Ragnarok Rising

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Ragnarok Rising Page 17

by D. A. Roberts


  "Just what-in-the-fuck is going on here?" demanded the irate Sergeant-Major.

  "This civilian won't surrender his weapons," said Lieutenant Hadley.

  "Excuse me!" bellowed Fitzpatrick. "This man has seen more combat then you ever will, Lieutenant!"

  "But…," stammered Hadley.

  "I'm sure that the lieutenant is aware of the recall orders for anyone with prior service," snapped Fitzpatrick. "Staff Sergeant Grant, here, served with me in Iraq when you were still learning to ride your gawddamned tricycle, lieutenant! He was up for E-7, if I recall correctly, so I think he's earned it."

  "Do you know what this means," shouted the Lieutenant, pointing at his lieutenant's bar on his uniform.

  "I sure do, lieutenant," replied Fitzpatrick, sarcastically. "It means that these two fucking PFCs have been promoted more times than you have."

  The lieutenant looked like he wanted to say something else, but thought better of it. Second Lieutenants, also known as butter-bars, might be able to give orders but the unit belonged to the Sergeant-Major. The argument was settled before it could even begin with the arrival of a Full-Bird[12] Colonel who had been attracted by all of the commotion.

  "Sar-Major, what's going on here?" asked the Colonel.

  I noticed that his name tag read Van Aldren. He was in his mid-fifties and fit for his age. He also looked like he might have played linebacker in his youth. He was well over six feet tall and weighed around 220. He didn't have the look of a "desk" officer.

  "I was about to remind the Sergeant-Major…," began the Lieutenant, emboldened by the arrival of another officer.

  "I didn't ask you, Lieutenant," snapped Van Aldren.

  I liked him already.

  "Difference of opinion, sir," said Fitzpatrick. "We've got it sorted out, now. I know one of the survivors we rescued. I served with him back during Desert Storm and for a bit after. Allow me to introduce Sergeant First Class Wylie Grant. He's a hell of a soldier, sir."

  I noted that he had promoted me, since I was just a Staff Sergeant, but I wasn’t going to argue. Out of habit, I turned and saluted the Colonel and waited for him to return it. He gave me a measured look before snapping a crisp salute of his own.

  "That’s high praise coming from Fitzy," said Colonel Van Aldren. "I would say that's worthy of note, since it happens so rarely."

  I noticed a smirk appear at the corners of his mouth as he glanced at Fitzpatrick, who just shrugged and gave the lieutenant a dirty look.

  "Thank you, sir," I replied.

  "Lieutenant," said the Colonel, "I think that if it's good enough for the Sergeant-Major, then it's good enough for me. Leave our guests alone and let them keep their weapons."

  "Yes, sir," snapped the Lieutenant, clearly not happy about it.

  "Fitzy," said the Colonel, "get these people cleared by the doc. As soon as they've had a chance to eat, get Sergeant Grant a uniform and the two of you come see me in my office."

  "Yes, sir," said both Fitzpatrick and I at the same time.

  "Dismissed," said Van Aldren, grinning slightly.

  With that, we all headed off. The lieutenant headed for the main building with the two privates right behind him. Fitzpatrick went with me and the others to the medical tent. He waited until everyone else was out of ear-shot before he spoke.

  "It's good to see you, son," he said. "You look like shit. What the fuck happened to your eye?"

  "The dead," I said, simply. "The scars, too. It's a long story."

  "Can you still fight?" asked Fitzpatrick.

  "I'm still alive," I answered, shrugging.

  "Good," he said. "We need every able body we can get our hands on. We're losing this fight."

  "I know," I replied. "What do we have left?"

  "Our chain of command is gone," he said, matter-of-factly. "We're pretty much it. They evac-ed Fort Leonard Wood and Whiteman Air Force Base. We haven't had radio contact with any other unit in weeks."

  "We might be able to help with that," I explained. "I'm part of another group of survivors that has a strong-hold south of here. Close to a hundred people."

  "No shit?" said Fitzpatrick, clearly surprised.

  "No shit," I replied. "How many do you have here?"

  "About fifty," he said, shaking his head. "Way less than we started with."

  "Understood," I replied, already knowing exactly what he meant.

  "We'll talk more in a bit," he said, patting me on the shoulder. "My office is in the main building over there. Come see me as soon as the doc clears you."

  "Will do, Sar-Major," I replied, nodding.

  Fitzpatrick gave me another pat on the shoulder and walked out. There was a small medical staff inside the tent and they were already working on the others from the boat. I noticed that they had Irina on a bunk with an IV started. I smiled when I saw that, knowing she was in capable hands.

  I sat on a cot and removed my gear, piece by piece. When I was down to just my boots, pants and t-shirt, I stretched to relieve the soreness of my muscles. My ribs were still tender, but I felt in decent shape. However, I smelled like I had been rolling in sewage. I needed a shower or at least a good canteen bath. I wanted to apologize to the young nurse that came over to begin taking my vitals. Oh well, if I was going to have to submit to a physical, at least she was cute.

  It took them almost half an hour to run all of the tests that they wanted, including a blood test. They didn't have extensive lab equipment, so I assume that they were doing something fairly basic. For all I knew, the Reaper Virus could be seen in a microscope. I had to wonder if my system had killed the virus or if it had developed anti-bodies. Whatever they saw, they cleared me to join the rest of the group.

  Shura stayed with Irina as I grabbed all of my gear and got ready to leave. I opened one of my bags and removed all of the medicines we had taken from the Veterinarian's office. When I dumped them all on the cot, I saw two of the medical staff look wide-eyed in surprise.

  "Where did you get all of that?" asked the cute nurse who had taken my vitals.

  "We stole it all from a Vet's office," I said. "We needed it for Irina. I guess you may as well have it all, now. I'm sure you can put it to good use."

  "Thank you," said the nurse, smiling. “We most certainly can use it.”

  "No problem," I replied.

  I grabbed the rest of my gear and weapons, and then headed for the main building. I paused only long enough to ask a private where the Sergeant-Major's office was and then headed inside. It didn't take me long to find him. There were lights on inside the building, so I figured that they must have a generator working somewhere. When he saw me come in the door, he grinned and handed me a cup of coffee in an "Army Strong" mug.

  "Here," he said, offering me the cup.

  I took it without hesitation. It was good to have real brewed coffee. I savored it a moment before grinning at him.

  "Thanks, Sar-Major," I said. "That does the trick."

  "Enjoy it while it lasts," he said. "We're running low."

  "I can do something about that," I said, smiling and reaching for my bag.

  I handed him all of the coffee that I'd found in the house back in Hermann. His face lit up with a big grin as he took the cans like they were a holy relic.

  "I don't suppose you have any bourbon in there," he said, smiling over the top of one canister of the coffee.

  "Well, now that you mention it," I replied and reached back into the bag.

  When I handed him the bottle, he looked like a kid about to open a birthday present.

  "If you have a box of cigars in there, I might have to kiss you," he said, holding the bottle of amber liquid almost lovingly.

  "As appealing as that sounds," I said, chuckling, "I'm afraid I can't help you there. I do have some chew."

  "Fuck," he gasped. "That'll do just fine."

  I dug out two cans and tossed them on his desk.

  "Don't get me wrong," said Fitzpatrick, "I'm grateful for the windfall, but I don't wa
nt to leave you short."

  "I'm good," I said. "I'll drink the coffee too, I have more whiskey and that wasn't my last can of chew. I'm good."

  "I owe you one, Wylie," he said, uncapping the bourbon.

  Downing the rest of his coffee, he poured a decent amount of bourbon into his cup. Taking that as my cue, I drank the rest of my coffee and held out my cup. He poured a generous measure and put the cap back on the bottle. After stashing it in the drawer of his desk, he turned back to me and lifted his cup.

  "To absent friends," he said.

  "To better days," I replied.

  We tapped cups together and knocked back our whiskey. I felt the fire spread down my throat and into my stomach, then warmth radiated out throughout my body. I closed my eye and let the feeling wash over me, enjoying it immensely. I knew that he was doing almost the same thing.

  "Fuck, I needed that," he said, setting his cup on the desk.

  I just nodded and sat mine beside his.

  "Walk with me, son," said Fitzpatrick.

  We headed down the corridor to the main storage areas. There, he dug out four uniforms and two sets of boots in my size, plus a new Interceptor vest. Once he had given me an entire new set of tactical gear, we walked down a hallway and stopped at a door marked NCOs[13] quarters. He took a key out of his pocket and unlocked the door, and then he tossed me the key.

  "This is yours," he explained. "You've got a shower, wall locker, desk and a bunk. Hit the shower, scrape that crap off your face and get into a uniform. When you're done, come back to my office and we'll go see the Colonel together."

  "Got it, Sar-Major," I replied, grinning.

  "Fuck that shit," he replied. "The only old-timers around this place are you, me and the Colonel. Everyone else is a fucking kid. Call me Fitzy when we're alone. Skip that Sergeant-Major bullshit unless we're around the children."

  "Got it," I replied.

  "See you in a bit," he said, patting me on the back. "Make it quick, though. I don't like keeping The Old man waiting."

  With that, he headed back down the hallway and disappeared around the corner. I dropped my gear on the bunk and closed the door. Then I headed into the small bathroom and turned on the water. The water pressure was strong and in seconds, steam began to rise from the shower floor. I couldn't help but smile in anticipation of the pleasure that was to come.

  I stripped out of my clothes and tossed them in the corner of the room. Then I padded naked into the bathroom and climbed into the shower. Only then did I remove my Thor's Hammer and my eye patch. I hung them both on the shower head and stepped under the water. It took me a moment to adjust to the sudden heat of the water but when I did, it felt better than the bourbon had. I lost myself in the water for a while and let the pain wash away with the grime.

  I grabbed a bar of soap off of the small shelf outside the shower and began lathering up. I scrubbed for a long while, cleaning everything from my toes to the top of my head. When I was satisfied that I was cleaner than I had been in a long time, I rinsed off and reluctantly shut off the water. When I climbed out of the shower and began toweling off, I realized that this must have been the quarters of someone they lost. There were all sorts of personal hygiene items and grooming equipment. I even found a new toothbrush in a drawer.

  I opened the door to the main part of the room and let the steam out while I wiped off the mirror with the towel. Once I could see myself, I took a good look in the mirror. I barely recognized the face that was staring back at me. I grimaced and shrugged. I might look like shit, but I was alive. That would have to be enough, so long as it meant something. I knew I still had work to do.

  Reaching for the razor, I began to look at my beard in the mirror. My hair was uneven and my beard was unkempt looking. I briefly considered shaving it all off, but just couldn't do it. I was keeping the beard. What were they going to do, court martial me? Instead, I used an electric trimmer to trim it back down to a long goatee and then took off the guard. I didn't mind losing the hair.

  After a while, I emerged from the bathroom with a freshly shaved head and well trimmed goatee. Part of my new uniform issue was two bags each of underwear, t-shirts and socks. They were all desert brown. With a shrug, I began getting into uniform. I found that it all came back to me, easily. The uniform was different, but it felt the same. Like it or not, I felt like a soldier again. With the exception of the beard, I looked the part too.

  Once the armor and weapons were back in place, I started to head for the door when I remembered my eye patch and Hammer were still in the shower. I slipped the eye patch back on my face and pulled the Hammer on over my head. I started to tuck it beneath my armor, but thought better of it. This time, I was leaving it out for all to see. I wasn't going to conceal it any longer. I was a Son of Odin and proud of it. Let the world know it.

  I found Fitzy waiting for me in his office. He gave me a scowl when he saw the beard, but didn't say anything. He just frowned and handed me another cup of coffee. I accepted it gratefully and sipped it. This was a fresh pot and it was piping hot. I breathed in the aroma and took a careful sip. It was good.

  "So you decided to keep the face ferret, I see," he said over the top of his cup.

  "I like it," I replied, shrugging as I took another sip.

  "The Old man might not," he cautioned.

  "Will I go on report or get a general court martial?"

  "Smart-ass," he replied, grinning. "How about we dock your pay?"

  "Oh, no!" I said in mock protest. "How will I ever pay my rent?"

  We both chuckled and sipped our coffee.

  "It's good to have you back, Wylie," he said after a moment.

  "It's good to see you again, too," I replied, nodding.

  "Alright, that's enough touchy-feely shit for me," he said, placing his empty cup on his desk. "Let's go see the Colonel before you start picking out drapes."

  I just laughed and finished my coffee. When I sat the empty cup beside his, we headed out the door. We walked through an outer office that had a desk but no receptionist and headed through another open door. Colonel Van Aldren sat behind a huge mahogany desk and looked up when we entered the door. I could see a half-finished MRE on the desk. We both snapped to attention and saluted him. Well, I snapped to attention. Fitzy snapped a lazy salute and slid into a chair.

  "At ease," he said, returning the salute.

  I went to parade rest before relaxing slightly.

  "Sit down," said Fitzy.

  I glanced at the Colonel and he just gestured at the chair beside Fitzy. Once I sat down, the Colonel took his seat and picked up an open MRE packet with a plastic spoon sticking out of it. With his other hand, he reached beneath the desk and took out two more MREs, tossing one to each of us.

  "Grab a bite to eat while we can," he said. "We've got a lot to discuss."

  I glanced at the label on mine and frowned. It was Spaghetti with meat sauce. I glanced over at Fitzy and held mine up. He shrugged and we exchanged. The label on this one read Chili with beans. Score! I never cared for the spaghetti, but the chili wasn't bad. I slit mine open with my boot knife and began taking out the contents.

  "Why don't you bring me up to speed on everything that you know about what's happened?" said the Colonel, looking at me.

  He didn't even comment on the beard. Take that Fitzy.

  I spent the next hour or so, eating and telling him the entire story; from my time working at the Sheriff's department all the way to the rescue at Hermann by his people. I left nothing out. Not even the part where the Military Intelligence Colonel with no name had killed everyone from the Evacuation Center. He didn't look particularly pleased at that part. At least I knew he wasn't under the same orders.

  When I finished, it was his turn. He told me that they were what were left of the 3175th MP[14] unit out of Warrenton Missouri and a group from the 229th Medical Battalion out of Jefferson City. They were supporting a unit out of Whiteman Air Force Base. It was their assignment to help coordinate
evacuations and to deploy something called a "Thumper."

  When I asked what that was he shook his head and said, "A big waste of time and lives."

  Apparently, a "Thumper" was a big portable unit that they would take into a population center and drop off. It would begin to emit a loud thumping sound which could be heard for miles. It also broadcasted screams of people in terror. It was intended to attract as many zombies to it as possible. Once they had determined that it had attracted sufficient numbers of the dead, it began to emit an infra-red strobe and homing signal.

  Bomber pilots out of Whiteman Air Force Base would then lock onto it and drop fuel-air bombs on the target. Not only did it eliminate massive numbers of the dead, but it wiped out huge sections of city. It also had an unexpected side-effect. With no emergency services to halt the spread of the fire, it created massive infernos that would engulf entire sections of cities. This not only destroyed infrastructure, but also an unknown number of survivors that had managed to barricade themselves inside buildings.

  "We could hear them calling for help on the emergency radios," said Van Aldren, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "We tried to get to everyone that we could, but we lost most of the unit trying. It was pure chaos. No matter what we tried, things only got worse."

  "Before we understood what was happening," said Fitzy, his tone somber, "we had already deployed Thumpers in St. Louis, Kansas City, Columbia and Jefferson City."

  "We stopped deploying them when we realized that they weren't waiting for our own people to get out of the area," added the Colonel. "We are all that's left of three entire units of Missouri National Guard."

  I sat there, speechless. What could I possibly say? It was another blatant example of how our own government had thrown away lives on a pointless attempt to "contain" the virus. They should have been concentrating on fortifying positions for survivors to hold out. We had managed to carve out a stronghold with a small group of people and a POMCUS[15] cache. If we could do that on our own, what could have been accomplished with entire divisions of the military? That's not even taking the ships of the US Navy into account.

 

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