“There are two small fire teams hitting the water to create a distraction which will hopefully lure the southernmost zombies away from the battle. Once they complete that, they’ll be moving upriver into Spokane to scout the situation and to create a foothold at the airport on the far west side of town.
“Now, if you’ll turn your attention to the center portion of the map. This is Post Falls, population thirty thousand. Clearing Hayden is going to be difficult enough, without the noise we’re going to be making drawing these ghouls into the fight. Which is why Johnson and Baker are going to take a team here on the west side.
“This is the Idaho Washington state line, which has a pair of bridges running across the river. They will be commandeering transfer trucks we have located at a truck stop on the north side of Hayden. They’ll drive straight through the center of town before picking up the interstate, driving past Post Falls while being as loud and obnoxious as humanly possible.”
“Something I come by naturally Captain!” Johnson bellowed from the back, causing another smattering of laughter.
“We’re going to load them up with as much ammo as they can carry,” Kersey continued, “set up a barricade at the bridge and hopefully draw as many zombies from Post Falls as possible. As they pick up the interstate here, two trucks will be diverted to the bridge, blocking it off. When the trucks are being requisitioned, a fire team will be hitting the used car dealership across the street for sedans.
“The trucks park on the bridge, the cars plug up any holes, and that team will be another diversion. Hopefully, between the waterfront and the bridge, it’ll break up the mobs enough that they won’t be big enough to overwhelm the fire teams.
“The bulk of the teams will start at the north part of town, and work south block by block. Teams will consist of ten men each, and there will be two teams assigned to each other. Forty teams will be on the east side of town, as it’s the more densely populated side. Twenty teams on the west side will move south as quickly as possible, before heading west to set up a fire line in case we get any visitors from Post Falls.
“Any questions so far?” The Captain looked around the room, and saw a hand go up. He pointed to the soldier.
“Sir, what’s the timetable to clear this town?” the soldier asked.
“We need to have it pacified by sundown,” Kersey replied.
There was a long, sharp silence, until the soldier finally said, “Forgive me sir, but this seems like a tall order to clear this many structures with limited personnel.”
“My apologies on not being clear,” the Captain replied. “The fire teams are not clearing every structure. Your mission is to clear the streets of every zombie, and check each building to make sure it’s secure. If the structure is locked up, mark it with a spray painted circle. If the door is open, one team will go in while the partner team provides cover from the outside. There will be a handful of teams that are equipped to do full breach and sweeps of the locked structures. More than likely it will take several days to clear out every structure in town, let alone what we find in Spokane, but with the streets cleared, there won’t be a rush to take care of that. Does that answer your question, soldier?”
“Yes, sir, it does,” the young Private replied with a nod, and leaned back.
Kersey surveyed the room. “Anybody else?” He waited, but nobody broke the silence. “Very well. If you have people in your teams who can hot-wire vehicles or drive a big rig, send them up here so Johnson and Baker can get the people they need. Good luck, be safe, and let’s get it done out there. Dismissed.”
The troops stood and began to bustle out of the building. Gilbert squeezed past a few bodies to join Kersey, Johnson and Baker.
“Sir, I have a Corporal I can recommend to lead the truck team to Post Falls,” the Sergeant said.
The Captain shook his head. “Thank you, Sergeant, but I prefer to have my men in charge of that operation, as they’re familiar with the area and what needs to be done.”
Gilbert scoffed. “Sir, with all due respect, having Privates lead a mission is a bad idea.”
“Johnson. Baker.” Kersey smirked. “Field promotion. Until this operation is over, you’ve both been promoted to Corporal.”
Both men responded with an excited “Thank you, sir!” and headed off after a hearty salute.
“You can’t do that,” Gilbert hissed, glaring daggers at his superior.
Kersey turned on him and stood uncomfortably close to him, calm fury in his eyes. “I just did, Sergeant,” he said, voice low. “So unless you have a direct line to General Stephens, and think you can convince him that he made a mistake in promoting me to head up this operation, I suggest you shut the fuck up and do as you’re told. Now if there’s nothing else…”
“There is, sir,” Gilbert replied, gritting his teeth. He straightened his shoulders. “I’d like to volunteer to lead the bridge diversion team.”
The Captain regarded him for a moment. It wasn’t usually a great idea to put the highest ranking man in the field in the most dangerous spot, but perhaps it would get the annoyed Sergeant engaged enough to do his job.
“Okay, I’ll grant your request,” Kersey said finally. “Your team will be tasked with getting sedans from the used dealership and following the trucks through town. Wedge them underneath the trucks and take out as many of those things as you can.”
“Thank you, sir.” He turned to leave.
“Sergeant.” Kersey held up a hand.
Gilbert slowly turned back to him. “Yes, Captain.”
“It takes a special kind of man to volunteer for the most dangerous assignment,” Kersey said. “You follow your orders and do your job, and I’ll put in a good word for you with the General and recommend a promotion. I’ve been friends with him for years. He’ll listen to me.”
Gilbert clenched his jaw. “Thank you, Captain,” he seethed, and swept out of the room.
Kersey pursed his lips, crossing his arms for a moment, wondering if he’d made the right decision. Before he could fall too far down the rabbit hole, however, a tall lanky guy with a mess of orange curls walked up to him.
“Hey, you the Captain?” he asked.
Kersey looked him up and down, confused. He was in simple jeans and a black t-shirt with some anime character on it.
“Um… yes?” he replied.
“Great,” the guy said, and then turned and yelled out the door. “All right, we’re in here, boys!”
Three men in army fatigues entered, carrying armloads of computers and monitors, followed by three guys in civvies carrying large metal briefcases. One of the soldiers approached Kersey and saluted.
“Where would you like us to set up, sir?” he asked.
The Captain raised an eyebrow. “What are you setting up?”
Anime shirt guy spread his arms with a wide smile. “It’s your command center, Cap’n! We are your eyes and ears, both on the ground and in the sky!”
“Oh,” Kersey replied, and motioned to the stairs. “There’s a conference room up there to the right. Should have everything you need.” He waited for the troops to head up, and then turned to the redhead. “What’s your name, son?”
“David Frazier, at your service, sir,” he replied with a grin, and then took one of the metal cases from his dressed-down friends and set it on the desk. He unclipped it, revealing a fancy-looking drone. “This here, Cap’n, is the finest commercially available drone to be found in the free world. And if I’m being honest, probably the not-so-free world as well. Each of my boys here have one, and they are ready to go wherever you need them to.”
Kersey eyed the machine and then glanced at the trio of geek-shirt-wearing guys. “Going to go out on a limb and assume that military grade stuff didn’t make the trip to the heartland?”
“While I’m not exactly privy to that kind of information,” David replied, holding up a finger, “I kind of got the sense that when the evacuation orders came down, you boys were more concerned about bullets th
an you were about surveillance gear.”
The Captain cocked his head. “So the military tracked you guys down and drafted you to the cause?”
“Drafted?” David snorted a laugh. “Hell no, we volunteered.”
Kersey blinked at him. “That’s unexpected.”
“Not if you saw the shithole home town we’re from,” the redhead replied.
Kersey cracked a smile and shrugged. “Fair enough. So, any one of you particularly prone to danger seeking?”
The trio of remaining pilots glanced at each other before the two on the left focused on the well-built man on the right. He smiled sheepishly and raised his hand.
“Guess that’d be me,” he said.
“If you’ll go out the door to the left,” Kersey instructed, “you’ll see my men standing there. Just ask for Johnson and Baker. You’ll be with them.”
The pilot grinned and grabbed his gear, gave each of his friends an enthusiastic fist bump, and then left.
Kersey turned to the other two. “If you guys don’t mind hanging out here in the lobby, I’ll get you assigned to a team here shortly.”
They nodded and headed for a nearby couch, and the Sergeant motioned for David to lead him up the stairs to the conference room. “So, what kind of capabilities do those drones have?”
“In theory, those things can get up to several thousand feet, but practically speaking, we’re gonna need to be topping out about four, five hundred feet,” he replied. “That’ll give us the best view of the battlefield, so to speak.”
“Flight time?” Kersey asked.
“Twenty minutes on a single charge,” David said.
The Sergeant shook his head as he pushed the conference room door open. “Doesn’t sound like it’s going to be that useful.”
“Well, each pilot has twelve batteries and a mobile charger with a car adapter,” the redhead explained. “So as long as you can get me a car with a working battery, we can keep those buggers in the air pretty much non-stop. We’ll just have to land and swap batteries.”
Kersey nodded thoughtfully. “I stand corrected.”
The conference room was already transformed into a makeshift command center, with four stations. Three were already manned by a soldier, the men just firing up their screens.
“They’re going to be handling your audio communication between the teams, as well as updating a map of the area we pulled from satellite imagery,” David explained. “That way we know what’s been cleared.”
Kersey nodded and studied the fourth station, a trio of screens with what looked like flight controls. “And your setup?”
“This is a little custom made beauty I’m quite proud of,” David gushed, waving the Captain over. “It allows me to not only monitor each of the three drones while they’re in the air, but I can also manually take control of the cameras. So if you see something you want a closer look at, you point to it and I’ll zoom in. Works a lot better than trying to relay communications to the field, especially when time is of the essence.”
Kersey blinked at him. “That’s hardcore,” he said. “I dig it. Seems like it would be a bit overkill in the real world, but should work great here.”
“Yeah, it was overkill, but that’s why we got so much work,” the redhead explained. “We did surveying of a lot of corporate farms, and the fat cats from the city would come out to inspect things. With other pilots they’d have to go out in the field and watch on a little monitor, but with me they could sit in the AC sippin’ their sweet tea and bark out directions like they were back in the office. They’d pay a premium for that shit, too.”
Kersey shook his head with a grin. “Nobody ever went broke underestimating the laziness of others.”
“No, Cap’n, they sure didn’t,” David agreed.
“Let me know when you’re up, because this thing’s gonna be starting soon,” Kersey said.
The redhead nodded. “You got it, Cap’n.”
Kersey stepped out of the conference room and pulled out his radio, lifting it to his lips. “Bretz, you there?”
There was a moment of dead air, and then his Corporal’s voice came through, loud and clear, “I’m here, Captain.”
Kersey took a deep breath. “I think it’s time to hit the water.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Private Wade fired up one of the party boats, Kowalski and Private Flemming up top with their rifles. Mason piloted the other one, the engine roars dueling with one another. Privates Byrd and Hanson perched atop that one, with Bretz standing at the front to keep an eye on the mission.
“Nice and slow, we’re going to take it up a few hundred yards and park a hundred yards from the shore,” he said as they opened the doors. “Assuming you boys can hit the target from there.”
Byrd leaned forward, hanging his head over the edge to look his superior directly in the eye. “Corporal, I realize we just met and all, but if you keep doubting our abilities to that extent, then we’re going to start taking it personally.”
“Fair enough.” Bretz crossed his arms. “We’ll park it out a hundred and twenty yards from shore.”
“That’s more like it,” Byrd replied and slithered back into place.
The boats moved out onto the water, Mason and Wade bringing them up to speed slowly and gently, testing the engines. They finally made it up to a fair clip, heading towards their firing positions.
“Hey, I just had a thought,” Kowalski said, leaning over the edge of the roof to look down at Wade.
The Private glanced up, suddenly reminiscent of a child playing on a bunk bed. “Why do I get the sense that’s a dangerous thing?”
“Normally you’d be right, but this time it’s not too bad,” Kowalski admitted.
Wade chuckled. “Whatcha thinking?”
“This is a party boat, right?” the Private asked. “Shouldn’t there be some sort of PA system? Or at the very least a radio system?”
Wade browsed the console dash, and found a walkie-talkie handset. He held it up and wiggled it for Kowalski to see.
“Well, we’re halfway there,” he said.
The sniper nodded. “What about some music?”
Wade spotted a cabinet on the bottom portion of the console, and opened it. “Jesus fucking christ, are you kidding me?!” He recoiled in horror.
“You all right?” Kowalski called.
“No man, pretty fucking far from all right,” Wade snapped.
The sniper slid sideways and then flipped down from the roof, landing on his feet on the front of the boat. He slid over to see what had horrified the young Private.
“Jesus, man, what is it?” he asked, peering into the cabinet at two tall rows of CDs. “Uh. You have a thing against compact discs?”
Wade pulled out the cases, fanning them out for his companion to see. “Fucking yacht rock, man! You telling me I gotta deal with this easy listening crap all day?”
“What, you not a Steely Dan fan?” Kowalski asked, amused.
“Fuck no,” Wade growled. “Give me some Maiden, Priest, Motorhead. Hell, I’d even settle for some Poison or Bon Jovi over this crap.”
Flemming’s head popped out over the side of the roof. “Man, you going on about heavy metal again?”
“Goddamn right I am!” Wade called back, puffing out his chest. “It’s a way of life.” He slammed the CDs back into the cabinet with more force than was necessary.
“You’ll have to forgive him,” Flemming said to the sniper, “he’s been rebelling against his name since his parents gave it to him.”
“Holy shit, how bad can it be?” Kowalski asked.
Wade took a deep breath. “I was named after my great grandfather… Milton.”
Kowalski stifled a laugh, shaking his head and clapping his hand down on the Private’s shoulder. “I feel ya, brother. You keep fighting the good fight. And just remember, it could be worse.”
Wade wrinkled his nose. “How?”
“At least it ain’t disco,” Kowalski replied.
/> His companion nodded. “You got me there, man.”
“Kowalski, get in position!” Bretz barked from the other boat. “Plenty of time to chat when we’re riding up river!”
The sniper saluted the Corporal. “On it!” He climbed back up onto the roof, getting into firing position next to Flemming. The boats slowed in the center of the lake, at the anchor point.
Bretz gave the signal to cut the engines, and both boats stopped. He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun, and then made a fist with the other.
“All right, light them up!” the Corporal bellowed.
Kowalski took aim at the shore, scanning for targets. He found a zombie wearing loose jeans and a bloodied button-down shirt, and focused, accounting for the soft bobbing of the boat before pulling the trigger.
As the zombie’s head exploded, the other snipers began to fire, and gunshots filled the air. One after the other, the shooters found their targets, dropping corpse after corpse on the beach.
Bretz pulled out a set of binoculars, but before he could raise them to his eyes steel drums and guitar filled the air. He wrinkled his nose and looked around, focusing on Wade.
“What the fuck?” he asked, and the Private simply shrugged before clambering up onto the roof to help with the shooting.
The Corporal shook his head as the five shooters continued firing, and peered through the binoculars to see dozens of zombies emerging from the houses and brush near the shore. While his team hit their targets well, it seemed that for every corpse that dropped, three more showed up to take its place.
After several minutes of sustained firing, hundreds of zombies lined the shores, excited by gunshots and dulcet tones of easy listening yacht rock. Bretz let out a sharp whistle and raised his fist as some of the creatures began to make their way into the water.
Dead America The Second Week (Book 11): Dead America: Heartland Pt. 4 Page 2
