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Authors: Stephen Knight
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night vision goggles with two spare batteries, enough MREs to get through the next five days — more if we ration ourselves — and water, which we can replenish here. Personal radios with two spare batteries. One satellite phone, three PRC-90s...” Gartrell had written everything down on a yellow legal pad in block letters that were so neat McDaniels thought the list had been printed. He read the list as Gartrell recited it from memory. The Night Stalkers had less gear to lug around, as all of their equipment was mostly defensive, for protecting forward area refuel points where their helicopters would refuel and rearm. The assembly area in Central Park’s Great Lawn had been nothing more than one gigantic FARP, and the 160 th ground control teams had been outfitted accordingly. While their load-out was consistent with the mission they were to accomplish, it wouldn’t sustain them for long if bad things started to happen. The three Night Stalkers had only Heckler & Koch MP5K Personal Defense Weapons, which fired 9mm rounds but were limited by a fairly short range. And besides basic soldiering skills, they weren’t especially proficient in military operations in urban terrain, which is what street fighting zombies in New York City most assuredly was.
The Special Forces troops — which included McDaniels and Gartrell — weren’t really all that much better off. The heavy weaponry, such as the M249 machine guns, had been lost when CW3 Keith’s helicopter had crashed during takeoff in Central Park. Not that the weapons were a key concern. The loss of the lion’s share of a Special Forces Alpha Detachment and all the skills associated with it were what weighed heavily on McDaniels now. As things stood, he just didn’t have enough manpower to go around.
“Major?”
McDaniels looked up from the list, a little annoyed. After what had happened between them in Afghanistan, Gartrell consciously avoided calling him “sir” whenever he could. It was always “major”. And that bothered McDaniels more than he would like to admit, even to himself.
“I got what you said, it’s all here.” McDaniels tapped the pad. “Sounds like we’re good for the time being, so long as we don’t get decisively engaged. But we need to start making some noise and see if we can’t get the hell out of here.”
Gartrell nodded, and waved toward the cube farm behind McDaniels. The two men stood at a long row of filing cabinets while the rest of the troops sat near the reception desk on office chairs. There was no need to keep them on their feet the entire time, and everyone’s dogs were already tired to begin with.
“We tried several phones, but there are no working lines outside. We can dial extensions inside the building, though, so the PBX is still up. But there’s something up with the connection outside the building. Cell phones don’t work either — I tried mine. Could be anything, so I doubt we can fix it ourselves. SATCOM is going to be our only bet.”
McDaniels snorted. He had his own cell phone in his pocket, and he hadn’t even thought of it. He pulled it out from behind his body armor and checked it out. He had signal, but when he tried to place a call, all he got was a quick beep followed by silence. CALL FAILED flashed on the display.
“How inconvenient,” he said. He cleared the display and caught the time. He verified it against his watch.
“We went down in ROMEO fifty-three minutes ago,” Gartrell said. McDaniels smiled slightly. While all Special Forces soldiers were nicknamed “Jedi Knights”, there was no doubting First Sergeant David Gartrell was Obi-wan Kenobi himself.
“Good to know one of us still has his head in the game,” McDaniels said. “Thank you for staying frosty, first sergeant.”
“Someone has to provide timely adult supervision, sir. That’s why USASOC sent me.”
McDaniels couldn’t tell if Gartrell was being insulting or if it had been an offhand quip. He decided he didn’t
The Special Forces troops — which included McDaniels and Gartrell — weren’t really all that much better off. The heavy weaponry, such as the M249 machine guns, had been lost when CW3 Keith’s helicopter had crashed during takeoff in Central Park. Not that the weapons were a key concern. The loss of the lion’s share of a Special Forces Alpha Detachment and all the skills associated with it were what weighed heavily on McDaniels now. As things stood, he just didn’t have enough manpower to go around.
“Major?”
McDaniels looked up from the list, a little annoyed. After what had happened between them in Afghanistan, Gartrell consciously avoided calling him “sir” whenever he could. It was always “major”. And that bothered McDaniels more than he would like to admit, even to himself.
“I got what you said, it’s all here.” McDaniels tapped the pad. “Sounds like we’re good for the time being, so long as we don’t get decisively engaged. But we need to start making some noise and see if we can’t get the hell out of here.”
Gartrell nodded, and waved toward the cube farm behind McDaniels. The two men stood at a long row of filing cabinets while the rest of the troops sat near the reception desk on office chairs. There was no need to keep them on their feet the entire time, and everyone’s dogs were already tired to begin with.
“We tried several phones, but there are no working lines outside. We can dial extensions inside the building, though, so the PBX is still up. But there’s something up with the connection outside the building. Cell phones don’t work either — I tried mine. Could be anything, so I doubt we can fix it ourselves. SATCOM is going to be our only bet.”
McDaniels snorted. He had his own cell phone in his pocket, and he hadn’t even thought of it. He pulled it out from behind his body armor and checked it out. He had signal, but when he tried to place a call, all he got was a quick beep followed by silence. CALL FAILED flashed on the display.
“How inconvenient,” he said. He cleared the display and caught the time. He verified it against his watch.
“We went down in ROMEO fifty-three minutes ago,” Gartrell said. McDaniels smiled slightly. While all Special Forces soldiers were nicknamed “Jedi Knights”, there was no doubting First Sergeant David Gartrell was Obi-wan Kenobi himself.
“Good to know one of us still has his head in the game,” McDaniels said. “Thank you for staying frosty, first sergeant.”
“Someone has to provide timely adult supervision, sir. That’s why USASOC sent me.”
McDaniels couldn’t tell if Gartrell was being insulting or if it had been an offhand quip. He decided he didn’t
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