I bite my tongue. A young soldier bursts out of the stairwell, runs over to Wallace, offers her a sloppy salute and a small leather dispatch bag. She reads what’s in there, scribbles something on the end and says to the soldier, “What’s it like out there?”
“Panic city, ma’am,” he says. “Refugees on the move, rumors that the Creepers are coming down here to scorch everything in sight. Pretty tough. Some of the back roads…pretty damn crowded. Almost had my motorcycle knocked over and stolen from me.”
Wallace nods, puts the message back into the bag, hands it over. “Sorry, Zeke. I need you to go back. But take a few minutes to rest up. There’s some coffee brewing downstairs.”
Zeke snaps off another flabby salute. “Thanks for the offer, ma’am, but I’m gonna get out there and get my job done. I’ll catch up to you when I can.”
“All right,” she says. “Go.”
He runs back and I look to the south once more. The lights are brighter, meaning the Creepers are coming closer.
“Captain Wallace,” I say.
“What is it?”
“Ma’am—” I start, and then freeze. Except for Thor, every sentient being on this old rooftop is looking straight at me. “Ma’am, this isn’t right. We’re being chased, and I understand that, but the civilians…they’re paying the price. The longer we”—and I was going to say “retreat” before I caught myself—“remain mobile like this, the more casualties the civilians are going to suffer.”
Lips pursed, she says, “I’m very well aware of that. Sergeant. What do you suggest?”
“We find a redoubt, someplace secure. Set up defensive positions. Wait for the Creepers to arrive, take them on while reinforcements come. That way, we cut down on any collateral damage hitting the local population.”
The two lieutenants suddenly have a lot of interest in their feet, for that’s where they’re looking. The first sergeant looks away as well. I have a feeling that once again, I Have Stepped In It, and I don’t care.
More flashes of light. Definitely coming closer. Between what I’ve just said and seeing the approaching Creeper sign, I’m feeling very alone and exposed. Wallace purses her lips, checks out the map and says, “They teach you a lot back there, at Fort St. Paul?”
I don’t know what she’s getting at, so I decide to take the safe approach and just answer: “They try.”
“Mostly military related?”
“Mostly,” I reply, “although with my age, there’s other stuff as well. English. Math. Geometry. Old geography, since we still don’t have a clear picture of what the current geography is. But unless Dad gets word back to school, I’ll probably flunk this semester and have to go to summer school.”
Hesketh is smiling widely, so I add, “That depends, of course, on whether I ever get back to Fort St. Paul. Or get picked up by the provost marshal.”
Wallace slides her clipboard and map under her right arm. “As long as you’re with me, leading First Platoon, don’t worry about the provost marshal. And about your schooling…They must be doing something right.”
“Ma’am?” I ask.
“Maybe you are officer material, Knox, because that’s exactly what we’re going to do,” she says, now slightly smiling. “Hunker down, fight the Creepers, protect the local population, and wait for reinforcements.”
* * *
We make a wide and fast-moving loop north on Route 30, and then head west to Route 127, going through a sparsely populated and rural area of what’s now Fulton County, passing through the mostly abandoned village of Gloversville. We travel in groups, stopping and starting, going underneath tree cover when we can, moving in spurts and traveling side by side, all in an attempt to dodge any incoming fire from the killer stealth satellites. The drivers for K Company—including the poor young guy I stuck a pistol into the other day—are practiced at this, and we reach our destination in just under an hour.
The rain has finally stopped as we reach the Peck Hill State Forest, and through some slow going and backtracking, the lead Stryker finds an overgrown dirt road that leads up an incline. We’re all back as one unit now, and I keep my seat as our truck belches and maneuvers its way along with the other vehicles. Branches whip at our faces and I’m envious of Thor, who’s lying down on the floorboards, dodging the slapping branches and leaves.
The vegetation starts to thin out, and then the narrow dirt road swings to the right, and we’re going up a hill now, mostly bare rock and gravel.
The road goes up and up, and then widens out onto a parking lot, still populated by low brush and grass. The convoy’s vehicles split off, and right above the parking lot is a small building that looks like it’s a log cabin, and behind that, a fire tower, reaching up into the soggy sky.
The truck shudders to a halt, and we all get out, into the afternoon sky and underneath the clouds. I take a gander at what’s what, and it seems like we’re on top of a hill, with clear fields of fire all around, and with a good view that means we’ll have a sweet chance of seeing any approaching Creeper come our way.
I pick up my battle pack and M-10, know I have to check in with Wallace to see what she wants. Balatnic stops me and says, “What do you think, Sergeant?”
“I think this is a good, defensible place to wait for reinforcements,” I say. “And I’m tired of being chased.”
She looks like she still needs to be convinced. “I hope we don’t have to stay here long.”
“Me neither,” I say, heading off to meet Wallace, and I’m pretty sure none of us expect what will happen next, what future military historians—if such a thing would still exist—would call the famed last stand of K Company, First Battalion, 14th Army Regiment, also known as “Kara’s Killers.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Wallace is issuing orders when I reach her, standing outside of her command Humvee. I step up, Thor following, as she says, “Knox, I want you and First to set up defensive lines about ten meters down the slope starting from that tree”—she points “—to that rock shaped like an apple. Morneau, you take the Second, move in an arc from that rock, over to…let’s say right off to the right edge of that little cabin. Jackson, you and you Third Platoon take the rest.”
We all acknowledge and she says, “First Sergeant, that little cabin is going to be our C.P. and first aid station. Grab a detail and have them start piling up dirt and rocks along the side. Wouldn’t be nice for the Creepers to torch it once they get here. Lieutenant Jackson.”
“Ma’am.”
“That fire tower.”
He looks over at it. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Drop it.”
A heartbeat. “Ma’am?”
“You heard me,” she says. “Drop it. Demolish it. Remove it from my sight. But make sure you don’t hit the cabin.”
Morneau says, “Captain, it could be useful as an OP.”
She turns. “Really? You want to put someone up there, exposed? A perfect target? Nope. Lieutenant Jackson, once you drop it, take one of the six by sixes, see if you can drag it down one of the slopes. It’d make a nice barrier. First Sergeant.”
“Ma’am.”
She moves her head around and checks out the small, flat and rocky plateau we’re on. “Too exposed for our vehicles. Offload equipment, stores and everything else we need, and then tell the drivers to scram. Make sure Vee’s kid and Hernandez are evacuated as well. Have them set up a hidden rally point where they can see us signal. Set up a flare system for a recall, once reinforcements arrive and we can redeploy.”
Hesketh doesn’t like it. “Even the Strykers?”
“Especially the Strykers,” she says. “There’s no place up here to conceal them. And they can shepherd the trucks and the Humvees. Got it?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. Morneau and Knox, get to work. Jackson, get that fire tower down.”
So we all get to work.
* * *
With my platoon following, we go down the slope as ordered, and lucky f
or us, the soil here isn’t that rocky, so we can start digging foxholes. I’d rather dig a trenchline, but we don’t have the personnel and we definitely don’t have the time. I pace off where we would be hooking up on either side to Second and Third Platoon, and I have them dig holes about three meters apart. I join in to help one of the youngest soldiers, a twelve-year-old boy called Meerson, whose face is pale and who keeps on looking down the hillside, like he expects the Creepers to pop out at any second.
“Hey,” I say.
“Sergeant?”
“I’ve been in this here Army for about four years,” I say. “Captain Wallace knows what she’s doing. Just do your job, that’s all.”
“But Sergeant…”
I dump another load of dirt in front of us. Thor is on his side, panting gently, just watching these silly humans dig holes.
“Go ahead.”
He leans over, whispers. “Back at that old horse farm, by the two Creeper Domes, when they attacked…I pissed myself. When we got out, I fell in a stream on purpose, so no one would know. I’m scared I’m gonna do it again, and there’s no stream up here.”
I dig down deep again. “Don’t worry. Ninety percent of the people on the line will admit they’ve pissed themselves at one time or another, and the other ten percent are lying.”
When I’m happy with the depth and width of the hole that we’re in, I get out and start checking the other foxholes as well. I’m standing next to De Los Santos when there’s a shout, “Fire in the hole! Fire in the hole! Heads down!”
I drop to the ground, curve my arms around my helmet, and De Los Santos is right next to me, and there’s a rapid fire sound of explosions—blam-blam-blam-blam—and a creaking sound. I lift up my head. The fire tower is canting to one side, and then picks up speed, and it hits the ground with a nice loud metallic bang, the upper wooden platform collapsing in a pile of broken lumber and asphalt shingles.
De Los Santos says, “One hell of a ride.”
He picks up his entrenching tool, goes back to his foxhole. Vehicles up here on the gravel parking lot start to head down the slope, except for one 6x6 truck that backs up to where the fire tower has hit the ground.
A sergeant from Second Platoon comes by and says, “Captain Wallace’s orders, make sure you set up firing stakes at ten meters, twenty-five meters, and fifty meters.”
I dispatch Meerson and another private to do just that, and I watch them as they pace off the distances, and then push lengths of wood into the dirt, tying off bright orange tape at the top to give us a reference when the Creepers attack.
Yeah. Not if.
When.
* * *
Lieutenant Jackson is busy with the crumpled fire tower, but I meet up with Lieutenant Morneau, and she nods. “Good job snuggling up to my platoon. Don’t want to leave any gaps in the line.”
“Neither do I,” I say.
The last truck is now heading out, and I watch with a little tremor of fear, seeing the dust cloud roll up as it disappears from view.
Stuck. Abandoned. No transport.
“Part of being ‘Kara’s Killers’ is about being mobile, hitting the Creepers and then zipping out,” Morneau says. “Here…we’re trapped.”
“Captain says reinforcements are coming.”
“Officers always say help is coming. It’s in their nature. Still, nice to know we’ll be taking the heat off the civvies in this area…Look over there, Sergeant.”
She points to the southwest, where mostly there’s tree cover, but up in the lower banks of the clouds there are more insistent flashes of light, representing Creeper fire.
“There’s a shitstorm coming this way,” she says. “I respect and trust Captain Wallace to the moon and back, but we’re in for one hell of a fight.”
* * *
Thor is bouncing around some, sniffing and getting attention from other soldiers. I go up to the top of the plateau, to the log cabin. Dirt and rocks are being shoveled up along the sides, and I pitch in for a few minutes, until Wallace steps out and sees me, and says, “Morneau and Jackson?”
“With their platoons, ma’am.”
“Your foxholes set up?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Let’s go take a look.”
She moves with me down the slope and checks each foxhole, nodding with satisfaction in seeing that I’ve paired a soldier with an M-10 with a soldier with an M-4.
We move to the right, where we’re butting up against Second Platoon, and there’s a stretch of the hill here where the rock drops off at a sheer cliff. Wallace carefully peers over and says, “Nice break for a change. Doubt the Creepers will be able to climb up here. Still, make sure there’s someone nearby, keeping watch.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
At the Second Platoon line, she nods in satisfaction again at seeing how Lieutenant Morneau and her platoon have used the wreckage of the fire tower to build barriers lower down the slope, heading off to the right.
“Nicely done,” she says. “I like it. With the cliff to the left and that trash to the right, you’ve set up a nice killing zone, make the damn bugs bunch up and come through here. You’ve got enough M-10s and rounds?”
“For now, ma’am, we do,” she says, nodding, strong arms folded. “They try to climb up here, we’ll pile up those bugs five or six deep, just you watch.”
She slaps her on the shoulder. “Don’t be so greedy, Amy. We want to share and share alike, right?”
A kindergarten teacher, I suddenly remember. Before the war, Kara Wallace had been a kindergarten teacher…
“Come along with us,” she says. “I want to see how Third is doing.”
We circle around the plateau’s slope, over to the dirt access road, and she shakes her head when Jackson approaches and says, “Too much growth down there. Get a detail with axes and saws, see if we can’t widen the approach.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She glances at her watch. “All right, let’s get to the CP for a briefing.”
Jackson takes a moment or two to get a squad down his side of the slope to cut back the overgrowth, and the three of us—me, Morneau and Jackson—follow Wallace as she goes up to the cabin, now isolated since the fire tower has been dropped. I’m still confused over why Wallace ordered the tower’s destruction and removal. If she had left it standing, it could have served as a nice decoy for the approaching Creepers, who would probably lase and flame the shit out of it as they attack, injuring or killing no one. But maybe Wallace was concerned that if it was the focus of an attack, it might fall onto the converted command post, or collapse on the Second Platoon’s lines, causing one hell of a dangerous distraction with Creepers coming up the slopes.
Maybe.
Inside the CP I spot Dad, Serena and Buddy gathered in one corner. Serena and Buddy sit on the floor, Dad on an overturned plastic bucket. There’s a square wooden table in the center where maps have been spread out, and Wallace takes position, next to the first sergeant, who nods at something she says and then ducks out. A gas lantern has been lit, giving flickering light to the dirty interior of the small building. I take a minute to check in on Serena.
“You okay?” I ask.
She says, “All right, I guess. What’s going on out there?”
“We’re getting ready for some visitors,” I say. “If we’re lucky, they’ll have two legs. If not, they’ll have six.”
Her arm goes around Buddy. “I’m trusting you to protect us.”
“I’m going to do my best, I promise you that.”
Dad rubs his hands. “Anything sighted yet?”
“Nope, not yet.”
Dr. Pulaski comes in with two soldiers with Red Cross armbands, carrying boxes and other gear. She eyes the place, and starts setting up bedding and trays of bandages, medical instruments and IV bottles. Wallace says to Jackson, “Your area cleared up?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good.”
We three platoon leaders look down at the ol
d topo map of where we’re located, and Wallace crisply goes over our positions, our interlocking fields of fire, the bell signaling that will alert us to when the Creepers come.
“One other thing,” she says. “I want two soldiers from each of your platoons, M-4 and M-10, up here. They’re going to be a ready reserve to plug any holes that might come up.”
Such polite and bland language covering what she really means: Creepers breaking through our lines, burning troops in their foxholes, coming up to the command post and overrunning it.
Wallace runs a dirty finger around the top of the craggy peak on the map. “We’ve got three combat dispatch riders out now, trying to link up with Battalion or any other force out there that can provide us with reinforcements. In the meantime, we’re in a good, defensible position. Make sure your folks keep their heads down, your M-10 shooters only fire if they have clear targets and are confident they’re zeroed in. Any questions?”
None at the moment, but then the first sergeant comes in and says something that instantly leads to lots of questions.
“Captain Wallace,” he says, voice even more gravelly than before. “We got problems. The supply truck left with the main bulk of our rations. We’re gonna get hungry pretty soon.”
Wallace’s face flushes but she keeps it under control. “Lieutenant Morneau.”
Morneau looks like she’d rather be out in the field with a dull spoon, going face-to-arthropod with a Battle Creeper, than be in this little cabin with her angry C.O. right across from her. “Ma’am.”
“The supply vehicle with our rations, that was under your control.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Apparently not all of it,” she says. “Care to add anything to what the first sergeant has reported?”
Her voice is small. “No, ma’am.”
“Care to explain how it may have happened?”
“No excuse, ma’am,” she says.
“You didn’t quite hear me,” Wallace points out. “I’m looking for a possible explanation. I’m not assigning blame.”
Red Vengeance Page 23
