The Retreat #5: Crucible

by Stephen Knight

  Killing my American brothers and sisters.

  There weren’t really that many wounded left to dispatch. In less than five minutes, Muldoon was satisfied that they’d gone over the kill zone and taken care of any stragglers. The lightfighters had been perfect in their attack. They’d caught the klowns by surprise and massed fires with such rapidity that even the insane combatants couldn’t rally and inflict any harm. As far as Muldoon could see, not one of his troops had been hurt. He found a secure spot to stand in and began a visual inspection of his teammates, just to be sure. If someone was hurt, they would need care.

  And if someone had been infected, they needed to die.

  “Stay on your toes!” This came from First Sergeant Urena, who had actually removed his face mask to bark out the order. His voice reminded Muldoon of water-soaked gravel being poured into a barrel, all hard edges and about as loving as a snapping turtle with a bead on a tasty fish. “Want rear lookouts posted, we’re not alone out here!”

  “Already done, you lazy fuck.”

  Urena looked like he’d been hit with a taser. “Who the fuck said that?” he bellowed.

  “I did, princess. Look over here.” It was Boats. “I know you usually only respond when someone’s waving a doily, but this’ll have to do.” Boats waved his shotgun back and forth. Urena glared at him, but Muldoon could tell who was the bigger fish in this pond.

  “Glad to hear you’re actually doing something outside of the TOC, Boats,” Urena said.

  “Somebody has to, Urine-Ah Virgine-Ah,” Boats shot back.

  “Boy Boats, you just about piss off everyone,” Muldoon shouted through his mask. “Sounds like it might be an interesting discussion between you and your mental health professional, but maybe we can go over that later. What do you say?”

  Boats shot Muldoon the middle finger.

  “First Sergeants, get your collective shit squared away,” Lieutenant Cassidy snapped. “Save your personal shit for later. Muldoon, get your people lined up and orient on Urena. Boats, that means you too, in case you were wondering. We have to make contact with the fighting positions across the way.”

  Muldoon waved his team forward while looking past the tree line. The fighting positions Cassidy was referring to were quiet now. Smoke slowly rose into the air from the destroyed grenade launcher emplacement; some of the sandbags there were smoldering. He saw no signs of life, but judging by the amount of bodies surrounding the fighting positions, they’d been hotly contested for at least days now.

  “We have any commo with them?” Muldoon asked.

  “Negative,” Cassidy responded.

  “Well hell, Lieutenant. We step out of the trees and start advancing toward them, they’re gonna light us up big time,” Muldoon told him. “They have no idea who’s who.”

  “I get that, Muldoon,” Cassidy replied. In the near distance, more gunfire sounded. Another klown engagement was underway, and Muldoon hoped it went just as well for the infected attackers as this one had. He watched as Cassidy regarded the fighting positions for a long moment, then turned and looked from Urena to Boats.

  “Which of you is senior in grade?” he asked.

  “I am, sir,” Urena said. He jerked a thumb toward Boats. “This cupcake was in the Coast Guard before he enlisted in the Army.”

  “But your wife loves my tan lines, Urena,” Boats replied.

  Urena glared at Boats from behind his face mask.

  “Knock off the shit, guys. We have a job to do here. Urena, stay with the rest of the troops. Boats, Muldoon—you’re with me. Muldoon, pick a few of the troops to come with us. Everyone else stays put.” Cassidy turned to his RTO. “Inform Wizard we’re rolling up on the fighting positions to try and get some intel. We’ll pass anything hot back.”

  “Roger that, LT,” the RTO said.

  “So how do you think we’re going to get in there?” Boats asked, looking at the silent fighting positions out across the railroad tracks.

  “Like this.” Cassidy removed his face mask and shouted, “Tenth Mountain, coming out! Tenth Mountain, coming out to approach!” He replaced his mask, lifted his rifle over his head, and started walking to the edge of the trees. He motioned for his RTO to follow.

  “Well, fuck me,” Muldoon said to himself. “Nutter, Campbell, form up.”

  “What about me, Muldoon?” This came from Rawlings.

  “You stay here, Jane Wayne,” he said. “Someone has to come out and retrieve our bodies after we get cut down.”

  “Hey, that’s really motivational, Duke,” Nutter said.

  “Fuck that shit,” Rawlings said. “I’m with you guys.”

  Muldoon started to argue, then thought better of it. Rawlings could handle herself, and about four other people at the same time. He gave her a curt nod.

  “Roll out,” Muldoon said, then moved to follow Cassidy toward the edge of the trees. He raised his M4 over his head and kept a good five meters separation. Boats moved in behind him, and Muldoon risked one glance over his shoulder to make sure Nutter and Campbell and Rawlings were joining the file. They also carried their rifles over their heads, their faces unreadable behind their masks. Muldoon imagined they felt the same way he did: like an asshole who was marching right into death.

  Cassidy emerged from the trees, moving very slowly. He repeated his intentions, shouting through his mask’s voice emitter. There was no response from the fighting positions, which told Muldoon they were either listening to what he said or were just waiting for the rest of the file to emerge before opening up.

  “Lieutenant, watch your step,” Muldoon said as the young officer advanced toward the line of corpses strewn about. Several of them were shredded like they’d been hit by a barrage of shot, and that told Muldoon they’d run right into Claymore mines. It would ruin everyone’s day if Cassidy were to blunder into one that hadn’t gone off.

  “I’m eyes out, Muldoon,” Cassidy replied. “Make sure the others are in line.”

  It was treacherous walking. The bodies stank, and black flies buzzed around the soldiers in a cloud that seemed almost solid. Muldoon was happy for the MOPP gear, though he was still worried about the insects. Could they transfer the bug? He rather suspected they might, but there was nothing he could do about it. So long as they didn’t manage to land on an open cut or abrasion, he figured he was relatively safe, but he did make a mental note to tell the troops to apply insect repellent at the first opportunity.

  “Tenth Mountain!” Cassidy yelled again, just as a crackle of gunfire erupted to the south. That was where Fort Stewart proper lay, and Muldoon felt the little hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He stumbled then, tripping over one of the corpses. It was a still in rigor mortis, which meant it hadn’t been dead all that long. He tried to step around it, but his big boot landed on the bloated belly of another klown which had been dead for a while, and the pressure of his weight forced it to exhale a cloud of foul-smelling gas that erupted from the body’s mouth like one of Satan’s snores.

  “God job there, Duke,” Nutter complained. “You’re killing us with klown farts!”

  Muldoon was just forming a suitably saucy retort when another corpse in the field of the dead to his right suddenly stirred. With a hitching giggle, it reached toward him as flies erupted from it, their primitive nervous systems startled by the sudden movement. Maggots already crawled over the man; in fact, one ear was essentially overrun by a squirming white mass of larvae that were making a meal of the blood-encrusted appendage. Before Muldoon could do much of anything, the klown snatched a hold of his ankle. Blood oozed from its mouth as it released a gurgling cackle.

  Campbell jostled him as she shouldered up to him and fired a single round into the klown’s face, stilling it for all eternity. The grotesquerie shuddered a few times, making a hacking noise before it fell silent.

  “Shit, John Wayne, I thought you knew how to do this stuff,” Campbell said.

  “Try not to act like I’m not going to kick your ass later, Camp
bell,” Muldoon shot back.

  “Everyone keep your act together,” Cassidy shouted. “Keep your eyes open and cover each other. Muldoon, raise your weapon.” The lieutenant continued advancing toward the fighting position, choosing every step carefully. Muldoon raised his weapon over his head again, even though he thought it was stupid as shit to do that. They were in deep Indian Country, and the klowns were all over the place. Though the truth of the matter was, they’d probably pitch a fit seeing a group of soldiers picking their way across a field of bodies while holding their rifles in the air. That might buy them enough time for the team to say goodbye to each other before they were wiped out.

  Cassidy made it to the first line of sandbags and paused. “Tenth Mountain, coming over the barrier!” he said before he began to climb over the obstruction. He had to pause to pull fly- and maggot-ridden corpses out of the way. Not all of them were crazies. Several were defenders who had been cut down. Muldoon figured there had been a company-sized element posted here, guarding an avenue of approach. Most of them had probably died here.

  A tarp moved slightly, barely visible through Muldoon’s mask. He turned toward the motion, already bringing his rifle down and into a firing position. He found himself staring down the barrels of two M4s held by absolutely filthy soldiers, guys who had been slugging it out for days, maybe weeks. They wore MOPP gear, so Muldoon couldn’t see their faces, but one was injured—the bandages on his lower arm were rusty with dried blood.

  “Don’t fucking move, man,” one of the soldiers said.

  Muldoon slowly turned toward Cassidy. He was in the same predicament. Another pair of soldiers had their weapons oriented on him, while another, an absolutely gigantic man who was probably bigger than Muldoon himself, swung a SAW toward the rest of the soldiers still standing in the field of bodies. The man on the SAW had sergeant first class insignia on his torn, stained uniform.

  Cassidy began, “We’re from Tenth Mountain—”

  “Take off your fucking masks!” the sergeant manning the SAW bellowed. “Take ’em off!” He had a hard urban accent, like a black kid who had grown up on some tough city streets.

  “We’re from Tenth Mountain, heading to Florida from Boston!” Cassidy said, as if that made a difference.

  The soldier on the machine gun swung it toward Cassidy. “Lieutenant, I heard you the first time. The fucking squirrels know you say you’re from Tenth Mountain, which sounds great and all, ’cept those cats got wiped out in Boston and New York. Now I’m a-tellin’ you one last time, take off your fucking masks!”

  Cassidy paused for a long moment, then started to comply. That meant lowering his rifle. The two men holding their weapons on him leaned forward a bit.

  “Drop the rifle,” one of them said.

  “All’a you drop your rifles,” the sergeant with the SAW said. “Comply, or you will be shot!”

  Cassidy dropped his rifle. “Lose them, people,” he said. He slowly reached for his mask. Behind him, Muldoon heard M4s hitting the deck. He held onto his, glaring through the lenses in his mask at the two men pointing their rifles at him.

  “Muldoon,” Cassidy snarled. “Put down your fucking rifle!”

  “Like hell,” Muldoon said.

  The two soldiers facing him looked at each other, shrugged, then turned back to Muldoon. They firmed up their grips on their weapons, then suddenly paused. Muldoon wondered what the hell that was all about, then he heard rapid movement behind him. He pulled in his weapon and started to turn, but he wasn’t fast enough. Boats slammed into him like a freight train, taking him right off his feet. Both men fell against the sandbags, and Boats hit the magazine release on Muldoon’s rifle. The mag slipped right out of the well and tumbled to the blood-stained ground between them. He then put all his body weight on the weapon, pushing the barrel into the dirt.

  “Are you out of your fucking mind, you stupid dick-sucking ape,” Boats thundered. “By all means, Sergeant Muldoon, get yourself killed at the earliest possible opportunity, but do not take us with you!”

  “Old man, you’d better get the fuck off me,” Muldoon growled. He released his rifle and seized a hold of one of Boats’s wrists and twisted—hard. He saw the older man’s eyes narrow in pain behind his mask’s lenses.

  “Sergeant, we shooting them? They look like fucking crazies to me,” one of the soldiers standing over the two wrestling men said.

  “No!” Cassidy yelled. “We have an entire battalion just west of here! We can help you guys out!”

  “What battalion?” the sergeant on the SAW said. “Talk quick, motherfucker. We’re exposed here!”

  “First Battalion, Fifty-Fifth Infantry,” Cassidy said. “We made it out of Boston, like I said. Don’t shoot us, you’re going to need every rifle you can get! Boats, Muldoon, get your shit together!”

  “I’m going to let you go, old man,” Muldoon told Boats. “You do anything stupid, you’re dead.”

  Boats leaned back a bit and brought up his left hand. Light gleamed on the blade of his drawn bayonet. “You’ll go before me, shithead. Like I said—I knew you’d fuck up again.”

  “Boats!” Cassidy shouted. “Get off him—now!”

  “Saved by a scrawny pencil-neck who isn’t even a captain yet,” Boats muttered, before lowering the blade. “Yes sir, Lieutenant,” he said, louder. But his eyes told Muldoon that this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

  Muldoon wasn’t worried.

  EIGHTEEN.

  “Word from Eyes, sir!” said one of the communications NCOs manning the TOC radios.

  “Let’s hear it,” Lee said.

  “Eyes Six has left the rest of the squad and is attempting to contact the commander of a defensive revetment along the railway. Eyes has repelled an attack on this position.”

  At first, Lee was surprised by the news. Then he thought it through—if he had been in Cassidy’s position and discovered an opportunity to exploit, he would have taken it himself. That Cassidy, as such a young leader, would break with the mission to try and gain a foothold was quite telling.

  “Get me some more information on that,” Lee said. “I need to know what they’re walking into, and where.”

  “On it, sir.”

  “Walker? Sarmajor?”

  “Yes, sir?” Walker said, turning to Lee.

  “I’m thinking we should hold Inveigle,” Lee said. “If we have an exploit here, I want some force on-station to back it up.”

  “Risky, sir,” Walker said. “They’re already in their movement. We can hold them, but they could be caught out of position at any moment.”

  “Agree with that, sir,” Turner added. “Inveigle has some credible firepower, but we have all the support oriented to where they’re supposed to be. If they get caught in midstride, it’s going to take some recalibration to bail them out.”

  “What if Eyes comes back with something credible?” Lee asked.

  “We start the count over,” Walker said.

  “It’s doable, sir,” Turner said. “We can turn on a snap count to catch up to Inveigle inside the plan, but once they get to their final phase line, should commit. We can’t cover them during a deep retreat and provide support for Desperado at the same time. It’s better if we have the time to recalibrate while they’re in movement, as opposed to them having to come out of their fighting position.”

  Lee looked at the maps before him, where all the troop positions had been marked. “Right now, Inveigle is in a better position to support Eyes than Desperado,” he said. “Are both of you telling me that pushing Inveigle into pos is a better gamble than holding them back and chopping them over to Eyes in the event they have something more actionable?”

  “Yes, sir. We really should stick to the plan,” Walker said. “We still need to pull the klowns out of the area. If Eyes has found a better entry point than the one we’d designated, that’s all well and good—we can uncage Desperado on it. But we can’t hold up Inveigle because of this.”

  “Speed is also t
he element we should be concentrating on here, sir,” Turner added. “The sooner Inveigle gets in position, the better off we’ll all be.”

  “Gentlemen? Some advice?”

  Lee and the others turned. Tackaberry stood in the doorway near them, looking into the TOC. He was dressed as he had been before, only now he carried an AR-style rifle with a substantial amount of bling attached to it, so much so that Lee could hardly recognize it as a descendant of the M4 leaning against the wall next to where he sat.

  “Colonel, what’s on your mind?” he asked, annoyed at the interruption.

  “Didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I heard the conversation at hand. Be flexible, boys, but be firm. When something good comes your way, take it. But don’t trust it completely,” Tackaberry said. “That having been said, you have two good options here. Take one.”

  “Colonel, did you need something from us?” Walker asked.

  “Was just ducking in to tell you we’re set up out here. My troops are in control of the perimeter, and we’re keeping eyes out.”

  “Sir, that’s great. But you probably need to stay outside,” Turner said.

  Tackaberry looked at the command sergeant major with eyes that were as hard as stone. “Of course, Sergeant Major. Excuse me.” With that, the tall retired colonel turned and stepped out of the TOC.

  Lee returned to the map before him. The Merlin was still orbiting high overhead and sending intel to their command and control displays. For the moment, the battalion was safe. The klowns weren’t aware of their presence, though that wouldn’t last. Nor would the Merlin’s coverage; Reynolds would need to have it pulled off station in a few hours. Lee was eager to get the operation underway before that happened. Desperado was already spooling up, and Inveigle was advancing down the rail line. Soon, they’d come up on Eyes’s position.