“I’ll take some of the heat with you,” Walker surprised him by saying. “It’s not like I wasn’t involved. You’re not in it alone.”
Lee was impressed. “Thanks.”
“Free of charge.”
Overhead, an Apache dropped out of the formation and descended toward the field. Lee waved Turner over before he pulled his goggles over his eyes as the attack helicopter came in for a landing, its wheels rolling briefly through the grass before coming to a halt in the center of an expanding cloud of dust. The pilot in the front seat unstrapped and pushed open the canopy door on the right side of the cockpit, then he climbed out. He ran across the field to where Lee and Walker waited. It was Major Fleischer, the attack battalion commander. Lee started to salute him—old habits died hard—but he checked himself before his hand raised above waist level. Fleischer saw it anyway, and the action caused him to delay his own salute. He finally did so, snapping his fingers to the rim of his oversized flight helmet.
Lee returned the salute.
“What’s happening, Major?”
“Contact with Drum, sir,” Fleischer said.
Lee was surprised. “What?”
“Yes, sir. Contact with Drum over satcom. Authentication codes checked out. Voice-to-voice with Mountaineer Five.”
Lee frowned. Mountaineer Five was the deputy commanding general of the 10th Mountain Division, a brigadier general named Salvador. That it was Salvador and not Major General McLaren who was making the call was odd, but the world was suddenly a very odd place.
“You’re kidding,” Turner said. “Sir, are you sure about who you talked to?”
Fleischer looked at Turner and shrugged. “No—I’m not sure. But whoever it was didn’t sound infected. No laughing, but definitely a lot of fighting going on. And they had the right codes, which means the aviation liaison officer is still alive to provide them.”
“Okay, what did they say?” Lee asked.
“Aviation units are to return to Drum as soon as possible,” Fleischer replied. “The post is pretty much overrun. Klowns are everywhere, and they’re well armed. The fort has essentially fallen, but Salvador is leading what’s left. He needs us on station to provide fire support and CAS.”
Lee exchanged a glance with Turner then asked, “So you’ve been ordered to leave the column?”
Fleischer nodded. “Yes, sir. Seems legit. You’ve also been ordered to proceed at full speed to the post and assist in combat operations. From the picture I got, this battalion is the only one left outside of Drum. All units in New York are gone.” The aviator paused. “I can leave a couple of units behind, but we’ll need to pull almost everything we have left out, including Catfish. I was asked to see if you could spare some troops, as well.”
“Troops?”
Fleischer nodded. “For defensive operations, sir.”
Lee considered that. Losing their top cover as well as a platoon of lightfighters would cost the column dearly. The battalion had already taken a pounding, and it had barely made a hundred miles yet. Every refueling stop took an hour, and more often than not, they had to repel attacks at the same time. The only saving grace was they weren’t encountering much infected military any longer, even when they had rolled past Fort Devens, a reserve component training center. The attacks that were mounted against them, while savage and occasionally effective, were no longer backed up by hardware and tactics.
“I advise against sending any troops, sir,” Turner said.
“Why’s that?” Lee asked.
“We have no idea what we’ll run into between here and Drum, sir. We’ve already lost more than a few troops. Reducing our footprint is only going to make us easier to kill.”
“I think I agree with the sergeant major,” Fleischer said. “You’ve got a few hundred miles ahead of you, and you’re going to need every joe you can get. Plus, by the time you get there, Drum might be gone. We have to plan for that.”
“That’s correct, we do,” Lee said. “Once you’re over the horizon, Major, we’ll lose contact with you guys. You’ll be operating without a ground element. You ready for that?”
Fleischer shrugged. “Not really, no. But it’s not like I have much of a choice. As far as I can tell, the order’s legal. And to tell you the truth, my family’s there.” He waved at the waiting Apache. “We need to pull pitch and get out of here. Everyone’s been refueled, so we’re going to make for the airfield at Pittsfield, just east of the border with New York. If we can refuel there, that’ll get us enough range to get to Drum.”
“Roger that,” Lee said. “Anything else for us, Major?”
Fleischer shook his head. “Only this, and then that’s it from me.” He handed Lee a piece of paper.
Lee looked at it. There were several radio frequencies written on it, with call signs for the divisional elements still operational at Drum. Lee nodded, folded the paper, and shoved it into a pocket.
“Give ’em hell,” he told Fleischer.
Fleischer nodded and saluted. “Same to you, sir. Same to you.”
He then turned and ran back to the waiting Apache.
Lee looked at the soldiers around him.
“Okay, let’s get back on the road.”
TWENTY-ONE.
All roads led to Hell.
The column moved through Massachusetts as quickly as possible, stopping only when absolutely necessary. As the daylight dwindled, great flocks of carrion birds—crows, hawks, turkey buzzards, even stately eagles—filled the sky, converging on the greatest sites of carnage. The birds were of use; they told the battalion where it was safe to go, for the presence of so many dead meant the Klowns had already gone through the area, killing in a frenzy.
Destruction was everywhere. Cities and larger towns were nothing more than flaming wreckage, home to only rotting, defiled bodies and the animals that fed on them. Huge clouds of flies converged upon them, darkening the sky like some errant, haphazard rain. The battalion avoided the cities at all costs. Not only was the risk of engagement higher, so was the potential for infection by insects. Though there was no evidence to suggest the Bug could be transmitted by such simple hosts, avoidance was the order of the day.
Smaller towns fared better, though death had touched them all. The bodies of the infected lay in their streets, more often than not surrounded by those they had sought to contaminate. And on occasion, the convoy passed fortified farm houses, their windows boarded up, surrounded by sand bags. Several of those were encircled by rings of dead Klowns, shot down as they had attacked. The hardy souls inside these dwellings never called out to the convoy as it snaked past. They were either dead, or hardened enough to take their chances where they were.
As night took reign, the convoy continued on. Operating under the cover of darkness made things marginally easier; even though the Klowns still attacked, still drew blood, they were more easily slain by a unit that was well-equipped for nocturnal combat. In those areas where the Klowns set up ambushes, the advantage of night vision and heavy weaponry proved invaluable. Even the mortar team had some fun, popping altitude explosives into the air that emitted bright bursts of infrared light which allowed the lightfighters to visualize their targets as if they were in the middle of a bright, cloudless day. The Klowns paid a heavy price.
Still, they came.
And died.
The night grew deeper, and the horizon was lit by the glow of distant fires as towns and cities burned, consumed by maelstroms of violence-fueled fire.