Strands of Sorrow

by John Ringo

  Overkill can be defined as: Five amtracks whose turret operators had limited training more or less simultaneously opening fire with 40mm antimaterial rounds at a hundred rounds per minute at a scattered line of possibly, max, a hundred infected, using a weapon that has a 2200 meter range, with a minimum arming distance of 100 meters, in the confines of a 180 meter long, 88 meter wide basin, into which said amtracks were more or less packed and, in some cases, at functional arm’s length to said infected.

  “JESUS CHRIST!” Faith yelled as she ducked into the vehicle then keyed the radio. “CHECK FIRE, CHECK FIRE!”

  The rounds shredded the infected, in many cases not even bothering to explode. Often, they simply hit and bounced off, the speed of the baseball-sized rounds being hard enough to kill the infected by impact alone. The ones that missed, and they were more common than the ones that hit, impacted the buildings around the basin. And the cars. And in some cases the walls of the basin. The entire area was pinging with fragments. When the rounds had detonated on contact with the infected, the zombies were not so much “blown up” as obliterated. Bits and pieces were still raining down when the last gun stopped firing.

  “We seriously need more adult supervision,” Faith said, picking a severed arm up off the deck of the amtrack and tossing it over the side with a slightly nervous flick. “They let lieutenants make these decisions?”

  “Okay, Tex,” Faith said over the radio. “I think we got ’em. Let’s mount up that ramp and see what else is in store for us. And next time . . . Maybe just have the team fire them up from the crew hatch?”

  “In retrospect, that might have been a superior choice,” Januscheitis said. “I’ll remind higher that my background is air ops, not amphib. Holy cow. Over.”

  “Ground Force, Force Ops.”

  “Ground Force,” Faith replied.

  “Reminder from higher. We need the base more or less intact, over.”

  “Roger that, Ops,” Faith replied, then unkeyed the radio. “Jesus Christ. I think I wet myself. Oh, no, that’s just spla . . . That ain’t water . . . Crap. Just once, I’d like to not end up covered in blood. . . .”

  * * *

  Their path out of the basin led them right past the burned POL facility. The reason that the infected had been able to gain access to the small boats basin was obvious at that point: the fire had effectively melted the heavy steel fencing. It was breached in several places and the half melted posts were bent over at more.

  Unfortunately, the breaches were more or less directly away from their line of travel. The armored vehicles could just push the fence down, but it was a dicey proposition. They were just as likely to get stuck. So they had to go to the gate for the facility and breach it.

  Moving there wasn’t difficult and didn’t take long. But by the time they got there, there was another reception committee. And their plans on breaching were for entry into clear zones, not exit. On the other hand, with this fence down at multiple points, they really didn’t need the gate.

  “Can we just ram this thing down and run into them, J?” Faith asked, looking at the infected on the other side of the gate. She’d seen them on the decks of ships plenty of times and, often, at very close ranges. But this was different. They were just . . . there. Right on the other side of reinforced link. Howling and keening and trying like hell to get through.

  “Need to get with higher on that, ma’am,” Januscheitis said. “Again, amtracks not my specialty.”

  “If we had my tank this would be easy,” Faith muttered. “Force Ops, Ground, seeking counsel, over.”

  “ForceCom, over.”

  “Small boat fence compromised multiple points,” Faith said. “Breaching plan for exit . . . nonfunctional. Exit gate swarmed. Exit gate also functionally useless due to compromised fence line. Getting slightly surrounded,” she added, looking over her shoulder. There were more infected closing from the rear. “Easiest and most direct method, ram gate, ram infected, spread out and clear with light auto fire and, well, Patton quote. Query: probability of ramming gate causing . . . Are we gonna get stuck on the gate? Jan’s not sure, over.”

  “You shouldn’t,” Colonel Hamilton said after a moment. “Fencing can jam treads in some conditions but if you get a running start you should slam right through.”

  “Roger,” Faith said. “We’ll try that. This would be a lot easier with my tank, you know.”

  “Tungsten ball bearings going as fast as those go ricocheting off the concrete walls of the basin could have holed the amtracks, over.”

  “Will keep that in mind. Ground Force, out. Right,” she said, switching back to intercom. “Freeman, back up to the edge of the basin. To the edge, not into. Hooch, get up and out and watch where we’re going. And wave to get people out of the way.” She switched back to the platoon frequency. “Everybody back up a bit. We’re going to ram this gate. Following that, we are going to move into the parking lot and engage infected with direct fire. Break. Air ops, you up on this frequency?”

  “Roger, Ground.”

  “Once we’re in the car park, can you give some overhead fire, break. And to be clear, away from us so we’re not getting hit by bouncers. Over?”

  “We can do that,” Captain Wilkes replied.

  “Okay, hold it there, Freeman,” Faith said as Hooch signaled for them to stop. “You’ve got the target?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Freeman said, gunning the engine with his foot on the brake.

  “Stand by,” Faith said, ducking into the interior and going over to the team inside.

  “I’m not sure how this is going to work!” she shouted. “We’re going to ram the gate. We might go through like it’s not there. We might get stopped cold. I don’t know. So hang the fuck on!”

  “Ma’am!” Hooch shouted.

  “Yeah?”

  “We’re gonna go right through!” the sergeant said. “I looked at the gate. Not a chance in hell it’s going to slow us down!”

  “Roger,” Faith said. “Hang on anyway! Following, I want to get the SAW gunner up and out. We’ll spread out and use light fire to clear.”

  “Aye, aye!” Hooch said. “Permission to go topside on the run?”

  “Roger,” Faith said. Hooch, as one of their few actual infantrymen, had the most experience with amtracks. He really should have been one of the commanders. She’d kept him on the dismount group mostly to have his experience in her vehicle and close to hand. “Watch yourself when we hit!”

  “Will do,” Hooch said.

  “Okay,” Faith said, getting up in the commander’s cupola and bracing herself on the hatch. She held one arm back like throwing a baseball, ready to point. “R—”

  “FREEZE!” Hooch called.

  The command was drilled into every Marine, even Faith. They all froze.

  “Freeman,” Hooch yelled. “Make sure the track is in forward. Not reverse!”

  The newbie amtrack driver looked down at his controls and sheepishly put the vehicle in forward.

  “You had it in reverse?” Faith said angrily. She looked behind her. They were backed to the edge of the basin and if they’d gone into reverse, between the three-foot drop, the angle and the fact that the BACK HATCH WAS OPEN . . .

  Amtracks only floated because all the water was outside the track. The bilge pumps would not have helped. And there were, yes, sharks in the pool. They’d nearly done a full Anarchy. With a whole fire team and the crew.

  “Sorry, ma’am,” Freeman said. “I’m a truck driver, ma’am!”

  “Got it,” Faith said. “Hooch, thanks once again for saving my ass.”

  “Well, as usual, Miss Faith,” Hooch said absently. “It was mine too. Ready to rumble, ma’am?”

  “Okay,” Faith said. “Are we sure we’re going forward? I dunno. I’m just learning to drive.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Freeman said.

  “Then roll it.”

  The amtrack didn’t accelerate fast but by the time they hit the gate they were doing a s
olid ten miles an hour. And Hooch was right. The gate didn’t stand a chance against thirty tons, with crew and ammo, of rolling steel and aluminum.

  Nor, for that matter, did the infected. Most of them had been pressed up against the closed gate. Which collapsed over onto them.

  The AAV bumped up on the gate, then back down.

  Faith didn’t look behind her to see what the effect of reinforced mesh with thirty tons of steel on top did to a human body. They’d be back around to check, later. What was noticeable was the decided lack of infected to engage.

  “Ground Force, air, over.”

  “Air, ground, over.”

  “Do you enjoy making sausage, over?”

  “Freeman, pull it along that edge of the car park,” Faith said over the intercom, then switched frequencies. “Whatever gets the job done, Air, over.”

  “Roger.”

  “Ground Force. Form a circle, sides oriented out like wagons and let’s just fire this AO up for a bit,” Faith said. “Primary weapon, SAW gunner. Use the main guns for long-range targets only. Commanders designate targets and let’s take a little more care this time. We need this facility intact. Read back. Track Two . . .”

  * * *

  “Okay, I think we’ve got the level fairly reduced,” Faith said over the radio. The ground around the circled tracks was littered with dead.

  A few infected had managed to make it through the concentrated fire and get up to the amtracks. Which were not particularly easy to mount from their angle. But they also couldn’t be fired upon, given the height of the vehicle, once they got up close.

  The simple answer was grenades. The shrapnel, equally, was not going to hit the people in the vehicles. So when the guys inside heard banging on the sides, the TC would toss a grenade over. It didn’t, primarily, kill the infected. Grenades tended to wound, not kill. But it did ruin their day.

  “Let’s roll out of here,” Faith said. “We’re behind schedule to breach the basin gates. Freeman,” Faith said over the intercom. “Roll out to the basin gates.”

  “Roger, ma’am,” Freeman said, gunning it. They were in a sort of spiral called a “lager” and he had a clear shot.

  “Don’t run this one down,” Faith added.

  “No, ma’am,” Freeman said.

  When they reached the gate they backed up to it, close but far enough away to drop the ramp, then waited as the other amtracks got into position. The entrance was narrow, only admitting their one amtrack. The others were arrayed at the beginning of the lane, parked sideways, oriented at the car park filled with derelict and, at this point, pretty shot-up cars.

  “Track commanders, engage with careful fire,” Faith said. “Use forty. Carefully. And get the grunts up and firing.”

  Fortunately, the main buildings in their direct line of fire were just part of the sports and fitness complex. Not a big loss there.

  Infected were still closing from all over the base, attracted by the sound of the amtracks. As she watched, the amtracks opened up on them with forty-millimeter grenades. Unfortunately, the gunners had had only a couple hours practice with the turrets and were still getting dialed in. So some of the infected were making it through the fire.

  The troops, on the other hand, were also up. Instead of the usual twenty-five Marine passengers per amtrack they only had five apiece but that was enough. The unit had “up-armed” for the insertion so only the squad leaders were carrying M4s. The rest were either broken down into M240 medium machine gun teams or were armed with M203 grenade launchers or M249 squad automatic weapons. The Marines had started to substitute a redesigned H&K 416 taking Colt style magazines as the SAW. But fortunately there was a sufficiency of the high fire-rate Fabrique Nationale small machine guns in inventory. Because the difference in firepower was notable.

  The infected were not making much headway against the combination. If the Mk19s didn’t get them at range, they ran into a hail of 7.62 NATO from the M240s and if that didn’t get them, there was the wall of 5.56 from the SAWs and more 40mm grenades from the M203s.

  Faith’s track dropped its hatch and Hooch’s team dismounted. There were two gates at the entrance, a main vehicle gate and a personnel gate. There was also a small guard shack to control access. Hooch checked the guard shack, first, but the controls were powered and without power they couldn’t automatically unlock the gate. That left the hard way.

  The swing gate was constructed of military link reinforced with heavy wire. It had an electromagnetic positive lock holding the two gates together as well as a ram-opening system. Both systems had to be overridden to get the gate to move. First they breached the personnel gate with a small explosive charge. Then Lance Corporal Quade covered by Randolph entered the interior through the personnel gate and hammered free the pins holding the ram-opener. In the meantime, Hooch fitted another small explosives charge to the main gate. As soon as the two Marines were back on the AAV and the ramp was up, they triggered the charge to blow the gates.

  “Main basin outer gate breached,” Faith reported in. “No major problems from infected.”

  “Copy,” ForceOps replied. “Secure gate and move to airfield. We’re behind schedule.”

  “Be advised,” Faith said. “Only outer perimeter gate breached, over.”

  “Copy. Move to airfield.”

  “Roger,” Faith said. “Hooch. Secure the gates, we’re moving to the airfield.” She switched back to radio. “Jan, how’s the weather?”

  “Overcast with light showers,” Staff Sergeant Januscheitis replied. “No big deal. So far.”

  “We’re moving out to the airfield instead of doing clearance here,” Faith said. “Make sure we’re ready to roll. You take point this time.”

  “Roger.”

  * * *

  Faith walked into the Sea Dragon as the Survey and Salvage crew was unloading on the airfield, proceeded forward to the cockpit, then hooked her vehicle crewman helmet into the intercom.

  “You guys having fun?” Faith asked.

  “A blast,” Sophia said. “Not as much fun as you, though. We saw the firepower demonstration at the basin.”

  “Turns out there’s such a thing as overkill,” Faith said. “Who knew? One thing missing from the plan. You guys sticking around?”

  “We’re going to do more SAR,” Captain Wilkes said. “While the Sierra and Sierra does its work. We’ll be back for extract.”

  “Roger,” Faith said. “Don’t go down in Indian country. But if you do . . . We’ll just come get you. I think that’s a possible at this point.”

  “Assuming we come down somewhere you can get an amtrack to, Lieutenant,” Wilkes said.

  “If I can’t get an amtrack there, I can get a tank there, sir,” Faith said, grinning. “Gotta go.”

  * * *

  “Force Ops, Ground Force, over,” Faith said as soon as she was back to the track.

  The Marines had swept the hangar and the surrounding buildings and now were moving on to the administrative and support buildings. So far, they were encountering no live infected. There was a pile of them conveniently off to the side left by the Sea Dragon’s fire, but that seemed to be it within the perimeter.

  There were more along the fencing, mind you. They were continuing to trickle in from throughout the surrounding area. That might be an issue at some point.

  “Force Ops.”

  “Plan was to extract Marine contingent by water from main basin. Break. Are we changing the plan entirely? Over.”

  “Still looking at that. Main objective airfield. Once clear will look at breaching basin. Over.”

  “Copy. Ground out.”

  Januscheitis had gone into the hangar with the Survey and Salvage personnel so she walked over there to “discuss ongoing operations.” And ’cause she wanted to see what they’d got.

  “How’s it going?” Faith asked.

  “Incredibly, ma’am,” the staff sergeant said.

  “Hey, Harry,” Faith added to the Survey and Salvage boss.


  “Faith,” the older man said. “You won’t believe this. The birds in the hangar were prepped for long-term storage.”

  “Which means?” Faith asked.

  “You know how we had to replace every seal and fix all sorts of . . . stuff on all the amtracks and Trixie, ma’am?” Januscheitis said. “Well, they took the time to rip all that out and cover everything that degrades or is susceptible to corrosion. Like they were going to put all the birds in a container and ship them. All the techs are going to have to do is reinstall everything. Which will take time. But it’s not fixing everything. And first going over and finding what needs to be fixed. Just . . . plug stuff back in. Then test it and if it’s good you can just go.”

  “The guy who ran this place must have been OCD as hell,” Harry added.

  “How long?” Faith asked. There was a line of helicopters in the hangar with their rotors folded back. Three Sea Dragons and ten Seahawks. More than they had pilots for much less repair and support crews.

  “A trained crew can get any of the Seahawks back up in half a day, ma’am,” Januscheitis said. “The crews we’ve got . . . day or day and a half. The Sea Dragons maybe two. We worked for two weeks on your sister’s bird, ma’am.”

  “We need this facility,” Faith said. “I’m going to recommend that we just do clearance tomorrow. Although there’s some question about the basin. We’re going to need to get that breached at some point.”

  “We’ll figure it out, ma’am,” Januscheitis said. “This is really good news, though.”

  “I got that,” Faith said. “Harry, you gonna call it in?”

  “You got it, miss,” the man said. “I’m going to go see what’s up with the parts situation . . .”

  * * *

  “Force Ops, Ground,” Faith said.

  “Force Ops.”

  “For ForceCom: Sitrep. Birds in hangar quote prepped for long-term storage close quote. Break. Can be restarted with day to two days’ work in most cases. Break. Per Sierra and Sierra then Marine aviation expert. Break. Sierra and Sierra boss wagging tail. Over.”