CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Medical Bay
Coalition Command Center
Eden could smell the stinging scent of antiseptics before she opened her eyes. She felt groggy, like she’d slept for a week, or could. And her mouth—well, she needed a toothbrush, that was for sure. She tried to scrub her eyes so she could open them, but her left hand seemed to be restrained somehow. So she used her right to rub the sleep out of them and inched them open, shading the light with her hand.
“Ow,” she said, her voice cracking. Man, those lights were bright.
“Ah, you’re awake,” an unfamiliar voice said. As her eyes adjusted to the glare, she thought she recognized the doctor who’d awakened her. Not so much a doctor as a field medic, though, which was worrisome. Why would she be lying on what was, by far, the most uncomfortable table she’d ever been on with a field medic hanging over her? Something must’ve gone wrong.
Atrociously wrong.
“Where…” Her voice cracked. “Where am I? What happened?”
“What do you remember?” the medic asked.
“There was a house and some Driebachs and the house collapsed. It’s all a bit… blurry.” She tried to think back, then shouted. “Giuliani! There’s another Driebach—”
“He’s fine, settle down. They killed it. You have to lie still. You had a nasty hit on the head, we think from some flying debris from the house. Coupled with the bites, the blood loss—”
“Bites? What bites?” Eden tried to sit up, but dizziness overcame her, and she fell backward. “Oof.”
“You’ve lost quite a bit of blood, Ms. Blake, not to mention a possible concussion, along with everything else.” The medic laid a hand on Eden’s shoulder with gentle pressure. “If you promise to stay still, I’ll tell you everything I know.”
Eden just grunted, but that was enough for the doc.
“You have bite wounds with penetration of the underlying facia including significant muscle involvement and bleeding, either of which could be nasty on their own. If you were anyone else, you’d be dead now—hell, they would’ve shot you then and there. But when added to the laceration on your scalp from whatever part of the house hit you, you lost enough blood fast enough that you passed out. Your team brought you back here. That’s all I know. One of them is just outside and has been since they brought you in. Do you want me to get him?”
Eden frowned and nodded as she struggled to recall the bites. They must’ve happened while she was fighting the Driebach.
“That was some crazy shit out there, eh, Blake?”
Eden looked up and saw the blocky form of Giuliani standing at the end of her makeshift bed, a bed that now appeared to her as a desk of some sort requisitioned for use in the medbay. She couldn’t decide which was more shocking, that Giuliani had been watching over her since she got here or that he was being downright personable to her.
“Uh, yeah,” she said as she brushed her hair back and rubbed a tender spot behind her ear. “What I remember of it, anyway. What the hell happened?” The way he was looking at her made her shift on the desk in discomfort. It was almost like… concern, but that couldn’t be, could it? He hated her after what had happened to his friend Sampson, and with good reason.
“You saved my ass is what happened. Mine and probably Mancuso’s too.”
“Bullshit.”
Giuliani shook his head. “I’d be a dead-head right now if it weren’t for you. Or just dead, more like. And Mancuso would be flatter than one of Foretti’s crepes. You saved us both.” The soldier glanced down at her arm, then looked away. “I… I never seen nothin’ like that before. No one ever did anything like that for me.”
For the first time, Eden looked down at her left arm, swathed in bandages from wrist to elbow. She wasn’t sure she wanted to see what was underneath the bandages just yet. Or, you know, ever.
“I would’ve done it for anyone, Renzo. Just happened to be you.”
Giuliani looked skeptical. “What about Mancuso? That was a helluva tackle.”
Eden shrugged. “He was between me and the exit.”
“Bullshit. But whatever. You want to play it off, that’s fine.” He looked down, and she’d have sworn he shuffled his feet, not that she could see his feet at the moment. “I can’t forgive you for what you did to Sampson. Not ever.”
Eden said nothing. There was nothing she could say. She felt like there was something else she should tell him. Something about Mancuso? But the thought swam away before she could focus on it.
“But you’re all right in my book. I’d fight next to you. Thanks.” Giuliani looked up, staring at her.
She shook her head, letting go of the near-memory, and nodded, knowing what it took for him to say those words, and knowing it for the high praise it was. “You’re welcome.”
“What is this, the Mutual Admiration Society?” The rocky tone was ever present, but Eden would know her adoptive uncle’s voice anywhere. General Anderson strode into the room and looked down at her, concern evident on his face, though quickly hidden. “What’s your status, Hunter?”
Her medic, who’d moved to attend another patient after bringing in Giuliani, appeared as if by magic. “She’s got two serious bite wounds and a nasty scalp laceration. Recommend bed rest for twenty-four hours minimum, suggest forty-eight, sir.”
Anderson glanced over at the medic and then back to Eden with a raised eyebrow.
Eden shook her head. “Fuck that,” she said, not bothering to apologize. “I’m going with everyone else.”
The medic objected, as expected, though it was more by reflex than with any expectation that any of her charges would listen to her. “You’ve suffered three serious injuries, Corporal. You need rest. You are not cleared for duty.”
Anderson didn’t bother looking at the medic this time. His expression remained set in the concrete that some called his face.
Eden had no doubt of his expectations, and for one fucking time in her life, she would meet or exceed them if she had any say whatsoever. “General, sir, request permission to rejoin my squad, sir.”
If it had been anyone else, anyone less familiar with the general and his manner, they would’ve missed it. But Eden knew how to read this man she’d grown up knowing, if only by video chat. The little twitch at the corner of his mouth, the twinkle in his eye, the set of his shoulders… by God, he was proud of her and even a little amused.
“Permission granted, Second Lieutenant.”
“Sir?”
“Mancuso is on indefinite leave for going AWOL on a mission. Probably be court-martialed if any of us survive this. Everyone moves up. Marquez is in overall command of the Hunters, and someone needed to take his spot on the Bunker One team. With some notable exceptions, you’ve proven you can handle some responsibility and that you know when action is and isn’t called for. So, for now, you’re in command of Bunker One’s Hunters. Can’t have an enlisted man in that spot, so second LT it is.” He leaned in close, and she could see the danger in his eyes. “Don’t fuck up.”
Eden shook her head and swallowed hard. “No, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Anderson nodded, then stepped back. “Get back to work, Lieutenant.” He turned to Giuliani and nodded. “Well done, Sergeant.”
“Yes, sir.”
As Anderson was about to leave, Eden called out. “Sir, about Mancuso, sir…”
Anderson turned back to her. “Yes?”
“Is… Is he all right, sir?”
A dark look crossed the general’s features, a troubled expression Eden had only seen a few times. “I hope so, Ms. Blake. I hope so.”
“Sir, do we know why—”
“Why he ran off to his parents’ house in the middle of an operation? No, no, we do not. Sometimes, Ms. Blake, people do stupid things.” Anderson gave her a pointed look, and Eden felt the blush climb up her neck and over her face.
“We do, don’t we, sir?”
“I’m sure the major thought he had a good reason at the
time.” Anderson got a faraway look in his eye. “And there might have been… extenuating circumstances. In any case, it’s done now. Rest up. We need you tomorrow.” Without further pause, the general left the medbay.
Giuliani took Anderson’s place at the side of her desk and looked after the departing Anderson. Once satisfied the man was gone, he turned back to Eden. “Scuttlebutt is Mancuso requested to be relieved. Said he couldn’t perform the duties required of him anymore.” Giuliani shook his head. “Something happened to him in that house, and not just the Driebachs. He’s a good man. We could’ve used him tomorrow.”
Eden nodded and frowned. “We could use everyone tomorrow, Renzo.” She sighed. “We’re gonna lose a lot of good people. He could’ve helped with that.”
“Maybe we won’t lose as many as that. Maybe resistance will be lighter than projected.”
“Yeah, and maybe we’ll all sprout wings and fly there.” She shook her head. “Tomorrow is going to suck big time.”
Neither so much as chuckled, knowing how true her words were.
Near Bunker Five
New Salisbury, Pennsylvania
Graves looked across the clearing where they’d decided to ambush the patrol team from Bunker Five. The sailors would take their uniforms and vehicles, infiltrate the bunker, and take control before anyone knew what had hit them.
At least, that was the plan.
Bunker Five had been out of contact with most of the other bunkers for upwards of ten years. No one knew what the actual state of their equipment, training, or men was. They might be complacent, sure that they had the locals under their thumb, and not ready for an armed response team to take them by surprise.
Graves hoped that was the case. He and his men were ready to take them on, as ready as they’d ever be. By all accounts, the patrol from Bunker Five should’ve been here by now, assuming the intel they’d received from Mayor Owen was correct.
Darnell Lane, however, had given them tons of information from his hunting and reconnaissance trips out into the woods, and from the reports others had provided to him. The way the townsfolk looked up to the man impressed Graves. Darnell might have leadership potential, and the admiral was always on the lookout for that.
“Hotel Two, contact.” The whisper came through Graves’s wireless earbud. That meant the patrol was one klick from the current position.
“All teams, Hotel Six. Prepare to engage.” Graves settled into a crouch, his rifle comfortable in his arms. He’d chosen to equip his men with the more compact G36C rifle for this mission, given the close quarters they’d be running into inside the bunker. Some of his men decided to carry their preferred P90s, but either way, they had more than enough firepower to take out the soldiers.
“Hotel Two, do they have a Stryker?”
“Negative, Hotel Six. One Humvee only.”
Well, they had that going for them, at least. “Hotel Five, get ready.”
“Roger, boss. Gimme the word.”
O’Reilly was on one side of the tree line in the clearing where they’d decided to ambush the convoy. He was the only one equipped with a heavy weapon, a grenade launcher. It would’ve been useless against the armored Stryker, but against a Humvee…
“Just remember, boys and girls, we need this equipment intact.” The rumble of the sole vehicle preceded its entry into the clearing, and he readied himself. “On my mark…” He waited until the enemy Humvee was halfway across the clearing, with nowhere left to turn and run. “Mark!”
The rattle of gunfire and the chug-chug-chug of the rapid-fire grenade launcher inundated Graves. Even through his ear protection, he heard nothing but a high-pitched whine for several seconds. O’Reilly was right on his mark, dropping grenades to the left and in front of the vehicle. The men inside tumbled out the right-hand side and were met by pinpoint-accurate shots from Graves and the others. They kicked up dirt and made a lot of noise by shooting at the ground in front of and around the witless Bunker Five soldiers.
The attack caught the bunker’s soldiers off guard, and they dropped to the ground and covered their helmets with their hands. Their rifles were discarded and forgotten. One enterprising young soldier had crawled under the vehicle and curled up in a fetal position, from what Graves could see.
Their incompetence disgusted Graves, but it occurred to him that they might be a symptom of a greater problem. Were the rest of the people in the bunker the same? Had they all become this lazy, this incompetent? If so, they would need a strong leader to replace Marnes’s idiocy. He hoped the president was up to the task. With his injuries and faulty memory, it would be problematic, but his more-or-less-recognizable face and voice would be crucial in the months and years to come if they were going to reunite the country.
“Cease fire! Cease fire! Cease fire!” he called, and the gunfire cut off. Graves cupped a hand around his mouth and shouted toward the trembling enemy.
“You’re surrounded, and I expect that right now you’re wanting nothing more than to surrender. If that’s the case, take your weapon and throw it out of arm’s reach. And you, under the Humvee, come out of there with your face in the dirt if you want to live.”
The men complied, including the one who crawled from under the vehicle and sobbed into the ground. Graves shook his head in annoyance. “Just disgraceful. Hotel Five, round ‘em up.”
“Roger that, sir.” O’Reilly whistled his signature piercing whistle, and the rest of Hotel team joined him in walking forward to the men.
Graves had his head on a swivel, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He’d been certain that there would be more men—a backup unit—covering the patrol in case of something like this. As he walked over to the ambushed soldiers, O’Reilly nudged the man’s arm with his boot. “Where’s your backup?”
The soldier shook. “What? Backup?”
“Backup, moron. Where’s your backup?”
“Uh… we don’t have any. Don’t need it.”
“Oh, really? You think so, eh? Tell me where they are!”
“Oh God, don’t kill me! I swear, we don’t have any backup!”
“Then you’re dumber than you look.”
Graves looked toward the bunker, though he couldn’t see it from here. “Hotel Two, any activity?”
The scout replied. “No, sir. No activity. No sign of backup or more troops from the facility.”
“Roger that. Stay frosty.”
“Yes, sir. Two out.”
Graves looked back at the men on the ground in front of him and found their sergeant. Of course he was the one cowering. Graves took a knee next to the man. “What’s your name, Sergeant?”
“Hodges, sir. Jeff Hodges. Don’t kill me!”
“Relax, Jeff. No one’s going to kill you. Any of you.” He looked toward the other Bunker Five soldiers laying on the ground. “Now, do you really have no backup?”
“No, sir, no backup. You’re really not going to kill us?”
“Get up, Sergeant.” As the other man stood, Graves motioned to the rest. “All of you, on your feet, backs to the Humvee. Jack, any of them so much as twitch…”
“Roger that, sir.” O’Reilly glared at them, which was enough to make one of them wet his pants. “Good grief,” O’Reilly said and laughed.
Graves shook his head. “You’re all from Bunker Five?” They nodded, and one of them pointed to the patch on his arm. The admiral noticed the insignia and shook his head again. Someone had plastered the number five over what would have been the American flag if it had had more than ten stars. “What’s your mission out here?”
“Standard patrol, sir,” the sergeant answered. “We’re to ensure the loyalty of the surrounding civilians and bring back any necessary provisions.”
Graves scowled again. “I’ve heard about your ‘necessary provisions’ from the townsfolk hereabouts, Mr. Hodges.” These hooligans, as Graves thought of them, had stolen anything they fancied, even kidnapping some young women who had taken their eye. The abductors had assu
red the women and their families they’d have a better life in the bunker. None of them had been seen again.
“Hodges, when are you due to report in?”
“Sixteen… Sixteen hundred hours, sir,” he said with a stutter. “We’re to bring back the supplies.”
“Five hours? That’s quite a while.”
“It can take time to gather what we need,” the soldier said. “Sometimes.”
“You use the Humvee? Not much room for ‘provisions’ back there with you five in it.”
“We usually just take one of the town’s trucks.”
Graves had heard about that too. They had almost no working vehicles left in New Salisbury thanks to the predations of the Bunker Five patrols. “Yeah, no more of that either,” he said. “How closely do they check your cargo at the gate?”
Hodges looked confused. “They don’t, unless we have a woman. We just drive in.”
“Shut up, Hodges!” one of the other soldiers shouted, and O’Reilly stepped forward to slam him in the chest with his rifle.
“You first,” O’Reilly said.
Graves walked over to the soldier who’d spoken up. “I see we have a bright spark here amongst the dim bulbs.”
The soldier just looked down, red-faced but silent. His dirty and ill-fitting ACU’s nametape said, “PRICE.”
“Well, well, Mr. Price. Why are you so against us learning about your intake procedures? Could it be you see what we’re up to?” Graves shook his head. “This is where the villain of the piece would explain his master plan to the plucky hero. He’d be sure and certain that his plan would go off without a hitch and that the hero would die a gruesome death.”
Price looked up, anger outweighing fear in his expression. Still, he remained silent, and Graves had to hand it to him for that. Not an easy thing when you’re being provoked, especially with enemy soldiers staring you down.
“I hate to break it to you, Price, but I’m not the villain, and you damned sure ain’t the plucky hero. And I’m not going to explain my ‘master plan’ to you.” He turned to his XO and motioned toward the soldiers with a dismissive wave. “Get them out of here, but leave Hodges. He’ll be useful to us. We only need one, after all.”
The Dying of the Light (Book 3): Beginning Page 27
