The Reaper: No Mercy Page 18

  To his far left and right, Copp and Falls were laying down suppression fire. Both were now using the M203 grenade launcher to fire for effect, which in military terms actually meant 'with effect'. Each explosive round was taking down or wounding small groups of the marauders that scattered and were running everywhere. On their far sides were Reyes and Hansen; like Sokowki, they were taking out targets of opportunity.

  This was the important part of the overall strategy, which was to continue a hard push in skirmish form to not only drive the marauders east and south, but to also force them to run. It was important for whoever escaped to take to their vehicles and head south on Highway 405. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the triple explosion of the north-bound roadblock going off and smiled in satisfaction. Everything was going according to plan, for once.

  Sokowski heard a grunt in his headset, almost inaudible over the sound of his carbine firing in three round bursts. He knew the tell-tale sign of a man being hit and he crouched even lower, almost melding with the ground as he barked, "Who's hit, report!"

  "Hollinger," came the gasp, and Sokowski immediately looked to his right, seeing his man down. Fuck me, he thought, and gritting his teeth, he sprinted to the man's position while pulling first one grenade from its individual pouch fastened to the side of his harness, then another, as he sent the armed ovoids of death towards the marauders. Explosions rang out as he ducked down near Hollinger and, moving quickly, Sokowski dragged him behind a nearby granite headstone.

  A hole through the chest near Hollinger's left shoulder greeted Sokowski's quick assessment, and he quickly pressed his hand down over the wound to stem the flow of blood.

  "Medic!" he shouted over the net as figures loomed before him. Throwing himself over the body of his man, he shouldered his M4, sighting in. Two, three-round bursts later, he remained down, holding his weapon ready in his right hand while his left continued applying pressure to the wound. Then Phillips was on the scene, his med kit in hand, taking over. Sokowski didn't rise; instead, he rolled sideways to give Phillips room to work and started firing. Anything that moved and was not an obvious hostage was dead meat, and now he was pissed!

  Growling, he rose to his feet and advanced on the enemy while signaling the others still in line to form up. Fuckers were about to pay!

  *****

  Ringo hollered as weapons fire poured in from the north and west. Goddamned soldiers had decided to take a hand—it could be no one else, and Ringo would make them pay. He and his men were crouched on the south and west sides of the buildings or firing from windows within, and it was time to take the fight to the Army boys. He knew there were only a handful of them. Now he pulled his walkie-talkie from his belt and called his boys at the catacombs building. Some of the incoming fire was coming from that direction, and Ringo didn't like that at all.

  "Grady, how's it look over there?" Grady was one of the four men he had guarding the slaves, and the one he had given the radio to. Silence greeted his question, and after checking the frequency to verify it was correct, he yelled again, "Grady! Damnit man, answer me!" Still no response, and Ringo knew then that Grady would probably never answer again. He cast about and saw a dozen of his men firing to the north at figures less seen and more felt, as the return fire was dropping figures all around them. Ringo shouted to them.

  "Don! Take that group with you and kill everyone in the catacombs.” Fuck them. He would finish this now!

  "Got it, Ringo," and then Don was pulling his group together and redirecting them towards the back of the property. As they ran, all fired towards the north causing a brief respite from the attackers, and Ringo was instantly running towards the seminary. As he arrived and slid in through the entrance on his back, one of the women slaves grabbed him.

  "What's going on?" she shouted, and before the young woman could pull back, he'd pulled his revolver and shot her point blank through the chest. Useless bitch, he thought as he ran up the stairs to the bell tower overlooking the cemetery. He had a rifle up there, and while he wasn't that great a shot, he had plenty of ammunition for it.

  *****

  The Reaper was climbing the silo on the west side of the cemetery. After firing his first ten rounds from the warehouse roof and exchanging magazines, he had immediately relocated. A quick slide down the roof brought him to the line he had secured there, and another quick moment had him rappelling down. Now he was over three-hundred-yards south, having sprinted to the new location.

  As he cleared the dome, he swept the snow from its upper surface before removing the small sandbag from his satchel. Then he rested the stock of the Remington 700 against his shoulder and sighted in on the activity six hundred yards away. There, before him, he saw one individual shoot a woman in the head before turning the automatic in his hand to the next one kneeling before him.

  The Reaper instantly fired, and the round passing through the air exploded the devil-spawn’s head. Instantly he was switching aim again. Another shot, and the round left the barrel even as the Reaper was rotating another round in its place. His sight moved and he saw a woman tied to a picnic table, naked in these freezing temperatures, and his heart stilled as he fired once, then again, severing the cords holding her captive. Hopefully, she would make it out alive, but he was already concentrating on the next target, firing again, and sending another rotten soul to purgatory.

  *****

  Hewitt crouched in the stone doorway and watched as McCombs and Dewey set up their M240B machine guns. He nodded in approval as the cans were mounted and the links were fed over the opened breech before being closed. Timing was everything, as it was about to get busy. Both heavy machine gun emplacements had been set up to either side of the small catacomb housing. Hewitt would have preferred to space them out at least fifty yards apart, but he had neither the space nor the time.

  He saw movement and spoke on Blue channel. "Incoming."

  "Hostiles?" inquired McCombs, and Hewitt carefully watched the dozen or so figures approaching. There, he saw guns and then the disheveled forms of marauders came into sharp focus. He grinned savagely as he replied, "Hostiles twelve, two, and three o'clock. Take them out, boys!”

  Instantly the staccato of the heavy machine guns filled the air, but not simultaneously. The two heavy weapons specialists had set up a system of 'talking' to each other. One fired a half-dozen or more rounds before pausing for a few seconds, and during that brief moment the other opened up with a half-dozen or more of his own. The result sounded like continuous machine gun fire, but in reality was a strategy designed to conserve the barrels of the guns. Continuous fire could and would melt them quickly, rendering them useless until changed out, and no one wanted to change a barrel in the middle of a firefight, though they would if they had to.

  The marauders began firing back, and Hewitt instantly ducked around the corner as rounds ricocheted off the stonework around him. "Let me out. Let me out!" screamed a female voice behind him, and before Hewitt could turn around, a form rushed past.

  "No!" he shouted, but it was already too late as the young woman ran shrieking past, only to be cut down by incoming fire from the opposing force. Well that tears it in half, he thought as he activated his microphone.

  "Blue Team, Blue Six. Hostage down, and going in for recovery."

  "Roger that, sir," responded Dewey, and immediately both 240s opened up even harder as Hewitt sprinted from the doorway, his weapon blazing on full automatic. A tug on his arm, then another on his thigh told him this was a stupid move but he didn't care. A civilian needed his help, and he would rescue her. Then another hit, this one harder, and he grunted as he felt the round impact his femur, shattering it, but not before he fell across the broken form of the woman he had come to rescue. Releasing his carbine, and examining her quickly, he saw one GSW, or gun shot wound, in the chest through her dirty, stained blouse and his hand was automatically slapping a quick seal compress down hard over the gasping hole after his other ripped the shirt open. The rounds passing overhead a
nd impacting the ground near him he ignored as, gritting his teeth, he rolled over her, and provided a living barrier. Two more rounds hit his back as he lay there, but he never removed his palm from the compress covering the woman's sucking chest wound.

  "I'm hit. Right thigh and back. Lady is alive but won't last long without assistance. Mop them up boys!" he called, and within seconds his men were moving forwards like ghosts within the woodline surrounding them.

  Russell and Kline were beside him in seconds, disregarding the rounds still incoming, and he winced as Kline tied a tourniquet around his thigh to stem the blood loss. The shock from five wounds was having its toll though, and as his vision dimmed he murmured, "See to the woman."

  "Russell's all over that, Hew. Hang in there," and those were the last words Hewitt heard before unconsciousness descended.

  *****

  Rodriguez saw the bright flashes to his left as the entrance to the catacombs was attacked.

  "Move in Fox Element!" Rodriguez shouted over their communications, and the M-ATV rolled forward, then hit the barricade hard. As they backed up to ram again, another of the MRAPS was suddenly there and hit the barricade alongside them. Then he was thrown forward in his seat again as they rammed against the blockage, simultaneously with the other yet a third time, pushing the bus to one side as they scraped through. The joystick was held tightly in his hand as he fired at the concentrated targets, his .50 caliber rounds punching through their thin sheet-metal, disabling them. He howled in glee as he continued to fire, moving the sights on his display screen from one target to the next!

  "All units, on me. Turn left forty degrees to support remaining Assault One elements. Let's get them, people!" Rodriguez shouted into his microphone as he swept the cannon above his head in an arc, and watched via his screen as the shots destroyed several vehicles trying to get away. At this point, he had stopped counting bodies. His orders were clear. Destroy and demoralize the enemy, and he was quite happy to obey such an order.

  *****

  Rossi glance up as people bearing stretchers ran into the operating room. He ran to the first, a woman, the staff carrying her talking quickly.

  "Sucking chest wound. Single shot and through and through wound." Rossi saw the plastic wrap on her bare chest and assumed another on the back of her figure. She was breathing, but barely. He glanced over at the other stretcher, realizing it was one of the soldiers, and moved in that direction.

  "Status!" His voice was loud and commanding.

  "Multiple GSWs, we barely kept him alive getting him here." Two intravenous tubes were in the soldier’s arms, and as he got closer he saw it was Captain Hewitt of Blue Team. There were three, no, five wounds, and he made an instant decision.

  "Doctor Kerrigan, take the chest. Clean it up and repair the left lung. I'm going to have my hands full here," he shouted as he pulled on the side of the stretcher to move it to the operating table.

  "Yes, Doctor," and Nancy was directing the two men bearing the woman's stretcher to her table. Rossi had no time to waste watching her procedure as he directed the staff before him.

  "Cut the clothes off now! Nurses!" This shout directed at those in front of him, who immediately started cutting away clothing and equipment. Oh Jesus Christ, he thought as he saw the severity of the wounds. Two IVs already in, and it wouldn't be enough.

  "I need six units of whole blood now!" he commanded again as he feverishly worked. Two blood stints were plugged into bleeders that were non-critical as the scalpel in his right hand sliced into the soldier’s abdomen. The exit wound was before him and he dreaded what he would find.

  "Rig for blood transfusion," he ordered, and then Rossi got very busy. He had never been this busy in his entire medical career as he performed miracles while moving with a speed that belied his age. Tonight God was on his side, for he succeeded in saving this life. He backed away from the operating table, his body shaking after finishing the last suture. Hewitt would most likely survive, though it would be close. Rossi had done the best he could possibly do, and as he wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his forearm, another stretcher was being carried in.

  "We have another!" The shout came from the entrance to their surgery, and looking at Kerrigan, he saw she was busy; as his gaze focused on her, she looked up quickly, nodding, then went back to her task. Nancy would be OK and obviously was in her element.

  "Over here," he called out as he directed the orderlies, as he now thought of them, to carefully place Captain Hewitt in Post Op Recovery. A quick swipe with a rag drenched in alcohol sterilized the table again, and another still form was placed before him. Another soldier, but this one not as bad, thank God, and Rossi got to work. There would be more, he was sure, and again he worked as fast as he could, performing miracles with God’s help.

  *****

  Chapter 22

  Janet crouched beside Bill, Ralph, and Scott. They were situated in the southwest corner of the cemetery, and their job was to provide security for the flanking force. She loved the night vision goggles they had loaned her, and was slowly yet continuously scanning the woodline for any zombies. That was her job: take out the zombies that would surely move in now that gunfire was going off in all directions. Behind her, Tom's and Andy's groups, along with a group soldiers, would fire into the cemetery if any of the bad guys tried to escape from this direction. The goal of their force, as explained to her, was to keep driving the marauders east into the parking lot where most of their vehicles were kept. It was in the center of the cemetery and also next to the main entrance, along which Highway 405 ran. Hopefully, and with a little luck, the bad men would head south along that route so they could be ambushed. She was excited to do her part.

  "We have company," called out Andy. Flipping up her NVG's then glancing over her shoulder, she saw him, the man named Bruce, and that Army soldier, Sergeant Schuster, who insisted they call him Shue. Next to the three of them was Tom's group, all arrayed in a line getting ready to fire over the brick wall of the cemetery. They had pulled vehicles up to its side on the southwest half of the property and were using them as shooting platforms. Those firing into the cemetery did not need night vision goggles, for the interior was fairly well lit by flares that kept exploding overhead. She had been warned not to look in that direction while wearing the night vision devices, as the flare in her goggles could blind her, so she quickly swiveled her head back and lowered the goggles again to watch for the undead. Jesus Christ, she thought. This is like a James Bond movie. Except with zombies.

  All of their groups were here, for this was their place, and they would hold it. Ahead she saw shadowy figures moving towards them through the green glow of the NVGs. Zombies! Then she was firing at the creatures as her group opened up beside her. Behind her, the others had also started firing, likely at marauders approaching their position.

  "Hit them hard," Scott shouted from behind, but Janet ceased to pay him any attention as she kept the stock of the AR-15 nestled tightly in her shoulder, firing steadily into the heads of the approaching zombies.

  *****

  Andy and Bruce had an open case of fragmentation grenades resting between them. The wooden crate contained thirty grenades, each resting in its own little tight compartment, and since their aim had been quite accurate the day before, it was decided they could continue providing that support. Right now, both men held grenades clenched tightly in their right hands. Andy, somewhat hampered by the weight of the armored vest he now wore compliments of Sergeant Shue, nonetheless knew his aim would be accurate. Shue slapped them both on the shoulder as he came up between them and grabbed a grenade.

  "You boys ready?" he shouted.

  "Yeah!" both men shouted back. They had to shout, for it was hard to hear over the weapons going off all around them.

  "Throw straight ahead, twelve o'clock with the first."

  "Got it!"

  "On my mark: three, two, one, mark!" and with that Shue threw his own, his arm arcing high overhead. Andy and
Bruce did not throw that way. They pitched the frags like baseballs with deadly accuracy.

  "Grenade!" shouted Shue from behind them, and everyone instantly ducked behind the wall as seconds later loud explosions rang out. All had been carefully coached to duck and cover until after the explosions had occurred.

  Immediately after the roar of high explosives, Andy and Bruce each grabbed another grenade and Shue was commanding them again.

  "Both of you. Ten o'clock, then a third toss at two o'clock. Do not forget to yell out. No one wants to be hit by friendly fire." Then Shue disappeared in the dark and Andy, glancing at Bruce, nodded. Both men rose again and threw two more grenades to their left as Andy hollered, "Grenade!" and again, all ducked quickly behind the stone wall.

  *****

  CWO-2 Winters cursed, diving to the ground behind a clump of trees when he saw the ovoid shape of a fragmentation grenade flying towards his position. He hated it when the enemy had the damn things. Already the team was down three men and being pressed hard. The marauders wanted their captives back, and were making every effort to get to them.

  Captain Hewitt had been medivac'd, along with the woman captive who had been wounded during the initial exchange of gunfire. Winters had assigned four men to carry them to the rear gate where they were passed into the waiting hands of the civilians there. Medivac teams had been set up behind all the assault, hold and infiltration positions in case wounds suffered were too severe to be treated there. Both of those had wounds too severe for field triage; Winters already missed the Captain. Two other team members had suffered wounds, and were now below with the others, being treated. They were incapacitated but not critical.