After that Lance had turned around and had started talking on his mike, organizing the road move. A few subdued rounds echoed across the vehicle cab every twenty or so seconds. Dan didn’t open his eyes and let his head slide against the hard metal of the hummer door. He lost all thoughts to a black, muted and dreamless space.
***
Dan partially woke from his shock-induced slumber when the hummer started moving a few minutes later, but his mind was drugged by the cumulative effects of shock and fatigue and his head rolled back and forth, alternating between sleep and partial awareness of his surroundings for the next hour. Only when his mind turned to a lucid dream and Dan saw again the crazed, distorted faces of the creatures did he sit upright in his seat, alert.
The Ranger’s convoy was winding their way through small suburban streets. Their movement was slow as they swung around parked and crashed vehicles, but they weren’t stopping. The gunners were holding their fire in the turrets. From the other side of the vehicle a Ranger leaned over and, leaning around the gunner’s legs, passed Dan a drink bottle. Dan took it, grateful. He couldn’t see the label but it was something sickly sweet and sugary. He drained it completely and discarded the bottle beneath him.
They wound through the streets at a steady pace for the next half an hour. Dan looked out the window but couldn’t see much through the window. The abandoned cars, bodies lying in the open and the debris of abandoned bags and equipment looked serene and almost intentional in the warm glow of the street lights. Only occasionally did Dan see movement around the gardens as they drove past. The suburb was under siege, but the attackers were keeping a low profile.
The buildings transitioned from single storied, low density housing to double storied commercial and office blocks. Dan guessed they were getting close to the centre of Colorado Springs. There was an occasional shot from somewhere around them that would echo all around them. From inside the vehicle Dan felt almost comfortable in his seat, but every time he thought about the world outside the vehicle he was seized by a cold, involuntary feeling of revulsion. This is America, he thought. This is my home. This was my home.
They saw the first army personnel as they turned onto a large, open main road. The street was a mess of abandoned vehicles piled together in clusters, but between them he could see a large number of hummers and a few army trucks, parked in lines, their headlights beaming out. As they neared the hasty position he could make out a number of larger, turreted shapes. Bradley Armored Fighting Vehicles.
The position was bigger than Dan had imagined. When the 4th Infantry Division units had become surrounded and pressed by the demands of both refugees and attackers, some had managed to hunker down in place and hold their ground. Others had managed to make it to the main road, where the distances and ranges favored the infantry’s weapons. Most found their way to the RV point Dan and the Ranger were now in. A few of the squads that had scattered hadn’t been heard from since – it was assumed that most were making their way back to Fort Carson, taking whatever route they found themselves forced onto. All the units were heavily attrited however, from both the events of the previous morning as the illness swept through their ranks, turning many fit and healthy soldiers into aggressive, animalistic predators as well as from the subsequent hours of fighting to reclaim some ground.
They were supposed to be in amongst a battalion’s worth of soldiers but Dan struggled to see how there could be more than a hundred shooters around them. Hardly a battalion. The effects of unit losses were far greater than most supposed. Dan Martin’s battalion had lost under 10% of their numbers in Afghanistan a year ago, but that 10% had taken a heavy, heavy toll on everyone and they were considered hard-hit. The Army worked on the principle that once a unit had lost 30% of its starting establishment it was deemed ‘destroyed’ and completely combat ineffective, pending reconstitution. This ratio wasn’t something dreamed up by social scientists at Leavenworth or by RAND consultants – it was something proven in large scale combat and validated in the world wars. 30% was the doctrinal definition of destroyed, and Dan reckoned the battalion he was now amongst – the Iron Knights, or similar – had lost at least 50% of their established strength. Probably much more – even as high as 70% losses – if he took his gut feeling as fact. 70% down and even then they were the strongest force in Colorado Springs. Holy fuck.
The Rangers parked their hummers up as best they could behind a Bradley, secure within the intersection. They all dismounted and two or three of their casualties were off-loaded from the vehicles and carried to a collection point out of sight. Lance asked and was directed to the Incident Control Point, or ICP. Dan, lacking anything better to do, followed Lance as he walked in the direction given.
It turned out that the ICP was being run by the battalion’s CO, a Lieutenant Colonel whose name he couldn’t see. Typical of an infantry CO he was a clean-cut, strongly built man in his mid 40s. He, like the rest of them, looked exhausted. It probably didn’t help that he’d fallen asleep in the back of the Bradley – a command variant, Dan saw, although all the screens inside it were turned off. Two humvees had reversed up to the back of the Bradley and a table was between them, with a map of the local area taped down. Most of his headquarters folk hadn’t made it out with him and the half-Colonel was having to make do with a skeleton staff. He appeared pleased when Lance introduced himself and told him that he had arrived with a squad’s worth of Rangers.
“First piece of good news yet,” the Lieutenant Colonel observed. “I can’t tell you much background to this shit, because I don’t know anything. Needless to say everything’s gone tits up since we left Fort Carson and so we’re holding position, waiting for daylight. I have three combat teams out there, from other units that left with us, that have formed their own wagon-wheels out there and are holding the local wild-life at bay. They’re collecting a sizable group of refugees, too. We realize now we can’t do jack-shit out here given the conditions. The Div Commander is adamant, though, that we’re going to do our withdrawal as right by the citizens of Springs as we can. Come daylight we’ll position ourselves along this main road – Nevada Ave – and hold it open for all refugees to move to the Fort itself. If we can’t secure their homes we’ll at least give them a refuge.” The Colonel paused for breath.
“All up it’s around 15 clicks of road we need to hold open, so it isn’t going to be easy. Let it be known though that we are withdrawing but we are not running from this goddamned evil.”
Lance and Dan both nodded as he continued.
“The forces we’ve got out here are going to collapse onto Nebraska Ave in daylight and take up positions at each major intersection. My staff have come up with some rough zones that each unit will hold open. Once its daylight the Div commander will have some helo’s in the air with load-speakers, broadcasting the safe zone operation to any survivors out there. If they can get to the Ave, we’ll provide them a safe path of passage to Fort Carson.” The Lieutenant Colonel sighed and turned to the north, staring up the abandoned road.
“We need to hold it open for 72 hours to give as many refugees from the Springs to get out.”
“72 hours. 3 days,” breathed Lance. “Shit.”
“Yep. We aren’t running, though, and those are our American brothers and sisters out there, so we’ll sweat it for them as long as we have to.” The Lieutenant Colonel sighed again.
“There isn’t any supply coming, either, so each platoon position is going to be responsible for sourcing its own water and food from the surrounding buildings. Shouldn’t be too difficult. Rest will be an issue, but I’ve left that to the tac commanders to try and work out.” He shrugged. “At least these things aren’t shooting at us, so we have a huge advantage in range. As long as each platoon keeps their sentries posted we should be able to hold the initiative and complete our mission.”
The Commanding Officer paused and looked at Lance. “I know you’ve been through a lot just to get here, but I’m going to put your squad at the very
northern end of our AO. Around ten clicks from here is a floodway that goes under Nevada Ave. Nevada is the main crossing point, and I want eyes on what may be coming down to us from the northern suburbs. There are plenty of other crossing points further east and west – dozens, if not hundreds, but we’re thinking that most refugee movement will be on the wider, open streets away from cover and concealment that these... things seem to like. Just secure yourselves and let me know what’s coming, that’s all I can ask of you. Don’t worry about screening or clearing anything, my lead platoon at this intersection,” – he indicated a point on the map nearly 2 kilometers south of their proposed location – “will deal with that.”
“That’s pretty isolated,” Lance said, studying the lay of the streets in the street-light.
“It is, but I’m needing to cover a big fuck-off stretch of road with next to nothing. Everyone will be isolated, but we’ve got to do it. And you’re at the tip of the spear – it’s a good Ranger mission.”
“Ack,” Lance said, acknowledging the message. He didn’t sound enthusiastic but his voice was firm and level. “If that’s the objective, we’ll get there. I’ll need more ammo, though, as we’re nearly out.”
“Someone should be in charge of our ammo stash somewhere behind us,” the Lieutenant Colonel answered. “And make sure you get locked onto my freqs before you head out. We’re on Single Channel unencrypted, so no need to get a fill or anything. Just turn it to the right setting and we’ll hear you.”
Lance nodded. They had their orders, then. The CO looked at them for a few seconds and then stepped back inside the troop compartment of the Bradley. Lance glanced at Dan.
“I normally don’t like random officers coming along on joy rides, but right now I need all the shooters I can get. Want to hang with us, or would you prefer to wait for your afterlife to catch up with you amongst this HQ lot?” He was grinning. In spite of the grim setting, Dan couldn’t help but smile back.
“I might as well come with you. There’ll be a better chance of sleeping in a squad observation post than there is in a battalion HQ post.”
“Don’t count on it!” Lance laughed.
“Officers man the radio at all times and, last I checked, you’ll be the only commissioned officer with us!”
***
Dan hadn’t felt enthusiastic when the Colonel had outlined the task for them but the Rangers themselves absorbed the information without any emotion either-way. Lance let them all have a say on any ideas they had for the task but it was pretty straight-forward and the plan pretty much fell out of the discussion. They’d drive down the road, hit their objective where Nevada Avenue crossed over the floodway and, once there, they’d ID a building they could secure to get eyes on the crossing point. They would park their hummers out of sight of the road but lined up for a quick getaway if push came to shove. Otherwise, they’d secure their position and hunker down. A plan to source food and water would wait until they were secure – they had enough water to last them comfortably until midday, at least.
While the Rangers scavenged for their ammo resupply amongst the position Dan was handed a set of armor and a carbine from one of the injured team members who would remain in the battalion’s casualty collection point. Dan was happy to be rid of his outdated ACU interceptor vest – it seemed to stifle his every movement and felt twice as heavy as his new set. His replacement version was a multicam plate carrier with a handful of low-profile pouches already attached to it. Dan guessed that the original wearer had, like the Rangers around him, been wearing a padded belt on his hips with more gear in it, but that belt hadn’t followed the plate carrier. Dan didn’t complain and was just thankful to have a decent set-up.
After reloading the three polymer mags held in shingle pouches that were connected flat against the front of his armor, Dan refilled the camelback that was on his back and checked the remaining pouches. On his left were some double-flapped mag pouches for more M4 magazines – if he could find another 4 mags he would have a decent load-out of 7 mags total, plus one on his weapon. 240 rounds was respectable. Going around his plate carrier on the waist-bund, sitting just under his left elbow, was a small first aid pouch. It wasn’t touched and the combat tourniquet, Israeli-style bandages and rapid clotting agent were still there. Good. He would be able to prevent someone bleeding out, should he need to. On the right he had two High Explosive grenades stacked on top of each other.
HE, frags. These guys were well prepared when they boarded the Herc, way back when. Further along was a single flashbang, or distraction grenade. Just behind that, almost on his back was a radio pouch. While there was an MBITR radio in it, the mike and head set connection had been ripped out. Dan would have to stay reliant on voice comms.
The weapon Dan had been given looked like a modified standard-issue M4, until he turned it over in his hands. A small manufacturer’s engraving above the magazine well identified it as a Heckler and Koch 416, the German-designed version of the M4 incorporating as much Teutonic engineering and perfection as they could fit into the basic American-pioneered AR architecture. He knew that it would function the same as the M4 but was more reliable and more accurate than the carbines he had used previously in his service career. It was capable of greater accurate than he could get from it, too. Given a few days at the range he’d be able to shoot it to its limits but right now he would be the weapon’s greatest point of failing, not the rifle itself. The adjustable stock was light and slid in and out smoothly – typical HK quality. A fixed four power ACOG sight was on mounted on the top of the weapon’s rails – finally, he breathed to himself, decent optics. The rest of the 416 was quad-railed, with a light mounted right next to the muzzle on the left hand side of the weapon and an aiming device, a PEQ15, was mounted flat on top. The PEQ would provide both a point of illumination visible under NVG goggles in excess of a kilometer and a visible laser aiming point out to a hundred meters in the a typical suburban neighborhood. Further, if the night was darker and there were less lights around.
While the original weapon’s operator hadn’t clipped on any grip covers over the rails, making the angular metal edges awkward and uncomfortable for Dan to grip, they had attached a vertical fore-grip right at the front of the rifle. It was slightly awkward reaching so far forward to grasp it, but once he had grasped it the rifle felt steady and well balanced against his shoulder. There was a single-point sling on his plate carrier which Dan clipped the rifle to. Now he had a decent weapon he wasn’t going to let it out of his sight – unless, of course, the original owner wanted it back. It wouldn’t be hard to mistake which one was his if he came for it, either, because the weapon and all the clipped-on accessories had been painted in custom green and tan stripes, breaking up the solid black architecture. Above all, though, Dan was pleased to see that it had a suppressor already clipped on. The ability to fire quietly and accurately seemed to be an important tactical advantage when up against these creatures, and Dan was sick of destroying his night vision and his sight with each shot, as he’d had to endure up until now.
***
They managed to slip in three hours of sleep before dawn. At 0600 hours Lance’s watch beeped quietly and he roused the rest of the squad. Everyone had crashed out where they could find any space inside or around their wagons, often with their heads on their body armor, and none of them felt refreshed. Rest, however, was a luxury and something to do in the future. Right now they had a job to do.
They were the first group to leave the battalion position at the intersection. Other teams of around platoon sizes were assembling and getting ready to head out, and most didn’t even look at the Rangers as they started their drive out. Those that did seemed to stare right through them with eyes that were simultaneously exhausted, shocked and unfeeling. No-one had analyzed or asked what was going on – they were too tired for that and the focus was on survival. When they got back to a secure loc, then they would ask those questions and try and see the bigger picture.
Dan was glad
they hadn’t gone back to Peterson. He could easily picture the horrors and difficulties that would have awaited them there as they tried to reclaim the base. At least this mission saw them heading into the unknown, and the novelty and uncertainty of what was in store for them took away the feeling of certain dread that would otherwise had threaten to paralyze him. It was hard to tell whether the Ranger’s were in danger of succumbing to the same feelings and sensations of panic as he was. They all seemed calm and collected, but they were keeping quiet amongst themselves and there was no joking or levity in the group. Everyone’s hurting, Dan thought, but these guys are choosing to stay in control. Panic, essentially, was a decision. If he chose to succumb to his emotions and instincts he would lose himself. He had been trained, though, to be better than that. He now had to back his decisions, back his equipment and, above all, back himself.
Everyone had stopped registering the intermittent gunfire from the city. At least one round could be heard every other minute in the early morning light, but it had become steady patter that was now the norm. As they drove north they struggled to make out many of the living. Survivors, if there were any in the vicinity, must have learnt that hard way to stay hidden. A few of the nervous, meek figures that once had been human stared at them from behind cars as they drove by. They were few and far between. Most in this area, Dan guessed, would have been set upon by the angry, vicious ones. And there was a lot of evidence of that violence. At times they had trouble avoiding driving over bodies, often having to nudge a parked car out of the way to clear a path suitable for the wide wheel base of the hummers. Other times, when they had no other choice, they simply lurched over the dead and continued on their way. Even on the large, four-lanes of the Avenue and even with a central garden verge separating traffic it was hard for the drivers to plot an easy path around the remnants of yesterday’s society, such had been the toll on the living.
Apex Fallen Page 9
