Pandemic

FORTY-THREE.

The forward operating base at Hanscom was stripped down, packed up and ready to roll at Lt. Colonel Harry Lee’s command. Fighting vehicles and their endless train of logistical vehicles, carrying everything from water to fuel to ammunition, lay coiled like a giant metal snake at rest. The big engines idled. Apaches sat spooled up on the runway. A crowd of civilian vehicles, refugees led by a group of police officers and firefighters, waited their turn at the rear.

A small column of Humvees and five-tons rolled into the compound.

“I believe that would be the prodigal son returning, sir,” Walker said.

The lead vehicle pulled up in front of Lee. Sergeant Andy Muldoon stepped out and grinned. “Miss me, Colonel?”

“Not at all,” Lee said. “But I’m glad you’re back. Outstanding results on that mission.”

“Not that outstanding. I lost Burke and Zeller.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“And there’s still a mortar team back there. I requested air support.”

“That’s a no go, Sergeant. We’re about to move out here.”

“Or I could go back and do it myself. Sir.”

Muldoon wasn’t bluffing. Lee and Walker exchanged a glance. Lee nodded, and Walker went off to give the orders.

“Anything else, Muldoon?” Lee taunted. “How about a foot rub and a nice hot bath?”

Muldoon surprised him by saluting. “No thanks, sir. I hear you suck at giving foot rubs.”

Lee shook his head. “Dismissed. Get the hell out of my sight.”

As always, Lee got what he wanted, and Muldoon got his pound of flesh.

Sergeant Major Turner approached with a woman in uniform.

“We picked her up outside the wire, sir. Dead on her feet. She gave us these.” He showed Lee a handful of dog tags—Tenth Mountain. Turner added, “She and a group of our guys fought their way here all the way from Harvard Stadium. She’s the only one who made it.”

The woman saluted. “Sergeant Sandra Rawlings. Alpha Company, 164th Transportation Battalion. The Muleskinners. Massachusetts Guard.”

“Well, Sergeant Rawlings, it sounds like you got a hell of a story to tell.”

The woman blinked at him. She was obviously trying hard not to lose it.

Lee said, “I’ll bet you kicked some major Klown ass out on that road, soldier.”

Rawlings stiffened. “You got that right, sir.”

“Hooah. Here’s the deal, Sergeant. We’re moving out. You have a choice. You can stay here, or you can come with us. We’re leaving Massachusetts.”

“If it’s all right with you, I’ll tag along. There’s nothing for me here anymore.”

Turner escorted her to the medic platoon.

Walker turned to Lee. “I saw her first, sir.”

Lee shook his head. “You’re a real piece of work, Major.”

Walker smiled. “Thank you, sir.”

It was time to move out. The battalion had lost a few good men. Otherwise, it was a good day. They’d won a few small victories, they’d crawled out from under the hammer, and they had a new mission. They hadn’t saved Boston, but they were still in the game. They could still do some good. Somewhere. Maybe Florida. Maybe they’d go there after all and save America from this horrific, unending nightmare.

First, they had to get to Fort Drum.

Lee climbed into his Humvee and gave the signal.