Rolling Thunder - 03 (11 page)

The station was a madhouse.  Portable, generator powered
flood lights cast a stark white light across the area and two trains sat on the
tracks with every conceivable type of car hooked into them.  Cattle cars,
freight cars, open ore cars, flat cars, Amtrak passenger cars, even tanker
cars.  National Guard soldiers and Nashville police were attempting to control
and direct the throng of people, but it was like trying to hold back the tide. 
There must have been ten thousand bodies jammed into the small area, all of
them pressing forward to get to the safety promised by the trains while
ignoring the instructions being shouted over a loudspeaker.  This wasn’t good. 
There were too many people and they were too disorganized to possibly get all
of them loaded before the trains left in less than an hour.    

There was also the problem of how were we going to get on a
train.  I didn’t like the idea of forcing my way through the crowd to board a
train that would take me to safety but leave the people behind that I had
bulled my way ahead of.  Altruistic?  Foolish?  Probably yes to both, but I am
what I am.  I was looking around and weighing our options when there was a loud
shout to my left.  I turned my head and saw a National Guard Sergeant leading a
small squad of soldiers in my direction.  Rachel noticed them too and reached
up to tap my body armor.  I had already forgotten I was wearing it and glancing
down saw that it was covering my uniform and rank.  I set the parking brake,
shrugged out of the upper body armor which I handed to Mel and told her to put
on, then popped the door open and stepped down to meet the Sergeant.

He was a young man, but I recognized the look in his eyes. 
Eyes that have already seen more death and destruction than the owner had ever
imagined possible.  When he was a few feet from me he checked out my uniform,
eyes momentarily pausing on my oak leaf, then came to a modified form of
attention.  We weren’t on a parade ground and the last thing he needed to do
was stand there as rigid as the Queen’s Guard at Buckingham Palace.

“What’s the situation, Sergeant?”  I preempted him asking me
any questions about what I was doing there with a truck load of civilians.  His
eyes squinted for a brief moment but he held his questions.

“Sir, we’ve got more evacuees than we have room on the
trains.  Word just came down that we’re pulling out at 2330 – 11:30 PM or in
less than 20 minutes – and I damn well expect a riot any minute.”  He looked
around at the crush of frightened humanity trying to reach the trains.

“Why early?  I had heard midnight?”

“The infected are close.  Less than two miles and there’s a
shitload of them.  Sir.”  Like every good NCO that curses in an officer’s
presence he protected himself by adding ‘Sir’ to the end of his sentence.  I
used to be quite good at that little trick.

“So what’s the plan?  Load people until the last second and
whoever isn’t on a train when it pulls out they get left behind?”  I knew what
the answer was, what the only viable solution was, but couldn’t stop myself
from asking for clarification.

“Yes, sir.  That’s about the size of it.”  He answered in a
quiet voice and I could tell he wasn’t happy about it.  I looked around at all
the faces and flashed back to the defenders in Murfreesboro that had stayed
behind and lost their lives to buy time for a hasty evacuation.  It was going
to be the same here, only these weren’t defenders that had accepted their
fate.  These were families with children in tow that had always been able to
more or less depend on the authorities to take care of them in a crisis. 
Change wasn’t always good.

“Who’s the on scene commander?”

“That would be Colonel Crawford.  He’s on the balcony at the
station.”  The Sergeant turned and pointed at a small balcony high on the wall
of the train station that must have given a commanding view of the entire rail
yard.  I could see three figures standing at the railing, looking down at the
crowd, but they were too far away for me to make out individual features. 

Making a decision that I knew Rachel wouldn’t be happy with
I turned back to the Sergeant, “OK, I know the Colonel.  I’m going to report to
him.  While I’m doing that I want you and your squad to get all the civilians
in this truck onto one of those trains.  There’s a man in the back in a wheel
chair that also has some equipment cases with him and it is very important that
they get on the train with him.  Am I clear?”

“You’re clear sir, but I’m going to have to bump some of
these civilians to find room for that equipment.”  His words weren’t arguing
with my order, but I could tell by the tone of his voice that he didn’t like
the privilege of rank that I was using.  Too bad.  I didn’t have time to
explain.

“Sergeant, I understand what you’re not saying, and believe
it or not I agree with you, but there’s more here than meets the eye.  Just get
it done.”  I turned when he acknowledged my order and almost ran into Rachel. 
I hadn’t realized she had stepped down out of the cab and had been standing
behind me while I talked with the Sergeant.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”  She asked, arms
crossed across her chest.

“Getting all of you on the train,” I said, finding it hard
to meet her accusing eyes.

“And then what?  What the hell do you think you’re going to
be able to do?  You heard the man.  The infected are less than two miles away. 
This city is lost and most of these people are going to die.  Do you want to
die with them?  Are you giving up?  Have you given up on your wife?  On me?”  I
was taken aback when tears started rolling down her cheeks.  I had to look away
from her, glancing up at the truck where I met Dog’s eyes.  He was lying across
the seat, head hanging over the edge and watching me intently.  I looked back
at Rachel, tears still streaming down her face, being washed away by the steady
rain.  She wasn’t making any attempt to cover up her emotions.

“Rachel, look…” I started to say, but didn’t know what to
say.  If I told her I couldn’t take a seat on the train that would result in
one of these people losing their lives she’d insist on staying with me and I
couldn’t live with that either.  I had told myself that I was going to get them
on the train, go see the Colonel, find some more ammo and hop back in the deuce-and-a-half
and get the hell out of there ahead of the infected.  Maybe not the best plan
in the world, but it was all I had at the moment.

After nearly a minute of staring me down Rachel shook her
head, grabbed me in a tight embrace, kissed me and turned away.  She called Dog
out of the truck and they went to join the group at the back as Max was being
gently lowered to the ground by two of the soldiers.  Rachel didn’t look back,
and after a moment I turned and started pushing my way laterally through the
crowd towards the station.  Just before I lost sight of them I looked back to
see Dog watching me, Rachel with her back stiff and a firm grip on his neck.  I
felt like shit.  To tell the truth I had a lump in my throat.

The lower level of the train station was empty and echoing
and it was nice to get out of the rain.  At the back of the large waiting area
was a set of stairs and I headed for them.  Pausing when I found the pile of
crates I expected to be there, I took a minute to drop all of my empty rifle
magazines and load up with full ones, adding a half dozen grenades to my
arsenal while I was at it.  Restocked, I climbed the stairs and wandered around
the low ceilinged upper floor offices until I found the balcony.

There were three men standing on it and I recognized the one
in the center as Colonel Crawford, the Army Colonel that I had met at Arnold
Air Force Base.  He was also the man who had given me the news that I was back
in the Army, softening the blow with a big promotion to Major.  Not that I
would ever see the pay or benefits of the rank, but at least I could get things
done like I just had with the Sergeant without a lot of bargaining. 

“Colonel,” I said, stepping out behind him.  Crawford
turned, took half a second to recognize me, then broke into a big grin and
stuck his hand out.  I held my bandaged hand up and grinned, remembering his
bone crushing grip and not about to experience it with my damaged paw.

“You made it out alive!  Not really surprised after reading
your file.  You were quite the bad ass in your day.”

“Thank you, sir.  But, in my day?  That really hurts, sir.” 
I smiled at him and he returned the smile before introducing me to the Captain
and Master Sergeant that were standing next to him.

The Master Sergeant, Darius Jackson, was a short, black man
that was built like a fireplug and wore a Special Forces tab on his shoulder. 
I suspected he was one of Crawford’s men from the 5
^th
SOG.  “You
probably don’t remember me, but you were an instructor at Bragg when I went
through selection.”  He said.  I looked at him, but that was too many years and
too many faces ago.

“Sorry, but I don’t.  Was I a prick?”

“Oh, yes sir.  You were a gold plated one!”  He grinned
before turning back to look at the crowd below, shifting his head when raised
voices caught his attention.

A small squabble had broken out between some civilians. 
Cops and soldiers were quickly converging on the spot, pushing their way
through the crowd.  Before they could arrive, there were a couple of gun shots
and one of the men who had been arguing fell to the ground.  The surrounding
people screamed and surged away from the fight, hampering the progress of the
authorities, but one of the cops pushed through.  The shooter turned in his direction,
pistol raised and the cop shot him several times.  A woman and a group of kids
screamed loud enough for us to hear them clearly, falling to the ground to hold
the wounded man.  The crowd stopped surging away and several men suddenly
grabbed the cop and drug him down where they started kicking him.  Other cops
and soldiers started arriving, one of the soldiers firing a burst into the air
on full auto.  This broke up the melee long enough for them to pick up the
injured cop and carry him to safety.

Checking the watch, I noted the time was 2325.  As if I had
predicted it by checking, first one train then both started sounding their
whistles.  The five minute warning.  The crowd gasped, then surged forward with
shouts and screams, quickly becoming a mob.  I looked for the small squad that
I had tasked with getting Rachel and the other people on a train, but couldn’t
spot any of them.  I hoped this meant they were already safely boarded.  Fights
were now breaking out in the crowd, more gunfire and screams accompanying
them.  This was now a riot, and I could see the cops and soldiers on the
perimeter starting to melt back and run for the front of the train closest to
the station.  At a cattle car directly behind the locomotives a squad of
soldiers was set up with machine guns, apparently holding a safe car for the
crowd controllers to pile into when it was time to go.

I would have liked to hear what happened at Fort Campbell
and how the Colonel had wound up here in Nashville, but time was not on our
side.  “What’s the plan, Colonel?  From what I hear the infected are going to
be joining the party any minute.”  I moved up to the rail and stood between
Crawford and the Captain who was talking quietly into a satellite phone.

“Captain Blanchard over there is calling in our ride right
now.  We’re going to join a flight of Apaches and Black Hawks to give some air
cover for these trains.  It’s a little wild to the west and they’re going to
need our help.  Besides, the Air Force has a package waiting for the infected
and we don’t want to be here when they deliver it.”  I just nodded, relieved
that I wasn’t going to die here today.  Well, at least it looked like I wasn’t
going to.  Then I thought about what he’d just said.  Package?  Oh shit.  In
military speak that most likely meant a nuke.

The running cops and soldiers made it to the waiting
railroad car and started piling in.  Nearly a hundred people had followed them
and when they saw the squad with machine guns they knew their fate was sealed. 
Some of them stopped and just stood, staring at the train.  Others kept
running, ignoring a soldier that was ordering them to not come any closer over
a hand held loud hailer.  One of the civilians started firing and soon others
joined in as they rushed forward.

“Goddamn it!”  Crawford growled.  A moment later the Master Sergeant
turned and spoke to the Colonel.  The Lieutenant in charge of the squad was
requesting permission to open fire on the civilians to defend his position. 
Crawford gripped the balcony rail so hard I expected it to snap, but only took
a second to nod his head with permission.  The order was relayed and almost
immediately two machine guns and half a dozen rifles started firing at the
swiftly approaching mob.  The attackers were quickly cut down, the larger crowd
going almost silent as every head turned in that direction to see what was
going on.

With the immediate threat neutralized I watched the squad
grab up their weapons and equipment and pile into the waiting car where they
set up two of the machine guns pointing out the open side door. 

“Get them rolling.”  Crawford said just before screams
started coming from the far left area of the crowd.

Looking for the source of the commotion I could hear the
Master Sergeant relay the order into his radio.  For a moment the screams of
the crowd were drowned out by the two train whistles and the bass roar of the
locomotives throttling up.  By the time the engineers let off the whistles the
trains were moving, slowly at first but visibly gaining speed as the four
locomotives at the front of each train belched clouds of black diesel smoke
into the air.  Now the crowd screamed as one, some voices in terror and pain,
others in anger and dismay as the trains continued to pick up speed.

At the edge of the illumination cast by the floodlights I
could see a growing commotion as infected started appearing, their front ranks
slamming into the milling crowd.  Taking the binoculars offered by the Master Sergeant
I focused in on the area and watched as thousands of females sprinted forward
and started taking down the evacuees.  Many of the civilians were armed and got
off several shots before falling to the unstoppable surge.  Watching from my
elevated position it reminded me of watching tsunami footage on TV, an
unstoppable wall of destruction just rolling over everything in its path.  Not
caring to see any more I handed the glasses back and checked on the trains.

Each train was very long.  Longer than I could estimate, but
it looked like they had hooked up every car that had wheels.  The rear of the
train hadn’t cleared the station yet and as the wave of infected kept rolling
over the crowd they started grabbing onto the passing cars and hitching a
ride.  Taking the glasses back I nudged the Colonel, pointed out what was
happening and handed them to him.  He raised them and looked at the situation,
then growled an order to the Master Sergeant without taking his attention off
the trains.  More radio calls then a moment later two Apaches flared into a
hover over the trains.

The Army’s Apache helicopter is probably the most lethal
rotor wing aircraft ever built, even though I’m sure there’s some Russians that
would argue the point.  On the nose of the Apache is an electrically operated
chain gun that fires 30mm explosive shells that are capable of piercing up to
two inches of military grade armor.  Against flesh and bone, each shell will
absolutely destroy anything within a ten foot radius of where it strikes, so
the gunners didn’t have to worry too much about accuracy.  Their only real
concern was to not shoot up the train or shoot too close to it and send
shrapnel into the cars packed with evacuees.

A moment after flaring into a hover both Apaches opened up
with their chain guns, each directing their fire in a path to the side of the
train that was closest to the infected.  The ground erupted and everything that
was hit disintegrated.  I could make out the occasional body part fly through
the air, mostly arms and legs.  The problem with the infected, as I had
learned, is that they don’t stop coming just because the ones in front of them
are blown into a cloud of pink mist.  The only way to stop them was to keep
shooting until there weren’t any left.  Apaches can carry up to 1,200 rounds of
ammo for the chain gun, but at a rate of fire greater than 300 rounds per minute
that’s less than a four minute supply.  Of course they don’t fire continuously,
the gunners having to let the guns cool, but they still burned through their
full load of ammo before the rear of the trains passed out of the station.

They bought the necessary time, however, as the trains were
both now moving too fast for any of the infected to grab on and climb aboard. 
I watched several females make leaps at the passing train, all but one failing
to get a grip and bouncing off to tumble on the ground.  The one that did get a
grip on a guard rail at the rear of a passenger car had her arm yanked
completely free from her body which tumbled to the ground and wound up rolling
under the big, steel wheels and being cut into pieces.  I could still see the
arm hanging from the rail, the hand having locked in a grip, the last position
the brain had told it to take.

“Sir, our ride’s here.”  The Captain’s voice drew my
attention from the battle and I looked up as a Black Hawk hove into view,
hanging in the air over the roof of the station.

“Let’s go, gentlemen.  There’s nothing more we can do
here.”  Crawford turned and marched inside the building, not looking to see if
we were following.