“How many?”
“Too many,” Gonzalez replied. He flipped his monocular over his left eye and turned to their right. “This way to the ramp, Sarge.”
Russ shook his head and followed the young Marine. He’d never have thought he’d gone in the direction he had. Without the night vision monocular, Russ decided he’d likely have died of starvation before finding his way out of that damned crypt.
— 10 —
Captain Virgil Kane
11th Marine Expeditionary Unit (MEU)
Commander, FOB Forum
“Therefore the clever combatant imposes his will on the enemy
but does not allow the enemy’s will to be imposed on him.”
SUN TZU
The Art of War
The night was close at hand. The sky was turning a greenish-purple color as the final rays of the sun beamed through the Pacific Ocean, creating a prismatic display in the sky. But with the Variants preferring the night, there was no time to enjoy the show. Because there was so little time before dark, Gonzalez immediately reported to the captain. Covered in white vegetable shortening, he made a dramatic impression.
“That’s quite a story,” Lieutenant Landry said. “I find it hard to believe that Chief Shader counted over six thousand Variants inside the Forum.”
“Sir, I can only speak to what Chief told me. He crawled through the vents and did a headcount inside the auditorium. I can personally attest to many hundreds in the concourse area.”
“Intel has been clear that the Forum was clear of Variants,” Landry countered.
“Excuse me, Lieutenant,” Captain Kane said. “I am curious why you’d doubt your own men, especially your squad commanders?”
“Sir, I’m just going on what N2 told us. They’re assessment is…”
“I’m quite aware of intel’s assessment,” Kane interrupted. “But let me clue you in on something, Lieutenant Landry. Intel isn’t here, we are. If your men tell you something, especially an old salt like one of your squad leaders, I’d expect you to believe them.”
Kane turned back to Gonzalez. “Well done, Corporal. Report back to your men. Staff Sergeant Russ will be in charge of your fireteams until we get Chief Shader and the rest of them out of there.”
Russ gave the diminutive man a nod, then they both saluted before leaving the officers.
“Grab your ruck and have “Bones” check you out. I assume you have spare BDUs in your sack.”
“Aye, Sarge. But I left ‘Roxanne’ back with my team. I just need to dig up another rifle and loadout.”
“You call your rifle Roxanne, huh?” Russ chuckled.
“Yeah, like the song.”
Russ gave the man a quizzical look.
“You know, Sarge. The lyrics. ‘I loved you since I knew you, I won’t share you with another boy.’”
“Huh. That actually makes some sense,” Russ replied. “Now get moving. We’re going to need every rifle tonight.”
“Copy that, Sarge.”
— 11 —
The Battle of the Forum
Inglewood, California
“Big things have small beginnings.”
THOMAS EDWARD LAWRENCE
Lawrence of Arabia
It wasn’t supposed to start yet. The ambush had been hastily planned to kick off at midnight. But about eleven that evening, a wandering Variant and a tired Marine chanced upon each other, and the Battle of the Forum quickly ensued.
The unfortunate Marine had been securing one of the building’s emergency exits when the creature decided to investigate the sound of metal chains on a metal door handle. Although the unfortunate grunt killed the Variant, its screams alerted the rest of its brethren and all hell was unleashed.
The captain had planned to funnel the horde out of the main entrance. All the emergency exits except that one, had been secured.
“Here they come!” SSgt. Russ yelled to his men.
His fireteams had been rushed to the open emergency door, and a hasty ambush was created. By the time the first three rifle teams had positioned themselves, the double doors exploded and scores of infected began to pour out. They were cut down instantly. The dead were quickly replaced by dozens more and the bodies began to stack up. The corpses began to clog the entrance as the Variants tried to get over the fleshy mound.
The team’s radio channel was thick with men yelling and cursing. Trying to give specific orders over their coms was next to impossible, so Russ took to doing things the old-fashioned way. He yelled. Russ was good at yelling. It always worked.
He had two SAWs set up within a minute, each bringing automatic fire onto the Variants.
“They can’t get out!” Russ said to himself. “We want them to get out.”
“Red One, this is Black One actual. Over,” Russ transmitted.
“Black One, this is Red One. Hard Copy. Over.”
“Red One, our doorway is blocked with bodies. Tangos can’t get out. Over.”
“Black One. Stand by. Over.”
The Variants weren’t happy. The sound of their screams was louder than any crowd he’d ever heard before. The World Cup finals couldn’t have been as intense as what was coming from behind the Forum’s walls.
“Black One. Hold position and continue mission. We’re sending a SMAW team to you. Over.”
“Red One, this is Black One actual. Confirm continue mission. Confirm SMAW team. Over.”
Minutes later, two Marines jogged up to Russ. The SMAW rocket was designed to punch through walls and bunkers. Their job right now was to make a new hole for the Variants to use.
“I want a hole to the right of the emergency door,” Russ told the rocket team.
“Copy that, Sarge.”
Russ began to move his men back, leaving the rocket team to cover the clogged opening. Thirty seconds later, they were nearly a hundred meters away. The Variants were just starting to push the bodies forward. They were over a football field away, but barely in the safe zone from the coming explosion.
“DIRECT FRONT,” Russ screamed.
“DIRECT FRONT,” the rocket team yelled.
The MK 153 fired a ten-pound warhead. It was also equipped with a side-mounted rifle which fired a tracer round that had the same ballistics as the rocket. It was a crude method of aiming before shooting. The team let loose a tracer and the green streak hit the building’s wall five meters to the right of the clogged door.
The rocket team’s assistant gunner raised up his right hand with a “thumbs up.”
“Range 100 meters!” Russ yelled.
“Range 100 meters,” the rocket team answered in unison.
“On my command!” Russ shouted.
Russ saw that the top bodies in front of the double doors had been pushed aside. A Variant was struggling out of the opening, its sucker-like mouth hissing at them. In a few seconds, there wouldn’t be anything left of that creature’s smirk.
Russ loved this shit. He was a good ten yards to the side of the rocket launcher. He looked behind them to make sure no one had wandered into their back-blast zone. It was clear.
“Back blast area, secure!”
The rocket team was ready, and the rest of his squad was down behind cover.
“SEND IT!”
The 83mm rocket exploded from the tube, sending the ten-pound warhead hurtling at the building at over 250 meters per second. The back-blast from the rocket tube felt like a gorilla had slapped Russ on the side of the face. Less than half a second later, the HEDP (High-Explosive, Dual-Purpose) warhead erupted on the wall of the building, sending fragments of steel and chunks of the wall into the massed creatures within.
“ADVANCE!” Russ screamed.
The fireteams popped back up and advanced to their prior positions. The smoke and dust from the rocket ballooned out onto the parking lot, blocking anyone from putting eyes on the new hole in the structure.
“Holy shit!” one of his men yelled. “They’re climbing the fucking walls!”
&nbs
p; Shader looked above the settling dust and could see dozens of Variants racing up the side of the building. Creatures were pouring out of the new hole and onto the top of the domed structure. It was like a fire ant mound had been kicked as thousands of the nasty bastards erupted from the nest.
“FIRE!” Russ yelled at the stunned Marines.
Variants fell from the walls as the Marines began to respond. But too many of them made it to the roof and out of sight.
“Red One, this is Black One actual. Do you copy? Over.”
“Hard Copy Black One. What’s your sitrep? Over.”
“Red One, we have a jailbreak. Tangos are climbing walls and up onto the roof. They’re above our line of fire. Over.”
“Repeat Black One. Did you say that tangos are climbing the walls? Over.”
“That’s an affirmative, Red One. Tangos are scaling the walls. It’s like a nest of spiders just broke out. I’m seeing hundreds of the damned things. Over.”
“Hard copy, Black One. Wait one. Over.”
“Solid copy, Red One.”
Russ brought his M4 up and began to fire on the climbing creatures. The Variants were quick, with their disjointed limbs working to grip and climb the walls.
They had just made it back to their original position when movement from the dust cloud caught Russ’s attention as hundreds of Variants flooded out of the opening.
“Enemy front!” someone yelled into their mic.
The SAW machine guns opened fire on the rushing creatures, tearing into the diseased flesh. But Russ knew within moments of engagement that they were fighting a losing battle. The Variants just kept pouring out of the brown fog.
Russ watched as several of the leading creatures took multiple kill shots to the torso with no seeming effect. And when they did get a head or spine shot, there were five more of the damned things that took the dead one’s place. It was a tsunami of infected monsters that seemed to have no end.
“FALL BACK!” Russ yelled, then punched his PTT button.
“Red One. This is Black One. We’re falling back.”
Before he could get an answer, a Variant suddenly landed not ten meters in front of him. The creature hit the pavement with such force, that its torso exploded, sending infected blood and goo flying in every direction.
Confused, Russ looked up in the air, trying to figure out where the body had come from.
“Shit! RUN!” Russ screamed.
The Variants on the roof, under strafing machine gun fire from a newly arrived Osprey, were throwing themselves out at the Marines.
Russ ran, putting as much distance between the Forum and himself as he could. Looking over his shoulder, he watched as three of his men were overrun by the advancing horde, and one of them was crushed by a suicidal Variant that came crashing down from the roof.
Marines turned and fired, but there were too many to stop. Russ and his remaining men made it to a second line of vehicles. They had lost one of their SAWs to the horde and expended half their ammunition. It was a futile battle, but there was nowhere left to go.
Headlights suddenly lit up from behind them, casting long shadows onto the Variants. Russ looked back and saw almost a dozen HUMVEEs and MRAPs rushing across the parking lot.
FOB Hawthorne had arrived!
Vehicles screeched to a stop behind Russ and the Marines inside pushed forward, their guns firing at the Variant throng. It felt like the stage at a cheap theater. Headlights from the vehicles shone brightly at the building. The elongated shadows of the advancing Marines danced across the walls of the Forum. The horde paused as the intense white beams temporarily blinded them. A couple HUMVEE-mounted 50-caliber, M-2 machine guns as well as dozens of M4 battle rifles opened fire, sending tracer rounds into the Variant mob.
The results of the heavy caliber barrage were spectacular as the creatures were ripped into multiple pieces. Often, the large bullets from the Ma Deuce would pass through several of the creatures, tearing each body apart. Eventually, a Variant four or five back would die as the last fragments of the exhausted projectile found them.
Entire rows of the creatures fell and within seconds, and the Marines were back on the offensive.
WHUMP!
An explosion in the middle of the infected throng erupted, throwing several Variants into the air. Russ watched as multiple grenades landed within the mass, ripping them apart. One of the Humvees was throwing 40mm grenades from its roof-mounted MK-19 grenade launcher.
He could hear the explosive fragments shooting by. The high-pitched whines of the metal shards caused him to flinch. Russ and his men were danger close, but the only other option was to be overrun.
A second Osprey began to hover over the top of the dome, machine gun fire raining down on the trapped creatures and within twenty minutes, the battle was over. At least on the outside the building.
“That was a rush,” a new lieutenant said.
The young officer was standing next to Russ, his battle rifle smoking from the sustained gunfire. Russ had lost count of how many rounds he’d unleashed.
“Well done, Sergeant,” the young LT said.
“Thank you, sir,” Russ replied. “We’d be dead without you guys.”
“Maybe. But it would have been glorious.”
Russ smiled at the lieutenant’s humor until he glanced at the man wistfully gazing at the dead. He realized the young LT wasn’t joking. Russ looked at the lieutenant’s name taped to his breast pocket. It read “Jack.”
The major’s kid. Russ had heard of him. He had been told by some of the other sergeants that Jack was green as hell but a good officer who listened to his NCOs. The kid was just a little too inexperienced to realize that combat, regardless of the outcome, always sucked.
“Sir, you’ve been ordered to report to the major,” a sergeant named Braddock said to his lieutenant.
“He’s here?”
“The major should be rolling up in five mikes,” the sergeant replied. “He wants all of the officers at his location when he arrives.”
“Lead the way, Sergeant.”
Russ gathered his remaining fire team members. Of the fifteen men under his direct command and the additional twelve from Shader’s group, he had nineteen Marines left. Six grunts were somewhere in the pile of rendered flesh that lay in front of the Forum, while two had been evacuated for wounds suffered during the battle. One E-2 had been struck by shrapnel from the massive grenade barrage. The other Marine had broken his arm during their hasty retreat. The man had managed to stay in the fight but was flown out on a helicopter for his wounds.
The screams from the Variants were still reverberating from within the building, but the noise from the creatures had changed. The volume was now more diminished, and the anger had been replaced by pain. The Marines had kicked their asses, but Russ had no illusions. They’d be back once they’d licked their wounds, and the sergeant was determined to have his troops ready for the next round. He immediately began to organize the men under him, sending small groups back to resupply while others kept watch.
It had been nearly an hour since the last bullet had been fired, and the Forum was still quiet. Russ had his men rotating between guarding the hole in the wall and resting a hundred yards back, where they could eat and hydrate.
The Ospreys had been replaced by three AH-1 SuperCobra attack helicopters. They were flying cover for them, darting and weaving around the perimeter.
With the Marines from FOB LAX joining FOB Hawthorne at the Forum, they were nearly at battalion strength. Over seven hundred rifles and squad automatic weapons now surrounded the structure while another three hundred Marines were moving on their flank.
FOB Santa Monica was sending their grunts up Route 10, providing cover on the main unit’s left side, while FOB Compton was taking the 710 to the east. A classic pincer movement that Russ was having doubts about. The enemy wasn’t massed in one location like a traditional army, they were just everywhere. Splitting their platoons didn’t make a lot of sense no
w that they’d had some experience fighting this enemy force. But the military was structured on momentum, and once a plan was put in motion, it rarely deviated from its pre-ordained path.
“Sergeant Russ!” Lieutenant Jack yelled.
“Sir,” Russ replied, jogging over to the lieutenant.
“We’ve got a mission,” Jack said. “You’re going in to get our men.”
The Forum was going to be leveled once they’d retrieved Shader, his fireteam, and the civilian survivors. Then they’d move downtown to secure the city. Russ was to put together a squad, including Gonzalez. They would use the service entrance to affect the rescue mission. The rest of the Marines were going create a diversion at the above-ground entrances, hopefully distracting the creatures.
It would all kick off in thirty minutes.
— 12 —
Service and Utility Room
Inglewood Forum
SCPO Porky Shader
“We men and women are all in the same boat, upon a stormy sea.
We owe to each other a terrible and tragic loyalty.”
G.K. CHESTERTON
“It’s been too long,” Morales said. “He didn’t make it.”
Shader was prone to believing him. It was well past dark, and the sounds of the battle outside were deafening, even in this insulated room. It wasn’t looking good.
Even if Gonzalez had managed to get out, there were far too many Variants to try a rescue mission. Because of this, Shader had already begun to plan their own escape, but their options were not good. Most of the survivors were too weak to run, and any chance of getting out would require that. Lazzaro was another factor. His wound would likely open up if he tried to use the leg. He needed an AMPT, or stretcher, to be moved.
With no food and the survivors in an ever-weakening condition, Shader was without any good choices.
“Shader,” Keele whispered. “Something’s up.”
The constant screeches from the Variants in the hallway had only slightly diminished since the battle had started. Shader had hoped the firefight would have helped pull some of them away, but it was not to be.
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