by B. D. Lutz
Her sleek form found his forehead and destroyed his cranium; the impact sent blood streaming down his shirt as his lifeless body slammed to the unforgiving concrete.
Nathan rushed to secure the soldiers and retrieve his weapon. He checked the pulse of Ghost’s latest victim and found none. He knelt next to the only living soldier, whose dazed expression gave way to fear as Nathan’s wild face filled his vision. He grabbed the soldier by the neck and whispered, “You can show me where you’re taking the dead, or you can die. The choice is yours.”
Forty-six minutes later, Nathan stood on a ridge overlooking RAM’s border wall between Nevada and Utah. Nature stretched out before him in a stunning display of her raw beauty.
With the dead soldier at his feet and hundreds of undead monsters roaming the border wall, he raged at what the world had become. He watched the monsters as they forced themselves through a human-sized breach in the wall and entered the rugged terrain of Dixie National Forest.
Speaking only to the cool breeze blowing through his mangy hair, Nathan said, “This is the perfect place to infiltrate your enemy: isolated, unforgiving, and unguarded.” He began forming a plan to plug the breach and end the flow of death into RAM. The plan included him living through whatever actions he took. He had someone he needed to see again, and these monsters would not stop him!
Nathan took his first step just as the beautiful sound reached his ears.
Chapter 4 – Where I Belong
“Wicked One for Wicked Three, how copy?”
“Go for Wicked Three, over.”
“Break formation and put eyes on the smoke west of our target. Report findings. Engage hostiles, over.”
“Wicked Three, breaking formation, out.”
Chief Warrant Officer Jennings watched through her port glass as Wicked Three broke formation and sped towards the smoke billowing on the horizon. If they had a wildfire to contain while fighting the apocalypse, Jennings worried it would be the proverbial straw that broke their backs.
After two in-flight refuels and joining up with five A10 Warthogs over Hill AFB, they were finally approaching their target. The crew’s anticipation had morphed into anxiety, highlighted by the lack of radio chatter. Three of the four Black Hawk helos under her command held six combat-hardened soldiers. The fourth held the equipment needed to plug the breach.
The mission objective mandated boots on the ground to seal the breach after the area was scrubbed by the A10s and Black Hawk M134 Miniguns. With the heavy ground cover and rugged terrain, it would be a best guess that the area was clear enough to put their war fighters on the ground. None of them liked the plan.
“Wicked Three for Wicked One, how copy?”
Jennings still had Wicked Three in sight, and it hadn’t reached its target. Something was happening. “Go for Wicked One.”
“Chief, I have eyes on a living person.”
Jennings felt a rush of panic. “Engage the target. We don’t have time to play with BSU soldiers.”
“Chief, the person is waving to get our attention. He’s wearing RAM ACUs. Requesting permission to investigate?”
Jennings didn’t like it, but the information about the ACUs needed further investigation. They didn’t leave their own behind. “Recon the area for threats. Fast rope two. Keep your gun on the target. Eliminate if needed.”
“Roger that, Wicked Three, out.”
Jennings pulled her Hawk to a hover a quarter mile from the target and let the A10s take the lead. Less than five minutes later, their GAU-8, 30mm Gatling guns roared to life.
The telltale purr of the devastating weapon brought a smile to her face. She realized the low-n-slow attack runs the heavily armored warbirds specialized in made them the perfect choice for this mission. Please don’t hit that wall, Jennings thought as the Warthogs began their runs.
The A10s formed up single file, descending one at a time on their target. Plumes of earth exploded from the landscape, tossing shattered trees skyward and decimating the once-beautiful forest. The last Warthog in the formation released a five-hundred-pound MK-82 low-drag bomb on each run.
The Hogs made three runs on the area located inside the RAM-controlled side of the wall, creating a roughly one-hundred-yard wreckage-filled clearing for the soldiers to work in. When they pulled off and settled into an overwatch flight pattern, her Hawks took over. After a slow pass along the wall, they located the exact location of the breach. Time to go to work!
She gave a command, bringing the Hawks M134s online. The door-gunners concentrated their fire on the perimeter of the clearing created by the A10s. Any UCs shambling inside the dense foliage were surely dead now.
Jennings scanned the debris field. Nothing moved. The devastation was complete. Satisfied with what she saw, she barked into her coms, “We have a clear IP (insertion point). Deploy when ready. Wicked Four, drop your cargo, then reposition to provide covering fire on the BSU side of the wall.”
Within seconds, the soldiers hit the ground, setting up a defensive perimeter. They waited until Wicked Four was in position, then approached the breach. Moments later, the Sappers engaged the portable gas welder, sending sparks flying as they secured the breach.
“Wicked One for Wicked Three, how copy?”
“Wicked One, this is Wicked Three, good copy.”
“I need a SITREP, Wicked Three. We need your team on the ground.”
“Wicked Three is en route. We secured one survivor on board. Jennings, you’re not going to believe it.”
Jennings powered down her Black Hawk and bolted from the cab. Wicked Three had just touched down, but she couldn’t wait. The survivor inside of Wicked Three required her full attention. She had to see him.
Sergeant Major McMaster soon joined her. His obvious anticipation echoed hers. Their eyes met in a disbelieving stare, prompting her to move in and embrace the lifelong military man. His crusty veneer melted as he gripped her tight in his arms.
As soon as the cabin door retracted, the two rushed the Hawk. None of the soldiers in the cabin tried to exit. After an agonizing thirty seconds, a scruffy, grime-covered man emerged. McMaster went weak at the knees. Through the matted hair and long beard he saw his son’s eyes!
McMaster rushed to his son, the son he thought he’d lost forever. He tried to talk, to will the words from his mouth, but couldn’t. He gripped the sides of his boy’s face tight and pulled him close. Resting his forehead to Nathan’s, he sobbed. His only child was alive!
Kathy Jennings joined the men and wrapped her arms around them. Her childhood sweetheart, her best friend, was home. Her surrogate family was complete again.
***
Neon-green fingernails dropped trash into the garbage bag tied to her waist. From her position at the intersection of Henry Drive and Marshall Drive, she was afforded an unobstructed view of the scene unfolding on Marshall Army Airfield. She stopped working to witness the powerful sergeant major embrace another man.
His posture told her that his emotions were barely in control, and she thought she saw his knees buckle ever so slightly.
A seed was sown.
***
Two hours later, Sergeant Major McMaster sat staring at his son. Nathan was now clean-shaven and fed, wearing crisp ACUs.
He smiled at his father and asked, “What’s on your mind? Never mind, I already know, and I don’t blame you. Blue States United gave no warning before they emptied the military hospitals. They tossed us into the streets, Dad. I had no memory of my past, where I should go. Hell, I didn’t even remember I had a father waiting for me.”
The elder McMaster blinked slowly. He was reliving the countless searches he’d conducted for his son and the soldiers like him. BSU had cast them to the street like trash. Never attempted to contact family or even RAM military leaders. Dozens of them were found living in homeless encampments. They’d arrived too late to save others who became so desperate that they took their own lives. Reminding himself that Nathan was safe now, he tamped down his anger
. But he promised himself a pound of flesh.
“Nathan, I’m sorry for what they put you through. But mostly, I’m sorry that I didn’t find you. I searched for you every chance I had. When the virus hit… well, you know… Get some sleep, son. We have some catching up to do.”
“I know you did, Dad. And sleep sounds good; sleeping in a proper bed sounds like heaven.”
His dad choked up at his words, so Nathan quickly shifted gears. “Dad, I’m going to start training tomorrow. When it was time to fight, my training brought me back, brought my mind back. Dad, I’m where I belong.”
Chapter 5 – Understanding
Willis stood in front of Sergeant Major McMaster’s desk. The cramped space felt barely large enough to display the man’s citations and medals. Willis, not easily impressed, found himself overcome with admiration for his new CO.
It became clear that McMaster had regularly put himself in harm’s way for his country. This man was a soldier’s soldier, and Willis recognized he could learn a great deal from him.
McMaster glanced up from the manila folder and locked eyes with Willis. “I’m reading your file, but you’re already aware of that.” He seemed aggravated, and Willis questioned what exactly his file held that would cause the reaction.
“You’re correct, Sergeant Major.”
McMaster placed the folder on his desk and said, “Sergeant Willis, why the hell are you here? Your file tells me you should be back at Hopkins leading your men into battle.”
Willis’ perplexed stare prompted McMaster to continue, “You’ll understand my question when I tell you what your new assignment is.”
Willis grew uneasy, and, sensing this, McMaster asked him to sit. Steepling his fingers, he told Willis, “You have been assigned to the Vice President’s daughter. I don’t have the security clearance required to know the scope of your assignment. But I can guarantee you it is not important enough to remove you from the battlefield.” He paused while his eyes clouded with painful memories, then continued, “You remind me of my son. Like you, he is a warrior. It came naturally to him. I know how he would react under these circumstances. Therefore, I will refuse to take corrective action if you are, shall we say, less than accommodating in your assignment.”
Unsure how to respond, Willis simply asked where he should report. McMaster smiled and held the papers out. When Willis tried to take them from him, the sergeant major held them tight. Willis gave McMaster a questioning stare, to which he responded, “I’m going to work on your transfer back to Hopkins this afternoon. RAM needs your boots on the ground.” He nodded, released the paperwork, and dismissed Willis.
The young soldier stood and, with a brisk salute, exited the office. His gut clenched as he reviewed the base map hanging in the Command Center’s lobby. He would report to a home in an area labeled “VIP Housing Units.” The housing area was highlighted in neon-yellow and appeared to have been established after the virus’ outbreak. Speaking to no one in particular, he asked, “How many soldiers’ families got displaced for this group of idiots.”
He flinched when a voice said, “Twenty.”
Willis spun around and said, “I’m sorry… I don’t understand?”
“You asked how many families were displaced to establish the VIP housing units. The answer is twenty.”
Willis regarded the young administrative specialist seated behind her desk in the Command Center’s lobby. She hadn’t been at her station when he’d arrived with McMaster. He would have remembered the attractive woman.
“You must be Sergeant Willis. I received a message for you from Camp Hopkins.” Her apprehensive stare telegraphed that he was about to receive bad news.
Willis found himself in the street outside the Command Center. His world tilted hard to the right as he fought a losing battle against gravity. His right knee slammed to the ground, and he stitched his eyes shut, trying to steady his mind.
His family’s home was under attack, and he found himself a thousand miles away. Helpless!
He caught movement when he opened his eyes. A teenage girl was quickly approaching.
***
Andrea didn’t know why, but it was clear that she needed to help the war-fighter kneeling in the street. She had witnessed him stumble from the Command Center and struggle to remain standing.
When he lost his fight, something in her soul demanded that she act. That she help the men and women risking their lives to save the world. The same ones that’d risked their lives to rescue her.
The image of the soldier on bent knee coupled with what she’d witnessed four days ago when McMaster reunited with the man she later learned was his son—a son whom her country had treated like garbage—drove her forward.
Shame crept into her mind as she recalled how she and the other survivors had treated them. It was an emotion unfamiliar to her. It replaced her victim mentality and her distain for RAM’s military. It was time to give back to the soldiers fighting to save her worthless hide.
***
Willis caught a flash of neon-green and quickly determined that a confrontation was coming in his direction. When the visitor’s badge strung around her neck came into view, it removed all doubt. She was going to “protest” him.
His left knee found the pavement with a loud clack from the hard plastic knee protection. He hinged up to meet her stare and said, “Please, just stay away from me. I don’t have the energy to stop myself from killing you.”
Understanding swept through her. He thinks I’m going to go full anarchist on him. She smiled and said, “I don’t blame you for thinking or saying that. Not long ago, you would have been right. But actually, I just want to thank you. I’m sorry for whatever happened to bring a man, excuse me, a war-fighter like you to his knees. I know any words I’d offer would only ring hollow. So please accept my thanks. I’m grateful for you and the men and women you serve with.”
Andrea offered him her hand. “Get on your feet, soldier. The world is depending on you.”
Stunned to silence, Willis accepted her help. When it became clear that he was steady, she turned on her heel and rushed away. For the first time in her life, she wasn’t furious that she hadn’t received praise for something she’d done.
She stormed across the base, her way made clear by McMaster’s forced marches. Blasting into the Command Center and past a shocked Administrative Specialist, fearful of losing her nerve, she rushed into McMaster’s office.
The man that had planted this seed, the one growing deep roots in her soul, slid a hand down his face in frustration. When his mouth hinged open, she stepped on his words. “Sergeant Major McMaster, it’s time I became a part of something that matters. Something bigger than my tiny, hate-filled world. I want to enlist.”
Chapter 6 – Chubby
The C130s, call signs Chubby One and Chubby Two from the 179th Air Lift Wing out of Mansfield, Ohio, prepared to leave RAM’s airspace. The mission target, Alameda Island, lay less than an hour away.
Chubby One, piloted by Warrant Officers Dan Rite and copilot Silvia Brent, had been struggling to bring the starboard sprayers back online. They were green lights for most of the flight but went red on them an hour ago. The flight engineer had been fighting with the hastily assembled spray system ever since. The system mimicked a crop-duster’s mechanism ramped up on a gargantuan scale.
“Ortiz, what’s the status on the sprayers?” Brent asked over the in-flight radio.
“Status remains nonfunctioning. I’ve traced the lines back to the serum bladder, and they’re clear. No blockages or kinks. The portal feeding the wing-mounted sprayers is inaccessible. Also, working in this wretched hazmat suit isn’t helping my mood or maneuverability.”
Brent chuckled at Ortiz’s crusty response. “Keep at it. If they remain inoperable, we’ll make it work using the port-side system.”
The last-minute addition of the hazmat suits put them on edge. They were donned only by the flight crew members coming in direct contact with the bladders. B
ut it still worried the entire team. They’d also lost a crewmember after they performed preflight blood tests, also outside of normal operating procedures. Rite received no explanation, just that their loadmaster wouldn’t be joining them.
“This is Chubby One for Chubby Two, how copy?”
“Chubby Two, good copy.”
“Fontana, our starboard sprayer remains offline. We’ll be forced to make additional runs. How’s your fuel? Over.
“Fuel is a go. We should be able to maintain a holding pattern at double the scheduled time. Over.”
“That’s a solid copy. Chubby One, out.”
Rico Fontana switched the in-flight radio settings to pilot and asked his copilot, “What do you think, Clark?”
Angie Clark responded, “Do you mean, what’s actually in those bladders? Well, I’m not sure why a substance developed to cure the UC virus requires hazmat suits.”
After a momentary pause, Rico said, “Bingo. You’d think they would have tested it and deemed it safe for humans. Why do I feel we’re about to make it worse?”
“Fingers crossed it’s just our superstitions and not a fact.” She paused, then continued, “God have mercy on us all if it makes it worse. The world ends if it does.”
The cockpit fell silent and remained so until their radio blared to life, “Chubby One for Chubby Two, how copy?”
“Chubby Two, good copy.”
“Fontana, we have a visual on target. Chubby One is moving into position for our first run.”
“Roger that, Chubby Two will assume a holding pattern. We’ll recon the area for survivors.”
Rite swung his C130 to the northwest and banked hard toward Alameda. He bled off altitude and speed as he lined up his first run. The northwest edge of the island filled his cockpit window when something caught his attention.
The DPRK fleet was now located directly in his flight-path. He glanced at his copilot. “Looks like the brown-water navy is invading the island. Be ready on our countermeasures.”
