Craig DiLouie - Pandemic

“Who knows? The Bug doesn’t survive very long outside the body. Maybe it died before you got that cut. Hell, Wade, it could be anything. But the fact is you aren’t sick.”

“Okay.” He let out a long shuddering sigh. “Okay.”

She snorted. “Is this what’s had you all tied up in knots? God, most of us were wounded before we got here. We were all exposed, just like you. Private Wade, you need to think about more important things. Things like you lost people you really cared about. Like it wasn’t your fault they died. Like you need to keep fighting if you want to survive. Like how much the rest of us need you to be at your best if we’re all going to get through this.”

He nodded and studied his feet. He sighed again, but with relief. “All right.”

“Rawlings!” Fisher called. He stomped into the room, startling the men lying on the floor. He noticed her at the window. “Oh, Sergeant. The camp just let in some new people. They’re telling everybody the Army is bugging out of Boston north of the river.”

“That’s Tenth Mountain’s area of operations,” Wade said.

“It’s the fire,” Rawlings pointed out. “The fire is pushing everybody out.”

“Whatever it is, other refugees are saying the same thing. Units all over are pulling out. Word’s going around the civilians. They’re pissed off.”

Wade checked the window. The crowds down in the stadium were concentrating. Everywhere, angry men and women pointed up at the windows of the athletics department building.

Rawlings paled. “Damn. Anybody who wants to go, we’re leaving tonight. Pass the word, Fisher.”

“Will do, ma’am.”

“Don’t ma’am me, Fisher. I’m not an officer.”

Wade looked at her in surprise. “We’re leaving now? Just like that?”

“Just like that, Private Wade. The situation has changed. You’ve got a few hours to get your stuff together. At oh-dark-thirty, we’re bugging out.” She eyed the crowd. “If they let us.”

Lt. Colonel Lee watched the captains of First Battalion file into the Air Force administrative building. It was time for a powwow.

“Ready when you are, sir,” Walker told him. “The room’s all set up.”

They followed the captains inside. Lee took a deep breath and let it go. There was a lot riding on the outcome of the upcoming meeting—everything, actually.

The men knew his character and service record. He’d served with some of them going back years. Iraq. Korengal Valley. They respected him. But would they follow him?

He let go of his worries. They either would or they wouldn’t. He’d make his case, and they’d make up their minds. That was the best he could do.

The conference room was filled with men: the captains of Alpha through Echo and HQ, the young lieutenants who served as their XOs, and the battalion sergeant major, Doug Turner, who represented the enlisted men.

At the sight of Lee, Turner stood at attention. “Gentlemen, the commanding officer.”

The officers made to stand, but Lee told them to be at ease, taking a seat at the head of the table. The captains, freshly showered and fed, powered up their iPads as they waited for him to speak. Strong java brewed in a coffeemaker in the corner.

“Gentlemen, thank you for your attendance. For the first part of our meeting, anybody below the rank of captain, please give us the room.”

Turner escorted the lieutenants into another part of the building.

Lee planted his elbows on the table. “You’ve all done an exemplary job far beyond the call of duty over the past weeks. And you got your men back safe. Now we need to talk about what comes next. As you know, I have assumed command as First Battalion CO.”

“Congratulations on your promotion, sir,” Captain Marsh of Bravo Company said.

“Thank you, Captain.”

“It’s extraordinary, to say the least,” the man added, his tone deferential but testing.

“That’s because I wasn’t actually promoted. Or appointed to command.”

The men stared at him, their mouths hanging open.

Lee went on. “The chain of command has been completely disrupted. The Bug’s incubation period in some cases appears to be longer than previously understood. Casualties sent to the rear have spread infection. There are now detection kits that can determine on the spot if somebody is infected, but they’re being prioritized to military personnel in Florida and at Mount Weather. In the case of regimental command, all of headquarters was compromised and had to be terminated via airstrike. In the case of divisional command, Fort Drum has gone dark. We’re working on getting eyes on base via satellite, but it’s chaos across the board.”

Lee paused to let all that sink in. Some of the men had families living at Drum.

Marsh glanced at Major Walker. Lee knew what Marsh was thinking. He was thinking the major should have assumed command as the senior officer, but he didn’t believe Walker could get them out of the mess they were in. Lee wondered what Marsh would say if he knew the major shared that sentiment.

“I fully support Lee taking command,” Walker said, putting the issue to bed.

“As a temporary posting,” Captain Sommers of Charlie Company pointed out, “until we get back on the reservation. Right?”

Lee nodded. So did the other men.

“Major Walker pulled you out of the core,” Lee said before they had a chance to come up with any fresh objections. “I ordered you the rest of the way here.”

Hallelujah Hayes snorted. “That didn’t come from the top, either?”

“No,” Lee told him. “That’s on me too.”

Marsh said, “You’re stretching the concept of independent initiative far beyond what’s accepted. We could all get shit-canned for this.”

Lee noted Marsh said accepted , not acceptable . An important distinction. “It’s on me,” he repeated.

“Then God help you. Sir.”

Captain Perez of Delta Company glared at the others. “Who wants to go back into Boston?”

Nobody raised his hand. They knew the city was a lost cause.

“So we’re here,” Marsh said. “Now what?”

“The first step is Fort Drum,” Lee replied. “Retake it if necessary. Make sure our families are safe. Rest and refit.”

“Wait a minute. Boston’s a write-off. We can’t hold onto the real estate. I get that. But there are still civilians here who need our protection.”

“And I have a wife and three kids at Drum,” Sommers said. “Lee’s right. Let Brock handle his people. It’s about time we took care of our own.”

“Our mission is to save Boston.”

“And we failed, Captain. That sucks. But it’s how it is.”

“Tell that to all of our guys who went through hell and died out there.”

“Our mission,” Lee said, “is to save the United States. That’s the big picture.”

“Suppose we got every civilian in one place and protected them,” Captain Johnston of Echo Company said. As a support company, Echo took care of everything from the motor pool to making sure the men got their three squares a day. “How would we feed them? Treat them when they’re sick? We don’t have the resources. We’re down to essentials just for our own boys. We barely have enough ordnance and fuel left to get us to Drum.”

“We could attach ourselves to Brock,” Marsh said, adding quickly, “It’s an option.”

“He’s got eight thousand people in the field, and he can barely keep them supplied,” Johnston told him.

“Besides that,” Sommers added, “he’d just send us back into the meat grinder.”

That appeared to settle the issue. Necessity trumped the moral considerations. They couldn’t protect the people of Boston any longer, because soon, it would simply no longer be possible.