“You ready, sir?” said Kufman.
Wood nodded, but he knew the swearing-in bullshit was just words. Actions were more important than petty titles like “President Wood” or “King Whoever.” He would never feel truly in control until he had taken revenge on the man who killed his brother. He was ready to lead the world into a new age—but first, he had a score to settle.
2
Master Sergeant Joe Fitzpatrick sat at the war table thinking of his friends back home and everything that had happened over the past seven months. He raised the coffee mug in his hand and eyed his trigger finger that had taken so many lives.
He had a hard time accepting the truth of his situation. None of it seemed real.
And why would it? The world was overrun with monsters, and he was in France, of all places. He’d always wanted to visit it, but not like this. There weren’t even any pretty French girls to flirt with.
He took a sip of the coffee. It was cold, but it still tasted like liquid gold. He had just gotten back from Greenland twelve hours ago and needed the caffeine. Most of the members of Team Ghost were sleeping in their cots halfway across the camp. They were physically and mentally exhausted from facing the hybrid Variants in a remote Inuit fishing village. And although the mission had been a success, Sergeant Hugh Stevenson had almost lost his life. He was still recovering from a concussion.
Fitz hadn’t lost a member of Team Ghost yet, but he wondered how much longer that would be true. He was sitting in the command tent at Forward Operating Base 5, just thirty miles inland from where Marine Expeditionary Unit 24 had landed a few days before.
Thirty miles of fighting and three hundred dead marines.
He took another slug of coffee, wishing it was spiked with whiskey. All around him were the heads of the other units making up what was left of the Twenty-Fourth MEU. Sergeant Jeni Rico sat to his left, twirling a tip of frosted blue hair around her finger and chomping on a piece of bubble gum.
She’s not French, Fitz thought, but she sure is pretty.
He shook the thought away. Beckham had given him a lot of advice about leadership when he had nominated Fitz to take over Team Ghost, but they didn’t need to talk about how to handle a situation in which Fitz might be attracted to one of his subordinates. He knew it went against regulations and was unprofessional. Fortunately for Fitz, there were plenty of other things to focus on besides Jeni Rico’s good looks.
“I hope General Nixon authorizes the second phase of Operation Reach so we can get out there and start kicking some mutated ass,” she said. “The sooner we start the march to Paris, the sooner we get to go home.”
“We’re going to find out in a few minutes,” Fitz whispered back. He glanced at the men and women around them. Together, they were a hodgepodge of soldiers and sailors from different military branches. But they all wore the same mask of fatigue and despair, like football players after a brutal team loss.
No, that wasn’t a good comparison at all, Fitz realized, taking a second look at the hardened features of those around him. Losing a game couldn’t compare to losing a battle by any stretch of the imagination. It was an insult to think that.
Team Ghost had been lucky after Greenland and the mission that had taken them to the Basilica of St. Thérèse, at Lisieux, after the invasion—much luckier than most of the soldiers in this tent, and luckier than the leader of the Ombres, Mira, and their captain, Michel. The boy had died in Fitz’s arms, still wearing his Superman cape.
Fitz struggled to get his head straight as Colonel Roger Bradley ducked under the flap of the tent. Major Rick Domino followed him inside. Everyone rose to salute, but Bradley hardly seemed to notice. He dragged a sleeve across his mouth and then waved at them to sit.
“At ease,” he muttered, sounding annoyed and maybe a bit drunk. “Got bad news, bad news, and more fucking bad news.”
Bradley paced in front of the table while Domino spread out the maps. Fitz tried not to look at the gaping cavern where the old colonel’s eye had been. Fitz hated to be stared at. But like Fitz, Bradley didn’t shy away from the attention either. He never wore a patch, as many soldiers who had lost an eye did.
“Ready, sir,” Domino said, smoothing out the wrinkles in the map.
“I’ll start with the really shitty news.” Bradley palmed the table. “The second phase of Operation Reach is still on hold for now.”
Several men muttered under their breath, but Bradley didn’t call them out for it.
“The radioactive dirty bombs dropped during Operation Reach didn’t have the effect we thought they would,” he said. “We’re hearing all types of reports from recon units, and it sounds as if the bombs actually made things a whole hell of a lot more tricky for the United States Marine Corps and our allies.”
Fitz squeezed the Styrofoam coffee cup in his hand. Team Ghost’s mission to the Basilica of St. Thérèse had been supposed to help destroy the mutated army. Had it all been for nothing?
“If that shit weren’t bad enough, we’re getting more information about what’s happening in the United States,” Bradley said. He folded his arms across his chest and snorted at Domino.
“Resistance of Tyranny, a mercenary group that made a name for itself during the War on Terror, is leading the effort to bring down President Ringgold and her cohorts. They’ve been recruiting SZTs to their side,” said the major. “Ringgold has allegedly deployed the hemorrhage virus on several of the SZTs that were challenging her legitimacy as president.”
What? That can’t be true. Fitz shifted in his seat anxiously, waiting for more info and holding back his own questions.
Bradley huffed. “I don’t know what to believe, to be frank, but our focus right now is on the fight in Europe.”
“Sir, with all due respect, President Ringgold would not kill Americans,” Fitz chimed in, unable to resist. “I know her. She’s not a murderer.”
Bradley’s remaining eye roved back toward Fitz. “The leader of ROT, Lieutenant Andrew Wood, says it’s true, and half the SZTs are rallying behind the ROT flag.”
Wood. The name sent a wave of anxiety through Fitz. He levered himself out of his chair, ignoring the hand on his shoulder. He knew it was Rico trying to calm him, but he gently brushed her aside.
Fitz was afraid to ask, but he needed to know. “Is this Lieutenant Andrew Wood any relation to Colonel Zach Wood, sir?”
Bradley nodded and said, “Yeah. Now sit your ass down, Fitz. I’m trying to give a damn briefing here.”
Fitz slowly sat, his mind racing. He gripped the edge of the table so hard his knuckles turned white. Rico tapped his leg with her boot, but he continued to ignore her.
Bradley grabbed a folder from the table and cracked the seal. “In front of you is a report from the fringe science division about the Variants in France,” he continued. “As you can see, irradiation seems to speed up the process of the epigenetic changes caused by VX-99. The result is a metamorphosis of the monsters in—”
The whine of an air-raid siren cut Bradley off.
The tent flaps were pushed aside as two lance corporals stepped inside.
“Reavers, sir. We’ve got a sky full of ’em,” one of the men said. “There’s got to be hundreds!”
Fitz, Rico, and the rest of the team leads all hurried outside. The muddy road bisecting the columns of tents had broken into a flurry of motion. Marines, Army Rangers, army infantry, and a dozen other soldiers emerged with their rifles raised to the sky. One man still had shaving cream on his face.
In the glow of the rising sun, an armada of dark figures flapped across the sky, swooping low like fighters coming in for a bombing raid.
“Get your asses in gear, marines!” Bradley shouted with his hands cupped over his mouth. He turned to the lance corporal standing to his right and said, “Go grab Bertha.”
“Air support should be on the way,” Domino said.
Bradley spat in the dirt. “Yeah, but by the time the flyboys get here, we’re going to be dead
. Now go get me my air support!”
The other members of Team Ghost, except Stevenson, came bounding around the corner of the tent. Staff Sergeant Blake Tanaka and Specialist Yas Dohi unslung M4s. Apollo trotted over, his tail between his legs.
“Get to the MATV!” Fitz yelled. He turned just as the lance corporal emerged from a tent with Bradley’s “air support,” aka Bertha. He handed the sleek FIM-92 Stinger surface-to-air missile launcher to the colonel.
“There’s my lady,” Bradley said with a toothy grin. He looked at Fitz. “When this is over, find me. I’ve got a new mission for Team Ghost.”
Fitz nodded and took off after his team. The Reavers were starting to fan out as they neared the base. From the sky they had a perfect vantage of the four sections of the FOB nestled against a southern rocky backdrop.
A road bisected the camp and led out into the farm fields to the south. On the west side of the base were tents housing soldiers and supplies. To the east was a vehicle lot, and the north side of the camp consisted of trenches and artillery zones that were already spewing fire into the sky.
The Reavers speared through the barrage of missiles, mostly managing to avoid the tracer rounds that lit up the morning sky.
Otherworldly shrieks sounded over the bark of automatic gunfire and the thump of the M777 155-millimeter Howitzers. Surface-to-air missiles streaked away, marked by spiraling exhaust trails.
Apollo barked at the sky as he ran by Fitz’s side.
“It’s okay, boy,” Fitz reassured the dog. The Reavers, of all the Variants, seemed to frighten Apollo the most.
“Follow me!” Fitz yelled to his team. They took a detour into an alleyway between two green tents and made a run for the west vehicle lot. Tanaka was already climbing into the turret of their MATV. The Reavers, numbering in the hundreds, reached the other end of the camp. One of them pulled into the sky with a screaming marine in its talons.
A missile hit the creature’s wings, and the marine dropped on top of a tent, collapsing it.
“Come on, Fitzie!” Rico shouted. She opened the back door of the MATV and gestured frantically. Apollo hopped inside, and Fitz jumped in after him. Fitz closed the door just as a Reaver crashed into the other side. It flapped away, a stream of blood flowing from its warty, bulbous nose.
Tanaka turned the turret and fired a volley of rounds that shredded its wings to pulp. Fitz climbed over the seats as the vehicle lurched forward.
“Give ’em hell up there!” Rico shouted.
Dohi floored the truck and sped away from the fleet of vehicles. They were the first MATV out, but the other drivers quickly followed. Humvees and Bradley Fighting Vehicles too peeled out of the lot to engage the beasts.
Fitz looked out the windshield. Rounds of all calibers as well as missiles streaked into the sky, but there were so many of the Reavers. Dozens had already landed and were tearing apart soldiers who had been caught out in the open.
Something large and green hit the windshield with a thud. Cracks ebbed out around the impact point. Blood filled the web of cracks as a dead soldier’s body slumped down the hood of the truck.
“Jesus!” Rico said.
Fitz shook away the shock. “Get us into this fight, Dohi!”
Overhead, Fitz spotted the Reaver that had dropped the man on their truck. He chambered a round in his MK11. The bark of the M240 above suddenly ceased, and Tanaka slid back inside, sealing the hatch with a click.
“Too many up there, man,” Tanaka said, his voice shaking.
“Then let’s take some down!” Fitz shouted.
“What if this is the start of a bigger attack?” Rico said. “What if there are more on the way?”
Fitz knew the answer, but he kept his mouth shut. If the Reavers were just the advance party, then the Twenty-Fourth MEU was screwed.
“Suck it up, Team Ghost!” Fitz pulled up the joker bandanna around his mouth, rolled down his window, and jammed his rifle between the metal bars while Dohi pulled back onto the road.
A squeeze of the trigger sent a round into the spine of a Reaver making a run for the southern side of the camp. It shrieked in pain, reaching back with a winged arm before flopping to the ground.
One down. A hundred to go.
Apollo jumped into the front seat with Fitz, snarling. A wave of fur trembled across his body, not from fear but from anger. The dog wanted back into the action.
Me too, boy.
Fitz centered his rifle on a Reaver perched on a mound of sandbags, hunched and snacking on the neck of a dead soldier. It pulled away ribbons of flesh just as Fitz fired a round into its meaty chest. Dark blood gushed out, and the creature slumped over the soldier’s corpse.
Dohi took a left and gunned the engine toward the front lines. Only about half of the Howitzers and miniguns were still firing. Beyond the base’s defenses, he could see the lush green stretch of farmland left untended.
“Watch out!” Tanaka shouted in the back. The MATV jolted from the impact of a Reaver crashing into the side. The vehicle weighed two tons, but the beast still shook the frame.
Fitz watched in the rearview mirror as the Reaver stood and let out a high-pitched scream at the escaping truck, ready to charge again. The MATV behind them smashed into the creature, flattening its body and wings like roadkill.
As soon as their truck rounded the last row of tents, Fitz saw the trenches and artillery zones. His breath caught in his chest. The Howitzers had all gone silent, and the soldiers along the trenches were down to their bayonets. Dozens were fighting in single combat against the overwhelming Reaver forces.
“Oh my God,” Rico said. “Hurry, Dohi!”
Fitz turned to the back seat. “Get back up on the turret, Tanaka!”
The man had pulled out his Wakizashi, but sheathed it over his shoulder and climbed back up into the turret without uttering a word. Fitz was starting to worry about Tanaka, who seemed determined to use his blades when a gun was the better option. If they survived this battle, he’d have to talk with the staff sergeant.
“Fitzie,” Rico choked. She pointed at the soldiers scrambling from the trenches. One of them was caught halfway out of the ditch. He clawed at the dirt, trying to get away from the Reaver holding him fast by the ankle. The man let out a scream as the beast yanked him back into the trench and out of view. A geyser of blood shot up over the dirt as his screams died.
Dohi parked the truck along a row of sandbags. In the rearview mirror, the other vehicles were all speeding down the road, dust pluming behind them. Reavers swooped in to claw at the turrets. None of them were firing back, and the hatches were all sealed.
“We need to get a bird in the air!” Rico shouted.
Fitz could see the choppers sitting idly to the west, but he shook his head. The skies were too hostile for the pilots to navigate. The Twenty-Fourth MEU was going to have to fight this one on the ground.
“On me!” Fitz opened the door, jumped out, and then shut the door to seal Apollo inside. The dog barked and clawed at the window.
“I’m sorry, boy,” Fitz said. He hesitated for a second before turning to the battle. This fight was too hot for his loyal friend.
“Keep them off us, Tanaka!” Fitz yelled.
The M240 barked overhead as Rico and Dohi came running around the MATV with their M4s blazing. Fitz shouldered his MK11 and searched for a target, but the entire zone was a mess of white flesh and camouflage. There had to be at least thirty Reavers on the ground and even more in the skies.
The other vehicles jerked to a stop behind them and soldiers piled out. They all ran after Fitz, leaping over sandbags and screaming their fury. The sight of marines running toward a fight was familiar, even in the face of an unprecedented enemy.
Fitz lined up his sights on a Reaver that was pulling a marine into the sky and fired. The creature let go, and the man fell back to the ground, twisting his ankle, and then scrambled to safety.
Shots eight and nine of the twenty rounds in Fitz’s MK11 lanced into
the spiny back of a Reaver that had landed on a marine. It crashed to the ground, wings fluttering. The man managed to crawl out from under the beast and wiped blood from his face just as another Reaver barreled into him from the side.
Dust exploded into the air as the marine was pulled into a trench on the other side of the artillery guns. Another man came crawling out, soaked in blood, tattered fatigues hanging off his body. He was covered in lacerations from his ankles to his neck, exposing bone in several places.
The marine didn’t beg for help or scream in agony. He pushed himself to his feet, staggered, and then turned with a pistol to fire on the spiked backs of the Reavers in the trenches before one of them reached out and yanked him back inside.
There wasn’t anything Fitz could do but watch.
All across his line of fire, Fitz saw dying marines and Army Rangers fighting with their bayonets, knives, and side arms. Some of them were down to their fists, punching, kicking, and screaming. The Reavers were more agile, stronger, and faster than the men, and they pulled their prey into the ditches or into the sky.
The memory of Mira being pulled into the sky surfaced in his mind. The mother of the Ombres who had hidden in the Basilica of St. Thérèse had given her life to protect her adopted children.
Fitz gritted his teeth and fired two rounds through the wings of a massive beast. The two men it carried fell back into the violence below.
Rico and Dohi now knelt to Fitz’s left, firing three-round bursts that dropped the Reavers headed for their position. The men from the other vehicles formed a solid line along the sandbags.
“Watch your fire zones!” Fitz shouted, realizing how crazy it sounded. Even if they fired with calculated precision, it was hard to find a clean target in the chaos. A cloud of dust swirled like smoke in the battle zone. Reavers advanced, leaving the dead behind to pursue the living, always in search of fresh meat.
Fitz finished off his magazine and slung the rifle across his back. He pulled Meg’s hatchet and his Beretta M9. Rico was down to her sawed-off shotgun. She pumped in a shell and nodded at Fitz.
Extinction War Page 4
