“It’s 0525. We’ll stand down and rest until 0830 and then I’ll assign details. Besides the radio watch, we’ll stand two on watch in one hour shifts until 0830. Now get some rest,” Lynn says after assigning guards and shift schedules.
She opts to take one of the first shifts setting up on the roof covering the ramp and camp sides while a Corporal covers the runway and far side. Sitting with her legs swinging over the side of the roof, she looks out over her area with part of her mind while another part sorts through the multitude of thoughts that race through.
She holds onto the thought that Jack will come even as a logical part of her mind tells her the chances of that happening are marginal at best. She needs to ensure the safety and survivability of the group in her charge here. The camp will do for the short-term but if no one comes, they will need to move on for any chance of surviving in the long-term. That means a continuous supply of food, water, and shelter. To that end, it will mean a long, arduous journey; most likely to some land surrounding The Med and that more likely on the European side. For the first time, she thinks she may not see America again or that, if they are not picked up, it will be a long time coming. I’ll give it four more days before we start planning an alternate route, she thinks looking over to the western horizon with the sun rising in the east. A quick thought of Jack enters, Please be okay and come get us, before the short-term needs of the group preside.
The hour passes and she lays down on the floor of the control room, after passing the next shift to another Private, falling asleep almost before her head touches the floor only to be awakened after seemingly minutes. Waking the rest of the group, she details a squad of four to commandeer additional ammo, some to repair the fence as best as possible, and others to cart the bodies to an open area of the camp. With that detail, she assigns a heavy equipment operator to dig out a grave site to bury the bodies after collecting all of the dog tags she can. Her sense is that these were all once soldiers causing her to give them as close to a decent and military burial as possible.
Once the bodies have been interred, she gathers the entire group together in the early afternoon sun and heat to pay their last respects. The fence is resurrected as much as possible with a fresh lining of razor wire both on top and on the ground below. Ammunition is gathered and resupplied to the tower. The generator is filled with diesel. After the burial ceremony, Lynn has the group rest until the early evening anticipating a replay of the night before.
During the day, Private Turnbull came down with a fever. Lynn inspected the wound on his arm to find that the immediate area around the wound had become the same pale shade of gray of the creatures with a surrounding bright redness of infection. The fever became worse as the day progressed and by nightfall, Private Turnbull was dead.
The next two days and nights are replays of the first ones; resupplying, resting and burying the dead during the day and fighting off the attacks at night. Is this live or Memorex? Lynn thinks during the third night. The creatures show up under the light in gradual numbers and overwhelm the fences; only to be halted and not being able to gain entrance to the stairs by the coming of dawn. How many can there be? The question passes through her tired mind as the rising sun chases off the last attack. The radios however remain silent as had any answering of telephone calls to the outside world.
The fourth day dawns as had the previous mornings. The sun rises in the east signaling yet another heat-infested day filled with the tedium of staying alive for yet another day. Lynn gathers her mind and thoughts towards vacating the area for a more survivable, long-term solution. The thoughts of their need to conduct a long, arduous journey and what they will need to accomplish this fills the majority of her day. Tomorrow she will begin to enact their withdrawal of the area and to create the criteria of their new destination. Tomorrow I will worry about that, she thinks as the sun begins its descent into the western horizon. Where are you Jack?
With the thought of the last night in camp, Lynn stays with the guard detail posted for the first shift and watches the gathering of the first creatures around the tower. The difference between this and other nights is the quickness of the gathering. The fence perimeter is quickly overwhelmed with many of the creatures gathering at the base of the tower on the ramp side. Some complacency, due to the tiredness of the troops, follows a seemingly repeat of the previous evenings; doing enough to exact damage and a depletion of the creatures without them being able to gain entrance.
Within the deafening din filling her ears, Lynn picks up a faint noise of hammering metallic sounds from below her. She looks down to the soldiers below on the walkway trying to fix the sound to the spent rounds falling and the magazines impacting the walkway but the sounds seem out of sequence with what she sees.
A flash of light fills her head, “They’re on the stairs!” She yells to the soldiers manning both the walkway and covering the stairs.
Leaning over the edge as far as she dares, Lynn sees creatures scaling the outside of the stairs and shadows of others rapidly ascending the stairs. They have somehow reached that elusive final ten feet.
“Drescoll, I need two of yours over here!” Lynn shouts to her companion on the roof.
“On the way!” He shouts back.
“Direct your fire on those climbing up!” She yells to the soldiers beneath her. They lean over the railing to aim their fire directly downward.
Bodies fall off the staircase structure as rounds impact their shoulders and heads but the vast numbers on the stairs and the inability to fire directly on those ascending allows the horde to mass ever upward; slowly but surely pressing toward the small group defending the tower. Thoughts penetrate Lynn’s mind that perhaps she will not have to worry about any future, arduous adventure. I will not fail! The thought lends a force to her willpower and the volume of firepower directed on the ever advancing horde; the soldiers apparently sensing this thought direct an even more focused attempt to repel the invaders.
“Sergeant Connell! Sergeant Connell!” A voice sounds repeatedly behind her; having to be repeated due to her intense concentration on the creatures driving ever upward. She turns her head and notices Major Bannerman behind sticking his head through the open hatch to the control room behind her.
“Yes, sir,” she responds between trigger pulls.
“There’s someone on the radio!” He tells her.
Not fully grasping the gravity nor import of the meaning, she looks back at him in askance. Realizing that she has not comprehended what he is saying, Bannerman adds, “Sergeant Connell, there’s someone calling in on the radio with a call sign of Otter39?”
A dawning comprehension reaches into her eyes and soul. “Sergeant Drescoll! Cover the stairs. I’ll be in the control room on the radios.”
Sergeant Drescoll stands from his kneeling position and repositions himself at the other edge as Lynn descends the stairs to hear, “This is Otter 39 on UHF guard. Anyone read?”
Lynn sees Specialist Taylor raise the mic to his mouth and respond, “Otter 39, this is Arifjan, read you loud and clear, over.”
“Arifjan, this Otter 39. We are an inbound HC-130. State status.”
Major Bannerman takes the mic from Taylor and says, “Otter 39. This is Major Bannerman. State your position and intentions.”
I look over at Robert with one raised eyebrow and a ‘what the fuck’ expression. He looks over and shrugs; our tiredness from the extended trek showing. “Um, Bannerman, we’re now approximately forty miles west and I guess I intend to pick you up. State souls.”