“Thank you Maj Arnot. We have a convoy in the vicinity still, don’t we?”
“Sir, the convoy has already returned to base. We only have a single Guardian in town and it’s guarding weapons and ammo at the National Guard Armory.”
“How much ammo could there be at an armory? A couple rounds for security?”
“Sir, they were preparing for real world deployment, that’s why the trucks returning from there have a field kitchen and a huge freezer full of food. Their full load of ammo is there too. The facility houses a part of the 920th Forward Support Company and was hosting C Company, 1st Battalion, 297th Infantry Regiment while their facility was being upgraded. Our man on the ground there estimated seven truckloads of ammo and weapons”
“Oh hell, that was the Stryker delivering drivers to pick up those supplies and vehicles. I want a reaction force to recover those supplies before anything else happens. Tell that Guardian crew they’ll be reinforced as soon as possible.” Arnot heard the phone on the other end slam off.
“Troop 21, Control.”
“Control, 21 go ahead.”
“Troop 21, you are to hold in place until reinforcements arrive. Control out.” Why do I feel like I just had a bulls-eye painted on my back?
“Driver, take us back to the intersection. I want to keep moving. Gunner, keep an eye open, all 360 degrees worth. I don’t like those damn trees, perfect cover to fire a rocket up our ass. Control didn’t say if it was an IED or if someone out there has rockets, so keep alert, I bet they want what’s left in the armory. They don’t have an ETA for our reinforcements.” And I volunteered for this mission!
Damn it all, I need a real command post, this is a cluster fuck Davis thought. “Col Lee, I want a pair of Apaches on top of that armory five minutes ago. Let me know when you have a relief column ready to go. I want a minimum of four Strykers, a rifle platoon and nine drivers to load and recover assets at that armory before our opposition takes out that Air Force Guardian and uses those assets against us in the future.” BG Davis hung up, then dialed MG Peters.
“Peters here.”
“Sir, we have a situation. The Stryker we sent to town to recover assets was ambushed; it’s in the river, the crew probably dead. I’ve ordered an immediate launch of Apaches to provide support for the Guardian still on station at the armory. Following that will be a platoon of Strykers to get replacement drivers in there and then it’ll provide security until we have recovered all assets and withdraw. Peters rubbed his head; he had anticipated something like this happening, just not this soon.
“Thanks Jim, when do you want to send a recovery team for the bodies?” Davis swallowed hard, he hadn’t thought about body recovery with the Stryker in the center of the river. Great, let’s risk live bodies for dead bodies when the Stryker is already a write-off, and a perfect ambush location there.
“Um, Sir, I’m ah, going to assign that problem to the engineers. That should be right up their alley.”
“Thanks, Jim, be sure to keep me updated on both operations. I’ll inform Conrad to have his security forces raise the force protection condition (FPCON) to Delta, until we know different. We’re in a completely new ball game here if we end up having terrorists.
Oh oh, that doesn’t look good. “800 meters out, we have a dozen pickups heading our way from the west. I think they’re here to do a little shopping. Permission to target weapons on inbound vehicles.” Wyatt sounded like he was getting nervous fast.
Oh, screw this! “Gunner, elevate M19 to maximum, fire one round.” The immediate release of one grenade and the black cloud exploding from it had an instantaneous reaction from the trucks as they all slid to a stop, some dangerously fishtailing, appearing ready to flip over. The thirty men and women exited the trucks and congregated on the road for a few minutes.
“Stay calm, everyone, I don’t think there’s any heroes in that group.” The lead pickup started back up heading towards the armored car, driving slowly, a white rag tied to the radio antenna.
I can’t believe I’m doing this. “If they make a move or anyone from their convoy does, light them up. I’m cracking my hatch to talk with them.” The stench of the dead bodies hit him hard as he opened the hatch, but only stuck his head out, then his right hand to signal the truck to stop.
“What the hell was that stupid ass gesture of firing a grenade over our heads? We have children in those trucks!” The woman shouted from beside her truck, obviously enraged and nervous at the same time.
“Ma'am, someone destroyed one of our Strykers about an hour ago, ten men and women dead. State your business.”
The woman’s righteous indignation dried up quickly at the announcement. “We were heading for the armory. We figured that was the safest place in town. The last couple of nights have been pretty rough. We’re low on ammo and couldn’t stop any of those zombies if they attack us again tonight.”
“Ma'am, the National Guard evacuated to the county airport where it’s safer.”
“What makes the airport safer than here? The armory is built tougher than anything else in town.”
The air vibrated and the ground shook as a pair of Apache helicopters did a fast, low flyby. “Those! Ma'am, the zombies can’t even get close to the airport. Now, turn around and take Hwy 59, the bridge here is not safe anymore. Drive slowly when you approach the airport gate, there might be some itchy trigger fingers.”
The woman looked like she wanted to argue, but the driver said something to her and she just smiled, then waved as she got back into the truck. Wetzel felt his hands start to shake a little before he dropped back down into his seat while watching the truck drive away.
“Control, Troop 21”
“Troop 21, Go ahead.”
“Twelve civilian trucks, mix of men, women and children heading for the base. The Apache helicopters made a nice impression on them. Please pass on our thanks to the aircrews.” Wetzel felt total relief as he watched the helicopters assume an orbit, he guessed, about a mile or so away, slowly circling around them.
“Troop 21, expect additional friendlies, ETA 15 mikes. Stay sharp. Control out.” Neither Wetzel nor the orbiting gunship crews detected the lone figure retreating from under the trees to the east to safety under the bridge, her sole weapon a M72 LAW.
“Damned if this day just doesn’t get better. Here come the Army boys, now we just watch them load up the supplies and we can get the hell out of here.” Wetzel said, relieved. “Driver, move us onto the grass so they can use the road, we don’t want to slow them down.”
The first Stryker rumbled by as Wetzel and Wyatt waved happily. The second pulled up and shut down its engine after dropping the ramp. Nine infantrymen dismounted and followed the other Strykers to the Guard building, scarves and rags covering their mouth and nose.
“Anything to report? Sorry, I’m not familiar with Air Force rank.” A tiny figure asked from the open hatch. The CVC helmet looked too large and the shaded goggles covered the lieutenant’s face. Under the goggles, the rest of the lieutenant’s face was covered by a skull facemask. Lieutenant Kim paid no attention to Wetzel, instead trying to check out the lay of the land in every direction at once.
“I’m SrA Wetzel, that’s the same as an Army E4. Other than the explosion that took out the Stryker on the bridge, it’s been quiet here. The weapons and ammunition vaults are just inside the large garage doors on the opposite side of the building.”
“I’m Lt Kim, this is a scratch unit we threw together to retrieve the ammo and weapons. Why aren’t you on the other side of the building with direct line of sight on the resources?” The Lt asked.
“We’ve been staying mobile, trying to see anyone approaching from any direction. A good view of the garage door has no view of the surrounding area. I didn’t want to find a rocket in my ass without a chance to fight back.”
“Hold your position here, SrA Wetzel. When we pull out, your vehicle will lead the return to the airport.” The Stryker started up the engines, Wetzel
and Wyatt nodded their heads in understanding.
The roar of numerous engines firing up brought Wetzel to full alertness. He looked at his watch and was surprised to see it was 1600. He looked over at Wyatt and noticed he had a glazed look in his eyes, a thousand yard stare.
“Dude, are you sleeping with your eyes open?” Wyatt didn’t reply, he just continued to stare out to the fields. Wetzel hit him in the shoulder and watched the eyes come back into focus; Wyatt gave an embarrassed grin as a confession of guilt. “Hey Sean, how you doin?” Wetzel waited a minute, figuring he was asleep as well. He dropped down into his seat and found the driver working on his helmet. Campbell looked up in surprise.
“Hey, both of you are awake. You hear the Army out there, must be time to go with all those engines firing up.” His big smile plastered on his face reminded him of the look his old shepherd had after eating turds, with a big shit-eating grin. I’m going to be hearing about this for a while, son of a bitch!
“Troop 21, Troop 6.” Crap, here it comes. Wetzel thought
“Troop 6, Go ahead.”
“Troop 21, you have the lead. Maintain a speed of 40 MPH unless directed otherwise. Troop 6 out.” Whew, thought my ass was busted.
“Driver RTB maintain speed of 40 MPH. Gunner, let’s try to stay awake. Keep that turret moving.” Maybe we can even get some sleep before we go back out tonight.
This feels weird, how long till I get used to this? Capt Conrad sat with a couple of Army captains, going over his revised plan to draw out the Zs from the town. With the use of twenty Strykers instead of six Guardians, the operations plan was coming together in a much larger way than originally envisioned. Four Guardians and two Apaches would be the reaction force if there were any problems. If successful, the next day the house-to-house clearing could begin, with the caveat that minimal damage was to be observed since they wanted the houses in ‘move in’ ready condition.
“Well, the plan looks good until the first shot is fired. We just need to send teams in to evacuate anyone still in the town. I believe most folks have moved out to the countryside, but there’s always someone who knows better.” Conrad stood and looked over the display one more time. He suddenly felt like he was looking through a tube as he lost his peripheral vision. He felt the room start to spin at the same time. He started to speak when he found himself looking at the ceiling before everything went black.
“Get on the horn for a medic. You help me check his vitals and make him comfortable.” The young captain ordered, one thought going through his mind, Don’t you turn, old man.
Abrams rushed to the trailer that was now the clinic. A forty-year-old Air Force Captain was on a makeshift exam table. “Doctor, the patient has the following symptoms; high fever, difficulty breathing, low blood pressure, and a fast heart rate. We were getting ready to cut off his clothing and examine him for any wounds, especially if he’s been infected.” Abrams watched as the team carefully cut off the captain’s uniform. The white bandage made him wince as his trained nose picked up the smell of infection. Parts of the white gauze had turned yellow and brown. Abrams sighed, expecting the worst.
“Clean him up and prep him. Specialist Wilf, you will assist me. Ensure a kit is ready to go after I prep myself. Hopefully, it’s just a minor infection. I wish we had a real hospital here or at least a MASH. Better yet, my regular job at the hospital downtown, when I’m not playing weekend warrior.
The wound looked less serious than Abrams expected. “Hmm, a nice through and through, probably a 9mm, be grateful it’s not a 5.56. Wound has cleaned up nicely. I would guess the wound is two days old. This guy has been running around playing Rambo, most likely ignoring the warning signs his body has been giving him. I want to see him on oxygen and let’s give him a tetanus shot, then start an IV, and see what antibiotics we have available for him. Let’s also give him one unit of blood and keep him under observation until he’s breathing better and his temperature is down. Spec Wilf, I’ll let you wrap the wound.” Abrams was relieved to leave the room so he could get back over to observing his Z for any changes.
The oncoming convoy of Strykers made no sense to Wetzel. They were only a half mile away from the airport when the twenty Strykers passed them, heading towards town. “Damn, it’s too early to chase Zs; buildings are too infected to salvage supplies. They must be going after the terrorist that took out the Stryker. It’ll be interesting to hear that story. I wonder if they’ll let us sit out the operation tonight since we’ve already been out all day.”
Andersen was in charge of the entry control point (ECP) for the airport. The ECP was now at the exit from Hwy 59. On both sides of the road, ancient barbwire fences ran parallel to the road, providing an extra degree of security. The ECP consisted of a pair of Guardians. The vehicle commander and driver were dismounted from the first vehicle, while the gunner provided them cover. The second Guardian was twenty feet behind the first, ready to react to any hostile actions.
“What’s the word on tonight’s action?” Wetzel shouted from atop his Guardian.
“We’ve been pulled from the game. Now we’re the reaction force if something happens. Capt Conrad is in the clinic. He has an infection from a gunshot wound he took the first night when the shit hit the fan. You got too many vehicles behind you, we’ll catch up later.” Andersen waved the Guardian and the convoy through and went back to standing with his Guardian blocking the wind.
“The place is growing pretty fast. Look at all that.” Wetzel pointed to a sign with arrows pointing to the 24/7 Dining Facility, another to Community Showers, and a laundry facility. “We’ll check in, debrief and get something to eat.” They pulled in next to another Guardian and piled out of their vehicle, anxious to finally get off duty and have a hot meal that didn’t come out of a bag.
The small hangar now served as the jail, armory, security ops center, and billeting for the security forces. A new lieutenant was at Conrad’s desk when Wetzel entered. “Come on in, SrA Wetzel. MSgt Murphy and SSgt Barnes were just giving me a rundown of the security forces we have here. I hear good things about you. I’m Lt Frank Wendel, you can call me ‘sir.’” The Lt waited for the expected laugh and was left disappointed. “You’ve had a long day it looks like, so you and your Troop 21 can stand down until 0600. We’ll have guardmount then to bring everyone up to date. After guardmount, there’ll be an inspection of all the vehicles. Ensure yours is in inspection order and ready for patrol. I’ll take a quick debrief, then you can be on your way.”
How about I rip that head off your shoulders and shit down your throat? Wetzel smiled at the thought. Wetzel pulled out his patrol notes and recited them, leaving out only the unscheduled short nap he’d taken. “Then we returned to the airport with the Army in tow, sir.”
“Thank you, SrA Wetzel. You’re dismissed.” Wendel returned to his discussion with the two NCOs and ignored him as he departed. Where the hell did they dig up that dickweed?
Peterson sat and watched the displays as the Strykers made their way through the town. More civilians materialized than he expected, making him wonder how they had avoided the Zs. Many climbed into the Strykers, while others went to their personal vehicles and started towards the airport, possessions filling their autos. “Will we have enough to accommodate all our new arrivals? In two days I want to see them back in a safe town with many of our own people in town as well.” Peterson looked over at BG Davis, who looked over to Col Nguyen.
“Sir, we have the resources to bed down a thousand civilians, if needed. With the average number of survivors being ten percent, we are expecting fewer than seven hundred out of the seven thousand who lived here before the pandemic struck.”
“Thank you, Colonel. I want those civilians happy so they will work with us. Col Miller, do you have any rough estimate on how you plan to get the civilians to work with us? Even if we are under martial law, I don’t want to conscript civilians.
“Sir, I thought the best way we might be able to do that is for them to know t
hey are safe with us and that they are contributing to the rebuilding of our country. On a more realistic note, I thought if we confiscated everything owned by those who had turned to Zs with no normal surviving family, we can use the houses to provide shelters for those who work with us. We can also use the confiscated businesses to provide jobs, and materials for those who have their own businesses.
Last, if we were to recover the assets at the Denver Mint, we could use the gold and silver to make new legal tender money to pay workers and our own people, since the old money is trash. Those who refuse to work, we can just send on their way. Those who can’t work, we’ll take care of the best that we can.”
“I like that plan Col Miller. General Davis, please be sure to put on our operational calendar to rob the Denver Mint of all precious metals and possibly the printing presses so we can make our own money.” The assembled officers and senior enlisted were not sure if he was joking or not, so they tried not to smile until they knew for sure.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we need to safeguard government resources, some SOB is going to try and rob the mint. We need those resources to pay our troops and get our limited economy running again. We will need to buy fuel, pay for our electricity, pay the farmers and store owners. An IOU without any money backing it won’t go far no matter how much they want to support us. It’s too bad we don’t have a team of economists and bankers to work out a solution.
“I’ll return at 1930 hrs to observe how the sweep of the town goes. Now, I want to see how the troops are enjoying the field kitchen. I know I’m ready for real food.” Stepping outside, the force of the wind felt like it was going right through him. I really need to retire my flightsuit and start wearing OCPs, at least they’re warmer. The air does feel good tonight, though. There was only a short line waiting to get into the field kitchen. The last three in line were easily identifiable as Air Force by their nametapes on the back of their patrol caps, the names were in brown. He didn’t announce himself; instead, he just stood behind the last man and waited his turn. He laughed quietly as they talked smack among themselves, until one turned back to talk to his buddy and saw the two stars on the name tag as his face drained of color.
Zombie Airman Page 21
