Tooth and Nail by Craig DiLouie Read Free Book Online Page B

to collect and pass around intelligence about the riot. War Hammer (Alpha Company) is requesting a medevac for a grenadier who got his ear bitten off by a Lyssa victim. Warmonger (Bravo Company) is asking the last calling station to authenticate its identity.
    He switches to civilian traffic, looking for more information about the riot. The authorities provided more frequencies than normally needed based on the extreme nature of the epidemic, and he has access to everything. The police are aware of the riot but cannot scrape together enough manpower to do anything about it. A fire is also raging in a warehouse in Queens but there are not enough firefighters to respond to the call. Police units are overwhelmed with domestic disturbance calls and looting. Violence is reported inside Lyssa clinics and one of them has apparently been firebombed with Molotov cocktails. Despite several major arteries in the City being blocked off for official vehicles only, traffic has virtually ground to a standstill almost everywhere.
    Sherman laughs to himself: The voices on the SINCGAR, while edgy and tense, could still make the Apocalypse sound like just another logistical foul-up. Glancing at his watch, he switches back to the company frequency for a commo check. He hears:
    War Dogs Two, War Dogs Two, this is War Dogs, how copy, over? Sherman recognizes the man’s voice at the other end. It’s Doug Price, Captain West’s RTO. He fires back, chewing on hot chocolate powder: “War Dogs, this is War Dogs Two, I copy, over.”
    War Dogs Two, message follows, over.
    He takes out a small notepad and pencil.
    “Roger that. Send message, over.”
    War Dogs Two, I send “Nirv—”
    Sherman can’t hear for a moment; men are shouting in the background and it sounds like somebody is shooting a rifle.
    “Negative contact, War Dogs. Say again, over.”
    I send “Nirvana.” How copy? Over.
    “That’s a good copy, War Dogs; I copy ‘Nirvana.’ Wait one, over.” He looks up “Nirvana” on his code card, his cheat sheet for routine communications requiring encoding, but it’s not there. He digs out his mission code book and looks up the term.
    It means: “Unit is under attack.”
    Sherman coughs on hot chocolate powder. He takes another swig of Red Bull to clear his throat and lights a cigarette, thinking for a moment. Who would be stupid enough to attack a platoon of heavily armed U.S. infantry in Manhattan in the middle of the night? But there it is: an authentic message from the company commander, announcing that the company HQ and First Platoon is under attack.
    He says, “Roger, War Dogs.”
    War Dogs Two, this is War Dogs, second message follows, over. “Standing by to copy, over.”
    I send “Motorhead Slayer November Sierra Oscar November,” over. “War Dogs, I copy ‘Motorhead Slayer November Sierra Oscar November,’” Sherman says, scribbling the message in his notepad. “Wait one, over.”
    He looks up the code, translating: “Rendezvous at our location at ohseven-thirty.”
    LT needs to hear this message right away.
    “Roger that, War Dogs. Stand by. Wait, out.”
    Jake? Jake, are you there?
    Sherman tenses for a moment, unsure how to answer this breach of protocol. Finally, he says, “Yeah, I’m here, Doug.”
    Be careful coming over here, okay? There are thousands of them. “Thousands of who?”
    Somebody lied to us, Jake.
    The radio screeches, making him flinch.
    War Dogs, this is Quarantine. Clear the fucking net.

A place we can hold up while the world ends
    “That’s it,” says Susan, pointing at one of several rundown-looking prewar apartment buildings across the street. “Home.”
    “Don’t worry,” says Boyd, trying to put on a brave face.
    He cannot understand why he is so scared. He’s a soldier. He has seen men die. He’s even killed some himself. Well, at least the one that he is sure about. He has a locked and loaded carbine and should not be afraid of one homicidal but weaponless guy tearing