“Thought so,” he replied. “Cooper, work up an air strike request. If we can get a signal out, I want that burst going straight to Holloman so they know where they need to bomb. But, before we go back to the ORP and try to send that message, we need to see if there are any civilians left in the town. Put away your nerd shit, Valencia. We’re going to need your rifle.”
“Just the three of us?” the private asked sheepishly.
“We’re here now, Private. This is what we get paid to do. I don’t want to get into a firefight, but I sure as hell don’t want you struggling with all that gear instead of using your weapon. You get me?”
“Yeah. Okay, Sergeant,” Valencia said, powering down the device he’d been watching before slipping it into his backpack.
“We need to get exact grids on the jamming equipment so the zoomies will be able to take them out,” Pollard said, looking over to the JTAC. He wasn’t there and the sergeant cursed softly, bringing up his rifle.
“Hey, Sergeant Pollard,” Cooper hissed from the opposite end of the building where he’d gone to get a better angle on the trucks.
Pollard groaned at the airman’s initiative as Cooper waived frantically to him. “Stay here,” he grunted, pushing himself to his feet. He’d lay into Cooper for wandering off later.
He ran at a crouch underneath the windows dotting the building’s exterior until he sank to the hard-packed dirt beside the forward air controller. “What is it?”
“They’ve got a SAM protecting the site.”
Pollard frowned. He’d heard the term before, but honestly, he wasn’t sure what it meant. “Where?”
“It’s about twenty meters past this side of the building.”
Pollard edged around the airman to peek around the side of the building. A large, boxy tracked vehicle with three big rockets on the back sat about sixty feet away—the distance from home plate to the pitcher’s mound. He’d been a catcher in high school so he was very familiar with the distance. After observing for a moment, he didn’t see anyone manning the equipment.
The NCO scooted backward. “Okay, what is that thing? Some type of rocket artillery or something?”
Cooper shook his head. “Looks like an SA-6 or an SA-11. We had to learn about SAMs in school, but I can’t remember which one it is.”
Again, he heard the term, but it didn’t register with him. “Let’s pretend I don’t know what the fuck I’m looking at. What is that thing?”
“Surface-to-air missile launcher, Sergeant. It’s here to protect those jamming sites, from us. If a plane gets within a hundred miles of here—maybe two hundred, depending on what system that actually is—the missiles will launch and take it out.”
His simple plan of calling in the grid to have the Air Force bomb the shit out of the location just got a lot harder. “So, what do we do about it?”
“We either destroy the launcher now, or we go back to the base and get a bigger force, Sergeant. Unless we hit the area with MLRS from Bliss, the Air Force can’t risk losing the pilots. A lot them didn’t make it back on base when the infected hit Alamogordo.”
“Shit,” Pollard grumbled. “I was afraid you were gonna say that.”
“Can we use MLRS?” Cooper asked.
“I don’t think so. They don’t keep live rocket pods on Bliss. They have some at White Sands, but that adds another mission with non-combat troops leaving the base perimeter to go get them.” He slapped at the dirt on his knee. “Dammit, I think we have to do this ourselves.”
With resigned determination, Pollard tapped Cooper on the shoulder. “Go get Valencia. We’re going back to the ORP to get everyone up here to take this bitch out.”
6
BIGGS ARMY AIRFIELD, FORT BLISS, EL PASO, TEXAS
MARCH 4TH
“I say again, ‘One person on the helicopter.’ That’s it. It’s just me. The pilot. Número uno,” she deadpanned.
“What is your point of origination? Over.”
Hannah wondered what she should say to that. She’d started this mission in DC, then flew to Japan where they inserted into North Korea, and then across the Pacific to Brazil where here entire team was wiped out by the crazy fuckers that came out of the facility there. “Uh, Mexico?” she offered.
“Mexico? Are you an American citizen? Over.”
“Yes, goddammit! I got stuck in South America and have been trying to get back home ever since the crazies appeared. I finally found a working helicopter in Mexico. Uh…over.”
“Have you been bitten? Over.”
The constant ache in her palm reminded her that she had been bitten, but that was months ago now. She’d traveled too damn far to make it back to the States for some asshole air traffic controller to waive her off from landing. “No. I’m good to go,” she replied.
“Okay, you are cleared to land on Biggs Field at the quarantined helipad site. Over.”
“Uh, I don’t know where that is,” Hannah admitted.
“Do you see Biggs Field? Over.”
“Yeah.”
“There is a large helipad about a mile to the north of the main part of the airfield with a single building. Do you identify that location? Over.”
She looked northwest and saw the location in the distance. “Yes. I see the helipad you’re talking about.”
“You are cleared to land there. Do not attempt to leave your aircraft until the medical team arrives to assess your claims of health. Over.”
“Acknowledged. Over.”
She pushed the bird forward, noting that a crowd of the crazies
