Chapter 9 My ears were ringing from the blast, and I felt blood pouring out of my nose. I sat up, and then fell back down when everything swam in circles in front of me. I took a minute to catch my breath and let everything steady, then slowly raised myself up again, pulling on the tree truck to help myself back to a sitting position. Then I looked down at the firing line. The bodies of four, no, five people were visible, not moving. Alys crawled towards me, away from a smoking crater, the radio on his back a smoking ruin. The line of bunkers, and the wall we had built, was smashed flat where it wasn’t upended. I saw another soldier, I think it was Esposito, though it was hard to tell, trying to stuff his guts back into his stomach. They lay scattered around him, and both his legs were gone. I couldn’t hear him, but I could see his mouth opening in a scream. I drew my pistol, held it balanced on the tree trunk, and shot him. Twice, in the head, from behind. He fell limp. Next to me I could feel the concussion from gunshots. THUMP THUMP THUMP. I still couldn’t hear anything. I raised my rifle and pointed it drunkenly downhill, trying to focus on a target. Any target. I knew the zombies were still down there, and they would be attracted to the explosion. A hand grabbed me by the carry strap on the back of my armor, and started pulling me up the hill, dragging my legs in the dirt. I still felt too wobbly to stand up, and I passed out again. When I woke, Brit was shining a flashlight in my eyes. “Damn, Nick, you gotta stop beating up your head. Twice in four days. I think you have a concussion this time. Not that there is anything to hurt up there. Good thing you had your vest on.” She held up a jagged piece of shrapnel which had apparently torn its’ way through several layers of kevlar before glancing off the ceramic plate on my back. Her voice, which I could barely hear, sounded tinny and robotic. “What, what about the squad?” She shook her head. “Seven dead, one wounded. We have four effectives, not counting you.” “Zombies. Coming.” I wanted to vomit. Not a good sign. “Final Protective Fire, the arty is beating the shit out of them and making a wall of steel in front of us. Evac will be here in fifteen mikes. We’re being relieved by a platoon from the 82nd. Maybe I can get a phone number form one of those cheesedicks, what do you think?” She smiled at me, but I could tell she was worried. The smile didn’t reach her eye, and she kept waving away some red hair the slipped out of her helmet, and readjusting her eyepatch. “Esposito. I shot him.” “Good thing, too. The Z’s made it to the wall, he would have been torn up by them. He was dead anyway, Nick.” “Help me up.” She did and I looked downhill. I could barely hear the artillery, but I felt it through the earth, a continuous vibration. As I watched, rounds continued to burst like clockwork, one every 30 seconds, walking their way back and forth across the foot of the hill. Jim Lock sat with our spare radio, calling corrections for the arty hitting the valley floor. He gave me a thumbs up and turned back to the radio. Behind him, seven bodies were laid out in a row, covered by poncho liners. I stared at them, wishing them to move, but they never would. Dear Mrs. Espisito, I know you and your husband John were only married for a few days, and I’m sorry that the time you had with him was so short. I was against him going on this mission, but he was a fine soldier, and he knew the risks involved. I don’t think I could have stopped him if I tried. I was his leader on this and many other dangerous operations, and his death is my responsibility. I don’t know if I could have done anything differently, but I wish that he were alive and home with you. He was my soldier, my friend, and my brother. He saved my life in Denver, and if I could trade mine for his, I would have. Your husband fought for four days straight, through numerous attacks, and died on the firing line. His death was quick, and merciful, if there can be such a thing. He was never turned into an undead. The last conversation I had with him was about you and how much he loved you. I know these words are small comfort, but he will be missed by all of his team mates. If you ever need anything, please do not hesitate to ask. Sincerely, Sergeant First Class Nicholas F. Agostine JSOC (Z) – Irregular Scout Team One
Posted on: Thu, 22 Aug 2013 20:09:39 +0000
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