Authors: John Ringo
Tags: #Fiction, #science fiction, #General, #Apocalyptic & Post-Apocalyptic, #Military
Strands of Sorrow (35 page)
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 exit 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.”
“Then God help us if the Secretary of Health and Human Services made it, sir,” Major Skelton said.
“If she has, we’ll obey her orders, Major,” Ramos said. “While making pointed suggestions what those orders might be. What is the status on Two One?”
* * *
“Decker, I have a puzzler for you,” Faith said as Condrey sideswiped a black Expedition out of the way of the following tracks.
“Yes, ma’am?” Decker said. They weren’t engaging infected but they did have a nice trail of them.
“Why is the State Department more armored up than the Pentagon?” Faith asked. “We could barely get Trixie though those defenses. Although they’re low enough the infected aren’t having any problems.”
“I’m not sure, ma’am,” Decker said.
“’Cause people don’t like them as much, ma’am,” PFC Twitchell said.
“That makes sense,” Faith said.
* * *
“Crap!” Faith said as the adjustment round hit right in the middle of the WWII memorial. “No, no, no, NO! Gawwwd DAMNIT!
LEFT
YOU DUMB SONS-OF-BITCHES!”
“They can’t hear you, ma’am,” Decker reminded her. The adjustment was being done by their one surviving ANGLICO NCO, who was up in a Gunhawk.
“I know, Staff Sergeant,” Faith said. “But it’s a crime and a waste.”
“And, again, ma’am,” Decker said. “Those who are honored will understand.”
“Still a crime and a waste, Staff Sergeant . . . Okay, looks like they’re on target . . . Alpha, First. We free to call the rain, over?”
“One more adjustment, First, over,”
Alpha replied.
“Roger,” Faith replied. “We’ll just cruise up and down the square . . . Sergeant Major, marching up and down the square . . .”
* * *
“I’m getting calls that if you hit the Memorial again, they’re going to open fire on us,” Sophia said over the intercom.
“Please pass to them that adjusting rounds in here is like threading a needle in a thunderstorm, ma’am. Would they prefer I hit the Vietnam Memorial, the World War Two Memorial, the Reflecting Pond or the
Korean
War Memorial? Possibly the Washington Monument? As it is, the German American Friendship Garden is about to be toast . . .”
* * *
“There are eighty-seven secure bunkers in the D.C. area alone,” Colonel Ramos said. “That does not count the extensive underground works of the Smithsonian, assuming they are not totally flooded. Then there are the dispersal sites. Some of those we don’t know the status. Some we do. Mount Weather reported itself as H7D3 compromised then went off the air. Given that most of the Congress and the SCOTUS was evacuated there by that time . . .” The colonel shrugged.
“Wasn’t the President reported at Mount Weather, sir?” Faith said.
“The President was evacuating
to
Mount Weather when communications were compromised, Lieutenant,” Ramos said. “However, since his Marine pilots had not been vaccinated and the detail
was
, it was elected to take him by ground vehicle. That was the last anyone heard of him. It is possible he is in one of the bunkers or could have made it out of the D.C. area and be somewhere else or could be dead. We don’t know. Raven Mountain, which had pretty much the entire remaining Congress as well as half the Supreme Court, just went off-line. Nobody knows why. H7 presumably, but they could have just lost all their commo nodes. And the SecState was reliably reported there. The SecDef was in the Tank. He’s been positively identified as KIA.
“However, all the major successors—Speaker, President of the Senate and Cabinet Secretaries—as well as the Secret Service details for the President and the Vice President, were vaccinated. Other details the data is sketchy. Bottom line: There may be high officials of the government remaining in these bunkers. Now that conditions are down to yellow, on the surface at least, we will begin active inspection of each of the facilities. Back to confined space combat.”
“Oorah, sir,” Colonel Dawson said. “As my junior lieutenant would put it, it’s scrummin’ time.”
“Speaking of which,” Colonel Ramos said. “There are two major objectives which I’m sure
all
the lieutenants are hoping to breach: The White House and Eighth and Eye.”
“Eighth and Eye?” Faith whispered to Captain Dobbins.
“Marine Barracks,” Dobbins whispered back.
“We’ll draw objectives out of a hat,” Ramos said. “Most of them are company or platoon objectives. Given Lieutenant Smith’s adventure in Crystal Land, there will be an additional company or platoon as backstop as well as a response unit. Once we’ve determined the objectives, we will look at how we’re going to work that out . . .”
* * *
“First Platoon, Alpha Actual.”
“First,” Faith said, firing one-handed at an infected charging out of a cross corridor.
The basements of the buildings in D.C.
all
seemed to be interconnected. You just couldn’t “clear” the damned things. And they were as rife with infected as Crystal City.
The basement of the Department of Commerce was no more or less awful than the Department of Agriculture or EPA. So far, Faith had yet to get a “good” target. Other lucky bastards had gotten to clear the Capitol and the White House and Eighth and Eye. Although it was taking most of 2/1 to clear the Smithsonian. And so far she had yet to find a “secure facility” that had held out. She’d heard they’d found some in the Department of Education of all places.
Just another bug hunt.
“Abort operation. Return to base using minimum force necessary to successfully extract your personnel. Is that order understood?”
“Abort, aye,” Faith said, shooting another infected in the face. “Could you define minimum force, over?” It was still moving so she shot it a couple more times just to be sure. Didn’t want an ankle biter. They tended to trip people up.
“No further and I quote wanton slaughter of afflicted individuals close quote. Pull out using minimum force. Just get back to base. We’re stood down. Alpha, out.”
“What the fuck?” Faith said, switching frequencies. “Platoon. Mission abort. Pull back to the tracks. No worries, no sweat, we just got an abort from higher. Don’t know why. We’re Romeo Tango Bravo. Rearguard, you’re now point. Let’s plow the road . . .” She didn’t even bother passing on the “minimum force” thing.
What the fuck?
* * *
“What the fuck, sir?” Faith said when she got to the forward command post. “We were practically to the fucking bunker!”
“We’re breaking down and pulling back to Reagan,” Captain Dobbins said, his face tight. “The Secretary of Education is number thirteen in the line of Presidential Succession. Her first order on getting in touch with Command was to stop the clearance. So we’re stopping clearance unless that is clarified. That is an order, Lieutenant. We’re determining fall-back lanes at this time. As soon as we have them figured out, we’re pulling back to Reagan. Is that understood?”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Faith said.
* * *
“What the fuck?” Faith said, setting down her tray.
The combined mess in the
Festival Dawn
was massive but she could always seem to find Sophia.
“Sit,” Sophia said quietly, shaking her head. “Just . . . You haven’t seen the new directive?”
“No,” Faith said, sitting down. “What new directive?”
Anna silently slid a folded sheet of paper to her.
“While the zeel of the United States Military in suporting there nation in this time of difficulty is apreciated, their reminded that the persons aflicted by H7D3 are human beeings and should be treated as such . . . .”
The photocopied Executive Order went on like that for a full page. Someone had beat her to red-lining it.
“Genoside will not be tollerated by this administration . . .” “Invesigations possibly leading to crimnal charges . . .” “detaled serch for crtical indiviiduals.”
There wasn’t one single line which lacked a misspelled word and most had some egregious grammatical error.
It was signed “Elizabeth Sovrain, Secretary of Education, Acting President.”
“The positive to that missive is that the issue of American schools is clarified,” Anna said in her most impeccable British accent. “The person in charge is a bloody loon.”
“So no more clearance?” Faith said. “And did we lose the ability to run spell-check entirely?”
“No,” Sophia said. “We’re back to tag and bag like before the Fall. Where we’re going to find the Tasers and sed-a-gives is fortunately not my concern.”