World of Ashes II (32 page)

“This was all an exercise, Sir?” Kemper had trouble keeping himself in line just then. He felt proud of himself just for remembering to say
Sir.

“Yes, Sergeant, it was. The mock battle with OpFor was a disaster, and I think that had as much to do with improper recruiting techniques as it did an unbelievable scenario. The men couldn’t take it seriously, and neither did the Vics. I convinced Major General Roland that because of the obvious fake elements of the battle the concept of using men and women who’d already been outside the wire failed. The Army had little problem coming up with an appropriate number of infected corpses for the fight, but not so many we were in any real danger of an infestation.” Sharp stepped up to Daniel and sat on the water-buffalo’s hitch.

“Sir, with all due respect, some of my men might have been killed.” Daniel protested. He was feeling the early onset of the urge to punch a superior asshole in the face, and yes, he was waiting for the appropriate time to use that line too.

“And the Army and Administration had a cover story for that.”

“I’m sure.” Daniel’s disrespectful tone shone like a search light.

Sharp stood, getting as close to Daniel as he could. “Congratulations,
First
Lieutenant. Your men have impressed the right people… Enjoy your time off here at the lake. It’ll be the last R&R you get before we retake DC.” Sharp didn’t bother saluting before he left, nor did he wait for Daniel to offer one. As much as he enjoyed his notoriety and position to further blackmail his mother, Daniel felt a deep personal responsibility to each and every one of his Soldiers. He would very definitely have taken each potential death as hard as the loss of a good friend, were he to find out they died for a lie. He’d kill, specifically Sharp, if it meant bringing any of them home alive. But what was this pencil mustached dick going to do? Daniel was probably more untouchable than Sharp himself at this point, and he intended to make that foundation even more solid. DC was just the midway of this war. In that moment Daniel decided he wouldn’t stop killing Vic until he reached England.

Lt. Hallstead found her way out of the tent where she’d gathered the four other Airmen there and took out a black marker from her clipboard. While Daniel was still seething she colored his yellow lieutenant’s bar black on his uniform. “Major Sharp showed up almost as soon as the bullets started flying. He wouldn’t let us warn you it was just a scenario, but he did have other units and air support ready.”

Kemper gave them some room with the tip of his hat. “What’s this for?” Daniel wondered aloud. “I just made Second Lieutenant a month ago.”

Shrugging, Daniel’s new (girl)friend popped the top on a can of root beer in a cooler next to the tent. “There are other trains of thought on how to deal with the plague. Your unit, it’s all an experiment. If you’d failed here the next best idea was to build a wall and wait ‘em out. They do rot, you know. Just slower than usual. It could all just be a waiting game, no need to risk lives.”

Daniel didn’t agree with that logic at all. “We can’t live sustain this, Kelly. Have you seen how people are living off-post? I’m not talking about outside the wire, I mean here, in the Complex. The American Ghetto now stretches almost the entire length of the Rockies. You and I, we live good. Everyone else… this can’t be
allowed
to last forever. And that’s why the Viral Response teams are so vital. We’ll exhaust all the supplies this land has to offer, rationing, worse than it already is, will create a black market the police will have no chance of controlling, especially when they’re starving too.” Daniel could tell he was ranting, but Kelly was listening intently. “If we don’t reclaim the farmlands of the Midwest, we’re fucked. Vic won’t have to fight us, we’ll just… fade away.”

“But Mankind will still go on.”

“Maybe. But do you want to live in a world where the Stars and Stripes no longer fly? Where the rule of law and the Constitution mean nothing?” Daniel stood taller. “No. I will not go down without a fight. I won’t sit behind the wire and walls and wait to die. As much of a bastard as Major Sharp is, I’m following that man straight into the jaws of death with a smile on my face… I mean, if it’s down to me or him, I’m shooting him in the knee and running, but…”

Someone outside, no doubt an individual who wasn’t on the detail to police up the bodies, popped open a bottle of beer. “Let’s fuckin’ do this!” The man shouted, starting a chugging contest with some of the others. The live fire exercise over, everyone was back in party mode, unwilling to waste what precious little time they had left.

Before Hallstead left the tent, Daniel tried something. “So… do you prefer a man in a uniform?” He said with an impish smile.

“I was wondering when you were going to ask.”

Chapter 14

…and the Army goes rolling along…

Tracer rounds zipped over Daniel’s head, the
zing-pop
sound of a 5.56mm round taking out a branch from a bush next to him wasn’t one he was used to. Vic didn’t shoot back, he couldn’t even turn a doorknob, instead the first city the unit was sent to in order to liberate an Oregon Army National Guard post that had held out, was overrun by an organized and heavily armed gang. Daniel would later find out it wasn’t exactly a gang more than it was the combined and well regimented forces of Lead, Deadwood and Central City, South Dakota.

The Rebels saw the FEMA/Army outpost on the edge of the nearby reservoir as symbol of oppression and dishonesty, the desperate and outgunned colonel in charge of the hastily made fortress was as a wannabe king in of his own adorable little discount empire, and needless to say he’d made some enemies conscripting, pillaging and allegedly raping his way through the nearby cities. The arrival of another “American” unit to aid their bitter enemy was enough to make the people take up arms against Daniel’s men without hesitation.

Lacking a machine gun unit of their own, as zombies didn’t care if you shoot their body a hundred times or if you used a golf club, Daniel wasn’t in any position to order his men to subdue the attackers. The best he could do against an enemy that literally had tanks, two captured Abrams and four Armored Security Vehicles, was hold a small hill on the far side of a strip mine the town of Lead had grown around. The hill was on the opposite side of the town from the National Guard post-turned filthy castle, a thousand or more angry rebels between them and there. Daniel didn’t exactly blame the people for being pissed when a captive told them why they’d just starting shooting, but then again they hadn’t offered a parlay, and that was a good way to get shot in the face.

“Odin Six, Valkyrie Six, respond.” Daniel keyed his IMBTTR radio.

“
Go ahead
.” Sharp responded, the other three platoons of 1
st
Viral Response were in reserve on a temporary airfield ten miles away.

“We’re meeting organized resistance, Odin Six. Unable to break through to town of Lead. How copy?” Daniel ducked down a little farther when gravel from ricochets landed on his head. Besides bite-proof plastic armor, nobody was wearing enough to stop a bullet. No one had envisioned a need for it when their enemy was functionally stupid.

“
Understood. Drop IR markers and prepare for incoming air support. Confirm grid coordinates and hold position.
” Daniel confirmed his coordinates to Major Sharp and the line went silent. He checked the radio but it wasn’t dead. “Stay down!” Daniel yelled through the headsets. Supposedly everyone had one, but what with all the recent explosions it was hard to tell if everyone heard him. A moment later the unmistakable roaring thunder of a jet overhead, a small flickering light from its engine as the pilot increased thrust into afterburner and the almost silent whistle of an inbound bomb made everyone duck and cover. Everyone except Daniel and SSgt. Kemper, they wanted to see this, and their devil may care curiosity was rewarded with a series of four 500lbs JDAMs that wiped out a good portion of the center of Lead. An entire wall of top soil nearest the bomb fell down into the strip mine. In the early morning light it was a sight to behold. For the U.S. Soldiers it was awe inspiring and probably gave some of them wood. For the rebels of the three towns in was both a wakeup call, and a horrifying sign of the fight to come.

Thinking that was it, Daniel was about to stand up when another three bombs fell on a sector just east of the first. The radio crackled again and Major Sharp informed him a company of the 101st Air Cavalry would be landing shortly, and that they’d handle the gangs while 1
st
VR held a defensive position in case there were infected in the area. As daylight started to break over the battlefield Daniel watched through his binoculars the people who’d held out in these hills. After the Air Force was done pounding the area with guided munitions the poor bastards were routed by the fast moving mechanized Cavalry. If these people hadn’t been attacking the Army from the get-go, Daniel might have felt a little bit sorrier for them. Though disappointed his first real combat action had ended in only five Vics pacified, mostly those trapped in vehicles. Hee was glad none of his men were killed as the evac choppers came in to retrieve the platoon. On the way back he wondered if other officers had felt this way before, sitting on the flanks while the center takes the hits. He wasn’t jealous, it was just another form of survivor’s guilt he’d have to learn to live with. Medics in wars past, stuck at a field hospital, might know this pain better than he.

The next battle, though, cured him of that feeling entirely. On the outskirts of the fight for Lead was a municipal airfield in a valley named Clyde Ice Field. It was small, covered in wreckage and trash from the FEMA evacuation station that had fallen, but it seemed the large population of undead that had been reported there were all now meandering toward the Battle of Lead as the explosions echoed off the mountains. The Chinooks set down, drawing the walking puss-bag’s attention with M240’s mounted on the tail hatch. A third chopper dropped equipment Major Sharp had sent, not the Hummer H2 with the awesome mini-gun on it, the Air Force hadn’t let them keep that, but they did get a bunch of specially rigged spike strips that could be deployed and retracted multiple times to keep Vic in place while someone dispatched him. Daniel handed out infrared glow sticks to a few of the privates and had them run the length of the airfield and mark where the tarmac actually was, and not where the grass had grown over it. The fences FEMA had left were still intact, but moving concertina wire that had dead bodies tangled in it was more effort than it was worth.

Sgt. Hudson, the human brick shithouse in charge of Third Squad readjusted the lines to encompass the more intact embattlements just as a group of shambling zombies came within small arms range. For the next six hours it was one long line of gunshots, and a field of bodies laid out at a quarter mile all the way up to the fences, and then over them. They still had plenty of ammo as the men were ordered to eat MREs in place, and even when they’d stacked so many bodies the piles began to collapse over themselves there was little if any fear of being overrun. It wasn’t until individual rotters made it into the spaces between buildings and half collapsed tents that the unit was in direct danger. Just as Major Sharp had predicted, though, the survivor instinct in the selectees resulted in a berserker reaction to anything moving within arm’s reach. Because of cohesive team efforts and the threat of Daniel possibly shooting them himself, (it was an empty threat,) none of the men managed to attack one another. They kept the undead beyond bayonet range, but no amount of savagery can stop a tidal wave. Just as the light was beginning to fail again Daniel had to call a “strategic advance to the rear” and begin setting up shop on top of the hangars.

Buildings not used or maintained since the collapse of infrastructure in a region known for snowfall were not brilliant places for thirty six men and women to hide from a hostile force, but they didn’t have a choice when the main waves from Spearfish finally found their way to the airfield position. Thus far the mission had been a complete failure, their task to clear and hold the airfield was simply not going to happen, but that they had a clear view of an entire valley and a temporarily safe position. Wasting this opportunity was just stupid, and Daniel was on the radio with a nearby artillery unit as soon as he got a clear view, but not before making certain all of his people were off the ground. Second, Third, and Headquarters Platoons had all suffered casualties in the last week, one from a traffic accident but still, Daniel was determined none of
his
people would die tonight.

As he finished the call for fire, Daniel popped his head over the ledge of the first hangar and made certain the airfield was densely packed enough for the artillery to make any real impact. It was indeed the perfect situation to test a new dispersal weapon that would allegedly put down a square meter of densely clustered bodies. Over the headset First platoon was ordered to secure their earplugs and standby for friendly incoming fire.

The first impact was a white phosphorus round that put up a huge plume of chalky smoke and lit the battlefield like a child’s nightmare. Daniel confirmed the coordinates and then in perhaps five or six seconds the Clyde Ice Airfield exploded from one end to the other, but not at ground level. In World War One the English attempted to use a newly developed mortar shell that was designed to destroy barbed wire. The reason the shell, and ultimately the attacks that hinged upon it, failed was partially because of failure of the mechanism to engage at three feet before impact, and in part because the shell could never have ripped apart wire without the atmosphere being as thick as water. In more recent times anti-personnel weapons separated at several hundred feet and exploded usually on impact, relying on shrapnel and the concussion to wound or kill someone. Zombies didn’t respond to pain, so shrapnel was almost useless at waste-level, and the shockwave of any explosion meant little to them unless they were almost point blank. New weapons, besides VR1, had been developed.

This new shell, designed only with Vic in mind, detonated not only once but almost a hundred times as a succession of rubber canisters were separated at five hundred feet into the air and would then bounce, break apart into yet smaller canisters, or explode at various altitudes to spray what amounted to lawn darts at fifty feet. The delayed reaction in explosion did just the trick at wiping out smaller areas at a time and then taking out the Vics shielded by their buddies on the second bounce.

The unfortunate side effect was one that would have accompanied traditional artillery shells, let alone one that was a daisy-chained explosion, the impacts would shake you so hard you could see your soul separate from your body as your heart skipped a beat and the air was frozen in your lungs. The rear of the building went first, ten men right off the bat were left writhing on the wreckage, probably in need of medical attention, but then Daniel’s hangar was next on gravity’s chopping block and soon he had his own mortality to worry about. The shells did their job, perhaps at danger close, but the bombs that barely bounced above ten feet had rained a hundred million steel spikes, or flechets down on the Vics. Only a dozen were visibly still standing, and most of those were on fire, fires which were spreading toward the buildings across the sea of bodies.

Holding on to a support beam that broke free with their section of the roof, Daniel and the men with him found themselves on a snowless sleigh ride from hell some fifty feet to the pavement inside the hangar. A few zombies and a couple smaller airplanes were crushed by the roof, but when it had all settled the battlefield was startlingly quiet. That or Daniel and everyone else had been made deaf by the shelling, but for a major conflict and turning point in the war the lack of shouts and moans of ghouls or the wounded was almost out of place.

While Daniel reported the devastation to higher SSgt. Kemper made his way through the fields of corpses, shooting a few here and there, until he found the other hangar. Daniel switched his radio from the satellite communications to the platoon’s internal net. Kemper reported two casualties, no fatalities from the other hangar, and with no fatalities and only a broken arm their side the mission was shaping up to be a resounding success on its accidental merits that they didn’t die.

On the flight home, after a secondary Bio-Removal team had been landed to clean up the area, Daniel turned on his “hard-cover” tablet and filed the report on the action. He finished it with a very directed sentence that highlighted that 1
st
Platoon, 1
st
Viral Recon had not only racked up a total kill count of more than twelve thousand Vics, but they’d suffered 0 Fatalities. True, the new artillery shells had finished the job, and Daniel gave the 10
th
Mountain’s artillery units much of credit for the final victory. However, he exulted the retro-tactics had been a “magnificent success” in distracting and drawing in zombies who would have otherwise swarmed a battle between Army Regulars and Rebels.

This time around, when the entire company got a day’s layover and could communicate with higher, Daniel learned he would indeed not be promoted to captain for the battle, which he expected. Another promotion would have been unwarranted in his mind, sort of like the first two, though if you asked the media he should be a General just like his mother right now. He’d rather eat rock salt in a desert than be like his mother, though. Major Sharp kept the unit from wandering too far from the Clyde Ice Field, but they were allowed to just sit and watch the orange jumpsuits clean up the mess they’d made for them. Seems prisoners who’d been incarcerated before the war were keeping themselves useful, and probably fed. The news wasn’t allowed to cover it anymore, not that they would ever speak ill of their chosen messianic president, but there was no one in the Cheyenne Complex that didn’t know about the Prisoner Labor-Pools. They only had one job, and that was to clean up dead bodies.