“I said get on your feet!”
“This man’s hurt,” Rawlings said, putting a hand on Kealty’s motionless shoulder.
Muldoon looked down at the soldier with a blank expression then at the body of the other soldier Rawlings had been hiding behind. “That man is dead, Rawlings,” he said, his voice a little kinder. “They’re both dead. Now, unless you’re injured, you need to get up. That Huey is coming back.” As he spoke, the pounding beat of the UH-1 swelled. “Nutter, get Kealty and Sollinger’s tags.”
“Roger that,” Nutter said, stepping forward.
Rawlings hauled herself to her feet. She felt a little lightheaded and realized she had to go to the bathroom something fierce. She looked around for her rifle, found it, and picked it up.
“Chopper’s gonna be on top of us in just a minute!” one of the soldiers said.
From somewhere downrange, more gunfire rang out as another pitched battle was fought. Rawlings figured the bullet-ridden helicopter had dropped another payload of contaminated waste on a Bigfoot, and the infected troops were going at it with the rest.
Muldoon turned and watched the helicopter sprint toward them, still trailing smoke from its big turbine engine. Rawlings thought his expression was almost welcoming. Muldoon apparently wanted combat. “Spread out and get ready to hose it with everything you’ve got—”
Behind the helicopter, a thin trail of gray smoke snaked into the sky. The line rose into the air then swerved, tracking left then right before zooming toward the UH-1. A missile.
“Uh, fuck this, Duke. We’d better get the hell out of here,” Nutter said.
“Beat feet!” Muldoon shouted.
He grabbed Rawlings with his left hand and yanked her after him as the helicopter bore down on their position, unaware that death was right behind it and moving at better than Mach one. Rawlings looked over her shoulder as she ran. The leering gunner leaned out of the Huey’s open cargo door, machinegun at the ready.
Then, the helicopter’s nose dropped as an explosion blossomed right behind it. The aircraft lurched across the sky as if it had been kicked in the ass by some unseen giant. The Huey’s big rotors flexed, slicing through its tail boom. The aircraft tumbled end over end, tearing itself to bits as it heeled hard to the left and crashed into the meadow well short of the burning Bigfoot. Another explosion, another mushroom cloud of smoke.
Rawlings was almost unimpressed. She’d seen more than her share of explosions. The soldiers stopped running, even though two more Stinger missiles raced past overhead. Rawlings turned and followed their progress. The second UH-1 that was harassing the rear of the column pivoted and tried to get away, but it was torn asunder by twin explosions that detonated like muted thunder. The flaming wreckage spiraled to the ground, and a moment later, another cloud of smoke leaped into the sky from behind the tree line.
“Huh. Was wondering what happened to the Apaches,” Muldoon said. “Guess they didn’t want to risk a blue-on-blue.”
“Faggot rotorheads, they’re coming back now,” Nutter said. He spit into the weeds. True enough, the gunships were closing back with the column, flying in pairs. “God damn pussies. We need real men in this fight, not aviation wimps!” He then turned and vomited into the weeds, swearing in between heaves.
Muldoon snorted. “Tough it out, Colonel.”
Three soldiers in MOPP gear approached, cautiously moving toward them from the road. It was the crew from the Humvee Rawlings had tried to get to earlier.
“Hey, is that Kung Fu Charlie?” one of Muldoon’s guys asked.
“Yeah,” Muldoon said. “Which means one of those guys is probably the XO.”
“Walker’s out here?” another asked. “Color me impressed.”
The three soldiers stopped short, weapons held at low ready. “Are any of you infected?” one of them shouted.
“We sure are,” Muldoon called in response. “Rawlings gave all of us the clap.”
“We’re not infected!” Rawlings yelled. She turned to Muldoon and glared up at him. “Totally not smart, asshole.”
Muldoon smiled back. “That’s how I roll. Deal with it.”
The three soldiers slowly picked their way toward them, and Rawlings saw that one of them was in fact Major Walker, the battalion XO. Walker looked around the area, taking in the entire tableau. The Bigfoot still burned, emitting foul-smelling clouds of black smoke. In addition, the breeze carried the sickly sweet smell of burning meat as the corpses in the back of the truck were burnt to a crisp. On the road, another Humvee backed down the highway, coming to a halt in front of the first. The vehicle was outfitted with an enclosed cupola that housed an M2 machinegun. Four soldiers stepped out of it, and one of them started jogged forward.
“How many wounded do you have?” Walker shouted through his mask.
Muldoon looked around. Bodies lay everywhere. “Not many, I think.”
A soldier bearing master sergeant stripes on his uniform stepped forward and stared right into Muldoon’s face. “Why don’t you pull your thumb out of your ass and do a count, Muldoon?”
Muldoon stared back, seemingly unaffected by the senior NCO’s demeanor. “Have a good time hiding behind the Humvee, Zhu?”
“What did you say?”
“I said faggots lose their hearing early,” Muldoon said, louder.
“Muldoon!”
A shorter man with broad shoulders and a barrel chest headed straight toward Muldoon. He wasn’t wearing any MOPP gear, and his face was all sharp angles. His eyes were hard as he locked his gaze on Muldoon, and his bearing told Rawlings that the newcomer was a hundred-percent hard core. The other soldiers stepped aside for him, even Major Walker. While everyone else was sweating in the heat and humidity, the man’s face didn’t show even a hint of perspiration, as if the heat was as unlikely to touch him as the rest of the soldiers before him.
“Well, if it isn’t Sergeant Major Turner,” Muldoon said. “Stepped out from behind your desk for a walk on the wild side, huh?”
“Master Sergeant Zhu gave you some guidance on what you’re supposed to be doing right now,” Turner said, his voice barely more than a rough growl. He walked right up to Muldoon and stopped inches away. “You aren’t doing it. Why the fuck is that? This isn’t some God damn Commie labor union, this is the United States Army. Start taking care of your troops, or my size-thirteen boot will have a date with your ass!”
“Threatening me, Sergeant Major?” Muldoon asked, sounding completely unintimidated.
Turner leaned in even closer until he was nearly within kissing range. “Boy, the fact that you are not checking for wounded tells me you are a shit excuse for a soldier. You’re chicken shit, Muldoon. Chicken shit.”
Muldoon didn’t like that, and his face clouded with rage. “You just made a mistake, Sergeant Major—”
“Take a swing,” Turner said, not moving a muscle. “I dare you, sweetheart. Take a swing, and make it count—”
“Stop it!” Walker shouted. He stepped forward and put a hand on Muldoon’s thick arm. “Sergeant Muldoon, step back and start checking for wounded! We need to get back on the road. Sergeant Major, do we have transportation coming for the rest of these soldiers?”
Neither Muldoon nor Turner responded for a long moment, choosing instead to glare at each other balefully. The animosity between the two men was almost palpable, and Rawlings wondered why an E-5 like Muldoon was challenging a full-on battalion command sergeant major. She’d never seen such a thing during her time in the Guard. A soldier didn’t step on a senior NCO’s air hose like that and expect to survive the encounter.
“Swing away, Muldoon,” Turner said finally, “or start acting like a soldier. Your call.”
Muldoon held his position for another moment, then suddenly reached up and stroked his chin. Turner didn’t flinch by even a millimeter, despite the fact that Muldoon had actively made it seem as though he was about to strike. Walker reacted by starting to reach for Muldoon’s arm again, but he canceled the move at the last second.