Dawn of the Mad (48 page)

“It seems it is a little more complicated than that,” Roman interjected.

“Oh? How so?” asked the lieutenant.

“They relied on thousands of clone troopers. These guys are badass. They can take multiple hits and keep going. However, they are pretty much out of control.”

This time it was Sergeant Duncan who spoke up. “Clones or not, they hit us hard last night. They only thing effective was .50 cals and concentrated fire. They seemed to get discouraged after we were able to consolidate here. Some of our forward elements weren’t so lucky.”

“What is the situation now?” Roman asked quizzically. Chapa looked at him and his companions for a moment trying to size them up. The group didn’t fit the mold of the invaders his men had encountered earlier, and besides, he had no plans to release them anyway.

“OK. The situation is this. These ships opened up and took out key infrastructure. Our military is stretched beyond its limits, and we really don’t have a whole lot here stateside. The majority is all over the Middle East: Yemen, Syria, Libya, Iran, Afghanistan … you name it. There really wasn’t a whole lot we could do.”

“What about our allies?” Roman asked earnestly. “Surely, England or France is doing something?”

Chapa looked at Roman for a second, directly in the eyes. “
Our
allies?”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I used to be a cop in Dallas. Like I said, it’s a real long story.” Petor chuckled to himself upon hearing this.

“When you write a book,” Chapa said, “I want a copy. Anyway, our coalition partners aren’t helping out on this one. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. I am not sure how long you have been away, but this attack came at a bad time. The US economy is in ruins. I have heard fragmented reports of Spetsnaz and Chinese Special Forces on our shores already trying to stir this mess up even more. Sergeant Duncan was actually out trying to find a team that somehow managed to land around here somewhere. Every terrorist who has a bone to pick with us are coming over, one way or another and there isn’t a whole lot we can do about it. It’s utter chaos. The president is gone, who knows where. A couple of generals are holding this together for now; at least we get occasional air support. The government is gone, as far as I know.” Chapa sat back in his chair, the strain on his youthful face readily apparent.

Roman put both hands on the lieutenant’s desk and leaned forward. “Well, I may have a solution. I just need to make contact with an old friend.” Chapa looked puzzled as he looked into Roman’s determined eyes. “I just hope he is still listening,” Roman said softly.

An out-of-breath soldier burst into the cell. “Sir, the Desert Hawk drone is picking up a lot of movement on the east perimeter.”

“Understood,” Chapa said as he got up. “If you gentlemen will excuse me, we can continue this conversation later.”

“What do you have?” Chapa asked, peering over the shoulder of a soldier sitting behind a laptop computer. Both men looked intently at a black-and-white aerial video feed from the drone.

“It looks like the bad guys are maneuvering into position just outside the eastern perimeter,” the soldier answered. “They appear to be more careful this time, since we put Claymores everywhere.”

“Who is over there now?”

“The remains of 3rd Platoon, not much more.”

Chapa stood up and stroked his chin thoughtfully. “OK. Let’s clear this place out and send them all the help we can get. They are going to hit a fortified position, so we have the advantage.”

“Sir, we will be glad to assist you,” Roman said. “Just give us our weapons back.”

“OK, you got it. We need all the bodies we can muster right now.”

CHAPTER 46

Heavy contact,” Chapa heard through his headset. “They are holding back, hitting us with those napalm grenades again. Not sure how much longer we can hold this sector.”

“Copy that,” Chapa answered. “Help is on the way. Keep your heads down.” Chapa replaced the hand mic on the radio receiver. “We’re going to be without air support on this one. No answer from the General.”

Sergeant Duncan nodded grimly in response. The Air National Guard Squadron out of Corpus Christi was the only thing keeping the line intact so far. Napalm canisters and cluster bombs seemed particularly effective. 7th Cav, with their Abrams tanks and Apache attack copters were supposed to linking up any hour now. Until then, they had to hold.

Duncan was driving the M-ATV mine-resistant vehicle, with the lieutenant riding shotgun. The M-ATV was a venerable veteran of the war in Afghanistan and served the new front line well. Roman, Petor, and Chana were stuffed in the back, with one soldier in the turret manning an M-249 machine gun. Bouncing around the cratered road closely behind were a motley assortment of soldiers, armed civilians and U.S. Border Patrol Agents riding in up-armored Humvees and a few pickup trucks with crude metal plates welded to the doors.

The small convoy soon left the outskirts of the city. Up ahead, several plumes of smoke could be seen from numerous grass fires raging out of control.

“How much longer?” Roman yelled.

“Two minutes!” Duncan yelled back.

“Roger that.” Chapa picked up the radio handset. “Get ready to dismount,” he said over the net.

Two minutes later, the convoy steered off the road. A few scattered buildings surrounded the remains of a gas station. Two jackknifed semi trucks blocked the east-west roadway. Several soldiers crouched down behind the still standing concrete wall of the gas station keeping a watchful eye.

Roman, Petor, and Chana followed Chapa and Sergeant Duncan southbound toward the remains of small building. A bullet-riddled sign that read “Bill’s Dollar Store” hung precariously from a pole. Chapa spoke into his throat mic, but his low speech was inaudible to anyone else.

Within seconds, the group was inside the building. Several soldiers peered through cracks in the thin concrete wall. Several others lay on the round, some bandaged, and some with their ponchos covering them.

“Sir, am I glad to see you!” A soldier with a blood-soaked bandage on his thigh ran up to the group with a look of exasperated relief across his face.

“Who is in charge here?” Chapa asked.

“Corporal Delmonte was. He’s wasted, sir. The bastards managed to get into the perimeter and chewed us up pretty bad, but we got the .50 cal working and drove them back. Unfortunately, they fired some kind of missile at us and wasted the .50. We are mainly holed up here, behind the semis, and a few in the Taco Bell across the street.

“How many strong? What is your best estimation, Specialist?”

“Not sure. I think the only reason they haven’t attacked again was the .50 cal. I don’t think they realize it’s been knocked out. They were just charging in the open, firing everything they have. And they are packing some serious heat.”

Roman stepped forward. “If I may interject, tell your men to concentrate on their limbs—legs and arms. The head too. Hitting them in the torso does no good; they can take multiple hits and won’t feel a thing with the M4’s you guys are carrying.”

The specialist turned to Roman. “Yeah, we started trying to do that. The problem is that now, there are a bunch out there missing legs crawling around. We can’t see them because of the tall grass in the fields. I think the head is the best bet.”

“Understood,” Chapa said. “You did a heck of job, Specialist. I’ll take it from here.”

Saluting, the specialist hobbled back off to his position, looking out across a junk-strewn field through a large hole in the wall.

“Well, it’s getting dark,” Roman said. “They may wait for nightfall. Their helmets should have night vision, and hand-to-hand combat would be pretty nasty with these guys.”

Chapa nodded in agreement. “I’ll tighten the perimeter. There are supposed to be some tanks and Apache gunships from 7th Cav on the way, but no word yet.”

“Well, if these guys are cloned off the same dude I ran into, they are going to be pretty much insane, but they will know how to fight. I’ll take my crew to a forward position and relieve anybody you have there. We should be able to hold our own for a while. We can draw them to us, and hopefully you guys can pick ’em off.”

“Understood.” Chapa put his hand on Roman’s shoulder. “For what it’s worth, I appreciate the help.”

“No problem. Just get our back if the shit gets too thick.”

I guess this place is as good as any,” Roman muttered under his breath. The team set up behind two burned out Texas State Trooper cars. Petor and Chana lay prone, looking out at the highway as it exited the city. Several abandoned cars were scattered around the area, some laying on their sides or upside down, the result of the last attack, repulsed earlier in the day. Roman knew he had cover behind from well-concealed snipers and a few heavy machine guns, but that even that might not be enough. Petor had set up the portable communications array, and Roman was trying to get through to the fleet in space.

“I say again, this is John Roman. Patch me through to Chuikova.”

“Sorry, sir, I cannot comply at this time. We have a situation on board.”

The responding voice faded in and out over the weak link.

“Copy that. Just get a message to him that we are about to be engaged, and any help he can send down would be much appreciated. You got that?”

The reply came back even weaker, with a lot of garble. “Copy. Will relay. We have a fix on your position.”

Roman replaced the handset on the receiver and folded up the foil dish. After stowing the unit back in his pack, he resumed scanning through his helmet night vision.

“I got something, to the left, heat signatures,” Petor’s voiced croaked on the helmet com. “I spotted them on thermal. Definitely human shapes headed their way.” A moment later, he added, “I count at least twelve or thirteen.”

A series of short gasps followed, coming from Chana. Roman scanned over to her sector and counted at least twenty more of the figures, bounding clumsily through an open field. The figures made no attempt to conceal themselves. Roman switched off his thermal display and switched to night vision. Much to his disdain, the figures didn’t show up at all. At least on thermal they showed up as faint shadows. The soldiers probably wouldn’t see them at all with their equipment.

“They have some kind of reflective coating on their gear or something,” Roman instructed. “Stick to thermal.”

Two detonations suddenly resonated about ten feet in front of their position, sending dirt and debris everywhere.

“Contact!” Roman yelled into the handheld radio he had gotten from Sergeant Duncan. “Multiple bad guys converging on our position.”

Chana began to open up with short, controlled bursts from her rifle. Within moments, Petor joined the symphony of lead, contributing his rounds downrange. Roman watched the attackers spread out to the sides, avoiding a frontal assault. An occasional loud boom could be heard originating from his rear, no doubt Sergeant Duncan with his Barrett picking off targets of opportunity.

Roman soon realized why they were staying to the sides. The specialist had been right. The crawlers were coming up the middle, with the uninjured ones staying on the flanks. Roman could see several black shaped figures slowly crawling toward him, head on, several of which appeared to be missing legs. Every few feet, one would stop and lob a grenade or squeeze off an uncontrolled burst in his direction. The rounds easily went through the derelict cars being used for cover.

The night sky came alive for a brief moment. Parachute and handheld pen flares were fired into the air, their orange and green light lazily falling to the earth. Once the attackers were illuminated, several machine guns and M4’s erupted. This had the effect of exposing their positions, and rifle grenades were launched in angry retaliation. They might be out of control animated corpse clones, but they still had some degree of tactical know-how still embedded in their brains. Once the flares went out, the firing ceased, and the attackers continued their way forward under the cover of darkness.

“There are too many of them,” Petor said, “at least thirty to forty in my sector.” He remained calm and let loose fire in a disciplined manner. Roman couldn’t ask for a more able trooper at his side. Chana also held her own, showing no sign of letting up.