Divided We Fall (4 page)

Chapter
5

The long and tall
HEMTT bounced and rolled with every pothole. Brad’s teeth vibrated as he choked
on the diesel fumes that wafted in over the sides of the long cargo bed. The
lieutenant allowed them to tag along on the patrol, but having no extra room in
the security vehicles, stuck them in the M977 with the work party. Brad scanned
the faces of the young soldiers, male and female alike, armed with rifles,
wearing Kevlar helmets and body armor. Brad and Brooks dressed in camouflage
combat shirts and stripped-down Kevlar helmets. With most gear becoming scarce,
they were resupplied with the essentials. At the center of the truck bed, there
was a long pile of shovels, axes, and rakes. The soldiers’ faces revealed fear
and worry, but mostly exhaustion.

A USMC LAV-25
scouted the way out front and an Army Bradley took up the rear position. As the
convoy drew closer to the fire, they picked up traces of the pungent smoke
mixing in with the diesel. Brooks tapped him on the arm and pointed to the west
at the thick column of black rolling smoke.

He pointed down at
the shovels in the center of the truck. “They ain’t fighting that with
shovels.”

“Then why are we
here?” Brad asked.

The truck’s brakes
crunched and the passengers all shifted forward then jerked as the vehicle made
an abrupt stop. They heard the sounds of the squeaking tracks as the Bradley
drew closer then scraped across the pavement, turning so that it blocked the
rear deck. Instead of dropping a cargo gate, men hoisted a specially crafted
ladder over the edge and attached a side to the truck’s bed. Brad and Brooks
moved to the front of the line, getting out of the truck before the chain gang
started unloading their equipment.

Brad went down first,
dropping to the ground and stepping away from the truck. Soldiers and Marines
in full kit were already spreading out and forming a perimeter. He watched a
pair of soldiers uncoil a long strand of barbed wire. Brooks dropped to the
ground behind him, and then turned toward the front of the convoy. The
clack
of a suppressed rifle caused them to crouch down. One of the security
members looked back at them. “Don’t sweat it; just the snipers up front.”

Brad shook his head
at the soldier’s comment and continued. The LAV at the front was parked
perpendicular to the HEMTT, its turret aiming into a far-off town. Two scout
snipers were lying prone across the top of the armored hull. The lieutenant was
standing near the rear ramp of the LAV. Young and wiry, his uniform pressed, he
was clean-shaven and wore a shiny pistol on his belt. He held a partially
folded map in his left hand, comparing it to a list of coordinates on a sheet
of paper.

Brad strolled up
next to him and said, “If you’re looking for the fire it’s over there.”

“I know where the
fire is at; what I don’t know is where all the Primals are,” he snapped.
“Morning air recon had that town covered with them. Where did they all go?” He
folded the map and stuffed it into a cargo pocket then looked to the front of
the LAV, where a group of soldiers had clustered. “Sergeant Johnson, get a recon
patrol ready.”

Brooks stepped
forward, looked at the map, and then made a 360. “Fire may have pushed them out
of the town and into the woods… maybe across the road here. That smoke is still
a hell of a long ways off though.”

The lieutenant
looked up, nodding his head. “That’s what I’m afraid of. They get across this
road and into the woods, the only thing on the other side is Savannah’s perimeter;
the packs shouldn’t be this far ahead of the fire.”

Brad looked back at
the lieutenant. “What’s all this got to do with fighting a fire?”

“Fighting a fire?
Ha! No, the colonel sent us out here to establish an observation post. He
wanted us to pinpoint and track Primal movement ahead of the fire, try to turn
them if we can.”

A young sergeant
cut to the rear of the vehicle with four other men close behind. “Sir, we’re
ready—”

Brooks lifted a
hand, catching the young officer’s attention. “Lieutenant, why don’t you let me
and my partner here join your patrol? They might need help if this horde shows
up.”

The lieutenant looked
away, staring into the forest on the east side of the road, then back toward
the far-off town. “Okay, but you’re just along for the extra firepower. My man’s
in charge.”

“No problem, sir.
And could I make a suggestion?” Brooks added.

The lieutenant
sighed and looked Brooks in the eye. “I’m listening, but make it quick.”

Brooks moved closer
and spoke low so that the patrol standing behind him could not hear. “I say to
hell with this post you’re setting up, sir… get your men mounted back up in the
trucks, weapons out and ready to fight. Have the LAV ready to come get us if
shit goes sideways. If you have any pull, I’d request to get that Predator back
in the air.”

The young
lieutenant looked Brooks in the eye again, and then casually swept the
surrounding terrain. “Thank you for the suggestion. I’m sure we can take care
of ourselves.” The lieutenant backed away and looked at his squad leader.
“Patrol to the village center then report back to me for orders.”

The young sergeant
nodded his head then looked to Brooks and Brad. “Roger that… Petty Officer,
Sergeant Turner, we’re moving; if you want to tag along, now’s the time.”

Brad nodded and
turned back to face Brooks, who shot him a grin and stepped off following the
patrol leader. Brad pulled his rifle into his chest and fell in line with the
rest of the men as he moved ahead of the Bradley and through a break in the
concertina wire. As the men moved out, he spun back and saw that the lieutenant
had not heeded their suggestion; he was still posting his men around the perimeter
and forming a small observation post.

Brad’s mind flashed
back to a time, months earlier in the deserts of Afghanistan, to a patrol on the
other side of the planet. Moving on, patrolling ahead while the remains of his
unit formed a similar ill-fated perimeter. His foot fell hard against the
pavement as tension twisted the muscles in his back.

“No, this isn’t
Afghanistan,” he whispered to himself.

A soldier near Brad
turned to look back. “You say something, Sergeant?”

Brad swept his head
left and right. They were moving in a staggered column down a two-lane blacktop
road—high grass on the left and right sides, tall trees fifty feet off the road
to the right, and open field to the left. They were less than a few football
fields from the first buildings straight ahead. Brad was walking two paces
behind Brooks, who moved quickly to stay next to the patrol leader.

 Brad looked up at
the soldier to his front-left. “Nahh, just thinking… you patrolled this road
before?” he asked.

“A few times, but
mostly by vehicle—just route recons. We usually stick to the city side of the
fort; that’s where most of the action’s at.”

“So what’s the story
back here?” Brad said.

The soldier slowed
his pace and looked back over his shoulder. “Back here?” He put his right hand
up and pointed far down the road. “Ain’t nothing back here or anywhere else. It’s
all rot nowadays. I don’t even know why we waste our time on these damn
patrols. This town up ahead… been through it a half dozen times; nothing but
Primals in there.”

Brad picked up his
pace so that he could fall in next to the soldier. “How many?”

“Not a lot; we
cleared most of ’em out, but they filter down from the northwest. Guess that’s
why the colonel wants us to keep an eye on the place. In case the fire pushes
more at us.”

A soldier walking
point far ahead of the patrol put a fist in the air. The rest of the men slowed
their advance and spread out, taking a knee around a central portion of the
road. Brad passed through the circle and knelt next to Brooks. They stayed
together while the sergeant in charge of the patrol jogged forward to speak
with the point man. They were nearing the mouth of the small town. Looking left
and right, Brad noticed how exposed they were on the open road. He could feel
the electricity in the air as the hair on his neck began to stiffen.

“We need to get off
this road,” Brad said.

Brooks’ head stayed
in motion, searching the distant structures and tree line. “You see something?”

A gunshot cracked.

Chapter
6

Dust swirled thick,
moving across the neighboring city in a dense cloud, blocking out the sun and
pushing a cold breeze ahead of it. Turner stood at the edge of the warehouse roof,
watching the sandstorm building strength. It twisted as it moved from street to
street, blocking his view of the rooftops in the distance, the tan buildings
quickly concealed by the snarling sand.

Turner pulled down
his goggles in anticipation of the storm and spit dust onto the roof. “Looks
like it’s going to be a good one, Cole,” he said.

A young soldier
stood beside him, watching the sandstorm through binoculars. He lifted a hand,
pointing to a distant intersection. “Don’t seem to bother the Primals much.
Look at the dumb bastards; they don’t even run for cover.”

Turner chuckled as
he looked in the direction Cole pointed. A small pack of Primals moved along a
street, the wind battering their clothing, knocking them left and right as they
moved into the thick mass, probably drawn out by the sounds of the storm.
Turner watched the massive cloud grow; they would need to take shelter if it
did not change direction. He looked down at the satellite phone resting on a
small bench. The signal strength was still spotty, fading in and out. That was
the only reason he was up on the roof to begin with. It had been nearly
twenty-four hours since it was recovered from the capsule. They kept it powered
on and used the vehicles to charge it; still, with the fading signal, Turner
was skeptical it would ring at all.

He took the phone
in his hand and looked at the display. Even on the roof, with a clear view of
the sky, he was having trouble getting two small bars and now the battery was
down to twenty percent. “Might be time to call it a day and button up for this
storm,” he said. “Hard enough to stay clean without these damn sandstorms
pushing grit into every crack on my body.”

Cole looked away
from the binoculars. “We got some time; they might call, and we don’t want to
miss it.”

Turner picked up
the phone and turned it in his hand, considering powering it off and storing
it. Suddenly the phone began to buzz. Turner looked up at Cole, flashing his tobacco-stained
teeth. The receiver showed an encrypted number on the display. Turner carefully
held it in his hand and pushed the green “answer” button before holding the
phone to his ear. Turner had spent the last twenty-four hours rehearsing what
he would say; he memorized a series of questions that he would ask. This was,
after all, their first contact with the outside world since it all went to hell.

Now, with the phone
to his ear, Turner’s mind drew blank and he stuttered, “H-hello?”

“This is
Lieutenant Colonel James Cloud of the Coordinated National Response Team. What
is the status of your party?”
a formal voice responded.

“Wha—huh?” Turner
mumbled.

“Are you in
command?”
Cloud asked.

“Uhh… yeah—yes…
yes, sir.”

“And what is
your status?”
Cloud asked, his voice softening.

“We’re alive, I
guess; I don’t understand what you are asking.”

“Who am I
speaking with?”
Cloud said.

“Oh right—this is
Sergeant First Class Turner, Echo Company, Second Brigade, well, what’s left of
it.”

“And how many
are with you, Sergeant Turner?”

“Ahh… there’s ten
of us—soldiers, I mean, but I also got lots of local nationals under our care.”

“Listen up,
Sergeant Turner; I don’t have a lot of time before we lose the signal. We are
en route and will be arriving south of your position in less than twenty-four hours.
We will be landing on the Hairatan road on the south approach to the city;
satellite and drone surveillance shows a clear stretch large enough for our
aircraft. Do you understand?”

“Wait… you’re
coming for us?”

“Sergeant, at
twelve hundred hours tomorrow, your men must be standing by; we can only remain
on the ground for a short time. Refueling has to be spot on for this to work
and we only have so much fuel; we have to stay on schedule. If you are not
ready to board after we roll to a stop, we will not be able to stay on the
ground and wait for you. Have your men ready; pack only yourselves, your
personal weapons systems, and one three-day bag.”

“But, sir, I got
more people here—”

“I will have
seats open and a weight allowance for twenty-five personnel—you figure it out, Sergeant.
Twelve hundred hours, tomorrow, do you understand?”

“Uhh, yes, sir,”
Turner said.

“Good, activate
this phone again when you are on location south of the city. Cloud out.”
The phone clicked dead.

Turner lowered the
phone from his ear then used his thumb to press the button, ending the call. Cole
pushed in close to him excitedly.

“Well, what did he
say?” Cole asked.

“I think we’re
going home,” Turner said, a smile slowly spreading across his face.

Chapter
7

“You know you can
stay here, Shane; there’s plenty of room,” Chelsea said. She watched as Shane
knelt down to Ella’s level, kissing her forehead. His usual ritual before
returning to his own quarters.

He turned and
looked up toward Chelsea, catching her concerned look. He sighed, taking a long
pause and using the time to sweep his eyes over the small housing unit. It was
a quaint space with an open floor plan, wood floors, and white painted walls. From
his position, Shane could see through the small house into the kitchen, where
he was just able to catch a glimpse of the back door.

Chelsea and Ella
were assigned to one of the many vacant houses located inside the safety of the
camp’s perimeter. Ella was willingly placed in Chelsea’s care. Shane had his
own place just down the street. Because of his injuries, he wasn’t given a job
assignment on the camp, and technically being a civilian, was kept out of the
barracks and instead placed into a private housing unit far away from the
enlisted soldiers. “No, it’s okay; they gave me a nice spot. I like it there,
it’s close and quiet,” he said. “And besides, I don’t think your friend would
appreciate me staying here.” Shane stood and turned to the door, gripping the
handle. He stopped at the sound of her voice.

“What? Why would
you even say that?” Chelsea asked. “Don’t even try using him as an excuse.”

Shane shrugged his
shoulders and looked away. “Just saying it wouldn’t be appropriate, is all.”

“You can’t hide
your worry, Shane. It’s okay—just stay with us,” she said. “We would both feel
safer with you in the house.”

Ella reached out
and grabbed his free hand. “Stay, Shane.”

He looked down at
the girl and smiled. As he began to speak, the sounds of automatic weapons fire
erupted from far away. He easily recognized the sounds. Shane’s muscles flexed
and he turned back to the door, opening it and stepping out into the front
yard, using his body to prevent Ella and Chelsea from following him outside.

To the west, high
in the clouds, he could see plumes of smoke. Shane knew a fire was burning west
of the camp. More gunfire focused his attention—heavy weapons, fifty caliber,
and the distinctive report of a 30mm cannon. He felt the door push up behind
him as Chelsea forced her way into the yard.

“Primals?” she
asked.

He shook his head.
“Not sure; those are heavy weapons… fifty cal, and the other sounds like the
main gun on a Bradley. If it’s Primals, there must be a lot of them,” Shane
said, his voice changing to all business.

“Think the fire
brought them in?” Chelsea asked.

“No, it’s from too
far out… way beyond the walls.”

The sound of motors
buzzing moved Shane’s attention to the main road in front of the small house. Vehicles
turned a corner and raced by just in front of them. As they passed, Shane could
see the trucks were filled with armed soldiers. More gunfire filled the air,
followed quickly by the sounds of the camp’s artillery battery.

Shane swiveled his
head and focused his eyes on the dark clouds of smoke, his ears focusing on the
distant sounds of combat. “Something bad is happening out there,” Shane said.

“Maybe we should
find Brad; he’ll know,” Chelsea said.

Shane’s hand
dropped to his hip; he felt the standard-issue Berretta M9 pistol. He took a
step further into the yard, the tension in his body rising as the artillery
fire increased.

“No,” he said. “I
want you to stay put for now.” Shane turned back, looking at Chelsea seriously.
“Get your rifle, and keep Ella inside. You’re right—I’ll stay here tonight. I
just need to grab some things.”

“What is it, Shane?
What do you think it is?” she asked.

He turned, headed
toward his house, and yelled over his shoulder, “Just stay inside!”  

Shane ran to the
street, slowing to avoid another column of fast-moving trucks. He hit the
sidewalk on the far side and moved briskly, wanting to run, but not wanting to
aggravate his healing injuries. He turned onto a sidewalk that led to the old
officers’ quarters—a small stack of what would more closely resemble college
dorms or an old-style motor lodge. Shane’s unit was located on the end of a row
of five units. As Shane passed the fourth door, it swung open and a young
soldier in full uniform with captain’s bars on his hat rushed out. The soldier
shut his door and, after nearly colliding with Shane, lost his balance and tumbled
forward.

Shane reached out
his arm, helping to steady the man. “Sir, do you know what’s going on?”

The officer took a
pack he was carrying in his left arm and shouldered it as he spoke. “There is a
unit in contact a couple miles out. They are in trouble, calling in everything
we got to support them.”

“Primals?” Shane
asked.

The captain shook
his head and stepped back. “No, it’s contact with an enemy force. They got
ambushed on the road—some of the other patrols are taking fire too. Sorry, I
gotta go.”

Shane watched the
officer run down the sidewalk in the direction the soldier-laden trucks had
traveled.
Enemy contact?
Shane said to himself.
Why… who would attack
an Army base?

He moved back to
his apartment’s door and entered the space. Shane’s room was small and arranged
like a hotel suite: a small bed on a long wall, a bathroom at the end, a small
kitchenette in a corner, and the opposite wall filled with a dresser and
wardrobe.

Shane always kept
his bag packed; he found it at the end of the bed and lifted it with his right
arm, feeling the scar tissue protest under the weight. He pushed an arm through
a single strap then opened a top drawer on the dresser and removed his M4
rifle. He then took several full magazines, which he dropped into the cargo pockets
on his pants before he grabbed the last magazine, loaded, and charged his
weapon. With his gear, he turned and left the room, moving back to the
sidewalk.

More men loaded
with gear were leaving the units and running in the direction of the trucks; Shane,
growing more concerned, picked up the pace back to Chelsea’s house. More
gunfire erupted, this time closer, near the gates—small arms and explosions,
possibly grenades. Shane began jogging across the street; he saw movement in a
far tree line and paused. Silhouettes cut through the thin trees, the fading
sun creating deep outlines of their forms. Not the hasty or primitive movement
of Primals, but something else. He identified two distinct figures. Shane ran
forward and pressed against the corner of a neighboring home one away from
Chelsea’s house. He peered around the edge of the home, still listening to the
truck traffic moving behind him and the steady echo of small arms fire.

Shane focused on
the figures and watched them step along, stalking their way through the trees. He
saw more file in just behind the first two. “Maybe a roving patrol,” he
whispered. Shane quickly sprinted to the next building; he passed the door,
hoping Ella and Chelsea were locked in as he’d asked. Shane dropped on his belly,
low crawled to the corner, and peeked through the tall grass.

Who are they?
Shane
thought as he watched the man at the front of the column approach the edge of
the field that formed the backyards of the homes. The man stepped a few feet
into the tall grass and dropped to a knee. Shane saw the man raise a fist,
halting the rest of the patrol, then lift a small rifle to his eye—presumably
using the optics to scout ahead. Shane’s heart skipped a beat when he
recognized the black uniform.

It can’t be… not
here.
His stomach filled with fear.

The sound of
vehicle wheels screeched as it skidded to a stop behind him, and Shane turned
to see a Humvee; a soldier stood in the turret looking directly at him. The
front door of the Humvee opened and a soldier stepped out, pointing a flat
hand.

“Hey buddy! What
the hell you think you’re doing?” the driver yelled.

Shane opened his
mouth to speak, to tell them about the men in black, but not before a
suppressed round hit the standing soldier square in the chest. The driver
looked back at Shane with surprise on his face. Shane looked back at the trees
in time to see a second muzzle flash. The Humvee’s turret gunner came alive,
firing high, his rounds ripping up a trail of dirt. Shane turned back and saw
that the machine gunner was hit but still trying to operate his gun.

The turret gun went
silent as the gunner succumbed to his wounds. The men in black seemed to have
not noticed Shane; they must have been attracted to the Humvee’s sudden stop.

Probably thought
the soldier’s yells were directed at them.
Shane backed away from the
corner, still on his belly. He slowly rose to his knees as the house front door
swung open. Chelsea rushed out, carrying her rifle and pulling Ella along close
behind. Shane stood quickly and grabbed her arm.

“Shane, there are
men back there! Same as be—”

He held a hand to
his lips, silencing her.

“Quickly, follow
me,” he whispered.