The Retreat (Book 5): Crucible Read online

  “Ask Inveigle to kick back a sitrep when they get near Eyes’s pos,” he said. “If they’re good to go there, they should continue on to their engagement area. Accelerate Desperado’s jump out. We want them to be able to move in ahead of schedule, in case Cassidy and the others are really able to give us an in.”

  “You want us to shift everything up?” Walker asked. He didn’t look happy about it, and the sudden foot-dragging was beginning to frustrate Lee. Everyone was tired and scared, as the battalion had been running and gunning for weeks straight. But now was no time to develop a sudden aversion to risk. At that moment, Lee understood why Walker hadn’t tried to lead the battalion himself. He just wasn’t fit for that duty, and he had been smart enough to know it.

  “Everything, Major,” Lee said. “If Cassidy has a way in, it’s going to alter the entire plan. We have to be ready for that.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  NINETEEN.

  The fighting positions were full of filth, including everything from MRE wrappers to human waste bags that had probably been organized a few times but had since fallen into disarray. Cassidy followed one of the soldiers into a sandbagged revetment that was surrounded by HESCO containers. A narrow, winding passage led up to the fighting position the big sergeant manned, and as Cassidy looked around the revetment’s darkened interior, the sergeant descended down a short ladder. He still carried the SAW and wore his MOPP gear. At his shoulder was the patch of the Third Infantry Division, the major combat unit posted at Stewart. The soldier had to hunch over a bit due to the low ceiling overhead. He regarded Cassidy and Boats for a moment, then looked past them at Muldoon and the others.

  “You, big man. What’s your name?” the sergeant first class barked. Even through his face mask, he had the voice of a career-grade NCO.

  “Muldoon.”

  “You know how to work a SAW, Muldoon? They teach you these things up at Fort Drum in between ski trips?”

  “I know how to run a SAW,” Muldoon said.

  “Good. Before I give it to you, though, I want the first sergeant here to lay one on you.” The sergeant first class nodded toward Boats. “I figure that shouldn’t be a problem for you, right, First Sergeant? I mean, we all saw how lovey-dovey you two are.” As he asked this, he nodded to the soldier who had led the lightfighters inside the revetment. The soldier nodded in return and dropped back, rifle held at low ready.

  Boats watched this go down, then turned to the hulking NCO from Third ID and gave him a thin smile. “Not normally, no. But I get what you’re after, Sergeant.” Boats turned to Muldoon, and his smile grew wider. “Gosh. This is like giving candy to a kid on Christmas Day.” With that, he punched Muldoon right in the side of the head, hard enough to ring Muldoon’s bell. Cassidy let out a long sigh. These two guys were going to kill each other.

  Muldoon grunted and stumbled, but didn’t lose his footing. He straightened after a moment and looked back at the sergeant first class. The man held the SAW in a combat stance, and the soldier who had escorted Cassidy and the others had raised his own rifle. The soldiers from Stewart were ready to blow away the lightfighters.

  “Good enough for you?” Muldoon asked.

  “No laughter, not even a chuckle?” the sergeant first class asked. “Say it ain’t so.”

  “Like I said, we’re not infected,” Cassidy snapped.

  “Muldoon, return the first sergeant’s favor,” the sergeant first class said.

  Boats’s smile evaporated in an instant. “Ah, fuck.”

  Muldoon hit Boats so hard the older man was knocked onto his ass with a shout. He lay there for a moment, gasping before he reached up and cupped his jaw with one hand.

  “Fucker,” he said. “Guess the time for getting fitted for dentures is closer than I’d thought.”

  “Can’t take a little love tap, First Sergeant?” Muldoon said.

  “Okay, listen—” Cassidy turned away from Boats and Muldoon, whirling toward the sergeant first class...just in time to receive the butt of the big man’s SAW as he drove it into Cassidy. Cassidy’s wind left him in a rush, and he collapsed to the revetment’s dirt floor. He struggled for a few moments to take a breath, then finally managed to suck in a lungful of air.

  “Like I said...we’re not infected, but if you beat the shit out of us, we’re not going to be of much help to you,” Cassidy said.

  “Guess the three of you are clear.” The sergeant first class peered at Rawlings, Campbell, and Nutter through the lenses of his mask.

  Campbell pointed at Nutter. “You want me to hit him, Sergeant? He might cry if I do.”

  The big man seemed to consider it for a long moment, then shook his head. “Naw. I’ve never seen any of the crazies hold their shit together for this long without lettin’ out a titter or two. I believe you, Lieutenant. Sorry for the greeting.”

  “We do it, too,” Cassidy said, still gasping.

  “Y’all get to your feet, now. Rakowski, did the other guys get their weapons?”

  “Uh, yeah. Maybe.”

  “Well, round ’em up and return them, okay? These people are gonna need their heaters.”

  “On it,” said the soldier who had escorted them into the position. “You want me to send one of the other guys back in?”

  “Negative. Just bring back their weapons and get back to your position.”

  “Hold on. Rawlings, take Campbell and Nutter and go with that man,” Cassidy said. “I want you guys on the line. Someone’s going to have to bring in the rest of the squad.” He climbed back to his feet as Boats did the same. “You mind if we call in the rest of our team? They’re out there in the trees. I don’t want them exposed for any longer than they have to be.”

  “You think they’re going to be safer in here? We had a company and half of soldiers manning this line, and there’s only six of us left. Well, five, now that Ace is dead. He was the dude manning the mark nineteen.” The sergeant first class waved Muldoon forward and held out the SAW. “Muldoon, go up and take a fighting position. They usually hit us a couple of times a day. You’ll find a clacker up there—we still have a line of Claymores that haven’t been fired off. If shit gets deep, let the fuckers mass and turn ’em into Swiss cheese.”

  Muldoon looked at Cassidy. Cassidy nodded.

  “Do it, Muldoon. And Rawlings, you have orders—go with that man there.”

  “Yes, sir,” Rawlings said. She and Muldoon exchanged glances before she turned and followed Rakowski as he started off. Campbell and Nutter followed.

  The sergeant first class removed his helmet and his face mask. He was a big black man with broad features and small eyes that dwelled deep in his head. There was a healing cut on his left cheek. Cassidy figured that one would leave a hell of a scar. Cassidy glanced at the man’s nametape across his chest protector. ROGERS.

  “Come on, Muldoon. I need you up there now, not in two minutes,” Rogers said.

  “Mind if I gear up first?” Muldoon asked.

  “Do it now, lightfighter. You’re on my time.”

  Muldoon pulled on his mask and hood, and then his helmet. He stepped toward Rogers and took the SAW. Rogers was almost two inches and thirty pounds bigger than Muldoon. Cassidy was frankly impressed. Without a word, Muldoon scaled the ladder and disappeared from view.

  “Sergeant Dante Roger, sir. I’m sorry about the welcome.” Roger extended a huge hand toward Cassidy, and he shook it. The man’s grip was as strong as he’d expected it would be.

  “First Lieutenant Darrell Cassidy, Bravo Company, First Battalion, Fifty-Fifth Light Infantry. What unit are you with, Rogers?”

  “It’s just Roger, sir.” The man pointed to his nametape, and Cassidy looked again. Sure enough, it just said ROGER.

  “You must get confused during radio comms,” Cassidy said.

  “Used to be a problem, with people saying ‘roger’ all the time, but I don’t respond to it. The guys who know me, they just called me R.”

  “Okay. What unit you with, Serg
eant R?”

  “Post Special Reaction Team. Obviously, I’m just pulling standard eleven bravo duty right now,” Roger said.

  “You in command of this emplacement?”

  “No, sir. You are, now. You really have a battalion out there?”

  “A bit understrength now, but yeah. We have a battalion of lightfighters out there.”

  Roger took a knee with a heavy sigh. “How understrength, sir?”

  “We have maybe three companies left, but we’ve plussed up with able-bodied civilians and some National Guard, both from Massachusetts and Pennsylvania. Still a credible fighting force, Sergeant. Don’t sweat that.”

  Roger snorted. “You think a battalion is going to matter much, LT? Stewart is surrounded by about ten thousand enemy.”

  “Yeah well, we’re not here to fight them.”

  Roger looked at Cassidy for a long moment, his small eyes narrowed in thought. He nodded slowly after a moment. “You’re here for her. For the girl.”

  “The girl?”

  Roger nodded. “The lady scientist. She’s young, though. Still pretty much a girl. The one who helped engineer the bug, I heard. You know she’s got an FBI detail guarding her? She’s gettin’ the real VIP treatment.”

  Cassidy felt a flush of excitement start to flutter in his chest. “You’re talking about Doctor Moreau. Yeah, she’s who we’re after. Where is she?”

  “A lotta people are after that bitch, sir.” Roger jerked a thumb toward the exit, indicating the fighting that continued to sporadically pulse in the distance. “Like thousands of people. You know they think she’s like a, a god or something?”

  “Rogers—”

  “Just R, sir. I know how confusing it can be.”

  “Right, right. Sergeant, I need to know where she is. The Joint Chiefs want her, and we’re the only unit in the area right now that has a chance of delivering her.”

  “Well, there were others,” Roger said. “Not all of Third ID was deployed. Some special forces guys dropped in. Even some Navy SEALs. Funny thing, the SF guys got the bug and wiped out the SEALs with air strikes. Pretty interesting. Kinda put a whole new spin on the Army/Navy game.”

  Cassidy could see that the big sergeant first class was about to fall off his last rocker. And while he knew how the soldier felt, Cassidy still had a job to do. Something buzzed near his ear. A mosquito. Cassidy swiped at it.

  “Sergeant Roger. Where is Doctor Moreau?”

  “She was in the officer’s quarters until the crazies started to surround the place. Once they broke through the first line of defenses, we had to move her. Put her in the safest place on post we could think of,” Roger said. “She’s in the DIVARTY ammunition supply point. Ain’t no one gettin’ in there without some serious demolition expertise, not if they want her alive.”

  “Well, God damn. Roger, are you in contact with the post command?”

  Roger shook his head. He reached down and pulled an MBITR radio set from behind a sandbag. “Batteries are dead. We haven’t gotten replacements in over two weeks. And it feels like I’ve been here for four. What day is it, sir?”

  “It’s Tuesday. The tenth of July.”

  “Well, happy birthday to me. I’m forty-six today.”

  “Roger, give me your command group’s radio frequencies and I’ll personally bake you a cake,” Cassidy said. “And if you know how to get to the DIVARTY ASP, I’ll even get you someplace where you can take a twenty-minute hot shower.”

  TWENTY.

  “Divisional artillery?” Lee echoed after getting Cassidy’s report.

  “Fuckin’ A,” Turner said.

  “Sarmajor?”

  “It’s a great spot, sir. Stewart used to house nuclear arty rounds. DIVARTY’s ASP is more secure than Fort Knox and the Federal Reserve put together. And the best part is, Eyes is essentially right next to it.” Turner stood over the map of Fort Stewart and pointed at it. “Right here. Cassidy has to cross about six hundred meters of open space to get there.”

  “Walker, get us imagery please,” Lee said. “Also, verify with Warfighter the frequencies Cassidy sent, and get additional verification that friendlies are still on those channels. I’m not going to contact Stewart in the blind, I want a warm handoff.”

  “On it.” Walker turned back to one of the radio operators who was in contact with Reynolds’s command in Florida. The Merlin was still under Warfighter’s control in Florida, so the request for specific imagery would have to be relayed south down to MacDill or Eglin or wherever the Merlin’s operators were before the system could slew its recce gear onto the point of interest.

  “Sarmajor, if they used to store nuclear weapons in this supply point, can we be reasonably assured that it’s the next best thing to impregnable?” Lee asked.

  “Yes, sir. It would take a hell of a lot of firepower to gain access. And that much firepower is going to do only one thing—destroy the structure entirely,” Turner said. “If the president wants this woman alive, then the klowns can’t logically attack that site and expect to deliver her.”

  “Logic isn’t exactly a klown strong suit, Sarmajor.”

  Turner shrugged. “Understood, sir. But they’re not stupid. If they’ve followed President Gray’s orders this far, they can continue to roll out the line. They can’t hammer the shit out of the ASP and expect to get what Gray wants.”

  Lee nodded and looked at the map again. He needed real-time graphics, not something that a cartographer had drawn up years ago. He pushed the map toward Turner.

  “Any changes here that you might be aware of?”

  Turner nodded. “Yes, sir. But nothing that’s of any tactical significance. A DFAC moved here, the AAFES moved there, that kind of stuff. The ASP is still where it’s marked on the map—too much cost to move it. We can roll with what we have in this regard.”

  “No,” Lee said. “Not good enough. We can get better data than this.”

  “Clock’s running out, Colonel,” Turner said. It didn’t take a lot for Lee to see the old warfighter was starting to rise in the older man. Turner was done running away from the klowns. He wanted to get his pound of flesh.

  “Almost there, Doug. Almost there,” he said. “Just a little longer, then the gloves come off.”

  Turner nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Colonel, the Merlin is being retasked,” Walker announced. “New imagery in two minutes or so, I’m told.”

  “Verification of the freqs and the respondents?” Lee asked.

  Walker held up a hand as he listened to the voices coming over his headset. After a moment, he motioned for patience as he continued monitoring the exchange. Lee nodded and checked the transmission notes taken during Cassidy’s report. The overall site commander was the garrison commander, a Colonel Barker, designation Raptor. A colonel was pretty far down the food chain to be the primary point of contact for tactical matters at the installation level, but Lee had seen what the klowns had done to Fort Drum. That Stewart had fared even worse was no surprise. Lee’s plan was to contact Raptor, get the details of their current situation, and arrange for a coordinated movement to transfer Moreau to his control. After that, he planned on having the remaining forces at Stewart fall back and form up on the battalion. They would march as one unit to Florida.

  Lee wasn’t going to leave the remains of the Third Infantry to face the meat grinder by themselves. He would do whatever he could to get them out of Stewart and on the road with whatever they could carry. From what little he knew, dependents were still on post; it would take a lot of last-minute action to get them all in a column heading south, but certain death was a powerful motivator. It would happen, and it would happen quickly.

  Or it wouldn’t happen at all.

  “New imagery coming in,” Walker said. “Triton is scanning the target now.”

  Lee looked at the single display that framed the results of the UAV operators’ work. At first, nothing changed. The imagery was being processed aboard the MQ-4 Merlin before being tran
smitted over the secure link to the TOC, and it took some time. But when the first images arrived, Lee was surprised by what he saw.

  The artillery ASP was almost completely unguarded, save for a squad of soldiers in two sandbag revetments positioned on either side of the feeder road leading to it.

  “How the fuck could they leave it open like that?” Turner wondered aloud. “I mean, it’s inviting attack—the main door is still open!”

  That was true, Lee saw. The gigantic door that led to the ASP’s interior was wide open. There were signs of ongoing activity; a score of tactical trucks were arranged around the structure, which was essentially a bunker buried into a hillside. Lee knew the trucks were transports that would rush artillery ammunition to the field arty batteries that were still functional. In fact, one of those trucks was in the process of being loaded, which told him that the forces in control of Stewart were preparing to shell enemy formations with concentration fire. Stewart had a sizeable artillery presence, and those elements hadn’t been deployed to the cities in their sector of responsibility. He recalled that Drum’s hadn’t either.

  And that they hadn’t been enough to hold back the klowns. Artillery, the so-called King of Battle, had its limitations. It could only kill what it hit. And as he watched the troops around the ASP preparing to roll out more stock, he suddenly became worried his own elements could be collateral damage.

  “We’re going to need to tell them we’re here, sir,” Turner said, as if reading his mind. “If one of our teams gets caught up in a concentration fire barrage—”

  “I know, Sarmajor. I know.” He looked back at the video. “Open doors...it’s almost like they’re trying to convince the klowns there’s nothing to hide other than a bunch of artillery shells. You ever been inside there, Turner?”

  “No, sir. I haven’t.” Turner paused for a long moment, considering the scene. “But...I’d imagine they kept the nukes separate from the usual high explosive rounds. Probably not just logically, but physically, as well.”