Extinction War

by Nicholas Smith

  A pair of juveniles bounded out of the smoke with fire coating their armored plates. Rounds lanced into their armor from above, and they rolled up like hedgehogs in front of the barriers.

  “Tanaka, on the M240!” Fitz ordered. He wasn’t sure where the juveniles had come from, but it was obvious the men with flamethrowers had been caught by surprise. They started to retreat and had made it a few feet when the street behind their position cracked and gave way to a sinkhole. One of the men vanished into the opening, letting out a burst from his flamethrower that coated the other two men with fire.

  Their screams were overshadowed by a massive explosion that boomed across the street. Fitz ducked behind the MATV with Rico, Dohi, and Apollo.

  The bark of the M240 sounded above, and as soon as the shrapnel and hunks of the soldiers finished raining down, Fitz flashed signals to his team. Rico and Dohi ran to a flanking position, and Fitz looked for a target with his MK11, Apollo staying behind the MATV.

  Wormer tentacles on fire wriggled back and forth like a burning squid’s. One of the juveniles was blown in half, and the other was dragging its burning body across the street while bullets pecked at its armor.

  Fitz lined up a shot and fired a 7.62-millimeter round into its left eye. He roved the gun’s barrel for another target as an RPG streaked away from the building to his right and impacted the rooftop of a building a block away.

  “Hold the line!” someone shouted.

  The comms came alive with chatter that made it difficult to hear. Fitz pulled the earpiece out and heard tracks crunching over debris.

  An M1A1 rolled into the street behind him, smashing a car into a storefront. The tank commander put up a pair of binoculars while the drivers backed up and then turned back onto the road. He put the binos away and then ducked back into the hatch, a hint at what was coming.

  “Fire in the hole!” Fitz shouted. He caught a glimpse of the target lumbering through the tidal wave of smoke and shadows where the team of flamethrowers had been moments earlier.

  Two Black Beetles stampeded around the corner, letting out a guttural hiss that sounded like a tornado siren.

  “Everyone down!” Fitz yelled.

  The bark of the M240 went silent, Tanaka ducking back into the MATV as a shell whooped overhead. The second shell quickly followed. The blasts were apocalyptically loud, like an MOAB going off. The MATV that protected him vibrated from the shock wave and then shrapnel pinging the armor. Apollo hunched down behind Fitz.

  Stunned, Fitz patted himself down and then patted Apollo down for injuries, feeling for anything wet. Finding nothing, he crawled to look around the bumper, fear rushing into him when he saw the smoke rising up into the sky in the distance.

  A voice called out across the street, and he looked over to see Rico and Dohi hiding behind a vehicle.

  “Fitzie, you okay?” she shouted.

  The tank rumbled by, the tracks so close to Fitz that he could feel a draft of hot air hitting his flushed cheeks.

  He raised his hand at Rico after it passed his position.

  An eerie calm settled over the street as marines and other soldiers slowly rose from their positions to check the damage at the end of the road. The Variant attack was over—a test, it seemed.

  Fitz pushed himself up, still rattled by the last blast from the tank. He drew in a breath of smoke and dust that made him cough. It was just a distant echo, and when he yelled for Team Ghost, he couldn’t hear himself.

  The team gathered around him as the tank continued down the street.

  A carpet of darkness flooded the streets. The lampposts remained dark, the grid down. Fitz forced down some water, closed his eyes, and counted to ten to collect his thoughts. When he opened them again, Team Ghost and the other soldiers on the street were all gathered, some of them pointing at pillars of smoke rising toward the first glistening stars of the night.

  Fitz blinked several times until his vision cleared and he saw the pillars weren’t smoke at all: They were Reavers, hundreds of the waspy creatures flapping into the night sky.

  Several hushed voices broke out around Fitz. He scrutinized the soldiers standing in the street. Most of them looked like teenagers or retirees. All of them were looking at Team Ghost.

  “Fitz, Bradley is on the comms, asking to speak to you,” Rico said.

  Fitz pushed his earpiece back in. “Ghost One here,” he said.

  “Ghost One, as you can see, the sky isn’t the friendliest of places right now. You’re authorized to take your MATV into the city instead. I’ll send you coordinates in a few minutes. We think we might know where the Queen is.”

  “Roger that, sir.”

  Fitz directed his team back into their vehicle.

  The platoon sergeant and lieutenant in command of the men on the street started barking orders. The men filed back to their positions, forming a barrier for the night to come, while Team Ghost drove away from the front lines and into enemy territory.

  “Reed—is it really you?”

  The scratchy voice on the other end of the line sure didn’t sound like Kate at first. He clutched the satellite phone to his ear, his heart full.

  “Kate, baby, I … I can’t believe it’s you. How are you? How is …”

  “I’m fine, and Javier Riley is okay too. We miss you! We need you to come home!” There was a trace of something that sounded a bit like anger in her voice, but Beckham didn’t blame her for that. He’d broken a number of promises to Kate over the past seven months, and he was about to do it again.

  “Listen, Kate, we don’t have much time. There’s something I have to do—something I have to do for everyone.”

  “What are you talking about, Reed?”

  “You have to trust me, Kate. You trust me, right?”

  There wasn’t even a second of hesitation in her response. “I trust you, but whatever it is, there’s someone else who can do it. You don’t have to be a soldier anymore, Reed. You need to come home to us.”

  “And you didn’t have to help find the cure for the hemorrhage virus … I heard what you did, Kate. I’m proud of you, and I understand why you risked leaving the fleet. But you have to remember—we don’t have a home right now, and we won’t, unless I embark on this one final mission.”

  “Final missions,” she said with a huff. “It’s always one final mission.”

  Beckham could hear Horn saying something in the background. He could picture his best friend there by Kate’s side, and the image filled his heart even further.

  “I’m sorry, Kate, but this time it really is one final mission. Tell Big Horn I love him and thank him for protecting you. I’m going to finish this, Kate. I’m going to make sure Wood can’t hurt anyone else. If I don’t make it back, you know how much I love you, and Javier Riley. Tell Horn and his girls the same thing.”

  “You tell him,” Kate said.

  Beckham looked at the skyline. The chopper wasn’t in sight yet, but it would be here soon.

  “Boss?” asked a voice.

  “Big Horn, brother! It’s been a beat,” Beckham said.

  “I thought you were dead, man. I mean, I had hope, but damn! You’ve had me and your lady scared as hell.”

  Beckham wiped a tear from his eye. “You take care of her and your girls, Big Horn.”

  “That sounds like some final shit to me, boss. You better not be doin’ nothing stupid.”

  Swallowing, Beckham took a moment to reconsider his plan. It was a plan, but not a great one, and nothing he could share with Horn, for fear Horn would be the one to do something stupid.

  “I’ve got to finish this, Big Horn. I love you, brother. Tell Tasha and Jenny the same.”

  “Boss, tell me where you’re at. Tell me what you’re going to do.”

  “Put Kate back on the line,” Beckham stammered.

  “No! Let me help you, brother!” Horn choked.

  “You’ve done enough, man. I have to do this on my own. Now put Kate on, Big Horn—that’s an order.”r />
  There was a pause, and then: “I love you, brother. Come home to us.”

  Beckham wiped another tear away and waited for Kate’s voice. Hearing it reminded him why he had to go through with his plan.

  “I know there’s no talking you out of this,” she said, “so I’m just going to tell you I love you.”

  Holding in a breath, Beckham nodded at the words. “I’ll do everything I can to make it back to you. I love you and our son more than you will ever know.”

  “I’m not going to say good-bye,” she said, her voice breaking. “I’m not going to say it because you’re coming home soon.”

  The line clicked off, and Beckham walked back to Captain Davis and the others. He handed the phone to Mayor Gallo. Her bodyguard, who had introduced himself as Jack Wall, and Senior Chief Blade both nodded at Beckham.

  “I’m not sure I like this plan,” Gallo said. “It requires a lot of stars aligning to be successful.”

  “It’ll work,” Beckham said. He readjusted the new prosthetic hand they had constructed for him. Gallo’s doctors had also patched up his injuries and given him a warm shower and a new prosthetic leg. He wasn’t exactly a new man, but he would be able to fight, assuming Wood lived up to his end of the bargain. After what he had said about the man’s deceased brother, Beckham was betting on it.

  “Okay, let’s go over this one more time,” Davis said. “Beckham and I will head to the Zumwalt with the transmitter. As soon as we reach the ship, Lemke will blow up the submarine that attacked them, kill Nixon’s men, and take back the fleet. They will then send their fighter jets to take out the hemorrhage-virus missiles on the Zumwalt while Beckham keeps Wood busy.”

  Beckham nodded. “And back at home, Wall and Senior Chief Blade will help lead the uprising at the SZTs, starting with this one.”

  The senior chief massaged his thin mustache. “Wall’s already got the ball moving on that. We’ve got rebel units ready to move on ROT as soon as we give the word.”

  “Don’t worry,” Wall grumbled. “You can count on my friends and allies. We’ve been fighting Variants for seven months and we can handle a few ROT terrorists.”

  “You’re certain that ROT isn’t aware of our plans?” Gallo asked. “We’re taking a big risk helping you.”

  “If they were, we’d all be dead already,” Davis said.

  “Trust me, Mayor,” Wall said. “I was a lawyer in my past life. I know all about deceit.”

  The joke prompted a laugh from everyone but Wall, who raised a brow.

  “You were a lawyer?” Davis asked, giving him a once- over.

  Gallo laughed. “It’s true.”

  “I’m also a marine,” Wall said.

  Gallo pushed her white-rimmed glasses into her gray hair and massaged the top of her nose. Then she shrugged and said, “Okay then. Ringgold better promote me for this shit.”

  Davis chuckled, and Beckham cracked a half smile. The hot shower, tea, and Advil had helped the physical pain, and the jokes helped ease his mind, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Kate and Javier Riley, wondering if he would ever meet his boy. The fear also drove him to move forward with their plan.

  It was all for his family: Kate and Javier Riley, Tasha, Jenny, Big Horn, Fitz, Apollo, and all the other survivors, from Bo and Donna to Jake and Timothy. They were all worth dying for.

  Wall raised a paw toward the horizon. “There’s your ride,” he said.

  A black dot emerged over the rising sun.

  Beckham ran a hand over his short-cropped hair and turned to say good-bye to Mayor Gallo, Senior Chief Blade, and finally Wall.

  “Good luck, Captain,” Wall said. “From what I know about you, Wood won’t stand a chance, but what happens after you kill him?”

  “Let me worry about that,” Beckham said.

  Blade reached out and gave Beckham a fist bump, and Gallo shook Beckham’s hand. She followed Blade and Wall off the tarmac, leaving Beckham standing there with Davis. They were both weaponless and dressed in civilian clothing that covered their transmitters.

  The ROT chopper, a Seahawk by the looks of it, was already lowering over the husks of destroyed buildings in the distance.

  “You’re sure you’re up for this?” Beckham asked.

  Davis nodded firmly.

  She wanted revenge, and so did Beckham, which made their mission even more dangerous. They both needed to be smart about this if they were to have any hope of killing Wood. It was all a gamble, and Beckham was breaking his rule by leaving himself very few outs. Gallo was right: In order for their plan to work, a lot of stars needed to align.

  He raised his new prosthetic hand to his eyes as the chopper landed on the tarmac. A tall man opened the door and jumped out. It was still dark, but his athletic build and rough face looked familiar to Beckham.

  Inside the troop hold were several other ROT soldiers. They remained inside, their weapons angled at Beckham and Davis.

  The soldier crossed the tarmac and stopped a few feet away, focusing ruthless dark eyes that Beckham remembered all too well.

  “Hello, Beckham,” said Kufman.

  Beckham could feel Davis looking at him, but he kept his focus on the former Delta operator. He was the last man Beckham had expected to see get out of the bird, but then again, it made sense.

  “Been a while, Kufman. I see you’re still a snake.”

  Kufman clenched his jaw. The man was stone cold, just the way Beckham remembered him.

  “I’m exactly where I should be,” Kufman said. “And you … well, you’re looking pretty rough. You always were a pussy.”

  Beckham shrugged. “I’d rather be a paraplegic than betray the country I swore to defend.”

  Kufman came within inches of Beckham’s face. He could smell the rotten breath streaming through the gaps in Kufman’s teeth.

  “My country threw me under the bus after the Mog,” he said, voice gruff and filled with anger. “Now I’m collecting what’s due to me.”

  Beckham recalled the top secret mission in Mogadishu, Somalia, that had earned Kufman a one-way ticket home and a dishonorable discharge. Horn had nearly torn Kufman’s head off that day.

  “You killed kids,” Beckham said, narrowing his brow. “Babies.”

  “I also killed their terrorist parents. That grenade saved American lives.”

  “There is a line we were ordered never to cross, and you crossed it. You and Wood deserve each other, as far as I’m concerned, and I’m going to kill you after I kill him.”

  Kufman licked his lips. “We’ll see about that.” He gestured toward the chopper. “Let’s go.”

  Beckham and Davis walked in front of Kufman to the bird, where they were stopped. After a pat down, they were directed into the troop hold. Beckham’s heart was still pounding. They hadn’t discovered the transmitters.

  He took a seat next to Davis, across from the ROT soldiers. They all wore scarves or bandannas to cover their features.

  I’d be doing the same thing, Beckham thought. Filthy fucking traitors.

  A few minutes later, the Seahawk was pulling into the bright morning sun. The rays spread over the landscape of their troubled country for yet another day. Beckham had a feeling this one was going to be one that went down in American history as a turning point.

  Kufman kept his gaze focused on Beckham but didn’t say another word for most of the flight.

  “What did you do to piss this guy off?” Davis asked.

  “His real beef is with Big Horn,” Beckham replied. “Wish Horn was here to kick his ass.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” Kufman said. “I’ll find Horn as soon as I’m done with you. He’s as dumb as an ox. It’s only a matter of time.”

  Beckham rested his head back on the bulkhead and closed his eyes, his mind racing for hours as they flew south over ruined cities and farm fields overgrown with weeds.

  It wasn’t long before he saw the ocean and the Zumwalt. The stealth ship glided through the teal waves in the distance. Kufma
n opened the door and gestured for Beckham and Davis to stand.

  They stepped up to the edge of the troop hold, the glistening water passing below. Kufman stood behind both of them, and for a moment Beckham wondered if he was going to kick them out. But the disgraced Delta operator simply stood there with his arms folded across his chest.

  The pilots descended toward the small tarmac on the stern of the ship, where three Little Birds were already parked. Beckham saw the two MGM-140 Army Tactical Missile System delivery vehicles fully loaded with hemorrhage-virus missiles on the bow of the ship as they lowered.

  Kufman instructed Beckham and Davis to raise their hands as soon as the wheels touched down. They did as ordered, allowing another ROT soldier to put flak jackets over them.

  “You afraid someone’s going to shoot us before we get to Wood, or what?” Davis asked.

  Beckham raised his arms above his head, the action sending sharp pains up his back. He almost didn’t feel the blade that struck him below his shoulder blade, but he heard the crunch. Kufman buried the tip deep in Beckham’s flesh. He let out a gasp and blinked at the white-hot pain.

  In his blurred vision appeared three men. One of them was waving from the deck as he crossed over to the bird. Vision going in and out, Beckham saw it was Wood. He twirled a machete in one hand and continued waving with the other.

  President Ringgold was on her knees behind Wood, head bowed.

  “Sorry, Reed,” said Kufman, his gruff voice spitting in Beckham’s ear. “But you had to have known Wood wasn’t going to fight you fairly after you had his brother shot like a dog.”

  25

  The MATV rumbled down Rue de Sèvres, an abandoned street, in the flame-scorched night. Thirty minutes after leaving the front lines, Team Ghost had managed to drive over four miles into Paris without being spotted.

  Look-at-me fire continued to thump from the front lines, sending a steady volley of artillery into the city. The distant explosions flashed like a brilliant fireworks display, attracting thousands of Reavers. So far, the distraction seemed to be working.