“The GW isn’t going anywhere,” Konkoly said. “Right now, my focus is on getting President Ringgold to safety, where we can protect her, and getting you to the French research vessel that has anchored with our allies. The monsters in Europe are continuing to evolve, and the scientists on board the Thalassa need your help.”
Kate looked at Horn, who shrugged back at her.
“So we’re just going to run away and leave the GW in Wood’s grasp?” Kate huffed. She wanted to also scream about leaving Beckham behind but feared it would come off as too biased.
“Madam President, with all due respect, I think this is a bad idea,” Kate continued. “We should finish off the GW before rendezvousing with your allies.”
Ringgold directed her gaze toward Konkoly and said, “Captain, are you sure the GW has been disabled?”
“I listened to the transmission myself. Someone blew a hole in the side of the ship, and ROT ordered it abandoned.”
“It must have been Captain Davis,” Ringgold said. “I sure hope she made it out of there.”
Kate suddenly felt guilty for her comments. Rachel Davis was a friend, and she was trapped out there in an awful situation.
Ringgold glanced at Kate. “I’m sorry, Kate, but I’m going with Konkoly’s advice on this one. We head east to regroup with this fleet and come up with a plan.”
“Aye-aye,” Konkoly said. He turned to talk to Lieutenant Commander Bonner, his second in command. Both men left the room, still deep in discussion. Kate had begun to follow them out when the president called out for her. Ringgold gestured her into a corner where they could talk privately.
“I know you’ve done everything you can to save our species, Kate, but we need you again.” Ringgold held up a hand before she could reply. “I know working with the French team in the middle of the ocean isn’t ideal—”
“I’ve done this kind of thing before, and I’ll do it again,” Kate said, trying to smile. “It’s just that with Pat gone and Reed missing … it’s tough. But don’t worry.”
“Worrying is all I’ve been doing lately. But we’ve been given a second chance. I’m not going to waste it, and I’m certainly not going to underestimate my enemy ever again. I promise you that.”
A commotion sounded from outside the compartment. Konkoly ducked back through the open door and motioned for Ringgold.
“You better see this, ma’am,” he said.
He ushered them to the radar compartment. A female officer was sitting in front of the equipment. She twisted in her chair to look at Captain Konkoly.
“We’re picking up multiple contacts. Looks like a squadron of aircraft bearing down on our location.”
Konkoly pushed his headset to his lips. “Bonner, emergency deep!”
He watched the blips on the screen with his arms folded across his chest for several seconds before stepping away and looking at Ringgold and Kate in turn.
“Better follow me,” Konkoly said. “Things may get a bit rough in a few minutes.”
4
Captain Davis and Lance Corporal Diaz had been playing hide-and-seek with the infected for the past three days. One head shot at a time, they were slowly eradicating the monsters that had taken over the GW from the walls of Fort Pickens.
“Maybe we should have tried to get back to the truck,” Davis whispered, her resolve faltering. Even if they managed to clear her ship, it was possible that the radios had been damaged in the explosion.
Or maybe there’s no one out there left to listen, she thought.
Diaz, her face covered in mud, shook her head. “Negative, Captain. This is the only way.”
Davis scratched a bug bite on her head. Three days of fighting and sleeping in the dirt had her second-guessing her initial orders. She was starving, itchy, and dehydrated—all the more reason to get back on the ship as soon as possible.
“Okay, you know the drill,” she whispered.
“Yup,” Diaz said, grinning. Davis almost laughed. They were both covered head to toe in filth; between that and their roughly chopped hair, they looked savage.
Davis raised the Remington MK21 precision sniper rifle she had plucked off a dead ROT soldier, while Diaz grabbed her M4 and the bag of grenades. They parted ways to take up separate sniping positions on the walls of Fort Pickens. The nests provided a 360-degree vantage of the entire area. No one was going to sneak up on them out here.
The late-afternoon sun beat down on Davis with a vengeance. She wiped at her forehead, but that only provided momentary relief. Every inch of her skin itched and burned. At this point, she would have cheerfully murdered a whole army of infected former ROT soldiers if they stood between her and a cool shower. She set up her bipod on the top of the ledge that provided her a view of the beach below.
Dozens of corpses littered the sand, some of them ROT soldiers, others GW sailors. Carmine blood stained the formerly pristine beach.
Davis zoomed in on the deck. There were bodies there too, just above the massive crater where Lance Corporal Black had sacrificed his life. It was amazing the ship wasn’t rusting on the bottom of the bay, but the blast had occurred just above the waterline. If it had taken on any water, those compartments must have been sealed off before the virus infected the sailors and ROT soldiers aboard.
One of the infected stared back at her from the hole, yellow eyes blinking, before retreating inside the vessel. The beasts were seeking refuge inside the GW like a turtle hiding in its shell.
It was time to draw them out.
Diaz ran across the lawn below with a pair of grenades in each hand. She worked her way to the edge of the beach, where she stopped to pluck the pin from one of them. She tossed it through the air like an outfielder throwing a baseball to the catcher at home plate. After lobbing the second one, Diaz turned back to run for her sniping location.
The explosions rocked the water, sending geysers into the sky. Davis pushed the butt of the rifle against her arm and settled the cross hairs on the deck. It wouldn’t be long now.
A pair of seagulls took off for deeper waters, traversing the skyline. The birds knew what was about to happen.
Davis resisted the urge to scratch her itchy forehead and kept her eye behind the scope of her rifle. Nothing moved on the deck or in the gaping hole in the side of her ship.
There wasn’t even a single screech.
Davis lowered the rifle and shielded her eyes from the sun to look at Diaz, who was standing on the tower to the right. The lance corporal shrugged and then directed her M4 back at the ship.
Are they really smart enough to know what we’re doing? Davis wondered.
It was a fair question, but she decided there had to be another explanation. Perhaps it was the sun, or perhaps …
She mumbled a curse. If there were juveniles in the area, the infected beasts wouldn’t show their faces. That had to be it, she decided.
Davis motioned for Diaz to join her. They had only seen one of the juveniles over the past few days, but that didn’t mean they weren’t out here. Black had spotted an entire field of them on the drive to the fort.
Davis scoped the ship again while she waited for Diaz. She centered the M4’s muzzle on the crater. Ribbons of twisted metal protruded from the blast site like the maw of a Variant.
The beast she had seen earlier scrambled back into view. Two more sets of yellow eyes emerged from the darkness. She zoomed in on the beasts, who cautiously sniffed the air for prey but did not leave the ship.
She felt a hand on her shoulder and whispered, “Watch our six, Diaz. I’ve got an idea.”
If the bastards weren’t going to come out to play, she was going to do this the old-fashioned way. Davis chambered a round with a click, lined up the sights on the first beast, and pulled the trigger. The round found a target, severing an arm at the elbow. The injured creature raised its gushing stump and stared for a moment before clamping its bulging lips around the wound to suck down its own blood.
Shots two and three hit one of her
former sailors. She held her breath as the creature fell out of the opening and plummeted toward the water. A jagged piece of metal impaled it through the gut. The creature squirmed like a minnow on a hook.
Davis felt her courage flood away as she focused the scope on the monstrous face that had once belonged to Paul Conway, the chief engineer of the GW. He was one of the nicest and most gentle men she’d ever met in her life.
They aren’t your friends anymore, Rachel. That’s not Paul. That’s a monster.
“I’m sorry,” Davis whispered. She lined up her sights and ended the creature’s suffering with a round to the skull.
More infected scrambled onto the deck of the GW, a dozen emerging from between the aircraft. In moments, the dozen had turned into twenty. Ten more skittered up the side of the ship.
Davis focused on the former ROT soldiers first. She shot one that was perched on the wing of an F-18 Super Hornet. Two more lost their grip on the side of the ship as rounds lanced into their backs. They thrashed in the water, and she didn’t waste ammo on the drowning beasts.
Diaz crouched next to her and lifted her M4. “Our six is clear, ma’am. Want some help?”
Davis nodded. “But just kill the ROT bastards,” she replied. “I’ll take care of the sailors.”
“Are you sure?” Diaz asked.
“It’s my responsibility as captain.”
Diaz pushed the scope of her gun to her eye and fired on a target. Side by side, they slowly thinned the pack of infected. Each shot that killed one of her former crew members took a piece of Davis’s tattered soul. She wasn’t sure how many pieces she had left.
It was going to be a long, painful day, but by nightfall, they would be ready to board their ship and see if the comms were still working. In the end, all that mattered was her duty and her mission. As long as Davis had that to hang on to, she could hold it together.
Quick and steady, Rachel.
Lining up another target, she pulled the trigger.
Piero smacked the side of the radio. The sound echoed inside the stuffy vault. He and Ringo were sealed inside a nearly airtight room about a block from the Colosseum. The stuffy space wasn’t just hot and cramped—it was blocking the radio signal. He wasn’t worried about the Variants hearing him down here, he was worried about reaching his contact at the EUF.
“This is Sergeant Piero Angaran of the Fourth Alpini Parachutist Regiment, calling Lieutenant Jorge Fortes. Do you copy? Over.”
Static buzzed from the speakers. Either the signal was too weak or something had happened to the EUF base in Barcelona.
He batted his head against the wall, frustrated. Ringo scampered over and pushed its tiny nose against Piero’s hand as if to say, Don’t do that, friend.
“I know, but I’m mad,” Piero whispered. He waited a few minutes and then scanned through the other channels. He picked a different frequency and repeated his message, adding in English, “I’m holed up a block east of the Colosseum in Rome, requesting …”
A response crackled back.
Piero looked at the radio in his hand as if he couldn’t trust his ears. He stood and held it toward the ceiling, hoping for a better signal.
A voice speaking English surged over the channel. “Sergeant Angaran …” Static. “This is Corporal Dominique Zales with EUF HQ in Paris.”
“Copy that, Corporal. I was starting to think I wasn’t going to hear from anyone again.”
“Things are chaotic,” Zales said. “We’ve taken heavy losses recently.”
Piero looked down at Ringo. The mouse perked its ears and tilted its small head.
“My contact, Lieutenant Jorge Fortes at the EUF base in Barcelona, said things were going well,” Piero said.
There was a pause, and then: “I doubt he would say that now. That base fell to the Variants yesterday.”
Piero bowed his head at the news. Another fallen friend.
“I’ll serve as your new EUF contact,” Zales said. “It will be my honor, Sergeant. You’re practically a legend. They call you the Italian Stallion.”
“Hah!” Piero said, a bit too loudly. The smile felt unnatural on his face, and his lips quivered. “I’m not a legend. I’m a survivor.”
“The only survivor in Rome, that we know of. What I’m about to tell you is of the utmost importance.”
Piero waited in silence.
“The radioactive dirty bombs that we dropped on highly concentrated pockets of the juveniles are having the opposite effect from what we hoped. The creatures are going to be more dangerous than ever.”
“I know,” Piero replied. “I’ve seen it with my own eyes. They are turning into something like insects. I came across what looked like a beetle, and I’ve also seen the winged demons.”
There was another pause, longer this time. “One moment, Sergeant—I’ve got someone else here who wants to talk to you.”
A different voice came online, speaking in Italian this time. “Sergeant Angaran, this is Lieutenant General Christoforo Piazza. It’s great to hear you’re still alive, son.”
Piero sat up straighter. He knew Piazza—not personally, but everyone in the Italian military knew the war hero. “Hello, sir. Thank you.”
“I’ve been relocated to Paris,” Piazza continued. “We’ve got a new mission for you. Those monsters have Central Command on edge. They need to know more about them if we are to have any hope of taking Europe back. The problem is we don’t have many people in the field.”
Reconnaissance, Piero thought, not surprised.
“The Beetles you spoke of have armor like tanks, and another variation, the Wormers, can tunnel. They work together, although we’re not sure exactly how yet. No place is safe, Sergeant. The only hope is to stay on the move,” Piazza said.
Piero reached for Ringo and nudged the mouse. It had dozed off and looked up with exhausted eyes. “Time to get up, little friend,” he whispered.
“Understood, sir,” Piero said into the receiver. “I’ll move as soon as I receive my new orders.”
“The orders are simple: Send us any and all intel on these new monsters in Rome. And stay alive. You’re the only one there, son. It’s up to you. I understand what I’m asking you to do is dangerous, but you have proven you can survive.”
“I won’t let you down, sir. I will report back anything I can learn about these demons. You have my word.” Piero thought of the Wormers and the other types of monsters that were out there, some of which he’d never even seen. The images gave him a quick chill, but he remained confident and upbeat, thrilled to be talking to Lieutenant General Christoforo Piazza.
“Good luck, Sergeant. When this is all over, I’ll make sure you get the recognition you deserve.”
Piero smiled again, his mouth watering at the thought of what he really wanted. “Sir, I’ll settle for some carbonara and a bottle of pinot noir. And some cheese for my friend.”
Piazza chuckled a little uneasily. “Son, if you make it through this, I’ll make sure you get it. But who is your friend?”
“You still have blood in your hair,” Rico said.
Fitz raised the small mirror for a better look. His freshly shaved face was smooth and clean, but he couldn’t seem to get the sticky Reaver blood out of his hair. He had never been any good at science but he knew that meant the Reavers had high concentrations of glucose in their blood. Some scientist in a bunker somewhere was probably studying the reason behind it right now. Maybe even Kate …
He missed his friends—missed them so badly it hurt like the dull pain of a headache. If it weren’t for Apollo, Fitz would have been worried about relapsing into the depression and pain of PTSD. Having the dog by his side had kept the darkness at bay for a while.
But that darkness had suddenly returned like a wave with the news of Andrew Wood. There hadn’t been much time to contemplate what it meant before the Reaver attack, but now that it was over, Fitz couldn’t stop thinking about Wood’s effort to bring down President Ringgold.
He pi
cked a ribbon of dried blood out of his shaggy hair and lowered the mirror.
“You okay, Fitzie?” Rico asked. She sat on the cot across from him, cleaning her M4.
Dohi, chewing on a piece of licorice, eyed Fitz with a flat expression that nevertheless missed nothing, and even Tanaka looked up from sharpening his precious blades.
“I’m just exhausted,” Fitz lied.
Dohi stopped chewing. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“’Cause he’s a Southern gentleman,” Rico said, swatting him playfully on the arm.
Fitz took a swig of water and looked at his watch. “Shit, we need to move. We should stop at the medical tent and see Stevenson before our mission briefing.”
Team Ghost stood and followed him out of the barracks, keeping quiet as they passed beds of men and women trying to snag a few minutes of shut-eye. Outside, a Humvee rumbled past. The soldier in the turret focused the barrel of the vehicle’s M240 on the sky, half of his face covered in a yellowing bandage.
Team Ghost walked together in silence. Even Rico was unusually quiet. Apollo trotted in front, tail wagging every time Fitz reached down to pat his head. The dog was the only one of them who seemed to be in good spirits.
Each soldier they passed wore the same solemn mask. Morale had tanked further after the Reaver attack. The Twenty-Fourth MEU had arrived in Normandy with a sense of excitement and pride, ready to help their European allies fight against monsters as their grandfathers had done during World War II, but the past week had been one loss after another.
Poor morale wasn’t the only issue. Virtually everyone had an injury of some kind. Crews were still cleaning up the battle zone and trying to salvage what weapons they could. Bulldozers pushed the winged abominations into the ditches, and the soldiers who could still fight were back to the trenches, where they watched the sky.
Those who weren’t on detail were preparing for the next stage of Operation Reach—the stage that would send the allied forces on a march east of Paris to reclaim the once great cities of Europe. Rome had fallen. Moscow had fallen. Berlin had fallen. Barcelona had fallen. Fitz wondered if there was anything left out there worth saving.
Extinction War Page 7
