by W. J. Lundy
Tactics changed again and they massed farther to Jacob’s right. Wave after wave launched at the wall before the attacks moved to the middle, and then more to the left. Probing for a weakness, they hit every section. Bodies stacked up on the roadway, hanging lifeless on the far wall, and Jacob continued firing into their rushing bodies and faces. When his weapon would empty, he’d quickly reload. He dropped a magazine in the grass at his feet and when he went to retrieve it, he saw the piles of scattered brass.
“How many more can there be?” a man yelled.
“More than we have ammo for,” another answered back.
Jacob’s hand slapped his vest at empty ammo pouches. They were right, he’d already expended half his rounds, and the things were still coming. A sniper’s bullet caught the man to Jacob’s left, his head snapping back as more shots knocked out men to the left and right.
“Sniper!” a sergeant screamed.
Jacob prepared to duck just as another mass hit the walls. In coordination with the sniper’s fire, the mass was able to break the wall and move to the center of the road. The claymores exploded, cracking like a bolt of lightning shooting down the length of the highway, covering the pavement in concrete dust and thick smoke. Jacob’s ears rang from the overwhelming noise. A hand grabbed him, pulling him off the wall, and then turned him south. He stumbled to his feet but upon seeing others move, he stepped off and jogged with the group.
“We’re falling back to the Castle,” men yelled as they turned to fall back to the trail and run south to the museum.
His view to the right as he ran to the Castle was obscured in smoke. Ahead, though, he could still see the beacons of the helicopters orbiting and landing on the museum roof in their rescue mission. The trail moved up into an elevated road that overlooked the park where abandoned sandbag fighting positions were being re-occupied by the withdrawing soldiers. When Cass pulled his team aside, attempting to regroup the fleeing men, Jacob could see the stone steps and structure of the aquarium behind him. The museum itself was still far away, its solid walls standing tall while rings of bodies surrounded it. Sandbags stacked in the first floor windows supported rifle barrels of the helmeted men looking out.
A battle-worn man stomped forward. Jacob immediately recognized him as the captain from the ship. Now wearing green body armor and sporting a large cut across his forehead, he moved out of the crowd. He carried a pistol slack in his right arm as he grabbed Murphy with his left hand, pulling him close. The captain turned and pointed to a position far to the south, away from the reinforced line on the other side of the Castle grounds. Murphy nodded, looked back, and waved a hand at the remnants of his squad to bring them in.
Captain Nelson looked at the weary bunch. “You men! Follow me; we have to support the far flank,” he ordered.
“Lead the way, sir!” Sergeant Cass shouted back, answering for the group.
Incoming rounds smacked the sandbag barriers behind them as they moved on. When the roar of the mobs began again, Jacob turned. From the overlook, he could see thousands of charging people moving at the elevated line. Machine guns opened up from the left and right while soldiers launched grenades into the swarm. A mortar crew fell into position and quickly set up their tubes before lobbing high explosive rounds into the mass. Muzzle flashes revealed the positions of the enemy in the far-off tree lines, bushes, and gardens. The enemy shooters were supporting the charging mob with surprisingly accurate fire. Jacob was mesmerized by the chaos of the scene and he stood like a spectator in awe watching the battle.
“Jacob!” Murphy yelled.
Jacob spun around; the rest of the squad was moving out to the south and following the captain. He looked back one more time at the murderous mob, and then turned to follow his squad leader.
Chapter 22
Captain Nelson moved them away from the sandbag defensive wall to farther south on the shoreline and into what could be described as the backyard of the museum. Jacob saw the dead scattered over the grounds; many were dressed in uniform, but several were the dried, shriveled bodies that he knew were the Others. Looking to the right as he followed the squad, he could see the back face of the museum; to his left was a sort of park with small snack bars and the aquarium. The captain led them through the destruction and to another walled barrier that marked the end of the museum grounds. As on the near side, this side was also fortified with bunkers—many that now stood empty.
Jacob could see the beginnings of the famous museum running parallel to the defensive line. The steps were covered in strands of concertina wire; bodies were twisted and tangled in the jumbled coils of wire, piled in excess of ten feet. Looking beyond the far side of the museum building, he saw a tall, battered sandbag and plywood position standing watch over a once grassy approach to the museum grounds. In the distance, Jacob could also see Soldier Field, a large football stadium; the approach was now pockmarked with craters and burnt swaths of grass as scorched bodies lay over what was once a parking lot. A road that led visitors to the museum park was now filled with blackened skeletons of vehicles.
Hundreds of meters out, an explosion flashed, filling the darkened field with a glimmer of light.
“Anti-personnel mines,” a man said from up above.
Jacob looked up at the bunker in front of them. Facing south, the nearly twenty feet long structure guarded the rear and flank of the museum grounds. Made from intertwined double sandbagged walls, it was elevated and built on top of HESCO barriers. Comprised of large wire-reinforced bags filled with gravel, the HESCO barriers were stacked side by side until they formed a foundation for the defensive position built directly on top of it. In order to gain access, a soldier from above dropped down a handmade wooden ladder to the group.
Captain Nelson put a hand on Murphy’s shoulder to pull him in. “It’s been quiet on this side of the Castle since the beach assault started, but we know the black-eyes will be back. We have to hold the flank while the survivors are airlifted out, and then we’ll withdraw from the beach.”
Murphy nodded his reply.
Captain Nelson pulled him closer. “Sergeant Murphy, I don’t know how to emphasize this. It is imperative that we hold. If we lose this position and get surrounded, we will never leave this park. Everything we fought for tonight will be lost—”
More mines exploded in the distance in ones and twos, then several in rapid succession.
Captain Nelson turned and looked over his shoulder at the blasts in the approach. “We were able to convince the Air Force to scatter AP mines all along this area after we abandoned the stadium. It has slowed them down some, but it hasn’t stopped them—”
More explosions, followed by heavy machine gunfire from their rear at the reinforced line, caught the captain’s attention; he took a deep breath and looked at Murphy. “Sergeant, hold the flank… nothing gets through.”
“How long, sir?” Murphy asked.
Nelson looked at the men around the bunker with a somber expression. “Good luck, Sergeant; take care of your men,” he said, turning away.
More AP mines exploded, closer now, and the soldier at the top of the ladder shouted, “You guys need to get up here!”
Sergeant Cass stepped ahead and quickly climbed the rungs. Jacob followed him to the top where they discovered that only four men manned the bunker. Of the four, one had his left arm tied off to his body with bloody bandages, and another’s face was bleeding from tiny scratches. Jacob moved deeper into the structure, nearly tripping over a row of blanket-draped bodies.
“Hey, watch yourself,” a soldier said, looking up from a radio handset. “We haven’t been able to get them out. The living have priority on evac.”
Jacob shuddered and quickly walked away to the far side of the bunker. He dropped against the sandbag wall and looked back at the museum. Exhausted, he sat back in the dark, pulling his knees to his chest before leaning his head against the bags. Gunfire rang out from the reinforced line on the other side. Men screamed and machine guns ripped
off long bursts. When a flare was launched somewhere over Grant Park, he could see the backlit silhouettes of people moving along the roof of the museum. Helicopters dropped in from high altitude, quickly loading passengers before lifting away and flying back out toward the freighters. Jacob stared at the people in line, imagining that he saw Laura with Katy in her arms.
She looked down at him and smiled. He raised a hand to wave then watched her turn away to head toward the door of a waiting helicopter. Jacob felt comfort knowing that his family would make it out, even if he didn’t.
“Come on, man; wake up,” Cass said, slapping him on the cheek.
Jacob looked up at Cass, not realizing he’d drifted asleep. “Sorry,” he said.
“Come here, I need to show you something,” Cass said.
He dragged Jacob to the furthermost right corner of the bunker. The floor was covered with expended brass, and green boxes of ammunition were stacked against the wall. A machine gun, with a large scope attached to the top, rested on a bi-pod overlooking the approach.
“This is an M240 machine gun. You are now a machine gunner,” Cass said, sliding Jacob behind the gun.
“Really easy: pull the handle back, lock it, and let it ride forward. Tray opens like this,” Cass explained as he pushed a tab, causing a tray to pop open.
“Grab a belt from a can over here and drop it into the feeder tray—brass to the grass—then close the tray; too easy, right?” Cass said, performing the actions and charging the weapon. “You got that, hero?”
“I’ll figure it out,” Jacob answered.
“Good, get it figured. This here is your basic night scope; it pretty much sucks, but I need you to keep eyes on the park and kill anything that comes at us. If it gets crazy and you can’t see through the scope, look over it and walk your rounds in with the tracers.”
Cass made a fist, slugged Jacob on the chest, and waited for him to put the weapon’s stock into his shoulder before walking away to position the rest of the squad. Jacob tried to get comfortable. The weapon was at just below his armpits when standing. If he stood with his legs apart and leaned forward then the scope lined right up with his eye.
Jacob looked through the cupped eyepiece and saw a grainy image flecked in green and white. He blinked his eye and moved his head away, trying to focus. Moving closer to the eyecup, he clenched his eyes tight then slowly opened them, trying to adjust to the image. He swung the weapon left and right and was slowly able to make out objects. He saw a flash far off from an exploding mine and moved the barrel in that direction.
Burning debris flickered in the scope—the remains of a taxi cab. Jacob swung to the left then paused to stare at what looked like the hulk of a tree trunk. He tried to focus on the grainy image when he detected movement from the corner of his sight picture. A single man, lit in tones of black and green was walking in the direction of the bunker.
“I see something!” Jacob yelled over the sounds of the fighting behind them.
The man continued walking toward him and as he drew closer, more walking figures materialized into the image of the scope.
“Sergeant Cass, I see them!” Jacob yelled again, not getting an answer.
In the scope, he watched the man transition from a walk to a jog; the group behind began running as well and soon the scope was filled with a mass of running figures. Mines began exploding, and the machine gun on the opposite end opened up. Jacob watched tracers cut through the image and when his own finger finally found the trigger, he pulled. He fired a long burst, losing the enemy group as the weapon jumped under its recoil. Jacob looked over the machine gun’s scope just before someone in the bunker launched a flare.
The light under the parachute now exposed the hidden creatures. The field was full of them; Jacob pulled the trigger again, walking the tracers through the ranks of charging men. Jacob watched a man in the mass pause and raise a rifle. Before the thing could fire, he was cut down.
“Focus on the runners; we got the shooters!” Murphy yelled, standing beside Jacob and firing his rifle while searching the crowd. “Get back on the trigger, keep pouring it on!”
Jacob swept the gun left and right, the 7.62 rounds chewing through the charging mass. Incoming rounds splattered the sand in front of and next to the gun; even through heavy fire, the mass was closing on them. Jacob pulled the trigger. Getting no response, he looked to the left and found the belt had been expended and the gun was empty. He popped open the tray as instructed, fumbled with the belted ammunition, slapped the tray closed, and racked the bolt. Leveling his aim on a group closing the distance on him, he pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. Jacob felt panic burning. He pulled the handle and racked the bolt again.
“Get that gun up!” a soldier yelled from down the line.
Murphy looked over at Jacob and jumped to the weapon, knocking Jacob out of the way. He pulled the handle back and lifted the tray cover. “What the fuck? Links on top!” He flipped the belt, fixed the mis-feed, and slammed the tray closed. “Fire!”
Jacob leaned back behind the weapon and squeezed the trigger; the mob had closed to within fifty feet while he was screwing with the gun. He strafed the area to his front, moving left to right and felt the impact as the mob closed and slammed against the HESCO barrier below. They screamed while trying to climb the barriers to get at the men above.
“Frag out,” a soldier yelled, dropping a grenade over the wall, the blast thumping the bunker. More grenades dropped over the side and Jacob saw that an entire case of them was at his feet, the cardboard tubes discarded all over the floor. Jacob continued to fire as Murphy lobbed grenades. He lost his breath and felt fire in his ribs as he was knocked to the bunker floor. Murphy ignored him and jumped on the M240, getting the gun back in action.
Jacob bit the fingers of his glove to remove it and slipped his hand into the front of his vest, wincing with pain. Expecting blood, he pulled out his hand and found it dry. He slapped the front of his tactical vest and found the hole where the round slapped against the plate. Jacob tried to stand but stopped to look at the roof of the museum—it was empty; there was no movement. Searching the museum grounds behind them, he saw the soldiers were pulling back and running toward boats waiting in the harbor.
“Everyone is leaving,” Jacob said, not being heard over the gunfire.
He rolled to a knee, pulling himself up the wall next to Murphy who was frantically working the machine gun, trying to push back the overwhelming mass hoarded around the tower.
“They’re leaving us!” Jacob yelled.
“Get on your weapon!” Murphy screamed, grabbing Jacob by the arm and shoving him toward the firing ports. He stumbled forward, hitting the bag wall and looked down into the faces of the screaming mass. Jacob stepped back and again felt Murphy’s shove. “If you ever want to get out of here, kill them!” he ordered.
Jacob raised his rifle up over the edge and fired at a steep angle down into the mass. No need to aim; they were so close and pressed together that every shot was a hit. The soldier on the radio lifted his head to yell down both sides of the bunker. “I have two birds inbound! Danger close!”
Jacob dropped his magazine, reloaded, and leaned back over the wall, firing at the black eyes of the mob. Rounds penetrated the bags to his left and front.
“Willy Pete out!” Sergeant Cass yelled.
Jacob watched as Cass tossed a grenade into the crowd; it popped and threw white-hot burning shards that ignited clothing and billowed clouds of acrid smoke that blocked the view of the enemy shooters.
A roar ripped through the sky as two long-winged aircraft cut overhead then peeled off, heading north on Michigan Avenue, doing a flyby over Soldier Field.
“Those are our A10s! Here they come!” the radio operator cheered.
The Warthogs looped back around and lined up for a run. The sky roared with the thunder of the planes’ cannons firing rounds that exploded and ripped the earth apart. The sound echoed across the park like the ground was being unzipped a
s a line of destruction was painted to within fifty meters of the bunker, erasing everything in its path. Jacob was lifted off his feet and tossed to the back wall with the rumble of the earth.
The operator yelled down the bunker, “They are coming in hot with Mark 84s—danger close! Danger close! Get your heads down!”
The A10s cut away and climbed for altitude then dove in, releasing their bombs. The sky flashed white and the earth rolled up like God shaking out a carpet; sandbags buckled and collapsed back onto the parking lot below. Jacob felt the floor give as the shockwave pushed the bunker off the HESCOs. He pulled his arms in and curled into a ball when fragments and bodies fell all around him as they tumbled in a waterfall of wreckage. Jacob landed on his belly, debris covering his back; he crawled away from the bunker and rolled into the street. His ears ringing and his nose bleeding, he coughed dirt and gagged because his mouth was too dry with suet and dust to be able swallow.
Jacob saw a rifle next to him; he grabbed it and used it to push himself up. He then struggled to his feet and staggered ahead, only getting a few steps before falling against a bullet-riddled car. With his left hand, he opened his tactical vest, wincing at what felt like a thousand broken ribs. He turned and sat on the hood of the car, every breath bringing spasms of pain. Fires burned all around him and, having collapsed, the bunker was gone. Nothing moved and he could find none of his squad.
He stumbled forward only to trip over a man’s legs. Jacob hit the ground with a painful thud but quickly climbed back to a knee as he felt the man’s hand grab his ankle. Jacob looked back into the creature’s black eyes flaring with hatred. Jacob gripped his rifle and thrust, hitting it in the face. The thing’s head snapped back, and then it reared forward to grab at Jacob’s feet again. Gasping, Jacob fell to his knees and rolled to the side. Grabbing a broken piece of concrete and swinging, he bashed it in the face. Jacob felt the skull crush his own fingers between bone and stone as the oily blood splattered on his face.
