Nearest Night

by David VanDyke

“That’s extremely unlikely. They have bigger things to worry about.” Reaper held her breath for a count of thirty. She thought she heard a muffled explosion far off to the west, but wasn’t sure.

  “I’m going in,” said Spooky. “The rest of you can follow me when Reaper finds her courage.”

  “Go ahead, then, everyone,” Reaper said. “Hit them hard.”

  “Support team, initiate,” said Derrick. “Concentrate on the remaining towers.”

  ***

  Sniper and machine gun fire erupted from the hills overlooking the camp as the support team hammered the standing towers with bullets. Spooky and the FC spec ops troops raced out of the thick brush through the still-smoking gate. “Humvees!” he barked, unnecessarily; three teams of three were already splitting up and targeting the vehicles, with their mounted heavy weapons. EMP might have immobilized them, but machine guns and grenade launchers had no electronic parts to fry.

  Spooky splattered guard after guard with short, accurate bursts of his P90. A cross between an assault rifle and a submachine gun, it fired tiny, high-velocity bullets perfect for conversion to the frangible SAM round configuration. They punched through body armor and thin cover with ease, ripping flesh as they broke apart, scattering their loads of Eden Plague within the bloodstreams of their targets.

  Not that he really cared about his enemies, except as pawns to be transformed into more burdens on the anti-Eden forces. Every convert subtracted one from “them” and added one to “us.”

  Running beneath the nearest standing tower, Spooky ignored the chips of falling wood and shrapnel as he pulled the ringed pin on a SAM grenade, counted to three and tossed it up over the rail. A risky tactic, the delay meant any enemies had only two seconds, not five, to grab the tiny bomb and throw it away.

  When it exploded, Spooky transmitted, “Support team, this is Spooky. Cease fire on Tower Six; I say again, cease fire on Tower Six. I’m taking it over.” He restrained himself from threatening to shoot anyone who fired at him by mistake.

  He ignored the ladder and trap door to the bottom of the tower; anyone with decent training would keep it locked in a combat situation. Instead, he climbed the outside and rolled over the rail, knife in hand.

  One of the two men in the tower still moved, but weakly. Spooky put his blade away and tapped a shot from his pistol into the man’s abdomen, figuring he’d survive long enough for the virus to take hold. Then he rolled them both over the rail, to fall to the snowy ground. The last thing he needed was one of them using up his final loyalty to the system and shooting Spooky in the back while he worked.

  Freed of that concern, Spooky turned to the .50 caliber machine gun the tower men had barely employed. Clearly, they’d been caught unawares. Perhaps Reaper’s advancement of the timeline had done it, perhaps the snowstorm; staying alert when an attack seemed impossible was always difficult.

  Fortunately this was one of the newer, lightweight models of the gun. He was able to dismount it from the pintle facing outward and drop it onto a similar mounting toward the camp. A moment more to ensure the ammo belt rose straight from its box, and he began to rock and roll.

  First, he turned it toward Tower Seven, the next one to the north. The rifle bullets of the support team couldn’t penetrate the defensive position’s heavy armor, and they hadn’t yet managed to drop a grenade from a launcher through its windows. The guards there returned fire with their own heavy machine gun, tracers reaching out to the hills like science-fiction blaster fire.

  The .50 caliber round was developed in World War I as an antitank weapon, back when tanks sported steel plating a mere inch thick. It had been improved in the intervening years, and fifty yards was point-blank range. Spooky’s finger-sized bullets tore steel-jacketed holes in the nearby tower and, no doubt, in the enemy machine gunners.

  Their weapon fell silent. “Cease fire on Tower Seven,” he said. “I’ve neutralized them.”

  Swinging his weapon to the next tower in line, he fired a sustained burst into it as well, and then the next. As he traversed the barrel, looking for his next target, he saw the blossoming flames of an automatic grenade launcher mounted on one of the several Humvees scattered round the inner compound. Apparently this one hadn’t been taken out yet, as the weapon pointed his way.

  Time seemed to slow. A lesser man might have continued his traverse, laid his machine gun on the Humvee, fired – and died from the grenades already in the air. Spooky, recognizing the danger, dove backward and over the outer rail, catching himself on a strut on the opposite side of the tower. Clinging there like a spider, he balled himself up as tightly as possible, covering his head against shrapnel.

  The grenadier had aimed the stick of five grenades well. Two dropped into the tower itself, exploding on impact and turning the interior and the machine gun into scrap metal. One fell short, exploding against the inner surface of its armor; one struck the roof and blew a hole in it; one overshot, impacting the ground beneath Spooky’s perch, stinging his legs with shrapnel.

  He keyed his throat mike. “Skull, take out that grenade launcher.”

  “On it.” The sniper should have been the last man in with the assault team, hanging back and performing overwatch in accordance with his skills. Shots banged out. “Grenadier is down.”

  Spooky climbed to the ground, feeling his wounds, annoying but not serious to an Eden. Taking cover, he surveyed the situation. Despite knocking out at least thirty of the estimated ninety enemy troops, he and “his” team remained outnumbered, and the effect of surprise seemed to be wearing off.

  And, the central blockhouse remained intact. They’d planned to clear the camp first, then lay siege to this bunker. He’d pointed out that would mean a hard fight to take the enemy’s most defensible position, but in the rehearsals, nothing else gave them a chance of winning. They had to wipe out those outside and free the ordinary mass of prisoners before trying to crack the hard nut.

  He sincerely hoped none of his clan members were in the blockhouse, and that he could free them regardless. His family was vital to his plans, a repository of loyalty that, ironically, Spooky did not fully feel himself.

  However, feelings were irrelevant. His cold calculations led him to the same conclusions sentiment would have: he needed them, and they needed him. All would benefit from the arrangement. Thus, simulated or real, he’d invest in his blood relations, just as he invested in others around him who could be useful.

  It appeared the Humvees had been captured and the grenade launcher turned against the remaining enemy towers, neutralizing them. However, firing from the blockhouse intensified, mostly from small, second-floor windows that seemed designed for a siege.

  ***

  Reaper found it difficult to see individual figures in the camp.

  “Spooky to Reaper,” she heard. “We’ve cleared the open areas but we’re meeting heavy resistance at the central building. We need maximum fire to cover us while we assault.”

  “It’s getting hard to see anything down there from our positions. I’ll bring the support team closer. Break break: support team, this is Reaper. I’m calling an audible here. Load up and move in at all deliberate speed until you get clear views of the camp, then provide assault support. ATVs, proceed to the north gate and enter for prisoner retrieval.” She stood, nodding at Livewire, who was putting away his laptops. “Stay here and coordinate comms.”

  “You got it, boss.”

  Reaper led Shortfuse and Derrick downhill toward the camp. As they worked their way closer, they saw others of the support team doing the same, and heard the growl of the all-wheel-drive ATVs hauling the trailers down the dirt roads. The snowfall continued to intensify, and it wasn’t until less than fifty meters’ distance that they could see the complex. “Make sure you identify your targets!” Reaper called on her radio. “No fratricide!”

  Spooky transmitted, “We have control of the outer yard and temporary buildings, but they’ve sealed up the central structure. We need demo to blast in
as soon as the support team is set again.”

  “On my way,” said Shortfuse. “Don’t blow up too much before I get there.” He took off running.

  Reaper stood to follow. “Dammit, I’ll cover his back. Derrick…”

  “I got this, Miss,” he said. “Go.”

  As she entered the compound, Reaper saw guards lying on the ground bleeding, some conscious and looking at them in confusion. She saw one scream and lift a pistol – not to point at her, but to place it under his chin.

  “No!” she yelled, running toward the guard.

  He pulled the trigger, his brains exploding out the back of his head.

  “Stupid!” she yelled. “How can they be so stupid?”

  “They’re SS fanatics,” said Shortfuse. “They believe all that crap about –”

  He grunted and fell to the ground as Reaper heard a fresh flurry of shots. From the central blockhouse windows she saw troops firing at them. She raised her assault rifle as she moved toward Shortfuse, firing short bursts. Gunfire rang out from behind her, the support team volleying a hail of bullets to suppress the enemy. She bent down and dragged Shortfuse behind a low wall.

  “I’m okay,” said Shortfuse probing with his fingers at the blood under his left collarbone. “Hurts like hell, but I’ll be on my feet in a couple minutes. Keep moving.”

  “I’ll wait with you.”

  “Derrick, this is Spooky,” she heard. “We have over a hundred prisoners here that need evac.”

  “Understood,” said Derrick. “The ATVs are inbound from the north. They’ll load up and extract the same direction. Anyone ambulatory, have them follow on foot.”

  Shortfuse struggled to his feet and they hugged the wall to its end, staying out of sight of the enemy in the blockhouse windows. They saw faint shadows through the snow in the direction of the long wooden structures, the main prisoner barracks.

  “Come on,” said Reaper, moving in that direction. “Assault team, two friendlies coming up behind you. Hold your fire.”

  As they approached, they saw zombie-like figures shuffling toward them through the blizzard. One fell into Reaper’s arms before she could react. The scarecrow of a woman sobbed and hugged her tightly. Several more gathered around Reaper and Shortfuse, pawing them like frightened children.

  “Got to keep them moving,” she yelled at Shortfuse.

  Shortfuse shoved the liberated prisoners away and pushed them north toward the exit, calling to them to stay low because of the shooters from the blockhouse. Then he and Reaper started running again, avoiding contact with Edens coming their way.

  They came upon the first barracks just as Hulk walked out with a prostrate Eden in his arms. He laid the figure down on a blanket next to a dozen others. Stitch moved up and down the line, trying to thread high-calorie IVs into the worst off. More Edens stumbled out into the snow on their own, shielding their eyes and looking around in confusion.

  “Head toward the gate,” Hulk yelled at them, motioning toward the north. ATVs with trailers began arriving, pulling up next to those on the ground. The area dissolved into confusion again, the liberated prisoners ignoring instructions, climbing onto trailers, mobbing the ATV drivers, begging for food and generally getting in the way.

  “Where’s Spooky?” Reaper screamed to be heard over the wind and sporadic gunfire.

  Spirit emerged from the barracks, carrying an Eden. “That way,” she said nodding to Reaper’s right.

  Reaper and Shortfuse ran through the snow and passed a second structure similar to the first, but didn’t see Spooky or Skull. At the next building she saw them staring at the locked door of the third barracks. Tarzan had bolt cutters out and was cutting the lock on the door. The lock was frozen and covered in ice.

  “Get back,” said Skull, pulling his rifle to his shoulder.

  “SAM rounds won’t work,” yelled Shortfuse. “They’ll just disintegrate.”

  Skull fired a burst at the lock and it blew apart, releasing the door. “Fuck your pussy SAM rounds. If I shoot you, you stay dead, full metal jacket.”

  “And if you just shot one of my family, I’ll kill you,” said Spooky.

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  Spooky yanked at the door and had to stand back from the wave of Edens spilling out into the snow.

  “Get them out of here,” Reaper told Tarzan. “The ATVs are at the north gate.”

  Spooky stood near the portal, yelling in Vietnamese into the structure. He dragged and shoved stumbling survivors, trying to get them out of the building faster.

  “Uncle Tran!” someone called from inside.

  “Here,” called Spooky, “we’re here!”

  A man so strikingly similar in appearance to Spooky as to be his brother appeared and fell into his arms, followed by more men and women. Seconds later they were joined by a half dozen small boys and girls, all with the family resemblance. They crowded around, hugging Spooky, who seemed to be returning the greetings.

  “Damn,” said Shortfuse, “I never would have imagined. And I thought Asians were supposed to be all standoffish, bowing and not touching and stuff.”

  “You been watching too many movies,” said Reaper. “I’m more surprised that there’s family feeling in Spooky’s icy heart.” She tried to yell at Spooky to get his attention, but it was impossible. She finally called him on his radio. “Spooky, this is Reaper. Can you hear me in there?”

  “I read you,” he answered after a delay.

  “I hate to ruin the moment, but we need to get moving. The job’s not done, and even with the storm delaying them, I’m sure the reaction team is on its way.”

  Skull emerged from the inside of the barracks and walked over to the Nguyen group. He grabbed one of them by the shoulder. “Any of you seen a giant black man?”

  Suddenly, machine gun fire raked across their position from the roof of the concrete building, hitting several of the Edens. Reaper felt a poker of fire go through her thigh.

  “Get down!” Reaper yelled. “Jim,” she said on the radio, “they moved a machinegun up to the blockhouse roof. Take it out!”

  “We’re on it, Miss Jill,” he said. Moments later, a hail of bullets began striking the side of the building, punctuated by explosions from a grenade launcher.

  Skull climbed off the ground, bleeding from a scalp wound. “Anyone seen a big black man?” he called again.

  “There,” said one of the Nguyens, pointing at a metal door at the base of the main concrete building. “He’s kept in the basement with all the other important prisoners.”

  “Support to assault team,” Derrick broke in. “We’ve got a problem.”

  “More than we got already?” said Reaper.

  “Livewire says an armored column’s heading our way from the east. Several tanks and a dozen armored fighting vehicles filled with infantry. We got ten minutes at most before they arrive.”

  “Tanks? That’s impossible! The reaction force doesn’t have tanks!”

  “I’m just telling you what Livewire says. Ten minutes, no more.”

  “They couldn’t have called anyone after the EMP,” said Shortfuse.

  “And there’s no military base near here anyway,” said Flyboy.

  “They knew we were coming,” said Reaper, a sinking feeling in her stomach. “Someone warned them. It was meant to be a trap. Without the weather and if we hadn’t moved up the timetable, we’d be dead already.”

  “Load up those who can’t walk and get going,” said Spooky. “We exfil in five minutes. ”

  Skull said, “Shortfuse, you got some C4?”

  “Don’t leave home without it.”

  “Come with me. I need cover fire, now!” Skull emphasized his instruction by grabbing Shortfuse’s harness and dragging him toward the door at the base of the blockhouse.

  “Hey, we’re blown,” Reaper yelled at him. “With those tanks coming, we have to get out of here!”

  “Not without Larry,” Skull shot back.

  Reaper turned to Spoo
ky. “Take your family and go. We’ll give Skull backup and form a rearguard, try to delay the reaction force.”

  “You stand no chance against tanks and AFVs.”

  “Better than you might think, with this storm to cover us. I saw antitank missiles in the back of the Humvees.”

  “I thought you didn’t like impossible missions.”

  Reaper’s mouth twitched. “I guess you convinced me. Go on, extract your family.”

  Spooky turned away and spoke into his radio. “Derrick, get the Edens out of here and onto the Railroad. They’re your priority now. I’ll get my family and the team out another way.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes. Thanks for everything and good luck.”

  “Same to you,” Derrick said, and then the radio went silent.

  Spooky pulled a satphone from his pocket and dialed a number. “We’ll be there in fifteen minutes. What? I don’t care about the weather; just do it.”

  “What the hell?” said Reaper, swinging her rifle to almost point at him. “You’ve been holding out on me?”

  “Don’t be a fool. You should know by now I always have a backup plan.” He turned to the rest of Reaper’s team, who had begun to gather around the two leaders. Pointing at Flyboy and Bunny, he said, “Find us some vehicles that work and load up my family. Take them a quarter mile up the north road and wait for further instructions.”

  “And if you don’t make it?” asked Flyboy.

  Spooky scribbled on a piece of paper and handed it to him. “Go to these coordinates. You’ll see what has to be done.” He then turned to Reaper. “I’ll try to give you some warning, but it won’t be much.”

  Reaper nodded and took off after Skull. After a few seconds she heard footfalls behind her.

  Chapter 35

  Cassandra couldn’t remember the last time she slept. She’d never felt this tired. Short naps at her desk were all she allowed herself.

  “Feel guilty later,” she mumbled, for a moment unsure if she’d actually spoken, or only thought it. She knew she was losing focus, but couldn’t afford to rest. Too much going on.