Nicholas Smith - Extinction Age

A moment of tension lingered and then passed. Kennor wasn’t ready to admit defeat or retreat, but he was toeing a fine line. The frustration of his staff went beyond fatigue. They were all losing their confidence in his ability to lead. He’d seen other commanders fall victim to the same thing, but he was not going to be one of them. He’d made mistakes, but it wasn’t too late to turn this war around.

Kennor looked to an uncharacteristically quiet Johnson. The man had always been a voice of reason. He needed that voice now more than ever.

“What do you think, General?” Kennor asked.

Johnson exchanged a glance with Kramer and Harris. After a pause he said, “I think we need to carefully consider our next moves. With so much hanging in the balance, we can’t afford another Operation Liberty.”

Johnson cleared his throat as if he wanted to say more. Kennor scrutinized him, knowing Johnson wasn’t finished. He could see the wheels turning in the general’s head by his mannerisms. First he crossed his thick arms across his chest, then he twisted his mustache to one side, and finally he tightened his jaw. Kennor wasn’t prepared for what came next.

“It’s time to retreat,” Johnson said sternly. “We need to pull our troops out of the cities completely. Leave only a few recon teams behind.”

“I agree,” Kramer added. “It’s time to give science another chance. Perhaps we need to give Dr. Lovato and her team another opportunity to destroy the Variants.”

Kennor massaged his wrinkled forehead. “Retreat,” he muttered. “I never thought I would hear anyone on my team say that word.”

“Sir, our military isn’t just fractured. It’s been shattered,” Harris said. “We’re strained in every area. I’m not sure—”

A rap on the door interrupted him. The door swung open and a young corporal named Van strode into the room. A bead of sweat trickled from his receding hairline.

“General Kennor, sir. We just received some urgent news,” he said. Van hesitated, looking at the general’s staff.

“Go ahead, son,” Kennor said.

“Raven Rock Mountain Complex.” The corporal paused for a blink and then said, “It’s… it’s been overrun.”

Kennor shifted in his chair to give Van a better look. “What do you mean, overrun? That’s one of the most secure locations in the country. Hell, it’s the alternate joint command and backup for the Pentagon. There are a couple hundred people hunkered down there, including the UN ambassador and the Secretary of State.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Van said. “The Variants found a way into the tunnel system and overwhelmed the forces there.”

“My God,” Kramer gasped.

Silence crowded the small briefing room. The loss of Raven Rock was more than another nail in the coffin; it proved that no location on the planet was safe. Kennor scanned his team. Fatigued and strained, they wore identical looks of defeat.

“Van, I want you to arrange a search and rescue mission. If anyone is alive in there, get them the hell out.”

Van nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Kennor stood, pushed his chair under the table, and looked to Harris. He suddenly felt as weak as President Mitchell, but at least Kennor wasn’t as stupid. His staff had convinced him there was only one option left on the table, and the fall of Raven Rock proved they were right.

“I want a coordinated tactical withdrawal,” Kennor said.

“Are you telling us to retreat?” Harris asked.

Kennor paused, the words burning in his throat. “Yes. Order a full retreat from every city,” he said. “Get our men and women out of there and bring them home.”

With nothing else to say, he turned away from his staff and hurried out of the room. In a sudden fit of rage he slammed the door behind him as he retreated for the first time in his career.

Beckham had just enough time to dart around the next corner before the second grenade went off. The deafening explosion rattled the tunnel, and fragments of rock sprinkled from the ceiling. He closed his eyes and ran through the storm of debris, saying a mental prayer for the innocent lives that had been lost in the lair. In his heart he knew he’d done the right thing. No one should have to suffer like that.

At least they had saved someone. In a time where every life counted, he considered it a victory. Chow carried the woman around the next corner and disappeared from sight. Beckham halted and turned to check the entrance to the tomb. A thick cloud of smoke lingered where the grenade had gone off. Chunks of stone filled the tunnel. He raised his .45 and waited for the smoke to clear.

Beyond the perpetual ringing, he heard a howl. As the haze dissipated, he saw the source—a single clawed hand protruded from the pile. It curled and went limp after a final twitch.

Beckham waited another second, just to make sure, and then ran. His team was waiting at a T-intersection. Timbo was bent over, his hands on his knees, panting heavily. Jinx stood guard in the middle of the corridor. He moved his Beretta M9 in a slow sweep as he searched the other tunnels for hostiles.

“Valdez, you hold security with Jinx,” Beckham said. “The rest of you, take five.” He crouched next to Chow, who was busy dressing the injuries on the woman’s legs.

“How is she?” Beckham asked.

“Weak. But she’ll live.”

He applied another bandage and looked up. “What are we doing, man? We can’t just run around down here forever.”

Before Beckham could respond, the woman let out a long moan.

“It’s okay,” Chow said. “You’re going to be all right.”

She blinked, trying to focus on Chow and then Beckham.

“Where am…” she began to say when her eyes widened with realization. She scrambled away from the two operators, dragging her legs across the platform until her back hit the wall.

“Don’t be scared,” Chow said. “We’re here to help.”

“What’s your name?” Beckham asked.

The woman reached for the curtain of hair covering her filthy face and pulled it to the side.

“Meg,” she whispered.

“I’m Master Sergeant Beckham, and this is Staff Sergeant Chow. We’re Delta Force, and our team is going to get you out of here.”

She glanced over at the other men. “How many are you?”

“Seven,” Beckham replied.

Meg let out a sad laugh. “You can’t save me. We’ll never make it out of the city.”

Beckham exchanged a glance with Chow. Both of them knew she was probably right, but they were soldiers and admitting defeat wasn’t in their nature. Surrendering was death. They had to keep fighting.

“We need to get back up top,” Beckham said as Jensen approached. “If we can find that Marine convoy we passed on West Fiftieth and Seventh Avenue, we can load up on ammo and pile into one of the Humvees.”

Jensen nodded. “I was thinking the same thing, but I have no idea where the hell we are. Could be blocks away or could be miles.”

“Any plan is better than running around in this maze,” Chow said.

“I don’t like the idea of moving in the dark. Maybe we should wait for sunup when the Variants are less active,” Jensen said.

“Not sure we’re going to last that long down here, sir,” Beckham replied. “We’re low on ammo and low on fuel.”

Jensen looked over his shoulder and nodded. “I definitely don’t want to get cornered again without ammo.”

“Then it’s settled. We go topside as soon as everyone has a chance to take in some nutrition and water,” Beckham said. He looked toward Chow. “Redistribute ammo. Make sure everyone has a mag for their primary weapon.”