Stephen Knight - Slaughterhouse

“Wanna check our work, sir?” Muldoon asked.

Lee walked up to the two M939 trucks the element had secured in the 10 thSustainment Brigade’s motor pool. Corpses had been tied to the front of each vehicle and battered with crow bars to give the trucks a look that roughly approximated the modes of transportation the Klowns seemed to favor—bloody urban chariots. It had been grisly, heinous work, and Lee doubted he would ever feel clean again, even after a dozen scalding-hot showers.

But each truck also had some welcome additions: four Claymore mines attached to their bed side rails, two on each side. The convex-shaped mines were directional weapons loaded with C4 high-explosives that propelled a series of seven hundred steel pellets outward in a sixty degree arc, like a shotgun blast on steroids. The mines were positioned roughly five and half feet off the ground, and their effective kill radius of fifty meters promised to turn dozens of Klowns into just so much human garbage if they got close enough.

Which, of course, they would. Lee was counting on that. Once the crazies got inside the effective range, the mines would be command detonated from inside the truck cabs. It would be a wholesale slaughter, and any left standing would be dealt with by the troops.

The Klowns wouldn’t be expecting that.

“Looks good,” Lee told Muldoon as the rest of the troops drew near. “Everyone clear on how we’re going to handle this?”

“We roll up on the Klowns, laughing our asses off, and get deep inside their lines. Then we go crazy on the crazies,” Muldoon said. “Pretty simple, except there’s about twenty-five of us and about two thousand of them.”

Lee smiled. “Have some faith, Muldoon.”

Muldoon shook his head. “Faith isn’t a very good tactical solution.”

“That’s not so,” Rawlings said, stepping up to stand next to Lee. “We have surprise and an entire battalion staging nearby. You don’t have faith in your battalion, Sergeant?”

Muldoon glowered at her. “Lady, you really need to start getting a handle on this water-walker attitude you like to shop around.”

Rawlings was undeterred. “Have faith, Muldoon.”

“I have faith that the meek will not be inheriting the Earth. How’s that?”

Lee made a cutting motion with his hand. “Stow the bullshit, both of you. Is everyone clear on what’s expected, here? We go in laughing, get as close to the center of their formation as possible, and then we start cleaning house. On our command, Thunder hits them at the same time, and battalion comes in from the north. We pin the Klowns to the south, evac the headquarters troops, and pull the fuck out. Questions?”

“How long do you think we have, sir?” Nutter asked. “I mean, we’re going to need battalion to close on us mighty quick.”

“I figure we’ve got fifteen minutes,” Lee said. “Stay cool, and do what you do best: kill those giggling fuckers.”

The element gave a collective hooah , which Lee accepted with a nod. He motioned toward the trucks.

“Mount up.”

“Wizard, this is Six. Over.”

“Six, this is Wizard. Go ahead. Over,” Walker said.

Walker sat in the command Humvee, which had moved forward with the rest of the battalion to stage at the intersection of Tigris Valley River Road and Korengal Valley Boulevard. They were just over half a mile from the divisional command building, Hays Hall.

Bodies were strewn everywhere, and destroyed vehicles and parts of vehicles littered the landscape. Buildings were aflame, casting flickering shadows that danced across the terrain. The firelight reduced the effectiveness of their night vision goggles, but Walker was convinced the lightfighters still had the fighting edge. The din of combat was everywhere, and while he couldn’t see the front lines, Sergeant Major Turner’s element had been able to identify the forward line of troops.

Hays Hall was surrounded by shipping containers and truck trailers that essentially formed a physical wall around the brick building. Defenders manned battlements overlooking hastily built funnel zones and choke points, areas that forced the enemy to bunch up and form easily engaged targets. Turner’s report had been backed up by video surveillance from the Raven aerial reconnaissance platforms, which showed that thousands of Klowns had already been killed. But Hays Hall seemed to be defended by far less than two hundred troops, maybe not even a hundred, and the enemy was able to dictate the tempo of combat. The siege was coming to an end, as it appeared that the defenders were simply running out of ammunition.

“Wizard, contact Mountaineer. Advise them that we’re about to join the party. They’re to orient as many fires to the south as they can and avoid engaging enemy formations to the east the north. We’ll hit the enemy on those flanks. Over.”

“Six, this is Wizard. Roger that. Can you give me a time? Over.”

“Wizard, this is Six. Five minutes. Break. Thunder, this is Six. Over.”

“Six, this is Thunder. Over.” Thunder was the officer commanding the mortar platoon located on the other side of Fort Drum Road, more than two miles away. Their six mortar units had already been stood up and dialed in as best as they were able.

“Thunder, this is Six. Stand by to deliver concentration fire. Over.”

“Six, this is Thunder. Ready to fire on your command. Over.”

“Wizard, this is Six. We’re on the move. Make that call. Over.”

“Six, this is Wizard. Roger.” Walker dialed in another frequency. “Mountaineer, this is Wizard. Over.”

Walker repeated the hail twice before he got a harried response. “Wizard, this is Mountaineer. I send ‘shield.’ Over.”

Walker consulted the code book that had been issued to the battalion prior to jumping out for Boston. Knowing how the military mind operated, Walker had presumed the response would be ‘sword’ or ‘arrow’ or something similar. “Mountaineer, this is Wizard. I send ‘Excalibur.’ Over.”

“Wizard, this is Mountaineer. Good to hear from you guys. You must be close, right? Over.”

“Mountaineer, this is Wizard. Roger that, we’re close. Wizard Six has some requests for you. Stand by to copy. Over.”

The two trucks drove through the night, heading toward the glow of combat in the center of Fort Drum. Lee had ordered Murphy to drive a bit erratically, as if he were under a tremendous laughing spell. Silhouetted against the glow of the headlights, Lee could see the head of one of the corpses strapped to the grille lolling back and forth, its hair matted down beneath a paste of dried blood and gore. The stink of death was everywhere. Lee didn’t know how they were able to do it, but the soldiers in the back hooted and howled, acting infected.

They began to roll past groups of Klowns. The soldiers in the back cackled madly, and the Klowns laughed back, raising their weapons and waving them in the air. Lee saw uniformed military among them, but most appeared to be civilians. The truck jounced a bit as it rolled over a body.

“Getting kind of weird, sir,” Murphy said.

The Klowns were using torches and bonfires to light up the night, and sparks wheeled about in the air. The stench of burnt meat reached them, accompanied by screams. Lee looked to the right and saw living soldiers—presumably uninfected—being burned alive. They’d been tied to office chairs and plopped in the middle of large bonfires.

“Weird isn’t the word I would use, Mike,” Lee said after a moment.

More like nightmarish. It was hard to keep up the laughing act after witnessing that.