Strands of Sorrow

by John Ringo

  “I’m surprised by the infected density,” Colonel Ramos said. “I can’t believe so many survived.”

  “If anyone had mentioned this thing had basements I’d have expected it, sir,” Faith said. “Basements flood. Water equals infected. And they’ll find a way in even if we can’t. Did it get so high that they’re moving through the ventilation, sir?”

  “We got that,” Ramos said.

  “Going to take a while, sir,” Faith said. “Just another bug hunt.”

  “Nuke it from orbit,” Ramos said. “It’s the only way to be sure.”

  “Don’t joke, sir,” Faith said. “I know where there’s a bunch of special weapons just sitting around collecting dust. And we’re finding dick all for survivors.”

  “Bravo, One One is closing in on the Tank,” Ramos said. “It’s the only spot that might have them. We’ve checked every other supply point in the building. If it’s empty, I’m calling this. We’ll just seal the doors. Maybe pump it full of chlorine gas.”

  “Works for me, sir,” Faith said. “There’s better uses for our time.”

  * * *

  “Where the fuck are they all coming from?” Faith asked tiredly. She was looking forward to getting back to the ships and getting a shower. Clearing the Pentagon, to the extent it was clear, had been a fucking bitch. And now infected were still turning up in Crystal City.

  There was a constant pop-pop-pop of fire from the back of the seven-ton. Despite Arlington County being repeatedly swept, infected just kept fucking appearing.

  “Alpha One One, First Platoon,” Faith said. “Permission to deploy for a short sweep, over.”

  “This area has high infected, First,” Captain Dobbins replied. “That’s a negative.”

  “Roger,” Faith said, watching an infected crawl out of store-front window. “Then request we come back and do a forced reconnaissance. I’ve got a crawly feeling, over.”

  “Discuss at the firebase, over.”

  * * *

  “Let me get this straight,” Colonel Dawson said. “You want to do a ground level dismount sweep of . . . Where? Crystal City? Which is still orange at least.”

  “Yes, sir,” Faith said. She’d gotten a shower, food that wasn’t MREs and some more or less solid sleep in a comfortable bunk on the Festival Dawn. “On return to base after the Pentagon sweep I noted not only solid orange level infected presence but infected exiting numerous buildings along the return route, sir.”

  “I saw the same thing,” Colonel Dawson said. “We can’t get them all, Faith.”

  “Understood, sir,” Faith said. “My issue is that it is something with which I am unfamiliar, sir. When I hit something that’s new, I want to know how far it goes, sir. Because, sir, sometimes when I’ve just gone ‘Oh, big deal’ in the past, it has risen up to bite me in the ass, sir. I’ve got the creepy-crawlies, sir. I’d like to figure out why there are so many infected just popping the fuck up, sir. Jax is pretty much yellow to greenish at this point, sir. Why isn’t Arlington?”

  “Do you have something besides ‘I’d like to go back to Arlington and get in a scrum’?” Dawson asked.

  “I’m not planning on scrumming, sir,” Faith said. “Not if I can help it. Return to Arlington with the company in amtracks, sir. My platoon will do a reconnaissance trying to figure out where infected are coming from. If we can get some determination quickly, great. No more than a few hours recon. I’d like the company on standby to pull us out. I . . . I don’t know what is there, sir. Could be a few infected up in buildings and basements and they’ll eventually go away. Could be something new, in which case . . . I’d like the company on standby to pull us out. I do not want to do another LRI. But something is very very wrong, sir. And it’s got me concerned for planned future operations, sir. I know the joke about lieutenants and ‘in my experience,’ sir . . .”

  “No one questions your experience, Shewolf,” Dawson said. “Not for more than the first conversation. If you’re this concerned . . . We’ll put it on the mission schedule.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Faith said.

  “And you’ll go rigged for close combat,” Dawson said.

  “Oh, God, yeah,” Faith said. “I just hope we can self-extract. Sir.”

  * * *

  “Wait,” Faith said as Hooch was about to bang on the bulkhead with a crowbar.

  They’d entered by an underground parking garage exit. They’d swept down towards the bottom and found the bottom level filled with water. There were the usual bits and remains of every kind of dreck, mostly identifiable human bones. But no infected. There were some doors with signs into other areas, but they hadn’t checked those, yet.

  “This is a recon,” Faith said. “I know the whole thing about letting them come to you. We’re not doing clearance. So for once, we sneak.”

  “Roger, ma’am,” Hooch said, putting away the crowbar.

  “Check the hatches,” Faith said. “Infected can only use a simple hatch. Find one that’s open.”

  * * *

  The corridors were a maze but they weren’t lost. They’d been carefully marking their trail. So far, they had yet to encounter a live infected. Lots of sign. Even some nests. But no live infected.

  Then Fisher, on point, quietly opened a door and made a “stop” sign. He then just as quietly closed the door and made a cutting sign with his hand, shaking his head.

  Apparently his lights had been enough. Faith could hear the growling starting up. Lots of growling. It was coming from every direction and felt like it was shaking the ground.

  “Fall back!” Faith shouted through her gas mask as the door burst open and more infected than she’d ever wanted to see again at close quarters poured into the tight corridor. There was “target rich environment” and “okay, this is Tango Uniform.” The situation had just gone Tango Uniform.

  “Go hot! And see if we can find a hatch to block!”

  * * *

  “Exit is blocked!” Hooch called. “We couldn’t melee through that, ma’am!”

  “Can you hold them?” Faith yelled. Hooch was around a corner from her but she could hear the continuous fire from his team.

  “For now, aye,” Hooch called.

  “Jan, go through the left hatch,” Faith yelled.

  “Aye, aye, ma’am,” Januscheitis said. “Do this hatch, Curran!”

  “Aye, aye,” the lance corporal said, hooking the lock with his Halligan tool. “Fisher, hammer!”

  The PFC hit the head of the Halligan tool with his own on the hammer edge and the lock popped off. A moment later they were through, including the two teams in contact. It had gotten to scrum at one point but they’d finally broken contact.

  “I’m totally turned around,” Curran said. “But it’s clear down here!”

  “Get it prepped to block,” Faith yelled, firing her Saiga through the crack in the hatch. She was glad she’d brought the nonstandard weapon with her. She hadn’t seen infected density like this since LRI. On the other hand, they were in much tighter quarters and so far they hadn’t been forced to scrum once.

  “First, Alpha. Status, over.”

  “We’re having to take an alternate exit route,” Faith radioed. “Main route is blocked. Do not commit at this time. This is bad on toast down here. This would swallow a company. It would probably swallow a battalion. I’ve got an inkling of an alternate route we can use if this building is to form. We may require helo extract from the roof. So far no casualties and we’re not yet yellow on ammo, over.”

  “Roger. I’m contacting higher for helo support and possible ground support. Can you comment on the threat, over?”

  “This appears to be some sort of underground mall or something, break,” Faith said, handing her assault pack and empty mags to Fisher. “Load those,” she snapped. “There are extensive underground areas. Infected density is high red. Floor plans are stupid complex. Break. Going to try to find the elevators. Should have built in ladders. Break. Shall try to find ground level exi
t method. Absent that will climb to roof and extract through roof hatch. Over.”

  “Understood. Will maintain overwatch. Got some coming out but not in a wave. Over.”

  “Radio’s starting to not work as well,” Faith radioed. “Deep underground. Will try to keep in commo. We’re getting out; just a matter of when. Out.” The hatch was effectively blocked but the infected could be heard howling and clawing beyond it.

  “Oorah,” she said to the gathered Marines. “I had a class what seems like thirty years ago on how these buildings work. If I read one of the maps correctly, and I’m better in buildings than streets, there should be a service elevator up ahead and to the right. We’ll access that. Problem will be if the elevator is up rather than down. If it’s down, we’ll hit the ladder and just climb. If we have to go out on the roof, we’ll go out on the roof. Welcome to shit-has-hit-the-turbine One-Oh-One. It happens to be my specialty . . .”

  * * *

  “Gimme,” Faith said, taking the Halligan tool. “Like this . . .”

  She slid it into the gap between the elevator hatches, slid down, cracked the lock and levered the hatches open an inch.

  “Now, pull,” she said, handing the tool back to Fisher. In case there were infected on the other side she covered the opening with her Saiga.

  The elevator had two long-dead corpses in it. She hardly noticed details like that anymore. Especially since they weren’t kids.

  “Hatch,” she said, pointing up. “Fisher, Bowen, boost.”

  She drew her .45 and let them boost her up to the roof hatch of the elevator. Topside was clear. She could hear infected above but it appeared all the elevator hatches were closed.

  The ladder was on the left side of the door bulkhead. Opposite of the Bank of the Americas building she’d wandered around so long ago but big diff. And, thank God, this building was only about ten stories not thirty-seven. If they couldn’t get one of the doors above open or if none of them were clear they’d just go up to the roof and call for a Gunhawk for cover.

  There was a flurry of shots from below and Faith keyed the platoon radio.

  “Status?”

  “They’re slipping in from somewhere, ma’am,” Januscheitis said. “Just a trickle. We’ve got it.”

  “Jan, can you figure out how to relatch the elevator?” Faith said. “Or do I need to come down there?”

  “Got it, ma’am,” Januscheitis said.

  “We’re going to need everybody to hook up,” Faith said. “I don’t want anybody falling to their death. Then, well, we just climb for freedom.”

  “Aye, aye, ma’am.”

  “I’ve got lead, you’ve got trail,” Faith said. “Squad leaders, let’s get this organized.”

  “Fuck a freaking duck,” Faith said when they’d gotten to the roof hatch. Every time they’d come to a door that might be good there’d been infected on the other side. She was pretty sure they were following them up. Which meant they might be on the roof. And she was shot. Upper body strength was not her asteroid. Her arms were noodles. She knew she wasn’t the person to do the top clear. And it was going to need clearance. She could hear the infected. “Hooch. Pass me. Your clear. Stand by.”

  She hooked one arm into the metal ladder, hooked her safety line, shuffled to the side a bit and fumbled for her radio.

  She’d lost contact with higher earlier. But they were high, now. Maybe she could get through.

  “Alpha, First Platoon,” Faith radioed.

  “First platoon, Alpha. Good to hear from you again.”

  “We’re going to have to access the roof. Request cover fire, over.”

  “Gunhawk is up and already firing. Infected on the roof in large numbers.”

  “Fuck a freaking duck,” Faith muttered. Then she heard the sound of the rotors and a rattle of the rounds striking the roof somewhere to their right. “Roger. Will exit and pop smoke. Do not fire on smoke. Over. Hooch, have a smoke grenade in your hand.”

  “Aye, aye, ma’am,” Hooch said, pulling one out of a cargo pocket.

  “Do not fire on smoke, aye.”

  “Check fire for exit, over,” Faith said.

  “Stand by,” Alpha called. “Check fire confirmed.”

  “Go, Hooch,” Faith said.

  The sergeant opened the hatch, tossed the smoke grenade and hurried through. She could smell the smoke as he popped it. And hear the tidal wave of infected closing on him.

  “Go!” she shouted, tapping the troops past her. “Go! Go! Go! Move it, Marines! And stay in the smoke! Alpha, we need support fire from Gunhawk. Cover the stair exit. Drop the infected level!”

  “Roger. Check fire lifted . . .”

  * * *

  “Clearly your gut was with you again, Lieutenant,” Colonel Dawson said as Faith slumped out of the Seahawk.

  With support fire from the Gunhawk and their own fire they’d finally gotten the stair hatch to the roof closed. After that it was just a matter of getting on the helos. Quite a few of the Marines had gotten in the scrum and were as usual covered in infected blood. Just another day in the post-Plague Marine Corps.

  “Hotwash, how bad is it down there?” Dawson asked.

  “Hundreds?” Faith said, shrugging. “Thousands? I don’t know, sir. Not as bad as LRI but it was serious, sir. And that was under one building, sir. I had a little time to think about it, sir. Big cities like this are honeycombed with tunnels under them, sir. Homeless live in them in big cities since they’re under cover. Figure infected do, too, sir. And if we tried to clear that, sir? I think it would swallow our whole force and we’d never get it to so much as yellow. Out in the open, easy. Down there? Forget about it.

  “Sir, I don’t think we’re getting the big cities back in our lifetime. Not fully. And people are going to have a hell of a time self-extracting. In Jax the water level was up and there were gators, sir. Up north . . . Some of ’em will be flooded and that will help but . . . I just . . . That’s all I’ve got, sir. Too tired to even think, sir.”

  “Get cleaned up and get some rest, Lieutenant,” Dawson said. “Even if they break out in numbers, I’m sure the firebases can hold them.”

  “They’ve got one-five-five, sir,” Faith said. “And they brought canister. I checked.”

  CHAPTER 26

  “Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord,” Faith sang as Trixie humped up the shoreline. “He has trampled down the vineyards where the grapes of wrath are stored . . .”

  Being the lead force for the entry to Washington was another playlist that had taken some care. But given where they were going ashore, there was no other reasonable choice.

  With the bridges blocked by cars and in most cases incapable of taking the weight of an M1, they’d had to cross amphib. The amtracks were pulling up out of the water, dripping and looking as if they wanted to shake themselves to get dry, while Trixie landed from the LCU. But that left them at the level of the river. The main planned impact area was above them. And having taken various looks at the situation, there was really only one viable way up. The question being not if the tanks and tracks would do damage but how much.

  “Sorry about this, sir,” Faith said, saluting the memorial. “I’m sure you’ll understand. Let’s mount it. Take this slow, Condrey.”

  “Aye, aye, ma’am,” Condrey said, engaging the tank and slowly mounting the steps to the Lincoln Memorial.

  “We have builded him an altar in the evening dews and damps,” Faith sang as the seventy-three ton tank started to grind the marble stairs to dust. “We can read his righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps.” She fired bursts from the cupola gun into the infected coming down the stairs in a tide. Many of the bullets passed through or over and hit the monument to the last president to lead a war on American soil. He’d understand. “His day is marching on . . .”

  “Ma’am, you okay?” Decker said from below.

  “Great, Staff Sergeant,” Faith said; she was snorting from trying not to giggle. “Take a
look at the sign on that building, Staff Sergeant.”

  “Ah,” Decker said, swiveling the turret to get a look at the sign. “I see the irony, ma’am.” He didn’t seem amused but then she’d never heard him amused. He was worse than Germans.

  “You are just too oorah, Decker,” Faith said, continuing to machine-gun the infected pouring out of the United States Institute for Peace.

  * * *

  “General,” Ramos said, saluting, as U.S. Army General Tommie Hammond, Commander Materials Command, climbed out of the amtrack.

  “Ram,” Hammond said, returning the salute and sticking out his hand. “Good to see you. What the hell are you doing wearing chicken wings again?”

  “Because all we have is a regiment, General,” Ramos said, shaking his hand. “And the Army is essentially stood down until we get enough people, sir. Also, LantFleet is a captain who’s a direct commission. NCCC is Undersecretary Galloway. Night Walker is back and has CINCPAC as a commodore. The brief is long, sir.”

  “Sounds like it,” Hammond said, shaking his head. “Do you have people available?”

  “Got a team on standby for just this occasion, General,” Ramos said, waving to a major. “If you’ll follow Major Withers, sir?”

  * * *

  “Is that a potential issue in the chain of command, sir?” Major Skelton asked as the general drove away in an MRAP.

  “Oddly enough, no,” Ramos said. “The general’s permanent rank is the same as mine. But you can retire at rank and it’s permanent. So General Montana outranks anyone but another retired lieutenant general or general. And if they’re retired, the NCCC can decide whether to bring them back at rank or not. Most of this is worked out in the TS codicils of the Succession Act that get into lower level successions in the event of, well, a total fucking collapse. The only issue that might arise is if there’s one of the upper level actual ‘acting President’ successors or someone much higher than Undersecretary Galloway in the NCCC ranks.”