Slaughterhouse

TWENTY-EIGHT.

“Wizard, this is Six. Over.”

“Six, this is Wizard. Go ahead. Over,” Walker said.

Walker sat in the command Humvee, which had moved forward with the rest of the battalion to stage at the intersection of Tigris Valley River Road and Korengal Valley Boulevard. They were just over half a mile from the divisional command building, Hays Hall.

Bodies were strewn everywhere, and destroyed vehicles and parts of vehicles littered the landscape. Buildings were aflame, casting flickering shadows that danced across the terrain. The firelight reduced the effectiveness of their night vision goggles, but Walker was convinced the lightfighters still had the fighting edge. The din of combat was everywhere, and while he couldn’t see the front lines, Sergeant Major Turner’s element had been able to identify the forward line of troops.

Hays Hall was surrounded by shipping containers and truck trailers that essentially formed a physical wall around the brick building. Defenders manned battlements overlooking hastily built funnel zones and choke points, areas that forced the enemy to bunch up and form easily engaged targets. Turner’s report had been backed up by video surveillance from the Raven aerial reconnaissance platforms, which showed that thousands of Klowns had already been killed. But Hays Hall seemed to be defended by far less than two hundred troops, maybe not even a hundred, and the enemy was able to dictate the tempo of combat. The siege was coming to an end, as it appeared that the defenders were simply running out of ammunition.

“Wizard, contact Mountaineer. Advise them that we’re about to join the party. They’re to orient as many fires to the south as they can and avoid engaging enemy formations to the east the north. We’ll hit the enemy on those flanks. Over.”

“Six, this is Wizard. Roger that. Can you give me a time? Over.”

“Wizard, this is Six. Five minutes. Break. Thunder, this is Six. Over.”

“Six, this is Thunder. Over.” Thunder was the officer commanding the mortar platoon located on the other side of Fort Drum Road, more than two miles away. Their six mortar units had already been stood up and dialed in as best as they were able.

“Thunder, this is Six. Stand by to deliver concentration fire. Over.”

“Six, this is Thunder. Ready to fire on your command. Over.”

“Wizard, this is Six. We’re on the move. Make that call. Over.”

“Six, this is Wizard. Roger.” Walker dialed in another frequency. “Mountaineer, this is Wizard. Over.”

Walker repeated the hail twice before he got a harried response. “Wizard, this is Mountaineer. I send ‘shield.’ Over.”

Walker consulted the code book that had been issued to the battalion prior to jumping out for Boston. Knowing how the military mind operated, Walker had presumed the response would be ‘sword’ or ‘arrow’ or something similar. “Mountaineer, this is Wizard. I send ‘Excalibur.’ Over.”

“Wizard, this is Mountaineer. Good to hear from you guys. You must be close, right? Over.”

“Mountaineer, this is Wizard. Roger that, we’re close. Wizard Six has some requests for you. Stand by to copy. Over.”