“Roger that, sir.”
“Aviation, what’s our lift status?”
“The civilian aircraft just cleared the airfield, sir,” the aviation NCO reported. “We’ve got one MH-47 on the return leg, wheels down in sixteen minutes. Second MH-47 is on final at Holloman, estimated return time is one hour, thirty-eight minutes. Black Hawk is also en route, and will touch down in thirty-nine minutes. We have two more Bell Hueys coming in from New Mexico, civilian aircraft; they’ll be here in two hours. They’ll need to refuel before they can leave.”
McDaniels looked at the situation display and frowned. “Advise them that we’re being overrun and tell them we’d be eternally grateful if they proceed with the extraction. But if they get cold feet, I understand.”
“Roger that, sir. We have four UH-60Q MEDEVACs spooling up from the 717th in Roswell, and they’ll be here in a little over three hours. They’ll also need to fuel before departure, or they can tank up before they get here. That’ll be a half-hour delay.”
“I’ll leave it to them.” Gunfire sounded, and it was quite close. McDaniels looked at another display, which showed security camera feeds from each corner of the trailer. The sentries outside had just bagged a zed.
“Shit, how did that thing get in here?” Switchblade asked.
“Excuse me, Colonel,” Captain Chase said.
“Go ahead, Captain.”
“Word from Hercules Two-Six, a company commander at the wall. Sir, it looks like Hercules Six is KIA, along with several other troops. Grenade attack. From a zed.”
McDaniels turned to Rawlings. “Okay, you’re up. Run the fight from wherever you need to, but I’d recommend against leading it from the front.”
“Understood, Colonel. You guys should retreat to the airfield now. Looks like things are getting a little out of hand. You have our frequencies, so we can still talk to each other.” Rawlings stood up and pulled on his gear. The rest of the SEALs accompanying him in the TOC did the same thing. “Good luck.”
“Same to you, swabbie. Don’t miss the last ride out.”
Rawlings gave McDaniels a crooked grin. “We won’t, believe me. We’ll just toss a bunch of Special Forces to the zeds to cover our retreat.” And with that, the SEAL detachment commander and his staff left the operations center.
“All right, let’s get the hell out of here,” McDaniels said. He picked up the satellite phone on his desk and checked the indicator on the display. It was fully charged. Good, he’d be needing it more than ever.
20
Helicopters came and went, whisking away the civilians. McDaniels and the rest of the operations staff relocated to a spare trailer at the airfield, and McDaniels had ringside seats for the evacuation. It was interesting to watch civilian helicopters landing and taking off. Some of them had flown over four hundred miles one way just to get to SPARTA and take on a load of citizens. McDaniels had to respect them for that; even though he wasn’t a helicopter pilot, he figured they weren’t the most comfortable of aircraft to fly over long distances.
The battle still raged at the eastern end of the camp. The Apaches hovered over the camp directly, using their belly-mounted chainguns to try to plug the gap in the wall. It would have been an effective response, but the zeds were just too numerous. The Apaches would exhaust their ammunition supply, return to the airfield to rearm, then immediately jump out and get back into the fight. But in their absence, another hundred or so zeds pushed into the camp.
Rawlings had his SEALs on hunter-killer missions, tracking down and killing any stench that managed to make it past the main engagement. Most of the stenches weren’t that evasive, however. They marched, stumbled, and ran straight toward the line of Rangers and Special Forces, who cut them down with methodical efficiency. But the line was slowly being pushed back. Soon, the observation towers had to be abandoned, and as the numbers of zombies increased against the eastern wall, that had to be evacuated as well. That left the gap mostly undefended, except by the helicopters. And while the Apaches and Little Birds were rotating in and out, there just wasn’t enough coverage to stop the dead’s advance.
The Ranger mortar team continued to fire, but the horde outside the walls was just too thick. The Rangers requested permission to relocate further into the camp, so they could start dropping high explosive and incendiary rounds directly on the stenches pushing in through the gap. Rawlings, in his new role as leader of the Quick Reaction Force, quickly blessed the notion.
The northern and southern kill zones were also full of bodies, piled at least four feet deep. The soldiers there were spraying them with the incendiary mixture, pumping it directly from the HEMT tanker truck. They intended to ignite it once they’d emptied the tanker, with high hopes that it would keep some of the horde at bay.
All around the base, bombs fell, from regular five hundred pound iron bombs to two thousand pound precision munitions. At the same time, AC-130 gunships orbited over the helicopter approaches and pounded the stenches with Howitzer, grenade, and cannon fire. Soon, another modified AC-130 showed up and raked the stenches with laser fire. While tremendous amounts of zombies were decimated in the attacks, they couldn’t do more than put a small dent in the numbers. There just weren’t any viable weapon systems in the military’s arsenal that could service millions of targets without destroying the camp at the same time.
McDaniels kept tabs on the engagements, paying as close attention to them as he could. At the same time, he made sure the civilians were as well protected as possible and that they were cycled onto the arriving helicopters in an efficient manner. It was going to be a real nut-buster. While the troops holding the line against the zeds were the best troops available for such a job, every foot they had to retreat brought the stenches closer to the civilians. And the airlifts just weren’t coming in quickly enough. McDaniels estimated they might be able to hold out until dawn, but at the rate the extractions were occurring, they’d still have over a hundred civilians left in the camp.
Lenny was never far from McDaniels’s mind, and he agonized over his boy’s whereabouts. Even though Gartrell was hunting him down, if Lenny didn’t want to be found, then even Gartrell wouldn’t be able to change that. McDaniels had even asked Chase to make loudspeaker announcements requesting Lenny to come to the operations center, but of course, that hadn’t worked either. McDaniels sighed. He knew Lenny would show himself in good time… if he was still alive. He could have died in the artillery strikes, been incinerated when the propane farm went up, or been ingested by any number of necromorphs.
All McDaniels could do was pray that fate was on Lenny’s side, and that he showed himself sooner rather than later. He appreciated his son’s desire to want to stay with him, but McDaniels was going more than a little bat-shit wondering where the hell he was, and if he was all right.
“Colonel, we just got the word. Two CV-22s are heading our way. Looks like they just fished someone out of San Antonio, if you can believe it. They say they have room for thirty folks, fifteen per aircraft. Due to arrive in seventeen minutes,” Major Carmody announced.
“Hooah. I hope these don’t crash like the one the Marine Corps sent to us in New York. We’ve got enough bad luck at the moment.”
“Roger that, sir.”
“Switch, what’s the status on those MRAP drivers?”
Switchblade was speaking into his headset microphone, and he looked up at McDaniels and held up a finger. McDaniels nodded and rubbed his eyes tiredly. He felt as though he hadn’t slept in days, which he realized was actually the case, for him and almost everyone else.
How many mistakes are we making because we’re tired? He snorted. What was he going to do, try to parlay with the stenches for rest breaks?
“Sorry, sir.” Switchblade’s tone was apologetic. “We have every MRAP manned, but I’m keeping those guys on the western wall for the time being. We need to keep it secure, and I don’t want to pull a few dozen guys off the battle roster just so they can stand around and wait to dr
ive us places.”
“Keep them nearby, Switch. We’ll need them eventually.”
“Roger that, sir. But I have a question for you. With the drawbridges up and all those stenches out there, can we even use the MRAPs to drive through them?”
McDaniels checked the feeds from the western wall perimeter cameras. The desert beyond the wall was as full as the rest of the desert surrounding the camp. McDaniels pondered that for a moment. Even though the MRAPs were extremely heavy and dense, he wondered if they could get push their way through literally millions of pounds of rotting flesh. It would be easier if they had something clear a path for them, like one of those newfangled AC-130s with the Star Wars weapons.
“Hey, who’s the senior engineer on post?” he asked loud enough for everyone in TOC to hear.
“That would be a Captain Berry, sir,” Chase said, looking up from his iPad.
“You’re not playing solitaire on that thing, are you, Chase?”
The big captain turned the iPad toward McDaniels. Chase had a spreadsheet opened that listed all the senior heads of units assigned to SPARTA. “No, sir. I prefer to play World of Warcraft.”
McDaniels smiled. “Sorry, Captain. I didn’t mean to imply anything, just screwing around. Can you tell me where this Captain Berry is?”
“Outside the cash, building fortifications.”
McDaniels nodded and rose to his feet. “All right. I’m going to go have a quick chat with him.”
“You need to take an escort, sir,” Chase said.
“I’ll be fine, Captain. I’m a snake eater, remember?”
“Then you won’t mind if another snake eater tags along to keep you company,” Switchblade said. “Dusty, you’re up.”
“Hooah.” Dusty Roads stood and grabbed his battle rattle. “Looks like I’m with you, sir. I’ll try not to cramp your style all that much. Hell, I’ll even let you shoot a trophy class zed.”
“You’re too kind, Dusty. Try to keep up,” McDaniels said as he opened the door and stepped outside.
Roads swore and hurried to stay with him. He was only halfway inside his body armor, and he held his elbow and kneepads in one hand. McDaniels thought about holding the door open for him, but decided against it. Just because the tall master sergeant was on the hook to keep him alive didn’t mean that McDaniels was going to do him any favors.
***
The din of gunfire was hellacious, and McDaniels believed he hadn’t heard so much noise since he had participated in contingency operations in Iraq where the Army was throwing everything at the insurgents, including tanks and artillery. Troops were coming and going, and Roads yanked McDaniels to a halt before he was nearly driven down by an ATV loaded up with ammunition boxes. The ATV’s driver didn’t even slow down, just kept charging down the thoroughfare between tents toward the eastern wall.
“See, I did have to come along after all,” Roads said.
“Don’t get all self-congratulatory, Dusty,” McDaniels said.
They jogged through the war-torn night, shouldering aside other soldiers. Another ATV came ripping down the lane, with two wounded soldiers on its flat bed. It turned down another lane, accelerating toward the cash. McDaniels could see that one of the men was bleeding badly from one of his thighs, despite the thick coating of dressing wrapped around it. McDaniels and Roads hurried after the vehicle and, a few minutes later, came to the hospital where the Special Forces troops were busily orchestrating trucks and construction equipment into various arrangements so they could be used as fighting positions. Others were hefting sandbags and Alaska barriers, trying to create a kill zone that would funnel the approaching dead right into their guns.
“Well, look who it is!” someone called loudly. McDaniels turned and saw Master Sergeant Rick “Barney Rubble” Forringer holding one end of an Alaska barrier as he and another soldier moved it into place in front of the cash’s main entrance.
“How you doing, Barney?”
“Fantastic, sir. This stuff makes me harder than watching Italian porn.”
“You like watching movies where a lot of guys have names like Flaccidio Peenees?” Roads asked. He stepped forward and helped the two men push the section of barrier in place. “That’s so typical of you, man.”
“Barney, you know where I can find an engineer named Berry? A captain?” McDaniels asked.
Forringer pointed toward a forklift bringing in more barrier sections. “He’s the dude behind the wheel of Forklift Fury. Better watch yourself, Colonel. That guy doesn’t know where the brake is on that thing.”
“Is that a fact? Thank God I’m here to pull you out of harm’s way, Colonel,” Roads said. “Should I drag you off to one side now, or wait until he gets a little closer?”
McDaniels pointed to nearby sections of barrier. “Beavis, you help Butthead out here while I talk to the captain, okay?”
Roads looked indignant. “I’m Butthead, sir.”
“That’s for sure,” Forringer said.
McDaniels rolled his eyes at their antics. “Get to work, both of you. Barney, you’d better keep Betty handy. She’s going to get a workout in a few minutes.”
“Hooah. Looking forward to it.”
“Just shoot straight,” McDaniels said. “We can’t afford to have any fratricide now.”
“Does that mean I have to stop shooting the SEALs, sir? I’ve found that winging them draws the stenches right to ’em, and then I can pick ’em off at my leisure. Both the zeds and the SEALs, of course.”
“Yeah, for now. If you don’t mind.”
“Okay,” Forringer said in a mock surly tone.
McDaniels flagged down the forklift, and the driver leaned out of its cramped cab. He wore full battle dress, and his pale eyes gleamed beneath the rim of his helmet.
“Yes, sir, what can I do for you?”
“You’re Berry, with the engineers?”
“Yes, sir. What’s up?”
“Need to talk to you about getting some equipment positioned by the west gate.”
“Let me drop this stuff off, sir. Then we can talk.”
McDaniels stepped back, and the propane-powered forklift zoomed toward the cash entrance. Berry dropped the load of barriers it carried, then backed the forklift away. He shut it down and dismounted. He shouted instructions to the soldiers setting up the barriers, then walked back to meet McDaniels. “So what do you need, Colonel?”
“Listen, we’re probably going to have to evacuate the camp. We’ll need your help.”
Berry looked at him quizzically. “My help? Aren’t you flying everyone out?”
“Captain, you might not have noticed, but we’re not going to be able to hold out for much longer, and there’s not a whole lot of airlift for us to use.” As he spoke, some of the Special Forces troops shouted warning. McDaniels pulled his rifle around and turned as the Green Berets opened up on a solitary stench stumbling toward them. It fell to the pavement as at least three rounds blasted its skull apart. Roads yelled at them to use one round next time.
“Yeah, I guess they are starting to get kinda close,” Berry said. “So what can I do to help, sir?”
“You know that line of MRAPs up at the airfield?”
“Yes, sir.”
“We’ll have to use them to bug out. Thing is, I’m worried that the stenches might be too much for them to bull through, and since we’ll probably have to leave in a convoy, we can’t have it getting bottled up at the front.”
“Okay? Can’t you have the Air Force blow a path for us or something?”
McDaniels shook his head. “It’s not that easy. Plus, the bombs would fuck up the terrain, and those things aren’t exactly the best choice for going off-road. But my major concern is what happens after we lower the drawbridges so we can cross the trench line. It would not do for us to get stuck in the middle of one. So I was wondering if you can use one of your steam rollers or something to smooth things out for us.”
“Steam—you mean the road rollers? The rigs we
use to flatten out the ground?”
McDaniels nodded impatiently. “Yeah, yeah, whatever they’re called. Can we use some of those?”
Berry considered that for a long moment. “I’ve got two on site, but Colonel, you have to realize, those things have a top speed of about eight miles an hour. Your convoy would have to be right on the roller’s ass for it to be effective, and they’re not armored at all.”
“They have enclosed cabs, right?”
“Yeah, but it’s just glass and metal—”
“We can supplement them with makeshift armor, right? Steel planking, like what was used to expand the airfield? Enough to give the operators some protection. It doesn’t have to be IED resistant or anything, just enough to keep the zeds out of the cab. And we can pick off any that manage to climb aboard.”
“It’s perforated, Colonel. That’s why it’s called perforated steel planking,” Berry said. “Lots of holes in it, big enough for a zed to reach through if it’s got small arms.”
“Yeah, so? We can weld them into place, and the cab has glass, right?”
Berry nodded slowly. “Yes, sir, it does. But—”
“But nothing, Berry. You want to stay here?” McDaniels waved an arm toward the eastern wall, where the line of soldiers and other troops were fighting to hold back the horde. Attack helicopters thundered overhead, firing blazing missiles into the mass of corpses.
“No, sir, I don’t think I do,” Berry said. “Tell you what, I’ll have the rollers moved to the airfield, and I’ll detail a crew to start fortifying them. I don’t have that many guys, so some of your troops will have to help. I know everyone’s busy, but—”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll get people to pitch in. Just get everything you need pulled together, and we’ll take it from there. Can you get that started?”
The Rising Horde, Volume Two Page 22
