These Dead Lands: Immolation (42 page)

“Need birds on the pad for exfil of my team in two-zero mikes. Over.”

“Good copy, Blackfoot. Birds will be down in twenty minutes. Over.”

“Roger. Team will be standing by for a fast load and takeoff. Blackfoot, out.”

Slater grinned at Ballantine. “You aren’t wasting any time, are you? Can’t say I blame you. We got hit pretty hard the other day, and we’re all ready to get out of here”—he slapped the side of the locomotive—“as soon as this pig is ready to roll.”

“Yeah, I’m ready to get this show on the road and get everyone back to the base.”

The train began to roll backward. Surprised by the sudden, if minute, motion, Ballantine turned to the engineer.

“Testing the brakes,” Munn said. “Got to make sure we can stop once we start going.”

Ballantine grunted. “Just keep doing what you’re doing, sir.” He looked back at Slater. “Well, looks like I need to get a move on. Let me see if I can round up that chow before we pop smoke. We’ll be in orbit until you get underway, then we have to link up with the main effort at the rail yard and escort the other trains and the ground convoy back. I’ll see you back at Indiantown Gap in a few hours, I imagine. First round’s on me.”

Slater clapped his hands. “That’s what I’m talking about! You’re on, lightfighter!”

*

Hastings wanted to
leave as soon as possible, as the explosion and fire, not to mention the gunfire, was sure to attract the attention of reekers for miles around. He wasn’t even sure how long his guys could hold off the reekers that were already there. “Bravo team, how long until you’re ready to roll? Over.” Looking out the windows of the locomotive engine, He could see that the situation seemed perilously close to deteriorating. There was a lot of fighting going on.

“Lakota One One, the driver says we’ll be ready to go in fifteen mikes. Over.”

“Roger, good copy. Break. Apache One Two, this is Lakota One One. Over.”

“Lakota One One, this is Apache One Two. Go,” Guerra said.

“Apache One Two, we’re fifteen mikes out from exfil. When you see the birds take off, begin your exfil. How copy? Over.”

“Roger, Lakota One One. Good copy. We need to get out of here. I don’t know how much longer we can keep this up. Over.”

“Understood. Lakota, out.” Hastings switched to another frequency. “Gunslinger, this is Lakota One One. Over.”

“Lakota, this is Gunslinger. Over.”

“Request exfil in fifteen mikes. Over.”

“Lakota, this is Gunslinger. Roger, we’ll pick you up from the top of the engine. Over.”

“Good copy, Gunslinger. Lakota, out.”

The train driver looked over at Hastings. “We’re ready to roll, sir. Just say when.”

Hastings nodded. “As soon as I get an up from Bravo team, we’re out of here.”

*

Guerra wasn’t sure
how much longer the ground convoy could keep the reekers from overrunning them and the rail yard. Everywhere he looked, zombies were shambling about. Streets that had been empty when they arrived were filled with what looked like a parade of reekers—ghouls everywhere and in every flavor: fast, slow, runners, shamblers, screamers, moaners, and completely mute. Young, old, big, small, fat, skinny, they were coming out of the woodwork, and there seemed to be more runners than usual. Those were the toughest, since they moved so fast. They had to be either killed or disabled from a distance because, up close, they could do some real damage.

He keyed his radio. “All Apache elements, Apache One Two. Fall back to your vehicles, and get ready to roll on my call. Over.”

The sounds of gunfire were transmitted as the troops quickly keyed their mikes twice. He hadn’t heard from some of the vehicles in a while, but hearing shots fired from where he knew they were supposed to be was a good sign. Smoke and fire continued to fill the sky from Stilley’s end of the road, as did nonstop machine-gun chatter. It was safe to say that they would end up shooting their barrels out by the time the mission was over. While they had brought spares, there wasn’t any time to stop and swap them out.

Guerra watched as one of the MRAPs responsible for patrolling a section of Grayson Road ran over a horde of reekers while the .50 caliber in its turret shot the ones farther down the street. The size of the vehicle was a benefit, as it could take punishment and still clear the bodies falling underneath it as the driver gunned the engine.

“I’m gonna need some ammo!” the gunner in Guerra’s vehicle yelled.

Guerra was glad they brought all the ammo Hastings had insisted on because they were going through it quickly. He reached back and started popping open the lids on the .50-caliber cans. He pulled out the belts and handing them off to be passed up to the gunner’s assistant. The last fifteen minutes had to be the longest Guerra could ever remember.

We need to get the fuck out of Dodge and soon. Come on, fuckers. Get those trains moving.

*

Through the window
of the Chinook, Ballantine watched as the second aircraft attached to his element recovered the security team and lifted off in a cloud of dust. He had told the crew chief to ask the pilots to fly a racetrack pattern around the train until it had backed out onto the main track and started moving north, so they orbited for a few minutes as the train slowly moved past the rail switch. One of the soldiers who had remained with the train to provide security jumped off the engine and ran to the switch, where he grabbed a crank and manually moved the switch rail. The troop ran back to the engine and climbed up onto it as the train started rolling again. It switched over to the new track without any problem.

Finally. Now all we have to do is get this and the other trains back to the base. I hope things in the rail yard are going as smooth as things did here.
Ballantine switched channels on his radio. “Lakota One One, this is Blackfoot One Seven. Over.”

Hastings responded, “Blackfoot One Seven, this is Lakota One One. Over.”

“Lakota, Blackfoot One Seven is moving to your position at this time. Over.”

“Good copy, Blackfoot. We’re just about ready to pull out. Be advised, we have heavy resistance outside the rail yard. Do not stop here on your way through. Over.”

“Good copy. Blackfoot, out.” From the sounds of it, the rail yard was a bit more exciting than the Naval facility had been. Ballantine wasn’t sorry to have missed the action.

*

Guerra watched the
CH-47F north of the bridge lift off and bank to the left. The gunners on both sides of the Chinook fired into the amassing reekers as the big helicopter climbed into the sky. He turned to his left to get a visual on Hastings’s bird. It rose and started moving toward Ballatine’s position, the gunners shooting continuously. As the bird got closer, Guerra thought something didn’t look right with it. The chopper seemed to have suddenly gotten ass heavy.

Oh shit!

The rear of the bird barely cleared the bridge as it passed over Guerra’s vehicle. His turret gunner dropped down inside the Humvee with a startled yelp that was barely audible over noise from the pounding helicopter blades. Instead of gaining altitude and flying away, the Chinook disappeared behind one of the rail yard buildings along Grayson Street.

While Ballantine was waiting for a huge crash and fireball, his radio came to life.

“Apache One Two, Lakota One One. The bird is down! Over!”

“Lakota, Apache One Two. What happened? Over.” Guerra looked over at the driver and the gunner. “Get ready to roll, and get back on that weapon!”

“Apache, the crew chief says it’s a transmission issue. We’re just north of your position in the large parking lot along the road. We need pick up now! Over.”

Guerra nodded, even though Hastings couldn’t see the gesture. “Roger, moving! Break. Apaches One Three Alpha and Bravo, roll your people up and collapse the perimeter toward my position. Over.”

Tharinger and Stilley responded affirmatively, and a minute later, the gunfire from their positions decreased as their vehicles headed toward Guerra’s position. Guerra instructed his driver to back up to the intersection while the gunner returned to the cupola and resumed shooting the reekers coming over the bridge.

Guerra looked through the windshield at the ghouls surging toward them like flood water. “All Apache elements, set up a perimeter outside of the downed bird. We need to hold Grayson Street as best as we can. Over.”

Tharinger’s and Guerra’s teams were closest to where the bird had set down, and it would take Stilley’s element a few minutes to roll up. The reekers were still coming, headed right toward Guerra’s Humvee. The machine gun in the turret overhead didn’t seem to be doing jack shit, even though he could clearly see the stream of projectiles tearing through dead flesh and bone.

“Move us to the bird
now
!” Guerra yelled.

The driver stomped on the gas, running over reekers as if they weren’t even there. Guerra spotted several of Stilley’s vehicles coming down Grayson Street with a heavy MRAP in the lead, blasting its way through the undulating masses of the dead. The turret gunners fired into the mobs of reekers, slashing them and the surrounding area with machine-gun fire.

Guerra keyed his microphone. “Apaches, put a few of the heavy vehicles at the bridge intersection! We need as much firepower there as possible. Over!”

Two MRAPs pulled into the intersection to cover the bridge. The large vehicles rammed into the reekers with such force that the corpses flew through the air, slamming into the ghouls behind them and knocking them down. So many bodies were caught under the tires that it looked as if one of the MRAPs might actually roll over.

*