“He obviously wasn’t happy about, but he made his peace.”
“So let me guess,” Tate said, “because he expected the worst, when he did get released, he was all the happier for it.”
“I don’t know if I’d say happy,” Van said. “The way he described it to me was that he was just able to live. You know, prepare for the worst, expect the worst, and don’t even bother about hoping for the best.”
“Bleak, bro,” Loeb said.
“Realistic,” Van said. “So I’m not going to get my hopes up just because we saw an international group of refugees working on a ship.”
The rain continued to hammer the chopper as they lowered toward an airfield.
“Van, I’m not going to tell you how you should feel,” O’Neil said. “But that guy, pessimist or not, never gave up on his life. Even in the worst of circumstances, he kept persevering. I don’t care whether any of you all decided to hope for a future where we can watch football and drink a cold beer again or you think the world has already ended. But so long as the four of us are in this fight, our future is not set in stone. The Skulls haven’t won yet, and I don’t intend to let them, got it?”
Tate nodded enthusiastically. “Damn right.”
“Of course, O’Neil,” Loeb said.
Van stared at O’Neil for a few seconds, saying nothing. Finally, he gave a slight twitch of his head that O’Neil took as a sign he understood.
No matter how many other terrifying surprises they ran into on their missions, no matter how many Skulls they faced that had somehow become aware enough to use a damn rifle, he would do everything in his power to see to it that his swim buddies made it to the end of this war.
And that in fact there would be an end. An end where the United States and all its allies achieved victory.
When the crew chief opened the side door to the chopper, rain was pounding muddy puddles across what looked to be a ramshackle airfield. There were at least a dozen other helicopters and smaller planes—even some civilian ones—lying in rows near a single hangar.
Men and women ran between the aircraft, and O’Neil noticed another pair of choppers already preparing to take flight. Two squads of what appeared to be UK Special Forces were loading onto the birds.
As the Black Hawk’s blades slowed, four jeeps and a pickup truck parked nearby.
A pair of medics ran from the pickup truck with a stretcher and loaded up McLean first. The guy was already pale, looking like he would be cool to the touch. Reynolds, Stuart, and Henderson went with them.
O’Neil couldn’t help but watch them as they were whisked away. Couldn’t imagine what those guys were going through now—and how Reynolds must feel about watching one of his own taken from the Earth.
Another jeep idled in mud, the driver gesturing for O’Neil and his team.
“O’Neil, you good?” Tate asked. “Ride’s ready.”
O’Neil dipped his helmet. “Let’s go settle in.”
They ducked under the blades of the chopper. Water sprayed over them from the rotors and rain, soaking them in the short jog from the chopper to the seats inside the jeep.
“Welcome to RAF Little Rissington,” the driver said with a Welsh accent. He was a young man, not more than twenty, with bright red hair. “I’m Private Flynn Doyle. Do you all need a spot of food or anything before I take you to your cottage?”
“Cottage?” Tate asked.
“I’m afraid we’re fresh out of luxury hotels,” Doyle said, hitting the gas. No one laughed except for the kid. “Sorry, I, uh, may be a bit too cheeky.” He looked up into the rearview mirror and O’Neil saw the guy’s smile vanish. “Things have been utter shite around here, and, I have to admit, I was feeling a bit more optimistic when I heard the Americans were coming.”
“Optimism will kill you,” Van said.
Loeb shot him a look but said nothing.
The two birds with the UKSF operators were beginning to take off.
“Where are they headed?” O’Neil asked.
“London,” Doyle said. “Whole city is mad with those creatures, but they’ve been carting out scientists and dignitaries and anyone else who the brass thinks might help us put up a fight.”
The windshield wipers continued their steady rhythm as they left the airfield and started into what appeared to be an adjacent small town. The road was lined with red-bricked cottages with yards full of lush green bushes and sprays of colorful flowers, all drooping slightly in the heavy rain.
Mud-soaked men and women in uniform slogged between the idyllic houses. Most looked beaten down, exhausted.
“How much of the UK is still secure?” O’Neil asked.
Doyle looked back over his shoulder. “Not much, I’m afraid. London, Manchester, Edinburgh, Glasgow… they’ve all been licked clean of course. There are pockets around a few of the military bases and airfields, like here, hanging on. It’s been a struggle just to protect what we’ve got. Around here in the Cotswolds, we’ve bunkered down and set up defensive perimeters around each small town, but if you get too close to Birmingham, it’s another story entirely.”
He turned down a street paved with bricks. Each house was separated by low-lying stone walls. The razor wire atop them, O’Neil guessed, wasn’t part of the original construction.
Doyle seemed to catch O’Neil staring at the walls and wire. “We’ve got walls up all around Upper Rissington and the airfield. But we quickly learned that you can’t have just one set of walls around a base. Every house here is fortified so if you have to, you can fall back to any one of them and defend yourself from a rampaging horde.”
“Very good,” O’Neil said.
“We’ve been employing the same techniques all throughout the other airfields in the Cotswolds,” Doyle went on. “Many of the airfields were used in World War II by the RAF, then eventually let go. Turns out that we needed them now, so we took them back, one-by-one, out here where the Skulls aren’t so densely packed as they are in the cities.”
He pulled up to a large house at the end of the lane.
“I thought you said cottage,” Tate said.
“I may have undersold the property,” he said. “But this is where you all will be sleeping for the time being. You’ll find your troop commander there.” He pointed to a neighboring house. “That right there is where your operations center is. Any more questions?”
O’Neil shook his head. “Thanks for the ride, Doyle.”
“Any time, mate,” he said with that jovial smile of his. It faded just as quickly. “I’m really sorry about your team’s loss.” He looked away slightly. It seemed as if a dark cloud had passed over his face. “I know what it’s like.” He sucked in a breath. “And I know we all keep getting told to chin up and keep moving, but… well, I’m really sorry.”
Just as quickly as that darkness had passed over him, he regained his composure. The rain continued to patter on the jeep’s roof. The guy’s face scrunched up like he wanted to say something else but wasn’t sure if he should.
“Something else, Doyle?” O’Neil asked.
“Last thing I’m supposed to tell you is that you all are going to be staying here for the long haul. So get comfortable, and if you need anything, give me a ring. I heard we’ve got more of you Yanks showing up in a matter of hours, and you’re supposed to be ready to meet with them soon as they arrive. I heard you might be moving out later today, in fact. I’m not sure I should be saying anything because I’m not supposed to know all these things. But you know, rumors and thin walls and all that. I’m just telling you because you all look as if you need to snag a few winks and I’m afraid you might not have the time if you don’t do it now. Right now, the world needs chaps like you more than we’ve ever needed you before.”