But behind the bodies, more Infected flooded the woods. Many were severely wounded from the continuing grenade attacks, but many were whole and healthy, and they were looking to get it on in a bad way. Muldoon ripped off a burst at them then joined Rawlings as she rose and sprinted through the trees. They found the rest of the troops in a rough skirmish line deeper inside the trees.
Nutter shot Muldoon a thumbs-up.
“Now I don’t feel so bad about being saved by a girl,” the small, wiry lightfighter crowed behind his mask. “I just wish I’d been there to take a picture of her saving you, Duke!”
“Suppressive fire!” Muldoon shouted as he flopped to the ground beside Nutter, ignoring the soldier’s comments. “We’ve got heavy contact coming!” Into his radio: “Wizard Seven, this is Crusher Three-One. We need your fifties right now! Over!”
“Crusher Three-One, this is Wizard Seven. Roger. Put your faces in the dirt and keep your asses down, and call the BDA. Over.”
No sooner had Turner ended the transmission, three or four M2 fifty caliber machineguns started chattering in earnest behind Muldoon’s fighting position. Big rounds, several of them tracers, ripped through the trees at an altitude of maybe four feet, tearing through brush and soft-bodied Klowns who walked right into the shit storm without a care in the world.
Muldoon’s men ducked down and resumed firing as soon as they had targets. It didn’t take long for the bodies to start hitting the deck, but the Klowns died eagerly. But machinegun bullets weren’t death rays. They could only kill what they hit, and there were plenty of trees in between the Humvees and the Klowns. While a lot of Infected were hit, several more surged forward, facing down the buzz-saw defense the lightfighters threw at them. To Muldoon’s delight, the Klowns didn’t fare well in their strategy, and more shattered, bleeding bodies fell as they died laughing.
But the fire was growing, and the Klowns were moving away from the engagement area. Muldoon knew the Infected were seeking to flank them, and he ordered his troops to reposition, so their fires could be oriented more to the right of the formation. Fire was to the left; dark, empty woods were to the right. He radioed Turner to cease protective fires.
“I think they’re going to hit us on the right flank. Over,” he added, after filling in the sergeant major on the current situation.
“Three-One, this is Seven. Roger that. You and your troops need to start falling back. We’ll advance toward the intersection and draw some of their interest while you guys make for the truck. Over.”
“Seven, this is Crusher Three-One. Our mission isn’t complete yet. Over.”
“Crusher Three-One, this is Wizard Seven. Battalion is on the move, your mission is ended. Feel free to stay if that’s your preference, Muldoon, but send the rest of your element out while we can still support them. Over.”
Muldoon shook his head. Turner would love it if he were to go gonzo and hang out in the woods, dealing with the Klowns all by himself. Too bad he’d have to deal with another dose of bitter disappointment. “Wizard Seven, Crusher Three-One. Roger that, we’re falling back now.”
“Beauty,” was Turner’s cryptic response, but Muldoon smiled at the brimming disenchantment the message contained.
THIRTY-NINE.
The battalion bugged out, fighting a rear-guard action the entire way. They paused at the cavalry motor pool, taking a precious ten minutes to raid the facility for ammunition, food, vehicles, fuel, even spare uniforms. The Klowns didn’t make it easy, but Thunder kept up the pace, burning through their mortar ammo at a blistering pace until, in the end, they were hitting the infected horde with smokers. It was enough.
The battalion had killed thousands of Klowns, severely attriting the Infected’s forces until they were down to several packs of hard-core harassers that were easily bottled up by the newly-rearmed Alpha Company as it swapped places with Charlie. They didn’t have to hold the line for long. First Battalion wasn’t staying, and while Echo jumped forward to escort the civilian convoy element further up the road and cover Thunder’s retreat, Alpha mopped up.
By the time the convoy was back on the road and barreling northbound on Fort Drum Road toward the small town of Evans Mills, there wasn’t much left in the way of pursuers. Walker had the foresight to send a Raven buzzing over Evans Mills. They had determined the town was mostly vacant, as it had apparently burned to the ground over a week ago. The news was welcomed by Lee, who didn’t want to run from one fight into another. The plan was to skirt as much of the town as possible then drive out into the farmlands around Jenkins Road.
There, they would halt the column for a fast refit and repair before continuing.
The lightfighters of First Battalion, Fifty-Fifth Infantry, had earned a few minutes of rest.
FORTY.
Lee walked with Walker toward the line of ambulances. There were more wounded than the medical vehicles could hold, so others had been pressed into MEDEVAC service, from monstrous HEMT cargo trucks to civilian SUVs. Walker seemed nervous, fidgety, trying to look everywhere at once despite the presence of Turner and three of his top NCOs. Lee understood why the major was so ill at ease. After all, they were going to check up on General Salvador, and there was little chance the general was going to take it easy on Walker for abdicating command of a lightfighter battalion.
But Lee wasn’t really even thinking of Salvador. As the sun rose above the horizon, he was happy to be starting a new day without having to wear a MOPP face mask. He could smell the warm air, feel the light breeze on his face, and hear the chirping of birds and the rustle of equipment as the battalion set about conducting a quick reset. Of course, he could also smell his own rancid body odor, but every silver lining came with a little bit of cloud.
Salvador was housed inside one of the ambulances. The medical company commander had been killed days ago, and his executive officer, Captain Wurst, was in charge. Wurst had been treating Salvador directly, and when Lee and Walker approached, he shook his head.
“He’s taken damage to a heart valve. There’s not a lot we can do out here,” Wurst told them.
Lee nodded with a sigh. “How long does he have?”
“He should have died two hours ago. I don’t know how he’s holding on,” Wurst said. “Listen, we’re infusing him with plasma, but there’s not a lot left to go around, and we do have other patients who can use it…”
Lee exchanged a glance with Walker, than asked, “So you want permission to deny treatment to Salvador?”
Wurst looked up at Lee, suddenly hard faced. “Sorry, aren’t you the guy I’m supposed to ask?”
“Yes,” Lee said. “Answer the question.”
“Do I really need to, Lee?” Wurst stepped back and waved a hand at the row of stretchers holding other patients. “I’ve got thirty-four wounded, three of those critical, one whose injuries are pretty much untreatable in a field situation. We need to find a surgical hospital to save that guy, and the general. We can’t go back to Drum, and we can’t go into Watertown. Or Brownville, or Dexter, or any other town where there’s a trauma center. Can we?”
“Probably not,” Lee agreed.
“Then it seems to me we need to start using our supplies on those we can save, and stop wasting them on guys who are about to answer a greater calling. But you have to make that call, Lee.” Wurst pointedly avoided addressing Lee as sir.