Indestructible: V Plague Book 7 (28 page)

“I’ve finally got the Colonel,” Martinez shouted as the last
Navy jet banked away to head south.  She had been trying to break in on the defender’s
comm channel for some time, but for some reason they couldn’t hear us even
though we could hear them.

“Should I thank you for the air support, Major?”  Crawford
asked a moment later.

“Negative sir.  They just showed up.  I suspect we’re seeing
Admiral Packard at work.”

“Well, they saved our ass, but it’s about to get interesting
again.”  He said.  He and I were looking at each other as we spoke, him on the
ground, me in the side door of a Huey a hundred feet over his head.  “By the
way, where did you get that museum piece?”

I imagined Martinez was grinning from ear to ear right about
now.  “National Guard, sir.  They have all the cool hand me downs.  You need to
hold out for five more minutes.  Spooky’s on the way.”

“That is good news, Major.  I’m glad Sergeant Scott found
you.”  He said, turning when the machine gun next to him began firing again.

“Sir?  Sergeant Scott?”  I asked, but he had already raised
his rifle and was back in the fight. 

Looking down the runway I could see long lines of civilians
being herded into waiting planes.  A Globemaster was in motion, lining up for
takeoff and Martinez took us well out of its way.  I could hear the bellow of
its engines, even over the rotors and noise from the battle.  It seemed to
accelerate too slowly, and looked like it was barely moving when it lifted off
the runway.  The optical illusion created by very large aircraft.

The infected pushed in, screams audible even as we hovered. 
Watching from my vantage point the mass of bodies reminded me of the old movie
The Blob.  They seemed to flow over everything, just like that extraterrestrial
gelatinous monster.  Machine gun fire raked the leading edge, bodies falling to
be immediately stepped on by the thousands pushing in.

Runners began breaking away from the main body as it pushed
to within thirty yards of the defensive line.  Rifle and machine gun fire cut
them down, but in doing so gave up a few feet of ground to the herd.

“Spooky, Dog Four.  What’s your time to target?”  I shouted
into the radio.

“Two mikes, Dog Four.  Got you in sight.  We’re going to
have to hold back for a minute more.  There’s a big bird about ready to go.”  I
turned and looked south, seeing a C5 Galaxy beginning to trundle down the
tarmac to line up for take off. 

“Copy, Spooky,” I said.  “When you’re on target, defend the
runway.  You’ll see the perimeter.  Friendlies are in a world of shit.”

“Spooky copies,” I heard, turning back to check on the line
below.

Runners had broken away from the front edge, which was now
only twenty yards from the defenders.  Crawford stood next to two figures, one
of them enough smaller that I suspected it was a woman, all three of them
firing at the sprinting females.  The machine gunner in front of them was
working his fire along the front ranks, then had to pause to slap in a new ammo
belt being held out by the civilian next to him.

The pause in fire from the machine gun was all the females
needed.  Two of the runners leapt, slamming into the gunner and his assistant
as dozens more sprinted forward.  In seconds they were pouring through the
breach in the line.  Crawford and the other two fighters formed a tight circle,
backs to each other and kept firing.

“Katie, get back here!”  I screamed, firing the door gun to
give them some support.

“What?”  She shouted in my ear a moment later.

“Unstrap me, then take over,” I shouted back, not wanting to
stop firing even long enough to change gunners.  I felt her begin releasing my
body from the straps that held me in place.

“What are you doing?”  She shouted as the last buckle came
free.

“Going down there,” I said, sending a long burst into a
group of runners who were almost to the line.

“Are you crazy?”  She said, grabbing my arm.

“No time,” I shouted, moving out of the way.  Grabbing her
hands I pulled her close, kissed her quickly then pushed her at the door gun. 
She started firing as she slipped into place and I quickly secured her to the
helicopter.

Snatching an equipment bag from where it was strapped to the
floor, I opened it and yanked out a pair of heavy gloves and the end of a fast
rope.  Slapping the gated hook over a steel stanchion, I kicked the bag out the
side door opposite the machine gun.  The bag fell to the ground, uncoiling the
rope as it dropped.  Turning my back to the open doorway, I pulled the gloves
on, grabbed the rope with both hands and jumped backwards into the air.

I came down fast.  Yes, it’s called fast roping, but there’s
fast and then there’s the fast I just did.  I might have hurt something if I’d
landed on solid ground, but I took my feet off the rope just in time to slam
onto an infected’s back.  She fell, face first, and I let go of the rope and landed
on her body.

I could feel her back break when my knees hit, and I let her
absorb the rest of my momentum before rolling to the side and onto my feet. 
Females were leaping over the sandbagged machine gun to my left, the Colonel
and his two companions still fighting to my right.  Enemy too close for me to
use the AK47 I’d taken off the dead terrorist, I pulled the Kukri and went to
work.

The blade whistled as I slashed through flesh and bone.  I
wasn’t necessarily going for kills, just keeping the screaming bodies away from
me.  I needed to clear enough of a path for someone to get back on the goddamn
machine gun.  Blood flew as I battled to move forward, the Kukri inflicting
horrible injuries as I continued to wield it.

Punching with my left hand, grabbing and pulling bodies out
of my way, I hacked and slashed like a man possessed until I reached the dead
gunner.  There was no time for me to look to see if anyone was close, and I
nearly decapitated Colonel Pointere when he pushed past me and leapt for the
machine gun.  It took him a second to charge the weapon and swing the muzzle
up.

Pressing the trigger he cut down dozens of females directly
in front of us with a long, sustained burst, then began working on the ones
right behind them.  With the machine gun back in action I was able to wade in
and clear up most of the females who had gotten through the line, Colonel
Crawford and the blonde Airman taking down the last ones with their rifles.

Crawford looked at me and said something I couldn’t hear
between the hammering of machine gun fire and the blood pounding in my ears.  I
looked up as a massive C5 roared overhead, appearing to be traveling way too
slow to possibly be in flight.  Once it passed I scanned for the Huey, but
didn’t see it, then realized Martinez would have gotten out of the area for
Spooky.

I heard the bass drone of the four giant turboprop engines a
moment before the AC-130 passed overhead and opened fire.  The 25 mm Equalizer
is a five-barrel rotary canon and spits out 1,800 rounds a minute.  The shells are
about the size of my fist and traveling faster than 3,000 feet per second when
they leave the barrel.  They are absolutely devastating, and as the plane
orbited it fired continuously.

Nothing was left alive in its wake.  Hell, nothing was left
intact, or even recognizable.  Bodies just seemed to cease to exist,
disappearing in a puff of pink mist if a shell hit them squarely.  The leading
ranks of the infected weren’t pushed back, they were erased off the face of the
planet. 

After Spooky’s second orbit we had a nice, wide buffer zone
between the infected and us.  There was some clean up, and the machine gunners
made quick work of the incredibly lucky females that had somehow avoided the
devastation.  Starting his third orbit, Spooky opened up with the 40 mm Bofors
autocanon, firing into the main body of the surrounding herd as it began to
push forward.

Huge gaps were blown in the legion of infected by shells so
powerful they had been used for anti-aircraft purposes in World War II.  On the
next orbit he continued firing the Bofors and engaged the Equalizer again.  Two
more orbits and we had a four hundred yard buffer. 

Nearly every infected inside the defensive ring defined by
the moat had been killed or maimed badly enough that they were no longer a
threat.  The few hundred that were still on their feet fell to machine gun
fire.  We were by no means out of the woods, there were still hundreds of
thousands if not millions of infected pushing into the base, but we had some
breathing room.

A plane roared overhead, taking off, followed closely by two
more.  Colonel Pointere was on his feet, the female Airman taking his place on
the machine gun.

“Pull back now!”  He shouted.  “All personnel, evac now!”

Bending over he slapped the Airman on top of her Kevlar helmet,
telling her to get her ass in gear. 

“Don’t know what you did, Major, but I owe you a beer.”  He
said.  “Now we’ve gotta move.  One plane left on the ground and they’re holding
it for us.”  

“Let’s go,” Crawford said, starting to turn towards the
flight line.

“Sir, what were you saying about Sergeant Scott?”  I stopped
him, sparing a glance at the infected who were already pushing back towards us.

“He went out to find you with the two Russians,” he said. 
“He got Rachel and a virologists onto a flight.  I thought he had you with
him.”

“No, sir.”  I said, glancing up as Spooky started another
orbit to buy the defenders time to get on a plane.  “Never saw him.”

“He’s still out there, then.”  Crawford said, sadness on his
face.  “Find your wife?”

“Yes, sir.  I did.  And I owe you.”  I said.

“Bullshit,” he said.  “Who’s in that flying antique?”

“Captain Martinez and my wife.”

“Got room for another?”  He asked, casting a glance over his
shoulder at the defenders running for the last flight out.  “Don’t feel much
like sitting under a palm tree in the Bahamas while I’ve still got people out
there.”   

Tech Sergeant Zach Scott monitored the flow of diesel fuel
into the Bradley’s tank as Igor fired an occasional burst from the machine
gun.  Infected in the area weren’t exactly thick, but there were enough of them
that it was necessary to keep them pushed back while Scott was outside the
vehicle.  Igor was happily doing so, and while he wouldn’t admit it, he was
itching for another target to take out with one of the TOW missiles.

They were at a small truck stop in Fairfax, Oklahoma. 
Rachel and Joe had departed the previous day and they had set out in search of
the Major, stopping to replenish the thirsty vehicle’s tank.  The power was off
in the small town, but the Bradley had a pump powered by its engine,
specifically designed for the siphoning of fuel from underground tanks.  A one
inch hose ran from an access port that was normally protected by an armored
plate into the truck stop’s storage tank.

“Radio is flashing,” Irina shouted. 

Scott looked up at where she had popped open the hatch over
the driver’s seat and stuck her head out of the protection of the vehicle.  He
waved to let her know he’d heard her and shut down the pump.  The tank was full
and he’d been carefully topping it off with as much diesel as he could squeeze
on board.

Siphon hose coiled and back in place, he buttoned up the
outside of the vehicle and headed for the rear door set into the ramp.  Once
back inside he made sure the opening was tightly secured before heading for the
commander’s seat.

A red light was blinking, alerting him that someone wanted
to communicate over the FSOC system.  Engaging the unit, he waited for the
laser to lock onto the orbiting satellite and the comm status indicator on his
display to turn green.  When it did he recognized Blanchard’s voice.

“Copy, sir.”  He said.

“What’s your status, Tech Sergeant?”  Blanchard asked.

“We’re re-fueling and preparing to continue our search for
the Major.  Hope you’re calling with good news that he’s been spotted.”

“Negative,” Blanchard said.  “Just the opposite, in fact.  I
just got off the phone with Pearl Harbor.  A Russian patrol intercepted the flight
carrying Mr. Revard and Rachel.  His pilot successfully evaded, but Rachel’s
plane took damage and she and the pilot had to punch out over Idaho.”

Unleashed: V Plague
Book One

Crucifixion: V Plague
Book Two

Rolling Thunder: V
Plague Book Three

Red Hammer: V Plague
Book Four

Transmission: V
Plague Book Five

Days Of Perdition: V
Plague Book Six

Rules Of Engagement:
A John Chase Short Story

First, I would like to recognize Air Force SSgt Z for
earning his way into a very elite brotherhood.  For what it’s worth, you have
my respect and admiration.  Congratulations!

My thanks to many, but I have to single out Matt “Gunny”
Zemeck, even if he did break my rifle, and “Colonel” James Pointere for being a
good sport and letting me make him an officer.  Suck it up, Marine!

Also, a special thanks to SH for his valuable and insightful
suggestions. 

It should be noted that the 20
^th
Marine
Expeditionary Unit used in this book is fictitious, (not MEU, just the 20
^th
which doesn’t exist), though there is absolutely nothing imaginary about a real
MEU. Don’t believe me?  Ask a few thousand bad guys around the world!

The 5
^th
Ranger Battalion noted in this book is
not a currently active Army unit.  It was last active in World War II,
participating in the D-Day invasion of Normandy.

The 5th Ranger Battalion was activated on 1 September 1943
at Camp Forrest, Tennessee. During the Battle of Normandy, the battalion landed
on Omaha Beach along with companies A, B and C of the 2nd Ranger Battalion,
where elements of the 116th Regiment of the 29th Infantry Division were pinned
down by murderous machine gun fire and mortars from the heights above.  The
situation was so dire that General Omar Bradley (the namesake of the Bradley Fighting
Vehicle used in this book) was seriously considering abandoning the beachhead
instead of sending more men to die.  It was then that General Norman Cota,
Assistant Division Commander of the 29th Infantry Division, gave the now famous
order that has become the motto of the 75th Ranger Regiment: "Rangers,
Lead The Way!"

The 5th Battalion Rangers broke across the sea wall and
barbed wire entanglements, and up the pillbox-rimmed heights under intense
enemy machine gun and mortar fire, and with A and B Companies of the 2nd
Battalion and some elements of the 116th Infantry Regiment, advanced four miles
(6 km) to the key town of Vierville-sur-Mer, thus opening the breach for
supporting troops to follow-up and expand the beachhead.  Meanwhile, C Company
of the 2nd Ranger Battalion, due to rough seas, landed west of the Vierville
draw and suffered 50 percent casualties during the landing, but still scaled a
90-foot (27 m) cliff, using ropes and bayonets, to knock out a formidable enemy
position that was sweeping the beach with deadly fire.

The 5
^th
Ranger Battalion was deactivated 22
October 1945 at Camp Myles Standish, Massachusetts. 

In Chapter 44, in his speech to his Marines, Colonel
Pointere mentions Fox Company and Khe Sanh.  Both of these battles, the former
in Korea and the latter in Vietnam, pitted Marines against staggering odds in
conditions worse than I can manage to put in writing.  If you’re in the mood to
learn about some of the toughest men the Marine Corps has ever fielded, Google
these two battles and read up on them.

I try to balance my writing to not lean too far to the
“Military and War” genre.  I get a LOT of emails encouraging me to put more
detail in, but I never intended for this series to be about the military and
don’t want to weigh it down more than I already have when it’s necessary to
describe a weapon or ammunition. 

The series is about surviving everything that can be thrown
at you.  Overcoming seemingly insurmountable odds by never accepting defeat.  Beginning
with book one, I’ve approached each chapter with two thoughts.  What could
possibly go wrong, and what would I do?  The heavy presence of the military has
evolved as I’ve kept writing, but that’s because without them this journey
would have ended before it really got started.

You can always correspond with me via email at
[email protected]
 Visit my
website at
www.voodooplague.com
and
if you’re on Facebook, please like my page at
www.facebook.com/FearThePlague
 

I enjoy interacting with my fans and I answer all of my email…
eventually.

Thanks again for reading!

Dirk Patton

2015