“OK, listen up. This is the best and latest Intel we have from over flights, recon patrols, and refugees.” I handed a pointer to Captain Featherstone, the Firebase Intelligence Officer.
“First up, environmental issues. We’ve got a red zone here—” and he pointed to an area in northern Westchester County “—where Indian Point Reactor had a full meltdown. The area downwind, due east mostly for 20 miles, is a hot zone. I know you’re not going that far downriver, but any Zs you meet south of, say, Bear Mountain Bridge, are going to probably be hot. That means ANY contact with them and you can get secondary radiation poisoning. So, MOPP suits in that area.”
The crew broke out in laughter, and the Captain got a puzzled look on his face. Jonesy filled him in.
“No offense to your fobbitness, Sir, but ain’t no way we are going to wear them things. Middle of summer, wearing full chemical gear, and we gotta run from Z? We gonna drop after a hundred meters sprint and we be dead anyway. Plus, you ain’t got one my size. Then again, I be running free and crazy, and the rest of them guys get eaten! Hahahah! OW! You white she-devil!”
Brit had punched him as hard as she could in the shoulder.{1}
“OK, I’m just letting you know the dangers. Next, Newburgh on the west and Poughkeepsie on the east, major, major infestations. Also, there is a horde of strays moving south down from Fishkill towards Camp Smith. Estimate ten thousand plus. They should be past the Camp Smith AO by the time you insert. We’ve got a Predator watching them, so we’ll let you know if that changes.”
“Yeah right” Doc muttered under his breath.
“What?”
“Nothing!” he said brightly, and he smiled at the Captain. I drummed my fingers on the table and motioned for the S-2 to continue.
“Right, then. Next is refugees and other human activity. Recon tangled with a hold out here, just south of Catskill. Tried to bring them in and they were fired on. Lost one KIA and two wounded.”
I was up in the air about the “bringing them in” part. Official policy was establishing contact, provide supplies, and talk to them about coming into the refugee camps. Thing is, few people who had survived the last few years wanted to be part of the big government anymore. My team left them alone, but some of the team leaders were a bit pushier Problem is, they often pushed back. Sometimes it’s still the wild, wild east.
“We expect that there are others in the mountainous areas in the Catskills, and up in the Taconic Hills. Down by the river, though, not much expected. Everyone was pretty much starved out. That’s all I’ve got.”
“What about West Point, Camp Smith, all the areas we’re going to be humping a ruck?”
“What about them?”
“Do you have any Intel?”
“Isn’t that why you’re going there?”
“I guess so. Thanks.”
“No problem.” Apparently my sarcasm went right over his head.
The Operations Officer stepped over, and took up the briefing.
“In support of ongoing recon operations, we’re moving a two-gun, 105mm Howitzer section by barge down to Bannerman Island to establish a blocking position and Combat Outpost, COP Castle. Attached will be an Infantry platoon and Engineering Squad, plus a commo detachment for signal relay.”
“Your team will be inserted by gunboat at this point—” and he tapped the map on the west bank of the River, “—just above the lower landing at the West Point grounds. Your objective is to recon the grounds of the US Military Academy, check and see if the place can be used.”
“Can I ask you a question? Why West Point? There are a lot of better places to fortify, and it’s not really much of a strategic place anymore. I don’t think the Zombies will be sailing up the river anytime soon.”
Ahmed answered me. “It’s like this, Nick. Of course in today’s day, there is no need for fortifications as such. However, it is a very powerful symbol to the American people. A sign that things are getting back to normal as such.”
The Ops officer nodded. “Pretty much. You’re going to put your asses on the line to make a statement. Nothing new.”
“Better than being fed a line of bullshit. Thanks.”
“No problem. Your other objective is Camp Smith. NY Army National Guard base. We’re interested in the barracks, arms rooms, backup generators, etc. The base is a lot smaller, more easily defended than West Point. Let us know how habitable it is.”
“Isn’t that a little close to Indian Point?”
“Over flight sensors say that it’s safe.”
Brit snickered and he shot her a dirty look.
“It’s a simple in and out. No more than three days on the ground.”
“So was the last mission. Brit got shot, and we lost three team members.”
“Well then, this should be a vacation for you. See you in a week. The boat leaves at 0700.”
We broke up the meeting, and each of us went our separate ways. Scrounge ammo, eat a good meal, take care of equipment, catch up on Power Point Ranger’s cartoons, update Facebook status, call home from the Verizon Phone Tent, let the world know we’re still alive.
Chapter 31
“Sergeant Agostine! Sergeant Agostine!”
I stopped and turned around. A squeaky new 2nd LT came striding over the dirt towards me, followed by two equally new privates. He was dressed in brand new multicams. I felt like a dirtbag compared to him, with my leather jacket, scuffed kneepads, and three day growth of beard. In other words, he stood out like a sore thumb compared to the slightly used look of the post-Zombie Army.
“Yes Sir, um, Lieutenant Carter? What can I do for you,” I said, trying to be pleasant despite having a headache.
“Well, for one you can stand at attention when I address you, Sergeant.”
“I could, if I had a pole stuck up my ass, Bub, which I don’t.”
That brought him up short, with a look of shock on his face.
“Excuse me?”
“Sir, I’m part of the Army, but not in it. Nor do I have time to play rules and regulations. I have a boat to catch. So, how about we start off again, on the right foot?”
His face took a minute to catch up with the thought train, and then his jaw closed shut. He heard a snicker from behind him, and turned to glare at a Specialist behind him, a young female with an aid bag slung over her shoulder.
“Um, ah, OK, Sergeant. I’ve been assigned to your recon of West Point. Myself, Specialist Mya-” the medic nodded “-and PFC Redshirt will be accompanying you.”
I laughed out loud. “PFC Redshirt? You have got to be kidding me.” The male soldier, flushed under his bronze Native American skin, and the Lt. started getting angry again.
“He’s Native American and a good soldier. What is your problem, Sergeant? There is no place for racism in this Army!”
“No offense, PFC. Grab your gear and meet me down by the river. We’re leaving in fifteen minutes.”
“We’re leaving when I’m ready, Sergeant, which won’t be for another thirty minutes.”
“We’re leaving in fifteen minutes, with or without you, Sir.” And I turned and walked away.
I knew what had happened. Major Flynn had given me a babysitter because he didn’t want any other incidents happening, so he saddled me with the Son of Jackass. It never stopped. The world had gone to hell, but the bullshit survived.
They were there when we pulled out. I knew that the Captain of the Gowanus Bay , the Army Tugboat (look it up on Wikipedia) scheduled to deliver us downriver, wasn’t going to wait on a couple of stragglers. She had a schedule to keep that was influenced by the tidal nature of the river, even here, more than a hundred miles north of the ocean.