Finest Hour (21 page)

Samantha looked down at the frame of honey, thinking that it was too bad that Tanner wasn’t there to enjoy the lesson. The poor guy was really missing out.

As Tanner slipped his jeans back on, he felt a bit like a thief in the night—only he had taken something far more valuable than the family’s silverware. Haley Jenkins lay on the bed, her legs propped against the headboard with the hopes that gravity might help with getting pregnant. While the sex had been enjoyable enough, Tanner found the whole thing to be a bit too much like a visit to the local sperm bank.

She looked back at him with her head hung upside down. There was a happy glow to her eyes and cheeks.

“You okay?” she asked.

“I’m fine. Just feeling like I need to ride out of here before your husband arrives and catches me with my hand in the cookie jar.”

She smiled. “You’re not in the cookie jar. At least, not anymore. Besides, I told you, Barret’s okay with this.”

“You say that now, but no man wants to come home to find a smile on his wife’s face and a man sneaking out the back door.”

She swung her legs down and sat up.

“You know, you’re right.” She started to slip on her clothes. “We should make ourselves presentable.”

Tanner tucked in his shirt and sat on the edge of the bed to put on his boots.

Haley slid up next to him and gently kissed him on the cheek.

“Thank you.”

“I would say anytime, but I’m afraid that wouldn’t sound right.”

“No,” she said, giggling, “it most certainly would not.”

As soon as they were dressed, they hurried back downstairs. By the time Barret and Samantha returned with the honey, they were sitting on the porch, sipping hot coffee. Two mason jars of honey sat on a table beside Tanner.

Samantha hurried toward him, smiling from ear to ear.

“You really missed out. Bees are so cool! There are thousands upon thousands of them out in those boxes. We blew smoke on them and then stole a few of their honeycombs. You’d have loved it.”

“Why? Because it involved stealing?”

“Exactly!”

He stood up and tousled her hair.

“Glad you learned something. But I’m afraid it’s time we hit the road.”

Samantha looked back at the wooden super packed with honey-filled frames.

“But Mr. Jenkins was going to show me how to get the honey out.”

“Another time.”

She had learned to read the difference between when Tanner was suggesting something and when he was carving it in stone. This was more of the latter.

“All right.” She turned to Barret and offered a little wave. “Thanks for showing me the beehives.”

“My dear, you are most welcome.” He set down the super and stepped onto the porch. For a moment, Tanner thought there might be trouble, but Barret only extended his hand. “And thank you for helping us… with everything.”

Tanner met the man’s stare and found that there was no malice in it, only relief.

“My pleasure” didn’t seem appropriate, so he said only, “It was an honor.”

“One other thing,” Barret said, leaning in close.

“Yeah?”

“Kindly do me a favor and let us be from here on out.”

Tanner nodded. If Haley were to become pregnant, the last thing either of them needed was for the biological father to stop in for a glass of sugary iced tea.

“Believe me,” he whispered, “you’ll never see us again.”

Chapter 13  

Mason unfolded the map and placed it on the tailgate of his F150 as Captain Artz, Corporal Rodriguez, Private Cobb, and Cadet Second Lieutenant Priscilla Bell gathered around. Leila had gone inside the makeshift headquarters with another officer to search for additional information on the depot. Several of the other cadets were keeping Bowie busy by throwing a collectible softball they had found inside one of the offices. The ball had been signed by a handful of famous players, including bombshell Jennie Finch, but the blue ink was now smudged with dog slobber and grass stains.

Captain Artz leaned down and circled a collection of white rectangular buildings. Each was surrounded by a concrete blast wall and spaced several hundred feet from its nearest neighbor—typical Army precautions in case something should go
boom
.

“We know that these three igloos are where Commandant Franks and his team first began their search. What happened after that is anyone’s guess.”

Mason studied the map. The Radford Army Ammunition Plant was split roughly in half by the Little River, a meandering waterway that traveled between Bluestone Lake in West Virginia and Claytor Lake in Virginia. The river looped around a portion of the depot, carving off a thick fingerlike extension. The buildings that Captain Artz had circled were on that finger, and to get to them would require crossing an eight-hundred-foot bridge. The bridge was one of only two ways across the river, with the other crossing located nearly all the way back at the town of Fairlawn.

“The bridge is an obvious choke point,” he said, tapping the map with his finger. “If we get cut off there, we’ll never make it back.”

“I only have four other cadets with working firearms,” admitted Artz. “But if you think it’ll help, I can position them on the bridge to prevent your escape from being blocked.”

Mason recalled the massacre he had witnessed at Richmond Hill. Expert soldiers equipped with state-of-the-art weapons had been chewed up like hamburger meat. A few cadets with plinking rifles weren’t likely to make much of a difference against a horde of the infected. Still, a few rifles pointing at the enemy were always better than none.

“Position all four on this side of the bridge. If the enemy tries to come across or block our retreat, it’ll be up to those cadets to stop them.”

Captain Artz nodded. “I’ll go with them to ensure that it’s done right.”

Mason straightened up and turned to the other three cadets. They all looked so damn young. What he was asking them to do was what countries had recruited young men and women to do for centuries. The idea, however true or false, was that lack of experience could be made up for with energy and blind courage.

“Rodriguez, Cobb, Bell,” he said, meeting each cadet’s stare, “Captain Artz has put you under my command for this mission. That means that you do what I tell you to do. Anyone have a problem with that?”

No one said anything, but Rodriguez cracked a smile that left little doubt that he was going to be trouble.

“We have two objectives,” continued Mason. “The first is to discover what happened to Commandant Franks and the four cadets.”

“By ‘discover,’ we assume you mean rescue,” said Lieutenant Bell.

“If they’re still alive, yes.”

She nodded. “Just making sure we’re on the same page.”

“The second objective is to locate munitions, specifically .50 caliber BMG ammunition, as well as rifles and ammunition for the Corps.”

Everyone nodded. That objective needed no clarification. Without more firepower, it was only a matter of time before something came along and wiped them out.

Mason turned back to Artz.

“We’ll need a truck. Something big.”

“Will that do?” He pointed across the parking lot to a faded green M35 two-and-a-half-ton truck.

“That’ll do fine.” The triple-axle, ten-wheel cargo truck was tried and true, and with a hauling capacity of ten thousand pounds on flat roads, it should have no trouble carrying a load of munitions and injured cadets.

He took a moment to examine the three cadets’ weapons. Rodriguez carried a Heckler & Koch MP5K, Cobb, a Remington 700 bolt-action hunting rifle, and Bell, a Ruger 10/22. The weapons looked reasonably well maintained, but of the three, only the MP5K was suited to the task at hand.

“Any of you have flashlights?”

They all looked to Captain Artz.

“Sorry,” he said with a quick shake of his head. “We’re down to a handful that still work.”

“Understood.”

Mason checked his watch. It was nearly two in the afternoon. That left roughly six hours until sunset, plenty of time to search a few buildings. That assumed, of course, that nothing went wrong. If the mission started to drag on, they would have no choice but to abandon the search. He sure as hell didn’t want to get caught in an infected base camp after dark.

“Captain, get the truck ready. We’re leaving in ten minutes.”

Artz nodded and hurried off toward the deuce-and-a-half.

“The rest of you take a few minutes to say your goodbyes.”

“You act like we’re not coming back,” Cobb said with a nervous smile.

“No,” he said, “I’m giving you the courtesy that every soldier deserves before going into combat. My suggestion is to use the time wisely.”

Both Cobb and Rodriguez wandered away to talk with fellow cadets. Lieutenant Bell stayed behind.

“Sir, do you really think we’ll see combat?”

Mason stared into her bright blue eyes and saw as much determination as fear. He’d heard the argument a thousand times about why women shouldn’t be allowed in combat arms. The assertion was that they were weaker and lacked the intestinal fortitude. More often than not, though, he had seen women step up and prove the skeptics wrong. While it was true that they were not as physically strong as their male counterparts, women could more easily dispense with the machismo that often got soldiers killed. He had also found them to be better students when it came to marksmanship training. Like every soldier in his command, he expected them to demonstrate the same valor and grit. As such, he had always afforded them the same respect.

“We’re going into a known hot zone where five people have already gone missing. What do you think, Lieutenant?”

She nodded. “Yes, sir.”

He put his hand on her shoulder and offered a reassuring smile.

“You’ll do fine. You’re already taking the most important step.”

“What’s that, sir?”

“You’re getting your head on straight.”

The deuce-and-a-half’s oversized steering wheel vibrated like an out of balance washing machine as Mason steered the truck down the faded blacktop road. Bowie sat beside him, and eight cadets rode in the back. Both cab windows were down to help with situational awareness, but Mason didn’t really expect to encounter the infected in broad daylight, certainly not on the cadets’ side of the bridge. At his insistence, Leila stayed behind. She had fussed a bit, but given the injuries to her hand and leg, her protests lacked their usual conviction.

Captain Artz had been right about the expansive size of the compound. They had already driven past a hundred sheet metal buildings. Signs hanging out front indicated that a host of private tenants had set up shop, including New River Energetics, Alliant Ordnance, and Appalachian Railcar Service. He also spotted a few of the blast-protected igloos. According to Commandant Franks’ assessment, the buildings on their side of the river contained only ammunition for heavy weaponry. While an M107 high explosive artillery shell could be rigged to do some serious damage, handling the fifteen-pound charge was not something Mason was willing to risk.

As they approached the bridge, he gently eased the truck to a stop, the brakes making a long high-pitched squeak. The bridge was a heavy concrete structure with high side rails and two narrow lanes that stretched nearly a quarter-mile across a channel of muddy green water. There were no vehicles or debris on the bridge, which would make it easier for the cadets to monitor and defend.

He looked through the rear window at the young men and women. All of them looked scared. Good, he thought. Better that than cocky and careless. He tapped on the window, and everyone turned to look.

He gave them a quick nod. Time to go.

Captain Artz and the four cadets assigned to man the bridge quickly dismounted. The captain hustled around to Mason’s door.

“How long do you think you’ll be?”

“All I can say for sure is that we intend to be back by dark.”

“And if you’re not?”

“Then you can assume that we’re either dead or will be shortly.”

He nodded. “We’ll do our best to keep the bridge clear.”

“You do that, Captain.”

Artz gave him a quick salute, and Mason returned it. The gesture felt strange, yet oddly familiar, like shaking the hand of an old friend. The captain quickly turned and began identifying places for his men to take up their defensive positions.