John Ringo - Islands of Rage and Hope

So far she had only thrown up once. But she had not stopped watching.

“There’s no doors to close, ma’am,” Januscheitis radioed.

“Say again, over?” Faith said, holding her earbud to try to hear over the continuous fire. She was firing a pistol one-handed while she held it.

The fricking infected were swarming from EVERYWHERE. Every corridor was choked with them and the Marines were literally having to wade through the bodies. They also were clocking out on ammo.

The gunny and Walker were back to back pouring fire in both direction. She’d heard her sister talking about the “civilian shooter” who turned out to have been “someone” but even Sophia had never seen him in a serious battle. The little shrimp was a fucking machine . Every shot was a head shot; he was getting pretty much thirty infected for every magazine. Even the Gunny wasn’t that good. ’Course, it was good he was a machine, since there were too many fucking infected. Finally the latest tide receded but they could hear more closing in.

“This building has all glass at the bottom, ma’am,” the staff sergeant radioed. You could hear continuous fire from Condrey’s Singer in the background. None of this “five-round burst” shit. “ We’ve gained the lobby. Multiple panes are gone, ma’am. They’re pouring in. Estimate over one thousand infected in view, street is choked…. We’re only holding this balcony ’cause of the two-forty.”

“Seahawk,” Faith said, thinking about the map. “I need fire on all approaching infected on St. John Street. All teams, this is an abort; hold positions, prepare to extract. Anybody stuck?”

“Team six,” Hooch called. “ We’re on the third floor, east. We’ve got overwhelming force both ways and we’re clocking out.”

“All teams, move towards third floor, east to extract team six,” Faith said.

“Belay that order, Lieutenant,” Hamilton said, cutting in on the command channel. “ Pull your teams out and head for the roof.”

“Stand by, all teams. Hold current positions,” Faith said, switching frequencies and reloading at the same time.

“Sir,” Faith said. “Did you just override your ground commander, sir?”

“You need to extract what you can, Lieutenant,” Hamilton said. “ With the entire ground floor open to infiltration there are approximately six million infected heading to your location and you cannot fight that, Lieutenant. When you’re down to fifty Marines, total, ‘leave no Marine behind’ is not the way to handle it. As your father said, we cannot afford an Iwo Jima. You need to extract while you still can.”

“Understood your order, sir,” Faith said, scrabbling for a magazine. “Understood the reasoning. Do not concur. We can push to Hooch’s position. I’m on fourth floor, central. I can make it. So can Janu and the Dutch Marines. We assemble on his position, cross-load ammo and blow our way to the roof. We can do this, sir. And, sir, if we lose every last Marine in this building, sir, you just got an infusion of seventy Gurkhas, sir. People die , sir. But honor does not. And if we don’t have honor, sir, what do we have left ? A planet of death and misery and blood and shit. That’s all we’ve got, sir. And if that’s all we’ve got, what’s the fucking point ? If you want to throw my HONOR on that pile, sir, I respectfully resign my commission, sir. And I will fucking well fight my way through to Hooch BY MYSELF!”

“Lieutenant, I appreciate your passion. The order stands. Gunnery Sergeant Sands, if the lieutenant does not obey the order, you will remove her from the building by force if necessary.”

“Like hel—! ” Faith started to scream when Walker shut off her radio then caught her arm before she could strike back.

“Belay that,” Walker said quietly.

Faith, under the best of circumstances barely capable of discipline, dropped her arm and nodded.

“Yes, sir,” Faith said, looking at him curiously.

“Mr. Under Secretary, are you up on this frequency?”

“Yes,” Galloway replied.

“Ensign, turn your helmet cam on me ,” Walker said, just as quietly. His demeanor had changed to anything but laid-back. Despite wearing Army gear, until that moment he’d still been “Mr. Walker,” surprisingly good at all sorts of things, especially combat, but in some fashion easy to overlook. Unless you knew him, you hardly noticed him.

Now, he seemed to fill the corridor. Barely five two, he suddenly seemed taller, broader. Without any discernible change, he was suddenly the center of attention.

He reached into a pouch and started pulling out velcro patches, slapping them rapidly onto spots on his armor and uniform. Pathfinder, Master Parachutist’s Badge, Scuba Badge. Combat Infantry Badge, two stars. Joint Special Operations patch, left shoulder. An odd and very rare patch that looked a bit like the SAS badge, right shoulder.

Last, he pulled out two strips of cloth and slapped one on his helmet and one on the front of his body armor.

Each strip bore three black stars.

“Activating at this time, Mr. Under Secretary,” the lieutenant general said. “Assuming command of this mission.”

“General on deck!” Gunnery Sergeant Sands said.

“As you were,” the general replied, potting an infected offhand, left-handed, while returning the salute. “That means cover us while we work this plan, Gunnery Sergeant.”

“Do I get to know who this general is who just popped up in my command, ma’am?” Steve said. “You said you were aware of him.”

“Lieutenant General Carmen Montana,” General Brice said, speaking rapidly. “Handle: Skaeling, Translation: ‘He who walks as death in the night.’

“Seventeen years enlisted Army Special Operations, mostly Delta, directly promoted captain from sergeant major after Mogadishu. Actions in Mog still classified, awarded Distinguished Service Cross to be considered for upgrade to Medal of Honor after declassification. Additional twenty years officer. Former commands: Delta Force, Fifth Special Forces Group, Joint Anti-Terrorism Task Force, Army War College, and Joint Special Operations Command. Turned down SOCOM and retired. More medals than Audie Murphy. Speaks something like thirty languages fluently. Parachuted solo into Dagestan under cover on Nine-Twelve. He was sixty-three at the time. The rest would take hours. Questions?”

“No, ma’am,” Steve said. “Not even terribly surprised.”

“Bottom line: He outranks everyone but Mr. Galloway. Pre-Plague Joint Chiefs and SecDefs stood up when Night Walker entered the room. I’m not going to argue with him because I know he knows what he’s doing.”

“You’re a vice admiral ?” Sophia spluttered. “ Sir? I was thinking chief, maybe colonel!”

“Lieutenant general, Ensign,” said “Walker,” reloading. “My last name is actually Montana. My first name is General . Do you understand that, Colonel?”

“Yes, sir,” Hamilton radioed.

“Primary mission abort,” General Montana said. “Do need to extract . No one left behind. Shall make it out. All of us. Time to unpack my adjectives. Lieutenant Smith, call the plan: They know your voice.”

“Yes, sir !” Faith said, changing back to the platoon frequency. “All teams fifth floor and above, move to the roof and extract by helo. All teams below fifth floor, converge on floor three, east. If you get stuck, don’t worry, take open order, lie down and sit tight. We will come for you…”