Fitz felt the bile rising in his throat again. He thought about asking Rico if she had another stick of gum, but she was too busy staring at the nightmare below. He swallowed instead, straightened his back, and took a deep breath as the Black Hawk passed over the Forrest Sherman.
The deck was stained red from the injured and dead. Boot prints marked a path through the carnage. Medics ran from tent to tent on the flight deck. A team carried a stretcher with a Marine who had lost a leg. He was holding the stump and screaming what sounded like, “Mama!”
Fitz closed his eyes briefly. “You will fight again, brother. Hang in there,” he whispered to the Marine below.
A transmission cracked in Fitz’s earpiece.
“Ghost 1, Tango 1, report to the FOB, ASAP.”
“Copy that, Tango 1,” Fitz replied. He rose from his crouch, his blades groaning like the bones of an old man.
Team Ghost gathered around as the pilots changed course. The bird flew over the burned mechanized units, providing another grisly glimpse of the final resting places for the men and women of the first wave.
Stevenson made the sign of the cross, and Tanaka closed his eyes and bowed his head. Fitz focused on the open hatch of an M1A1 Abrams below and the skeleton sticking halfway out, nothing but green bones left. Reaching down, Fitz patted Apollo on the head and whispered, “It’s okay,” although he wasn’t sure who he was trying to reassure.
If Beckham could see this…
But Beckham wasn’t here. The man had given everything to fight the Variants, and he’d more than earned his retirement. It was up to Fitz to carry on his legacy and lead Team Ghost. He felt the weight of that responsibility more than ever as he looked down on the battlefield.
This was just the beginning…
The bird continued for the FOB to the west. Another wave of LCACs was ferrying a second group of vehicles from the anchored ships. Tanks, LAV-25s, Humvees, and Assault Breacher Vehicles were already cruising across the beach. Marines in bulldozers worked on building a perimeter.
Colonel Bradley was down there. Fitz didn’t blame the commander of the MEU for the attack or the decision not to risk extra Marine lives to bury the dead—even though it broke the rule to never leave a man behind.
“All it takes is all you got, Marine,” Fitz said, echoing the motto of Sergeant Jose Garcia. He finally understood why the French and European Unified Forces weren’t here waiting for them with wine and cheese on the beach. Europe had fallen into darkness because the juveniles here had grown up. They were adults now, and they were smarter, bigger, and more deadly than any Fitz had faced back in the States.
Another transmission crackled in Fitz’s earpiece. Scouts advancing up the beach reported a pack of Variants prowling the cliffs above the FOB. A pair of attack Vipers peeled off to engage the bandits.
Fitz looked up at the cliffs and then returned his focus to the beach. More Marines had washed ashore there, torn apart by the claws of the monsters. There were also juvenile corpses amongst the ranks of the dead. The shadow of the Black Hawk passed over one of the winged beasts. It lay on a sand dune, wings spread like a shroud over its back. Entrails spilled onto the sand beside it.
“You see that?” Fitz asked.
Dohi whistled through his teeth.
“What the hell is that thing?” Rico asked.
“Some sort of hellspawn bat,” Stevenson replied. He rubbed at his hairline and took another slug of water from a canteen.
“I bet France is full of those freaks,” Tanaka said. “That’s why the EUF didn’t show up.”
Rico nodded. “That’s why they sent us.”
Stevenson shot her a glare. “Yeah, it’s working out really well, isn’t it? Already lost a third of our manpower, and we aren’t even onshore yet. We’d be better off back home saving our own people.”
“What did you say?” Fitz asked.
“Nothin’,” Stevenson replied, avoiding his gaze.
Fitz wasn’t used to arguing with his teammates, but Beckham had warned him of this. He wasn’t just a Marine or a member of Team Ghost anymore. Fitz was the leader, and he still hadn’t gained the full respect of his people.
Rico steered the conversation back toward the juveniles. “I can’t believe those things have freaking wings.”
“Wings, toxins. Shit, I don’t care if they start breathing fire. I’ll kill ‘em in every shape and form,” Tanaka said.
“Not if you keep using those toothpicks,” Stevenson said with a chuckle. “You’re lucky you didn’t break them on their armored hides.”
Tanaka stood on his tiptoes to look Stevenson in the eye.
“Put your headphones back in before I—”
“Before you what?” Tanaka said.
Fitz stepped between the two men before a fight could break out.
“Cool it! I know everyone’s on edge. We lost a lot of brothers and sisters last night, but we aren’t going to let them die in vain, are we?” Fitz paused to look at both Stevenson and Tanaka in turn.
The members of the new Team Ghost met his gaze and shook their heads.
Fitz pointed out the open door. “Are we going to let our petty differences spoil their sacrifice, Sergeant Tanaka? Sergeant Stevenson?”
“No, Master Sergeant,” both men replied simultaneously.
Rico clapped Stevenson and Tanaka on their arms. “Sometimes I don’t understand men.”
“Little lady, I’ll never claim to understand women,” Stevenson said.
They cracked half smiles, but the weak grins quickly faded away. Rico offered a nod to Fitz, and he nodded back. He was really starting to appreciate the easy-going sergeant. She had shown bravery in every battle Fitz had fought with her, and her quick thinking on the LCAC had likely saved everyone’s lives. He had high hopes for Tanaka and Dohi, but so far Stevenson was just proving to be a pain in the ass.
“Prepare for landing,” said one of the pilots. They descended over the beach, rotor wash whipping up a tornado of grit. Fitz waved Team Ghost toward a central tent in the middle of the FOB. Bulldozers and other heavy equipment rumbled in the distance, building a fort of sand around the base.
Once they were clear, the chopper pulled away to join those already in the sky. The crack of gunfire and explosions from missiles sounded in the distance as the Vipers found their targets. Flames emerged from the cliffs overhead, but the Marines setting up the FOB weren’t distracted.
Fitz jogged with his men, blades sinking in the loose sand. He thought of Beckham again as he neared the Command tent. What would he say to Colonel Bradley after what had happened the night before? And how would he mentally prepare for whatever mission the commander had in store for Team Ghost next?
He stopped and drew in a breath, readying himself to find out just how bad things were about to get. Two lance corporals stood outside the tent with a Marine Corps flag and an American flag hanging overhead.
“Master Sergeant Fitzpatrick. Colonel Bradley inside? He’s expecting me.”
The man on the left nodded. “Yes, Master Sergeant. I’ll let the colonel know you’ve arrived.” The Marine snapped to attention and ducked under the flap of the tent.
Fitz scratched Apollo’s ears and whispered, “Don’t go to the bathroom, okay?”
The dog wagged his tail.
“Master Sergeant,” came a rough voice from inside the tent. Colonel Bradley walked out into the morning with a flask in one hand. He offered it to Fitz. “Whiskey?”
Fitz considered the offer. He could use a stiff one right now, but he wasn’t sure if this was a test. There was also a rule he had learned in boot camp. Never make an officer wait.
“Sir, thank you, sir,” Fitz said, reaching out. He took a gulp and handed it back to the colonel, remembering another rule, this one something his mom had taught him when he was growing up: Never stare.
Bradley didn’t just have a rough voice. The left side of his face was divided by a long scar that had taken his eye and carved a ravine in his dark skin. He didn’t wear a patch over the missing eye.
“Hell of a morning,” Bradley said. He took a long swig, wiped his lips, and glanced at the other members of Ghost. Then he gestured for them to come inside the tent. “Bring the dog, too.”
“Follow me, boy,” Fitz said. He led his entire team under the flaps held open by the lance corporals. The man on the left eyed Apollo doubtfully.
“Hold up,” Fitz said. He looked at his dog and pointed toward a mound of sand with weeds growing out of it. “Apollo, go take a piss over there.”
The dog trotted away, lifted a leg, and then ran back.
Fitz nodded at the sentries and ducked under the flaps. The inside of the tent was furnished with a war table littered with maps. A Marine manned the radio equipment on a desk in the corner. He continued listening to chatter without getting up from his seat.
Bradley shook his head and sat the flask on the table. “I wish I had good news, but we got our asses kicked last night. The juveniles laid some sort of corrosive liquid on the beach that burns hotter than jet fuel.” He paused for a moment, took another gulp from his flask, and let out a sigh.
“But we’re Marines, and Marines don’t lay down and die. We keep moving forward. We keep fighting.”
“Damn straight,” Rico said.
Bradley’s eye roved toward her, then back to Fitz. All trace of emotion vanished from his hard face. “Some of you aren’t Marines, but I hear you’re the best we got left. If Captain Beckham vouches for you, then that’s good enough for me.”
Fitz stiffened his back and waited for the orders he knew were coming.
“I’ll be frank,” Bradley said. “I have a special mission that is very important and very dangerous. This one was approved by General Nixon himself. He has a plan to get to Paris, but we need your help.”
He pointed on the maps at a town called Lisieux. “The EUF has put us in touch with a rebel unit called the Ombres. Apparently that means shadows or something. They’re operating out of the Basilica of St. Thérèse.”
Fitz raised his brows, but before he could speak, Stevenson fired off a question. “Why the hell didn’t the EUF warn us about the coast?”
Bradley scowled, and Fitz felt his face flush. He and Stevenson would need to have a serious talk before the man’s mouth got them all into deep shit.
“The EUF has their own problems. Paris got hit hard yesterday by those winged creatures, which they are calling Reavers. Recon units are tracking an army of Variants moving north toward the city.” Bradley put the whiskey back down and pulled a picture from a folder and held it up for everyone to see.
“Forget about the EUF for now and their lack of intel. Your mission is to find these rebels,” Bradley said.
Fitz studied the picture. Was this some kind of joke?
“Kids?” Rico asked, beating him to the punch. “These Ombres are kids?”
“And a woman they refer to as Maman.”
Bradley set the picture down. “I’m sending a CH-53k King Stallion transport with an MATV this afternoon. I want Team Ghost in that MATV. Your mission is to find the Ombres and see if they can provide intel to help us make our way safely across the countryside to Paris. The next phase of the war, Operation Reach, depends on it. General Nixon is planning on dropping radioactive dirty bombs on strategic locations to kill pockets of Variants. But we need to know where they are first.”
“Understood, sir,” Fitz said.
“What about civilians?” Rico asked. “Dirty bombs won’t just kill the juveniles and adults in the area.”
“That’s why your mission is so important,” Bradley replied. “We need to know where they are and where the enemy is. Operation Reach is a two-part mission: phase one is to cook the Variants with radioactive bombs. In phase two, we advance to Paris and save as many people as possible on the way. We will meet the EUF there, rearm and regroup, and then work with the Europeans to take back more cities. After Paris, we hope to secure Rome, Berlin, and Barcelona. Our success hinges on that intel. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Fitz said again. He threw up a salute with the rest of Team Ghost.
The old colonel dipped his chin, dismissing them.
As Fitz went to leave with the rest of his team, Bradley called out after him.
“Hold up, Master Sergeant.”
Apollo paused, but Fitz nodded at the dog to follow the others out of the tent.
“Sir?” Fitz said, pivoting back to the colonel.
“I’m going to be honest with you, son. You’re going deep into enemy territory. The EUF has relayed some pretty fucking terrifying images of the creatures they’re facing out there. Which is another reason this mission is so important.”
Fitz nodded. “We won’t let you down, sir.”
“I don’t think you understand, Fitzpatrick. Those Reavers aren’t the only thing out there, and I want you back in one piece. I made a promise to Captain Beckham, but there isn’t much I can do for you when you’re out there. Team Ghost will be on their own.”
-7-
Tactical lights penetrated the smoke swirling around the courthouse as Scorpion advanced. Commander Davis directed her M4 at the barricade covering the front door. Someone had gone to great lengths to block off the entrance. She flicked her light across the steel plates that had been welded over the front doors.
“Rhino 1, Scorpion 1. Did you find a way in?” Davis said into her headset.
“Negative, Scorpion 1,” came Marks’s reply.
Davis held up a hand to her team. Black and Diaz froze in the smog. Behind them were the other three Marines. They took knees and raked their guns back and forth at eye level for contacts.
Distant pops and snaps sounded all around them, like they were in the center of a forest fire. Embers rose into the night sky. The flames were closing in. Davis felt like she was slowly cooking in her suit. Her skin itched from the sweat running down her body.
So this is what hell is like, she thought.
She took in a hot breath through her mask and gave an advance signal to her team. There were fifty kids inside waiting for rescue, and she was wasting time.
Black ran ahead with his SAW shouldered. His footwork was that of a well trained Marine—fast but steady. Davis kept Diaz by her side. She felt responsible for the younger woman, even though technically Diaz was her bodyguard.
Halfway to the building, Davis reached up to wipe ash from her visor. The flames were encroaching from the west, and the smoke was thickening. Her visor clear for the moment, she increased her pace, scanning the brick façade of the courthouse as she moved. The twenty-foot-tall white pillars were covered in soot, and three floors of windows were boarded up. Graffiti reading Repent and The End Is Nigh marked the brickwork.
“Not for these people,” Davis whispered to herself.
Black stopped at the stairs and waited for orders. Davis ran past him and crouch-walked to the windows on the right of the barricaded front door. A transmission from Marks stopped her mid-stride.
“Scorpion 1. We found a way in. Heading inside now.”
“Copy that,” Davis said. “We’ll meet you inside.”
The window to the side was covered with two-by-fours. She grabbed one of them and pulled, but it wouldn’t budge.
“Over here,” Diaz said. She stood at the second window, holding a board that had been pried back. Another piece of wood hung loosely from the windowsill. Diaz leaned down to examine them.
“Looks like someone beat us here,” she whispered.
Davis hurried over to take a look. Scratches crisscrossed the charred brick like chalk marks on a blackboard. She stepped back and sucked in a deep breath of steamy air.
Were they already
too late?
There was never enough time to think in the field, even when everything around her seemed like it was moving in slow motion. In a split-second decision, she decided to move forward cautiously, hoping they hadn’t come all this way for nothing.
“Rhino 1, Scorpion 1, watch for hostiles inside.” She looked to her team and gave her orders with hand signs. Her fingers carved through the smoke.
Black stepped up to the window and ripped the other boards off like they were just sticks. He set them on the ground softly. Diaz used the butt of her gun to break the remaining pieces of glass.
“Watch your suits,” Davis said. “Diaz, you have point. Check it out.”
Black cupped his hands, and Diaz used them as a makeshift stepstool to reach the window. She jumped inside and vanished. The crackle of flames and swirling smog surrounded Davis as she waited anxiously.
Diaz returned and gave the all clear a few seconds later. Black held out a hand and helped Davis through the window. The big Marine followed them while the other three men held security outside.
Davis took a cautious step over the broken glass and directed her light down a hallway covered in debris and trash. Two other beams joined hers, dancing across walls and ceiling. Every surface was caked with dried blood. Ahead, a red path snaked across the floor.
“Jesus,” Diaz whispered.
“More like Satan,” Black mumbled.
Davis raised a finger to her visor, then directed Diaz and Black to flank her. Taking point, she pushed her scope to eye level and hurried down the passage, heel to toe, heel to toe.
Quick and steady, she reminded herself. Always quick and steady.
Her muscles screamed as she moved, her injuries flaring up with each step. The deeper they advanced into the courthouse, the more she began to wonder if she had made a terrible mistake. The SOS had been so desperate, and the thought of rescuing over fifty survivors so tempting. But this place looked like a slaughterhouse. She swept her muzzle up and down and left to right to check the hallway for contacts. The beams revealed more dried blood and gore.
Extinction Aftermath (Extinction Cycle Book 6) Page 11
