“What now?” the sergeant repeated, shouting.
Lee took a deep breath. His body was shaking from excess adrenaline. He was exhausted; he’d never been so tired. He wanted to lie down on the road and take a long, long sleep. “Now,” he said, “we go back and look for survivors.”
TWENTY-FIVE.
Rebel One approached Hanscom at a crawl.
“Nice and slow, Mike,” said Lee.
“Roger that,” Murphy said, eyeing the Mark19 tracking them from one of the guard towers.
“Foster, let go of the fifty and grab a seat. We didn’t come all this way to get killed by our own guys. They’ve got some itchy fingers over there.”
Foster dropped out of the gun turret and sat next to Philips, the only survivor they’d found among the wreckage of the escort vehicles. Philips hugged his broken ribs and moaned.
Soldiers crouched behind sandbags between the Hescos. They glared at Lee over the barrels of their rifles. Scared kids. Lee counted three M240 machine guns. Bodies littered the ground around the perimeter, drawing flies in the heat. The air smelled like death. Death and defeat.
One of the soldiers stood, rifle at his shoulder and aimed. “That’s far enough! Exit the vehicle slowly!”
Murphy parked the Humvee and cut the engine. Lee stepped out of the vehicle with his hands in the air.
“Captain Lee?”
“I’m glad you’re still here, Sergeant Diaz. We couldn’t get through on the radio.”
“We’ve had a situation here.”
“Then give me a sitrep, Sergeant.”
Diaz approached, but he didn’t lower his weapon.
Lee frowned. “Would you mind pointing that somewhere else?”
The sergeant lowered his gun as he stepped in front of Lee. “Sorry, sir, but we’re going to have to check you and your men for infection.”
“And how—” Lee started.
Diaz punched him in the stomach and retreated, rifle raised again. Lee stepped back with a gasp. Murphy and Foster stiffened but wisely didn’t move.
After several moments, the sergeant lowered his gun. “You’re clear.”
If Lee had laughed at the pain, he’d be dead. He nodded as he caught his breath. “Good to know.”
Diaz shook his hand. “Ouch. Forgot about the body armor.”
After the others were cleared, the soldiers at the checkpoint visibly relaxed.
“So what’s the situation?” Lee asked.
“The base is in lockdown. The Colonel’s dead.”
The news struck Lee like a second punch. “How?”
“Not sure, Captain. The command post is sealed up tight. The scuttlebutt is he shot himself. What the hell happened to you?”
“Concord Turnpike has been turned into an Indy 500 for homicidal maniacs. I lost good men out there.” He ground his teeth in a sudden fit of rage. His boys had survived crossing half the Afghan bush only to die on an American road. “Report to Major Walker that I’m here and need to see him ASAP. Then get my men a hot and cot. One of them needs medical attention. See to it.”
“Wilco, Captain. And by the way, uh, sorry about sucker punching you.”
“Let’s say I owe you one, Diaz.”
The sergeant saluted and grinned. “Glad you’re back safe, Captain.”
Within minutes, the Humvee rolled into the base. Soldiers milled about without orders. They passed one sitting on the ground and crying into his hands. Lee spotted two men climbing over one of the Hescos and disappearing. The Humvee parked near the command post.
“Major Walker in command,” Lee said. “Christ, this couldn’t get any worse.”
Walker was a politician. He was a fantastic administrator but a terrible soldier, and about as inspiring as white paint on a white wall.
Murphy nodded. “Embrace the Suck, Captain.”
The Suck. The Army version of SNAFU. They were pioneering new territory in Suck right now. Lee wanted to say more, but he’d already said too much. A good officer didn’t bitch down the chain of command. He bitched up. He needed to find Walker and do some bitching.
Leaving his men at the Humvee, he entered the trailer that served as the battalion command post. The place stank of fear and flop sweat. He saw the same haggard faces at their workstations, but the usual frantic pace had slowed to a crawl. The men were going through the motions. They grimaced at the sound of the door opening but otherwise ignored him.
Walker stood with his back to him, studying the big board. Lee glanced at it and noticed the tactical situation had changed. All units had left the Greater Boston core and were converging on Hanscom. All were listed as in contact with the enemy. First Battalion appeared to be in retreat. Lee had missed a hell of a lot while he was out in the field.
“Captain Lee, reporting to the commanding officer as requested, sir.”
The major turned and greeted him with an enigmatic smile. “Ah, Captain. It’s good to have you back. You’re exactly the man I wanted to see.”
Lee smelled a rat but knew better than to show it. “That’s a mutual sentiment, sir.”
Walker led him into the Colonel’s office. Though the body had been removed, the room smelled of ammonia and the tang of a recent gunshot. The major sat at Prince’s desk and motioned for Lee to grab a chair opposite. Lee noticed a large pink circle on the wall behind Walker’s head, obviously from where Prince’s blood and brains had been hastily scrubbed.
“Where’s the body?” Lee asked.
“We’ll take care of him. There will be a service at twelve-hundred.” The major opened a drawer and produced a bottle of Jim Beam and two glasses. He poured two fingers into each.
Lee was about to say it was a little early for a drink but decided, what the hell. He was still wondering what Walker’s game was. “To the Colonel,” Lee said, raising his glass. “He was a good man.” He tossed back his drink while Walker sipped at his.
“He was a good man,” Walker said. “He just couldn’t…”
“Couldn’t what?”
“He just couldn’t handle it. All of it.”
“Did you report it up the chain of command?”
Walker lit a cigarette. “Little problem with that. The chain of command is broken. Big Brother is dead. Infected and killed by an airstrike. Fort Drum has gone dark.”
Lee stiffened. “Drum’s in the middle of nowhere.”
“But we send our wounded there. We’ve been doing it from the start.”
“The incubation takes longer than we were told in some cases?”
The major shrugged. “That’s my theory. But I don’t know for sure. We’re all learning on the job here, right?”
Lee nodded. Something clicked. “That’s why you set up Harvard Stadium as a casualty collection point. Those were your orders. The Colonel had nothing to do with it.”
Walker smiled.
Lee added, “You were putting them into quarantine.”
“That’s right.”
Another epiphany struck Lee. “Keeping the ground troops out of the hospitals and destroying them by air. That was your decision, not Prince’s.”
Walker’s smile turned into a grin. “Now I’m impressed.”
“So was the withdrawal. You’ve been pulling our forces out of the theater a little at a time. Ordering them into a defensive posture. Telling the Colonel they were being forced out.”
The major stubbed out his cigarette and blew a stream of smoke across the desk. “They were forced out. Not all of them will make it back. It may be too late.”
Lee couldn’t believe Walker’s gumption. “You cut the civilians loose. You cut Boston loose. Christ, even our own wounded. The question is why.”
“Why do you think? Force protection, Captain. Extreme measures for extreme times. Consider this: We almost sent three companies of combat infantry into the city’s hospitals. Aside from what that would have done to morale, I’m not even sure we had enough bullets.”
“What would have happened if you were wrong
?”
Walker shrugged again. “I would have been locked up, I suppose.”
“Locked up, hell. Prince would have had you executed.”
“The Army taught us to make decisions based on probabilities. I was probably right. If I was wrong, I would have died anyway. We all would. Better a bullet than them.”
Lee shook his head in wonder. “So what now? What do you intend to do?”
“You tell me. You’re in charge here.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I mean you’re going to have to take command.”
What Walker was proposing was impossible. “I don’t understand.”
The major refilled their glasses. “The men need a leader. The men need command. Normally, I’d be happy to do it, but I’m not cut out for this. You are.”
“I appreciate your confidence, Major, but there’s no way it would get approved.”
“You know the saying, ‘The center cannot hold’? The center’s gone, Captain. We’re in the midst of wholesale collapse here. If we don’t get somebody in charge the men will believe in and follow, they’re going to walk away. They’re going to go home.”
Lee thought of the two soldiers he saw climbing over the Hescos. Desertion in broad daylight. He picked up his glass and eyed its contents. “So I’m supposed to promote myself to the rank of Lt. Colonel?”
“You still don’t get it. In the past five weeks, almost every guideline that was sent down from the Brass, all those endless PowerPoint presentations for the officers, was about unlearning our training so we can adapt as a military force. The only way to survive this is unlearn everything and start over. Military protocols don’t matter anymore, Captain, just leadership and survival. Preserving something before it all comes apart.”
Walker opened the breast pocket of his blouse and produced two silver oak collar insignia pins. He set them on the desk. “We lost the battle, Harry. If you don’t take command, we’ll lose everything.”
Lee picked up one of the pins. He would be dishonorably discharged if he put it on, maybe even jailed. Hell, maybe even shot. But who was going to shoot him? Walker was right. The Army was falling apart. The battalion was on its own, and it was unraveling fast. The men needed leadership, even if that leadership was technically a charade.
For Harry Lee, the mission was everything. It superseded even himself.
Had he heard everything, and was it the truth? Did the major have a game? Did Walker intend to lead through him? If so, the man was going to be severely disappointed.
Lee downed his drink. He closed his hand around the pin.
Walker smiled. “How does it feel, Harry?”
“Like I’m robbing a corpse.”
Walker smirked. “It might feel different.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re saving the battalion.”
“I’ve got to get my head around it.”
“As long as your head is in the game.” After a slight pause, Walker added, “Sir.”
“All right. I’ll address the men at the funeral. We’re going to need a game plan.”
“I have some information that may help,” the major said. “I’ve been talking to my counterparts at other battalions across the Northeast and Midwest. They’re all worse off than we are. Everybody is actively engaged. Civilian authority has bled out. The military commanders are beginning to act independently. They don’t like the strategy, and they’re starting to break off on their own. Prince was one of the last die-hards.”
“Options, then. We could pull out of the city, regroup and take it back block by block. Announce a curfew to keep the citizens off the streets. Shoot everything in sight.” Lee might go down in history as another Attila the Hun, but it just might save the city.
“Problem, sir. Major General Brock wants to absorb the battalion into his command.”
Lee sighed. “And he’ll order us back into the city to do what we were doing before.” He thought about it. “The other option is to resist. We can’t take on the Massachusetts Guard.”
“Correct. I don’t think we have the men, materiel or energy to do what you’re thinking, in any case. Resupply has slowed to a trickle. I’ve been carefully shepherding what we’ve got.”
“That doesn’t give us a lot of options. We either work for Brock or fight him.”
“There is another way.”
“What’s that?”
“We could leave Massachusetts.”
Lee looked at him in surprise. Walker had told him they needed to start thinking outside the box, but it appeared the man was ready to throw away the box. “And go where?”
The major sipped his drink. “Florida.”
“What’s in Florida?”
“General Wallace. He’s cleared the peninsula of infection. He’s got air assets to keep anybody out he wants kept out. He’s got considerable strength and resources and the closest thing to a working civilian government outside of Mount Weather. I’ve been in contact with a few units that have had the same idea. If enough of the military can make it to Florida, maybe Wallace would have enough strength to take back the country.”
It was Lee’s plan for Boston but on a national scale. “Let me give it some thought, Major.”
“Very good, sir.”
Lee regarded Walker with new respect. “You know, I was wrong about you.”
Walker grinned. “I doubt that. I’m no hero. I want to stay alive, and I figure being right here, in the middle of a combat-effective battalion, is the best way to do that.”
Lee would also be the man who might get shot once they reached Florida for disobeying orders and giving up Boston. If they were going to Florida. First, they would go to Fort Drum and find out what had happened there. They needed to ensure the soldiers’ families were safe and get supplies. Maybe that would be enough.
“I think we’ll work well together in any case,” Lee said.
“I share the sentiment, sir.”
“Good, good. And, Major?”
“Sir?”
“You contravened the Colonel’s orders. If you do the same to me, I’ll have you shot. Are we clear on that?”
Again, that enigmatic smile. “Crystal, sir.”
TWENTY-SIX.
Wade hoped a passing unit would bring in more wounded so he could hit them up for news, but nobody came. They had no radio. They were cut off.
He kept to himself all morning. He nursed his banged-up ankle, his face. Something was in there, deep in his wound, tickling. Moving. Searching. He inventoried his emotions as a matter of routine. He didn’t want to hurt himself or anybody else. The truth was he felt numb.
Maybe he wasn’t infected after all. Maybe he was immune. Or maybe he was about to become a murderer in five, four, three, two—
Outside, Boston burned and smoldered. Black smoke filled the sky.
There were around thirty soldiers in the building, and only nine appeared able to function for an extended period of time. Late in the morning, those men got up off the floor and walked down the hall. Wade found himself alone with three soldiers who lay with their backs to him—in other words, totally alone. These men were gone, empty husks. The things they’d seen and done had destroyed their ability to cope.
He stood and dusted himself off. After some wandering, he found the others in one of the offices. They’d pushed the furniture against the walls and sat on the dusty carpet in a semicircle around Rawlings. She talked while she cleaned her disassembled carbine with a rod and patch.
“You’ve all been in the shit,” she said. “You know that, in combat, nobody cares who you voted for, what god you worship, the color of your skin, or where your ancestors came from. All that matters is whether your friends are going to watch your six while you watch theirs. It’s true there are no atheists in foxholes, but the soldier’s religion is his platoon. He depends on his platoon more than he does God.” She smiled. “Welcome, Private Wade.”
Wade nodded and sat with the others. �
��What’s this all about?”
“Boot camp for lost souls. We’re planning on how we’re going to get out of here and back to civilization. Did you get the sergeant’s carbine?”
“He said he’d cut off my balls if I took his weapon.”
Rawlings looked impressed. “You got more out of him than we did. Did he say anything else? Is he going to get back into the game?”
“I didn’t stick around to find out. I like my balls.”
The men chuckled lightly.
“All right.” Rawlings looked at Fisher and tilted her head toward Wade.
Fisher stood and gave Wade his M4. “My hands keep shaking. I can’t shoot for shit. You should have it.”
“Thanks,” Wade said, taking the weapon. He found the familiar weight of the carbine comforting. “I’ll take good care of it for you.”
“You do that, bro.”
Rawlings continued. “The problem is we’re not with our platoons. They’re dead, or they’re not here. It’s every man for himself at this post. All of us have lost friends, but we’re still here. Why? It doesn’t matter why. It just is. It hurts like hell, but that’s a good thing. The pain of losing everything, the guilt of having made it while other men, better men, didn’t. Embrace that pain. Make that guilt your friend.”
Wade thought of Ramos, Williams, Ford and Eraserhead, and the faces of other men he’d once called brother. All of them gone forever.
Rawlings put aside the cleaning rod and patch and began to reassemble her carbine. “You fought for those men, and now they’re gone. So why are you here? Why are you still fighting? What are you fighting for? We need a reason to fight. Think about that reason and hold onto it. I don’t care if it’s your mom back home or America or beer and tits, hold onto it.”
The man chuckled again.
“Whatever it is, it’s all you got right now. And once you got a hold of it, once it’s yours, you’ll be ready to fight. The people in this room, we’re going to be a new unit. You don’t need me to tell you that we have to be, or we won’t make it.”
Wade looked at the others. Gray scowled back at him. Brown wore a dreamy, vacant expression. Fisher looked pale and shaky, as always. Wade didn’t feel encouraged. Under normal circumstances, they wouldn’t need inspiration from a National Guard reservist to keep going. They were all damaged goods, not least of all him. Somehow, this group of shattered men was going to have to learn to work together and trust each other with their very lives.
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