Webb tried to nod, but he just stood there shivering, and not from the cold. Team Ghost had already lost a fire team, and they weren’t even at the target yet.
-2-
Master Sergeant Joe Fitzpatrick had planned on taking a nap on the helicopter ride, but instead he spent the trip watching the sky for Reavers with the rest of his team.
Badger 1 was gone… lost in an attack by monsters that should never have been out this far. Webb, the Crew Chief, had said they were migrating to find food. On top of the attack, Fitz had other worries on his troubled mind. Rumors had reached the European front that something was happening back in the States — rumors of a coup, and attacks on Safe Zone Territories.
Fitz winced as he twisted in his seat toward the cockpit. He had to keep frosty. Worrying about his friends back home wasn’t going to do any good when he was all the way out here and couldn’t do anything to help them.
“Tito, how far?” he asked.
“We’re five minutes from the target, sir.”
Jagged mountains rose along the coast in the distance. Below, icebergs floated through the blue water like ice cubes. A wall of mist covered a harbor full of fishing boats and drifted up toward the rocky shoreline.
Fitz strained for a better look for the small fishing village. Most of the residents were Inuit, but there were several locals living here that had worked for the government and in the top-secret lab.
Badger 2 pulled alongside and together, the two choppers flew inland. They passed over rocky beaches and turned toward a road that curved along the shore. On the top of a hill overlooking the harbor, the first houses finally came into view. Wood structures with peeling red and blue paint lined the elevated terrain like colorful gravestones.
Tito and his co-pilot circled along with Badger 2. The main city was just three blocks of aging structures. From above, Fitz couldn’t see much. Snow covered the terrain and most of the road.
Dohi looked back from the door gun.
“No sign of tracks down there, sir,” he said. “Variant or human. But the snow could have hidden any recent activity.”
Fitz nodded back. They were about to drop into a ghost town and he had no doubt the monsters were hiding somewhere down there. He just hoped they weren’t going to run into anything like the abominations in France. Black Beetles, Pinchers, Wormers, or God only knew what else was out there. Part of him was glad to have a break from Europe.
He stood and looked for a spot to land. A red church with a short steeple sat on a cliff overlooking the harbor. There was plenty of room for a landing zone there.
“Tito, take us down by that church.”
“You got it.”
Fitz reached down to check Apollo’s vest. The dog had suffered another injury at the Basilica of St Thérèse in Lisieux, France, but hadn’t required stitches like Fitz’s shoulder.
Apollo licked Fitz’s hand and rubbed his wet muzzle against his arm.
“Hold still, boy,” Fitz said. He grabbed dog boots from his pack and then slipped them over the Shepherd’s paws one at a time.
Apollo didn’t like that. He swiped at the ground, trying to remove them, but instantly stopped when Fitz shook his head.
Glancing up with sad, amber eyes, the dog obeyed his handler.
Wind from the rotors whipped up the snow covering the LZ, forming a circular mound several feet deep. Tito and his co-pilot hovered over the church and waited for Fitz’s orders.
“All right, Ghost. Lock and load.”
Webb stepped up to the open door and glanced down.
“Look’s clear, Tito,” he said.
Tito slowly lowered the chopper as Team Ghost slapped magazines in their weapons and applied final layers of clothing. Fitz pulled the laughing joker bandana he’d inherited from Staff Sergeant Alex Riley, around his face. He closed his eyes and exhaled in an effort to keep the painful memories from muddling his thoughts.
All it takes is all you got, Marine.
He slung his MK11 over his back and pulled his suppressed M4. After palming in a magazine, Fitz stepped to the open door. Wind gusted below from the rotors, stirring up more of the white grit.
He eyed the landscape one more time for contacts. The church, terrain, and road beyond were clear.
“Take us down!” Fitz yelled over the noise.
Tito lowered them a few feet from the ground without touching down.
“Go, go, go!” Fitz yelled. He put a hand on Rico’s back and patted her. She jumped out after Dohi and Stevenson. Fitz waited for Tanaka and then grabbed Apollo under the belly.
“Good luck, sir!” Webb shouted. “I look forward to hearing of your victory!”
Fitz looked at the middle-aged crew chief. He had the timid stare of a man that had never seen combat. But that wasn’t the only reason Fitz knew he had never fought a Variant. No one that had fought the monsters would look forward to hearing a story like that.
“Good luck, brother,” Tito said over the comms.
Fitz nodded and jumped out. His blades sank into the powder and he ducked and ran toward the church. Badger 2 came in next, disgorging the six Marines of Fox Team. Like Ghost, the men were all dressed in white camouflage. They shouldered their M4s and swept the muzzles across the terrain.
Surrounded by his men, Sergeant Jackson Mapes jogged over to Fitz carrying a Benelli M4 tactical shotgun. He was one of the shortest Marines Fitz had ever met, but what Mapes lacked in height, he made up for in muscle and speed. At forty-five, he was still one of the fastest Marines in the 24th MEU.
“Form a perimeter,” Mapes said to his men. They fanned out, and took knees with their rifles pointed in all directions. The exposed faces Fitz could see all looked young, far too young to be out here. But that was partly due to a new rule. The military now allowed anyone over the age of sixteen to join.
“Dohi, you and Tanaka do some quick recon. Don’t go out too far,” Fitz said.
The men were running before Fitz had finished his sentence. He watched the choppers traverse the skyline as Stevenson and Rico took up position with the members of Team Fox.
Tito and the other pilots were headed to a small rebel-run outpost forty minutes away. Forty minutes was a hell of a long time if Ghost and Fox ran into trouble. But it beat having to wait if the choppers went all the way back to the USS Forest Sherman.
Fitz drew in a breath of icy air through his bandana.
“Master Sergeant, this sure as hell doesn’t look like the foothills to me. I don’t reckon you know where the hell we are, do ya?” Mapes asked. A thin layer of snow stuck to the man’s graying five o’clock shadow. His breath reeked of cigarettes, and his crooked teeth reflected years of coffee drinking.
“We’re approximately three miles from the target,” Fitz said. “Figured it would be safer to hike in and clear the town of any hostiles first.”
Mapes raised a bushy eyebrow. “A three mile hike in this weather could take us a while, especially if we have problems along the way.”
“I’m not waltzing into the facility without knowing what we’re up against. The evidence is in this village. If someone is still alive here then maybe we can figure out what happened,” Fitz said firmly. He pulled his map out again and gestured for Rico and Mape to crowd around.
“You think someone could have survived in this shit hole of a village?” Mapes asked.
“We’re going to find out,” Fitz replied. “There are a dozen houses and other buildings between here and the target. I’m recommending we split up to search some of them.”
Mapes picked at a gap between his yellow teeth, a nervous tick. It was his way of saying he didn’t agree. Fitz noted it with a grain of salt.