It appeared that the 1st Battalion, 55th Infantry Regiment (Light) appeared to be full of a bunch of joes who were still good guys. Salvador knew Lieutenant Colonel Prince well, and he wasn’t surprised that the cocky son of a bitch had not just survived the situation in Boston, but made it all the way back to Drum.
Salvador looked around. Only three other soldiers were with him in the basement, which served as the division’s final tactical operations center. The upper floors of Hays Hall had been riddled with bullets, and the brick-faced structure hadn’t been designed with the thought of withstanding direct enemy contact. The basement was the only place that was still secure, and Salvador had ordered the operations personnel to head underground while the rest of the troops—a collection of military policemen, cavalry, and the remains of the post’s garrison—tried their best to defend Hays Hall from the Klown onslaught. Those professionals had been backed by cooks, orderlies, medics, even two chaplains. A week ago, when Salvador’s boss Major General Lew McLaren had still been alive, they’d had a force three hundred strong. Since then, the numbers had been severely diminished, and with the last head count, Salvador had been told that only ninety or so troops remained combat effective. And a good percentage of those were wounded.
“Okay, get me Wizard Six Actual,” Salvador ordered his radio telephone operator. “We need to seriously consider unassing, and we’re going to need Prince’s troops to do the heavy lifting.”
THIRTY-FIVE.
“Six, this is Wizard. Over.”
Lee almost missed Walker’s transmission in the heat of battle. The battalion was fully engaged, with two companies on either side of the Hays Hall defensive perimeter, slowly rolling back the Klowns. It was a tough fight. The Klowns weren’t afraid of getting killed, but they weren’t interested in dying needlessly, so they were getting crafty. The military members in their ranks were rising to prominence, and they were clearly directing the rest of the crazies as they rallied and counterattacked.
Since Lee had deployed forward with the rest of the combat troops on the eastern engagement area, he had lost most of his overall situational awareness. As such, he’d ordered Walker to hang back with the rest of the headquarters company staff to coordinate resources while Captain Hayes oversaw combat operations in the western engagement area.
“Go for Six,” Lee said. He hunkered down behind Murphy and fired his M4 over the soldier’s prone figure.
Murphy was still working on the Klowns with his SAW. He had already gone through a couple of two hundred round ammo pouches.
“Six, this is Wizard. Mountaineer Five wants a heart to heart on foxtrot four three three. Wants to discuss retrograde options.” Walker paused. “Six, Mountaineer thinks Prince is still commanding the battalion. Over.”
Lee heard a quaver of nervousness in Walker’s voice. As the battalion XO, Walker had willingly stepped aside to let Lee assume command. While that wasn’t illegal—Lee had much more direct field experience than Walker—the fact that he had encouraged Lee to also assume the rank of lieutenant colonel was doubtless weighing heavily on him. General Salvador would certainly wonder just what the hell was going on, with a captain pretending to be a lieutenant colonel, and he’d probably expect a really good explanation from Walker.
“Roger that, Wizard. Listen, I need you to put some Ravens over the far side of the engagement area, over Sexton Field. Are any of the Klowns breaking off for an envelopment attack? Need to know that right away. Over.”
“Six, this is Wizard. We’ll have a bird in that area in about two minutes. Over.”
“Roger, Wizard. If there’s a breakaway element down there, see if Thunder can hit them. And let’s get some trucks staged forward. I’m sure Mountaineer doesn’t have much in the way of transportation resources. Questions before I flip over to four three three? Over.”
“Negative, Six. Wizard is good. Over,” Walker replied.
“Roger. Switching now. Talk to you in a few. Out.” Beside him, Murphy grunted and stirred uneasily on the ground. “What’s up, Mike?”
“Other than the fact that these fuckers keep coming, and I’m running out of ammo? Nothing, sir,” Murphy said.
“Oh, stop your bitchin’. You’ll still have time to fix your makeup, sweetheart.”
Foster crouched down beside them. He had three bags of ammunition for the M249, and he dropped them on the ground beside the gunner. “Here, don’t say I never gave you nothing.”
“Dude, I could kiss you,” Murphy said.
“Really? You know, this is like the tenth time you’ve suggested we get into a tongue fight. I’m starting to get worried about your orientation, man.”
“Blow me,” Murphy said as he reached for one of the pouches.
Foster looked at Lee. “See what I mean, sir?”
“When this is over, the two of you should go see a couples counselor,” Lee said. “Keep them back, guys. I need to check in with Mountaineer.” Lee switched frequencies. “Mountaineer, this is Wizard Six Actual. Over.”
“Wizard, this is Mountaineer Five Actual. Prince, is that you?” The responder’s voice was vaguely Latin-sounding.
“Mountaineer, this is Wizard. Negative, Colonel Prince was Kilo India Alpha. We need to pull you guys out of there, Mountaineer. How many faces do you have left? Over.”
“Wizard, this is Mountaineer. We have about eighty troops left, and several are injured. Wizard, if this isn’t Prince, is this the XO? Why are you using Prince’s call sign? Over.”
Lee chose to ignore the question. “Mountaineer, we have to abandon this post. We don’t have sufficient mass to hold on to Drum, so we need to get the hell out of Dodge. We’re holding the north side of the emplacement, and we have trucks staging nearby to take you out. Start rotating your troops to that side, and we’ll take it from there. Over.” Lee had to shout over the chatter of the SAW nearby, plus the crackle of over a hundred assault rifles and dozens of exploding grenades. Farther downrange, mortars began impacting the area. He figured the drones had identified a Klown staging area, and the mortar team was servicing it as directed.
“Roger, Wizard. How long can you hold the Klowns back? Over.”
Lee looked around. He was only able to view his flank, and it appeared secure. Captain Sommers was leading Charlie Company, call sign Chaos, into forward positions, where they could start segmenting the Klowns and chopping them into pieces. He didn’t doubt that Hallelujah Hayes was doing things any differently.
“Mountaineer, I think we’re good for at least ten minutes, but let’s not put that to the test. The quicker you can pull back, the quicker we can hit the road. Over.”
“Roger, Wizard. Stand by. We’re hitting the northern wall by squads. Over.”
“Roger, Mountaineer. See you soon. Wizard, out.” Lee switched frequencies. “Wizard, this is Wizard Six. Over.”
“Six, this is Wizard. I heard the conversation. I was listening on one of the other radios. We have six empty trucks lined up, but we’re starting to get a little light on transport. We can’t take multiple losses and still move effectively,” Walker reported. “Just the same, we’re ready for Mountaineer. Over.”
“Roger that, Wizard. There are more trucks in the Sustainment Brigade’s motor pool. We’ll fall back there and resupply on our way out. I’m looking to pull back inside of ten minutes, so make sure we have adequate transport for our troops, as well as Mountaineer. And pass on to Thunder that we’ll be counting on them to cover our retreat, so they better start pacing themselves. Over.”
“Roger all. I’ll get it squared away,” Walker said. “Uh… Six, stand by.”
As Charlie Company continued its advance, rolling up the Klowns with judicious use of firepower, Murphy suddenly stopped firing.
“Sir, we’re going to have to move forward—Charlie’s in my lane of fire. I can’t keep firing without the chance of blowing away some of the good guys.”
“Hold your fire for a moment. I don’t want you moving just yet,” Lee said.
“Six, Wizard. Over!” Walker was back, and he sounded mighty excited—but not in a good way.
“Go for Six, Wizard. Over.”
“Six, we’ve got a good-sized element of Klowns rolling up on us from the east-northeast. On foot, several hundred in number, coming out of the barracks on Fifth Armored Division Drive, heading down Fifth Division toward Euphrates. Looks like a good portion of their force was taking a nap while the other portion was pressing the attack. I’m going to uncage Echo on them. Over.”
Lee turned and looked down the line. “Muldoon!” When he didn’t get the response he was hoping for, he loosened the straps of his face mask and lifted it, exposing his face. The tang of combat hit him like a sharp slap, making his nostrils burn. “Muldoon!”
Muldoon stepped around one of the trucks and trotted over.
“Don’t tell me—you need me to save the day again. Right, sir?”
“We’ve got another force coming. Get ready to jump out. Get your team together.” Lee lowered the mask back over his face. “Wizard, Six. Hold Echo in place. Order Thunder to redirect fires for three minutes on that formation on command. I’m sending out a harassing force to slow them down. Over.”
“Roger, already passed word on to Thunder. They’re standing by to shift fires away from Sexton Field. Not so sure holding Echo in place is a good idea. This is a big dismounted force, we need to bring enough firepower to bear to stop them. Over.”
“Walker, we don’t need to stop them, just hold them up. Hold onto Echo. Break. Wizard Seven, Wizard Six. What’s your pos? Over.”
Sergeant Major Turner responded almost instantly. “Six, this is Seven. We’re providing security for the trucks standing ready to evacuate Mountaineer. This area is secure for the moment, and we are in line of sight of Echo. Where do you need us? Over.”
“Seven, this is Six. Say equipment. Over.”
“Six, Seven has five uparmored Humvees ready to go, mix of TOWs, Ma Deuces, and Mark Nineteens. Over.”
“Roger, Seven. Displace to Tenth Mountain and Riva Ridge. Stick close to the trees. Don’t expose your vehicles unless you have to. I’m sending a silver bullet element led by Sergeant Muldoon to link up with you. They will engage the Klowns from the trees and slow them up. Over.” As he spoke, he looked at Muldoon. The big sergeant shrugged and nodded, then turned and started yelling at the remainder of his element.
“Roger, Six. Seven is on the move. Over.”
“Muldoon, you clear on the mission?” Lee asked.
Muldoon gave him a sardonic thumbs-up. “Crystal clear, sir. You just stay here and make sure Mountaineer gets out. We’ll save your bacon.”
“Murphy, Foster, go with him,” Lee said.
“Fuck, sir, you’re already saddling me with Turner. You want me to take your personal chauffer and luggage porter, too?” Muldoon asked.
“Knock off the shit, Muldoon. You’ll need the firepower.”
“Yeah, Muldoon. You might’ve noticed I’ve got a SAW, man,” Murphy said.
“And I’ve got really bad gas,” Foster added. For effect, he rolled onto his side and let a big howler rip.
Murphy groaned. “Thank God we’re already in MOPP.”
Muldoon looked over at Lee and shook his head. “Seriously? These guys? With me?”
“It’s the Army of One, Muldoon,” Lee said. “Embrace the suck, and get going. You don’t have a lot of time, so take one of these trucks with you. And remember, shoot the fuckers in the face.”
THIRTY-SIX.
Onward, Christian soldiers.
Muldoon hunkered down in the darkness with the rest of the troops remaining under his command, a total of thirteen, including Lee’s personal footmen and the Nasty Girl, Rawlings. The soldiers had spread out in the trees, which provided substantial conceal-only cover that would prevent them from being easily seen but would do virtually nothing to shield them from being shot. Turner’s Humvees sat lights-out a couple of hundred feet behind them, hidden by the same trees. Despite his personal dislike for Turner, Muldoon was glad to have the old man around. Turner knew his way around a battlefield, and having him in charge of their heavy weapons made Muldoon feel a little better.
He heard the approaching Klowns ahead—cackling, hooting, and chanting some sort of incomprehensible bullshit that kind of resembled a cadence. For Muldoon, that last increased the pucker factor. If they were trying to sing cadence, there was a lot of military in the mix. Or maybe it was just his amped-up mind fucking with him while he lay beneath a huge, leafy canopy in the dark, waiting to die.
They had two remaining Claymores, which they’d placed well in advance of their position. The idea was to kill or maim a lot of the Klowns right off the bat then hit them with everything they had to fix them in position. Once that happened, Turner’s grenade units would open up with indirect fire, lobbing forty-millimeter rounds over the trees and into the middle of the Klown element while Thunder dropped some sixty-six-millimeter antipersonnel badness right on their heads, as well. And if that didn’t work, Turner’s machinegun units would unmask from the terrain and go to guns on the crazies with their fifties. There was no way they would be able to kill all of them—though it was technically possible, Muldoon was convinced they weren’t going to be that lucky—but they could keep them bottled up long enough for Mountaineer to be evacuated, and then maybe one of the lightfighter companies could roll up and put paid to the Klowns before the battalion hit the road.
The sounds of combat still rent the air as the battle for Hays Hall continued. Through his night vision goggles, Muldoon could see his troops in their fighting positions. Nutter was to his left, Rawlings to his right. Muldoon considered the irony of having a woman as his right-hand man. While he was far too young to be considered a Cold War relic, Muldoon had never much fancied women participating in combat, and he had certainly never expected to serve with any, especially not a National Guardsman. But he had to admit that she handled her small slice of warfare just as well as his men did, perhaps better. While the rest of the troops bitched about everything—soldiers loved to bellyache—he didn’t hear so much as a peep from her.
Finally, a woman who can keep her trap shut. Not that it means anything now.
He turned his attention back to the chuckling and shuffling Klowns as they headed toward them. He pulled the Claymore clacker closer.
Around him, the sounds of his troops shifting were barely audible as they prepared for the engagement. They hadn’t had much time to discuss tactics, other than him giving orders to maintain their firing lanes and not let up. In other words, “Let go, and let God.”
The Klowns advanced toward the trees the team hid in, on their way to 10th Mountain Division Drive, where they expected to turn right and continue on to attack the battalion from the rear. There was no caution in their approach. They believed they were safe for the moment, and they were moving as quickly as they were able.
Muldoon let the first group get well inside the kill zone before he hit the M57’s trigger. The Claymores dutifully detonated simultaneously, and fifty Klowns dropped dead while another sixty or seventy staggered around or flopped about on the ground, direly wounded.
The element opened up. There was no bigger signal to pour it on than when Claymores went off fifty feet from your position, and their fires ripped through the next echelon of Infected. Bullets tore through uniforms and civilian clothing and garish body decorations to cleave open torsos and rupture organs. Of great effect were the two SAWs. They hammered at the Klowns relentlessly, slicing them down with an almost godlike accuracy, even as the targets ducked and tried to run.
Muldoon stopped firing for a moment to pull a grenade. “Frag out!” he shouted as he hurled it right in the middle of a clump of Klowns that were beginning to organize for a counterattack.
The explosion chopped them down in a heartbeat. Several writhed about on the ground, laughing their heads off as they tried to stanch the flow of blood from severed arms and legs. Several m
ore grenades went off, sending bodies flying, a beautiful sight brought to Muldoon courtesy of the NVGs mounted to the front of his helmet.
“Thunder, Thunder, this is Crusher Three-One! Fire mission. Over,” Muldoon shouted into his radio over the noise of the rifle fire.
The term “fire mission” indicated that several rounds were to be fired, without any spotting rounds out to verify adjustment angles. That was another increase in the pucker factor. While Muldoon was well versed in the use of mortars, he had never ordered a fire mission without calling adjust fire. If he got the grid wrong in relation to the lightfighters slugging it out with the Klowns, it was going to be a very short fight.
“Crusher Three-One, this is Thunder. Fire Mission. Out.”
“Thunder, Crusher Three-One. Grid four five seven two eight seven. Enemy formation in the open. Direction twenty-four hundred, distance one hundred meters. Danger close. Over!”
“Crusher Three-One, Thunder has grid four five seven two eight seven. Enemy formation in the open. Direction twenty-four hundred, distance one hundred meters. Danger close. Out,” the mortar section leader responded.
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