“It’s important for our men to know that we will be there for them, no matter what,” Jake said. “We might shoot the fucking bastard for going AWOL after we rescue him, but I’m not about to abandon him to some gang. We’re going to go get him.”
“You sure you don’t want me to ask Jefferson about this?”
Jake gritted his teeth. “Your boss has been very hospitable to us and we’re thankful for his generosity. But given the circumstances, I’m not asking for his permission. We’re doing this with his blessing or without. We don’t leave our men behind.”
“Goddamned right we don’t, sir,” Turner said, smiling approvingly. “Rangers Lead the Way.”
“Rangers Lead the Way,” Jake replied. He wasn’t sure, but he felt like he’d just hit a turning point with Sergeant Turner. The old NCO had never questioned his decisions or denied that he was in charge, even after Jake had gone AWOL with Sidney from Fort Bliss. But Jake got the sense that it was always simmering just below the surface that the man was ready to step in and override Jake’s authority.
That feeling evaporated. He’d passed Sergeant Turner’s test. He was truly the platoon’s leader now, not just in title, but by virtue. They would rescue Grady Fucking Harper, return him to Jackson Jefferson, and try to unfuck America.
20
BRAZILIAN HIGHLANDS RAINFOREST, BRAZIL
MARCH 7TH
Hannah stood, balancing herself precariously on the heavy duty straps that were woven loosely together to form the C-130’s passenger seating. The crew chief had announced they’d entered Brazilian airspace and she wanted to see what was below them. She lifted herself up onto her toes to see the upper canopy of the jungle speeding by below. It was beautiful. Too bad she knew what really lurked beneath the foliage.
“See anything, ma’am?”
“Huh?” she asked, turning around to see the young sergeant, Pollard, across the way looking intently at her.
“I asked what you can see out the window.”
She gripped the metal cable that ran the length of the fuselage for support and stepped down. She sat and said, “Nothing but jungle.”
He nodded, leaning back. Hannah wondered if that was the extent of his conversation. He’d sat almost directly across from her for six hours while they were flying, including the in-air refuel operation, without saying a word to her. He was the guy who’d led the assault that reestablished communications between Holloman and Fort Bliss. That was a major accomplishment for a sergeant, a very young one at that.
“So, what’s your story?” she yelled over the roar of the big engines. He didn’t seem to hear her, so she reached across the small aisle and tapped his knee. When he looked at her, she repeated the question.
“I don’t know, ma’am. I’m just trying to survive day-to-day.”
The kid wasn’t a talker. She could accept that. “Are you a part of the unit that got tasked to come down here or are you an advisor or something?”
He pointed to a specialist on his right who’d been asleep from the moment they took off. “Nope. I’m just lucky enough to be in one of the platoons that got tasked with assaulting the facility.”
“Lucky you.” Hannah struggled to think of something else to say, but she gave up on it. He was one of the only people who’d been beyond the walls of Fort Bliss after they locked it down, so he knew about moving amongst the infected instead of just shooting at them from atop the wall. If things went south, she wanted to be near him, but he wasn’t interested in talking to the crazy immune lady who’d lived out with the infected for a year and bore the scars to prove it. At twenty-nine, her face bore wrinkles of worry and streaks of gray shot through her once vibrant blonde locks. Added to the visible aging that had occurred, her joints ached from the combination of constant walking she’d endured and the infection from the virus that coursed through her veins.
“Okay…” Hannah leaned back against the fuselage, closing her eyes against the headache that the constant roar of the C-130’s engines had caused. She wondered idly if the sergeant was one of the anti-immune people she’d heard whisperings about. There was some type of movement gaining traction that believed the immune were no better than the infected and were ticking time bombs. Hell, maybe we are, Hannah thought, squeezing her eyes tighter.
Before long, the engines changed pitch and she felt the plane bank in a wide arc. She pressed her feet to the floor and reached back for the shoulder harness. Stupid, Hannah chastised herself. She knew better than to sit in a military aircraft without being strapped in. The pilots could make any sort of movement without alerting the passengers and she could have ended up on the other side of the plane, or worse.
They stayed in the turn for a full two minutes, which meant they were circling, probably surveying the runway at the facility to see if it was safe to land. There was an airport about ten miles from the target that Colonel Tovey’s folks had found in case they couldn’t use the one below. She hoped the small strip would be okay, because she really didn’t want to have to travel overland through the jungle…again.
The plane straightened out and the interior lighting
