the rear, and remember I need to do something. I walk around
and go forward to the cab, grab a side-view mirror stanchion and haul myself up.

  “Hey,” I say to the driver. “Sorry about the other day, when I pulled my pistol on you.”

  The young soldier just looks at the dials and then over the steering wheel, which he can barely do. “Sergeant?”

  “Yes?”

  “Get the hell back where you belong, okay?”

  “Okay,” I say, for what else is there to say?

  I go around and I haul myself up in the rear of the truck. K Company reverses course and the lead Stryker—with its Creeper main arthropod head out forward—goes off, followed by an up-armored Humvee, and then Wallace’s Humvee, and I strain to look and I think I see Serena sitting in the back, but I’m not sure. With a belch and a bellow, our platoon truck makes a three-point turn and heads along, and Bronson—sitting two up from me—shakes his head and says, “Kara’s Killers, running. Never thought I’d see that.”

  Bronson looks right at me, like he’s daring me to say something, but I don’t rise the occasion.

  “Running,” Bronson says, swaying back and forth as our truck hits a bump. “Ever since we met you, Sergeant Knox, and the rest of those oddballs—including your daddy dearest—we’ve been screwed from the get-go. Ambushed twice, lost some good people, running around in circles, and now we can’t even get back to Battalion.”

  De Los Santos says, “Lighten up, Bronson. It’s just a retrograde motion, just like in the book. We’re not running.”

  Bronson glares at him. “Call it what you like. I call it running.”

  I sense the rest of the diminished platoon is paying very strict attention to this little playlet, so I decide I have to step in and take my part in the action.

  “Sergeant Bronson?”

  “Yeah?” he sneers.

  “If you like, I can get you off this truck, maybe get you as a driver in one of the Humvees,” I say, slow and steady. “That way, you can drive and set your own path, and if you don’t like where Captain Wallace is sending the company, if you think in all of your experience and knowledge you can do a better job, well, you could drive ahead and do just that.”