Mauser limped his way over to a large chow hall tent. A series of full meals and a full night’s sleep had worked wonders on his exhaustion and sprained ankle. This is really something I could get used to. The swelling of his ankle had decreased, but he still had a gimp when he walked.
He walked through a loose green flap and then waited at least twenty minutes in a chow line to get his food. Stale green beans, processed ham, and a piece of cornbread. Manna from heaven.
He plopped down next to a group of camouflage-clad National Guardsmen, some with orange patches with the three-starred tree of Tennessee, others with the gold sunburst with a crimson sword on the navy-blue background of New York and the bloody red keystone of Pennsylvania that looked more like an anvil. Mauser kept his head low and shoveled food into his mouth.
A voice that sounded like tumbling rocks spoke. “I hear a horde is comin’ our way. Once those Zulus get done feeding on the Eastern seaboard, the only way to go is west.” He was a grizzled soldier with more gray in his five o’clock shadow than dark ones.
“They have us sitting here as a mere speed bump in their way. We’re like a goddamn truck stop for those bastards,” said a young soldier with a thin black mustache.
Mauser kept his head close to the plate and his arm up around his food. He knew the chow hall rules. Eat fast. Protect your food. You never know when you will have to hit the deck or scramble fast.
“We’re already below half-strength. The 16th Ohio Guard is at about two-thirds strength. 144th West Virginia and 54th New York Guards are both below a quarter combined with the newcomers from Pennsylvania. There are at least nine hundred soldiers and airmen here. Half as many civilians. Nothing to scoff at,” said the grizzled soldier with three chevrons on his sleeve.
“We started with over five thousand men,” said another.
“Well, now we got nine hundred, and I’m not sure they have us pointed in the right direction,” said the grizzled soldier.
An African American soldier continued, “They are just using us to get all the surviving VIPs out of the area. I bet soon they will just stop sending transports.”
Another soldier nodded. “We should save the fuel for ourselves. I say we don’t send them nothing. Take care of ourselves. Like the sarge said, we have enough men to survive, but we have to move. I don’t want to just wait around to die.”
“Aye. That’s saying we can get everyone on board. That’s a lot of officers to convince,” said Private Thin Mustache.
“We could give them an ultimatum. Make it real clear,” said another soldier. The men at the table nodded in agreement.
“Colonel Jackson would get on board. He’s taken good care of us from the beginning. We only need one CO.”
Mauser stabbed a piece of pinkish gray ham and shoved it into his mouth. He swallowed it down, trying not to choke. Whatever these guys have in mind it doesn’t sound nice. I should leave. The voices in his head wrestled between safety and a hot meal.
One of the men with a blood-red keystone on his sleeve gave Mauser a sidelong glance.
“What the fuck are you looking at?” he said.
Mauser swallowed his food in a big gulp. “I ain’t looking nowhere. Just trying to eat my food,” he said. He turned his eyes back to his tray.
“Wait a second. Do I know you?” the soldier said, inching closer to Mauser.
“I don’t think so.” Mauser watched them cautiously from the corner of his eyes. He gripped his fork tight, preparing to strike. One of the soldiers stood up. The rest peered over, alerted to a potential confrontation.
“Yeah, I remember you.”
Mauser felt the weight of a hand placed on his shoulder. The eyes of the half-dozen men fell upon him. The first step in a control technique was to prevent him from standing and therefore denying him the mobility to flee or fight back effectively. The hand pushed down on him, fingers gripping his shoulder. Fighting from a seated position disallowed the power of strikes, hip movement. Grab his hand with mine. Rip it off, twisting his wrist, hopefully breaking it. Jab fork into grizzled sergeant’s neck, probably the most experienced fighter in the group. Remove fork. Repeat as necessary until a sidearm can be acquired.
“You were at QB Rattlesnake.”
“Yeah, I was.” On the countdown of three. Three, two …
“I saw you. You and Sergeant Yates held the gap.” A hand was thrust into Mauser’s face, palm open and accepting.
Held the gap.
The young man wanted to shake Mauser’s hand. The men smiled at him and gave him nods of approval.
“No problem,” he mumbled, shaking the man’s hand.
“Thank you, sir. Our nation needs more men like you,” Thin Black Mustache said, grinning through yellowing teeth.
“Men like you who get the job done. Men like Colonel Jackson.”
“Thanks,” Mauser mumbled. He stuffed the rest of his cornbread into his mouth and got up and left. He nodded to them as he hustled out of the tent. Flattering. The men who wanted to desert thought he was a hero. Do I want to be a hero to a bunch of rebels? Better than being their enemy, he thought with a grim smile.
In this world, it was the strongest and meanest who would survive at the expense of the weak. The United States was turning into a primal shadow of itself. But there was strength in numbers, and if Mauser and his friends wanted to survive, sticking with the military was their best shot, ruthless or not. They needed to be led by a survivor. Colonel Jackson had the cutthroat in him to lead survivors, not some sniveling congressman that hid in a bunker.
He retraced his steps and limped across the airbase for the command building. He tried to keep something in his hands at all times. A gun, a bag, or food, because he didn’t want a jumpy guard thinking he was an infected running around the compound and take him out.
“I’m here to speak with Colonel Jackson,” Mauser said. He shifted his weight to his good foot.
“No one is to see the colonel. He’s in a meeting,” the guard said.
“Uh, well, can you tell him Agent Mauser is here to see him?” he said.
The guards gave each other a look.
“You’re Mauser?” The guard lowered his M4 slightly downward.
“Yup. Last time I checked,” Mauser said.
“QB Rattlesnake?” the dumbfounded guard said.
“I was there,” he said.
The leader of the two nudged the other. “Go get Sergeant Yates. Tell him Mauser wants to see the colonel,” he said. The guard hustled off inside. The remaining guard’s name tag read Thatcher. His hair was brown like the back of a white tail deer.
“I heard they had to drag you from the wall, kicking and screaming, because you didn’t want to leave the fight,” Thatcher said, grinning like an idiot. “You are like friggin’ hero around here, man.”
Mauser was confused. A hero? Just what he needed, more members of his fan club. He only did what he had to do to survive, but a little recognition never hurt.
“No man, I just go to where the gunfire is,” Mauser said.
The soldier just gave him a dumb grin and Mauser half-expected him to take out a camera and pop a selfie. Mauser was beginning to feel like a celebrity. “I’d like to shake your hand, sir. It’s an honor,” Thatcher said, slinging his rifle and sticking out a hand.
Mauser took his hand in his. “You are welcome. It is an honor to serve.”
The burly red-haired Sergeant Yates appeared from the doorway. “Mauser, you old devil. How’s Youngstown treating you?” the sergeant said, showing some teeth.
“I’m alright, I was wondering if I could talk to the colonel?” Mauser said.
Sergeant Yates frowned. “‘Fraid not. He is a bit incapacitated at the moment. Anything I can help you with? Food? Shelter? Supplies?” Yates crossed his arms, revealing a large tattoo of a cross pattée etched into his forearm. From the narrow center, each side of the cross-widened outward.
“I needed to talk to him about our departure,” Mauser said.<
br />
Sergeant Yates’s tone turned official. “The declaration remains the same. As long as planes are going west, soldiers and supplies will be onboard. Civilians will be extracted by land transport when more mobile units arrive.”
“I know this,” Mauser hissed. “Can I talk to you inside?”
The guardsmen gave each other a look.
Realization crossed Sergeant Yates’s eyes. “Of course. Step inside.” The sergeant raised a meaty hand and pushed open the door. It was dark inside and a couple of officers walked by, speaking in low tones to one another. Sergeant Yates leaned back on the wall.
“I know what you are going to say, Mauser, and I don’t like it any more than you do. There’s not much I can do,” Sergeant Yates said, his tone indifferent.
“You know about the mutiny that is coming?” Mauser said.
“Of course I know about the plotting. It’s been happening since before we left Mount Washington. I’ve talked to many of the men myself. It’s only a matter of time.”
“Are you kidding me? Isn’t there anything you can do?” Mauser said a little too loudly.
Sergeant Yates’s forehead scrunched together. “Didn’t you used to be a federal agent? Where are you supposed to be? What about your duties to the United States?”
His words struck home. Mauser had his responsibilities. He had also been left out to dry when he was in the thick of it. He rationalized it as if they had temporarily released him, and he was a civilian with different expectations. Military had to respond when called.
“I am sure there is somewhere I am supposed to be, but it’s different for me. I am a civilian,” Mauser said. His own defense sounded weak in his ears.
“However you rationalize it in your head, but let me tell you, everything is coming to an end. I’ve done all I can to quell the men. Things are changing,” Yates said, scratching his head and looking at his fingernails. He appeared relaxed, like he had resigned himself to his fate and was comfortable with it. He continued, “I’ve lost dozens of men since the beginning. Some men want to protect their families, some men just want to survive, some men are just scared. All things that eat away at our ranks aside from the real problem, the infected. The only thing that is holding us together is the fact that we are stronger as a large group than as individuals, and we have a commander who is looking out for us. Have you seen what the transports are carrying out of here?”
Mauser shook his head. This was all coming fast.
“They aren’t bringing in men and supplies to reinforce us. They are taking them back. Except recently it’s all material they want from us. No men,” Sergeant Yates said, looking through him.
“What does that mean?” Mauser asked.
Sergeant Yates gave him a practiced look of disgust that only a one-time drill instructor could have.
“It means that within the next few days, when they get all the supplies they can retract from us, they will stop calling. We will be unofficially on our own.”
Things are so much worse than we thought. “What do you mean ‘on our own’?” he said.
Sergeant Yates scowled, turning the color of an angry tomato. “I didn’t take you for an idiot. We will have been deemed combat ineffective. We were combat ineffective weeks ago. Now we are irrelevant. Adios. Lost. We’ve been sending messages out, but have only gotten stick with it in return. We aren’t worth the time or effort to issue orders to,” he said.
A spike of adrenaline shot through Mauser’s veins, followed by anger and a wash of fear into his gut. “There’s no chance at getting us on one of those transports,” he said.
“No. They won’t have you. Hell, they won’t even take us. But even if you could go, would you want to pay lip service to a bunch of cowards?”
“No, but words are a small price to pay for survival.”
“Save yourself some dignity. We will survive here.”
“There are a lot of those things out there, and I’m not sure you can stop them. You weren’t at Mount Eden.”
“No, I wasn’t, but I survived QB Rattlesnake and The Battle of Steel City. We lost a lot of men, but the unit lives on. We will find other units like us. They will join for the right man. And men like you, Mauser, can convince them. You are a warrior. Men respect you here. They recognize what’s in here.” Yates pointed at Mauser’s chest.
“Ha. It is nice to be recognized a bit. Get my fifteen minutes.”
“Just remember whose side you are on. The fighting man’s, or a coward who doesn’t give two shits if you die as long as they live.”
Visions of standing on a blazing tarmac with the dying members of his counterterrorism team flashed before Mauser. Left for dead. You are expendable. You’ve always been expendable, but you only sold yourself the lie that your little life meant something. You were only ever a tool to be used and discarded when broken.
“I will try to remember that.”
“The colonel’s a good man. He’s not like them. He will lead us out of this,” Sergeant Yates said.
“I’ll keep it in mind.” Mauser made to leave the building. I have a lot to think about.
“We need men like you, Agent Mauser. Men like us. Men who will do what needs done to survive, including taking on a horde of infected breaching our walls.” Sergeant Yates’s eyes judged Mauser, weighed his soul.
Mauser nodded. The situation is more dire than I ever thought.
JOSEPH
Youngstown Airfield, Youngstown, OH
Lights lit up the air traffic control tower. The tower was a plain block-style building. Long, wide windows circled the top floor with three-hundred-sixty-degree coverage of the airfield and sky alike. Joseph stood in the shadows of a string of tents. He ducked low, bending into a crouch, and a few soldiers walked by cursing loudly like drunks.
“I saw there were some new women who came in the other day. Sarge says he doesn’t want us talking to them, but I say what harm can come from some talkin’ and maybe a little sexy time?” the excited soldier said.
“Damn straight. If we are doing all the fighting and dying, the least the females can do is treat us right,” the other young soldier said.
“Colonel don’t seem to mind.”
“We deserve it.”
Joseph waited until he couldn’t hear them anymore before he stepped out into the light. He crossed through the lights to the other side of the tents. Humvees circled the airfield fence. Every so often a gunshot would ring out. It was time to leave this place. He had been there too long.
Joseph had a plan, but he needed help or at least cooperation to succeed. Except he didn’t know if he would get it, and in that case his quest against the virus would end here, most likely as a victim of the disease he had taken upon himself to defeat.
He walked through the civilian campsites. He definitely wouldn’t be mistaken for a soldier, but there weren’t many soldiers in the civilian camp and he wanted to stay away from any common areas to avoid any stressful conversations about why he was out and about. He didn’t think anyone would be looking for him, but he didn’t want to give anyone any suspicions either.
Circling his way through the tents, he came across hers. Like Mount Eden, this airfield’s commanders let civilians stay within the base confines, albeit away from the airstrip and outside the military camp.
Adjusting his glasses, he called out softly, “Gwen. It’s me.”
The tent unzipped and an eye peered through the tent flaps. It judged him for a moment, then peered from side to side.
“Come in,” she said.
Joseph let himself into the tent and sat down cross-legged. Gwen sheathed a knife, which surprised Joseph. She noticed him eying her blade.
“Mauser’s out. Can’t be too safe.” She followed with, “Do you want anything to drink? I got water and some watered-down sports drink,” she said.
“I’m okay,” he said. He scooched his behind around, trying to find a comfortable spot on the uneven ground.
Gwen joined him on the
ground, crossing her legs. “Have you heard anything about Mark?”
“I haven’t heard anything,” he said. She looked at him with those eyes. Even unbathed, her beauty made him uneasy. Uncomfortable at best, like he should tell her a joke to make her smile. He settled for trying to save the world.
“There is something else I wanted to run by you quick.”
“What’s that?” she said, leaning in closer to him. She clasped her hands beneath her chin and he felt himself blushing a bit. She had a natural beauty that make-up would only cover up.
Joseph’s mind played tricks on him, distracting him from his true purpose. He was sure he wasn’t the first to fall under her siren’s call. It forced his mind to play a fantastical game of “what if.” Maybe if Steele was truly gone she could learn to love him. After all, if it was the end of the world everybody needed someone to love, including him. They could steal away from here together. Run away from this mess. Make a small life somewhere, hiding from the infected.
“I, uh, well,” he mumbled. No, she would never go for that. How far would we get without help? How long could we even live unmolested by the infected? Surely some life would be better than this. Even for her. She waited for Steele only to be disappointed at his assured death. How many brushes with death can the man have and survive? He can only put his ass on the line so many times before he buys himself a ticket out of this world.
Joseph’s logic pounced. She would never go for a man like him. He was a weakling. A coward at best, and she was an angel. Someone else’s angel. A man who had gone out on a limb for him dozens of times to keep him safe; who had never asked to be saved in return. A strong man. An honorable man. A man that had gone out on a suicide mission so others might live.
Steele inspired him to accomplish his mission. Save the human race. No big deal. It was a war that he must be destined for, because a man with his lack of skills in the physical world should never have made it this far. Not when so many with so many more practical skills had been slaughtered.
The End Time Saga (Book 2): The Breaking Page 31
