DEAD SOLDIERS-BOOK 1

Dead Soldiers

by J. Davenport

(FYI: This is way rough draft, hoping for feedback and help. I know this will never be published, but it's a personal endeavor for me. There's lots more I want to do with it. For reference this is a book. 278 pages, 86,796 words. There's swearing so just fair warning lol) Thank You!

CHAPTER 1 

      Focus, Brig McGreggor tells herself. She is in a small makeshift gym hanging upside down from a pull-up bar. Three dimly lit overhead lamps cast shadows into the corners of the windowless room no bigger than a single car garage. The porous rubber floor keeps the air heated and moist, reeking of residual vomit stains, the metallic of old blood, and unwashed body sweat from the hundreds of soldiers making use of the facility over the last few months. Brig blows out a breath and rolls up from a dead hang, head touching knees and back down again. Black yoga pants over powerful thighs and calves, long sleeved shirt, weighted vest, and her dark ponytailed hair, even darker from accumulated sweat, soak up the efforts of the last four hours.

      Concentrate, ignore the furry face in front of you. Brig’s military dog, a dark muzzled Belgian Malenois was done patiently waiting for the workout session to be over. Tabitha (T for short), pants in her face, trying to lick Brig each time she returns to the bottom of her sit-up. It occurred to Brig that a large portion of her workouts came from avoiding dog slobber.

      As Brig prepares to ascend again, the door opens on the opposite wall; bright blinding sunlight invades the darkened room. A loud baritone voice reverberating along to Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody booms from outside. She closes her eyes against the light and continues the roll up to her knees as the door slams shut. Michael Masters, aka, Mad Dogg, a bald-biker look-a-like in his early forties, stomps in.

      Stocky and thick-necked, he is wearing military boots over fatigued calves and a black tank top. Loaded with knives, sig sauers at his hips, and MAD DOGG tattooed across the back of his bald head, the biker look was complete. T, excited by the newcomer, prances over to him. Mad Dogg pats at his chest and a delighted T launches her front legs at him, licking his face as he rubs her head and jowls with both hands, pats her sides, then tells her to get down.

      “Mack sent me. You coming to the party or what?” He grunts out, pulling a face at the stench of the room, crossing his arms over his chest, feet apart. Breathing shallow, his sharp green eyes appreciate Brig’s relentless commitment to staying fit, then annoyed at the thought. Wish she didn’t feel she had to so much.

      Rolling back down, Brig looks at him doubtfully, asking his legs, “Is it that exciting?”, then rolls back up. “Hell no, but your skinny ass needs something to eat before they call you up.” Mad Dogg quips, eyeing her heavily muscled physique under the tight clothing. Brig rolls her eyes at the comment huffing out a breath as she rolls back down. Another sit-up, exhausted, Brig pulls herself up on the bar, drags her knees and feet over, dangles for a moment over the floor, then drops. Wiping her hands off from the sweat and dust, she turns and walks towards Mad Dogg.

      She unzips and removes the weight vest, a heavy thud as it hits the floor, earning an impressed arched eyebrow from Mad Dogg. Catching her breath, gagging at the air, wiping the sweat off her face with a towel, “Was that Angus out there singing Queen?” she pants. “Hell yeah. He’s got the whole base going. God damn Pavarotti” he growls, his blonde wiry goatee and eye-roll accentuating his exasperation. Brig shakes her head in amusement; Angus’s loud baritone voice bellowing everywhere is a regular occurrence. But, Mad Dogg’s indignation at his teammates making, even a hint of a happy spectacle of themselves in public, was even more so.

      Breath caught, Brig gathers her gear, a duffle bag near where T was laying before the licking attack, and then hefting the weight vest back up, commanding T to heel, she follows Mad Dogg to the door. “What’s for dinner?” she asks. “Your favorite” he exclaims with a huge grin and twinkling eyes, opening the door for her, pausing to assess her sweaty and horrible smelling body after hours in the small gym, “You might as well shower afterwards the way you eat” he suggests, teasing. Brig snorts. He didn’t mind spectacles if they were private.

Chapter 2

      Mad Dogg walks through the crowded military base. Music blaring, drunk soldiers flailing around playing football, others socializing. Aircraft scream overhead adding to the din. Those soldiers on duty, run around attending to their tasks. Two loaded plates of food in hand, T at his heels, Mad Dogg makes it through the largest crowd, to join a distinguished group of ten older and very experienced soldiers. These soldiers making up a 1^st Special Forces Operational Detachment-Delta team.

      The soldiers sweat in the Arab heat, even under the shade. Loaded with weapons, some cleaning handguns and rifles, others sharpening knives. Most displaying heavily tattooed muscled arms and torsos. The group partake of the celebration, eating, drinking, occasionally getting up and playing a round of the current sports activity, but remain alert, scanning their surroundings with keen eyes. Three other military K9’s lay by their handlers.

      Raymond Mack, a taller, slimmer Michael Clark Duncan, closely shaved, peppered hair, smoking a cigar, sits at the table with Mad Dogg. The karaoke star, Angus Fitzgerald, a huge tattooed Viking look-a-like sporting a long dark brown and salted beard, sits in a chair at the end of their table, wiping a large hunting knife with an oiled rag. “Jesus, Mad Dogg, all that for you or Brig?” Mack asks. “Mostly Brig, she’s been in that stinky-ass gym forever, figured she’d be hungry. If she didn’t lose her appetite from the stench” he informs them, the last after a pause of concern. Mack and Angus grunt.

      The team had landed at the base a little over five hours before. Brig, preoccupied more than usual, had been working out since. The woman was like a little muscled bowling ball of energy. If her mind and nerves were going, so was her body, Mack ponders. However, the rest of the men had taken one whiff of the gym, gulped back bile and left.

      Watching for the hungry soldier, Mack surveys the small temporary base. Four large tented barracks and central mess hall sit on a main path across from a reinforced command center; all encompassed by a twelve-foot tall, cement-stacked barricaded perimeter wall. Thick, earth-toned camouflaged netting layer the tops of the tents and pathways. The quickly assembled compound boasted only a few hundred marine and army personnel patrolling the area with Hum Vs and choppers. 

      The day’s celebrations were a reprieve for the growing low morale amongst the new soldiers just out of boot camp and on their first assignment. The only groups coming and going were special operations forces. The new recruits were growing restless and bored. The tension had been inciting dereliction of duty and pockets of in-fighting among the lower ranks. Or at least that was the story given to the team when they had landed. If Mack were to bet, it was the base commander suffering from the monotony and looking for a distraction for himself. Either way, the impromptu celebration was grating on Mack’s nerves. To boot, another aspiring karaoke star was giving him a headache with his screeching rendition of Lenny Kravitz’s version of American Woman at the other end of the main thoroughfare.

      Spotting a familiar head, “Well shit” Mack mumbles as he spots Brig. Following his line of vision, Mad Dogg, Angus and the rest of the men, recognizing that tone, look towards the crowded pathway. Brig, showered and decked out in clean black fatigues and tank top, two sig sauers at her hips, multiple combat, throwing, and martial arts specific knives, lining the lengths of her torso and legs, hair tied back from her face, cup of beer in hand, makes her way through the throng of drunken and partying young recruits.

      One very inebriated, shirtless soldier, has wondered in front of Brig, harassing her. The group tenses, just making out the soldier’s high pitched “woo-hoos”; annoyed but not surprised by how often the short and sinuous yet, seemingly unthreatening, woman tended to attract trouble. The men exchange knowing and tolerant looks at the impending unfortunate coincidence of the music blaring in the background. She looks like a Halfling from The Lord of the Rings, surrounded by a sea of Orcs, Mack thinks to himself, sighing. The kicker was that she was deadlier than any of the men sitting beside him. Brig could be thinking about her favorite sushi restaurant or the hundreds of ways she was about to kill a man, and none would be the wiser. Pretty sure right now it’s the ways to kill a man. Pulling his attention back from his thoughts, Mack watches.

      Angus sits dead silent in his chair a few feet away, positioning the knife in his hand at a relaxed throwing ready. The rest mimic his unsuspecting leisurely position with their own choice of weapons. Any observers would mistake their postures as barely interested onlookers.  Most capable soldier, female or not. After almost two decades together, still has a team of over-protective big brothers, Mack reflects scanning the rest of the men, most just as quiet. He himself had to fight the instinct to place his right hand on his sig resting on the table. Taken out earlier in a show of cleaning it to have at the ready. On a US base, foreign or domestic. This team never let their guard down. Previous experience had taught them that lesson years ago.

      However, there were some team members, who while prepared for anything, provided the team a distraction at keeping the appearance of unconcerned spectators too obvious. Edwardo Martinez, shaved head, long dark goatee draping from his chin, dark eyes twinkling with glee, his tan pit-bull, Bruno, panting beneath his chair, leans towards his best friend, “How much you want to bet she doesn’t even spill her beer?” he teases. Brian Vega, standard military haircut, sporting his own close trimmed goatee, his German Shepard, Lucy, lounging out in front of his legs, looks at him as if he’s lost his mind, “Who the hell do you think is idiot enough sitting here to take that asinine bet?” he asks. At first dismayed, Martinez rebounds, “Oh right! Hey I should go find a newbie, I bet I could take’em for a hundred bucks easy” he declares, chuckling, rising from his chair. “Sit your ass down” Mad Dogg rumbles. “She’s probably starving. She ain’t gonna drag this out. It’ll be over before you walk two feet” he finishes, eyeing Martinez until he sits back down, crestfallen. Those two are like forty-year-old teenagers. With an apparent gambling problem, as often as they bet about stuff, Mad Dogg reflects, looking back at the crowd surrounding Brig.  I wish stupid idiots would just leave her alone for god’s sake. I think more new recruits have been sent home from getting an ass-kicking from that woman than from actually engaging an enemy. T, sighting Brig, wags her tail beneath him, waiting.  The group watch with hooded eyes.

Chapter 3 

      Across the clearing, Brig stands staring up at the shirtless soldier. Blue eyes throwing daggers. His friends watch the show, heckling each other, but wisely hang back. She had been enjoying the smell of fresh air, albeit arid and suffocating. At least it was clean with the sweet fragrance of food on the breeze.  Seriously? Brig laments to herself. “Hey there little lady, haven’t seen you around” Shirtless Soldier slurs, thrusting his hips at her, spittle flying from his lips. “You need some help finding my bed?” he asks, wiggling his tongue with drunk suggestive eyebrows. 

      Brig can see Mack’s group out of the corner of her eye and signals with a slight eye movement for them to stay put, a hand gesture to T to hold her position. She knows the last member of their group is twenty feet behind her, getting the relay message from Mack. God I’m worn out. Do I ignore this pompous ass or just deal with it quickly? Quick means I can eat in peace.  She studies shirtless soldier’s face for moment, thinking. How does he not recognize the disgusted look I’m sure I have on my face? I am really hungry, she decides.

      “You need help with that broken jaw” she asks Shirtless Soldier.  As drunk as he is, he misses the threatening tone in her voice. “What? Phsshh! But I got something else broken you can fix” he says, leaning his sweaty and smelly chest into her, his mouth reeking of alcohol. The man probably hadn’t brushed his teeth in days, the wafting stench making her bile rise quicker than the gym.

      Standing her ground, Brig looks at her cup of beer, certainly don’t want to waste any over this piece of shit. Ignoring Shirtless Soldier, she takes a long swig of the cold brew, eyeing the level when she’s done. Looking back at the offensive soldier in front of her, she holds the cup away from her body, looks straight into his eyes and whispers, “Brush your teeth” as, BLAM, BLAM, her right fist slams into his jaw in two smart jabs. Not ones of bulking strength, but tightly-controlled and precisely planted. Surprised eyes roll back in Shirtless Soldier’s head. THUMP! he hits the ground.

      The entire crowd erupts in surprise and cheers. Many of the man’s unit a little too eager with their applause. It was obvious they wished they had had the opportunity to lay him out. Without sparing a glance at Shirtless Soldier, Brig steps over his legs and heads straight to Mack’s group.

      The last member of their special forces unit, Lee Tonata advances behind her. A six and a half foot tall, olive-skinned Polynesian, shirtless as well, with large rolling muscles over a thick tattooed torso. A long black shiny beard, and a massive head of curly hair billows out around him like a commercial hair model. He strolls over to the unconscious body, scanning the revelers, “Anyone else want be a drunken ass?” he calls out, turning full circle, large muscled arms out wide. Mouths gaping at the dark behemoth, grunts of no, and shaking heads are his reply.

      The soldier at his feet moves, moaning, and in the silence of Lee’s question, “Ahhhhh, tha stooped bith, broke my daw” Shirtless Soldier announces to the entire base, holding his face. Mack’s group erupts into loud guffaws. Martinez and Vega almost fall out of their chairs, leaning on their dogs for support. The men at both the tables, pound them, hooting and chortling. Lee’s face breaks into a huge grin, his light brown eyes twinkling as he looks to the tables. The four dogs stand up wagging their tails at the sudden excitement.

      Brig, shaking her head in exasperation, “It’s dislocated. Doesn’t the idiot know he wouldn’t be able to talk had I broken it?” she huffs, sitting down at the table under the shade, in between Mack and Angus in his chair, facing the crowd. She eyes and pulls the plate of BBQ ribs, wings, and mountain of potato salad up to her on the table. Picking up a large chicken leg and chomping into it, she gives Mad Dogg, sitting across from her, a look of pure bliss at finally getting to eat.

      Others haul Shirtless Soldier up from the ground, assisting him away from the harassing crowd as Lee takes a seat next to Mad Dogg, across from Mack, at the table. Martinez and Vega grin at him in chairs at the end. “Stooped bith, broke my daw” Lee mimics roaring with laughter, “Not gonna forget that one for a while” he promises.

      “Geez Brig, he seemed like a stand-up guy. “Don’t fight the feelin” Vega jokes with her. Eyebrows arching, she gives him a knowing look, catching his reference. “They call you yuck mouth. And you definitely make my ass twitch” she quips, giving him a wry glare. “Oh!!!!!!! Burn” Martinez exclaims, mouth dropping open, laughing deep and throaty. “Damn dude, she got you on that one” Jason Favreau roars from the far end of the second table. Brown standard military hair-cut on top of a square head and equally thick square body. He usually went by “Catch” since he had an insane ability to catch people or things straight out of the air when he wasn’t even looking in the direction.

      Next to him, “Oh Shit” Andrew Nolan murmurs, a tall, bald and clean-shaven African American, winks back at Brig. He was a man of few words, Mack seemed to be his mentor in that area. The only reason Mack talked as much as he did was because he was the squad leader. Others chuckle at the table, a few of the men snorting drinks out their nose and mouths at her come back. “Little white girl knows her Too Short, Vega” Lee comments, extending his hand out to Brig for a fist bump. Vega’s face turns pink at the ribbing but he’s too busy cracking up at the surprise come-back to care. “I don’t even get how you know some of the shit you do” Vega gasps. “That one wasn’t particularly hard. You’ve played it on repeat for the last twenty years.” Brig professes airily. The six men at the other table laugh hysterically to themselves, murmurs about how crazy and nuts Brig could be. Brig’s eye twitches with self-consciousness for a second, if it wasn’t her kicking ass and being awesome, she was crazy. That was tiring.

      Studying the other table, she shakes her head at the men, three to a side at a makeshift picnic table.  Hansen, blonde, darker trimmed beard, was the fourth dog handler, his German Shepard, Zoey sitting by his side, sitting closest to Lee across from her, Catch and Nolan sitting next to him. Across from them, Raphael Orlando, wipes his mouth from the sprayed beer he had been drinking. The slimmest of the group, which was relative, still believed he was a swarthy Casanova with his dark olive skin and long peppered beard. Next in the middle was Mathew Long, a tall barrel-chested Sioux Dakota Native American, wiping the spray off his arm from Orlando’s beer, with a disgusted look on his face. Straight shiny black hair flows down his back, his face clean shaven.

      The last man laughing the hardest at Vega next to him is Anthony Hutchings. His long blonde goatee and faux-hawk shaking merrily with the movement of his shoulders. He’d earned the nickname “Hunch” years ago since he always seemed to have one. Inhaling a breath to speak, “You know, you could have gone a little more Kung Fu on him Brig” he teases. Mack watches as a slight sadness pulls across her face. “I didn’t want to spill my beer” she tells him. The men laugh harder, Mack snorting a soft chuckle from the look on her face.

      Putting the comments out of her mind, used to them, Brig drinks her beer and continues to eat, handing off pieces of meat to T under the table. She reflected that many of them had all remained together for so long because they had always used joking and ribbing to deal with the horrible stuff. Craziness wasn’t an emotion she alone possessed.

      “Why you always starting trouble Brig?” Angus bellows out. A foot toes her calf to get her attention. The man lacked conversational decibels. His deep baritone matching his six-eight frame, his thick chest a third bigger than Lee’s. Angus grins watching her. The men rarely worried about her in the field, but a base was an entirely different matter. It always seemed she attracted the most pompous strutting peacock that was earning an ass kicking. No matter what base. They never failed to present themselves for a lesson in humility.

      “I don’t. I was walking to the table for crying out loud.” Brig glares at him with a mouth full of food. Mack sighs and shakes his head, “Because her life goal is to give me a heart attack” Mack smirks at her, “Twenty years, and half of it is her flirting with poor little newbie recruits” he declares. Brig kicks his shin under the table, gaining a satisfying “Ow”. “The hell!” she quips back, taking a swig of beer, looking around for something other than the dry napkins for her hands.  “How can they not have wet naps? It’s a damn bar-b-que, with ribs and wings and shit.” Brig bemoans.

      Mad Dogg, wipes his mouth and jabs his own sauced covered index finger at her, “See, what I think you need the wet naps for is when we get done with an operation. Your face is looking like we just came from one.” He tells her. Brig, unimpressed, “Why? Your doo-rags work just fine.” “Yeah but I’m running out. I could squeeze out the old ones to produce enough blood for an entire new person.”  “Well then, if you find any wet naps you can save them for me.” Brig grins, earning a grunt. Out of all the men, he’s always been the surliest, Brig thinks to herself for the millionth time.

      Drawing the groups attention, a door opens in the distance. An older marine, greying dark hair, clean cut, leans out, scanning the crowd, spots the group, and nods in a summoning gesture at the tables. Without waiting for a response, the soldier turns back inside the building. “Guess it’s time I get to find out what I’m doing to make your jobs easier.” Brig comments, leaning back with a sigh. “Humph! Probably have a TV dinner they want to shove you into.” Mack says eyeing the rest of the men.  Suspicious at her BBQ sauce covered hands and the desecrated plate in front of her, “Not after all this food” she mumbles.  Mad Dogg gestures to Brig’s messy face, “Maybe you should take another shower first.” Glaring back at him, she stands up, wiping her hands and face with a dry towel.

Chapter 4

      Standing in the base command building, Mack and Mad Dogg stand on either side of Brig, the rest of the men crowding around, leaning against desks, some sitting and pushing back in chairs, looking up at a large television screen. T lounges on the floor behind Brig’s feet, the other three dogs relaxing by their handlers. Only one other person is present in the room, the man that summoned them. The rest of the usual command center crew dismissed for this classified gathering. Major General Edwin Nelson, early sixties, about to retire, as tall and solid as he was when he was in his twenties, surveys the team. Aqua-green eyes still as sharp as a hawk’s.

      Onscreen, three people sit in a military war room. Centered, a tall and thickly built African American in his sixties, General Thomas Brown, Commandment of the Marine Corps.  An attractive African American woman in her late thirties, features similar to her uncle sitting beside her, Marine Colonel Rebecca Brown. The special forces unit’s almost sole communications officer. And an unknown Caucasian woman, fiftyish with short gray-hair, sits to the general’s left.

      Brig eyes the colonel and her best friend, “Hey Becca” she comments, curious about the other woman. Becca smiles back, “Hey guys”. The men murmur greetings and grunts, “Hey nice to see the pretty face that belongs to the pretty voice again” Hansen hollers, and “You still owe me a beer from last weekend, I totally took you on darts” Catch declares. The entire group have known and worked with each other for years. “Apparently, your wife didn’t agree since she abruptly ordered you home before I could” Becca quips at him, earning a red face from the man and ridicule from the rest.

      Turning to the group, “Knock it off” Mack orders, shutting the group up. Whispering aside to Gen. Nelson, “I’m assuming you excused your men from here for this exact reason” Mack guesses. Grunting in agreement, “Yeah, didn’t need them getting thoughts about taking liberties that this lot abuses” Gen. Nelson whispers back. Smiles and gestures continue in the background, the men stifling laughter. Becca stares back with an arched brow in amusement.

      Gen. Brown, impatient with the revelry clears his throat, “Mack, this is the Director of the CDC, Mary Foster, she’s been read into your file Brig”. Well that answers that question. Not many get to know her status, such as with Shirtless Soldier earlier. Mary Foster, fidgeting, concerned, a little surprised at the sight of Brig, stutters “Hi, wow I thought you’d be...” she starts. “Bigger?” Brig offers. The bane of my existence! “Um yes, sorry” Mary responds, turning pink with embarrassment.  “It’s ok. That’s what most women wonder about the rest of these guys as well” Brig teases. Mad Dogg, voicing on behalf of the insulted men, “Hey!” he grunts. Annoyed eye rolls from the others support him, but most unconsciously puff out their chests to appear larger. “Mostly him” Brig quips, nodding at Mad Dogg. “Brig!” Mack growls at her to knock it off, smothering his own grin under a forced scowl. Mad Dogg glares at her. The rest of the men snort at his reddened face. Mad Dogg happened to be the shortest of the men in the group, only a few inches taller than Brig at his five-eleven height. It was a sensitive topic. Becca and Brig share a smirk. Mary Foster presses her lips together, hiding a smile.

      Gen. Brown, giving a side eye to his niece, and a glare into the camera presses on, “Anyway. We’re in the middle of putting a co-op team together to take out that compound”, gesturing to a folder Gen. Nelson is holding and pulling reports and satellite images from. He lays them out on the table before them. The soldiers closest huddle to look at the images, then they are passed to the rest.

      “We have intel suggesting this site is a hub for a weapons cache, explosives, and safe house for high ranking terrorists when they need a hide out. Rumor is, there’s going to be a huge supply distribution soon. We don’t get there before the weapons leave, we may not be able to find them before they’re used in attacks. However, we don’t have a ton of information on how many militants are in this compound. Satellite only shows a handful at a time, but the intel says there’s at least a hundred, staying inside most of the time, building bombs, and other weapons” Gen. Brown explains.

      “And you’re thinking biochemical or biological weapons?” Brig asks. There goes that brain, Mack thinks, leaning back against a table behind him. Mad Dogg confused at first, looks at Brig, then eyes the rest of the men to see if they’ve caught on. Most frown in anticipation, Hunch rolling his eyes at his internal thoughts. The action doesn’t escape Mad Dogg. 

      “Yes. Ms. Foster?” Gen. Brown indicates for the woman to proceed. Mary Foster clears her throat, “Yes, um, we’re concerned about an unusual sickness and behaviors that have just started up in the last week or so. We’re not sure if it could be a virus or bacterial, possibly chemical, but people have been getting deathly infections. Antibiotics and antivirals don’t seem to be working. But physicians everywhere, offices, hospitals, and emergency rooms are at a loss” she begins. The worry lines on her forehead deepen.

      “Fevers seem to run so high and long that at some point the staff has thought the person died, but obviously not, because they wake up. It began with at least days before they woke up, but now within twelve hours, but they’re not themselves. They’re demonstrating extreme forms of dementia, possibly brain damage from the lack of oxygen and low blood pressures that made us think they had died, but almost like what you’d see with an animal in the last stages of a rabies infection. They start attacking other people. Biting, clawing. Unfortunately, those people then get sick as well.” Mary pauses, letting the explanation sink in, then continues, “It’s probably a long shot, but with this sudden piece of information, if there’s a chance, terrorists have discovered some kind of chemical or biologic responsible for this, we need to figure out where it’s coming from and if there’s a cure.”

      “So what have they been doing with the infected people?” Mad Dogg wonders, ever the tactician. Sadness and worry flit across Mary’s face. “They’ve been trying to quarantine them, but they’re running out of room and sedation doesn’t work. These people never sleep; they just keep trying to attack others.  Unfortunately, there’s been a few incidences, in trying to keep them from injuring others, receiving fatal head injuries, and, and have died. We’re doing all we can to identify the cause at the CDC, local labs, and internationally, but we’ve never seen anything like this.” Mary Foster answers. The soldiers glance at each other, eyebrows furrowed, the previous light-hearted bantering gone.

      Nodding to other papers being pulled and placed down on the rooms long conference-like folding table by Gen. Nelson for the team as they crowd around it, Mary Foster explains, “Those are some of the reports of the infected and incidences. Reports are from all over the world. This isn’t just happening in the US.” The soldiers glance through the pictures and case reports of injured and infected. Nasty bite marks on arms, faces, and torsos, bloodied and wild looking infected stare back at them. Disbelief registers on all the faces, “What the...?” Long sighs then outright swearing erupts as Gen. Brown takes back over.

      “Look, I know it sounds ridiculous, and it’s probably nothing and just a coincidence. But I don’t like coincidences so we’ll see if this turns up anything.  Since we’re not sure if the site is the source and how it is spread, we’ll need a unit on the ground, as well as to acquire any intel we can get on possible terrorist activities regardless of this situation.” Gen. Brown explains.

      The group nods, understanding. It’s the usual operation. Someone goes in to check things out, Brig for this one, the rest get in, complete the assignment, and leave. At their silence, Gen Brown nods to Mary Foster, “Thank you director, I think that’s all we need” he tells her. Becca rises along with the older woman, guiding her to the door, handing her off to a waiting military escort. As soon as the door shuts, Becca returning to her chair, Gen. Nelson, takes over the conversation, “Just one more problem” he states, turning to the room. Angus raises an eyebrow, “Just one? Possible chemical weapons turning people into rabid raccoons infecting others isn’t one problem enough?” he barks.

      Ignoring the comment, “Other reports claim militants from this compound also kidnapped and are holding hostages. It may be a handful, but hundreds of civilians have gone missing and some believe they were taken there.” Gen. Nelson informs them. “Talk about light on intel. It’s either a handful or hundreds?” Brig asks in disbelief.  “That’s why we’re sending you in first. You’re a great counter” Gen. Nelson quips, raising his own eyebrow in return. Turning his attention back to Mack and Mad Dogg, then the rest of the team, “We’re coordinating with the Canadian JTF2 team, most of this intel was provided by Canadian intelligence . . .”

      Mad Dogg, interrupting and smiling at Brig, “Hey Red’s team”. Others join in smirking as Brig rolls her eyes, “Now we know why the intel is so light.” She grumbles. If the Delta unit was the one she worked with the most, the Canadian JTF2 team was the second. While Mack and his team were like brothers to her, aside from the Canadian squad leader and most under his command, a few members of the Canadian team were man-child, annoying cousins. The kind you don’t care to visit on any day, let alone special occasions.

      Gen. Nelson, ignores them, continuing, “. . . and Israel’s Shayetet 13. Some of the civilians may be Israelis. We won’t be able to get the three teams together before a drop. You’ll have to rendezvous outside the compound and then carry out the mission. We just need to confirm the numbers, if the civilian hostages are there, how many, and if the weapons being manufactured are actually dirty.” He finishes.

      Brig folding her arms, a doubtful look contorting her face, “So let me see if I have this straight. I’m going in first to find out if there’s just a handful or hundreds of terrorists and hostages, using my unique interrogation techniques, and hope that anyone I run into isn’t a rabid raccoon?” She states.

      Gen. Brown clears his throat, drawing their attention, “Yes. However, the last doesn’t seem likely since the site is so remote.” Brig tilts her head to the side, “Becca, just in case I turn into a rabid raccoon, Aster’s at her grandparents.” Grinning, “You got it.” Becca promises. Anytime Brig got held up on missions and her daughter was stuck with her paternal grandparents, Becca went and rescued her.

      Gen. Brown, addresses Mack and the rest of the unit, ignoring the banter, “We’ll meet back later to address all three teams in a few hours Mack. We’ll have the joint chiefs in the war room for this operation later. Becca will have direct and private communications with Brig and the rest until the teams touch down and make their way in, then all three teams will be patched in.”

      Mack and the rest of the team nod in agreement. A silent conversation ensues between the two generals, as the screen goes black and Gen. Brown and Becca are cut off. Gen. Nelson turns to the group; a foreboding look on his face. The tension grows as they wait for the man to say something.

      Scanning the group, Gen. Nelson folds his arms over his chest, leaning against the desk, the blank screen behind him.  “One last thing. We don’t like this scenario. This mission wasn’t supposed to happen until tomorrow night. But they want us in there tonight. The bullshit excuse is that the area you’re going into is a contested and highly coveted piece of land by a whole lot of interested parties. Anything goes wrong there; the region is in for a whole lot of shit” Gen. Nelson states, eyeing the group. “And the thinking is someone wants to start that shit.” Brig guesses. The look she receives tells her she’s only half way correct. “By setting us up” She realizes. Gen Nelson nods, “Correct. However, like I said, it’s a bullshit excuse. So we need to find out what’s going on before we send in the rest. No one will know you’re going ahead except this team. The other two team captains are being informed as we speak. The rest will be informed in secret just before their drops.” Gen. Nelson informs her.

      Studying Gen. Nelson, the group whirls at the puzzle. “You think others will be there watching, waiting to sabotage the mission. Alert the others before the teams finish the mission. Get caught and killed in the act.” Mack states. “Exactly. Becca will be scanning the area for them. The plan is to identify their positions and take them out just as the teams go in so they don’t have time to radio.” Gen. Nelson informs them. “But why her? Why we sending anyone ahead, why aren’t we all going in together if there’s a possibility of sabotage?” Mad Dogg growls, earning grunts of agreement from the rest.

      Looking down at the satellite images of the compound and surrounding country side, the small mountains and ridges forming the rim of a bowl with the compound to one side. Realization dawns over Brig. Incredulous, “That’s two square miles surrounding that compound” Brig states, looking up at Gen. Nelson. “That’s why you’re going in first.” Gen. Nelson comments eyeing Mad Dogg in answer to his question. “You’ll want your big gun. Shouldn’t be a problem for you” Gen. Nelson declares. “And if there’s more than one?” Brig asks. “Hasn’t been a problem before” Gen. Nelson frowns. “Yeah but I wasn’t real concerned about keeping them silent from alerting the neighborhood.” Brig huffs. “If it is a setup, aren’t they going to know we’re coming anyway? Why be waiting until it starts? Why go in at all?” Hunch asks. 

      “Because we got orders. However, Gen. Brown’s arranging for jets and extra choppers just in case. The three teams will drop separately, then the chinook will pull all of you out at once in case it does go to shit. Sending Brig ahead is the other precaution. Gather intelligence and if eyes are watching, be in position to take them out as the rest of you go in.” Gen. Nelson explains.

      “I don’t like it” Angus growls, leaning on his fists over the table, staring at Brig, earning wide eyes. “You got a problem soldier?” Mack growls. “It’s bullshit sending her in ahead and alone” Angus grumbles. Surprised eyes turn to him. Brig glares. “She’s gone in ahead and alone plenty of times. Hasn’t been a problem before.” Lee questions him. Realizing he’s probably making an idiot of himself and not liking the murderous tint to Brig’s glare, “Well you know, for anyone going in ahead and alone, you know with this scenario” Angus blusters, standing back up folding his arms over his chest, earning even more confused looks. Lee arches an eyebrow at his friend, that was weird, he thinks at him. Gen. Nelson, stealing a glance at Brig, wondering at her angry face, “Duly noted” he tells Angus. Ending the conversation.

      Turning and handing Brig a folder, “You leave at twenty-three-hundred, the rest at oh-one-hundred”, Gen Nelson nods at the group in dismissal, then back at Brig “You be careful” Gen. Nelson adds. Brig’s face softens, “Thanks Nuncle, I’ll try not to get an incurable infection.” Orders assigned, Brig gives Angus a final glare and heads to the exit. The rest of the men following. I should’ve made her call me Ed when she was two.  At least Gen. Brown doesn’t have his niece calling him nuncle at every opportunity, Gen. Nelson laments to the empty room, then bellows for his officers to come back in. 

Chapter 5 

      Back at their tables, the men ponder the impending mission. Brig scans her file. “Red’s team!” Angus snarls. “Yep.” Mad Dogg answers, amused by Angus’ black mood at the news. “Red’s got a great team, why the long face Angus?” Mad Dogg needles him. Angus glares into space, thinking, “He’s got some little shitheads on his team.” He responds.

      Brig, looking up from the satellite images and rough schematics for the compound they’re about to infiltrate, “I’m a big girl and can take care of myself, no need for over-protective bears” she smirks. “How you thinking you’re big?” Angus quips. “Well I’m not a sasquatch by any stretch of the imagination” Brig declares, eyeing Angus’s large frame, fully intending an insult. Angus cracks a grin, stretching his body to maximum size while sitting in the too small chair, hands clasped behind his head, “Damn straight” he says proudly, earning sighs and eye rolls from the rest. Mad Dogg chuckles looking at Brig, shaking his head. This mission is looking up to be a fun encounter, he grins to himself.  Since it’ll be between fellow soldiers, he’ll get to enjoy himself.

      “They really got people going around biting other people?” Lee blurts out. Apparently, he’d been thinking about the reports for a while. “Guess so” Mack answers, passing his cigar to Brig’s outstretched summoning hand. “Yeah we saw something up on the television in the mess hall earlier. Didn’t really show anything” Martinez moans, bummed there hadn’t been footage of the actual attacks. “How much you wanna bet they’re just strung out on drugs? Vega offers. “Pretty sure the CDC ruled that out. Otherwise we wouldn’t be worrying about it” Brig comments. “So they really bite you? Like trying to eat you or something?” Lee still wonders. Mack, taking his cigar back from Brig, “They didn’t really clarify that now did they?”  “Humph” Lee grunts.

      “I got to say I got a bad feeling about this one. Feels weird” Hunch declares. The men just look at him, annoyed that since he decided to share, it was probably going to be true. “Seriously? You had to say something?” Catch grumbles. “Well just saying” Hunch offers. “Thanks a lot bad luck pre-cog” Long mumbles, tossing back the rest of his drink, glaring at him. The rest growl at him to keep quiet about anymore premonitions.

      The team sits murmuring amongst each other, passing around the various reports and schematics, offering tactical suggestions for going in. Vega and Martinez exchange the latest pictures and video of their families on their phones.  The blazing sun drifts low in the sky. Brig’s dark musings wonder to the murder of ravens silhouetted against yellow-red along the top of the base walls. Their presence always provided a mysterious comfort to her before the darkness of a mission. No matter what country they were in, Brig found it pleasing to always find the areas local variation silently watching them. Contrary to others, she considered them good omens.

      Thinking of the omens, she glances at Long. He stares at the birds as well. Sensing her eyes on the side of his head, Long turns to look at her. A silent eyebrow lift indicating they are both aware of the watchers. The dry wind ruffles their feathers. Dragging her mind away, she notices Angus is back to his brooding about the Canadian team, appreciating the similar moods between the large man and crouching birds. Kicking his leg, “Come on gloomy Gus, you can help me get ready.” She offers, standing up. Sighing, happy to do anything other than brood, Angus hefts his body out of his chair and follows.

Chapter 6 

      Dressed and loaded into her gear, Brig stands before Angus, sitting on one of the bunks, towering over her as he paints camouflage on her face. T lays beside him, looking like an eight-week-old puppy against his giant form. Brig stares at his dark hazel eyes and unruly salted beard, contemplating the impending mission. The bizarre infections Mary Foster had described earlier needling her mind. “Maybe I should call Aster before I leave” she comments. “You just talked to her ten hours ago” Angus tells her. “What, I can’t talk to my daughter more than once a day?”  “Did she say anything earlier about weird shit going on?” Angus pauses at his work, knowing where her mind was running off to, raising an eyebrow.  “No.” Brig admits. “Isn’t she out at your ex’s parents?” “Yes.” “In the middle of nowhere?” “Yes.”  “I think she’ll be fine.” Angus declares, resuming his plastering. “Unless she’s attacked by an alligator, they do live out near the swamps” Brig conjectures, earning an exasperated look. “Seriously?” He huffs.

      “Maybe I should retire. I’m tired, old, and apparently never-ending crazy, and she’s going into boot camp in few months.” Brig ponders. “Yes, you should definitely retire. Then the rest of us can too” Angus nods his head eagerly. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Brig frowns.  “You do realize we’re were kind of assigned to you forever ago. We really can’t retire until you do because of your, you know, special status” Angus states, shrugging his shoulders as if it was the most obvious piece of information known to man. “Whatever, there’s been tons of guys retire from the squad” Brig informs him. Eyes wide, “Yeah, because they were missing body parts” Angus bellows. “Or dead” he adds at her frown of confusion. Brig furrows her brows, “Oh yeah” remembering.

      Frustrated that she’s so tired from her work out earlier, Brig glares at him, at a loss. “We ever gonna talk about it?” Agnus pries. Knowing exactly what it was, Brig flashes a look around the empty room, then towards the door. “Not here. We’re on a base, about to go on an op in like two minutes, and thanks for almost announcing it earlier. Were you waiting for a bullhorn?” she hisses. Irritated with himself at his earlier reaction but ignoring the last part, “In which anything could happen so maybe now’s a good time.” Angus grumbles. “Not now” Brig pleads glancing away, nervous.

      Resigned, “You’re done” Angus gestures, wondering at her normally bright blue eyes now dull grey against the dark paint, appreciating the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and mouth. A reminder on all their faces that they were still alive.

      Nodding, Brig backs up to the bunk behind her. Sitting, blowing out a huge breath, she throws herself back on the mattress to stare at the bottom of the bunk above.  Arms flinging up in the air for dramatics, “There’s probably hundreds of militants and civilian hostages at that compound. You guys will be fine. No reason for me to have go and torture someone about something we pretty much know.” She declares. Snorting at that, Angus stands up, straddles her legs, and leans over placing his hands on either side of her head, blocking her view with his face. His long thick beard tickling her chin. “You don’t get to check out right this second” he informs her. A sad flicker crosses her face, “Bummer” she sighs.

      Chuckling, Angus leans back, grabs her hands and pulls her up. Remembering, he grabs her and lifts her up like a little kid and squeezes her in a tight bear hug to get her out of her rare funk. It was a trick her father had mentioned to the team years ago. She would work herself into a pity party, but if you bear hugged her it would snap her out of it. It works every time, Angus realizes.

      Pummeling at his shoulders, “I can’t breathe you Neanderthal” Brig squeaks out but smiles; right as Mack and the others walk in. At first brought up short, confused, then understanding registers as they continue in. Angus sets her down.

      Rolling her eyes, Brig calls T to her. With a mumbled “See ya later” to everyone, Brig stomps out the door. Mack, eyeing the empty doorway, “Sad moment?” he asks. Angus nods his head, “She actually mentioned retirement” he informs them. “Wow” Mack comments, impressed. “Good. Good. We should really start encouraging her if she’s having that idea finally” Mad Dogg huffs, “I’m getting too old for this shit.” grumbling towards his bunk. The rest of the soldiers, hopeful, smile at each other. “Well it ain’t gonna happen tonight. Get your shit on so we make it to the final pre-op call” Mack barks at the lingering and mumbling group.

Chapter 7 

      Near midnight, Brig stands ready, geared up and prepped to repel out of a Sikorsky UH-60 Black Hawk helicopter. Interior lights glow, chopper blades hum overhead, Brig’s face dark with the camouflage paint. A face mask with night vision goggles rests on her helmet, she’s in a lighter version of combat gear. Two rifles slung over her back. Her participation will be minimal. T suited up with her own combat vest and safety goggles, excited to work, secured to Brig, they await the go signal from the two pilots up front.

      Another soldier, Sergeant Eddie Grueber, thirties, clean shaven, competent in his duties, but announces his insecurity to the world with his halted motions and flitting eyes, stands beside Brig, ready to assist her out of the chopper. Mack had requested years ago for Grueber to assist his team as much as possible when on missions. Most groups were relentless at harassing the poor kid. The chopper pilot, hidden by his helmet and the dark interior breaks the silence, “Ready up. ETA 5 minutes to drop point.”                                              

      Brig is unconcerned. Indifferent eyes watch the darkness pass below. Rubbing her bruised side from the massive bear hug Agnus had given her, with one hand, she pats T’s head with the other as they wait. Maybe I should retire, be there for Aster as she goes through boot camp. Could the guys really not retire until she did? Highly doubtful, Angus was bullshitting her. And I’d be bored out of my mind, Brig decides, shaking her head from her thoughts, pulling her face mask and night vision goggles down as they fly closer. The wind infuses some much-needed energy and focus. At the drop point the chopper hovers. Brig leans T and herself out, Grueber giving her the thumbs up, she launches them over the side and smoothly down the rope.

      Touching ground, Brig detaches them both from the rope, T attached to a long lead at her hip, take cover low on the ground as the chopper glides away. Using her night vision goggles, long moments are spent searching for signs of an enemy. The scorched earth baked from the day, is now cool enough for the nightlife to hum into existence. Crickets chirp, bats flit back and forth in the darkness above, snapping insects out of the mild breezy air. The stars and moon hidden by a thick layer of black clouds. The absence of thunder, and particularly lightening, assured their silent invisible advance. Confident she’s alone, “Touch down. Becca?” Brig whispers into her headset. Becca’s calm steady voice whispers back into her ear, “Roger. Just you and me. Satellite’s up. Area looks clear. Will await further contact.”

      With her smaller HK416 out front, Brig creeps up through hills and ravines, circumventing the bushes and twigs beneath her feet. T close to the ground in front of her, sniffs the way for IED’s and enemies. After an hour, the two reach a ridge, snaking flat on their bellies the last twenty feet to the top. The ridge provides a view of another smaller valley and ridge beyond. A dirt road runs through hills in the distance to her left.

      Taking position, Brig lies on her stomach, T lying flat between her legs facing the opposite direction, keeping watch behind her. Pulling the night vision goggles up on her forehead, switching rifles, Brig scans the area through the Nightforce scope mounted to a high powered long range .338 Lapua sniping rifle. A fire burns above the road, up on a cliff a little below her position. Three men stand around the fire, rifles slung over their shoulders, conversing.

      Soon, they separate, going three different directions for a predetermined distance. The furthest man disappears around a ledge overlooking the road. The closest man walks towards her direction, along a weathered trail, checking the surroundings. The middle man vanishes down a ravine in the hillside directly behind the fire. Timing their walks at ten minutes, the three eventually return. On a rocky outcrop below the campfire, Brig makes out a fourth man lounging, a rifle slung over his shoulder, smoking. 

      It occurs to Brig that the patrol wouldn’t be there if they were expecting an attack. Pressing at her throat and whispering, “Command, Becca, do you copy?” “Roger. What we got?” Becca asks. “I got four patrolling on a cliff above the main road. Three standing around a fire, the fourth on a rock beneath.” Brig explains. “Roger. Got’em. Do your thing woman.” Becca tells her after refreshing her satellite screen. “Any special requests?”. “Not really, surprise me.” “Yes ma’am.” Brig studies the group a little longer, scanning the rest of the area for any more patrols. The night sky still blackened by cloud cover. Signaling T, they make their way down the ridge, tracking further away from the patrol, far enough to climb back up and over the ridge without being seen or heard.

Chapter 8 

      The three militant guards, growing tired, finish another conversation, the fourth man still sitting on his rocky outcrop, set off for another round of surveying the area on their separate courses. The trail checker ambles up the path, the fire light growing further behind him, outlining him in the darkness. He stops at his designated turning spot, pausing, listening.  Turning back, THUMP! His head snaps forward, a throwing dagger sticking out the base of his skull. He collapses face-first to the ground. Seconds pass, then his body is pulled from the trail into the brush and shrubs.

      The second militant guard heads back towards the fire, his passage under shadows, through the middle of the ravine, their escape route down the mountain.  A thin rope drops over his head to his throat, jerking him up against the wall of the ravine, a knife and gloved hand flash across his throat, and then punctures through his right ear. The rope lowers him to the ground, dropping onto him.

      Back at the fire, the third militant has returned. The guard looks around, his buddies not back yet, shrugs his shoulders. It is late. They were all tired and dragging at this point. He’s not concerned. The fourth man sits below on his rock swinging his legs back and forth, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, unaware. An odd noise, HMMMPH! punctures the air above him. Mildly curious he looks up, stretching his neck to see over the ledge. A dark figure leans out above him, gun in hand, pulls the trigger. A large dart punctures his throat, startling then paralyzing him. His body rocks back against the ledge, unconscious. 

Chapter 9 

      The Delta Force team shuffle aboard a chinook heading to their drop point. Men double check their rifles and layers of weapons and ammo, perform their pre-mission rituals, and check each other’s repel gear and safety harnesses. Mack and Mad Dogg stand in the middle of the group, a layout of the compound and satellite maps of the surrounding terrain before them, scanning it a final time, memorizing their path in to the rendezvous point. The men have gone through the plan multiple times since their final pre-op call, Mack having clarified key points with the other special op team commanders while they were on with Gen. Brown and the Canadian and Israeli military leaders. It will take them over an hour to snake into a holding pattern, there, they’ll linger for Brig or Becca to spot any spies before they creep down the last set of ridges to their final position.

      The three dog handlers double check their companion’s vests and goggles, the dogs excited to work, jumping and licking, wagging tails in anticipation. Hansen eggs the excited dogs on with play and an excessive number of treats, earning grumbles from Vega and Martinez, “Jesus Hansen, they’re gonna be throwing up everywhere by the time we get there” Martinez admonishes him. “Nah, they all got stomachs of steel” Hansen justifies, patting his dog on the head.

      Angus and Lee relax back in their seats, resting their heads against the wall, eyes closed, earbuds dangling, listening to their own pre-mission musical motivation. Angus roars German heavy metal, Lee humming to calming sounds of Bolero. Long sits beside them, sharpening his service knife, watching the dogs in the middle of the hull.

      Catch, Nolan, and Hunch stand towards the rear of the chopper, watching the rest of the group. “I wonder what Brig’s gonna come up with?” Catch wonders aloud, the question snaking through the open com on their headsets. The rest of the team look at him confused. “To interrogate the patrol guys.” Catch clarifies. The men roll their eyes. “I’m gonna go with something quiet” Hunch offers. “Yeah, don’t think we want the dude screaming. Kind of defeats the purpose of keeping a low profile so she can find any others” Hansen quips.

      Vega chuckles, “Ahh, my favorite was the bone saw one. Although definitely not quiet” he declares, smiling broadly at the memory. “Shit, it wasn’t the bone saw. It was scaring the shit out of the dude as he woke up to the god-damn “It” clown mask she found. She didn’t even have to cut him. He just started screaming and spilled his guts” Martinez laughs back.

      Angus and Lee, opening their eyes to watch the conversation, glance at each other with smirks at the memory as well; it was her most infamous and quickest interrogation ever. It didn’t hurt that she had given the hostage a hallucinatory concoction just before he woke.

      “Man, I wish we didn’t have to go in right as she’s taking out any scouts” Orlando bemoans. “Why?” Long wonders. “Did you see how wide that valley is? They could be anywhere, and the further out they are, we all know she’s the only one who could manage it. But man, it’s a beautiful thing watching her.” Orlando smiles. Indicating he’s about to give them an Oscar worthy theatrical rendition, he stands up, addressing the team at their silent intrigue. Mack and Mad Dogg grimace behind him, wondering at what they are about to witness. Orlando was teased relentlessly for his “foot-in-mouth” disease.

      Raising his own rifle, “She holds her rifle, like a lover.” Orlando demonstrates by aiming the weapon at an open space, then cuddling it to his face, giving the rifle soft kisses, petting it along the side. Then scanning through the scope, “Then she does this breath thing, just a little slow sigh as she lines up. Then she ever so gently presses the trigger” Orlando explains pretending to gently squeeze his finger at the side of the rifle. Dropping it away, “Then boom… they are dead, brains everywhere, or hearts blown away by her lover.” Orlando declares, sighing in awe.  “It’s like watching gun porn” Orlando adds.

      At first the men around him had been watching in amused fascination. Now they stare at him horrified. “Jesus Christ Orlando. I hope you don’t talk about your mother that way. It’s a little disturbing” Mad Dogg barks out, a look of disgust pulling his lips down at the corners. The rest of the team harass him in agreement with Mad Dogg. “No shit. That went downhill real fast” Hansen mutters.

      Angus gives Lee an annoyed side glance next to him. Lee returns it. Realization dawns on Orlando’s face. Brig was like a sister to everyone, including him, and it belatedly struck him how it sounded. Turning beet red, “No, no, I didn’t mean her, that, I just meant, you know, she’s a damn good sniper. She’s the best shot out of anybody for hell’s sake...” he rambles, attempting to defend himself.

      Mack shakes his head, and there he goes, “Shit” he mumbles, giving Mad Dogg an exasperated eye roll, turning at the pilot’s ETA declaration. “Thank God. Orlando, shut up. Ten minutes. Ready up” Mack orders. The group sighs in relief and line up, hooking their lead lines to the repel ropes.

      Orlando blows out a breath thankful for the distraction. Until. “I’m totally telling Brig” Becca declares over the com. Orlando’s face drains of color, remembering that Becca could hear their entire conversation. “No. She’ll never let me live it down” Orlando groans. The rest guffaw and snort at his predicament, Hunch places a supportive hand on his shoulder, “Oh dude. She isn’t the only one” he teases, laughing at Orlando with delight.  

Chapter 10 

      Brig sits before the fourth militant, an older rumpled and bearded man. A lot heavier than he appeared at first. Brig had to have T’s help dragging him up with a rope from the ledge. Even with the man’s heavier than expected weight, contorting his body over the ledge proved the trickier part. I should’ve let him come up from the ledge first, Brig laments in hindsight.

      The campfire burns low behind the two in the distance. Duct tape over the man’s mouth, he starts to rouse. With a smelling salt in hand, Brig leans over putting it under his nose. He jerks awake. His eyes go wide, terrified, he struggles to move but senses pain and stops, looking down.

      Speaking Arabic, Brig warns him, “I wouldn’t move your head or neck much. You’ve got a 14-gauge needle stuck in your jugular. . .” eyeing his neck. The militant stops fidgeting, eyeballs glancing down. He feels a piece of duct tape encircling his neck, something prickling underneath. His arms are bound behind him, legs and ankles duct taped together and staked with a rope to the ground. His back arching against a jutting rock.

      “…which is attached to this.” Brig finishes, holding up an IV line with a release valve she has run his blood through. The end drips red. She shuts the valve as his face registers the situation.  “Now, we can either do this the easy way... I remove that piece of tape. I ask questions, you answer. Truthfully. As fast as you can. The quicker you answer, the quicker I shut off this valve. You do this, I may take a page out of my rarely used book of letting someone live. The information you give me proves correct, I come back and let you go. You get to make up your own story, be a hero.” pausing with a pointed look. “Otherwise, we don’t. But I don’t kill you. I just drain enough of your blood so you can’t struggle. And I leave you to the jackals.” She finishes. The militant, nervous, glances around then glares at her; she has his attention.

      Brig opens the valve to the IV line, letting it drip, then leans over and removes the duct tape covering his mouth. Not so gently. The man gasps deep but careful. Each breath agonizing, the needle moving with his neck muscles. His jugular throbs from the large punctured hole through it. His head raging in pain from the after effects of the poisoned dart and burning in his distal extremities from the tourniquet-like ropes on his thighs and upper arms, cutting off circulation.

      Brig usually used this method while her detainee was strung upside down from a tree or like structure. The area not sporting tall or strong enough flora, she had to improvise at keeping as much blood pulsing through his torso and head as possible. The man shifts his legs and shoulders from the pain. If he could see the flesh in his lower legs and arms after being out for so long, he’d probably stroke out right then and there from the sight of the lack of color and blood supply already destroying his tissues.

      “Now, how many at your compound?” Brig asks. The militant frowns for a moment. “Only a dozen at most.” He grimaces, the needle catching at his throat. Brig’s fist strikes out in a flash, backhanding him across the face, the force pulling and stretching his neck, leaving a long crack of broken skin on his cheek. He cries out. “Like I said, truthfully.” Brig reminds him. Spitting blood from his mouth, the militant glares at her “You hit like a girl.”

      Brig is unimpressed. “If I hit you like a girl, you’d be dead. We’ll just chalk that up to the little bitch slaps your mother should’ve given you for being a liar. Now, how many?” raising the IV line further into his vision, opening the valve so the drip rate increases. The militant’s eyes go wide. “About a hundred, maybe hundred and twenty. It changes” he sputters.

      “When and how many have left, and when are they expected back?” Brig asks. “I’m not sure, some left this morning, maybe a dozen. I don’t know when they will be back.” He evades. Brig strikes again. CRACK! His head and neck jerk in the opposite direction from the first, another wound breaking the skin on his other cheek. Blood forms in his mouth, he spits again. In excruciating pain, breathing hard, “You bitch!” he exclaims. “Wow, your originality for insults is amazing. When are they due back?” Brig replies, unfazed.

      Slowing his breath to stop the pain from the needle, “They didn’t say for sure, possibly early this morning, they don’t tell us until they know for sure when they will be back, then they radio or call ahead.” He says. His voice and breath catching. Brig nods to herself, satisfied.

      “Rumor is you have civilian hostages, how many and where are they?” She asks. The militant starts chuckling through his pain, eager to share the news, “They are dead, like the dogs they are. Hundreds. We slaughtered the pigs earlier today. You are too late. Stupid Americans!” he lashes out, trying to laugh harder, but the pain chokes him up.

      Raising an eyebrow and tilting her head, “I’ve got a dog.” Brig informs him, making a tsk sound. T creeps out of the darkness on the militants left, growling deep and low. Teeth bared, her snout sniffing at the militant’s throat. Her eyes, demon yellow in the low light and reflection of the campfire, level with his. She is a massive dog and does her duty by scaring the piss out of him. Literally.

      The militant quakes, eyes closed, he wets himself. Brig notices, rolling her eyes in the darkness. She signals T with a hand motion. The dog edges back into the shadows, her low growl lingering, threatening. The militant continues to sweat, shake, and clench his eyes shut. The IV line continues to drip. The veins in his neck and temple engorged. Brig waits. After a moment, realizing the dog is further away, he blinks his eyes open. Embarrassment, shame, and rage, scowl at her. Brig continues, unperturbed.

      “And were they exposed to the weapons causing the fevers and attacks?” she asks, watching his eyes.  His face contorts with confusion, eyebrows frowning; fear. “I do not know what you’re talking about.” He responds warily. “So just your regular old bombs and weapons manufacturing outfit” she quips. The militant’s wide eyes and then forced scowl answer Brig’s question. He spoke the truth. As she remains silent, staring back at him, his eyes flick back and forth to the IV line that she keeps in his line of sight, the end dripping his blood. His eyes are starting to squint and blink at the pressure in his head and loss of blood taking effect.

      “When are the weapons supposed to be distributed?” She asks. He’s trying to focus, growing groggy and doesn’t want to answer. “I do not know.” He slurs. Opening the valve more, the blood running faster, Brig kicks his foot, the pain in his leg reeling his head back, his face pale. “The day after tomorrow, maybe tomorrow. I don’t know what time; they did not share with me.” He panics.

      Brig shuts the valve. She’s done with her questions. Reaching over to an open the pack next to her, filled with medical and surgical paraphernalia, she picks up the cap for the end of the IV line. The militant still in agony but hopeful she’s done with her torture, relaxes.

      “So, do I leave you here and check out your information, see if I let you live?” She tempts.  The militant growing more brazen since it seems she’s done with her questions, “You will die, you stupid bitch, they sent a woman to do a man’s job. You go and see. You won’t come back. I live either way. They will come find me.” He boasts, attempting a brave facade. Brig, smirking, looks straight at him. Eyes dark with meaning.

      They didn’t send me here to do a man’s job, she thinks to herself. She never made declarations out loud, it wasted time, gave enemies a clue to her next action, and provided opportunities for them to distract her. And the assumption she was inadequate for the job because she wasn’t a man was a decades-old annoyance. Tilting her head to the side, they sent me here to do mine. In one smooth motion, she removes the Sig Sauer from her right hip, silencer still attached from taking out the third militant, lines up and BLAM! His head explodes. Spraying brain matter and blood on the rocks behind him.

      Removing the silencer, returning the pistol to her holster, silencer to another pocket, Brig looks long at the dead militant, then leans over to close her pack, “Did you get all that?” she asks the night. “Roger. Sure did. And relayed. What a piece of shit. Those poor people.” Becca responds through her headset. Brig zips up her pack and hefts it onto her back. Standing, she looks off back at the fire, keep your mind blank Brig, she reminds herself.

      “Yes.” She agrees. Looking at T in the darkness, signaling her over, “Come on, let’s go find a spot and wait for the Calvary.” She tells her, patting her head in reassurance and heads along the trail, into the dark away from the campsite.

Chapter 11 

      Brig lays on her stomach, T in her spot between her legs behind her. She scans a large 10-foot-tall cement wall encased compound through her .338 Lapua Nightforce rifle scope, up high and further north on the back side of the hill from the militant camp. Straight below her is a gorge, rising to another, smaller ridge, which descends five hundred yards to the back of the cement wall.

      The compound consists of a large main utilitarian building with multiple levels sitting the most east, closest to Brig, the front of the building facing west. Three, two-level square metal buildings sit further west, two on the south wall, one on the north. A small door sits at the corner of the southeast wall, providing access to an electric panel just outside it. A large vehicle gate, secured shut, rests in the middle of the south perimeter wall, the only road in ending at it. Another gate of the same size sits on the opposite north wall. Open fields sprawling beyond it.

      Men hold rifles walking around the top of the buildings, gazing out into the night. Very few lights shine out from the building windows. A single light post glows softly in the center of the main courtyard which is littered with old trucks, cars, empty pallets, barrels, and spare mechanical parts. Most of the militants should be sleeping.

      However, the compound was the least of her concerns. Brig had the layout and men patrolling memorized. She returns to scanning the surrounding hills rimming the compound and valley below.

      Becca was refreshing the satellite images on her end, searching for any movement from a would-be spy.  Starting from the left of her position, following the hills past the incoming road, across the mile-wide valley.

      To her right, fifteen hundred yards away Brig stops as a bright form flashes into her view, sneaking down the slope of hills at her two o’clock. A figure seats itself down on a ledge, leaning up against a small tree. A few bushes which would normally screen him during the day, were thin enough to see the man’s form in between with the night vision. “Found him” Brig informs Becca with the coordinates.  “There’s another one about to come over the ridge” Becca warns.

      As Brig watches, a second man ambles down the slope meeting up with his friend, sitting as well. While they were loaded with weapons, neither seems to be worried about using any night vision equipment. If the plan was to wait until the attack begun, eyeing anything before it started would be unnecessary. A boring nocturnal assignment until the planned sabotage operation, if the men in charge of this clandestine mission were correct. Brig itches to get rid of the threat, but the two weren’t going anywhere. Dealing with them had to wait. Becca informs the other teams as they head in.

      Brig scans back to the small ridge below her.  A marked group of twenty men in dark combat gear, helmets, and headsets with sound and night vision cameras, assault rifles out front, coming from the north, creeping along the ground through the gorge and up the slope to the ridge, then down the other side about ten feet. Whispering into her headset, “The Israelis are here” Brig tells command.

      She watches the Israeli team, able to hear her now that they are patched in. They scan with night vision but cannot make her out above them, screened by thick shrubs and low trees. One of the soldier’s signals with a hand gesture to acknowledge they can hear her, remaining silent.

      Soon, another distinguished twelve figures, make their way from the gorge and up to the same ridgetop and down. “The Canadians made it” Brig comments. An excited thumbs-up from a Canadian soldier waves through the air, another soldier slapping it down. There’s the annoying cousins. Fucking idiots. The new group settles just over the small ridge line, not far to the left of the Israelis. The two groups signal each other.

      “Alpha and Bravo units, please be advised Delta team is in position.” Becca announces over the com.; all groups are now patched in.

      Further to left of the Canadians, Brig makes out Mack’s team sliding over the ridge. Each unit’s commander signals to each other with hand gestures through their night vision goggles or rifle scopes. After a few moments of scanning and hand signals from the men below, Mack whispers into his com.  “Brig?”. “Yep?”. “You see that lonely bush at the base of the wall?”. “Way ahead of you. Been here awhile.” “Roger.”

Chapter12 

      After a few more hand signals, the special forces groups head downhill towards the compound. The Canadian group meets up with Mack’s team making their way towards the south end of the wall. The three K9s creeping close to the ground next to their handlers. The Israeli group heads to the north side. The men on top of the buildings are oblivious.

      As the two groups make their way along the northern and southern walls to each large gate towards the west end of the compound, four soldiers from the US/Canadian team stop at the small door along their path as the rest continue forward. Once in position, explosives are planted on the doors, the smaller group also placing some on the power box.

      Brig can make out Angus’ and Lee’s large frames with the small group. “Good to go” Angus whispers, the only time he can manage lowering his voice. They must blow the power first. Brig aims her rifle back to the two watchers on the hill. The two sit a few feet apart, one a head taller, seated just behind the first. Brig sights the head of the one seated the lowest, out front. The first bullet should rip through his skull and into the throat of the second, buying an unneeded millisecond.

      “Call it” Mack responds. Angus and the soldiers he’s with back up, along with the other two units taking covering positions. Angus counts down, “3, 2, 1,”.  BOOM! Brig pulls her trigger BLAM! Head explodes. The second man rocks back, BLAM! The second head explodes, as the compound goes pitch black.

      Brig aims her rifle back to the rooftops. BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, all three gates blow, wood and metal flying inward. Even before the dust settles, each team is through their gate, launching grenades, advancing in point formations, covering all angles, shooting surprised guards dead, RAT-A-TAT-TAT. Brig takes out the guards on top of the buildings, BLAM, a bullet to the head, down. Another, BLAM! A swarm struggles through the hatch on the roof of the main building.

      The teams spread out, heading to the closest cover and multiple buildings in tight, predetermined groups. The Israeli group on the north side entrance make their way to and through the outer three buildings, disappearing inside. Screams and shots can be heard over the open com. Angus, leading his four-man group through the small gap at the rear wall, signals the two Canadian soldiers to make their way around the back of the main building then up the north side. 

      Angus and Lee inch forward along the south side wall, stopped short as a body topples from the roof an inch in front of them. Rifle shot to the head. “Jesus Christ woman” Angus growls into the com. “It’s raining men, Halleluiah” Brig dead-pans, BLAM! another body slams to the ground just behind them. “Shit” Lee grumbles at the near miss and wisecrack. The two men exchange eyes rolls.

      A few feet further on, a window explodes above them, a militant knocking out the glass with the butt of his rifle, eyeing the soldiers. Angus steps away from the wall, aims and sprays a round of cover fire at the figure then whips back out of sight as Lee steps out and throws a grenade through the window. They hunch over and protect themselves from the explosion up against the exterior wall. Coast clear, the pair reassess the window. The threatening militant has been thrust forward through the window, impaling him on a large shard of glass.  Moving forward, the two take out militants stepping off the front porch, attempting to make their escape down the side of the building.

      Militants file out, dozens at a time, groggy, confused, firing with their own assault rifles, most never able to aim their weapons as the special forces soldiers take them out within seconds. Covering behind a large broken down truck, Mack’s group wait for the militants to exit the front of the building, easily dropping them as they show themselves.

      As the militants grow wiser about exiting, Mack signals Nolan, Catch, and Long forward along the south side of the perimeter wall, covering behind stacked pallets and junked parts. Catch nods in indication of Lee and Angus making their way up the side of the building as the three advance. Pausing between gaps they use their night vision scopes to see into the building through the windows and open door to take out militants attempting to shoot from their wedged positions. The Canadian captain does likewise with a few of his men on the north side wall. 

      As the three outbuildings are cleared, the Israelis announce and set explosives to blow later. Moving up with the American and Canadian teams, the Israelis assist using portable grenade launchers. Two are flung through the windows at the front of the building. Glass and building rip outward, the four men advancing along the side, duck from the debris.

      Out of the corner of her eye, Brig catches a glimpse of what she’s been waiting for. “Hello pesky wabbit” she quotes under her breath. A man is crawling out behind the bush at the base of the compound wall. She aims. Shoots. The man crumples to the ground.

      Angus and Lee reach the side of the porch, the two Canadians on the north side whispering their own position on the other end, pull down their gas masks. Mack and the rest of the men move forward around the debris littering the sides of the perimeter wall, advancing until the main group is in position.

      On Mack’s signal, the four men just off the porch launch more blasters through the front windows and doorway, stepping back out of the way of the explosions then launching themselves over the window frames and into the front of the building. The four men advance into large rooms, taking out militants as they lean out from doors and hallways.

      The main group follow through the front door and windows. Mack, Lee, Angus, Catch, Hunch, Vega, and Martinez, with their dogs and a few Canadian team members head upstairs, throwing and waiting for grenades to go off before making it to the top. Catch and Hunch, reaching the top of the upper floor first, advance down the hallway.

      At a doorway on their right, the end of a rifle juts out into the air before them. Catch, standing just before the door jamb grabs the barrel in midair, thrusting the end up to the ceiling just as it discharges. Hunch, at his left side, reaches around him with a shot gun, aims blindly, blasting the rifle barer back into the room.  “Nice” Lee comments at Catch’s grab behind them. “Baby, I’m a star” Catch quips, pleased.

      At a growl from Bruno, Vega tosses a grenade into the room, the group moving away from the door for cover. The dust settled, the men enter, rows of foam mats and blankets litter the floor for makeshift beds. A figure moans, Lee puts a bullet in its head.

      The two dogs sniff at the other dead bodies. Their handlers share a confused look with Mack and the others as the dogs linger with teeth bared on the dead. They growl low but do not alert to anything familiar. Getting them to move on to the next course of action takes repeated orders.

      Shrugging it off, Mack, Angus and Martinez take over the lead and continue down the hall to other rooms, tossing grenades and taking out running and screaming militants as they round corners.

      Mad Dogg, Nolan, Orlando, Long, Hansen, with his dog, and a large portion of the Israeli team make their way to the basement. Tossing blasters down the staircase, angling them into doorways and rooms, the men cover for the blasts. Rushing down, the teams break off in pairs into side rooms, their night vision allowing them to blast through men coughing and flailing around, blinded and deaf.

      As the group advances down the main hallway, they end at a large room. Computers and tech line the walls, men hurriedly typing at keyboards and actively destroying hard drives. Mad Dogg, Long and Nolan, take out the surprised men. Hansen sends his dog forward into the room, the Israeli team following.

      Trailing the sniffing dog back to an alcove, a short ladder leads to a tunnel about ten feet off the ground. Mad Dogg eyes the rear of a man shoving his body into the small whole, stopping Hansen from shooting, eyeing the rest of the men to grab any computers not destroyed and papers lining the tables. Stepping away from the alcove so he can’t be overheard, Mad Dogg whispers into his com, “Hey Brig, you’re about to have another pesky wabbit” he mimics.

      Brig listens as yelling and bullets spray from the soldiers inside the main building. Tiny green laser lights and red flashes flicker in the windows from the scopes and firing. “Gee Doc, you’re quite the challenge buzz-kill. Was hoping for a game of whack-a-mole” is her reply. “Figured you were growing bored out there. I could just shoot him in the ass for you” Mad Dogg offers. “No worries, I’m sure he’s going to shit his pants either way” she surmises.  From Brig’s point of view a figure emerges from the bush; BLAM, his head drops on top of the first body.

      The men rummage through the computers and hard drives for anything salvageable. Pausing in front of one of the still live and functioning computers, Long frowns at the map and red dots littering the screen. “Command, not sure what it means, but they’ve got targets for something all along the western sea board of Europe, through Turkey and down into Israel and even Palestine.” Long breaths out. “Pack it up, we’ll look when you’re back at the base.” Gen. Brown barks back.

      Zoey viciously alerts, teeth bared and shaking, to a few of the militants, moaning and rolling, still alive. The soldiers closest take them out, bullets to the head for certainty. Soon the chaos dies down, multiple voices calling “clear” as they move throughout the building. Minutes tick by, then, “Command. We’re clear here. Brig, get your ass down here.” Mack yells into his com. “Roger commander. Evac ETA 40 minutes. Secure packages and await Charlie One.” Becca responds

      Brig takes a long last scan through her scope watching the soldiers doing second sweeps. The small mountain range around the compound silent. The wind grows stronger, the skies still inky black. Satisfied, she pulls back, switching out her rifles, then attaches T and herself to the prepared harness and rope, launching them from the cliff side down to the gorge.

Chapter 13 

      Brig follows T to the south side compound wall, heading for the smaller breach, eyeing the small escape tunnel blocked by the two bodies from earlier out of the corner of her eye. Just before they reach the toppled entrance, T stops, belly to the ground, hackles raised, growling. Rifle up, Brig listens for sounds, edging closer to the fallen wall, then around the corner. A figure lunges at her, reaching. A militant. She fires. Bullet to the head. The figure drops.

      Brig aims back into the dark hole in the wall, waiting. Nothing stirs. T’s hackles relax, but she continues to growl at the body. She still doesn’t like it, dead or not. Her retracted snout slowly releases from its fang-bearing growl. Brig frowns in confusion, looking at the dead militant. The body is riddled with bullets, many straight to the torso, which should have instantly killed him. Interesting. Bullet proof vest maybe? He’s dead now. Brig thinks to herself. 

      Brig looks back at the fallen wall, rifle still up and creeps closer, T at her side, growl lessoning. Brig makes her way through the breach and along the south side of the main building. Bodies are strung across the ground. A body hangs out a broken window.

      Impeding and then guiding Brig’s way, T’s body pushes against her legs in a guarding positon, keeping her handler as far from the dead bodies she as possible down the narrow passageway. Fangs bare again as they pass each corpse. Brig frowns in confusion at her four-legged partner, wondering at her bizarre behavior. None of the bodies were moving, obviously dead and an unlikely threat. The dog’s reaction was alarming as it wasn’t a trained signal for anything. The dog was obviously sensing something, but had no recourse for alerting to an instinctive troubling situation.

      As she nears the front, she can make out the soldiers milling about in the main courtyard. Masks and goggles pulled up onto the tops of helmets, their camouflaged faces making them indistinguishable. Most soldiers at ease, but alert, scanning the buildings and courtyard for any surprises. Many of the soldiers have stuffed bags at their feet, hard drives and files taken from the buildings. The groups had already exchanged handshakes and hellos after the coast was clear. Many mingle in groups catching up.

      As Brig steps out, Mack makes his way over. “You alright? Heard a shot.” He asks, frowning. It had been at least ten minutes for her to make it down to them. “Someone missed.” “Humph” Mack glares around at the buildings, challenging any other missed militants to show themselves. Eyeing the other dogs with their handlers, curious after the trip along the side of the building Brig looks back to Mack confused.

      The other dogs were eyeing the dead bodies in a similar fashion as T, but they were further away from any bodies that they seemed to just stare at them with their uppers lips pulled back in waiting silence. Ready to bark or growl if whatever they were focused on reared its ugly head.

      The rest seemed to obviously to what their dogs were doing as they conversed with the other soldiers. “T’s weirded by the bodies” Brig tells Mack. Eyebrows going up, Mack surveys T and the other three dogs. A curious frown turns back to her. “The others were acting strange as well.” He shares in a whisper. Since the dogs weren’t alerting to anything obvious, they’d just have to wait until whatever they were annoyed with revealed itself.

      Two Israeli soldiers, Hirsch and Maier stamped on their jackets, standing behind Mack suddenly exclaim “A woman?” Attentions turn. Mad Dogg, coming out of the main building and overhearing, “Newbies?” looking at the rest of the Israeli team. They nod their heads, grinning and amused. “Meet Brig McGreggor.” Mack sighs.

      “Good to know you two are so observant. But don’t for one second think she’s a sweet little fragile thing, woman or not. She’d happily carve your heart out with a toothpick one minute, then chow down on some fried chicken the next.” Mad Dogg warns, then grunting and annoyed, he continues out into the main courtyard, yelling into the air, “Becca, so we’re done. When’s that chopper coming so we can blow up this shithole?” Brig shakes her head at the newbies and follows Mad Dogg, the orneriest wonder in the world, Brig laments.

      Hirsch whispers to Maier, “But I thought the US didn’t allow female combatants?” he questions. Maier shrugging his shoulders, wondering why everyone seems to know but not bothering to share. Mack, turning to them, a twinkle in his eye, “Cuz she CAN cut your heart out with a toothpick.” He growls. The two soldiers remain skeptical. Mack grins and walks off, lighting his cigar, leaving them hanging.  Mack eyes the Israeli Captain, a silent understanding between the two. The Israeli Captain grins back and ignores the question from the soldiers as well and follows Mack.

      The two newer soldiers turn to each other confused. “How the hell do you even carve anything out with a toothpick?” Maier asks. Angus, passing by, stops and stares down at them, “Have you never gone to the dentist? They do make metal ones” he explains, winking and grinning at them, then follows the others. The two soldiers just glare at his back. Everyone’s pulling their leg.

      “Charlie One in route. ETA 25 minutes” Becca answers Mad Dogg’s question. As Brig follows Mad Dogg, two large Canadian soldiers, early thirties under their paint. Long grizzled hair and beards pulled back, twins, Erik and Vidar Reistad, step in front of Brig. Arms out wide, invitations for hugs, eyes and toothy smiles white against their painted faces. “Brig!” they exclaim in heavy Norwegian accents; transplants from Norway to Canada when they were teenagers.

      Stopped short and irritated, and here they are, the annoying cousins. Brig pulls two long Wakizashi blades from her back, pointing one at each brother in warning. Erik, slaps a hand to his heart dramatically, “Brig, you wound us. We’ve just missed you so much” he pleads. “Then miss me from afar or I’ll wound more than that” she threatens. She’s dealt with these two for ages, and they are basically children in adult sized bodies, their constant flirting obnoxious. Jesus, I’m almost ten years older than them, Brig groans to herself.

      The Canadian and American soldiers around them watch with rapt amusement. Mad Dogg, a delighted smile on his face, relishes the moment. This was part he had been looking forward to. The Israeli soldiers, confused, not familiar with these persistent exchanges between the three, wonder at the rest of the US and Canadian soldiers. “Brig, why do you not want our love. We would treat you like a Queen.” Vidar says, mimicking grasping at his heart like his brother. “Alright, off with your heads.” She declares. The two men guffaw. This is an ongoing opportunity to harass Brig and they love it.  But they give up under the circumstances.

      Fists still covering their wounded hearts, back away, eyeing the short swords Brig is brandishing. As they leave, Brig lowers and returns the swords to their scabbards, rolling her eyes as the two walk away, giving everyone around her the evil eye to quit laughing. Noticing a growling Angus and a few other Delta team members behind her, no wonder they took off so quick.

      “I see the twins found you.” Becca comments over the com. “Yeah, 30-year old’s Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber!” Brig mumbles. Becca chuckles in her ear and the men around her laugh even harder. The twins off away now, jaws dropping open as if shocked.

      Mack, meeting up with the Canadian Captain Ivar Norgard, or rather known as “Red” for his bright red mane and beard, currently blackened with paint, and the Israeli Captain, David Levy, five o’clock shadow, sporting a rather large broken nose from years before. He had never had it fixed, deciding it gave his face a more menacing character.

      The three shake hands. “Red, glad to work with you guys again.” Mack comments. Red nods in agreement, eyeing the twins, “You as well, although some of mine are still ridiculous. Levy, great…” cutting him off, deep angry growls and vicious barking erupt from T and the other three dogs, hackles raised. The group goes silent. Rifles up.

Ch. 14

      What’s that smell?” someone asks over the wailing of the dogs. The group cover their noses making stinky faces and groaning; a strong gust of wind blows from the north. The clouds above darkening with anger. Flickers of lightening dance from west to east.

      Distracting them, a missed militant appears running out from the northeastern building, screaming, holding up his hands as if in surrender but there is a gun in one of them, as he charges to the north gate. The dogs baying at the newcomer, are somewhat silenced, but remain agitated.

      The militant screams in Arabic, “Don’t shoot. Please, I’ll just go. Don’t shoot”. The entire group reacts, surrounding him from three sides, dogs dropping to their bellies, ready to attack if needed.  The militant’s steps slow as the group yells at him in Arabic to stop, to drop his gun, which he drops but continues to slink to the north gate, backing up towards it, facing the group. As soldiers continue to yell, he pleads back “Don’t shoot, I can just leave”.

      Brig watches, her own rifle aimed, soldiers yelling orders for him to stop, some arguing to just shoot him, she notices the change in tone of the four dogs. Their growling and barking transform to whines, teeth bared, chest to the ground at an attack ready. They are scared, indicating a different and more serious threat. The soldiers pause. The dogs aren’t focused on the militant anymore.

      Out of the night, under the flashes of brightness from above and hint of dawn at the edges of the world, three human figures emerge through the destroyed gate behind the lone man. Light mist obscures their detail. Fists tighten on weapons, aiming at the new figures. Confusion contorts the soldiers faces. The K9 handlers silence and control their dogs, Brig yelling at T to stay back at her side.

      As the figures advance and come into focus, they do not look normal. They shuffle strangely. An arm ripped from the body of one. A broken tibia on another, the bone sticking out through clothing, how can he even be walking? Bloody torsos riddled with bullet holes.

      The militant registers the silence and the soldier’s altered attention. Growing concerned, he turns to look behind him. Moaning, chomping, hissing, the three figures are on him, tearing at his face, throat, blood spraying from a jugular, shoulders, and arms, take him screaming, gurgling down.

      The group stares, mouths agape, dumbfounded. The figures are chewing at his face and arms, ripping his guts open, pulling out intestines. A soldier throws up somewhere. Angus barks out, “What the fuck?”, initiating the same question from the others. “Command, are you seeing this?” Mack asks, cigar falling from his lips. Horrified on the other end, “We do Mack. Col. Brown refresh that satellite and get them out of there” Gen. Brown exclaims. “Yes Sir, Roger. Hang on Mack.” Becca responds.

      Brig noticing Vega is the closest to the militant and the human bodies feasting, watching horrified, his dog growling, shaking beside him, “Vega?” she whispers. 

      “What?” he huffs.

      “Shoot one of them in the chest”

      “WHAT?” Vega barks, glancing over at her.

      “Just do it” she orders.

      Shaking his head but hoping this is going somewhere, he aims at the figure with its back to him. BLAM! The figure is thrust forward from the impact but doesn’t collapse. Instead, it rocks back, pauses in its eating then turns a blank stare at Vega. Vega’s eyes go wide. “Jesus Christ” he exclaims. Swearing and disbelief erupt from the other soldiers. Its attention drawn to Vega now, the figure gets up and shuffles towards him, the other two figures looking up as well. “Vega. Shoot it in the head.” Brig commands.

      Vega rolls his eyes hoping this better goddamn work. He aims, BLAM, the figure drops. RELIEF! He sees the other two rising to a stand, aims, and shoots them in the head. They drop loud in the silence. Brig looks over at Mack, who’s turned his head, along with others, to her questioning. “Fatal head injuries” she explains, recalling the statement from the director of the CDC, Mary Foster, “I must have shot one of them coming in. The guy was shot through his heart” she explains.

      Realization dawning, remembering the earlier conversation as well, “That’s the only way to take them down.” Mack says. “Wait, are they supposed to be those infected people that CDC lady was talking about?” Mad Dogg asks. Incredulous, Lee snaps his head to look at him. “I don’t think they just mass died of a fever” he replies. “Seriously, what the fuck?” Mad Dogg hollers.

      Screeching through their headsets, “Oh my god, Mack, you need to leave now. There’s hundreds more.” Becca exclaims. “Coming from where?” Brig demands. “From some kind of mass grave north of the compound wall. I can just barely make it out on satellite. But those things don’t show up like normal. They’re just shadows. I didn’t know what they were before.” Becca explains. Brig’s eyes go wide with understanding, “The civilians. Hundreds.” she whispers.

Chapter 15 

      Terrified, the group starts backing away from the north gate, but a blood curdling scream rips from the very back of the group, towards the main building, stopping them in their tracks. A dead militant has made its way to the Israeli soldier Hirsch, biting and ripping at his left shoulder and neck.

      Hirsch struggles as the closest soldiers run to him, Maier shooting the militant in the head, the body dropping to the ground. Soldiers pull out medical kits, staunching the wound and flow of blood. More soldiers surround the group, covering. Comprehension dawns, everyone looking around at the bodies of the militants they just killed. The four dogs are going BALLISTIC. “Gen. Brown. I think you may want to tell Ms. Foster. Those people are dead. And you don’t need to be bit.” Brig asserts into the com.

      More militant bodies start moving, moaning, but only those not shot in the head. Even bodies blown apart from grenades gaze out from discolored eyes, reaching with varying degrees of amputated forearms towards the soldiers. “Son of a bitch…” soldiers yell in the distance. Becca, frantic, “Mack!!! You need to go NOW! South wall. GO!!!!” she orders. Twenty years of com experience turning into the authority of a drill sergeant. Just then, more figures start appearing in the north wall breach. Everyone is at attention. No more standing around. The entire group tightens up in one large point formation.

      “Head shots only! Becca, we need that evac now.” Mack yells. And the entire group fire their weapons at the encroaching figures, tightening their spread, retreating to the south gate. The K9’s at their handler’s legs, help guide them backward.  “It’s on its way, ETA fifteen minutes… Oh my god, they’re starting to make their way around the compound wall.” Becca relays, almost hysterical.  “Tell that chopper to fly faster” Mad Dogg yells.

      The dogs are now beyond frenzied, baying in different directions all around them. The soldiers exit through the south breach, onto the road, taking point to cover forward and sides. The entire team cover Hirsch and the two soldiers assisting him. Once patched up, they return to cover as well.

      The soldiers rotate in and out of the circle they’ve formed as they reload weapons. Exiting the compound, a few soldiers spread out to the sides off the road. Brig and Mad Dogg are towards the rear, with Catch, Hunch, and Long, the last men out.

      The dead emerge out of the south gate and from around the east and west sides of the compound walls. Hansen’s dog Zoey lets out a shuddering whine, as an IED, to the left of the road, about 200 yards away, RIPS APART the walker who stepped on it.  Shrapnel, body parts, and dust fly outwards. Realization dawns on the group, Brig shouting first, “Stay on the Ro…!!!” BOOM! Another IED goes off to her right, cutting her off, just off the road. It is far enough that she and Mad Dogg are lurched to the left, T between them, but with minimal shrapnel injury.

      Long had been sent reeling forward from the concussion into the oncoming dead. Just as a dead figure lunges at him, Catch whips him back by his pack, Hunch uses his shot gun to blow the head off the closest approaching figure. Long gives Catch an exasperated look at the near attack, grateful for the interception. Shrapnel and men have been sent hurdling to their right behind them. Brig and Mad Dogg are up and covering with the rest of the soldiers.

      As the dust clears, Hansen and Zoey lay dead, blown apart from the IED he stepped on. Another three men, dead, two Israeli’s and a Canadian, who were just on the other side of the K9 handler, their bodies riddled with shrapnel through their chests; one of the Israeli’s, half his head missing.

      Men from each unit scream the names of the fallen, wanting to charge over to them, but paralyzed by the IEDs strung along the ground that they could set off. Beyond the dead men, Vidar is on the ground, screaming. Three other soldiers, another Canadian and Israeli, along with Vidar’s twin, Erik, with only superficial injuries, cautiously make their way over to him. Erik kneels next to him, yelling his name. Vidar has been hit in the left leg, shrapnel cutting through his femoral artery. The two other soldiers staunch the wound, placing a tourniquet, slapping clotting and pressure packets into the gap in his thigh, wrapping it up. The rest of the soldiers on both sides of the road stand still where they are, covering from their positions.

      Further up the road, with most the soldiers, Mack watches the seen unfold. “Everyone hold your positions. Martinez, Vega, Brig, get the dogs to lead everyone to the road. Everyone else stay where you are and keep shooting those bastards” He orders. “What about the bodies?” Someone yells. No one was left behind, dead or alive, if possible. This wasn’t one of those times. Mack, conferring with Red and Levy with a brief glance, “No time. Those things are going to be on us. We’ll likely kill the rest of us trying to move them” Mack yells through his com.

      Anger flashes on faces, renewed focus at the dead figures following. Martinez and Vega signal to their dogs. Fortunately, there are only a few soldiers off the west side of the road. The dogs make their way to the soldiers, leading them back to the road in single file. As each soldier steps on the road to safety they turn and provide cover with the rest. The dog and handler pairs do the same with the other soldiers further back on the east side so Brig and T can assist the group with Vidar.

      Mad Dogg and Brig, T out in front sniffing at the ground, make their way over to the three soldiers assisting Vidar, covering and shooting the nearing dead. Long, Hunch and Catch remaining on the road assisting them. “Why the hell put IEDs out here?” Mad Dogg wonders. “Only one road in, the most likely direction of attack. They can make their way up into the hills on the other sides.” Brig surmises on their way over.

      As Vidar’s wound is temporarily patched enough to get him up, the group starts toward the road. Erik and the Canadian soldier support Vidar between them. The Israeli soldier returns to shooting the encroaching figures. Before they have gone far, Vidar, gritting through the pain, eyes the fallen men, stopping the group. “Are they going to turn into one of those things?” he asks, knowing the answer.

      Everyone hears him through the open com and pause, glancing at the bodies of their fallen friends, then around and at each other, devastated. If they couldn’t take the bodies with them, they certainly didn’t want them turning into one of the monsters approaching.

      Out of the corner of her eye, Brig glances at Mad Dogg, frozen as well. Stepping forward with her sig, BLAM, BLAM, BLAM, a bullet into the three soldier’s heads. No need for the fourth. Holstering her sidearm, Brig studies Vidar, then the men with him. Rage and shock war in grief-filled eyes, T sniffs and whines at Zoey’s lifeless head. She had been trying to warn her handler. 

      “No.” She says, pausing for a second. One of her best friends lay dead at her feet, her own bullet making sure he didn’t rise. Mind blank Brig. Holstering her side arm, orders “Let’s go.”, and turns with her rifle at the dead approaching them, continuing to the road. The others recover and refocus as they make their way to the road without setting off any more IEDs. The remaining soldiers out on the road refocus as well.

Chapter 16 

      “Charlie One, ETA?” Mack roars as everyone makes it to the safety of the road. The entire group slowed to cover the group assisting Vidar. “Almost there. Coming over the ridge now.” The pilot announces. “Line up with the road. Do not land, I repeat do not land. Put your ass end towards the compound, open the back door and line up with the road but do not land. There’s IEDs all over this fucking place, except the road.” Mack orders, panting. “Roger that.” The chopper pilot agrees. A group breaks from the front and moves ahead.

      “Charlie One, please be advised you have an incoming hostile vehicle, approaching on road heading towards the compound. ETA 2 minutes.” Becca warns. “Are you kidding me?” Lee grouses. The rest of the soldiers grumble along with him.

      A few of the men cease firing to assist Hirsch, who has grown winded from loss of blood. Hundreds of dead, both the civilians and fallen militants, follow, gaining ground. IEDs continue to go off on the sides of the road, out in the fields. The further out from the compound, the more IEDs. Dead body parts and shrapnel exploding outward, landing on more IEDs, the process repeating, the group taking cuts and slices from the debris.

      At last, the group hears then sees the chinook roaring over the low mountains. It descends, spinning its bay door to face the approaching group. Huge wheels hover above the roadway, the end of the bay door about five feet off the ground. Soldiers, including Vega, Martinez, Lee, and many of the Israeli’s up front, reach the door, wind whipping dust up from the ground. The first soldiers pull themselves up and in, turning to help cover, dogs following as ordered, easily clearing the bay door, Brig sending T ahead with them. Sgt. Grueber inside assists, guiding the still scared and excited dogs to the front of the chopper.

      “Charlie One, please be advised enemy vehicle approaching turn along road, sixty seconds out. You are free to fire at will.” Becca comments over the com.

      The group supporting Vidar reach the bay door, pulling him up and in, laying him on the floor, pulling out more medical kits and IV lines. Hirsch is assisted up as well, helping him to a seat, the Israeli’s pulling out their own medical equipment. His gear and clothing are removed from his torso. Blood seeps down his body. A nasty bite mark livid against his neck and shoulder.

      The rest of the soldiers, Red, Levy, and Mack with them, pile in, reloading weapons, aiming out windows and at the bay door.  Brig and Mad Dogg, having allowed Catch, Hunch, and Long to get ahead of them after the blast, are the last at the door, Mack and Red waiting to assist at the edge. Angus and Lee lean out to the sides behind them, covering. The blades of the chopper whip up the sand at their feet. The skies, ominous with its own wrath, sends thirty-mile-an-hour gusts of wind to knock the chopper and remaining evacuees around.

      “You get in first; you can pull me up easier.” Brig yells at Mad Dogg, passing her two rifles up to Red and throwing her pack into the back. At Mad Dogg’s hesitation, “I’m first out, last in, move it” Brig yells at him. Grunting he climbs up, assisted by Levy and Mack, just as he’s clear, the pilot yells through the com.  “Hold on!”. BOOM! A missile is launched. The open bay door rests at the level of Brig’s neck. Her eyes go wide with realization. “Oh Shit” Mad Dogg yells. “Get down!” Brig screams, grabbing and pulling herself underneath the bay door. Just as large pieces of vehicle debris explode apart and land on the IED’ s planted just off the road in front of the chopper.

      The men are knocked back into the belly of the chopper as the pilot reels it back from the exploding shrapnel, fighting the walloping fits of wind jabbing from either side. The bay door drifts backwards and down towards the dirt road, the wheels edging close to the sides of the road. Brig rips off her helmet as the back of it catches on a rock and starts to choke her, the bay door grazing the top of it.

      Angus and Mack are the first ones up, both screaming “Brig, Brig! . . .” then yelling back to the pilot, “. . . Pull up! Pull up! She’s under the door.” Mack roars. The pilots muscle the controls, hitting buttons and flipping switches jerking the chopper straight up and centered on the road. Others who were knocked back or down, recover their positions, Mad Dogg is up right behind Mack, kneeling with him over the bay door. Grueber runs over and attaches lines to the two men. Then to Angus and Lee resuming their cover out the back. The hull is in chaos with orders being barked out.

      The four men at the back strain to see the road, now at least thirty feet below, through the dust in the air blinding them. Brig’s nowhere to be seen. Angus and Lee pause their gun fire for fear of hitting her, but then as gaps in the dust storm appear, Angus gestures out the back, “Mack! Look,”, then to the others, “Keep shooting” he orders.

      The dead, dozens, struggling against the wind from the rotor blades and pissed off mother nature, advance towards the chopper but are focused on something on the road. Mad Dogg eyeing the steep angle, “Just don’t hit her” he orders. Angus, rolling his eyes, “No shit Sherlock” he yells back. The rest of the Delta team hover behind the four on the bay door. The Canadian and Israelis horrified behind them.

      Mack continues searching for Brig on the ground, yelling her name until the pilot has the chopper forward enough. He spots Brig on the road standing up, facing the approaching herd of dead. Mack screams and gestures at the men beside him, “She’s there, I see her” he yells. She is almost surrounded. Eyes at the chopper bay door go wide with panic. The chopper is up too high; they will not be able to reach her in time trying to lower back down.

      Brig, standing, seeing the group of dead headed her way, looks up at chopper. Holding up her left hand, Mack realizes she is gripping a rope hooked to her gear. Mack follows its path; it’s attached to the bay door beneath. Excitement explodes across his face. “Pull up... She’s attached, pull up!!!” he exclaims; the demand chorused by the rest of the group to the pilots.

      The pilot, fighting to hold the chopper steady, rolls his eyes at the repeating orders, “It’s not a goddamn Ferrari!” he yells out. But the chopper lurches forward, tugging Brig back away from the oncoming group, almost knocking her off her feet, but she recovers, the rope going slack for a few seconds.

      Brig has her sig in her right hand, the closest group of dead, feet from her. The first, an undersized young boy, no more than five, an arm torn off from the mass murder, a hole right in the middle of his chest, just about to latch onto Brig with his one outstretched arm. Adult dead approach behind him.

      The men in the chopper pause at the sight of the child. Brig, resigned, backs up, she aims, pressing her eyes closed, shoots the child in the head. He drops, softly; Brig registering the difference even under the roar of the chopper above her. Aiming again, she shoots the others approaching, her goggles protecting her eyes from the tiny pelting shards of glass and rock.  Angus and Lee shake their heads out of their stupor and assist her.

      The chopper lurches upwards, Brig is yanked from the ground, swinging, shooting until she’s clear. Another IED goes off to the left of the road. Body parts and shrapnel explode towards her, knocking her gun away. Brig grabs the line with her now empty right hand, and starts climbing; booking it.

Chapter  17

      Up in the chopper Maier holds a detonator for the explosives they set at the compound. He’s scared, traumatized, he glances at the men at the bay door, who have leaned out grabbing the rope, pulling Brig up. He turns to his captain, “Should I blow it?” Levy eyes the bay door, thinking, it should be fine, “Yes, Yes.” He orders. Red and Angus at the bay door turn overhearing the exchange, charge at the two, screaming, “Noooooooooooo!”

TOO LATE. BOOM!

      Below them, the compound buildings rip apart from the explosions, blinding light fills the interior of the chopper. The explosion is ten times what it should have been with all the extra explosives within the buildings. Debris lands on undetonated IEDs below them. Mack and Mad Dogg fly back, the rope still in their hands, then slack, severed from below. Horrified, they scramble to look over the edge. Everyone freezes, mouths gaping.

      “Briiiiiiiiiig!” Angus and Mad Dogg roar. Horror darkening everyone’s eyes. 

      They can’t see her. Dust and wind hide the ground. Seconds TICK by. Suddenly a black gloved hand SLAPS into view over the edge of the chopper door. Exhilaration erupts through the hull of the chopper. Mack grabs Brig’s hand, then reaches over and down for the rest of her.

      She had been able to reach a hand hold just underneath as the line was cut by shrapnel. Gaping wounds on her forehead and left forearm where the shrapnel passed by cutting the rope, gush blood. As she’s pulled over the edge of the bay door, looking at Mack’s face, pissed, “Seriously?” she gasps. Mack barks out a terrified grunt, “Just had my fucking heart attack” he yells, his throat hoarse.

      Mack and Mad Dogg pull her further inside, fighting the wind, Brig rolls onto the floor of the door. Angus and Red rush back over to help drag the two men holding onto her inside the chopper. “She’s in.” Angus yells out, shaking from the fear of just seconds ago. “Command, team on board, as soon as we’re clear light it up.” The pilot announces, guiding the chopper away. “Roger! Aircraft inbound.” Becca responds, voice cracking.

      Fuming, panting, Brig scans the hull of the chopper. Wild-eyed, she spots Maier, still holding the detonator. She jumps up and charges over to him. Mack and Mad Dogg trying to grab her from their spots on the floor, “Brig No!” Mack orders. Angus fuming himself, lets her pass, sensing her wrath. Red, caught off guard doesn’t react in time. The rest of the Delta members, anticipating the impending vicarious satisfaction remain rooted to their spots. T, growls incensed, sensing her handler’s anger, struggles at her harness Vega holds on to, keeping her back.

      Ignoring Mack and the others, she reaches Maier, who’s still in complete shock. Jabbing the lower half of his liver with a left fist, up underneath his vest, bending him forward in half with a whoosh of escaped air, grabs the front of his vest, holding him steady to punch him square in the face with her right. He drops to the floor. Brig hangs on, sending two more rapid punches, then pauses, “Next time you blow a site, make sure everyone is actually in the chopper.” She hisses.

      The rest of the men, shocked by the event, stand with mouths hanging open, eyes wide.  An unknown Israeli soldier, young, large, clean-shaven, close by, aims his rifle at her, sensing a threat. The American and Canadian teams react aiming their weapons at the soldier. Even Vidar on the floor grabs his Glock. More of the Israeli team raise and aim their rifles back at them in response.

      Levy puts up a hand to stop the first soldier, flashing angry eyes at his other men, communicating for them to lower their weapons. In Hebrew, “Dahan, at ease. Put it down” He orders the young soldier. Mack and Mad Dogg, up behind Brig, “Woah!!! Everyone calm down. We’re good. Brig!” Mack barks. The groups eye her, still holding onto Maier’s flak-jacket, breathing hard, eyes wide, blood streaming off her face and down her hand, contemplating another punch. T continues to growl and bark from her spot where Vega struggles with her harness, Lucy and Bruno joining in, drowning out the silence of the soldiers and screaming of the rotors filling the hull of the chopper. Everyone still.

      Mack eyes Angus, who reluctantly takes his cue, hoping Brig would just keep punching the bastard a few more times before he can reach her, approaches. Making calming shushing noises, Angus eases Brig back by the shoulders. Everyone lowers their weapons.

      Maier hunched over, blood dripping everywhere, a huge piece of skin torn from his nose, attempts to stop the flow.  “God damn knuckles?” He asks through a plugged-up nose. Livid. “Lost my gun.” She retorts. “Commander Maier. We did almost get her killed.” Levy offers. Turning to her, “My apologies Brig, I gave the order. It is my fault. I didn’t think something like that could…” Unable to finish, he just gives her a knowing look to complete his thought, eyeing the bay door.

      Breath slowing, calming down, having known the Israeli captain for a long time, Brig nods her head, satisfied, then shrugs off Angus’s hands, releasing her hold on the Israeli soldier, stepping back.  The rest of the soldiers stow their weapons, breathing sighs of relief. Crisis averted.

      Turning away from Maier, Brig scrutinizes the rest of the soldiers, looking long at Hirsch and his shoulder. T, freed, growling low at Maier as she passes, nudges against Brig. Brig pats her head in reassurance. A few feet away, the other two K9s, are comforted by Vega and Martinez. Vidar lays on the floor, grinning through his now drugged pain, Erik kneeling next to him, “That’s our girl” he mumbles. Erik smiles at Vidar’s joke; happy that his brother is still has his sense of humor.

      Mack, Mad Dogg and Angus, follow Brig, standing next to her in case she goes off again. Mad Dogg offers her one of his towels, gesturing to her wounds, the blood from her forehead dripping down her face, blood seeping off her fingers to the floor from the wound on her forearm. “What the hell happened to your helmet?” Mad Dogg growls, irritated.

      Tired of waiting for her to do anything about the wounds, Angus grabs the towel and pushes it against her forehead. Mack, grabbing a water bottle, dumps some out on another towel handing it over to Angus, as Mad Dogg presses another to her arm.

      Brig stares into space, breathing heavy, the adrenaline seeming to seep out with her blood. Noticing Angus’ large hand covering her face, feeling his other pressed against the back of her head and neck, she takes a deep breath, smelling his skin. Gun powder and a hint of Old Spice, mixed with the metallic iron from her own blood. She feels Angus’s body grow tense at the act, I guess maybe we should’ve talked about stuff before I left, she berates herself. But this wasn’t the time or place either.

      The three men around her restrain themselves from giving her crushing hugs. Emotional after the last harrowing moments. Angus for far different reasons than Mack or Mad Dogg now. Jesus, she better not do any more of this almost dying shit. Not sure how long I can act normal under the newly developed circumstances, Angus grimaces to himself, forcing his gaze at the wall of the chopper, rather than down at Brig.

      Mad Dogg, studying Brig’s less bloodied face once the bleeding is under control, shakes his head, “Well ain’t this some shit!” he breaths out. Brig, Mack, and Angus just regard him in silent agreement, then Brig seems to notice his forehead, eyebrows furrowing. Turning straight to him, reaching up, pulling his head down to stare into the head cam, “Becca?” she asks. “Yeah?” a nervous Becca responds. “Go get my daughter.” Brig orders. A death stare into the camera. The three men surrounding her scowl in understanding. Mad Dogg grips her shoulders in support. Angus frowns, I talked her out of calling her before she left, he reflects. The horror of wondering about their own families registers on the rest of the men overhearing. Mumbling and growling about what the hell had just happened ripples through the chopper.

Chapter 18 

      At the command center, Becca sits in front of a screen looking directly into Brig’s blackened and bloody face. Her own face pale, horrorstruck by what she had witnessed, unconsciously nodding her head at the request. In the background, the military war room is in chaos as figures yell into phones, running in and out of various doorways.

      “Roger that.” She answers, attempting to cover her shaky voice.

      Looking over her shoulder, Gen. Brown stands at her side, just as shaken but achieving control. Discretely, he pushes a button to silence the mic on the desk, looks straight at Becca and gives a slow nod, “I’ll let The Fort know.” He whispers, then turns away. Becca continues to nod to herself, watching him go, traumatized.

***

      Brig, exhausted, shakes her head at the response, turning to the still open bay door, the pilots too distracted from the commotion to close it. A fighter jet, streaks through the sky behind them, launching a series of missiles towards the compound. They stream in, arcing from the lightening sky towards the still darkened ground. The missiles hit the compound grounds just outside, north and south, of the already exploded buildings, a third into the compound itself, lighting it up, 1, 2, 3. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

      The sun peaks over the horizon, turning the once black clouds a violent purple, as the bay door closes. Silence invades the inside of the chopper. Soldiers sigh, relief from the noise.

      Exhaustion and shock grip the crew. Israeli soldiers assist Maier off the ground and into a seat, tending to his broken nose, and gashed cheeks, the man hunching over from the pain in his side. Others start noticing their own wounds from the night. Soldiers go about cleaning up the area, stowing thrown packs and rifles out of years of blind habit.

      Grueber, dazed and at a loss, stands next to Lee, whispering to him “What were those things?” Exhausted and saddened, “God only knows. And apparently, hell don’t want them.” Lee sighs, rubbing his face.

***

      Shock setting in from reliving the moments of losing their fellow soldiers and friends. “What the hell was that? How’d those things get up and start walking? It’s supposed to be some kind of infection that kills them and then that happens. We killed them with bullets and grenades” a shocked Canadian soldier asks. The group stare at each other at a loss. “What about civilians. Hundreds of thousands of people die every day, from heart attacks, car accidents, how did they not know?” Long wonders, earning barks of “Yeah, how’d they get back up?” and “What the hell is going on?” The hull growing with anxiousness and panic.

      “Silence!” Mack roars from the middle of the chopper. Once he has it, “Look, we don’t know what this is, but I’m pretty sure it just started. After this little shit-fest, I’m pretty damn sure everyone knows now...” Mack growls, turning to look at the group. Interrupting, “But they did know” Brig declares in wonder, her mind snapping with realization. Heads whip to her in surprise. “The hell?” Red growls. The men stare in shock.

      Comprehending the confused and horrified faces staring at her, “At least, they were suspicious. They needed to find out. That’s why the mission was moved up. Mack, you got your copy of the mission file?” Brig asks stepping up to him. “Yeah” Mack answers, pulling the folder from a small messenger bag at his side and handing it to her.

      “You think this is about the bullshit story they were given?” Angus comments. Nodding, distracted, flipping through the schematics and mission orders, to the few copies of event reports.  “Yeah. God, I hope I didn’t miss something” Brig laments, scanning the files. “Yeah because those ESP classes that you’ve been taking totally should have clued you in on the dead getting up and walking around” Hunch quips, raising an eyebrow at her.

      Brig shakes her head at his comment, stopping at the report she’d been looking for, scanning it then showing it to the rest, “This one. It seemed odd when I read it before. He’d been seriously injured in a car accident. An infected, obviously a dead one, attacked him while he was at the scene. Someone was able to get the body away, actually killing it in the act. But this guy died from his injuries sustained in the car accident on his way to the ER in the ambulance. He didn’t have time to get an infection, get a fever and then die. But he didn’t rise until two days later. Most of the reports, incidences, these things were taking days to come back...” Brig pauses at Levy’s snort, “It wasn’t days for these sons-a-bitches we just killed to come back” he comments. Brig nods with understanding, “The CDC lady said it just started up in the last week, it was taking days for them to rise but then, just hours. Something like this made them suspicious, possibly more obvious incidences occurred, and they were rising quicker, hence the rush for the mission. It was the perfect opportunity. The mission was legit, but the site was remote, they wouldn’t have been around infected, wouldn’t have been exposed to keep anyone guessing as to why they would’ve risen.” Brig comments. “You mean they set us up?” Levy growls. “Of course they did, we’re soldiers, we follow orders, but we had the advantage of weapons and training. Can’t really test this shit out on civilians” Brig tells him. “Tell that to Hansen and the others” Martinez hisses. Brig stares at him, just as pissed as he was at the losses. The rest of the men frown over their own losses.

      “But why not just tell us. We would’ve done it. At least we would have been prepared” Dahan asks by Levy’s side, eyeing Hirsch. “Seriously? Someone tells you, hey we think some necromancer’s been casting magic spells that make you rise after you’re dead, you want to go check that out for us? You’d sign up? I don’t know about you but I would’ve submitted my resignation at that crazy talk” Mad Dogg grunts, earning frowns.

      “I don’t think that was the concern. We were told the order came from your president and our prime ministers.” Red offers. Levy, catching on, “They’d have a shit storm if it got out, had to come up with some other story” he realizes, others catching on as well. “God damn politicians” Mack murmurs in distaste at the obvious.

      “What I don’t get it is why Thom or Ed wouldn’t have said something to you” turning to Brig, “You went in there first, alone. But you’re all goddamn family, why wouldn’t they warn you?” Mad Dogg grumbles. The Delta team frowns at that point. They knew Brig’s family friendship history between her father and Gen. Brown’s brother, affectionately known as Old Man and it wasn’t a huge secret that Gen. Nelson was her uncle. Both men had taken plenty of opportunities to give Brig any concerning pieces of information prior to a mission.

      Brig looks at Mad Dogg. At first stumped and a little alarmed at the lack of information from men she’s known her whole life, but then, “I don’t think they knew. They’re right” indicating Red and Levy, “They did try to warn us that the official call for upping the mission was bullshit. They just didn’t know what it was. The cover story was probably the version they all got. If your superiors knew, why wouldn’t they have told you? Something like this? You’re right, they would’ve told me.” Brig looks back to Mad Dogg, nodding. “Hell, they would have told all of us.” she points out, addressing the Canadian and Israeli captains, who nod in agreement at her assumption.

      Crackling through their ear pieces, “Brig, He didn’t know” She whispers over the com, surprising the group. “How do you know?” Mad Dogg growls. “Everyone here just about shit their pants.  The pentagon is in chaos. Every war and communications room are filling up. It’s nuts here. But, you know that twitch in his eye he gets? Stares into space when he catches on to being left out of a loop? Then squares up. He just left, and he was really pissed.” She offers. The comment a meaningful code to the group as they eye each other with understanding. 

      “Well, the next time I see either one of them, I’m still gonna punch them in the face” Angus growls. Brig gives him a sad smirk, “Take a number” she quips. The rest of the Delta force team nod in agreement. The men grumble with anger and fear.

Chapter 19

      “I need to get ahold of my wife, we all do. Our families. This shit’s gonna get real bad real quick. They ain’t trained soldiers.” Hunch announces, earning yells of agreement from the rest of the men, the hull growing loud from the panic from all three teams. The three squad leaders eye each other with their own concerns about family, but this was going to erupt into chaos any moment.

      “Knock it off!” Red roars over the din. “We get it, and we will, but it can’t happen right this minute. We don’t have a signal even we could. And right now, you’d all probably scare the shit out them more than help them. We will continue to act like soldiers and keep our shit together until we can do anything about it.” He orders, then eyeing the men further, “You’re all are bleeding all over the damn place. Get patched up, get some rest until we reach the base. Then we can figure it out” Red growls out. Mack and Levy nod in thanks to him.

      The soldiers simmer with anxiety but nod at his point, going quiet. Martinez, turning to Hunch beside him, “Next time you have a “feeling” could you be more specific?” Martinez grumbles. Glaring at him, “Having a “feeling” and having precognition are two different things you ass-hat” Hunch growls back, sick of being blamed for bad outcomes that he had randomly made a statement about.

      Overhearing “Martinez! Shut it!” Mad Dogg orders next to the pair. Martinez, red-faced, adverts his gaze. “Dude, no one could have known” Vega offers, gripping his friends shoulder in understanding, offering Hunch a silent apology for the remark out of the corner of his eye. 

      Taking a long look at his team, Mack walks over to the huddled group. Hunch, Catch, Martinez and Vega all had young children.  So did Hansen, he realizes. What would they do about them? Saddened and overwhelmed but putting his own worries aside, “All of us know every single one of our wives are basically honorary Delta Team members themselves. They’ll know what to do. Hell, Gen. Brown’s wife doesn’t take shit from him, you think her or my wife is gonna be letting some dead things get a go at them? I know damn well yours are just as capable. Claudia and Sherry will take care of it.” He tells them, referring to Gen. Brown’s wife and his own that were default mother hens to the Delta Team’s spouses.  

      “Hell, we just had a drill for this type of shit six weeks ago. Not so much the dead rising scenario, but still… We’ll get a hold of them. Any trouble, they know what to do” Mack adds, a side eye to Brig at the end of the group. “That includes Aster” he tells her meaningfully.

      The men smirk at his summation of their wives. No special ops soldier had timid or weak women as wives. A few of them had even fended off burglars over the years while they had been away on missions. They had caches of food, water, weapons, and ammo at their houses as well. Their wives and any older children knew how to use them. “Yeah, Aster can be mean and crazy just like you. She’ll be just fine.” Nolan declares next to Brig, earning a shocked glare from Brig and snorts from the others. Nolan was a man of few words, but he used them when needed.

       “My daughter is in Italy. She’s pregnant. Her mother is not a strong or a brave woman, just a political tool. Her pansy boyfriend isn’t any better. What am I going to do?” Orlando pleads to the group, agony written on his face. The men stare at him, surprised at the announcement, his daughter was only seventeen. Congratulations would be a little awkward considering the situation, but the impossible logistics of getting to her were apparent even at this early stage, if the world was about to end. The reference about his ex-wife was regarding her job as an Italian diplomat to the US. “We’ll figure something out” Hunch offers, resting a hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze indicating their collective promise.

      The other two teams stand in their groups, having similar conversations about their families and friends, the men finally taking care of their wounds, stripping and patching each other up. After a while of comforting each other, grief and horror steal further conversation, the hull growing silent. Men stare at the floor, rubbing their heads from the strain of the last few hours.

      The reprieve is short-lived as Becca’s voice crackles over the stillness, “Charlie One please be advised you are being rerouted to Harry S. Truman aircraft carrier in the Mediterranean Ocean, just off the Israeli coast.” Mack, Mad Dogg, Red, Levy, Brig, and others advance to the front of the chopper.  “What the hell? What now?” Angus bellows. “The base has been compromised and is being evacuated. No further information at this time. Israeli and Canadian pick up units are being rerouted as well. They’ll pick up their packages from the Truman. I’ll be assisting.” Becca answers, indicating she would be out of contact until the evacuation was complete.  “We able to make it that far?” Mack asks, standing next to the pilot. “Full tank. Shouldn’t be a problem. Roger Command. Correcting course.” The pilot answers.

      Red, stepping closer to Mack as the chopper full of soldiers react to the news, “Mack, that’s another two to three hours at least. Vidar’s lost a lot of blood and needs that artery fixed or he ain’t going to make it. Or worse for anyone, with all this shit, lose his leg.”  Mack glances at Vidar, Erik next to him, then around at the rest of the crew, now pulled out of their shock. Settling his eyes on Brig next to him, he scrutinizes her with a meaningful look. Brig just stares back at him, eyes widening, exasperated.

      “Brig, you’re the only one here who’s done this before.” Mack states. “Yeah, fifteen years ago. On the ground. Not flying ten thousand feet up in the air in a rickety old tuna can. And you barely made it.” Brig huffs back at him. “You know arteries, that’s why you’re doing it. What do you need?” Mack demands “Besides an actual vascular surgeon?” Brig hisses, I just barely made it on board the damn chopper and now I have to finesse a needle? Does the man not see my heart ripping through my chest like a goddamn Alien? Mack ignores the comment.

      Brig glares at her squad leader then looks desperately at Red, thinking, “If he doesn’t die trying to repair the artery it’s going to be from an infection. It may be better to wait” she informs them. Sgt. Grueber pinned against the wall and larger soldiers, mostly by Angus smothering him, clears his throat, “Brig, there’s antibiotics with some of the medical stuff in the emergency kit. Whatever’s in there could help.” He offers.

      Levy perks up, hopeful, “Think we can use some on Hirsch?” he asks. Mack, sad for the man, “You got the same info we did, they haven’t worked, but you’re welcome to try.” Levy nods. Levy knows they haven’t worked either, but they were desperate to try anything. They had just lost two of their men, now a third was facing certain death.

      Brig looks to Grueber, flashing him a “thanks-for-nothing” look. His cheeks flood red. “Grueber, get the kit and my pack.” Looking back at Mack and Red, “He’ll need a blood transfusion first. Eric will have to do it. We’ll use the Vanco for Vidar, there should be Gent we can try on Hirsch” she tells them. Red and Levy nod.

      “We’ll need the strongest men holding him down. We can’t give him anymore morphine or he won’t have a heartbeat strong enough to find the artery.”  Pausing to think, Brig addresses Mack, giving him a knowing look. “I’ll need Lee to assist me.”  She tells him. Lee had assisted her when she fixed up Mack. The only one that could hold his lunch down. “Got it” Mack replies.

Chapter 20 

      Red kneels next to Eric and Vidar along with the rest of his men, explaining the situation. Mack and Levy holler out orders to their teams. Grueber, freed from the seats and the huge men around him, gets to Brig’s pack at the back, unstrapping the medical emergency kit from the wall.

      Mack hollers for Lee, who ambles over, “Brig needs to fix Vidar’s artery or he won’t make it to the ship. You good assisting her?” Nodding his head, “You got it” Lee answers, then looks at Brig’s hands. She just laid down a can of whoop-ass on a guy’s face, frowning to himself. They are still encased in her gloves; the knuckles still on underneath.

      Brig gets his attention and heads towards the back of the chopper, Lee follows, his free-flowing locks from before now neatly braided and tied back. As they make their way, “I need you to get a bag of saline, bottle of alcohol, and gloves out of the medical kit.” Brig instructs him. Lee nods, grabs the items and they stop next to the bay door. Brig turns to face him, staring at the bottom of his sternum, so he’s blocking the others view.

      Bracing herself, Brig peels off her left glove. Swollen, cut, and bruised fingers stick through the pair of knuckles like little sausages. Lee inhales a breath, eyes going wide. Brig ignores him, dropping the glove and knuckle to the floor. Steadying herself, she pulls off the glove and knuckles from her right hand, discarding them as well; the damage even worse. Blood oozes from her fingers. “Jesus Christ, how are you going to stitch up an artery with those?” Lee hisses. “They’re not broken, just swollen. I don’t want the rest to know. Got it?” She demands. Lee, freaking out inside just stares at her, incredulous at her order. Then angry. “Angus come here” he bellows.  Brig glares at him, “Kind of, especially not him” she hisses at him.

      Angus, standing up from the seat he had taken to watch the men around him flutter about the hull like worker bees, towers over everyone on board. Making another excellent wall with his width, stops behind Lee. Looking at Lee, expectant, notices the look on his friend’s face, then glances at Brig’s hands. Hollering as usual, “What the hell?” he demands. Brig and Lee shush him. Brig giving Lee a “See? I told you so” glare.

      Angus, quieter but still pissed, “What the hell? Is that from punching that idiot? How you going to hold a needle?” He whispers. Sort of. “No. it’s mostly from banging my hands into the door trying to grab on as the rope fell. They don’t really make them small enough to fit and still do damage, so they rub. You know anyone else here knowing how to suture an artery?” she tells him. Angus, now frowning at his thoughts, “Are they always like this?”

      “Rarely. But I usually get to take care of it before any of you see and act like a gaggle of old hags hollering about that I got a scratch” she informs them. Lee and Angus glare at her in response. Now mad that they were so unaware, and growing a little pale looking at her hands. She grabs the bag of saline and cuts open the top, handing it back to Lee.

      “Pour it over my hands” she orders. The two men watch the blood run then seep from her fingers until it runs clear and the bag is empty. Brig takes a towel and pats her hands dry. Eyeing the bottle of alcohol, she nods, gesturing for Lee to pour it over her hands. “Are you serious?” he asks, knowing full well how much it’s going to sting.  He’s looking sick now. “Do it.” Brig orders and braces. Lee opens and pours the alcohol over both of her hands, instantly turning them bright red. Brig holds her ground, eyes cinched closed, resolute grimace contorting her face. Angus watching, gulping down bile, grabs Brig’s shoulder to steady them both. Lee and Angus exchange sympathetic, knowing looks. Taking a bullet or exchanging blows with someone was one thing. Everyone hated the searing pain of rubbing alcohol, no matter how tough or experienced.

      The little bottle emptied, Brig remains in place, waiting for the sting to go away. Shaking her hands, letting them air dry, she gestures to the opaque surgical gloves for Lee to put on her hands, “Angus, I need you to hold down Vidar’s hips. You’re the strongest here and he can’t move. The others will have to hold his limbs. I just hope he passes out quick.” She says, looking at him for confirmation. He nods his head. Then to Lee, “You ready?” Nodding his head as well, “Yeah” he sighs.

      Lee stretches the gloves over her still bleeding, swollen hands and fingers, then the trio walks back to Vidar and the men waiting. Lee finds and puts on his own pair of gloves. Eric has been hooked up to an IV giving blood to Vidar. Grueber has removed surgical items from the emergency kit and Brig’s pack. A cushion rests on the floor for her to kneel on. A clean set up area on Vidar’s stomach holds the suture equipment.  His left pant leg has been cut off and removed from the top of the thigh down. Vidar’s pale leg down to his calf caked in blood, the original gauzes soaked but drying. 

      Red and three other Canadian soldiers kneel by Vidar’s head next to Erik, ready for his arms. Mack, Mad Dogg, two other Canadian soldiers, Levy, and Dahan, the Israeli who pulled his rifle on her, await at both legs. Dahan is rather muscular and solid, so she can understand why he was selected. But, are you fucking kidding me? Brig groans with annoyance.

      Others stand by ready to assist but, out of the way. Maier and Hirsch have been moved closer to the front of the chopper, staring at the hovering group around Vidar with rapt attention. A few soldiers stand on the seats on either side of the main group, trying to get a good look.

      Brig eyes all the men, then Eric as she kneels next to Vidar. He’s groggy but awake, smiling through the morphine and pain, “Awwwww it’s the love of my life come to save me.” Vidar slurs. Brig just ignores him, keeping a straight face, not returning the banter. Serious. Hands up in the air so she doesn’t contaminate them, “Vidar. Vidar Look at me.” She demands. After a long minute, he opens his eyes to look at her, “This is going to hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. You can’t move.” She instructs him. Vidar, nervous, pale and shaky, blinks his eyes, nodding his head. “I trust you. We can’t get married if I’m dead” he tells her, shutting his eyes. A stupid grin on his face. Shaking her head, she looks at Eric to let the usual banter go. He just grins with emotion and nods his head. Angus ignores the repartee next to him. 

      Brig nods to Lee and he removes the outer gauze and bandages, cutting off the clotting gel pack over the wound. Grabbing more gauze and clamps, Brig at the ready. “I’m going to need more light” she announces. Multiple flashlights turn on and blind her. “Preferably on the wound, not my retinas” she clarifies. The lights shift to Vidar’s wound as she blinks her eyes.

      “See Eric, she’s checking me out. Hope nothing falls out down there to distract her.” Vidar announces, chuckling to himself, then hacking. Erik shakes his head. Red, the engine-red color in his hair and beard peeking out from rubbing most of the paint off from his worrying, lays a towel over the top of Vidar’s thigh just in case, rolling his eyes.

      Brig just glares at Vidar, “If you could pass out quick for us that would be great Vidar.” Lee catches her eye, “He’d probably jiggle it free on purpose.” He teases. Angus gives him a dirty look. Brig stares at Lee’s teasing smile and wink, exasperated. This is why he assists in these things; he always has a very calming effect. Must be an island thing! Pressing her lips together and tilting her head down, she and the rest of the men waiting to hold him down, giggle and snort. Some of the tension easing. 

Chapter 21 

      Brig looks around eyeing each man, reinforcing Vidar not move, “Ready?” she asks. A mumbled “yes” comes from the group. Lee releases the tourniquet and peels back the clotting pack from the five-inch-long, two-inch-wide gap in his leg. Brig presses with the gauze as fresh blood gushes.

      Vidar is shaking with pain; the men hold him down. Erik places an empty leather knife holster between his teeth. Working as fast as she can, Brig blots blood away until she can see the artery in his upper thigh, spurting, blood spraying her face. As soon as she touches the nerves and artery itself, Vidar’s limbs jerk. “Hold him down dammit.” She yells, furious, as she applies pressure, her mind reeling at what she needs to do. The others scream at each other as well and all lay heavier on his body. Angus at his hips, the only part that didn’t move, holding them down easily, barely using his own strength.

      Another shot at the artery and Brig clamps down on the pumping vessel. Vidar screams and shakes. Eric, hushes and coos to him. The rest of the men, holding their breaths or mumbling he’s doing good, watch in bewildered fascination.

      Now the harder part. The other end of the artery isn’t pumping. With another clamp and blunt retractor, Brig begins sifting through nerves, muscle, and severed veins. Vidar starts hyperventilating and a violent shudder ripples through his body, then stops. Still. All the men look to his face. Brig ignores it and continues to search for the second half of the artery. “He passed out. Don’t let up. Keep holding him down as hard as you can.” She orders. The men return to their vigil.

      Finally, Brig clamps onto the other end of the artery, “Gotcha.” She declares triumphant, gently pulling the two pieces of severed artery together. Lee has a suture needle and thread ready to go, just as she had taught him years ago with Mack. Just as she’s about to start sewing, the chopper hits turbulence. “Shit! I can’t stitch with you bouncing us around up there.” She yells at the pilot. “We’re hitting some crosswinds, hurry up back there. Stitch faster.” The pilot yells back.

      Keeping her head down at her task and mumbling, “Remind me to punch him later.” Angus’s head whips up, “No punching for you, woman. At least, not for a while.” He declares, giving a meaningful look to Lee. Mack and Mad Dogg look at him curious, then down at Brig’s gloved hands, then back at Angus, who shakes his head to let what he said go.

      As Brig begins the first stitch, Dahan asks, “How do you know how to do any of this?” Annoyed that he has to be the one to ask, but realizing many of the Israelis and even most of the Canadians knew little about her background, Brig stifles her ire. The memories flooding back, calming for her right at that moment.

      “My mother was a vascular surgeon. World renowned.” She informs him, concentrating. She places the first stitch. “When I was younger, trying to tempt me into becoming a doctor instead of a soldier like my dad…” Stitch. “…In between my little kid military physical fitness boot camps, learning knives, guns, archery, and martial arts with my father…” Stitch. “…She would take me to work. Let me watch while she performed amazing feats of surgical precision...” Stitch. “…She would demonstrate and then let me practice on cadavers in the hopes that I would give up my silly dreams of a being a soldier and follow her career path which would be safer and not so… you know?” Brig’s eyebrows raising in thought.

      Stitch.  “She finally gave up. I was about fourteen, not fully realizing her intentions and hopes at the time...” Stitch, pausing at the memory. “…I’d said to her, that everything she was teaching me was going to be great to know, since, in case a fellow soldier got wounded and had any arteries severed, I could patch them up.” Brig explains. Stitch. The hull silent, the men stare at her, waiting. “She died ten years ago from a ruptured aortic aneurysm” Brig announces; an afterthought at the unfortunate coincidence.

      Dahan, mouth agape, appalled at being being the one to ask, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to pry” he stammers. Others glare at him for bringing up such a depressing topic. Brig just huffs out a small laugh at herself. “I’m just glad I didn’t destroy all her hopes and dreams by admitting to her that all her training was actually giving me ideas about how to torture and kill an enemy” she confesses.  Eyes go wide at that. A little bizarre that a teenage girl was thinking about death so perfunctorily, some of the soldiers now a little more apprehensive about her. “Guess I’ve always been crazy” She smirks, eyes flitting to the US men around her. Vega and Martinez glance to each other and the alarmed men around them. “Maybe we should stop calling her that” Vega suggests in a low whisper, earning snorts of agreement.

      Brig finishes stitching the artery together under the lingering silence. Holding her breath, Brig releases the clamps. Arterial blood rushes through the vessel, seeping just a little but the stitches holding. Everyone waits, holding their breaths. Brig sits back on her heels and breathes a sigh of relief, wiping sweat and blood from her forehead with the back of her arm. The chopper erupts in celebration. Angus slaps her on the back almost knocking her over. She glares at him, then looks at her hands. She can tell the gloves are full of blood and lowers them.

      “Lee, we’ll need to keep an eye on the artery. The nerves are a mess; those weren’t in the lessons.” She admits wryly. “We’ll have to have the surgeon close him up on the ship. Let’s pack it until then.” Lee nods, and they pack the wound. Once finished, Lee joins the men in celebration, slapping each other on the backs with pride.

      Maier and Hirsch have been sitting together, watching, “I’m starting to believe the toothpick thing.” Hirsch sighs. He’s growing weaker. Maier studies him, noticing with sadness, then agrees with a thick snort, instantly regretting the unconscious reaction. Watching Brig, Maier is still angry from the beating she gave him, but appreciating how after the illuminating monolog. It wasn’t just marine and special ops training at her disposal. She may be little, and look like nothing, but she knew exactly where to land her fists. She’s like a little Bruce Lee, he tells himself.

      Brig slips to the back of the chopper with another bag of saline, hand towel, gauze and wraps out of her pack. Blocking everyone’s view as he turns and faces the rest, Angus follows. Blood splatters to the floor as Brig removes her gloves, the heaviest from her right hand. She rinses and wipes them as they shake with adrenalin, wrapping up each. I’ve sure had a lot of practice tending to my own wounds, she reflects.

      Lee, Mad Dogg, Mack and Angus watch her, concerned, as she sits, leans back, and stares out the window across from her. She focuses on the light blue sky outside, willing herself to hide all her pain, shakiness, and worry from the others. I’ve had a lot of practice with that as well, she thinks to herself.

      Grunting with pain at his aching joints, Mad Dogg slides into the seat next to her. Using a slight-of-hand trick, he offers her a wet nap pack. She looks at him in disbelief. He just raises an eyebrow in amusement, eyeing her face. The wound from the shrapnel severing the rope downright forgotten by Brig. At least her blood had slowed, but now she had streaks from Vidar’s across her face. “I’m out of doo-rags.” He explains. Brig, eyeing and then taking the wet nap in her bandaged hands, amused at first, frowns for a long moment.

      “I think we’re gonna need a lot more.” She conjectures.                                                              

Chapter 22 

       

      Brig stares blindly, sitting on the floor, back up against the bay door, legs folded underneath as she unconsciously strokes her T’s head and neck. T licks at her expressionless face in return.  The chopper flies over uninhabited desert. I’m sorry you lost your friend, Brig thinks at Tabitha. I’m sorry I lost my friend, blocking out the last image. Mind blank Brig.

      How did this happen? The entire world. Suddenly exposed to something that makes bodies get up and attack others, wanting to eat them. No patient zero, no location zero. At least they haven’t been able to figure out at this point. The CDC lady just said it was happening all over the world without sharing an originating source. That was telling. They didn’t know where it began. This is an extinction level event. Billions of people are going to die regardless of the method, but then they will rise. They’re dead, but not! What is that? How did it happen? A virus? Bacteria? From where? How? God, I need to get to a hold of Aster, Brig thinks to herself for the hundredth time while on their redirected course.  Her head was pounding.

      The dogs had been wondering around the chopper, looking for and offering comfort to various members, including those on the J2F2 and Shayetet 13 teams. Even T had eventually forgiven Maier for pissing off her owner, sniffling and nuzzling his sensitive and bruised face, bent over in his seat from the jab to his stomach. Hirsch seemed to need the most attention. All three dogs had made their way over to him, growling at his injury, avoiding it, staying towards his right side, but spending an extra amount of time and focus on him it seemed. The unusual displays appreciated by the rest.

      Vidar’s antibiotics had finished and lays quietly sleeping with a slow saline drip. The men murmur in groups, the three squad leaders conferring in a hushed group up by the pilots, the rest with their heads back against the walls in their seats, or stretched out over a few of them. Mad Dogg sits with his head resting back in the last seat closest to Brig, eyeing her from under his eyelids. Some of the men had made make-shift hammocks out of the extra cargo netting. Lee and Angus sway over Brig’s head snoring over the hum of the chopper, earning annoyed looks.

      As the chopper glides over the cities of Israel, the three squad leaders bark out to get up and ready to disembark, Mack with an added growl that “No, you can’t have five more minutes” to Angus, resulting in the two behemoths sending the back end of the chopper dipping as they roll out of the hammocks and hit the floor in a huff.

      Angus offers Brig a hand up, growling that the rest were jerks taking up all the seats and letting her sit on the floor under his breath. Brig reminds him she had sat there on her own before any of the seats were taken so to shut up about it, glaring at him for the ridiculous fretting.

      Israeli soldiers stare out of the windows growing concerned. Flying too high for much detail, they could only make out masses of people in the streets, sporadic buildings and houses on fire. Highways packed with cars, crowds gathering around hospitals while military bases looked like festering ant hills. Levy points out large open areas in parks and on the outskirts of the city covered with massive tents surrounded by multiple military and medical vehicles.

      They fly through the thickening clouds of smoke as they pass, then enter a clutter of circling aircraft at the water line. The Israeli’s vocally concerned about what was going on and how their loved ones faired.

      The chopper lands on the USS Harry Truman. Brig and the rest of the team ask about being able to call their families. Mack informs them that the lines were all blocked, giving a personal, “Becca’s taking care of it. Don’t worry.” to Brig. His attempt at placating her. Although she had every confidence in Becca, that she hadn’t been able to warn and instruct Aster herself was grating on her nerves.

      Exiting the chopper, the pilots and Grueber are handed off to the flight crew. Hirsch and Maier are transferred to a waiting medical chopper and flown over to a nearby hospital ship to tend to Hirsch’s particular injuries. The land based hospitals were filling up. Maier is sent with to report back, as well as to have his own wounds examined.

      To minimize moving Vidar too much, he was being rushed below to the aircraft carrier’s own hospital to undergo surgery for the rest of the wound on his thigh. Red had to physically restrain Erik to stay put and remain with the group until Vidar was out of surgery; Worry contorts his face.

      The group of irritated soldiers follow their squad leaders to a small galley just off the bridge. Brig’s mind screams along with the fighter jets taking off outside, other choppers roaring, offloading their cargo or filling up and taking off. Ship crew run through the halls, squeezing past the group, desperate to get to their destinations. Their sense of urgency, palpable.

      Turning her attention back to the conversation a few feet from her, the XO, Captain William Murdock, clean shaven, standard military haircut, late thirties, explains that the CO is currently in on a large briefing with the Pentagon discussing multiple incidences like theirs throughout the night, most with high body counts. The three commanders will need to attend. The Canadian and Israeli pick up choppers had been rerouted to assist with rescue missions and the two foreign teams were to remain on board until further notice. The ship only had enough officers’ quarters to accommodate the three commanders but the rest of the team could hold up in an empty berthing compartment in the Marine section.

      “We should have an extra bunk in with most of the women” the Cpt. Murdock suggests, eyeing Brig. A perfunctory and resounding “No” barked by Mack and Mad Dogg, triggers a raised brow from the XO. Brig stares at him unconcerned. “She’ll stay with us, and we’ll be staying with our men as well. No need for officers’ quarters” Mack explains. At the back of the group a whispered “Don’t need any broken daws on this ship either” Lee mumbles under his breath. US soldiers smirk at the comment.

      Cpt. Murdock, studies Brig for a few seconds, overhearing the comment, then nodding, turns back to the commanders. “I see. The bunks are tight, but you should have plenty of room, with a little more privacy for showers since I had a group transfer out yesterday. We can move your groups up to officers’ quarters if and when they come available” he suggests. Everyone just shrugs their shoulders. Not a group that complains much about living conditions.

      “No worries Captain, we’re good where ever you put us now” Mack assures him. Nodding, Cpt. Murdock turns to a waiting ship officer, instructing him to lead the teams to their quarters.

      Mack, usual cigar clenched between his teeth, unlit at the moment, along with Red and Levy, turn to the group in solidarity. “You all stick together until we know what’s going on and we get new orders. I have a feeling our unique experience is going to have us together for a little bit so no wondering off” Mack orders, giving Brig a pointed look.

      If looks could kill Mack would be dead. While the Delta Force squadron was a legit team, Brig wasn’t technically under his command when not on missions or operations. She had her own standing orders during travel and down time, which required her wondering off, alone, reconnoitering, anywhere they happen to be. Mack acknowledging that fact, frowns a silent agreement as he and the other two commanders turn to leave with the XO.

Chapter 23 

      As the larger group starts moving, Brig glares back at Lee for the comment. He gives her a toothy grin; glad he found something to smile about. With Mad Dogg out front, the selected petty officer, First Class Waters printed over his shirt pocket, young, blonde, and lanky, leads them down into the belly of the ship. Angus contorts his body through the hatches, mumbling “Fucking doorways” or “Did they purposely make them for goddamn munchkins?” at each, until a “We get it, you’re too damn big for the ship” barked by Mad Dogg ordering him to shut up and quit whining.

      After multiple flights of stairs, Brig was starting to believe their assigned berthing compartment was at the bottom of the ocean. But they eventually step off at their deck, following one after the other like a row of tired ducklings. Half way down the hall, momma duck abruptly stops in his tracks, everyone crashing into him from behind. Brig, T at her side, a few US soldiers back, finds herself squished between Nolan in front and Hunch behind her.

      Paying attention now, the smell of simmering food draws furrowed brows from the back of Mad Dogg’s tattooed head to the mess hall to their left. “Chow first” Mad Dogg declares, marching in. The collapsed accordion follows.

      Commandeering and dropping their packs and gear at the largest tables, the entire US, Canadian, and Israeli special forces teams line up at the buffet, loading their trays with almost every item offered. Navy, Airforce, Army, and Marine stationed personnel already seated in the room, watch, mouths agape, at the mountain of men, particularly Angus and Lee, take over their little part of the ship.

      Mad Dogg, having sidled up beside Brig, takes it upon himself to scoop seconds of whatever Brig selects onto her plate. Angus standing behind him in line, grunts, “I was going to do that you know” he informs Mad Dogg, who shrugs. “And why are you scooping second helpings onto my plate exactly” Brig inquires, annoyed. “Cuz we aren’t coming back for seconds. And we all know you’ll want more anyway. I’m tired and want to sleep as soon as possible once we’re all done eating. Being efficient” he informs her.

      Brig rolls her eyes; I was only starving a little. Too apathetic to argue further, she follows a soldier ahead of her to the table, sits and hands down a plate of meat to a drooling T on the floor, then digs in herself. Vega and Martinez do the same with their dogs at their table. 

      TVs hum and flicker, at first, ignored by the group working savagely and silently at their trays. Gradually, the news reports flashing on the screens gain their attention. As their bellies fill, distracted, they watch as dead figures attack civilians on the streets of multiple cities, cutting away before any gross detail is revealed. Local police and army reserves, in multiple countries, try to contain the pockets of chaos behind whatever attractive news reporter the station has out in front of the city’s or town’s hospitals. The entire group frowns losing their appetites. They just went through this as highly trained, special forces combatants, how are civilians going to handle it?

      The silence lingers, deafening the room, soldiers worrying about their friends and families, until murmurs start trickling in from the stationed crew members. Mad Dogg notices their guide sitting with peers, whispering aside, annoyed by the wait. Deciding they’d seen and eaten enough, he clears his throat. “Let’s get some rest” Mad Dogg orders, standing up. Chairs swivel and screech as the rest of the group stands. Mad Dogg signals to their guide, noticing an unwarranted irritated look from the petty officer. That boy is gonna get a black eye in a minute, glancing at Brig at the thought, sighing with relief that she hadn’t noticed anything amiss.

      At their assigned berthing compartment, Mad Dogg stands at the hatch, holding up the line, noticing the petty officer hanging back, lurking. Not liking his leering and attitude in the mess hall, “We’re good PO Waters, you can run along back to your duties.” Mad Dogg grunts, giving him a glare. Taken by surprise, the petty officer turns red, nods his head, and books it down the hallway.

      Satisfied, Mad Dogg gestures for the group to enter, sending the first to enter, further ahead into the compartment. Pausing at Brig, he orders her into the first bottom bunk by the door. Canadian and Israeli soldiers wonder at the placement as they pass. “Why you are putting her at the door?” Dahan asks, curious. “Cuz if you want to hear an enemy creeping up on you from a mile away, its best to have someone who can do that” Mad Dogg informs him. “The others have dogs” Dahan states. “I wasn’t talking about the dog” Mad Dogg grunts. Dahan’s lips form a little “O” and continues down the columns of bunks. As Lee passes him, “Long story. Maybe we get a chance to share it. But right now, too damn tired” he sighs. 

      Brig, not even bothering to remove her rifles, weapons belt, or packs on her back, slides in and on the mattress inches off the floor. Face down, belly full, aching and exhausted, she passes out. T crawls in and lays on her legs, head down, eyes closed, out as well.

Chapter 24 

      Up in the command center, Mack, Red, and Levy, sit with the CO, Captain Martin Bellen, and other ship and military officers, including the XO. The Joint Chiefs, along with the president and top advisors, Mack recognizing the director of the CDC, Mary Foster in the background, have heated discussions about the current state of affairs up on the main screen. Supplementary side screens flick between other command centers and war rooms, showing additional commanders and officers included on the call; all over the world.

      The three squad leaders were given a brief chance to shower and eat from the buffet table lining one of the walls. Now they sit glaring, exhausted, and exasperated at the never-ending reports and repeating arguments that have been going on for hours. Most of their annoyance from their distaste for the CO. A short, pudgy, disbelieving buffoon they met upon entering. The man just ignores the screen, still pounding down food from the sideboard. Mack had to refrain from punching him after his look of derision once being informed about the previous evenings atrocious events.

      Cpt. Murdock continuously glances at three new comers with pleading looks of embarrassment and apologies at the CO’s obvious and infamous lack of respect. I certainly intend to find out how the hell this piece of shit got put in charge of such a renowned aircraft carrier, Mack thinks to himself. Distracting him from his thoughts, officers at the Pentagon call for everyone’s attention, as a camera focuses on Gen. Brown sitting at a table. 

      “Last night, as you all have been made aware, multiple military operations were underway when more of these, things, attacked” Gen. Brown begins. Nodding to someone off screen, the screens on their end switch from the other command centers, to combat soldier’s headcam videos from their particular missions, marked with the date and times stamps of the night before.

      The first series of videos show soldiers patrolling, militants attacking, chaos and fighting ensue, moments later, dead rise up and surprise the soldiers. Bullets spray into the dead bodies; useless. Terrified soldiers run out of bullets. The dead swarm them, biting and clawing at the soldiers attempting to reload their guns. Two dead overcome one of the soldiers, ripping out his throat, eating his face, before they are taken down with head shots. Different op videos showing similar situations are skimmed through as Gen. Brown continues.

      “Like we’ve stated in earlier briefings, health officials are at a loss as to what this is and how bodies that should be dead aren’t staying that way. Regardless of how they die. Any bites or scratches from those rising up, and the victim develops an incurable infection, then dying and coming back themselves…” He states.

      Mack and the other two captains notice Captain Bellen, fascinated by his pudgy fingers, rolling his eyes, dismissing Gen. Brown and the screens. A silent conversation ensues between the three. The room tense with the CO’s attitude. Mack clamps his hands together so he doesn’t leap across the table and strangle the little turd.

      Flashing on screen, the three squad leaders recognize the headcams of their own op from the night before. Red, Levy, and Mack lean forward “This particular operation was one of the first of the larger incidences to occur. Thanks to the quick thinking of one of the soldiers in this unit, we were able to convey information to other mission operatives, possibly saving hundreds of lives” Gen. Brown states, pausing as the scene unfolds; the moment when Brig orders Vega to shoot the dead figure, eating away at the missed militant, in the chest, then in the head, along with the other two. Demonstrating the only way to put the dead down.

      “I do want to say, I’m sure glad the soldier who came up with that little on-the-spot test, made it through the evacuation phase” Gen. Brown states, glaring at the camera, seemingly straight at Levy. Levy shifts and turns pink in his seat. “Imagine what they may be able to figure out in the future” Gen. Brown adds. Mack and Red glance at Levy with frowns of support for the awkward situation. Captain Murdock raises a curious eyebrow at the three, sensing the exchange. More videos flash across the screen as other operations put the dead down more efficiently afterward.

      “For now, we will remain on high alert. Threatened bases or operations are being evacuated as we speak, and will continue to be so as the situation arises. As we get more information it will be relayed. Right now, local law enforcement and army reserves are addressing the civilian situations and our assistance will be given if ordered. For now, government officials from almost every country have agreed to a cease fire. Everyone taking care of their own and/or assisting allies. We all got enough to worry about and deal with. You all have your current orders. We’ll arrange other meetings as needed.” Gen. Brown finishes. Soon the screens go dark as commands are cut off from the live feed.

      Mack, Red and Levy rise to leave, signaling Cpt. Murdock they need someone to show them the way. Cpt. Murdock excuses himself, with the oblivious CO waving him off, looking at papers being thrown at him to sign, escorting the three men out of the room himself. 

      A few paces down the hall, Mack stops their guide. “I need a private and secure phone” He whispers to him, nodding at Red and Levy as well. Bewildered, “Why?” Murdock asks looking at the men. “Not here” Mack replies, looking around the busy hallway. Nodding in understanding, Cpt. Murdock leads them to his own personal quarters.

      Once inside, the door closed and locked, Mack rubbing his thinning hair line, “First, how the hell did that lump of shit get the command of any ship?” Mack hisses, still fuming from the CO’s attitude, pacing the room.

      Folding his arms, smirking, acknowledging a similar frustration, “He was average coming up the ranks, but daddy’s a senator, Nebraska I think” the XO informs them. “I have no love for the man either, but he’s still my commanding officer” he explains. “Understood, although I have a feeling we’re on this ship too long, he’s gonna have a fatter lip than what he’s already got” Mack grunts, picking up a secure telephone handle sitting on a small conference table, the XO raising an eyebrow.

      “I need to call the General back.” Mack says in response to the confused look on the three faces staring at him.  “Although Levy seemed to get an eyeful from Gen. Brown about the evacuation incident, it was meant for me” Mack states, giving Levy an apologetic look. Levy blows out a breath, glad he isn’t on some US General’s shit list.

      “You and the general that close?” the XO asks disbelieving. Pausing, Mack looks straight at the XO, “Nothing leaves this room” he warns. The XO nods. Levy and Red nod as well, but have been privy to the information for years. “What do you know about the mission we were on last night?” Mack asks. “Just that you were on it. Shit went down. The base you were supposed to return to had some issues, was evacuated and you were rerouted here” Captain Murdock tells them.

      Mack, glancing at the other two commanders, continues, “I’ll let the General say what he wants about that if he so chooses. However, aside from last night, the short version is that that female soldier we have with us, Brig McGreggor, is classified. Official version, she’s a consultant,” Mack starts, giving the XO a meaningful look. “So only certain groups work with her, namely us”, indicating the other two commanders. “To keep that knowledge between as few people as possible, Gen. Brown oversees everything she does, so we report directly to him. His niece is also Brig’s best friend. Basically grew up together so he’s known her since she was born. We’ve been on professional and even personal terms with the man for twenty years.” Mack explains, ending the explanation by dialing a phone number, waiting for an answer. Captain Murdock stares, baffled.

      The other end of the line is answered, “It’s me” Mack states into the phone. Looking around the room, “Levy, Red, and Captain Murdock, the XO” he answers. Another question, Mack studies the XO at length, Cpt. Murdock growing concerned. “Yeah he’s good” Mack finally responds. Mack, nodding his head, puts the phone on speaker, setting the handle in its cradle. “Go ahead” Mack tells the person on the other end of the line.

      “This is Gen. Brown. Captain Murdock?” Gen. Brown bellows through the speaker. “Yes Sir” Murdock responds. “Nothing confidential about this conversation leaves this room, you understand soldier?” Gen. Brown orders. “Yes Sir” Murdock responds again, completely taken by surprise. “Good, Captain Levy, sorry for the implication about the evacuation. I want to thank you and Captain Norgard for some great work last night. Although I am glad she made it on board. You guys sure know how to scare the shit out of an entire Pentagon command center” Gen. Brown rumbles. “Yes Sir” Levy and Red respond, not knowing if they should chuckle or apologize.

      Gen. Brown apparently didn’t care, “I’m also sorry about the men you lost. You have another that was bitten Commander Levy?” Gen. Brown asks. The three commanders frown at their losses. “Correct sir. He’s been transferred over to the hospital ship.” Levy sighs. “Hoping for the best. Our thoughts are with you” Gen. Brown offers. “Thank you” Levy responds.

      “Mack, I’m letting you know that Major General Nelson is on his way to you, not only for the obvious reasons concerning Brig and the McGreggor, but I know that pompous little asshole commanding that ship and I know the only way to keep him in line is to have a superior officer aboard, no offense XO.” Gen. Brown continues, the last few days exhausting by the sound of his voice. “None taken” Murdock comments, a small smirk twitching the corners of his mouth, the general was correct in his assessment.

      “You know every single one of us outranks that ass hat” Mack annoyed, reminds Gen. Brown. “Oh I know, especially Brig, so let’s keep her as far away from him as humanly possible. Knowing her, she’d probably punch him into a six-week coma the first time he opens his mouth. But since you all are under classified marine combat, and not even naval officers, we can’t really go around pulling rank, especially Brig” he grumbles. Mack sighs at the truth and the general’s reference. Brig had actually punched a man into a six-week coma years before. That man was triple her size. Captain Bellen didn’t stand a chance at his five-nine chubby height. Brig would probably end up killing him instead. Murdock, listening, raises his eyebrows at that, curious.

      “So General Nelson is the solution.” Gen. Brown says, ending the argument.  Mack nodding, “We need to get a line for the men, especially Brig and Aster, she’s getting ornery” Mack informs him. “I’m sure she is, but I got Becca heading out for Aster. We both spoke to her a little bit ago, she’s fine, definitely her mother’s child, albeit a teenager to boot. She’s out in the middle of nowhere, should be safe for a while so tell Brig to keep her pantyhose on” Gen. Brown informs them. “Although I wouldn’t use the pantyhose part” he clarifies. The men smirk. “We’ll get something set up as soon as possible for everyone. Also I have the Israeli and Canadian commands waiting, as soon as we’re done, have Captain Levy and Norgard call their superiors” Gen. Brown instructs. “Thank you, sir” Red states, he and Levy nodding their heads.

      “For now, your three teams are going to remain together. We like the idea of a larger experienced special ops group together to handle this shit. Good thing we did go in early. I apologize that we were all given a bullshit story. Had we known why they were really sending you in, we would have told you right off the bat. That includes your superiors as well Captain Norgard and Captain Levy” Gen Brown grunts. “We deduced as much” Mack comments. 

      An annoyed snort, “At least Brig got to punch the man that almost got her killed. No offense Levy. I had to physically restrain myself from decking the Chairman.” Gen. Brown growls, referring to the Chairman of the Joint Forces, his boss. The men exchange knowing looks. “Understood general, and my apologies for the situation in the first place” Levy offers. “Ah hell, I don’t blame any of you. I would have pulled the damn trigger myself after that nightmare. Which is moot now with all this shit. Which is only getting worse. Civilians everywhere are dying in masses. Rioting and chaos are starting up. The south just had another major storm and there’s flooding everywhere, and a goddamn hurricane still on its way. No one can get anywhere, and then the dead bodies roaming around.” Gen. Brown informs them growing more frustrated as he talks.

       “Jesus, Japan just got hit with a seven-point-five magnitude earthquake. They have hundreds of thousands of people dead or dying. The local law enforcement and health care people can’t get a handle on it. And the tensions forming between hostile countries over, whatever this shit is, is threatening to destabilize half the world, regardless of the cease fire.” Gen. Brown growls, almost winded. The four men eye each other growing concerned. They are in the middle east. Levy rubs his head with worry for his own country just on the horizon. “Yes sir” Mack replies for the group. What was there to say otherwise?

      “Ah hell, get some rest. I’ll have someone let Captain Murdock know when a line can be patched through for Brig and the others.” Gen. Brown states. “Thank you sir” the men mumble. With that the line goes dead, Gen. Brown obviously done with the phone call. Mack nods to Levy and Red to make their calls, stepping away from the conference table.

      As they wait, Murdock stares at Mack, curiosity written all over his face. Mack rolls his eyes, knowing the questions that are coming, but invites the man to go ahead. “Consultant huh?” Murdock starts. “Yeah. Other than that, the only men in the world to read you in are the four commandments. Navy, Army, Marine, or Airforce.” Mack explains with a frown in warning to the captain. Acknowledging the seriousness of the woman’s classification, “Who’s the McGreggor?” is Murdock’s alternative question. “Brig’s father, head of the family, it’s a Scottish thing” Mack states. “What does he have to do with what Brig does?” he asks, confused. “That’s a long story and pretty much all of it is classified as well. But the gist is he’s retired military, still one badass bastard. Actually the real reason he’s referred to as The McGreggor by anyone that knows him. Son-of-a-bitch actually took out an enemy patrol with a claymore, the sword one.” Mack pauses, smirking at the story, “But he still has pull for a whole lot of shit” Mack informs him, shrugging, indicating that is all he’s going to say about that.

      “Who is General Nelson and why him?” Murdock asks. “Our commander. Fully intentional as he’s also Brig’s uncle. By marriage.” Mack explains. “You said you all outrank the CO, especially Brig, what’s her rank?” Murdock continues. “That’s one piece of information that is definitely classified. Sorry XO, not at liberty to share. Most of the time we stick with commander or captain for generic’s sake.” Mack says, giving him a serious look to not go further with those questions. Murdock, at a road block, nods his head in understanding. He’ll be curious forever he thinks, but it’s the way of the military.

Chapter 25

      Red and Levy having finished their calls, look over at the pair and awkward silence. “What did they have to say?” Mack asks. “Pretty much the same. The larger cities are taking the worst of it but for now they’re trying to quarantine the communities, keeping most of the living from obvious places with dead.” Red tells them. “Same in Israel. Obviously, they are concerned about the Gaza and Palestine over the growing tensions like the General said. But they are doing the same, trying to get as many away from the cities as possible.” Levy explains. “You don’t think Egypt or Turkey will try anything, do you?” Red asks. “Doesn’t Egypt and Israel have a treaty?” Murdock puts in. “Yes, but this is god’s country. Who knows who will blame who or what for this horror.” Levy answers, sighing.

      After a few moments of taking in the possible scenarios, “Your family?” Mack asks. Smiling at the concern, “They are being moved into my uncle’s place for now. It is a gated and well-guarded community. Some of the other men with me have high profile family as well. Their families are thankfully being taken care of in the same way. The rest are mercifully single in this situation.” Levy says. Relieved heads nod at him for the good news.

      “Have you heard from your wife?” Levy asks Mack. “Not yet. But we have emergency plans in place for these types of situations. Although don’t think this particular one came up in theorizing” Mack grimaces.

      Red had been divorced for a good ten years. Had dated a little but had remained single after his marriage ended. “You?” Mack asks Red. “My two boys are in the air force. My command says their safe for now. One is serving stateside on base, the other is with a Canadian aircraft carrier just off Ontario’s coast. So far so good” Red informs them.

      The three men nod to each other, glad everyone’s safe for the time being. After a long moment of silence, “I’ll show you to your luxurious accommodations.” Murdock attempts to lighten the mood.

      They head out the door, making their way through the passageways and multiple staircases. The ship crew still running at full speed past them. As they reach their deck, a petty officer stands to one side of the stair case, looking down the hallway towards the team’s sleeping compartment. Murdock, curious and annoyed, confronts the man. “What are you doing down here PO Waters? Don’t you have duties to attend to?” Murdock asks him. The petty officer, nervous at the four large men staring him down, salutes, and stutters, “Sorry XO, was just waiting for a buddy, then heading back up, sir.” Eyes flicking between the four men.

      Murdock stares at him for a moment, then nods. “Be quick about it” he tells the PO, then sets off down the hall. “What was that about?” Red asks as they move away from the PO studying the restroom door in front of him, expectant. “Not really sure” Murdock mumbles. Confused about why the PO he sent down earlier was back there hanging around. He’s most likely going to get himself killed sneaking around a bunch of deadly mercenaries.

      Once at the hatch to their compartment, the men shake hands, “I’ll get an officer’s quarter ready for General Nelson” Murdock informs Mack. With thanks from the three commanders and a nod good-bye, Murdock heads back down the hallway, ordering the petty officer to come with him, regardless of his buddy. The three commanders eye each other. A silent understanding exchanged that something is amiss. Once the hallway is quiet, they make their way in with their snoring teams, heading for some much needed rest.

Chapter 26

      Brig’s eyes fly open. The room and bunk dark. She looks at her watch. She’s slept for hours, the time showing close to zero one hundred. She vaguely remembered hearing Mack, Red, and Levy entering and finding bunks. Vega or Martinez had stopped and called T out so the dogs could relieve themselves somewhere, and at some point, someone stripped off her shoes, gun belt, packs, and rifles.  She’s amazed she slept through it all. T, back from her nightly trip, sleeps on her socked feet. Taking in a deep breath she smells herself. Good god!

      Wide awake, she gathers her extra clothing pack and boots in silence. All their larger duffle bags were left behind at the base. Hope we get them back at some point. I’ll be standing naked rewashing my two pairs of fatigues over and over. Peeking out the bunk curtain, everyone sound asleep, she motions T to be quiet, and slips with her out of the room.

      At first thinking of a shower, her second thought was to make use of the quiet ship and most likely an empty gym. Lamenting the fact that she was already disgusting, why need to take two showers? She was sore from the previous night, even her back itched which was odd, but she’d loosen up as she exercised. Making her way down the hall, T lets out a low growl in warning. A petty officer lounges in the shadows down the hallway. 

      The petty officer watching them, stands at a dismissive attention as the two approach. Brig tilts her head to assess him and realizes it’s the same petty officer that guided them to their quarters earlier, “What you doing out here boy?” she demands, raising an eyebrow at him. Offended, “Ma’am, and I’m just waiting for my buddy, he’s hitting the head” he lies, nodding to the restroom. Willing her to believe him.

      Brig studies the restroom door. The officer growing concerned, “His shit must stink” she comments, looking back at him. PO Waters looks at her confused. “Most buddies shit together, so his shit must stink something special” she explains. Clearly not talking about his buddy. The petty officer nods his head in agreement. “Yeah, he’s pretty awful” he replies. Brig, looking back towards the sleeping quarters she came from, eyebrows frowning, “Hope he’s done soon. A bunch of highly trained killers don’t take kindly to people creeping around while they’re trying to sleep. Usually doesn’t end well for the creeper”. Brig informs him.

      Eyes flicking to the hatch, the PO grows agitated as behind her, Angus steps from the room. Fresh out of a shower, dressed in clean black combat fatigues, multiple weapons attached, Angus studies the two, curious. Leaning up against the hatch frame, folding his arms over his chest, he stares the PO down. Brig looks back at the petty officer, raising an eyebrow at the fortuitous unplanned support. The petty officer, at a loss for words, mumbles something about him leaving in just a minute. Giving Angus a quick flick of her eye to keep an eye on the man before her, Brig ambles up the stair case.

Chapter 27 

      When she first woke, her normal anxious self just needed an outlet. Now with the puzzle of the petty officer spying on the group, Brig is agitated. Deciding on her favorite workout for annihilating buggy situations, it’s her “avoid the lava” routine she’s going for now. 

      Feeling boxed in by the ship, she warms up with a few jumping jacks, a quick five-minute jog on the treadmill, a few push-ups and planks to stimulate her muscles and cardiovascular system. Then, she eyes her first structure. She starts with the bars against the wall for pull ups, hefting herself from the floor, wrapping her legs around the next bar, hanging upside down. She crawls against the ceiling to a pipe, to which she straddles with her fingertips and balls of her feet, making her way to the secured gym equipment lining the outer walls. Finessing her way across the tops of bolted multi-purpose work out equipment, she controls her breathing, all the while putting as much weight on the muscles in her arms, legs and core as possible.

      T lounges on the floor facing the gym door keeping watch, ears forward. At one point, as Brig leaps with her upper body to bars and pipes, legs swinging, T’s head lifts, hackles raised, a low growl emitting from her throat. Pausing, Brig hangs dead still and waits. After a few minutes, T lays her head back down, ears relaxing. The concern over. Brig eyes the door. Silence. Refocusing on her arms, she launches herself to the next pipe on the ceiling.

      Exhausted, Brig drops to the floor and stretches, catching her breath. Deciding she stinks to high heaven enough, she gathers her gear and signals T to follow. She stops at the door and surveys the hallway. Whoever had been sneaking about before, long gone.

      The hallway dimly lit and cold, she makes her way back down to her group’s deck, finds the shower room, closes the door, and makes her way to the very last stall, bigger than the rest, meant for any injured soldiers needing assistance from others. She sets her gear down and pulls the curtain.

      Sweaty, sore and bruised, she peels off layers of clothes, noticing her black shirt is caked with dried blood from her back. Stripped, she pulls off weapons, knives, throwing stars, and a small scalpel set, a gift from her mother years ago, from wraps underneath her fatigues and sets them aside. T sits with wary puppy eyes, eyeing her handler and specifically, the shower stall.

      Turning on the water as hot as it will go, until she can just tolerate it, Brig slips under. She studies the multiple bruises, contusions, and abrasions littering her body lying on top of older scars. Bullet and knife wounds. A few shrapnel wounds on her calves. Her feet rough and calloused.

      She was glad she couldn’t see her back. She really didn’t have feeling on it anymore from a unique, particularly damaging injury, so couldn’t tell how bad it was. But the unusual itching sensation and blood dripping down from it was indication enough that her back took quite a beating on the road. It was a rough one.

      Spasms tighten up the muscles in her legs, torso, and shoulders, making her clench her teeth, then relaxing as the hot water loosens them up. Her right shoulder, permanently yellow-tinged from the butt of her rifle, the rest of her arms, stomach, and legs, resemble a gay pride flag from sliding against the ground underneath the chopper, debris from the exploded truck and IEDs whipping into her like shards of glass. Her hands and fingers still swollen from launching herself up at the bay door and grabbing on as the rope slipped. There had only been a sliver of a handhold she could grab onto. Years of training and recreational rock climbing saving her life in a matter of seconds. Maybe I should take it a little easier like the men were always grumbling about. I’m still tired as hell from yesterday’s workout let alone the compound experience. Screw getting old!

      She peels off the bandages on her hands, forearm, and forehead, I probably looked like mummy, she muses. Easing the hot water and calling T over, she lathers the dog in shampoo and rinses her first. T shakes continuously, letting Brig know her thoughts about the whole ordeal.

      Finally clean herself, Brig steps out, wraps herself in a towel and stands in front of the fogged-up mirror wiping it. She almost doesn’t recognize herself and stares. Scrapes and bruises cover most of her face. She didn’t realize how much of a beating it had taken throughout the night, aside from the gash across her forehead. Good thing what she looked like was the last thing she cared about. Although she was confident she now knew what the revolted faces she received on the way through the ship were about. At this point, I’m giving the dead we encountered a run for their money, she thinks with a sigh.

      Dressed in new fatigues, fresh bandages, weapons rewrapped at her thighs, waist and the little scalpel kit inside her black sports bra, under a clean black tank, T somewhat dried off, Brig gathers her gear and opens the door. To a wall.

Chapter 28 

      Angus’s waist and back stare at her beyond the hatch. Earphones in, blasting Creedence Clearwater Revival’s Bad Moon Rising. “I could’ve sworn I just opened the door, but there’s this huge wall behind it” she yells at his back. Angus turns and pulls out the earphones, stepping away from the door. “What are you doing?” she asks with a raised brow, tilting her head back to look at his face. “I wasn’t peeking or anything” he grunts, flashing a flirty grin that he hadn’t thought to take the opportunity, turning off his iPod. “I was guarding the door, making sure no one runs into you and gets in trouble” he grins then grows serious, eyeing the spot where the petty officer had been lounging earlier.

      Brig rolls her eyes “Why aren’t you in bed sleeping?” she clarifies. “I slept on the chopper remember? Wasn’t tired after a few more hours” he bellows back. “Angus, everyone remembers you sleeping on the chopper. We all wanted to smother you to put us out of our misery with your snoring” Brig retorts and heads down the hall towards the bunks. “Well, see, now I’m being considerate by letting everyone sleep and following orders to not let you start trouble with anyone.” He declares with a nod of his head. Confident.

      Instead of entering the room, Brig tosses her pack onto her mattress and then backs T and Angus down the hallway a few steps. “I’m starving, they got a mess hall open” she whispers. Proud of himself, Angus turns around and from a table across the hall, hands her a tray with multiple covered plates, removing the lids once she has the tray in hand. “I figured you would be. Went and stole a tray before I stood guard” Angus grunts.

      Looking at him bewildered, Brig leans against the wall and slides her back down to the floor, folding her legs up underneath, sitting with the tray of food on her lap. T lays by her side as Angus sits and stretches his long legs out on the other side of the hall across from her.

      “What happened with snooping boy?” she asks, eyeing the staircase where the petty officer had been. “Oh, he made a quick exit after you disappeared upstairs” he chuckles. “I followed to make sure he wasn’t sticking around to spy on you in the gym.” Brig raises a brow and looks at T, “I think I would’ve known had he been spying on me in the gym” she smirks. Angus looks at T, realizing the obvious, then shrugs his shoulders.

      “You think we’re being spied on, on purpose, or just nosy? That kid’s kind of creepy, even Mad Dogg didn’t like him” Angus wonders. “I can see the kid being curious earlier, but not as creeper boy. It isn’t curiosity slinking in the shadows.” Brig conjectures, then shakes her head, “So what’s the scoop from Mack?”, she asks, moving on. “Didn’t say much when they got back since everyone was pretty much asleep. Said they’d share once we were all rested and up again. Although they did mumble something about the CO being a complete fucker” Angus shares, smiling wide at the memory of the three ornery commanders. Brig raises an eyebrow at that, shrugging her shoulders, instantly regretting the unconscious motion.

      “What’s up with the getting me food?” She asks Angus. “Well you slept forever, and you eat like a damn pig” he huffs, earning a stare. “Figured you’d be hungry” he says. Looking everywhere but at her. “And glad your ass made it on that damn chopper. That’s all I got being on this stupid ship” he grumbles. Brig studies him, smirking.  “Besides, good thing you did, we’d all be dead now because someone would have killed Maier. Most likely me. And then we would’ve had a full-on western shootout” Angus declares. “I see” Brig comments. Apparently, the collective man-soldier reaction about her not dying was trying to stuff her with food. 

      Brig works through the plates. Bits going to T all the way through. Angus stares at her the entire time, deep in thought. She finishes, sighs and sets the tray aside. “I need to go on a walk-about” she informs Angus. Frowning, “What you gotta recon here for? We’re on a US ship, not a whole lot of enemies” Angus tells her. “Really? Just after spy boy down the hall?” she quips. Angus remembering, frowns harder. “My job is to know as much as possible about anywhere we are anyway” She reminds him. “Besides, gives me a chance to see if spy boy has other little spy friends.” She adds. “How the hell you gonna find that out? Everyone’s asleep.” he asks. “Not everyone.” Scanning his alert and awakened form as an example. “And anyone up to no good, usually doesn’t do it in broad daylight” she explains, getting up. “But you ain’t supposed to be wondering off anywhere, especially alone, that’s when shit goes down. And Mack ordered everyone to stay put.” He insists, standing up as well.

      Annoyed she signals T, “The jokes getting old, and he’ll be expecting that I do my job. Doesn’t really work if I’m in my bunk or have an entourage” She tells him, flashing a look for him to stay put, and turns with T down the hall. Angus, frustrated, hands on hips, glares at her back.

Chapter 29 

      Brig makes her way through the ship. Memorizing the lay out and the faces and names of ship crew she comes across. In one of the mess halls she notices Grueber and the same petty officer, Waters, chatting away at a table. Grueber notices her, his face going bright pink, giving her a little wave. PO Waters leers at her, then his eyes dart around, appearing nervous. Grueber has a hard time meeting people, but I seriously hope he isn’t interested in that creepy boy, Brig thinks. Shrugging, not much she can do about it, she moves on. She surveys the levels of other berthing compartments and officers’ quarters, hangars, the armory, ammo and storage rooms. She saves the hospital for last.

      Sneaking her way past a few empty hospital beds, she finds Vidar at the end of the row up against the wall. A bedside table and an IV pole with his antibiotics and pain medication dripping, stand on the left side of his bed. The lights dimmed so he can sleep. His face paint long gone, she can make out his orange and brown beard against sun-tanned skin.

      At first, he seems unconscious, but then wakes from a drugged sleep. He notices her standing at the curtain. Flashing her a failing, flirting smile, eyebrows struggling up and down, “My Brig come to see me” he slurs in his thick Norwegian accent. God! The last twenty-four hours have seemed like a twisted version of The Dating Game.

       She pulls up a chair with the full intention of watching him stoned since she couldn’t on the chopper. In and out of sleep, Vidar mumbles incoherently for a few minutes. Then, “Sure glad you made it on that chopper! Don’t care how crazy your men complain about you being” he barks out, closing his eyes. Her own eyes narrowing, twinkling with humor, Brig stares at him, “Really?” she comments, her fingers steepled against her lips.

      Twitching awake again, he glares at her, “Yeah, they never shut up about it. Jesus, you’d think you were a witch or something. They don’t even think you’ve been laid in the last twenty years, you’re so crazy.” Arms flailing around him, dumbfounded.

      Brig’s eyebrows shoot up.  “You have these conversations often?” she asks, exasperated. She’s very aware how the men tend to call her crazy after she’s had moments like the ones with Shirtless Solider at the base and Maier on the chopper but she’s worked with them long enough to not take it personally anymore. At least I think I don’t. The whole not getting laid part is new and a little alarming.

      “God every time we do an op together. Brig, she’s so crazy” he mimics at the last. “Shit! Only one got you figured out is Angus since he’s always sent in to babysit you, calm you down” he tells her, hands going up in air quotes at the end. “I see” Brig responds, knowing how true his words were. However, they may want to cut back on his pain meds. “Ah they’re just scared cuz you kick ass, but they don’t want to be feeling weak and shit so they stay manly men by telling each other all the time that you’re just nuts.” He mumbles, drifting off again.

      It was a rare occurrence when any man admitted to possible sexism. It was rather amusing when their true thoughts about each other came out in drugged-induced offense. At least his true self was a positive one. Usually it was the opposite opinion that came out while men were in pain and drugged out of their mind.

      Brig sits with a silent sad grin at his unsurprising reminder of the most likely reason for the constant ridicule of her actions. But if she had to be honest, while at first that may have been the case, after so many years together, she was pretty sure her teammates called her nuts and crazy as an endearment at this point.

      Figuring Vidar’s out for good, Brig starts to rise. “YOU AREN’T CRAZY” He yells, “Just scared shitless when someone almost gets you killed, like on the chopper, and always having to prove shit to everyone.” he declares. Brig hovers in her rise at his words. She wasn’t expecting that little piece of enlightenment coming from one of the two man-boy twins.

      A nurse, summoned by his ranting, yanks the curtain open, frowning at Brig. “Ma’am you can’t be here at this hour, he needs his rest” Nurse Cantankerous, or rather Kathy, RN, according to her name badge, informs her. “No problem” Brig says, a little disturbed about the conversation anyway, turns to Vidar. “Gotta go. Make sure they give you some pudding or something” she tells him, backing out.

      Vidar, face baffled for a moment, starts laughing hysterically and yells out, “How can you have any pudding, if you don’t eat your meat?” he recites. Brig and nurse roll their eyes, the nurse going in to adjust his medication dose, thank god, and Brig leaving. Now deep in thought. Did they really go on and on about her crazy moments so much? And what the hell are they doing talking or even thinking about her sex life! Apparently, they hadn’t caught on. That’s a relief.

      Brig returns to the sleeping quarters, her brain exhausted from her workout, walk-a-bout, and contemplations. Angus has pulled a mattress off one of the empty bunks laying it on the floor in between her bunk and a snoring Mad Dogg. Snoring himself, Angus has an arm thrown over his eyes, the top half of his body and upper thighs flatten the mattress, the rest of his legs dangle off the end on the floor. His feet resting on the bottom threshold sticking out into the hall. Brig grins. Poor guy. He definitely wasn’t meant to be on a ship. She crawls into her bunk, T following, she stares, waiting.

Chapter 30 

      “Ahhh…!” Angus bellows out. A grunt and heavy body hit the floor, cutting him off. Heads thump against bunk ceilings throughout the room as curtains whip open. “What the hell you doing in the middle of the floor Angus?” exclaims a fallen Lee. Lights flicker on. Brig opens her own curtain, amused by Lee and Angus struggling to separate on the mattress, having figured something like this was bound to happen. “I don’t fit in the goddam bunks and I’m in front of the door. There’s light. Are you fucking blind?” Angus roars back.

      Mad Dogg rolling his eyes so hard to the back of his head, Brig wondered if they could actually get stuck there, starts kicking and rolling out from the blanket burrito entwined around him, yelling “Jesus Christ, it’s like kindergarten care with you two.” Grumbled agreements come from the other soldiers throughout the compartment.

      Lee and Angus, finally apart and up off the floor, Mad Dogg, shredded through the blanket and fighting sore and stiff muscles, stands up, looks at his watch and rubs his face.  “Well might as well get your lazy asses up. Its oh five hundred anyway” Mack barks somewhere from the back of the compartment. Grumbling and swearing erupt throughout the room. Various voices call out “Thanks a lot Angus” and “Jesus Lee, watch where you’re going next time”, from the room.

      Angus and Lee pick up the mattress, throw it on an empty bunk, then push and shove each other like ten-year-old boys out the door, grumbling to each other. Brig just lays watching and listening from her little sleeping cell. T curiously looks around, panting and excited as dirty and smelly men make their way past them out the door to toilets and showers.

      Once most of the men are out of the way, Brig crawls out, grabbing a different pack from her bag, slipping it over her shoulder. She walks to the back where Vega and Martinez are still standing with their dogs. “I’ll take’em for a walk” she offers. The two instantly raise eyebrows and look at Mack.

      Sitting on his bunk, still trying to wake up, shrugs; indifferent. Suddenly, after all her worrying the last few hours, their attitudes grating on her nerves, Brig glares at Vega and Martinez, “Sorry half your gender are assholes and I have to deal with them, so shut your whore mouths” she snaps. Shocked, eyes wide, Vega and Martinez cautiously hand off their dog leashes to her, bewildered.

      Turning to Mack’s bunk, she helps herself to one of his smaller Swisher Sweets, his little cigars for brief moments, from his jacket hanging on the bunk. Mack just stares at her, “Meet up in the officers’ mess in an hour. We got orders.” Mack sighs. Taking one of his cigars is telling. Once she’s left, he grumbles to everyone to stop with the teasing. She was always alone. It was her job.

      Three very excited four-legged soldiers in front of Brig lead the way. A bout of dejection at the loss of the fourth and her handler throbs at her conscience, a rush of breathlessness pulling at her lungs and chest. Mind blank Brig, she shouts in her mind, recovering. Knowing where the armory is now, Brig finds it again, fills out the forms, examines and slides a new side arm, another Sig Sauer, into her holster.

      Making her way up top and throwing open the door to the flight deck, the sun rises pink and yellow through a layer of smoke on the horizon. A surprised flight deck crew member looks at her, then notices the three dogs pulling at their leashes. He gestures to the rear of the ship, handing her a set of ear-plugs and ear muffs. Brig makes out a little area set up for onboard military dogs to relieve themselves containing bags for cleanup and a bolted trashcan. The flight deck is silent. No planes coming or going for the moment it seems.

      Walking the dogs over so they can do their business, Brig looks out at the sea around her, inhaling the brininess. Lighting the little cigar, she notices how many military ships are floating around them.  Battle and cargo ships, tug boats and multiple destroyers drift sporadically over the water. Aircraft drift through the skies towards the shores like hovering wasps. It was wartime staging and a lump of foreboding prescience was growing in her stomach. She could just make out the hospital ship, a converted oil tanker, behind them about a half a mile back. Hirsch and Maier are there. Something about that was niggling at her mind, but for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out what problem her brain was trying to solve.

      Finished with the little cigar, the dogs done with their business, Brig heads back in, returning her flight deck gear. The ship is waking up, growing busier, crew members running between the Bridge and offices. Stopping one of the officers, she gets directed to the appropriate officers’ mess and enters. All three teams are there, looking deflated, most seated, the three commanders sitting next to, and to her surprise, General Nelson. Letting Bruno and Lucy wonder off to their own handlers she walks over to him as he stands up. “What the hell you doing here?” she says by way of greeting, still bugged by the last twenty-four hours. Someone else to give her shit? No wonder I like to work alone. Being babysat can kiss my ass.

       “Nice to see you too” her uncle retorts. “Well, even though your father is technically retired, he apparently still runs the goddam military, and I go where I’m ordered” he explains.

      Brig, finding some of her humor, smirks with a raised eyebrow, “Did you explain to him that I’m a big girl and can take care of myself?” she asks. The question a running joke since her father had never treated her as anything other than a capable solider since she was born. “Still have no idea how she thinks she’s big” Angus cracks from his seat, earning smirks from the men and a glare from Brig and General Nelson. “You do realize he still gets classified reports, including your little op” General Nelson starts in, then pauses, eyebrows going up, “Thank god not the part about the evacuation shit-fest, but he for some reason seems a little concerned.” He informs her. “So what happened at the base?” she moves on. “Get a tray and sit down. Was just about to launch into that little house of horrors” he orders, sitting back down.

Chapter 31 

      Brig pauses, studying the men in the room, wondering. They were all freshly showered, dressed in clean black fatigues since they had been on a night op and the only color of changes of clothes they had with them. Faded camouflage paint from before, soaped away to clean fresh faces, distinguishing the men. Red with his infamous fire engine red hair and beard. Levy, olive against his black hair and more distinguished broken nose from years before. Both the Israeli and Canadian teams sporting dark black to the whitest of blonds, some clean-shaven, others with varying lengths of beards or goatees.

      Her own team looked much like before they had left on the mission. Lee with his bushy hair and beard flowing again. Mad Dogg’s head scraped bald. But they all seemed so morose. Her uncle isn’t that depressing to have around. She glances at Mack, “We got word that Hirsch passed in the night” he explains, the men going quiet. She surveys the Israelis, looking to Levy, nodding, “I’m sorry” she offers. The commander nods his head in thanks.

      Eyeing Mack again, she places her hands on the edge of the table and leans over, “We’re being watched” she informs him. The men that can hear pause with forks midway to their mouths, “We know” Mack calmly tells her, eyeing the other two commanders and then at Angus down the table.

      Content, Brig pushes herself away from the table, moving to the sideboard. She grabs a tray. Even though she just ate a few hours ago, she loads up her usual pound of food. I did just work up another appetite, she justifies to herself. The men resume their mutterings while they wait. Eggs, bacon, toast, and a heaping bowl of grits, loaded with sausage on top, Brig makes her way back over to the table.

      Forcing the row to shift over and down, she sits next to Mad Dogg at the end of the table in front of her uncle. Vega grumbles at the other end because he’s out of room. Others grunt for him to grab a chair and sit at the end. “Jesus woman you just ate three hours ago” Angus bellows seeing her tray from his spot down the table. Brig just ignores him as others from her US team mumble about her endless ability to pack food away and not weigh five hundred pounds.

      Brig eyes General Nelson to get on with his story. Snorting at her permission to go ahead, he launches in. “A little like what you guys ran into. We had patrols out, they got attacked by militants, lost some men, killed a bunch of theirs, eventually the patrols won out, and the units came back to base with their fellow, fallen soldiers.” He begins. The entire team listens in rapture and sympathetic horror as General Nelson describes the ensuing events.

      The dead soldiers were loaded into body bags and put in a walk-in cooler at the back of the kitchens until a transfer could pick them up. After reviewing the recorded security footage, a few hours later a soldier had heard noise coming from the cooler, opened it up, saw one of the body bags moving, and understandably at the time, thinking the soldier alive, opened it up. The unassuming victim was instantly attacked. The dead soldier was able to work itself out of the body bag and out of the open cooler door once it had finished feasting.

      It then went on to attack multiple other soldiers before anyone knew what was happening. It was the middle of the night, attacking single soldiers wondering around to the toilets. The first soldier attacked, died, and later got up and proceeded to attack others as well. Within an hour, a dozen dead soldiers were wondering around the base. Finally, the alarm was pulled, everyone up and running around having no idea what was going on.  Since no one knew what to do, it took them a few minutes, as other soldiers were bitten and attacked, to finally work out that the only way to stop them was to shoot or stab them in the head.

      Once they put the dead down and got the base secured, Gen. Nelson grew concerned about the militants that had attacked earlier and sent one of the choppers to do a sweep of the surrounding area. The chopper eyed the dead bodies of the militants up and roaming around the countryside, many actually heading towards the base. Gen. Nelson assumed because of the loud sirens that had been blaring. Since the base was temporary anyway, the order was given to evacuate. The dead militants taken care of by snipers.

      “And here I am. I got the report on your op half way through our flight in the cargo bus. Once we set down in Turkey, I was ordered to come here” General Nelson finishes. Everyone sits and stares, envisioning the scene at the base. Most of the men and women would have been in bed, not thinking to put on a weapon since they were just hitting the head, leaving them defenseless.

      Lee, apparently feeling guilty “What happened to broken daw?”, earning more than the usual few chuckles; the story having been shared with the Canadian and Israeli teams. Raising their eyebrows, Mack, Red, and Levy, give the laughing stern looks. Gen. Nelson informs them that Shirtless Soldier, survived and made it out.

      Brig just stares at him, guileless. “Did you happen to bring our duffle bags?” Brig asks. “The men at the base in Turkey are tracking them down and will send them as soon as they can” Gen. Nelson answers. Cheers go up around the tables.

      “Anyway,” Mack taking over the conversation, “We’re all to remain aboard until they can figure out what to do with us. The US, Canadian, and Israeli commands think that us staying together for any needed coordinated efforts will be strategically beneficial due to our, compared to other missions, having had the most success in dealing with these things. Your quick thinking was very much appreciated Brig.” Mack nods at her, making her frown in confusion. “Seems your little demonstration with Vega helped other ops in putting them down” He explains. Brig grasps his meaning.

      Finished with her tray, T getting juicy pieces of bacon and sausage in the process, Brig stands up, and discards it in a dirty dish pile, clearing a spot in front of her at the table as the group lingers.

      Various clarifying questions are asked by the group about the events at the base, then a “How’s Vidar?” Someone asks. “He’s good, the surgeon said to give kudos to Brig” Erik informs them. Turning, the men give her little salutes with their coffee cups. “And Vidar had a very descriptive thank you to Brig thanks to the morphine” he laughs; the others roll their eyes chuckling.

      As Brig ignores the banter, she plops the pack she has down in front of her, unrolling the extra knife kit. Extra belts that attach to arms, waist, thighs and calves, are folded in with another poisoned dart set and gun, large hunting knives, smaller throwing knives, hatchets, and machetes.

      The room goes silent. The occupants staring at the small butcher station in front of her. Noticing the jaw-gaping stares, Brig looks around at the men, expectant. “What’s up with the Jack the Ripper set?” Mad Dogg asks, looking at her as if fully expecting her to announce their impending murders.

      “They’re quiet” she declares, returning her focus to the weapons. Mack, frowning, “What do you mean?” he asks. We’re they all going to die quietly? Eyeing Mad Dogg with his similar thoughts.

      “Well, I was thinking. Not sure what those things are drawn by, sight, light, sound, smell, who knows. But those things were out in that field last night, north of the wall, long before we got there. But none of them showed up until we started making a ruckus. They also only went for the living. So somehow, they can tell the difference between us and the other dead. I figure, we get caught in another situation that would draw a bunch of them, we may want to keep quiet.” She explains, looking meaningfully around at the confused faces, strapping on the various holsters, inserting their respective blades. “Besides, bullets run out. And if anything goes down in the hull of one of these ships… bullets ricochet.” She adds, indicating the metal walls around them.

      “Hey Orlando” Catch whispers to the man across from him, “Brig got a beautiful way with knives you’re thinking of sharing?” he asks. The men around him catch on to the reference, snorting with laughter. Orlando turns red, glancing at Brig down the table, catching her eyes staring at him. Catch’s whisper was like a foghorn in the silence. Embarrassed and then angry, “Shut your mouth” Orlando hisses back, ducking his head. Hunch, sitting next to him, kneeing his leg under the table gets his attention, silently mouths, “Knife porn maybe?”, earning a shove and punch to the arm from Orlando and renewed snorts of laughter from the others.

      “You’d think they’d been professional marines for the last twenty years” Mack whispers aside to Gen. Nelson in exasperation at the prepubescent-like shoving occurring at the other end of the table, earning an eye-roll of agreement.

      Dahan, sitting next to Levy, leans over and in Hebrew, “I’m thinking we just stay with this team regardless. Seems like we’ll live longer if we do.” nodding at Brig. Levy, suppressing his grin, a finger over his lips, looks at Dahan, and in Hebrew back to him, “Dahan, the Americans and Canadians speak Arabic and Hebrew” he explains. Dahan instantly turns red, looking at the men around him, averting his eyes from Brig. Everyone having paused at his words, bursts into laughter. Switching her stare from the group with Orlando down the table, Brig settles on Dahan, baffled. “But, point taken” Levy assures him.

       “What are they doing with the dead?” Brig suddenly blurts out; her brain having solved its puzzle. Everyone looks at her confused. “Who?” Mack asks. “The hospitals. Civilians. Bases.”   “They’re keeping them in the freezers until they can be transported home” Gen. Nelson explains. “But I mean, what are they doing to make sure they stay dead?” she clarifies. Gen. Nelson opens his mouth to respond, pauses, about to reply, then snaps it shut, realizing he doesn’t know. He had been trapped on a plane forever.

      Looking at Mack. “They say anything during the call?” Gen. Nelson asks. Mack, thinking, looking at Red and Levy for help. “Not that I know of, they may have just informed them separately. I’m sure after last night, they would have ordered any dead to be put down.”

      Brig looks at Mack and her Uncle, skeptical, “You think a bunch of docs, nurses, kids who’ve never seen battle, all about saving lives, are going to be able to suddenly pull off putting a hole in a dead person’s head?” She states. “Would Maier think to, you know, make sure?” Levy’s second in command, Cohen closely shaved black hair and beard, asks. Levy, wondering as well, “It would depend on if he was with him at the time and if it occurred to him with the loss of his friend” Levy responds, turning back to the other commanders, growing concerned.

Chapter 32 

      Charging into the room, a petty officer stops, panting, at Gen. Nelson. “Gen. Nelson, the hospital ship just put out a distress call, Captain Bellen requires your presence on the Bridge” He declares. Gen. Nelson gawks at Brig, horror registering on his face. Nodding, he stands and follows the petty officer out the door. “Maier” Israeli soldiers mumble.

      After a few seconds of silence as everyone registers the potential news, the Israeli team erupts with trepidation. Brig looks at Mack, “Do they have any dead on this ship?” she asks, silencing the room once again. “I don’t think so…” he trails off. Raising her eyebrows at Mack, perturbed, “Ok, if I have to think of everything this is going to get really tedious” she warns. Eyes go wide. In unison, the three squadrons stand up, racing out the door.  Mack, Red, Levy, and Brig gain on General Nelson just as he reaches the bridge.

      Gen. Nelson, stepping inside the bridge doorway, officers on deck, including the CO and XO, frantically yell into phones and coms, hence the need for the ship officer to run to the mess to get him. Captain Bellen, eyes the general at the door, hangs up his end, but before he can say anything, Mack charges in behind Gen. Nelson, “You got any dead on this ship?” he demands. Gen. Nelson, having missed that part of the conversation looks over at Mack confused, then comprehending, looks at the CO, the XO now off his call as well.

      “Ummm, we had a few bodies come in the day before yesterday” Murdock struggles to remember, “The medical chopper that came for your men was supposed to pick them up, but didn’t since the orders were changed to pick up your injured man.” Getting an idea about the commander’s concerns “They haven’t come back yet” he finishes. “Were the bodies put down?” Mack asks. “No idea, they were stored before we knew about all this” Murdock replies. “Where do you keep the bodies” Red demands. “There’s a couple of coolers to hold any bodies until pick up down in the hospital unit” Murdock tells him. Gen. Nelson’s story of the base camp flashes through the team’s mind.

      “Vidar!” Erik yells from the hall. Attempting to shove men aside, Erik struggles to make his way through the mob of hovering, cramped team members. “Make a hole” Lee bellows down the passageway, parting the tide. Erik races through. Exchanging anxious looks, Gen. Nelson, nods to the commanders. The teams let their squad leaders through the throng, then follow, racing down the hall.

***

      As the group stampedes through the halls and staircases, half way to their destination, an alarm sounds, coming in the direction of the hospital. “Jesus Christ! Brig’s turning into another Hunch. May need to give her a new nickname” Mad Dogg growls as he charges down the hall. Brig glares at his back, T on her leash beside her.  With Erik in the lead, hollering out to make way, they reach the closed doors to the hospital ward. Reacting to the alarm, a dozen hospital staff are about to enter. Erik stops them, pushing them aside, yelling for them to stay back.

      The rest catch up, taking a moment to pull their side arms or knives, their rifles inaccessible in their bunks. Lee grabs a handle to each of the double doors, waiting for the go from the rest. At the signal, the group piles in. The unit silent against the screeching of the alarm, they spread out, listening.

      Erik dashes towards Vidar’s hospital bed. Rupturing over the alarm, “Mother fucker! You ain’t getting me, you son-of-a-bitch, you can just fuck off” Vidar roars from his bed down the hall. Erik races ahead, Red and the other Canadians behind him. Mack, Brig, and Angus follow. The others, Levy and Mad Dogg in the lead, spread through the medical unit, taking up point formations, heading towards the surgical and treatment areas.

      Erik whips back the curtain to Vidar’s bed. Flushed, winded, eyes bulging at the surprise attack, Vidar holds off a naked dead body with the bedside tray. T barks viciously at the sight, tugging Brig at the end of her lead connected to her hip. Using Angus as an anchor, Brig uses one arm to hold on to him and force T back, pulling on the rope with the other. Yelling at the T to leave it.

       Erik screams his name, rushing at the dead figure, aiming and firing his gun into the side of its head. The body drops heavy over the food tray. Erik pulls the body off and tosses it like a rag-doll across the room, the body riddled with bullets; Its original demise. T immediately stops pulling and barking, but growls lows from the excitement.

      Vidar gasps in his bed, trembling, glaring at the group before him. “Jesus Christ, I wake up thinking I’m in the mood for some goddam pudding, and that thing’s standing at my beside gnashing its teeth. What the hell were all you doing?” he yells. Erik, moving aside the tray and IV pole, searches for scratches or bite marks on his brother. Vidar, smacks his hands away and barks out, “I’m fine, it didn’t get me. I may be laid up but I’m not a fucking pansy-ass!” he declares. The group exhales pent up breaths. Relieved. Seconds tick by.

      “Well. Thank god for pudding” Brig offers. Red huffs out a nervous grunt, breathing hard beside her. Vidar just stares at her, mouth agape, puzzled by why her comment should mean something more, the pain meds kicking back in.

      Shots from the other end of the medical unit cut off any retort. The group backs out of the room. Erik hands Vidar his side arm, pulling out his back up, standing guard at the curtain as the rest of the team join the others.

Chapter 33 

      At a nurse’s station, a dead officer had been feasting on a female nurse. Levy stands over both bodies shot in the head. Vega and Martinez hold their angry and whining dogs back. Lee silences the alarm that had been pulled by the nurse laying on the ground.  The group spreads out and moves forward.

      A dead medic gorges on another body in an office, the victim laying over the desk. The dead medic turns at their presence and stumbles towards them. Lee, standing first at the door, shoots the approaching figure, then enters, putting the gun against the other dead medic’s head and pulls the trigger. The sad onus of having to put down their fellow service men registering on Lee’s face as he frowns at the rest of the team behind him.

      The groups resume their search, stopping and signaling at each door or turn they come to that the room or way is clear. A door is thrown open discovering a surgeon, a short, slim, male in his fifty’s, and a female nurse, dark, thirties, Brig recognizing her from earlier, Kathy, hiding in a supply room. Terrified but relieved, they blather that they had heard strange noises and went to investigate. One of the dead attempted to grab the surgeon but he was able to throw him off long enough for them to wrench open the first door they could and ended up in the supply room, unable to call out. Then they were too scared.

      The teams make another full sweep. The unit had been at a skeleton crew due to the early hour and minimal patients on hand. Only Vidar and two previously injured men had been in the ward.  No more dead or dying seem to be about.

      They locate the ship morgue and refrigerator drawers. One door hangs open, the missing body obviously responsible for the attacks, gone. However, a second cooler echoes movement inside; its contents still full. Mack walks up to it and throws the door open. The body still in its bag, thrashes around. Mack pulls out the sliding table it rests on far enough to get to its head. With one hand, he holds the head still. Pulling his service knife with his other hand, he stabs it through the temple, giving Brig a meaningful look afterward. Angus and Lee open the other seven refrigerators; empty. 

      Mack orders Mad Dogg beside him, “Get on the com. Let them know about this.” Mad Dogg nodding, backs down the hall to a phone. Walking back to the surgeon and nurse still standing by the supply closet, “I’m sorry for your losses. You got people to deal with the clean up?” Mack asks them. They nod, pale and shaking.  “Did you receive orders about putting those dead bodies down?” Mack asks. “I haven’t received any such orders, but I just came on shift. Maybe one of the other physicians knows about them, you’ll have to ask them. But nothing was conveyed to me” the surgeon states, shaking his head. The nurse at his side confused, nods in agreement.

        “Not sure what happened to previous orders, but you get any dead bodies in here, you make sure they stay dead by putting a bullet or knife in its head, you understand?” Mack growls at the surgeon. “Yes sir” the surgeon stammers, horrified. 

      Making their way down the hall, the surgeon inspects Vidar, ordering more pain killers, and suturing ripped stitches. “Any of you Brig? The one from the reports that did the initial artery sutures?” the surgeon asks, attempting conversation as the group remains eerily silent. Everyone looks at Brig, the surgeon’s eyes follow, eyeing her surname on her jacket. “Mom was a vascular surgeon, taught me some tricks” she explains. “Helen McGreggor?” he asks. Tilting her head, the surgeon obviously had known her mother. “Yes”. Brig says. “She was a fabulous surgeon. Brilliant mind. Worked with her as an undergrad. You could’ve been a great surgeon” he comments, looking up from his work to glance at her. Brig just stares at him in return. Not going to have that discussion for the millionth time. Clearing his throat at the awkward silence, frowning, “I was sorry hear about her loss.” He tells her, then eyes the rest of the group.

      “Another twenty-four hours, he can be moved to your quarters. He should be done with the antibiotics and I’ll put him on oral pain meds. But he’s at risk for a DVT so it’ll be a while before we release him.” he informs them. Brig curious, reads his badge, Hammond Shelly, MD. She didn’t recall the name, and her mother told her stories about everyone. But it was a long time ago and her mother had had tons of peers and students. 

      “She wants to marry me doc. That’s why I’m still here” Vidar tells him, grinning. Brig glares at him, “His brother’s cuter. Didn’t want him to be all sad and shit about losing his twin” She quips. Erik’s eyebrows shoot up, surprised and pleased. Vidar frowns. Angus glares into space behind her as the rest of the men chuckle. The Canadians close enough to hear cover their mouths, hysterical with laughter. Brig just rolls her eyes and leaves the room.

      Red grumbles at Erik, “You stay with him until he’s released to our quarters” as he nods to the others that it’s time to go. Erik nods, happy at that news. “See told you I was the cuter one” he mumbles to Vidar as the rest leave.

Chapter 34 

      The teams regroup in the hallway outside the hospital unit. Stationed military soldiers take over securing the hospital unit, the hospital staff summoned, make their way in. Waling can be heard over the loss of friends.

      Mad Dogg, the last out, “Spoke to Gen. Nelson. He’s on his way down” he informs them. A very worried look on his face. Eyes whip to the Israelis. “Maier” Levy breaths out.

      The soldiers speculate with each other until Gen. Nelson steps off the stairs at the end of the hall, walking fast, eyeing Mack and the other two squad leaders. The three step forward with the rest of the team crushing from behind to hear, Brig shifted to the front since she’s always the shortest.

      “We got a chopper checking out the hospital ship. I’ve got US and Israeli destroyers making their way over to pull alongside. The captain on board says there’s about two-hundred on deck and got all the hatches to the interior closed. But there’s still hundreds below who’ve probably locked themselves in somewhere. Spoke with Gen. Brown, he’s still checking with the commanders in charge of getting orders to the medical ships. But he and the others have ordered your teams over to check it out and get in. You’ll be lead, the rest of the soldiers follow you in to assist getting the live ones out.” He informs them.

      “Let’s grab our gear and be up on deck in a half hour” Mack orders. “We taking the dogs?” Martinez asks. Mack, deferring to Brig, shakes her head, “No. We know what we’re looking for and we’ll need to be as quiet as possible. These guys like to announce that there’s dead around. We’ll need to work on that with them.” Eyeing the two handlers meaningfully. They couldn’t utilize their dogs if their reaction to this new threat put everyone’s lives in danger. The dead scared them, they didn’t see them as a human enemy to keep quiet from. They’d have to start from scratch at getting them to be silent when the dead were around, but alert differently to the threat.  “Leave them with Erik and Vidar. Don’t know any of the other dog handlers here and I’d rather have them standing guard while we’re gone. Just in case.” Brig orders, referencing the recent incident.

      “Yeah but did you notice the difference? They only seemed to go full on crazy when those things had risen. Before that they were just baring their teeth at them.” Martinez says. A curious look on his face. The group frowns. Vega tilts his head in agreement at the observation. Brig nods, indicating T, “Yeah. She just kept baring her teeth at the compound. But they even acted differently with Hirsch. They didn’t like his wound, avoided it, but didn’t freak out on him” she adds. Martinez and Vega nod, remembering, “They got other dogs on this ship? If they can instinctively tell the difference, it could come in handy. But we’d want to coordinate with all the dog handlers. Come up with a consistent alert for each reaction for them.” Vega suggests.

      Brig looks at Gen. Nelson, “See if someone can debrief the other handlers while we’re gone, we’ll figure something out when we’re back” she orders. Nodding, Gen. Nelson agrees. Belatedly noticing the curious looks on the Canadian and Israeli soldiers wondering at the easily accepted instructions from a subordinate. “Good suggestion.” He offers back to Brig, who frowns in confusion at first, then sensing the need.  “Half hour” Mack declares again for cover.

      Martinez and Vega nod, grateful that the dogs won’t be in any danger. Brig hugs T’s head to her side, giving it a gentle pat, then hands off her leash to Vega who leads the dogs back into the hospital unit. “I’ll have more ammo put on the chopper by the EOD team, the pilot should have it up and ready to go by then” Gen. Nelson states.

      The group makes it to their berthing compartment loading up and into their gear. Angus adds multiple knives and their holsters to his body. Noticing some of the men wondering, glances at Brig, “Well she’s been right about everything so far” he huffs. Everyone remembering the earlier conversation, immediately start adding extra knife belts as well. Brig deftly changed from her tank top to a long-sleeved shirt and jacket, waits, scratching her back against the door frame from a growing annoying itch, I should probably look at my back when we return. I usually don’t feel anything back there. Which is bizarre.

      Prepped and ready the group heads to the flight deck, Gen. Nelson waiting for them just before the exit. “The destroyers are in place. They’re pulling the hospital crew off the deck now. Those soldiers haven’t dealt with the dead yet. Keep them in line.”  He tells them. The group nods in understanding.

      Out on the flight deck, Grueber waits inside the open bay door to the chinook. The chopper ready, rotors roaring. Once the group boards, the pilot takes off. The soldiers on board reload rifles and double-check their gear.

      Agnus rests in a seat with his earphones in blasting his iPod, his standard combat prep. Led Zeppelin’s Whole Lotta Love roars from his ears. Brig hears the song, eyes wide, alarmed, she glares at him then scans the rest of the group. He grins at the surprise song, flashing her a wink. Lee nods his head in rhythm to the echoing music beside him, oblivious. Angus’ smile grows as he watches Brig’s face turn beet red from embarrassment. The song reminding both of the “it” situation she refuses to talk about. Brig scowls at him and turns away. The rest ignorant to the silent exchange.

      As they fly closer to the hospital ship, Brig, pressing her lips together trying not to react to Angus’ dramatic lip-singing and air-guitar, Mack, Levy, and Red peer out the front windows. Others peer out the side windows. They can make out the soldiers and hospital personnel, covering the decks of the destroyers and hospital ship, waiting.  Minutes later, the chopper lands on the helicopter landing platform towards the front of the hospital ship, the team out in seconds, then taking off again to await their pick up back on the aircraft carrier.

Chapter 35 

      Brig surveys the hundreds of waiting soldiers around them and the length and breadth of the ship under her feet. How did a ship this big, with so many people get overrun by dead? The dead on board should’ve been put down immediately after they died. When did it start? Did the crew get the instructions? Were the people unable? Too scared? Brig wonders as the smell of diesel fuel permeates her nose, the morning air growing hot and humid. Seagulls screech above. The ocean roars beneath. Confused winds beat between crisp salty air and oxidizing metal.

      The commanders leading the soldiers from each destroyer ship approach the newcomers and quick introductions are made. “We’ll go in one entrance. There.” Mack instructs pointing to the large closed double doors at the front of the landing pad “They’ll take us straight down to the triage areas, we’ll split from there. Captain Levy will lead the Israeli soldiers. Red and I’ll command the US and Canadian teams. We’ll go section by section. Any living need to be funneled back up and onto one of the destroyers. I understand you boys haven’t had the opportunity to deal with these things. Am I correct?” Mack finishes, directing his last question to the new commanders. They all shake their heads, “So far the interactions are on land, but we have seen the footage and been on the conference calls.” A US commander tells him, “We as well” an Israeli commander agrees, the rest nodding their heads. “Then you’ve seen what they look like and how they go down then” Mack asks. “Yes Sir” the commanders respond in unison. “Good” Mack nods.

      With that, orders are barked out from the various squad leaders as Mack sends two soldiers to get the doors. The two teams line up behind Mack on the left or Levy on the right facing the front of the ship. Brig glares from her forced position behind Angus because she can’t see anything.  Probably best head shot here and I’m stuck behind the largest wall in the middle east, she groans to herself. Although she does steal a split second to enjoy the view after the sudden reminder and distraction on the chopper. I’m probably going to burn in hell for checking out an ass when half the world was dead or dying, Brig ponders, then refocuses.

      The order is given to open the doors and the two columns make their way down the ramp to a large triage area, reeking of sterile cleansers and putrid decaying flesh.

      Fifty dead medics, soldiers, and various ship crew wonder aimlessly in the middle of the room, heads hanging down, seeming to stare at the floor. The overhead lights are dimmed, but knocked over lamps flicker. Procedure lights glare over beds and treatment sites throughout the room. All of the dead are covered in blood from their mouths down. All but a few have throats, torsos, or stomachs ripped out. 

      The first twenty soldiers at the front of each group spread out, dropping the dead with their loud rifles. Brig, finally able to see the whole room ahead of her with Angus out of the way, takes a long survey of the room, scanning from side to side. Noticing row after row of metal beds, enclosed offices, and the wide-open room, “Mack.” Brig demands. “What?” Mack grunts back. “This space is too big. We’re ringing the dinner bell.” Brig points out.

      Up ahead she watches as Mack and the others consider the surroundings. “Not all the walls are metal. Hate to accidently shoot a live one. Probably same below” Hunch adds behind her, both raising an eyebrow at Mack as he looks back to them. “Well shit. Guns away, knives only” Mack growls.

      The newer soldiers grumble about the lack of firepower. But a large surge of dead exit from doorways and around corners ahead, reinforcing the point. Mad Dogg glares at Brig and Hunch “Seriously? Do you two have a pack with the universe or something?” he hisses at them. The two roll their eyes but let the comment slide.  

      Pulling out her machete, she’ll need the length and hacking ability, Brig pulls back the covers over her throwing daggers on her hip and arms, sliding one out. Angus and Lee ahead of her, pull their machetes and ten-inch survival knives from their sheaths; toothpicks in their large hands. 

      The group at the front brace as a large group of thirty dead shuffle towards them. Each is taken out with a blade to the head, the crunching of bone, congealed blood and fleshy tissue scattering as the weapons are wrenched back out, reverberating throughout the acoustically adept room. The slack bodies are thrust out of the way as a second group advances taking out the next group of dead.

      The main room cleared ahead, the teams continue through offices and storage rooms, checking restrooms and throwing curtains aside, twenty more dead go down with knives or machetes to the head. Surprised muttering can be heard from the new soldiers coming from the back of the group. None have seen or experienced the risen dead firsthand; many are shaken.

      Brig is sent forward with others to wait at the end of the hall leading to ramp landings to the lower floor. A bank of elevators stands on one side of the room. Pushing the buttons to call them up, Mack, Red, and Levy and their squads stand to the side waiting. The first and second elevators are clear, and set to stay on the top deck. The third contains a female medic, laying on the floor, dead. Eyes open, blank. Chunks of meat ripped from her arms, throat gaping open. She hasn’t risen yet. Nolan is sent in to stab the body in the head, which he does with ease, then locks the elevator on the level.

Chapter 36 

      With the deck cleared, the two groups make their way to the two ramp landings on either side of the room, gratefully clear of dead. “Mack, hold up” Brig whispers, stepping up on the railing, using Angus’s back as leverage, pulls herself up on a three-inch pipe lining the ceiling, looking back down at the men, “Kill the lights”, she instructs them. Mack frowning, “What are you doing?” he hisses, but nods to others to check the hallway upstairs for a light switch panel. “They don’t seem to naturally look up” Brig whispers. Sliding herself upside-down along the pipe, the hallway above and ramp go dark, but enough light shines from the floor below to guide her way.

      Long moments pass, the soldiers waiting, growing impatient. Finally, Brig inches back towards them along the pipe, the going tougher hanging upside down, crawling upwards in reverse. Lee and Angus pull her down, not so gracefully, once she’s reached them.

      “What we got?” Mack asks as soon as she’s on the ground, backing the group up. Levy and other Israeli’s have walked over from the other side to get the scoop first hand. “There’s hundreds of dead. The first section seems to be pretty open like above. There’s rows and rows of what look like beds. Probably a pre-op area for patients to sleep the night before a surgery, the ship is a humanitarian vessel.  Then there’s rows of regular hospital beds and gurneys and prep areas, then surgical rooms. Most of it metal. And more walled off rooms. It’s completely covered in those things. Blood and guts, everywhere. We still need to be quiet, just a few guns. They probably have lines in the walls for oxygen, but if they’ve been running open for a long time some of you better hope you don’t have anything flammable prettying up your beards. We should keep to knives so we don’t attract them all towards us at once. Keep ourselves spread out” Brig instructs. 

      Mack nods, understanding and decides on a plan, instructing Brig and Mad Dogg to put silencers on their rifles, they’re the best head shots. The silencers won’t be completely silent but may help. Then he instructs Levy to do the same on his side, everyone else sticks with knives. “Well I don’t want to be shooting by my face then” Mad Dogg laments, stroking his long, tied beard, distraught. Brig just looks at him, “That’s why I’m using my Sig. I can hold it out further.” She suggests, pulling out her side arm and attaching her silencer to it.  Mad Dogg snorts, thankful at the solved dilemma, pulling out his side arm as well and attaches his silencer.

      Brig noticing a dead medic has ambled up their ramp, about to alert others, steps away from the group, aims and throws a dagger, taking it out in the side of the head. The men around her, taken by surprise, return their focus to the ramps. Levy nods, and returns to the other side and instructs his men about the orders.

      On a quiet go, Brig and Mad Dogg, take the lead down the ramp, standing to the side as the rest of the men advance forward. Levy’s group does the same on their side. Nolan pulls out Brig’s throwing knife from the dead body and hands it back to her as he passes. As the soldiers with knives engage, the four gunmen advance to structures providing protection from any reaching hands, taking out the next approaching group of dead as the first group goes down.

      The groups advance repeating the process, keeping quiet, hiding behind pillars, counters, and the clam-like metal beds. The newer soldiers, following behind, are ordered to turn of the open oxygen and other gas valves as they pass.

      Once through the pre-op area, rows of curtains hide dozens of the dead figures, wondering through the rows of gurneys. Bullets take out the closest approaching. Stabbing weapons take out dead behind the first group, the gunmen covering. Stepping over a bloody prone body on the floor, a US destroyer ship soldier is tripped by a hand shooting out and grabbing onto his ankle, the dead figures head rising, mouth gnashing crawling forward. The soldier screams with fright as he backs up on the floor, trying to wrench his leg away to get a shot off without the bullet piercing his own foot. A Canadian special ops soldier advancing just in front of the man, turns back and hacks through the corpse’s head with an ax.

      The groups eye each other with belated realization. Risen or not. Put a hole in any dead body. Refocusing, orders barked by multiple squad leaders, Levy opens a door to an office on their side of the ship. A physician and three medical personnel huddle together frightened and crying inside. Warning them to remain quiet, they are passed through the lines of soldiers up to the deck and off the ship.

      The surgical suites are ahead. Half the rooms open, half closed, as multiple patients had been in emergency surgery. The remnants of dead bodies, surgically sliced from the surgeons then ripped opened from attacking risen dead, still on the operating tables.

      Mack sends others ahead and down side passages as Levy’s crew takes care of the open surgical room occupants. Levy orders soldiers from the Israeli destroyer ship to help to give them exposure in putting the dead down.  A few of the them have a rough time at it, but the experienced soldiers back them up. 

      Other dead wonder around in closed operating rooms, unable to get out. Red takes a group of new US soldiers as well, their exposure just as challenging but his Canadian team assist their trainees.

Chapter 37 

      Brig and the three other guns check offices further ahead. Brig pauses at a locked medication room, searching through the window for hiding crew. She scans the windowed refrigerators and a freezer with packs of red blood cells and plasma, only a few packs of each remain.

      The room empty, she moves ahead. The rest of the offices are unoccupied, but a large meeting room, opened by Mad Dogg, contains twenty military and medical crew, emotional and bloodied from their experience. They are quieted and sent up to the top deck. The rest of the rooms are checked but remain vacant.

      Surveying the length of the deck level they’ve covered, Brig scans the hundreds of bodies littering the floor, contemplating. The crew never stood a chance. Most were unarmed patients and medics, not carrying side arms, and were probably completely horrified. They were trained to save people, not inflict injuries to make sure a body stayed dead. But how so many? It’s like hundreds must have risen all at once for something like this to get so out of control. And where are the rest of the crew. The ship can hold at least a thousand people.

      Refocusing, Brig, Mad Dogg and the two Israeli gunmen advance, the rest following close behind. The recovery rooms lay further ahead. Gurneys separated by curtains, fared no better. Dozens of patients who had come out of surgery, probably still unconscious when attacked, along with their caregivers, roam around the beds.

      The closest are taken out with bullets.  The rest of the teams move forward stabbing and hacking away. A group of seven dead surprise Angus and Lee as they throw back a curtain. The closest dead figure, thrusting itself at the pair, is grabbed by the face by Angus’ gloved hand and launched back into the others like bowling pins.

      Lee and Angus take turns stabbing the pile of writhing and hissing dead patients and crew. Cohen and Dahan struggle with a group behind another curtain, the two Israeli gunmen take them out before the closest can latch onto Dahan’s forearm.

      Once the entire deck is cleared, battleship soldiers ordered to do a second sweep behind them, Brig is ordered to the landing to the next level down. Instead of ramps, staircases lead down to crew’s living quarters; no ramps needed at this point for gurneys. Any sick or injured crew members not able to battle the stairs, taken below via the elevators. Mack, standing with Brig a few feet from the staircase landing, looks at her with mischief in his eyes, “How we gonna check these ones out?” he challenges. Rolling her eyes at his childish attitude, she puts her weapons away.

      Edging to the landing, the staircase and area at the bottom appear empty. Brig straddles the railings with her feet on either side, walks out a little bit, then grips the railings with her hands lowering her upper body, arching her back up, rear end in the air, then stretching out even, parallel with the floor, from which she can see more of the hallway below, front and back.

      Blood and tissue cover the walls. Pools of blood congeal on the floor where bodies bled out. As inches of her view remain clear, she lowers herself even more so she’s at the same angle as the staircase going down. This provides her a slow incoming view of the hallway in front of her towards aft. Looking through each step she passes, she can see further towards the front of the ship. Mack, Mad Dogg, Lee, and Angus at the landing just behind her stare impressed at her ingenuity and strength.

      “I’m really starting to like her thinking” Dahan says beside Levy standing behind the Delta team. He grins, watching to see what they should do over on their staircase, their view giving them an eyeful of Brig’s behind. Eleven soldiers turn threatening, hooded eyes at him. Those closest leaning into him, Mad Dogg settling a hand on his knife hilt. Dahan gulps. Levy frowns at his stupidity, a silent conversation ensues between him and Mack. “Seriously?” Levy whispers to Dahan. Brig, hearing the exchange through her headset, shakes her head.  

      Pulling herself back from the dead hang, Brig steps down from the railing, pulling her handgun back out. The men stare at Dahan, ignoring her. Brig nudges Mack. “There’s a couple forward and a bigger group aft, about a dozen I can see. Gun’s should be okay provided that no one misses. But it’s going to be tight which should prevent those things from grouping up too much but it also means it will be tight for us as well.” she informs them.

      Everyone whips out their rifles, grateful. Dahan sighs in relief as he disengages himself from the US team and follows Levy back over to their staircase. An Israeli soldier is instructed to do what Brig did to check out their set of stairs, albeit not quite as gracefully.

Chapter 38 

      Brig, not waiting to follow behind Angus again, sprints down the staircase, Mack and the rest grumbling at the sudden dart ahead, follow. Brig turns to the three dead towards the front, taking them out in quick succession on her own.

      Mack leads off towards aft, everyone going to an end on a one man count off. Mad Dogg, Angus, Vega, and Martinez line up behind Brig, followed by a few Canadian team members, then the newer US soldiers. Mack’s team spreads out, dealing with the larger group towards the rear.

      Brig spots soldiers from the Israeli team on the other side through connecting passageways as they pass, soldiers breaking off to check rooms and midsection areas. Living that have heard the gun shots pound on doors to get their attention. Soldiers race to open berthing compartment hatches to stop the uproar. Crew blather about all the dead attacking and they ran to their rooms, but are silenced and sent above.

      Further ahead, Brig’s group finds the morgue. Every door to the morgue refrigerators stands open, their contents empty. Many contain the dragged remnants of body bags spilling from the tables, the rest of the bags littering the floor. “Well this is rather disturbing. We only had one open drawer on the aircraft carrier” Mad Dogg grumbles. “Who’d be crazy enough to open all twelve?” Vega comments, horrified at the empty compartments.  The group stare at each other confused. “Well they aren’t here anymore. Let’s go” Brig orders.

      Angus nods, leading the team back towards Mack’s group down the hall. They observe sleeping compartments, now empty, some clean, indicating no dead made it inside. Others strewn with blood and bodies, cleared by Mack’s group. Angus guides the group forward, meeting up with battleship soldiers in front of them. They line the walls, making a hole for the special ops group to meet up with the rest at a large set of double doors. The entrance to the mess hall. All is quiet.

      Mack signals to one of Levy’s men standing next to the door to knock. Seconds tick by, then the lock grates, the door opening ajar, a knife up. Maier’s eyes go wide, recognizing the group, throws the door open, sighing loud, “What the hell took you so long?” he bellows. The Israeli team shushes him. Levy smiles wide, yanking Maier by the arm and into the Israeli horde, everyone patting him on the back, relieved. Surveying the rest of the room, hundreds of ship and medical personnel sigh at their liberation. Injured lay on tops of tables or floor, make-shift bandages over wounds.

      Soldiers signal to the crew members inside for silence as they exit and follow the path up to the top of the ship. Levy, looking at Maier, “You go with them as well” he orders. “The hell! I’ve been sitting here forever. You think I’m gonna just go sit like a fop while the rest of you have all the fun? Not happening.” He replies, returning to the nearest table to collect his gear, pulling his pack on, rifle out.

      Levy studies him.  “Besides, I tried to make it to the lower deck and there was… a lot of screaming. Ended up in here, I’m coming.” Maier informs them. Levy and the other Israeli special ops, eye each other. “You know about Hirsch?” Levy asks. Sadness crosses Maier’s face, “Yeah, they told me last night. Little shit was always finding trouble, probably started this mess” He says, attempting a wry grin. Levy peers at him with meaning, “I’m good” Maier reinforces. Levy nodding, orders him to the back of the Israeli special forces team just before the Israeli destroyer soldiers, then nods to Mack to continue.

Chapter 39 

      Mack directs Brig to the next stair case landing to check it out. “Only if Dahan averts his eyes” She quips at his order. Dahan’s face turns red and he abruptly looks away from the US team members, eyeing the ceiling and walls with fascination, walking towards the other side of the ship with his team. Maier follows him, curious. The group privy to first staircase landing, chuckle. Mack and Red rolling their eyes.

      Brig surveys the staircase and landing to the next level. The deck below contains a few more sleeping quarters for the ship maintenance crew, laundry, the two oxygen production plants, and engineering. The noise from the level below pounds at her temples as she looks and listens.

      Her view empty at first, quickly fills with a large herd of dead shuffling into her line of vision. She steps back, watching as more come into view, heading towards the bottom of the staircase. Leaning back until she can make out the bottom of the staircase landing, a figure steps onto it, seeming to almost look up. Brig moves out of its line of vision and hisses into her com. “I think the ones below heard the gunshots, their crowding around the stairs.”  Eyeing her own group.  “I think she’s right, they’re crowding on this side as well” Levy replies. “We need a flash bang” Brig comments. “We can have someone lean down and throw it as far as possible towards the front. I can use my throwing knives for any that try to make it up the stairs.” She suggests. Mack nods to Angus.

      Angus, being the tallest, with the longest reach, pulls out the flash bang he has, at the ready. Brig peeks back over as a figure trips onto the bottom step. Pulling a throwing dagger, Brig assesses, aims, and whips the knife into its right eye. The force of her throw knocks it back against the wall. It slides to the floor, leaving a bloody trail down the wall from its impacted head. Another figure approaches the landing, stumbling over the body towards the stairs. Brig throws another knife taking it out as well.

      Nodding to Angus that he’s clear, he leans down and around the staircase, launching the blaster through the rails, towards the front end of the ship, then snaps back up out of sight. The soldiers closest to the stairwell cover their ears and shut their eyes. Someone on Levy’s team does the same at their staircase.

      Brig glimpses a figure, noticing the movement from Angus, turning towards the stairs, arms reaching, teeth bared, just before she shuts her eyes and covers her ears as the bomb goes off, lighting up and deafening the hallway below them. Brig waits, then peers over the landing, the figure distracted with the others, angles away from the staircase.

      The herd heads towards the blast. As her line of sight clears, Brig leans further out. Once far enough to see that most of the hallway is empty around the bottom of the staircase, she signals the rest, attempting to make her way down, but is abruptly tugged back by the collar by Mack as Mad Dogg and others slip past her.

      The two glare at each other, Mack pinning her back, staring into her annoyed bright blue eyes, she may be the first one in on most ops but the hell with situation. Don’t care if she’s annoyed, “What the hell?” Brig demands. “Just had about a thousand heart attacks yesterday day trying to get you on a damn chopper. Trying to prevent a further run of bad luck. Stay in the middle” Mack justifies.

      As Angus passes, Mack shoves her in line behind him, stepping in behind her. Brig rolls her eyes, “You’ve lost your ever-loving mind” she hisses back at him over the superstitious declaration, making her way down the stairs. “Just make it out of this shit-fest mission without giving me another heart attack and maybe I’ll find it” Mack grumbles back. Stopping to retrieve her throwing knives at the bottom of the stairs, putting one away, keeping the other in her hand, Brig steps back in line behind Angus, fuming.

      The group moves towards the front section to clear first, half remaining just off the staircase facing aft and waiting. The noise troubles Brig as they come to the first set of berthing compartments. The first is open, blood, intestines, sinew, and bodies strewn throughout the room. Dead feast. The men in the lead, move in and put down the dozens of dead.

      Angus holding Brig in place against a wall, directs soldiers behind them to move up to the next set of rooms. Brig’s angry glare at him only earns her an unconcerned stare back, “What he said” Angus growls nodding at Mack.

      At the next sleeping compartment, the door shut, Lee taps. The hatch is unlocked, a handful of crew stand before them, bloodied, but successful at taking out the dead littering the floor with random tools, a few knives, and even some hand guns behind them. They are silenced and sent above.

      Back out in the hallway, Brig’s mind clicks. “This level is loud” She wonders. “Well the engines and all” Mad Dogg comments. Not often I get a blonde moment, curious if the woman has gone daft. Ignoring his sarcasm, Brig looks up and around at the soldiers surrounding her, mind whirling, “They’re attracted to noise. We haven’t even accounted for most of the ship’s crew” she comments, pressing her eyelids together, foreboding, “There’s going to be hundreds”. Realization dawns on the rest as they look back towards the aft of the ship; where the engines are churning. “Most down there wouldn’t have heard much” Levy whispers through the com from the Israeli side of the ship. “Well ain’t this some shit” Mad Dogg grunts beside her.

Chapter 40 

      Putting his game face back on, Mack nods “Let’s get this done” stepping forward, leading his group. Levy’s group advances on their side as well. Coming up on a short set of five steps to a landing ahead, the groups pause. They survey the hallways, lined with piping, and an open area just ahead. It is packed with dead. Hundreds wonder around looking down, trying to figure out how to get to the sultry siren calling to them from below; the engines roaring beneath their feet. The groups witness dead tripping down the staircases further ahead. Stealth is not an option.

      “Let’s go. And spread out” Mack orders, leading his group down the small staircase to the landing. Levy emerges with his team on the other side. Lining up in rows, soldiers spread out off to the sides. Rifles fire into the crowd ahead.

      As they move forward, dead turn towards them, mouths agape, teeth gnashing, arms reaching, stepping forward only to be thrust backwards by the bullets slicing through their heads. Brig surveys the almost vertical steps to the level below, making out the bottom deck through the grates under her feet. A hatch sits open to the engines, deafening the room. Dead stare up from below, following the group as they make their way forward.

      Minutes pass, brain matter and body tissue gush hundreds of feet. Soldiers bringing up the rear, aim through the railings to the dead making their way to the multiple staircases, remaining at the top of the stairs to take out those attempting to make their way up.  

      As they pass side hallway passages, groups break off, clearing the rows of electrical panels and piping stretching the length of the hallway, some running head on into one of the dead, struggling as a second soldier shoots or stabs them in the head.

      Once cleared, groups gather at the multiple staircases, descending, shooting through the railings and steps as they make their way down. Dozens of dead roam the shorter deck level, which only extends halfway of the full length of the ship.

      The teams form up in small semi-circles, moving forward against the tide of dead crowding towards them. Soldiers from above ease the pressure by shooting through the grates. Some of the men hold off dead grouping and pressing into the soldiers with their long machetes, impaling them into the figures at the front, driving the herd back. Other soldiers shoot the ones behind them, then relieving the first man with a bullet to the head of the dead figures leaning on the knives. Covered in blood, panting, and tired, the teams clear the area. Bodies carpet the floor.

      Exhausted, drawn to the open hatch to engine room, thankfully the last, the groups refocus. The squad leaders nod to each other, heading towards the door. Mack is first through, refusing an attempt by Brig to dart ahead again. The passageway only wide enough for single file, the room is dark, shadows everywhere. Emergency floor running lights provide the only source of vision. The men split up on the railings overlooking the twin diesel engines and the bottom floor of the hull fifteen feet below.

      As Mack moves forward, guiding the ten men behind him to the steps leading down, Brig stands in que behind Angus with Lee and the rest of the hundreds of soldiers behind her. They wait as Mack and Levy, with his team at the opposite corner of the room, survey the floor below before they descend. The soldiers pull out their flashlights, Brig pointing hers down to see through the grates below.

      Suddenly, a human screaming, barely overcomes the deafening roar of the engines, echoing through the room. Eyes search for the source. Movement to Brig’s left just registers as a rather tall, living, breathing, feral maintenance man erupts from the passageway to her left, “Help me” he screams as he launches himself at Brig, full speed, knocking into and flipping them both over the railing. Brig only has time to let out a surprised “oomph”, feet flying up in the air as the man sends them hurtling to the floor below.

      “Briiiiiiiiiiig!” Lee roars watching her disappear over the side, missing at his grab. Angus, perceiving her fly off the landing from the corner of his eye, launches himself over the railing, Lee following behind him, both tall enough to grab on and hang from the railing and grates before dropping to the ground below without injury. Mack and the others race down the stairs at the corners of the room.

      On the floor, Brig stares at the ceiling, quickly assessing if she’s broken or dead then looks at the feral man beside her to her right, his neck broken, face planted into the hull, her newly acquired helmet saving her own skull. Movement from her left draws her to a dead face staring at her, gnashing its teeth, the feral man having landed them a top of it.

      Eyes going wide, gulping air into her lungs, empty from the impact, Brig finds the first knife she can in her right hand, her gun and throwing knife lost somewhere, reaches up and stabs the dead figure in the head. Looking back to the feral man, she punctures his head as well, letting the air in her lungs escape back out. Angus and Lee land on the floor at her feet and head, panting hard. Mack and Levy’s teams on the floor crowding behind them.

      Laying there, breathing heavy, Brig notices movement in front of the running lights down the passage between the two engines to her right. Sensing movement from her left, running lights blink down another passageway, legs shifting towards her. Looking up to Angus standing in front of her, eyes wide with horror, “Pocket full of shells” she breaths out. It is their long running reference and adopted code requiring a long spray of bullets into a large group of adversaries. Yanking the feral man’s dead body on top of her own, Brig shields herself.

      Angus and Lee, confused for a moment, finally see the hordes from either side of them spilling out from the passageways. “Look out” Angus roars, he and Lee aiming their rifles. Angus to the passage way to his right, Lee to the passageway under the engines to his. Mack’s team spreads out beside Angus and shoot at the figures as they step out. Levy’s group with Lee, does the same.

      As the dead exit from the passageway to her left, struck with bullets, they fall on top of Brig, quickly making a large pile on top of her. Soldiers at the back are caught off guard as more dead make their way from side passages, as well as the outside shadows along the length of the engines, other soldiers assisting.

      As the dead bodies coming from the shadows slow, groups, flashlights out front, enter the darkened passageways and corners. Angus and Lee, letting the others cover, rush over to the pile of dead on top of Brig, throwing their bodies off, tunneling down to her. At last, feral man is pulled off. Brig gasps for air, face and body covered with blood, eyes wide and wild, gaping at the pair.

      Grabbing her hands and shoulders, the two men yank her off the ground, automatically checking her for injuries, Mad Dogg rushes forward with one of his towels, wiping at her face. Overwhelmed and shaken from almost being buried alive, Brig slaps their hands away, grabbing the towel for herself, “I’m fine, Jesus” she yells over the engines. The three men stare at her for a second, “Would you quit fucking falling everywhere” Mad Dogg suddenly yells at her. Soldiers stop in their tracks. Brig glares at him, “Technically I didn’t fall the last time you idiot” She yells back. Bringing him up short, Mad Dogg, reflects for a moment, “Well, we all thought you had so it still counts” He roars at the top of this lungs.

      Angus and Lee, eyes flicking back and forth, watch the argument like a game of ping pong, staying silent. Angus livid. “Well if scared-shitless men would quit trying to get me killed it’d be a deal” she hollers back. Maier, standing with his team, frowns at the comment, Seriously? I have a feeling I’m going to be getting this shit for a while, he grimaces, scanning the faces around him.

      Mad Dogg and the others just stare at her, eyes flicking to Maier and the dead feral man at her feet, any response suddenly dashed. Exasperated, Brig just rolls her eyes at the last, looking around at the bodies, breathing hard. Adrenaline rushing through her body, Jesus! What the hell is it with these guys. They’re all suddenly acting like I’m an incompetent delicate fucking flower. Were they all going through some testosterone-filled mid-life crisis?

      Mack, getting calls of clear from the rest of the group makes his way to her. “Jesus Christ woman, what did I say about giving me another heart attack. I’m gonna make damn sure you’re the one that has to put me down.” he bellows in her bloodied face.  “You may not have to wait for a heart attack”, Brig endeavors to warn him; but it doesn’t come out nearly as vehemently or as forcefully as she had planned. That was really weak, she thinks. Confused.

      Mack watches the color drain from Brig’s face, then pitches forward into his chest. “Don’t feel so good” Brig mumbles. Mack holds her up, “What the hell? LIGHTS!” he roars. Mad Dogg, Angus, and Lee, swearing, shine their lights over her body, frantic in their search for an injury. “Jesus Christ” Mad Dogg exclaims, shining his light on one of Brig’s throwing knives, the handle sticking out of her lower left back, through an unprotected section of her flak jacket, under her pack, blood gushing. The rest of the soldiers stare in shock.

Chapter 41 

      Grabbing the towel still in Brig’s hand, Mad Dogg wraps it around the knife and up against her back and side. Angus yanks her rifle and pack off her, throwing them over his shoulder. Yelling into his com, “Get a doc back on this ship now!” Mack orders, then reaches down and lifts Brig up into his arms, grunting, forgot she’s heavier than she looks, and heaves her up like a baby. “I don’t like being in the middle” Brig gasps in annoyance at the wrenching of her body from the ground.

      Red yells into the com explaining the situation. Simultaneously, Levy takes over ordering the destroyer ship soldiers to finish clearing the room “Make a hole” Mack yells as he runs to the stair case closest to them. Mad Dogg, tries to keep pressure on the wound as they make their way out of the engine room and up the stairs.  Angus, and Lee right behind them, yelling out orders as well. “Get a gurney to end of the staircase”, Angus screams.

      Mack takes the stairs four at a time, Brig listless and heavy in his arms, eyes barely open. They reach the top of the staircase to the treatment areas. Soldiers stand ready with a gurney, Mack lays her on it, keeping her left side up, then applying pressure around the knife with Mad Dogg. The mass of soldiers dash forward down the hall to the post op area.

      Going through the room, men rip open drawers and cabinets, looking for supplies. Long finds a nasal cannula and attaches it to the oxygen port on the wall and then drapes it on to Brig. Vega finds giant packs of gauze, handing them to Mack and Mad Dogg for extra pressure on the wound. Angus works her weapons belt off, draping it over her pack and gear on the floor, as Lee removes her helmet, working it around the nasal cannula. The men lean over her head once they’ve finished, holding her upper body still.

      Mad Dogg, Hunch, Catch, stand at her feet, the rest running towards the front of the ship to meet up with the physician. The Canadian and Israeli special ops teams crowd the area, whipping back curtains and pushing gurney’s out of the way, the dead bodies that previously lined the floor removed. Other destroyer soldiers crowd behind them and out the back entrance. Minutes later, a physician, the same one they’d found up on the triage floor and a few medics race into the curtained room.

      The physician, annoyed at the cramped space, “I need some room” he instructs as he makes his way to Brig on the gurney. The soldiers surrounding him take a half step back. They aren’t going anywhere. The medical group eyes the knife, pulling out an IV set and saline, getting a line into Brig’s left wrist then pull out more gauze, suture kits, antiseptic, and pain meds.

      “What happened?” The physician asks. “I was trying to give Mack a heart attack” Brig sighs, surprising everyone. Mack’s lips press together, everyone silent for a few seconds as they attempt to find words. “She got launched over the side of a railing down in the engine room by some crazy bastard. Pitched them both to the floor below. She’d had the knife in her hand before she went over. She landed on it.”  Nolan explains to the medical group.

      The physician quirks an eyebrow up, then nods his head, peeling away the gauze and towels, the nurse at his side handing him scissors to cut her shirt and jacket out of the way. Brig’s abdomen and back muscles tremble underneath.

      As skin is exposed on her back, eyes go wide, the physician confused. The previous night’s wounds are bright and livid against older burn and torture scars. “This from the fall?” the surgeon asks. Mack’s face pale with shock at how beat up her body is, pulls his face together, angry, looking at the physician, “No. That was last our last adventure” He tells him. We forgot to look at her back. She has no feeling on it.

      The nurse standing to the physician’s side, gives the men around her a withering look, “Is it her job to take all the injuries?” she accuses. “No. She fights back” Lee tells her, gaining her attention, nods in Maier’s direction. Maier, his face black and blue, creases his brow in annoyance, and it continues, he laments in silence.

      The physician, returning to his assessment feels around the knife, it slants sharply from her lower back down over her hip. Brig squints her eyes shut, breathing slow and shallow, trying not to move her muscles.

      As the front of her shirt and jacket are cut away, they can see the point of the knife sticking out the front of her side. The physician sighs, “Looks like it just went through the muscle” he states, feeling her abdomen underneath. “Let’s get x-rays, to be sure, anterior and lateral.” He orders.

      The medics nod, squeezing through the throng of watching soldiers. A portable x-ray machine is wheeled in from an adjoining room, the medics huffing for the soldiers to make room and clear a space for the machine.

      The doctor and nurse back up out of the way as one of the medics places an x-ray plate behind her for the first exposure. The soldiers surrounding the bed grunting the medic off as he tries to have them stand back from the radiation exposure. Mack complies enough to not have his arms or body in front of the lens.

      Mack, Lee, Angus and Mad Dogg help lift her as another plate is shoved underneath her right side, Brig’s growing wide at the excruciating movement. The x-ray arm repositioned above, another squeal of radiation courses through Brig’s body. The US soldiers that had accommodated the medic taking the x-rays and wheeling the machine around converge back at the bedside as the medic removes it and runs off to develop the film. Red sends one of his soldiers with in case the boy ran into trouble with any missed wondering dead.

      Minutes later, the two return with the films, the medic handing them to the doctor, who thrusts them up against the light box. Confirming his thoughts, he nods at the nurse, “She’s extremely lucky. We’ll need to pull it, let’s get some morphine in her.”

      “No” Brig exclaims. “No morphine. It makes me sick” she says, looking desperately at Mack then Angus and Lee hovering over her head. The men shake their heads no at the physician, agreeing with her. “Just pull it” she orders. “This is gonna hurt like hell, then I still need to stitch you up.” The doctor explains to her. Brig just shakes her head. “No morphine.” She didn’t even want to go through what she did the last time she’d had it. The physician nodding, eyes the nurse, “Dilaudid then” he orders. Great, I’m going to be loopy as hell, but at least it won’t make me sick, Brig gratefully thinks to herself.

      “How much blood has she lost?” the physician asks. “Not sure. It was a good fifteen minutes before we discovered it” Mack tells him. The physician pinches Brig’s fingers. Not liking the refill rate, looks at her blood-soaked clothing, and turns back to his nurse, “Let’s get a unit of packed blood cells” he instructs.

      Brig, frowning, remembering the medication room with the frozen blood and plasma bags, yells out, “No, wait!” Everyone stares at her, surprised at her vehemence. Her mind reeling, hazy from the loss of blood, how did so many die? She’s wondering again. “Did you give blood transfusions to the injured that came in?” she asks, panting. The physician, dumbfounded by the question, “Of course. We had dozens of men with severe blood loss. We had to give them blood” he states. “What happened to them?” Brig asks, staring.

      Face going pale, the nurse standing next to the physician gasps. Eyes snap to her. “They all got fevers. They got sick. We just thought it was contamination from the shrapnel and bullets. We put them on antibiotics, but I went off duty. They hadn’t been getting any better by the time I left” she tells them, trembling.

      Red, gripping her arm gently, “Will you come with me and see if you can identify any of the men that had the transfusions” he asks. Nodding, the nurse terrified at the implications, Red guides her out and down the hallway where teams had been lining up bodies, pulling body bags out. Vega, Martinez and other soldiers follow.

Chapter 42 

      Coming up on the row of bodies, the nurse tries to make out any of the men she remembers. Many had shredded faces, rendering them unrecognizable. Finally, a man catches her eye. Studying him for a moment, his face covered in blood, she was sure he had been given a transfusion, points indicating so to Red and the others, “Would he have made it with the blood transfusion, minus any kind of infection?” Red asks. “Most definitely, his blood loss was from an open wound, no internal bleeding. He may have been fine even without the blood transfusion. He only needed one unit. Not sure why they bothered. He was doing fine. His blood count wasn’t even low enough to warrant it. But they wanted to play it safe.” she explains.

      Red, Vega and Martinez, searching for bite marks, stare at each other in disbelief when they couldn’t find any. He hadn’t been attacked. The man had died and attacked others, evident by the blood and tissue streaming from his face and blood splatter on his hospital gown. Another man next to him is finally recognized by the nurse as well, the findings on him match the first dead soldier.

      Standing up, they make their way back to Brig’s bed, Red eyeing the doctor and then Mack, “They died from their infections, not the wounds, the antibiotics didn’t work, and they weren’t bit” he informs them, his eyes flicking to Brig. “That doesn’t make any sense” the physician huffs. “How long have you had the blood” Brig asks, the Dilaudid kicking in that the other nurse had administered as they waited. “Almost a week, it came in with our last shipment” he blusters. Brig staring into space, “The cells had time to die when you warmed them up. It would have been just like getting bit or scratched” she whispers, fading. “But Erik gave Vidar a blood transfusion and he’s fine” Red asks, confused. “It was a live transfusion. No dead cells” she answers, eyeing him.

      “How do you even know about anything like that?” the physician demands, confused, almost mad. Brig’s eyes roll to Mack’s face, staring at him, “When your special torture method includes blood; You kind of want to know all about it. I paid attention” she states, winded. “Her mother was a vascular surgeon.” Mack clarifies to the physician. Accepting that reasoning, nods his head, calming down.

      “Can’t someone just give her blood?” Angus asks. “What blood type are you soldier?” the physician asks. Laughing lightly to herself, Brig closes her eyes at the irony, “O negative” she whispers. The physician presses his lips together, looking around at the horde of men standing there, waiting. “What does that mean?” Vega asks confused. “She’s a universal donor, but she can only get O negative blood back. It’s a very rare blood type, and obviously, none of you have it” the physician answers, frowning.

      “I’ll be fine. I’ve lost way more than this before. And all of it isn’t even mine” Brig informs them, referring to the dead’s blood on her fatigues, “Just get on with it.” Shaking his head, the physician nods. “We’ll figure something else out. She’ll just take a longer time to recover if she’s lost too much. I think she’ll be ok from anything worse” he tells the men.

      Cutting away the rest of her shirt from around the knife, the medical team cleanses the wound, inserting tiny needles under the skin to numb it. Mack hangs on to her hands, Angus, leaning over the top with her head in his arms, watching. The rest hover like statutes in anticipation.

      Focusing, Brig just stares at Angus’ massive hairy and tattooed arms around her head and Mack’s large calloused hands holding her own. This seems so familiar, her mind wondering, trying to place the similarity. Oh yeah, the hundreds of times I was injured before. What was the first one? The morphine. Her ex-husband.

      Closing her eyes at the memory, she takes a huge breath as the physician gets her attention “You ready ma’am?” he asks. Opening her eyes to look at Mack, “Do it” she instructs, holding her body still as the knife is wrenched back out, stealing her breath. More pressure is applied to the wound as the knife is set aside. Lee grabs the weapon, wipes it off and shoves it in her pack. The nurse hands needle and thread over to the physician’s waiting hands, Brig gasping at the first stitch.

      Mack, realizing she’s attempting to hide her pain and reactions as much as possible, eyes Levy and Red at the end of the bed. “Would you two mind contacting the Truman, we’ll need the chopper back over here soon” he asks them, eyeing their men. Catching the hint Red and Levy order their men to clear the room. A few soldiers confused at first, wanting to watch, take an extra punch to the arms to get them moving.

      Once the room is cleared, the US special ops back up to give the physician and Brig more space. Mack looks back to Brig, “We’re good” he whispers. Brig gasps out pent-up breaths in short little fits, a few tears trickling down the right side of her face. She remains guarded, mostly since she can’t feel much, the pain medication and Angus stroking her head, distracting her mind. Poor Vidar, I probably about tortured him to death, Brig suddenly remembers, I hope he didn’t have an aversion to morphine like me, she wonders, horrified at the thought.

      Finishing the sutures, the medical crew cover the wound with gauze and self-adhesive dressings. The physician orders antibiotics, which the nurse attaches to the IV, then grabs a blanket, tucking Brig into it.

      The physician, his job complete, nods to Mack, “The physicians on board your ship should be able to follow up with her care. The antibiotic will need to finish, about another half hour, then I’ll send a report with you.” he informs him. Mack nods, looking back down at Brig, her eyes open, staring, the Dilaudid helping with the pain, but not knocking her out. I’ve seen her on Dilaudid before, things are probably going to be interesting with her until it wears off, Mack surmises.

      Looking at the rest of his men, gesturing that they were done here, “Martinez, go find out where Red and the others are and see when they can get the pick-up chopper over here.” Mack instructs him. Red stepping from around a curtain, obviously eaves-dropping, looks at the men, “It’s here and waiting” He informs them, raising a knowing eyebrow at Mack. General Nelson probably sent it right over as soon as he heard, Mack realizes.

      Brig, looking around, dizzy from the medication, notices a tickling on her forehead. Looking up she sees Angus’ long dark beard and sunburned face staring down at her, his mouth pinched together. “Why are your eyes so red” she asks loudly, even startling herself. And here we go, Mack thinks, looking to Angus, pressing his lips together to hide his grin. Angus, exasperated, looks around at the men around him, most of them red-eyed as well. Looking back down at Brig’s drugged and confused face, “I’m allergic to you flying off balconies” he rumbles. “Oh yeah,” she sighs, “Me too” she nods agreeing. 

      Looking over to Mack and the rest of the men, she notices they all have really red eyes as well. She suddenly feels bad they all have allergies. Is there something in the air? “Oh sorry” she whispers. Mack looking to a very surprised Mad Dogg, “Did she just apologize” he mouths at him. Mad Dogg just nods his head dumbfounded, “How much Dilaudid did they give her?” he asks. “All of it I think” Brig comments, wondering herself, completely stoned.

Chapter 43 

      The antibiotics finished, Brig having drifted off, the men wheel the gurney up the ramps to the landing platform. The chopper idles. The Canadian and Israeli special forces standing on the tarmac or lounging inside the hull. The rest of deck teaming with medical personnel and destroyer navy seamen.

      The bright light piercing her brain, Brig opens her eyes, squinting. Laying on her side she views the ocean around them, noticing the smoke and haze on the horizon. Is it getting thicker? Her mind wonders. Remembering the smoke filtering up into the sky from that morning, standing on the aircraft carrier. Attention drifting, she notices two black birds sitting on a railing. Smiling to herself, Little birdies. Ravens. They’re rather far from land. Too exhausted to think about it, she looks around, seeing the chopper, the gurney stopping at the bay door.

      Taking her cue, she attempts to move her arms to sit up, “I can walk” she says, arms not moving at all. “Yeah. Yeah, we know” Angus mumbles above her, annoyed, ignoring her. Scooping her up and walking into the chopper.

      Angus sits down in a seat with her sitting on his lap, her body listless. The rest of the team board, Mack, Mad Dogg and Lee sitting to either side of Angus, they nod to the rest of the team, watching.

      Vega pauses at Brig, showing her a hand gun, “You keep dropping these. One of the guys found it, brought it up” He says, stuffing the gun into her pack, then taking a seat. Angus nods at him for her in thanks. “I can sit in my own chair you know” she says, failing to push against Angus’s large chest. “Yeah. You’re really talented.” Rolling his eyes, gently pats her back, squeezing her tighter, doing nothing about her sitting in her own seat.

      Brig frowns as the rotors choke to life. Exhausted, sore, and weak, “Guess we should talk about it soon.” Brig whispers against his chest. Angus snorts, burying his face into the top of her head.  “Yeah. Probably good idea” he sighs as the bay door closes.

 

Chapter 44 

      Gen. Nelson waits with the CO and Murdock for the chopper to set down and the team to unload on the flight deck. As soon as Angus walks up with Brig in his arms, his niece’s head flops to the side, eyeing him. Her arm flings out in a flappy little wave, “Hi Nuncle” She exclaims. Completely stoned.  “Put her in my quarters” He orders. The man is livid.

      “General Nelson, that’s totally inappropriate. She should be put down in the hospital or berthing compartment with the women” Captain Bellen argues. Gen. Nelson’s face turns purple. Looking at the man with murder in his eyes, “Since she’s my marine, and also happens to be my niece, I’ll decide what’s appropriate” Gen. Nelson growls at him. Eyes wide, cheeks turning pink, the CO huffs and stammers, “My apologies General, I was not aware, just concerned” he comments. “Overly” Gen. Nelson growls, nodding to Angus to do as he ordered.

      The special forces teams follow behind Angus, glaring at the CO as they pass. Reaching the General’s quarters, a large room with a bed, couch, a long conference table and chairs, and its own personal bathroom, Angus enters, Mack and Gen. Nelson behind him.

      Laying an ornery Brig on the bed as gently as possible. “I think you cracked my head open on half the doorways you big ape” she mutters. Angus rolls his eyes and pulls a blanket over her. “That’s strange. Could’ve sworn it was my arms taking the blows on this damn ship only made for midgets like you.” Angus grunts, standing over her. But he is disappointed as Brig closes her eyes, smiling at the pleasure of the bed in her drugged stupor.

      “I’ll have the doc come up and check on her in a few hours, let her rest for now. Can one of your men find her extra clothing? The chopper with the rest of your gear from Turkey is on its way but it’ll be awhile” Gen. Nelson asks Mack. “Yeah” he nods, setting her pack and gear down, the HK416 on the table and looks at the open door where the rest of the men wait. Lee nods and sets off. “We’ll go get T for her” Vega offers.

      Martinez agrees and they set off to get their dogs back from the twins in the hospital unit.  “I’ll need your reports and give you guys updates. Can someone stay with her?” Gen. Nelson asks Mack. Sitting and lounging back on the couch, “I got it” Angus sighs. Might as well offer since I’ll be ordered to anyway. Offer accepted, Mack and Gen. Nelson exit back out into the hallway, closing the door.

      “What the hell happened” Gen. Nelson bellows out once the door is sealed, his anger escaping full force. A shocked group stares at him open mouthed. He had never lost his temper about Brig. And she’s gone through way worse. Realizing he was taking his anger out on the wrong people, Gen. Nelson rubs his tired face with a hand, eyeing the men before him, silently apologizing, glancing back at the CO making his way to the Bridge. The real source of his anger revealed. The men shrug it off.

      Turning back to the group, “Let’s go to the mess and tell me what happened. But just keep in mind you may not be here for long. Been getting reports of multiple sites needing evacuations. May be called up to assist again.” He instructs calming down.

***

      The last of the lunch crowd had finished with their trays and were straggling out, leaving most of the mess hall empty when they arrived. The group had grabbed trays as Mack, Red, and Levy sit next to Gen. Nelson, rehashing everything that happened on the hospital ship finishing with the incident in the engine room. The team was unable to communicate with the bridge during most of the operation due to the hospital ship’s thick metal hull. Many of the soldiers adding comments and clarification as the three commanders relay the information.

      “It was too loud to make out where the screams were coming from. Before we knew it, she was pitched over the side. Landed on her goddamn throwing knife.” Mack tells him, exhausted. Gen. Nelson, nods his head in appreciation for the ordeal. The room grows silent for a long moment with thoughts and memories.

      “Why’s the CO you got you so worked up?” Mad Dogg asks. Huffing, “God! Just spent that entire time listening to a complete imbecilic. Thinks all this shit going on is some kind of joke. Thinks the government is just making all this up to make his life miserable.” Gen. Nelson fumes. The men stare in disbelief. “I’m sure we can find a way to convince the son-of-a-bitch otherwise” Mad Dogg growls. Gen. Nelson snorts, “Looking forward to that event” he agrees.

      After a long silence, “They figure out what the hell happened on that hospital ship?” Red asks. They had been in the mess hall for almost two hours. Lee had entered with a duffle bag of clothes for Brig. Vega, and Martinez had shown up to eat with their two K9’s after dropping a very happy T off to Gen. Nelson’s quarters. The soldiers were exhausted. Getting to the hospital ship, searching, and getting back had taken almost six hours. But they were curious to know why they had needed to go in the first place.

      Rubbing his eyes, the General sighs, “Right now the investigation is under the Military Sealift Command. We may not know for a while. But, from what we’ve been able to ascertain is that Brig was right. The crew had a rough time putting the dead down. Many were their friends. Co-workers, that had received scratches, bites, then died. Apparently when they first heard the order, found out that all the people they had quarantined, that they were in fact dead, they just couldn’t believe it. Still thought they were sick. The hospital ship had a tremendous amount of dead because that’s where everyone that was infected, sick, and dying, were sent. Unfortunately, we didn’t take that into account when the order was given. That was our fault. All it took was the few scared and horrified crew members assigned to throw the doors open to where the dead were being held, with the order to put them down, hoping that we were wrong, for them to be overrun.” Gen Nelson explains. The men stare in silence.

      “Well shit!” Catch mumbles, instigating similar reactions from the rest. Appreciating the difficulty having to watch as their own had died or become infected. They were trained professionals, but even they had been hard pressed to take care of their own men at the compound. Even knowing that they were dead and would turn.

       “Why don’t you all go get some rest just in case your called up. I need to get on the horn with Gen. Brown and update him.” Gen. Nelson says, dismissing the group. It was three in the afternoon now. The room grown silent from exhaustion and contemplations. The three squad leaders nod their heads and order their men to go freshen up, relax, and get some rest, with the added suggestion that they rotate sleeping shifts after the recent incidences.

Chapter 45 

      Before going to the war room to phone the general, Gen. Nelson stops at his quarters. Lee follows with the bag of clothes to drop off before heading down stairs. The lights are dimmed, Brig sound asleep, snoring under the blanket, T laying at her feet.

      Angus sleeps on the couch snoring even louder, but grunts awake at hearing them enter. “She doing okay?” Gen. Nelson asks quietly. Angus sits up, rubbing his eyes, nods his head, then stares at the large bag Lee is carrying, curious. “Didn’t know her damn size” Lee explains in a hushed voice, setting the bag down on the table.

      After a brief look at Brig’s figure under the blanket, Gen. Nelson nods his head satisfied and leaves, closing the door behind him. “What the hell took you so long?” Angus grumbles. “Stopped for food in the mess. Didn’t think she needed them right that second” Lee grunts back “Didn’t even think about bringing me some food did ya?” Angus accuses. Lee shrugs his shoulders.  “I’ll cover while you go” Lee offers. T, whining, shifts her position up to Brig’s stomach on the bed, sniffing at her.

      Looking at the bag, Angus gets up and opens it, pulling out differing sizes of sweatpants and hoodies, a few socks at the bottom. Holding up one of the pairs of pants, raising an eyebrow at how large they are, “Did you get me some too?” Angus asks. “I just grabbed” Lee retorts. Going through the rest, Angus pulls out a pair that seem Brig’s size, although they looked like they would fit a five-year-old up against his body.

      Frustrated, he walks over to Brig on the bed, making out her shape under the blankets and lays the pair of pants against her to assess their size. Then feels her shivering beneath his hand. “What the hell?” he growls. Frowning, he feels more of her, her torso an earthquake beneath both of his outstretched hands. Lee at his side, smacks the overhead lights on as Angus whips back the blanket hiding Brig beneath. Both men stop breathing. She’s drenched with sweat. Blood cakes the bed and shirt on her back. Angus feels her head, she’s on fire. “Get the doc, she’s got a fever” he bellows in Lee’s face.

      Wrenching the door open, Lee hollers down the hall. “Mack. Ed.” Calling Gen. Nelson by his first name, then grabs a passing startled naval officer by the front of his shirt. “Go find the doc and get him up here. NOW!” he roars in his face.

      Out in the hallway, Mack hovers on the staircase landing to the floor below with Red, Levy and all three’s second in command, pausing at his name being hollered. The rest of the men descending the steps stop as well. “Was that Lee?” Mad Dogg asks. “Now what the hell?” Mack sighs.

      Rolling his eyes at the men to either continue or come with him. He starts back down the hall, growing concerned as a red faced petty officer runs past him and down the stairs like the hounds of hell are after him. Lee can definitely send demons running, he thinks. Realization dawning at that thought, he picks up his pace.

      Ahead of him, Gen. Nelson steps out from around a hallway, just as confused. He eyes Mack and the other five men with him heading his way. Behind them, other soldiers back up the steps following. Gen. Nelson takes the lead towards his quarters.

      Inside, Angus sits beside Brig on the bed, feeling her fevered head over and over, not understanding the blood and sweat everywhere. He has her shirt up over the knife wound bandage but it’s clean. Lee holds a whining T at the end of the bed. The other men rush into the room; jaws drop. “She’s got a goddamn fever. And her backs bleeding” Angus yells at them.

      Mack eyes the sweat and blood on the sheet, Brig shaking uncontrollably. “Get her in the shower” he yells racing over to the bathroom, throwing on the lights and turning on the cold water. Angus grabs Brig up in his arms, rushing into the tiny stall, squatting under the shower. The water runs red from the dried blood on her previously soaked pants from the engine room.

      Mad Dogg, Lee, Red and Levy watch horrified from the restroom doorway. The rest of the teams crowd the room and out the door, plugging up the hall behind them murmuring. Gen. Nelson rushes to the phones on the conference table.

      Angus leans Brig forward in his arms as Mack pulls up Brig’s cut up shirt, pulling it over her head. She has her wrappings with her hidden weapons and sports bra underneath but they can make out blood and pus seeping across the top of her back stretching across her shoulder blades.

      They overhear Gen. Nelson yelling to someone on the phone to find the doctor. “No she’s not traipsing through this ship to the hospital. He takes care of it here.” He yells into the phone then slams it down.

      Mack and Agnus tear at her wraps. Mack finally slicing through them and her sports bra with his knife, exposing her upper back, throwing the hidden weapons out of the way. Huge chunks of slivers and road debris fester in thickened and bulging scars from being burned and tortured years ago. She would’ve never felt the tiny shards creating those. “We didn’t check her back” Mack hisses, angry at the mistake. Again. To concerned with the knife wound, they had missed the opportunity to check the rest. Angus, panting hard, looks at Mack, guilt painful in his eyes. Hansen had always checked since the two worked in a pair together with the dogs. They were best friends. I didn’t even think about it.

      The physician arrives. The same surgeon, Dr. Shelly, they had found in the supply closet with the same nurse, Kathy, by his side. A red-headed female medic follows. The surgeon and nurse make their way through the packed audience into the small bathroom. Mad Dogg and the other commanders back out of the way.

      The surgeon’s and nurse’s eyes bulge at the hideousness of Brig’s back. “Excuse me sir” Dr. Shelly asks. Mack backs out of the room making way for the two. “She’s burning up” Angus tells them, bewildered. Nodding his head, the surgeon assesses the abscesses.

      Looking at the nurse, Dr. Shelly instructs her to call down to the hospital for an IV line, antibiotics, more pain killer, “No morphine” barked at him by Angus, making him switch to more Dilaudid, and abscess removal kits. The nurse snakes through the crowd to a phone. “She should be down in the hospital but I need her on a flat surface to work” he informs the room, annoyed.

      The horde of soldiers solve the problem by clearing off the conference table. Throwing phones aside after the nurse has made her call, and turning on the bright overhead lights. Mad Dogg pulls a fresh blanket from one of the cabinets and spreads it out.

      Once the table is ready, Angus stands up, drenched with Brig in his arms. Angus, Mack, Mad Dogg, and Lee help lay her face down on the table. The men step back, Levy handing Angus a towel. Martinez and Vega hold onto a whining T at the bedside, frowning with worry. Their own dogs whine at T’s distress, trying to comfort their four-legged friend.

      Brig continues to tremble, but the shower had helped cool her off. The nurse covers her with another blanket, discreetly removing the shredded shirt and sports bra underneath with the help of the medic. More medical staff run into the room with the supplies requested. The first medic puts in an IV line, drawing blood for cultures and blood counts at the physician’s request, then attaches it to a saline bag, then to a rolling IV pole. The nurse injects the pain medicine.

      Brig’s back is scrubbed with antiseptic and intradermal lidocaine is injected near the multiple pustules covering her back. Hunch grumbles an offering that she wasn’t likely to feel anything, hence her condition, as they watch. Brig shakes and mumbles but quiets as the pain medicine kicks in. The entire room waits in tense silence.

      Meticulously, the surgeon ruptures the multiple abscesses on her back. Fishing out the slivers of wood, metal, and tiny rocks beneath thickened skin. It looked like it had been run through a meat grinder then flattened and swirled like a tissue version of Starry Night, the oils undulating and solidified centimeters above the canvas. The scars lay thick from the top of her shoulder blades then thinning towards the small of her back with sporadic wounds ribboning her ribcage and waist.

      As the nurses assists with handing the physician tools and blotting away the blood, he grows curious, “What are these scars from?” Dr. Shelly asks. The US soldiers grow tense at the memory. Finally, “She was captured years ago. On purpose, her call, to distract some militants who had almost caught on to the rest of us, giving us time to get away and regroup.” Mad Dogg begins. His throat thick at the memories. “They tortured her for almost two days with fish hook and razor tipped whips and then hot rods and whatever else they could burn her with. It took us half a day to find the camp, then another half trying to figure out which tent she was in. Thirty heavily armed militants patrolled night and day. We were trying to come up with a plan that wouldn’t get her instantly killed.” Sighing and rubbing his eyes at the memory, still frustrated it had taken them so long.

      “We were surrounding the camp on the second morning, about to go in. She just walked out of the front of the camp. Drenched in blood. She had found her opportunity during the night to slip out of her restraints. Killed them all. She sliced twenty-nine throats.” Mad Dogg pauses. Still awed by the sight of the bodies afterward, “sliced” didn’t come close to what she had done to their throats so they couldn’t call out and alert others. “We only got to take out a single missed man coming back from using the bushes behind her.” Mad Dogg finishes.

      Every eye in the room new to the information stares at Mad Dogg, mouths agape. “They had to use skin grafts from her legs to repair most of it” Angus adds, wiping his face with the remembered towel in his hands, holding it in place for a few seconds, drenched with blood was an understatement.

      Red and his second in command, Gagnon, early forties and short-bearded, exchange knowing looks with Levy and Cohen. Others from the Israeli and Canadian teams silently converse as well. Those that had worked with her on previous missions, had first-hand knowledge of her capabilities. Those that hadn’t, look around surprised and confused.

      Red frowns at the memories of some of his men sparring with her prior to insertions during previous missions. Many of the men suffered at her hands with the usual assumption of her small size and stature. Which was what made her so deadly. Every foe was always unsuspecting. A few missions almost had to be called off because she never went easy on the uninitiated; injuring a number of his team. Her hand to hand combat fighting expertise, fluid, graceful, lethal waltzes. Her knife skills were legendary for any soldier, proven by her throws on the hospital ship. But the techniques used to get out of that camp were yet to be witnessed; her sniper proficiency barely demonstrated at the compound.

      He knew she currently held the title for longest range snipe, but since she was classified it wasn’t common knowledge nor had been shared with any outside the special ops groups she had worked with. No medals or titles had been bestowed afterward. They had heard the story of her capture but had never seen her back. Red stood frowning in regret that the twins weren’t here to witness her sacrifice. The sight was humbling even for him.

      Levy eyes the Canadian and Israeli soldiers, Dahan and Maier included. He had heard the room breathe a collective breath as the admiration for the woman and empathy for her team skyrocket. Being taken or having a fellow soldier in the hands of an enemy was the worst fear. They could only imagine the US team’s reaction before and after she escaped.

      Levy’s team had helped with the aftermath and evacuation of the Delta Team after the event, but Brig had been airlifted away before any of his team had arrived. They had only been made aware with the least amount of detail as possible of the events that had occurred; the men too in shock to share much. Levy had finally received an emotional rendition from Mack in private after a few drinks on the Israeli air base the team had been laid over at before returning home.  

      “Why wasn’t she medically discharged” Dr. Shelly asks. “Once she healed, it wasn’t anything that prevented her from doing her job” Mack grunts. “And after threatening the doc with rearranging his nose he quickly agreed” Lee snorts. The surgeon pausing mid-scrape, scrutinizes the soldiers over the rim of his glasses. They just stare back at him. None relieving his worry by suggesting the last was just a joke. What the hell am I going to be threatened with? He ponders, returning his focus to an abscess.

Chapter 46 

      After twenty pus-filled abscesses are cleaned out, a topical antibiotic is put on and the wounds covered with sterile adhesive bandages. The bandages over the knife, forearm and her forehead wounds are redressed after getting soaked through from the shower by the nurse and medic.  “I’ll put her on a stronger antibiotic since the Vanco she got over on the hospital ship didn’t touch this.” The surgeon explains, giving a second medic an order for the specific antibiotic he wants, which the medic leaves to retrieve. The red-headed medic drags the blanket up over Brig shoulders, tucking it around her while they wait.

      Murdock, having watched from the doorway mystified, hollers at a waiting petty officer to get a hold of housekeeping to change the sheets on the bed. Gen. Nelson eyes him gratefully.

       Red and Levy only now registering their special forces soldiers have crowded the room, direct them to the door and out into the hallway. “Go get some rest. We’ll be down in a minute, your plugging up the hallways” Red commands them. The soldiers grumble loudly but back out of the room. Stopping a few feet down the hall, still hovering. Levy glares at them and barks that Red’s comment wasn’t a suggestion. They are reluctant but leave.

      Red turns to Levy, incredulous, “Jesus, it’s like they’re waiting to get on Dragon Mountain or something” he grumbles. Levy snorts in agreement, “We have women combatants. None so interesting apparently” Levy remarks.

      Minutes later a crew member from housekeeping enters and nervously remakes the bed, eyeing the body on the table and the very large and angry soldiers hovering, out of the corner of her eye. The medic returns with the antibiotic which is instilled in the IV bag. Finished remaking the bed, the housekeeper hurries out of the room. 

      The bed ready, Gen. Nelson orders everyone out of the room except Angus, Mack, Lee, Mad Dogg and the red-headed female medic. Eyeing the tall girl and her name badge, early thirties, who had demonstrated the calmest of the medical crew throughout the last hour, in his opinion, “Would you mind helping us getting her changed, Heather?” he asks warily.

      Smirking, Heather nods her head looking around for the clothing she’s supposed to change the woman into. Lee grabs the pile of sweats scattered around the room for her. Going through the clothes, she gives the men a questioning look. “I didn’t know her size for crying out loud” Lee yells in his defense. Holding up one of the larger pants, Mack gives him his own questioning look, “Probably shouldn’t mention to Brig you thought she was the size of baby whale” he teases. Lee snorts. “Did you get her any underclothes or underwear?” Heather asks him. Lee’s face burns red. “I ain’t touching panties” he declares. “Well not hers” he clarifies, giving the medic a flirty smile. She is kind of cute, Lee thinks to himself. Rolling her eyes, she settles on a pair of pants and hoodie, stamped with MARINE, that seem to be Brig’s size.

      Laughing inside over the absurd situation, bunch of brave mercenaries and they can’t handle grabbing their own female combatant’s underwear, Heather wonders. She works the hoodie over Brig’s wet head, snaking the saline bag and IV line through the arm.

      While the others avert their eyes, staring over at walls or up at the ceiling, Angus and Mad Dogg help her pull the hoodie down. T, released from being held back by anyone, puts her front paws on the table to assess the situation with her handler, sniffing at Brig’s head. Rolling her body over, keeping her covered with the blanket, Heather undoes the drenched fatigues. “Make sure she doesn’t have any other wounds she either didn’t know about or hasn’t bothered to tells us.” Mad Dogg grumbles to Heather.

      Angus helps lift Brig’s bottom and legs up as she struggles to get the soaked pants over more hidden weapons on her thighs and calves. Angus and Mad Dogg take over undoing the weapon holsters, backing Heather’s hands away, particularly from the packet of poisonous darts on each thigh. After assessing Brig’s lower half, Heather shows them the superficial wounds on her legs, earning grunts of annoyed satisfaction they weren’t anything to be concerned about even though the beating they had taken from the debris showering her as she had swung like Tarzan from the rope up to the chopper, was shocking even for them. Toweling her legs and feet off, the three shove the humungous socks over her feet, and the sweat pants up her legs.

      Finished, Angus hefts Brig up, Heather rolling the IV pole with him to the bed as he sets her down. “Anything else I can help with?” Heather asks when they have Brig tucked in. Gen. Nelson shakes his head, “No. Thank you so much for your assistance” he smiles, deep crevices outlining his eyes. Nodding and turning towards the door, “I’ll find her some underwear” she winks at Lee as she leaves. Surprised, “I may have to visit Vidar more often” Lee mumbles bemused, after she’s gone, earning him tired grunts.

      The five men stand at the bedside, exhausted. T lays against the wall and length of Brig licking her face. Angus reaches down feeling Brig’s head. “At least the fever’s going down.” He growls. “Why don’t you all go freshen up. I’ll stay with her. You ever get a hold of the general?” Mack comments, eyeing the three soldiers, then Gen. Nelson. “No, hadn’t even gotten to the room” Gen. Nelson replies. Indicating that he was on his way to attempt so again, Gen. Nelson leads the way out. Angus, Mad Dogg and Lee reluctantly follow, merging with the rest of the Delta Team in the hallway.

      Mack closes the door behind them, rubbing his face as he takes in Brig’s sleeping figure on the bed. “I may need a pacemaker after all this shit” he grumbles to himself. Up-righting a chair thrown out of the way, he takes a seat at the bedside, annoyed by the situation.

      Everyone suffered injuries throughout various missions. Including Brig. But the frustrating ones were when the soldier didn’t just get up and shake it off. This was one of those times and it had his heart racing.  After the horrifying ordeal of trying to get her in the chopper at the compound, he knew he was over-reacting to the situation with one of his best friends. Squad leader or not. He had been with her since their MOS training days. Forever ago. They were the first to latch on to each other in support of being mutual victims of bigotry. She came in as a new recruit, a few years younger than him while she went through boot camp at Parris Island, but proved more than experienced within the first few days of their specialized training. He had known then the military would be stupid to pass on a very uniquely skilled, female or not, soldier.

      Her proficiency with combat skills had rescued them both from precarious situations in the weeks of special ops training. Anything that seemed to take her down for more than a few hours or like the capture years ago, was an immediate personal concern for him as a friend rather than a fellow soldier or commander.

      He hated these situations. But this particular moment was probably the only chance he’d get at being able to deal with his emotions over the situation in private. Their team wouldn’t bat an eye, but the Canadian and Israeli team members may not be so kind in seeing weakness from a combat soldier. A shaky hand pulls at his tired face.

Chapter 47 

      After a much-needed shower and new fatigues, Angus finds the mess. Lee going back in with him for company. They sit in silence watching the TV screens as Angus pounds down food. An hour later Mad Dogg stands in the doorway. “We’ve been called up” he tells them.

      Following him back to the birthing compartment, Mack stands in the center of the room explaining the orders. “Who’s with Brig?” Angus asks interrupting. “Gen. Nelson for the moment” Mack states, then explains that they are assisting the Israeli’s evacuating one of the hospital’s in Tel Aviv.

      The staff and patients trapped inside after a large wave of dead started attacking. Levy’s team will take the lead on this mission. “So who’s staying with Brig?” Angus grumbles. “Her fevers down, she should be okay while we’re gone. She’s just gonna sleep anyway” Mad Dogg says, unconcerned. “Hope you haven’t forgotten we were being watched. I don’t trust anyone on this ship. And she gets nightmares when she’s drugged.” Angus reminds them. They all know why.

       “Well can’t Gen. Nelson stay with her?” Lee asks. “He’ll be busy up on the Bridge” Mack realizes. “We could see about moving Vidar up in with her on the couch. Erik could watch them both” Red suggests, slyly eyeing Mack and Levy. “The hell!” Angus bellows. Levy, catching on, “I’m sure Dahan wouldn’t mind” he suggests, eyeing the surprised soldier who smiles eagerly. “Ya’ll can fuck off” Angus bellows in anger, stomping towards the door, stopping to glare back at them, “Not having a bunch of horny juveniles watching her. She’d be in more danger from them than some damn creeper” He fumes.

      Once he’s gone, the in-the-know group release pent up chuckles. “Much easier when he comes up with the idea himself” Mack nods pleased. Feeling a touch guilty about the scheme. Dahan crestfallen that he was used as part of a ruse.

      Gen. Nelson had ordered, and Mack wanted, Angus to watch over her in the first place. He was absolutely the last one to let anything happen. Literally the biggest deterrent to would be threats. And still the most obviously upset about the last forty-eight hours that Brig had gone through. Albeit barely.

      However, over the years of assuming Angus as the go to, which seemed to come naturally to him. The only one who could calm Brig down and quick, even over Hansen who had been her closest friend after working their dogs together for years. Mack realized, with so many instances in so short amount of time, Angus may start feeling like a babysitter and refuse. Leaving Mack questioning who was watching over her.

      He fully trusted every single man at his command. Every single one would guard her with their life. But the rest had a habit of getting distracted, even Lee with his island ways, fully content being idle. They all seemed to get too restless, wondering off in these types of situations no matter who was watching who. But something else was going on. Angus had needed a moment while she was on the table to hide his face. He actually trembled. Acting more like a love-sick boyfriend than a… Well shit! When the fuck did that happen? Jesus, I need to retire, the world is going crazy. Tearing his mind from his thoughts, Mack finishes explaining their upcoming role then allows Levy to take over the command.

***

      Charging into Gen. Nelsons quarters like a raging bull, “I’m back to watch her” Angus bellows, throwing his pack down and setting his rifle on the table. Gen. Nelson, suppressing a smirk, nods his head, and stands up from the couch and papers he had been perusing while he waited. “Thank you. Angus” he tells him with a pat on the man’s large shoulder as he makes his way out. 

      Door closed, Angus huffs out his bluster. Pulling up a chair next to the bed, removing his shoes, he lounges back with his feet up on the bed, hands clasped behind his head, content.

      He knew Mack had been pulling his leg but he had no intention of leaving Brig’s side. Rather sit here than out with the damn dead again anyway. But he was glad it wasn’t an order. Men, especially soldiers, were stupid. Too many orders to play mother hen never boded well for anyone’s respect, particularly with Brig lately. It seemed like an unrelenting task the last few days. Hope this shit ends soon. She had been right on the hospital ship. Scared shitless men had almost got her killed. Twice.

Chapter 48 

      Geared up and ready the rest of the team make their way to the waiting chopper. Levy, having coordinated with his superiors explains the plan during the flight. “Like the hospital ship, we’ll land on the roof. All the patients and staff that could make it up there have been evacuated. We’ll go through floor by floor searching for living, they’ll be sent back up through to another team of soldiers who’ll remain in the stairwells to the roof where choppers will be waiting to evacuate them. Any dead we find will be taken care of. There’s another group entering through the basement through the underground garage clearing the floors from below, doing the same until we meet up.” He explains.

      “What they doing with the evacuees?” Mad Dogg asks. “They’re being transferred to one of the other area hospitals. Thankfully those were filled with military in time to take care of dead and dying patients.” Levy informs them.  “They had a hard time putting them down too.” Orlando surmises. “Pretty much.” Cohen answers the US soldier and the rest of the men with looks of the same wonder. 

      Noticing Lee blasting his earphones, his curly hair and beard tied back with single ties, looking like a Sunday-best grizzly mountain man, Mack, yanks them out. “What are you doing?” he demands. “Well we’re missing Brig to begin with, which there goes the thinker. And Angus. He always listens to his music when we’re on our way to an op. Didn’t want to jinx the whole thing before we even get there” Lee explains calmly. “First start thinking then, and second, yeah, but he doesn’t shove them all the way in his ears so he can’t hear anything” Mack tells him. “Oh yeah” Lee remembers “And he listens to heavy metal or rock, not Beethoven, are you trying to get us killed?” He adds, giving Lee a funny look.

      Reaching their destination, the chopper sets down on the helicopter landing pad on the roof of the Israeli hospital, Levy’s team heading out first to the selected entrance. On Levy’s order, the doors are thrown open and the teams make their way in.

Chapter 49 

      Needing a break from the bridge as the special forces teams head through the hospital, Gen. Nelson opens the door to his quarters to check on Brig. Stopping short, Angus snores, shirtless, spooning her on the bed, T stretched out along the wall on the other side.

      Shutting the door, not so quietly, Gen. Nelson hovers over the trio. T pants happily from her spot. Angus, waking, stretches, his feet dangling over the end of the bed by a foot, muscles rippling under tattooed sleeves and torso, unconcerned. “How is she?” Gen. Nelson asks. “She was having nightmares” Angus explains. “And being half naked lying next to her is the only way to help her out?” Gen. Nelson queries. “Well Jesus, she has furry heater on the other side of her. I was roasting. Left my pants on due to your delicate sensibilities.” Angus remarks dryly. “I see” Gen. Nelson snorts making his way over to the couch, sitting down and resting his head back, sighing with exhaustion.

      Brig’s nightmares were infamous. Even more so after being taken by the militants and tortured years before. Fortunately, they only seemed their worst when she was drugged.

      Do I have another fever? Brig wonders waking up. God! I’m sweating to death, she pants. Eyes flying open, an excited T licks at her face. Well there’s one reason. Feeling walled in she looks behind her. Angus, lying next to her is the bigger problem. “Jesus Angus you’re roasting me to death” she mumbles groggily. Looking down at her, his beard tickling her cheek, “Me? It’s that furry beast straight out of the hottest depths of hell” he grunts, rolling up and sitting on the edge of the bed. Struggling to get the blanket off, pulling the sticky sweats away from her body, Brig eyes her uncle on the couch looking at them.

      Sighing, “What the hell happened?” she slurs, still hazy from the pain medication. “You apparently decided to keep souvenirs from the compound road in your back. They became infected. Had to have the doc remove them all” Angus grunts pulling his shirt back on.  “Oh” Brig comments, eyeing Angus’s naked torso in shock with her uncle in the room, a hand going to her face and head to cover her sudden embarrassment and raging headache, God. Why the hell am I suddenly feeling like a goddamn teenager? “Where is everyone?” she asks. “Assisting with evacuating one of the land hospitals in Tel Aviv” Gen. Nelson informs her. Frustrated, “Well shit” Brig declares. Stupid body. I should be there and not having Angus babysit me, she yells at herself. “I’m sure they’ll be fine this one time without you” her uncle teases, recognizing her reaction. “Besides you can call Aster when you’re feeling up to it.” He informs her.

      Sighing, Brig calms down at not being on the mission. Although I may not want to call her while I’m completely out of it. May end up telling her to watch out for frogs.

      A knock on the door distracts them. Angus gets up and cracks the door to the medic that helped them earlier, carrying a large bag. “Just need to check on her” Heather explains. Throwing the door back, Angus stands aside as she enters. “I’ll need to check her back” Heather says eyeing the two men.

      Understanding, Gen. Nelson stands up, “I need to head back to the bridge anyway.” Gen. Nelson declares. “I’ll go grab some food. Ms. Endless Appetite is probably starving” Angus suggests. Brig’s growling stomach is his answer. Shutting the door behind them, the two men exit.

      Sitting up, Brig smiles warily at the medic, then confused. “Why don’t I have any underwear on?” she asks, earning a throaty laugh. Pulling out packs of new underwear, sports bras, tank tops, socks, a new set of black fatigues, and a fresh pair of sweats, “Your men were a little mortified about finding those for you” Heather explains. “I had to help change you earlier. I thought those men were going to pass out from embarrassment the entire time.” She adds. Brig smirks knowingly, probably the most about her uncle being in the room, otherwise they weren’t especially concerned about her state of dress. Twenty years killing together had a way of not caring about such things.

      Gesturing to Brig that she needs to look at her back, the medic pulls up the hoodie, Brig hanging onto it from the front as the medic removes the large bandage. “I’m sorry for what happened to you.” The medic says, eyeing the tiny wounds the surgeon worked on earlier as well as the old scars. “What do you mean?” Brig asks confused. “Sorry. The surgeon was curious about the tissue the abscesses were in and asked about it. One of your men shared the story” the medic explains. “Oh. I see.” Brig returns. “You are one strong lady” the medic tells her. Remembering all she had endured, “Sure didn’t seem like it at the time” Brig grimaces.

       Instantly liking the medic for her wit and concern. “What’s your name?” Brig asks. “Heather.” “Heather, I never ask for help with this sort of thing, but would you possibly mind helping me take a shower? I feel disgusting” Brig asks nervously. She didn’t like needing help with anything and was finding it annoying needing so much the last few days. Jesus, I mention retirement for the first time ever and I fall apart, Brig laments to herself. But with the pain meds and sore and stiff muscles, she doubted she’d be able to make much headway in the showering department. “Of course” Heather agrees. “Besides, it would be great to get it done before I redress the wounds anyway.” She assures her.

      Setting new bandages and supplies on the bathroom counter, and grabbing a chair and setting it in the shower for Brig to use, Heather disconnects the IV line and assists Brig to the bathroom, out of the sweats and then removing the rest of her bandages, the thick stitches on her side resembling millipedes against her pale skin. Brig demands the removal of the IV because she wasn’t having any more drugs. Heather turns on the water.

      Aiding with washing Brig’s hair and back as she sits in the chair, “So, um, one of your guys, I didn’t get his name, but a big Polynesian guy. Actually, the one who was especially embarrassed about the underwear thing.” Heather pries “Lee? Yeah?” Brig asks, now completely understanding the lack of underwear situation. Lee was the “gentleman” of the group. “Is he um, does he, um, you know, have a girlfriend or anything?” Heather stammers. Oh my god! Girly stuff, Brig realizes. I’d rather be tortured than talk about relationship stuff, especially about one of her own soldiers.

      Immediately horrified at that thought, then brought up short at her own predicament, “No, he’s um, habitually single” Brig tells her with a sigh. “Oh okay” Heather breathes out, a little sad sounding for Brig. “I meant that he’s just remained single since being special ops tends to make relationships hard.” Brig clarifies. “Most of us are either divorced, some multiple times, a few wise enough to make it work, or for others, wise enough to not make someone else’s life a living hell. We’re just gone so much. He hasn’t ever wanted to do that to someone. It’s hard to find understanding and patient girlfriends or spouses” Brig tells her. “Gotcha” Heather says, sounding relieved.  They continue to make small talk, Brig explaining the events at the compound and hospital ship about how she’d come by the latest wounds.

      Exhausted but clean, fresh bandages applied to her back, knife, and original wounds from the chopper, Brig achingly makes her way into fresh clothing. A tank top, then the new sweats, socks her size, long brief like underwear and all. Eyeing her young new found friend, Brig gives her an apologetic grimace at what an ordeal she’s being. Heather just shrugs her shoulders, nonplussed.

      Stepping out of the closed bathroom door, the two eye the conference table half covered with food trays. T, sitting in a chair next to Angus happily eating from her own, working at trays. “Jesus I’m not that hungry” Brig declares eyeing the small army serving worth of dishes. “Wasn’t sure what you’d want and figured Ed would be back at some point. Might want some. And I’m sure she’s gotta be starving after dealing with your ass for the last hour.” Angus grunts, grinning at the medic.

      Chuckling, Heather helps Brig to one of the chairs, “I’m good but thank you. I have to get back down to the hospital” She declines. “Those idiot twins giving you any problems?” Angus grunts. “You let me know and I’ll give them a good beating” he tells her.

      Rolling her eyes at the apparent infamous man-children, she shakes her head, “They’re fine. We draw straws when we have to deal with them” She laughs. “You need anything else Brig?” she asks at the door. “I’m good. Thank you so much” Brig tiredly tells her. “Oh. By the way, his last name is Tonata” Brig adds with a grin. “Thanks” Heather tells her with an embarrassed smile, shutting the door behind her.

      Staring at the door confused, “What was that about?” Angus asks. “Seems our little medic has a crush on Lee” Brig answers shaking her head. Grinning, “Oh yeah. Pretty sure the feeling’s mutual. Lee has always liked red heads and freckles.” Angus tells her smiling to himself. “She has freckles?” Brig teases him about why he would know such a detail. They were only noticeable up close. Annoyed, “Well she’s a red head. They usually have freckles” he defends. Brig just stares amused at him, resting her head in her hands, elbows leaning on the table for support.

      Angus’s face grows serious, about to lean forward towards Brig. Prohibiting further discussion, their heads whip to T growling low in front of the door. Flashing knowing looks at each other, Angus gets up and throws the door open.

      A few feet down the hallway the medic has been stopped by the petty officer, Waters. A confused look on Heather’s face from his questions. Annoyed by the hand gripping her arm. “You need something petty officer?” Angus bellows at him. Startled the man steps away, Angus eyes Heather to keep going. Giving Angus a silent thank you, she hurries down the hall.

      Angus glares at the petty officer, waiting for an answer. “No sir, I was just checking on your friend to report back to the Captains.” He stutters. “She’s fine. You can run along back to them right now and report” Angus orders him. Nodding, the petty officer wisely passes him heading in the opposite direction of the medic.

      Leaving the door open so he can see anyone else passing by, Angus charges over to a phone on the wall. “Get me Erik Reistad, he’s with his brother in your recovery area NOW!” Angus bellows at the answer.

      A few minutes’ pass as Angus’s anger mounts, staring at the door. Brig looking around confused, mumbles “Where’s all my weapons?” Angus eyes her pack on the floor by the table. Brig reaches down and in, finding her sig then holds it in her lap. That’s better. I feel naked with absolutely no weapons on me, Brig wonders to herself. 

      “You know a young female medic, Heather?” Angus asks Erik once he’s on the phone. “Shut your mouth. Make your way up until you find her and don’t let her out of your sight. We may have a problem with our little spy” Angus tells him cryptically. Hanging up the phone, he paces. “What was going on?” Brig asks. “That little bitch creeper was out in the hall waylaying that medic. Harassing her. She didn’t look too happy about it.” Angus explains.

Chapter 50 

      Confused but catching on to Angus’s furious instructions, Erik relays the information to Vidar, eyeing the gun at his side in the hospital bed.  They had both been informed about the incidences involving the petty officer hanging about. “I’ll be back” he tells Vidar, heading out.

      Making his way up decks and staircases he finally spots the medic Angus is concerned about heading his direction. Approaching her, “Did you just come from General Nelson’s quarters?” he asks her. “Yes Sir” she nods, flustered. “I know Vidar and I a real pair but I need you to come with me and wait with us at his bed for a bit” He tells her in the most serious voice she’s ever heard out of either one of the brothers.

      Erik gently guides her forward, with a light touch to the small of her back, keeping an eye on the direction she just came from. “But I have to get back to work” she argues, confounded. Ignoring her, Erik tense at her side, they make their way back into the hospital unit. Eyeing another medic, Erik stops him. “She’ll be with Vidar until I say otherwise” he tells the man, giving him a look that they weren’t going to be needing the medic’s assistance any time soon. “Okay” the medic stammers, confused.

      Guiding Heather to Vidar’s curtained off section, he eyes a chair for her to sit in. “What’s going on?” Heather asks. “What happened up in the General’s room?” Erik asks, standing by the curtain to keep an eye on the room. “Nothing, I just helped Brig with her bandages, a shower and then I left” she tells them. “What happened after you left?” Erik pushes.

      Realization dawns on her face. “Oh I just got stopped by one of the petty officers. He’s just kind of one the ship’s annoying nosy crew members. Nothing special.” She explains. “Why did he stop you?” Vidar asks from the bed, adjusting so he’s sitting up, turning to look at her. Frowning, “He was asking about Brig. How she was doing. But he was kind of pushy about the whole thing” She says. “What do you mean?” Erik asks. “Well he kind of grabbed me and, and…” she stops, remembering and then growing apprehensive. “…And asked if she was going to need more antibiotics or pain meds, which I thought was weird since he’s not a medic or anything. Then that big guy stepped out.” she finishes.

      Erik and Vidar exchange knowing looks. “Does she need anything like that?” Erik asks. “She shouldn’t. Maybe some pain meds if the pain gets too bad, but she said she didn’t want anything IV. Said she could tolerate it with maybe some ibuprofen or something. The doc only ordered her a single dose of antibiotics IV. Anything else he’d prescribe orally.” She explains. “Thank god she’s one tough cookie” Vidar grunts.

      After a moments consideration, “I hate to do this to you but I’ll need to share this with Angus and see what’s going on. I know he’s not as cute as I am and possibly completely useless but you need to stay here with him until I or one of our team members comes back” Erik tells her, eyeing Vidar. “Hey now, I’m way better looking than you. Totally fuck anyone up coming in here, dead or alive I’ll remind you.” Vidar huffs back, patting the side arm on the bed. Oh god! Heather thinks to herself, distressed with the entire situation, but nods her head in agreement since they all seem so serious, which is exactly how they had not been since they’d been here. Smirking at the poor girl’s obvious misery, Erik nods and heads out.

Chapter 51 

      Tapping on the door as he makes his entrance, Erik eyes Brig, moving food around on her plate; Angus sitting across from her at the table. “Heard about you getting a shower. I miss everything” Erik teases. Angus’s eyes go dark as he rises and approaches him. “Hate to ruin those pretty whites” he gruffs, looking out into the hallway then shutting the door. Brig rolls her eyes at Erik, still hazy from the Dilaudid. “Found your medic” Erik tells them in all seriousness.

      “She ok?” Brig asks. “What did she have to say?” Angus demands, standing in from of him, ignoring Brig’s concern. Lounging against the end of the table, crossing his arms, “Seems our little petty officer was wanting to know if Brig needed any more antibiotics or pain meds” Erik shares. “Assuming via IV” he adds, giving them both a knowing look. Brig pulls her shirt sleeve back and reveals the removed IV, “That’s not gonna happen” she declares. “According to our medic, he’s one of the ships resident assholes.” Erik tells them.

      “But why would he care and why be so obvious about it? I mean the mess, the berthing compartment, then the staircase and now this?” Brig wonders, eyes going blurry as the Dilaudid still courses through her. “Probably been ruling the roost for a while, may be his ego’s getting away from him. However, he’s just a petty officer, I’m more curious who he’s caring so much for” Erik offers. “Where is she now?” Angus asks. “With Vidar” Erik informs them. “Poor woman” Brig mumbles. “He may be gimpy at the moment, but he’s got his side arm and whole lot of boredom to use up if anything happens” Erik tells them, smirking at Brig’s comment. Angus nods his head. The twins weren’t his favorite, but they were competent, smart and deadly soldiers when the need arises. He’d give them that.

      Just then, Gen. Nelson throws the door open and enters, brought up short by the sight of Erik. “I thought the point of you watching her was to not have frisky men around?” Gen. Nelson quips. Angus, confused for a moment about how he’d known that, shuts the door behind him. “We got a problem” He grunts out. “Lee’s going to have a girlfriend when he gets back” Brig suddenly declares, waving her gun in the air. Then her mind coming back to the current situation, “Whether he wants to or not” she surmises, nodding her head.

      Gen. Nelson instantly alarmed, “Why does my high as a kite niece have a gun in her hand. Soldier or not?” he asks. Looking down at the gun, surprised, Brig smiles euphorically, sighing “We’re good. The safety’s on.” She informs them showing them the side of the gun with a stupid grin. Erik, still lounging at the table, calmly leans over and removes the weapon from her hand, setting it on the table, then looks back at the General and Angus, amused.

      Both men turn with serious eyes. Angus briefs him on the situation. “I may need to have a little conversation with the XO” Gen. Nelson responds.  “When are the teams due back?” Angus asks.

      Sighing, rubbing his face Gen. Nelson sits at the table across from Brig, who’s been sitting and staring in la-la land, attempting really hard to pay attention and losing the battle. “Probably not for a few more hours. There’s thirteen floors above ground and four beneath. Just listened as they reached the maternity and pediatric wards. It was pretty horrible” Gen. Nelson informs them. The two men are instantly appalled. Brig snaps her head up, eyes going wide. Gen. Nelson just nods his head “yes”, at the obvious silent questions. Sad eyes envision the horrible possibilities.

      “What should we do about this? It’s a little alarming that someone was interested in possibly harming Brig by spiking her pain meds or something” Angus asks, shaking his head and breaking the silence. “I’m good with ibuprofen. No need for more of this crap” Brig informs them, eyes going cross-eyed.

      Curious, Gen. Nelson gets up and opens a medicine cabinet. Pulling a bottle out, he hands it to her. “Only take them from this bottle. I took some earlier, it was sealed. Don’t want to risk someone finding another way if that was their intention” he orders. Brig puts the bottle in her hoodie pocket.

      “What are we going to do about the medic?” Brig asks. The General looks to Angus and Erik confused. “He was rather rough with her. If he’s the resident bully, I may have accidently put her in harm’s way by catching him with her” Angus suggests.

      Understanding, Gen. Nelson shakes his head. “It would be a little too obvious if we bring her back here. You go back and keep an eye on her and your brother, see what else you can get from her. I’ll have a word with the XO, see if there isn’t a way we can keep her covered without the petty officer or whoever he’s working for catching on.” Gen. Nelson tells them. “I’ll get word to you as soon as I can” he adds. Erik nodding his head, makes his way out. Gen. Nelson following, “You still good?” he asks Angus. “Yep” he answers, looking over at the stoned, cross-eyed, woman in the chair.

Chapter 52 

      Shaken, the three special ops teams stand just before the door to the seventh floor of the hospital, Levy in the lead. Mack and Red stand beside him for each other’s moral support rather than tactical reasons.  They had just cleared the eighth floor. Maternity and pediatrics wards. Unknowingly, one of the Israeli soldiers discovered his own sister and her husband dead and half eaten in her suite.

      The soldier had lost it. Dropping his rifle and leaving his position, he grabbed his sister up in his arms, sobbing, repeating her name, apologizing he had failed to protect her, rocking her back and forth, traumatized. She’d recently given birth, but there was no baby in the room.

      The US and Canadian teams were sent ahead to the newborn section. Row after row of devastating remnants of tiny occupants soaked the cribs. Many of the men throwing up over the sight of detached baby’s heads and limbs still resting in the beds, faces permanently twisted in agony.  Mack and Red took on the horrible task of making sure they didn’t come back. Just in case. They weren’t sure if babies did. Gratefully, many of the beds were empty. Either there wasn’t a child in it to begin with, or they had been rescued.

      Back in the mother’s suite, Levy had to forcefully remove the distraught soldier while Cohen slid a knife in his sister’s head as she had risen, almost taking a chunk out of her brother’s throat. The husband was dispatched with compassion as well. 

      Ahead with Mack’s and Red’s team, hope filled them as a large herd was formed up against the door to a break room. The glorious sounds of babies waling inside. Yelling for the occupants inside to get down and take cover in case a bullet went through the walls, the two teams blasted and stabbed their way through three dozen dead bodies. Throwing the door open once the area was cleared. Dozens of hospital staff, new mothers and fathers, huddled inside with as many babies they could grab running from the dead.

      Alerting the Israeli team to the situation, the soldier had rushed down the hall to the room, asking for his sister’s baby. Thankfully the child was one of the babies rescued. The man stood bawling, the nurse handing him his nephew.

      Ordering the soldier to leave with the group, Levy assured him that they’d complete the mission, and find him once he got a hold of his family and the baby was taken care of. Looking at his men and the rest of the team after the group was passed up through the staircases to the roof, “I was afraid he’d get himself or one of us killed.” Levy explains. The rest shrug their shoulders. No one was upset about sending the distressed soldier away.

      Now, a few more floors to go, weapons reloaded, Levy signals and the group exits the stairwell and spreads out. Tall pillars line half the building to an open area to two floors below along an airy passageway. Taking out the handful of dead wondering aimlessly ahead of them, they look out over the sides of the walkway to the floor below.

      Hundreds of dead fills half of the fifth floor. “Good thing Brig’s not here to go flying off this son-of-a-bitch” Mad Dogg grunts beside his team. Their responses mingle between “No shit” and “Thanks for that visual”.

      Levy ahead of them in the hallway radios to the group coming up from the bottom floors warning them about the mass of dead they’re about to encounter.

      “How we gonna take out that hoard? There’s no way we don’t run out of ammo trying to shoot them all from here and the other team below won’t be able to spread out in time before they’re covered in dead.” Vega asks, Lucy secured to his hip, Bruno secured to Martinez. “Why can’t we just launch grenades into them?” asks Martinez, always at his friend’s side. “Pretty sure the hospital would like to keep their building intact to take care of others after this. Besides, you want to sift through hundreds of dead body parts finding the head to shoot or stab? They don’t go down any other way” Cohen informs him. “Too bad your Brig’s not here with her thinking? She would’ve solved this ten minutes ago” Dahan quips. Eyes snap to him. “Brig” Mack mumbles, leaning over the side, assessing the next floor. It also has an open passageway right beneath them. 

      “Tell your team waiting below to hold their positions in the staircase. We clear this level and the next one then we can shoot from the passageway below, but throw the blasters like we did on the hospital ship away from the stairwell. Give them time to exit and spread out, but keep the damage minimal and minimize hunting for puzzle pieces” Mack suggests, looking at Levy. Levy nods in agreement. While he contacts the group below, the rest make their way through the floor. Living are sent through to soldiers waiting in the stairwell to get them up to the roof.

      Making their way down to the sixth floor they do the same. As soon as its clear, the team lines up on either side of the open passageway and aim at the floor below. Levy radios the group in the stairwell that they are in position and to await the go. Multiple blasters are thrown towards the other end of the room. Blinding light and deafening booms rupture against the far wall. The soldiers on the passageway remain still so as not to distract the dead below. Once the floor beneath them, closest to the stairwell is free of dead, Levy gives the go ahead into his com.

      Quietly fifty men below pile out of the stairwell until they’ve spread out across the width of the room on their side. Levy gives the signal and immediately the two separate teams fire into the huge crowd below and ahead of them. As the noise attracts them, dead shuffle from hallways and rooms ahead lining the far wall. As the dead pile up, the team on the ground advance forward, eventually clearing hallways and the offices on the other half of the building of the living and dead.

      Once the fifth floor is cleared, Levy and the rest make their way down to meet up with the forces below. Some of the new Israeli’s eye Lee with trepidation. He is a large dark man and they’ve never seen a Polynesian in the flesh before. He repeatedly grunts that he’s from Tonga at their looks of wariness. Then clarifying that its by Hawaii.

      Their job finished, the doors on the ground floor are thrown open for more Israeli military to enter to do extra sweeps and start clean-up. They’ll set up a military and civilian hospital since both were filling up all around the city. Relieved of their assignment, the three special forces teams make their way back up the stairwell to the helicopter pad and await the chinook from the aircraft carrier.

      It had taken hours to go through the hospital, it was close to one o’clock in the morning. Standing on top of the building, the teams survey the darkened city around them, the hospital lit up right beneath them by military’s spot lights. The three teams grow concerned. Hordes of angry and concerned family and friends push and shove at the barricades and military force lining the building, preventing anyone from getting into the hospital.  The civilians demand to know what was going on and where their loved ones were. Many were just trying to access the hospital for their own injuries or medical conditions.

      Medical vehicles and healthcare personnel, encompassed in full-on hazmat gear have been rerouting any sick to other area clinics and hospitals. Yelling, crying and physical clashes can be heard and seen from above. “So, just a curious observation. Why the hell we sent in to deal with these things in just regular old combat gear and gas masks, and those bastards down there are decked out like this invasion of the body snatchers. Doesn’t seem to matter unless you’re bit, scratched or just die like a dumb ass.” Catch comments, annoyed.

      Throwing up an eyebrow, “Pretty sure they’re all gussied up like that in case they run into you, ya dim-wit” Hunch berates him. “We just cleaned up two freaking hospitals because the staff were too damn inexperienced in killing something to not get bit or scratched and they probably don’t want to die like some dumbass so they kind of need the hazmat suits for Christ’s sake” he explains.

      Others eye Hunch with appreciation at the explanation, but had been wondering along with Catch in the first place. The ground looked like a sea of NASA astronauts with their thick hazmat suits putting up tents like the facility had been invaded by a spaceship full of extraterrestrials. The workers were snaking plastic tunnels to the various entrances.  Catch just grunts, excepting the earned chastisement, wondering away from the edge of the building.

      While the outer streets remained emptier, the city on lock down and quarantined, buildings and houses further out are on fire. The smoke-filled sky blocking out the moon and stars. Sirens rage through the streets, some close, but hundreds wale further in the distance, attempting to control them. Gun fire echoes in between the siren’s wales. Soldiers or civilians clashing with the dead or each other.  Road barricades line the streets of the city as army vehicles roll through.

      “You think the same thing is going on at home?” Mad Dogg asks Mack. “Pretty sure every city and country look like this right now.” Mack sighs back to him. “Why do you think the Israeli officials want to keep those men on your US ship so bad? They could easily be picked up right now and taken to one of their ships or bases?” Red wonders next to them, looking at the Israeli team at the edge of the roof looking around at their city.

      The Canadian’s were stuck with the US ship since none of their military ships were stationed in the Mediterranean, but Israeli ships and land bases surrounded them. “According to our bosses, for these types of assignments. Thinking a lot of that team has high ranking family. Levy may be right that a tiny Jewish country surrounded by Arabic ones, may be ripe for some trouble. Why they want them on our ship is an enigma.” Mack ponders. With the chopper arriving, the men hold onto their thoughts as they board and fly back to the aircraft carrier.

Chapter 53 

      As soon as they set down, the group eye Gen. Nelson and Murdock waiting for them just off the flight deck. Pulling the teams inside and into a cramped operation room, Gen. Nelson asks a marine guard to inform Angus and Erik about the team’s return and to send them in, shutting the door. “How’s Brig?” Mad Dogg asks. The cryptic “Fine for now” from Gen. Nelson is telling.

      The men are exhausted but realize something is up, eyes going wide at his statement. Gen. Nelson eyes them to silence about that topic while they wait for Angus and Erik to arrive.

      “Sorry about your man and his family” Gen. Nelson offers Levy. “Thank you, sir. As soon as the child is in safe hands we’ll see what my superiors decide to do with him.” Levy says loudly, taking the cue. The US and Canadian teams frown in remembrance of the cribs. Many still traumatized and in shock from the experience. A few minutes later Angus and Erik knock on the door and enter. Murdock informs the guard to remain outside the door, instantly putting the entire group on edge.

      The four men inform the teams about what happened with the petty officer. The room erupts into yelling at the news. Smacking the table for silence, “We have guards posted, Navy Seals. In the hospital for Vidar and Erik, one outside the sleeping quarters for the medic, and outside my room for Brig. We let it be known that it was just in case Brig’s fever comes back we can get the doc quicker. They are on a private comm.” Gen. Nelson informs them, eyeing the room for order.

      “Where’s the petty officer now?”  Mack asks. “Don’t know. I had an officer check his quarters but he wasn’t there. Gen. Nelson and I had to remain on the Bridge for the op and the high amount of aircraft traffic we’ve been having. Since we’re not sure who else may be involved, didn’t want to alert them by starting up man-hunt until you guys returned. Hence the guards. Figured fellow marines would sit better for you.” Murdock informs them. The US team grunt with approval, but remain livid.

      “So what do we do about the petty officer? If he’s working for someone how we going to find that out? Won’t we just give away that we’re on to them and would he even tell us?” Long asks. “We’re not sure if this is just a thing against Brig or if it could be any or all of us he’s been watching. The other instances didn’t seem to necessarily single out Brig until this.” Angus informs them.

      “The medic did give me names of other bullies on the ship. Particularly those that are close with the petty officer. Could we watch them all and see where it gets us?” Erik offers. “With all this shit going on in the world? We’re being called up every two minutes, we won’t have the time to watch a bunch of navy personnel, or god only knows who else. I say we just find the little shit and wring it out of him. Brig is the best but she ain’t the only one who can get answers. Hell, we could have her do it if we need to” Lee declares. “Somehow I don’t think our usual question and answer techniques would be smiled upon used on one of our own. Especially Brig’s version” Mack says.  “And he actually hasn’t done anything we’d even get a slight ok for. He’s just been creeping around.” Gen. Nelson adds.

      After moments of angry murmuring contemplation, “How about we take rotations guarding Brig, Vidar, and the medic until we find the petty officer or a better solution. Maybe we discover more as we go. It gives Brig and Vidar time to heal up and it could just look like we’re fond of the medic for helping” Red suggests. Faces instantly go relaxed with a viable alternative. “I’ll take first watch on the medic” Lee declares, smiling with excitement, the look of exhaustion gone from his face.

      “But how we going to watch her when she’s in her sleeping quarters with a bunch of other medics. Highly doubt that’s going to be viewed as fondness. It pretty well borders on stalking and would be clearly obvious that we’re watching her.” Levy puts in. Faces instantly turn stumped. “Can’t we just put her in the room with Brig? Say that her fever keeps coming and going and want a medic right there instead of having to wait for the doc?” Mad Dogg offers. “Could be feasible. Unless Brig decides it’s ridiculous and wonders off on her own not wanting to be babysat. But it would free up some of the watch.” Mack responds.

      “We could probably leave her alone tonight, and I’ll speak with her commanding officer and have her transferred up in the morning if we haven’t found the petty officer by then. The guard I have posted should be able to keep an eye out on the room until then.” Murdock offers. “Let’s leave it at that for now. I can’t imagine the petty officer trying anything with her in so obviously a crowded space, especially having no business even being near there.” Gen. Nelson decides. “Unless he has friends on the hospital crew with her” Lee comments. “Did the medic mention anyone on the medical crew?” Gen. Nelson asks Erik. “No, just listed names of the navy officers. Didn’t think about the medical staff since they’re separate and she didn’t seem concerned about any of them” Erik states. “Well let’s just hope they aren’t that stupid if there is. We can clarify with her in the morning” Gen. Nelson states, nodding to Murdock.

      “The doc said Vidar just needed twenty-four hours before he could be moved. We could move him down with us in the morning as well. A few more hours, taking shifts, that shouldn’t be a problem, then we just have Brig and the medic to watch in one room.” Red informs them.

      Nodding, the group agrees. “We’ll need everyone going to separate places. The sleeping quarters, the mess halls, and recreation areas. In groups of two or three at least.” Mack suggests, eyeing the other commanders. “Erik, you stay with your brother in the hospital until we can move Vidar down. Why don’t you and your group take the first shift of sleep Levy. This last bit seemed rather rough for you guys.” Red offers. Levy eyeing his men agrees with the sentiment. It had been hard on his own countrymen. “No talking about this while you search. Nothing about Brig, Vidar or the medic in case anyone overhears” Mack orders. The room grumbles agreement.

      Exhausted, soldiers get up to leave. “Wait, do we get a report on how Brig’s doing before we leave?” Mad Dogg asks, whispering the last. Angus, having been with her the last eight hours the rest had been gone quietly informs them, “Her fever is gone, just sleeping off the pain meds. Knowing her, she’ll be up and ornery and anxious before we know it. Which will be its own special kind of fun” he informs the rest with a knowing snort and eye roll. With that the teams exit the room, dramatically complaining about the long day they had just endured.

***

      Once at their sleeping quarters, Levy instructs his men to search every bunk for any signs of tampering, paying close attention to Brig’s bunk. Then the men go in rotations to use the showers and toilets so that no one is alone and they can keep an eye on the hallway surrounding their living area. Murdock rechecks the officer’s quarters where Waters should be. He’s still not in his bunk. Those awake, mumble they haven’t seen him for hours. Murdock informs Mack and Red as he steps from the room.

      The two teams take turns going through various deck level mess halls, restrooms, and relaxing in gathering rooms to watch TV, playing card games, and heading up to the flight deck for smokes and cigars. Angus, Mack and Mad Dogg take turns to check on the sleeping log of Brig. Martinez and Vega check on T, giving her food and water, and taking her for a walk to the top deck.

Chapter 54 

      After snuggling back under the covers of her uncle’s bed, sleeping off the rest of the Dilaudid, Brig’s eyes fly open with raging pain in her back and side. Looking at her watch, she realizes she has slept for another six hours. It was four in the morning.

      Shifting, she remembers the bottle of ibuprofen in her hoodie. Taking it out and downing some with water, she looks around the room. She’s alone, other than T stretching and nuzzling her. Her mind clearer now. She eyes the phones on the conference table that someone put back. I can call Aster! She remembers, excited. Gritting her teeth, she makes her way to the table, and sits down, winded.

      Once the pain has subsided she picks up the receiver and dials. It rings. And rings. Growing worried, her daughter finally answers, “Aster baby it’s me.” Brig breaths into the phone, eyes growing teary at hearing her voice. “Mom? Where are you? What’s going on?” her daughter asks. “Hi baby. I’m so sorry I haven’t been able to call. They’ve had the lines blocked” she explains, not wanting to share the fun-filled hours earning and recovering from her injuries. “Have you talked to Becca? What did she say?” Brig rushes out. “That she was coming to get me. I talked to Uncle Thom as well. Mom there’s all kind of crazy stuff going on. Have you seen the news?” Aster asks. Yeah I’ve seen the news, Brig thinks to herself. “Yes baby. Did they explain the situation?” Brig asks. “Yeah. This is crazy though. People are dying and then attacking people. They’re literally eating people. This is like zombie shit mom.” Aster declares, earning a “Aster, language!” from her grandmother in the background.

      Frowning, Brig thinks about it, having to agree. “I know baby. But I need you to listen to me. These things are dangerous. You don’t engage with them. If you encounter them, the only way to put them down is trauma to the brain. And I mean fatal trauma. Whatever you have to use. Bullets, knives, a goddam shovel. Do NOT let them touch you. Their bites or scratches will cause a raging infection that you can’t survive. Do you understand?” Brig states as threatening as she can. “Yeah. That’s what Becca and Uncle Thom said.” Aster states, recognizing the seriousness of her mother’s tone.

      “Good, Becca should be on her way. Have you heard from her lately?” Brig asks. “I talked to them yesterday and early this morning then again a little bit ago. They were trying to get Becca on a chopper but the choppers keep getting rerouted so she’s grabbing Papa’s Christmas present from the house and driving down with a team” Aster states. Papa’s Christmas present. My Christmas present from my father this last year. Oh my God! I didn’t even think about that. It was the ugliest vehicle on the planet, but lethal. Her father’s way of showing her how much he loved her by giving her something she could level a small county with if she had to stay safe. It was loaded with extra personal weapons, missiles, machine guns, and reinforced like a tank. It could do the same damage as a small army, Brig realizes in shock. She hadn’t even started it up since she got it, it was so ridiculous.

      “Oh thank god. You stay there. Do not go anywhere. Do you have your bow and arrow and other weapons?” Brig says hurriedly. “Yeah, been out practicing. Much to the more civil side of societies disappointment.” Aster huffs, referring to her paternal grandparents who didn’t like the whole military thing even though their only son was in it. “Good, if you can make more arrows, do so, but no leaving the property. You stay away from towns. And Aster.” Brig pauses. “You don’t leave until Becca’s there. But if anything happens before she shows up, inside the barn is a lever on the back wall next to that hideous alligator head. You pull it. But do not do it unless Becca can’t get to you or something horrible is going on and you have to leave do you understand?” Brig tells her. “What’s in the barn?” Aster asks confused. “Let’s just call it another Christmas present from Papa. But Jack Sr. and Louise don’t know it’s there and they’ll probably have a heart attack.” Brig tells her cryptically.

      “How do they not know it’s there?” Aster wonders. “Um, that two-week cruise they supposedly won a year ago?” Brig asks. “Yeah?” Aster responds, catching on. “Not so much a random winner kind of thing.” Brig tells her. “Figures” Aster chuckles. “But do you understand me? You stay put, this is serious. Aster…” Brig is at a loss for words. How do you even explain and convince an invincible and immortal teenager who hasn’t even seen the dead yet, what to do when and if she does.

      “Aster baby, so many have died. I know you were planning on boot camp in a few months but this maybe it. They’re attracted to noise, sight, smell. They can tell the difference. They will rip you to shreds and then you will die and turn into one of those things. Do you understand me?” Brig forces out, growing winded towards the end. “YES! Mom I got it. I know. I’ll stay put. I won’t leave. I’ll wait for Becca. When will you be home though?” Aster tells her, frustrated. “I’m not sure baby. I’m in the Mediterranean Ocean on an aircraft carrier. We’re not sure when we’ll get to come home. But you don’t even worry about it. I’ll be there. Nothing will stop me from getting there. It’s just going to take a minute. I will find you. Becca’s taking you to the Fort. You’ll be safe there.” Brig tells her. “Ok”. Aster sighs over the phone.

      “Have you talked to your father?” Brig asks. “No but he sent a text saying he was working on something classified and didn’t know when he’d call. But sent weird sets of numbers. Becca said something about coordinates but then had to go. It was a group message to you and Becca and me” Aster tells her. Oh my god. My phone has been off this entire time. Brig realizes. “Hang on” she instructs her daughter. She hadn’t even thought about her cell since turning it off for the compound mission and they would’ve been blocked it on the ship anyway.

      Leaning over to her pack by the table, she rifles through the pouches, finally finding the cell. Turning it on she sees the missed calls with messages and texts from Becca, her father, and her ex. Going to the text messages she finds the one that Aster and Becca are included on. Becca was right, they were coordinates.

      “Oh my god” Brig breathes. “Aster, do you remember what your father does?” Brig asks. “Besides being worthless?” Aster quips, earning a snort from Brig. “Yeah, I think so. He…” Aster says. “Becca will know what these mean, just in case, think about it for a while and you’ll figure it out too. Find a map and locate the coordinates and memorize them. Do you understand” Brig cuts her off. Silence passes. She can tell that Aster is understanding her desire for privacy in case anyone was listening in. She could almost picture the wheels turning in her daughter’s head.

      Finally, “Got it. Okay” Aster says. “I need to talk to Papa, have you spoken to him at all?” Brig asks. “Yeah, yesterday. He was blowing like an ox. Knows that Becca’s on her way, said he’d be getting groups to help get to me as well. Then he had quite the yelling match with grandpa about them needing to leave when I do, but they don’t believe anything about what’s going on so grandpa told him they would be just fine when I left. Went off about how crazy our military family is” Aster whispers into the phone. “I see. Well I’ve never convinced them of anything. They still think the episode with your father was a misunderstanding.” Brig tells her. A misunderstanding that put them both in the hospital. The only misunderstanding in that entire situation was him thinking he could kick my ass.

      Pulling her thoughts back to the current situation, unconcerned about what her ex in-laws chose to do. As long as Aster was safe. “I know” Aster sighs. She had been there and witnessed the “misunderstanding” when she was four.

      Looking at the time, not knowing how long she was going to have if they blocked calls again Brig reluctantly forces herself to end the call. “I’ve gotta go baby. I need to call Papa. Becca should be there in no time. I love you baby girl” Brig tells her, tearing up, but trying to keep her voice steady. “Ok. I’ll be fine mom. And Jesus I’m going into boot camp in a few months, I’m not a baby anymore.” She huffs back, her insulted teenage bravado coming out. Brig smiles. I hope this all just goes away and you can go to boot camp, she thinks.

      Brig was starting to regret signing off on her going into the military so young. Aster had graduated high school a year early. Brig had thrown multiple celebrations over the last few weekends. Apparently, I celebrated a little too much now that I’m in this predicament with Angus, Brig kicks herself. But she had been the same age with the same situation when she herself went to boot camp, so she didn’t have a lot of ground telling her own daughter no.  “Ok baby” she quips back. Aster proved to be the braver of the two, she just snorted into the phone and hung up.

      After a few minutes of worry about Aster and reinforcing her resolve to deal with her father, Brig finally dials home.  “Brig?” Earl McGreggor bellows into the phone. How does he always know it’s me? She wonders, taking a breath. “Yeah it’s me.” She says. “Thank god you’re okay. Those idiots. They don’t think I know about that damn chopper evacuation and now this bullshit on the hospital ship, and I’m starting to wonder if they know what the hell they’re doing anymore” He complains into the phone. “I’m fine. Been through way worse.” She reminds him. “Don’t I know it” He grunts. “That’s why you’re getting on a chopper to come home. I’m not dealing with this shit anymore” He tells her. “Excuse me? The team’s being evacuated?” She tests. “No not the team. They can handle themselves, they know what they’re doing. They don’t want or need you around having to babysit you like they have been. I’m getting your ass home. Which is where you need to be once Aster gets here.” He informs her.

      Fury shoots through Brig’s veins. After all these years, nothing has made him say anything like this. First they don’t know what they’re doing then they do. Now he’s pulling I’m a woman card? Even after being taken and tortured he never went bat-shit father like this. He’d never pulled strings to get her out. He’s never treated other than a soldier. And blaming the soldiers she’s worked with for twenty years? He was in for a surprise.

       “I’m not leaving these men here. I’m not being evacuated off a ship because daddy says so. I’m a goddamn combat soldier. And have been for twenty years. I’m not a goddamn Boot. And the hell you’re pulling any of your shit to get my ass, and my ass only off this ship.” She tells him calmly. “You get your ass on that chopper. That’s it. I’m not letting you stay on the other side of the world with this shit going on. No arguing with me. If I have to, I’ll have them put your ass on the chopper.” He threatens. “The hell they will. Anyone lays a hand on me to get me on a chopper they’ll lose it and you damn well know it.” Brig hisses. There was no tolerance in Brig’s voice. It was confident and final. And probably for the first time in her life, deadlier sounding than her father’s.

      “I’m not leaving. So pull your shit together. You just focus on and get my daughter there. I’ll be fine. Don’t make me deal with worrying about the both of you. I’ll be home when we get there. You ain’t pulling this bullshit. That’s the job. I love you Papa, but I’m not leaving!” Brig growls.

      Silence and then a heavy sigh on the other end. “Son-of-a-bitch. This is different Brig. It’s not going to be missions and ops anymore. This shit is the end of the world. I don’t care about the job. It’s survival now. You on the other side of the world right this minute? Not real sure you’ll make it home.” Her father hisses back. “Then use your resources to make sure this aircraft carrier does. I’m not leaving my men. You never left yours. You think Old Man and Ornery would be sitting there if you did? I can handle this shit. You just get my daughter there. She is our primary objective. You worry about her. There’s a whole lot more you can do about getting her home than worrying about me. Do you understand me General?” Brig informs him. Father or not, Brig knew the use of his rank would do more to snap him out of his current parental pity-party after a lifetime of being a marine than arguing with him as his daughter.

      Her assumption proving correct as “Goddamn it. Fine. You just get your ass home. I’ll be following the situation. But if anything goes down that your life is in actual jeopardy don’t put it past me to pull you out.” He informs her. “As long as you do it and it includes my entire team, I may be willing. Anything short of that, I’ll put a bullet into anyone trying to make off with me.” She warns him. Snorting through his end, “Fine. Just get home little saighdear” he orders, hanging up his end.

      Brig stares at the phone, exhausted and winded. Pained at the endearment. I get he’s probably just as scared for me as I am for Aster, but I’m a grown ass woman, and this definitely was not a situation that you just up and left everyone in, especially Angus. Wait, What? Well shit. It used to be just Mack’s team. Angry at herself, it’s still Mack’s team. But maybe especially Agnus, her brain argues.

      Shaking herself out of her daze and sudden confusion, Brig looks around. Curious that no one has returned.  Probably punch anyone who did, she sighs heavily. Eyeing her pack, she pulls it up onto the table. Might as well be prepared in case her father did try to send someone to force her off the ship. Did the guys really not want her here? she wonders, a twitch of self-consciousness needling her mind. Annoyed at her father for making her question anything after so many years, she barely registers her aching body.

      Standing up from the table, Brig locks the door. Stripping, freshening up and pulling her hair back in a tie, she removes the bandages on her forearm and forehead, the first injuries having scabbed over, her fingers no longer swollen. Knowing the knife wound is going to tug and pull as she moves, she replaces the self-adhesive bandage, pulling the dressing across her skin as tight as possible. Reinforcing it, she wraps a long ace-like bandage over the top, pulling it tight like a corset.

      Meticulously she secures every weapon in its place against her body, then pulls on the new pair of fatigues and her boots. Once dressed, she reattaches all the outer weapons in their assigned holsters. One of her throwing knives is missing, the one she fell on. Curious, she rummages through her pack. Lee had grabbed it off the gurney after it was pulled. She discovers it in a small pocket. He had returned it at some point.

      Now wide awake and restless, ammo, gun, and rifle checked and reloaded, she wonders what the hell she’s supposed to do. She didn’t know if the teams were back and if they were, were probably asleep. Thoughts of going to the gym to work off her frustration crossed her mind, but remembered that she was going to take it easy for a minute, I feel like I’ve been run over by a tank anyway, discarding the idea.

      Looking at T still lounging on the bed, she wonders if anyone had taken her out or fed her, then notices the bowls on the floor by the bed. At least someone was being a decent handler for you, she thinks at the dog. Calling her over, she hugs T to her chest and breathes in the wonderful stinky dog smell. I just showered you a day ago, how do you already stink again, she wonders sighing into her fur.

Chapter 55 

      Finding no sign of the petty officer, the two groups searching the ship are growing concerned and rather frustrated. About five a.m. Mack makes his way into a mess hall looking for coffee and notices Sgt. Grueber, their main load master on any chopper flights sitting alone at a table, looking sad and confounded.

      Making his way over Mack sighs sitting down with the always nervous soldier. “What are you doing up at this hour son?” he asks, genuinely interested since the young soldier can rarely be found in possible social situations. He usually just grabbed food and hid in his bunk. “Oh just up early. Couldn’t sleep. Just waiting for a buddy that was supposed to be up by now. Had planned on breakfast together before the day starts” Grueber explains, turning pink, eyeing the door.

      Mack, taken by surprise that the soldier had any type of “buddy” since he was always so shy, sighs. “Probably caught up with something. One of the flight crew?” he asks making conversation. Poor kid had always been picked on, he rarely had anyone to hang out with so at least he’s found a friend, Mack thinks tiredly.

      “No, not a flight crew member.” Grueber stammers, not used to genuine concern about who he’d made friends with from a commander of an infamous Delta team. Appreciating the distraction, “Really? So who’s the mysterious friend?” Mack chuckles eyeing the coffee carafe on the side board, rising to get some. “Oh just a petty officer. He’s pretty cool. We hit it off when I found myself utterly and completely lost on the ship the first day. He was great. And so patient to help me get to the sleeping quarters and mess. Totally would have been lost in the engine room or something had he not been nice enough to realize I was out of my element” Grueber informs him, smiling with the memory.

      Mack’s body, rigid at the mention of a petty officer, forces himself to relax, walks to the nearby coffee station, pouring himself a cup “Does nice petty officer have a name? Maybe passed him in the hall or something” Mack asks, controlling his voice. “Oh, Petty Officer First Class Waters. He does all types of errands for the CO. Apparently, the CO has been real concerned about what you guys went through. Water’s said the CO was honored to have you all on board and wanted to make sure you all were taken care of.  He’s even been extremely nice to the pilots and me. He’s tall and slim, blonde. Anyone you would’ve seen?” Grueber tells him excitedly.

      Mack, realizing his face probably just drained to a noticeable pasty white even for a black man, quickly covers his face with his hand, facing the coffee counter, allowing time for the color to return and calm his racing heart, discarding the claim that the CO was so concerned about the team.

      Effecting an exhausted cover, he turns back to Grueber. “I know of him. I think he had been assigned to guide the rest of the teams to the berthing quarter we’re staying in. But I don’t think I came across him on my way here. Any idea where he’d be at this hour if he didn’t make it here?” Mack asks, walking back to the table.

      Bummed that he wasn’t spotted but thinking to himself about possibilities, the same he had been pondering before the commander sat with him, Grueber finally offers, “Well he has mentioned that he’s assigned to make rounds of the ship, bottom to top so he can report once he goes on duty. Maybe he’s been held up in maintenance levels or storage areas getting reports.”

      Shit, we didn’t think about those areas, Mack realizes alarmed. “Possibly. I wouldn’t worry too much about it. I’m sure he just got held up. However, I’m pretty tired so I was just grabbing a drink and going to find my bunk. You okay soldier?” Mack covers. “Oh of course, I’m sure you are. Thank you” Grueber stammers.

      Nodding, Mack, measures his pace out of the mess. Once he’s out of sight from Grueber he heads straight to the first team member he can find. Angus. Explaining the enlightening conversation, the two separate to find others to get a small group together to search the lower levels with plans to meet on their sleeping quarter deck.

Chapter 56 

      General Nelson sits with Murdock in the XO’s quarters. He had been taking turns sleeping on Cpt. Murdock’s couch or on other couches in entertainment rooms close to the bridge so as not to disturb Brig any more than necessary. The bags under his blood shot eyes telling. The two wait for word about the petty officer. The soldiers trying to find him getting on bitch boxes every so often to call up. They still haven’t found him.

       Setting the phone down from the latest call from Mack about his encounter with the load master and plan. They all agreed to have the men scout the first maintenance level and then decide what to do from there. “What a day” Murdock sighs rubbing his face. “The bodies this morning in the hospital, the hospital ship, the Israeli Hospital and now this. I’m starting to think I’m never sleeping again. And I sure in the hell don’t ever want to be in a hospital with this shit going on” Murdock bemoans. “Well, at least we won’t get overrun with us all asleep. That seems to have been a problem” Gen. Nelson snorts, offering a bright side. “Thank god we just had the two bodies here. I can only imagine had it been more.” Gen. Nelson adds.

      Murdock, leaning forward, setting the papers in his hands down on the table, “Two bodies?” he asks, confused. “Yeah, from the morgue. Thankfully it was just the one that got out, the other was still in the refrigerator.” Gen. Nelson states, shaking his head at their luck. “Did your team check the rest?” Murdock asks. “Of course. Mad Dogg said the rest were empty. That they had put the bodies down and the people they attacked.” Gen. Nelson responds, growing concerned by the sudden color draining from Murdock’s face. “There were eight bodies in those coolers.” Murdock chokes out. Eyes blinking, brain trying to understand, “Well where the fuck are the other six?” Gen. Nelson hollers. “Hell if I know. There were eight dead or dying bodies that came in. There wouldn’t be any reason to move them unless they were being offloaded to a transfer chopper, so they should have been there.” Murdock bellows back. “I’ve got my men down there searching this ship with six possible dead roaming around? What the hell do you think’s going to happen if they find them?” Gen. Nelson shouts and heads for the door. Murdock right behind him.

      Stopping at his quarters, Gen. Nelson grabs flak jacket of the guard posted outside. “You don’t move from this spot until one of us returns. You don’t let her go wondering off alone, and no one enters unless it’s either one of us or one of the Delta force members. Do you understand soldier.” He orders gesturing to his quarters and Brig behind the door. “Yes sir” the surprised soldier replies. The man had been made aware of the members of the Delta force during his post. “And you so much as take a step away from this door, so help me god, I will personally put a bullet in you and throw you over the side for the sharks to take care of your brain. Got it?” he threatens. Nodding his head in shock and confusion, “Yes sir” the guard answers. Gen. Nelson nods his head satisfied and starts down the hall. Murdock gives the soldier a meaningful look, backing up the General with the threat as he follows. 

      Catching up with the General, making his way down deck levels. “What’s the plan?” Murdock asks. “Find the men searching so they don’t accidently find those bodies unprepared. We figure out what happened later” he huffs. Eyeing Mack and Red ahead, Gen. Nelson hollers at them. 

      Meeting up, “There were supposed to be eight bodies in the morgue yesterday morning.” Gen. Nelson roars in Mack’s face. “Where the hell are the other six?” Mack bellows. “That’s the million-dollar question.” Murdock quips. “Well shit.” Red huffs. “I’ll let the men in the hospital know, find whoever else I can.” He states, turning and running towards the stairs back up to the hospital unit.

      Twenty minutes later Mack, Red, Gen. Nelson and Murdock with three of the Canadian team meet up with Angus, Mad Dogg, Nolan, Long, Orlando, Hunch and Catch. Gen. Nelson and Murdock inform the newcomers of the situation. “Where the fuck are the other six” Angus hollers. Gen. Nelson explains the plan to search the maintenance and storage areas on the decks below, Murdock having keys to all the locked areas, then decide on a plan after to widen the search if needed. They didn’t need a panic on the ship if they could avoid it.

      In agreement, Mack leads the way down the stair cases to the lower levels. The fourteen men descend and quietly break off in pairs throughout the hallways and rooms, starting with the forward section. The hallways silent, most of the maintenance crew still asleep in their bunks. Any personnel up and walking around are sent to their quarters with a growl from Murdock. The group spreads out, crossing to the other side of the ship at mid-sections.

      Not finding anything, they head towards aft. Stopping at a locked storage room at the rear of the ship, in a cross section from port to starboard, Angus shines a light into a darkened port hole. A face slams up against the glass, sending him reeling back. Recovering from his surprise and shining the light on the porthole window he finally makes out the face of the petty officer they’ve been looking for. But it’s obvious as he watches, the petty officer isn’t alive. His face pale, eyes glazed over, his mouth gnashing at the window, and the sounds of his scraping at the door are a dead giveaway.

      Bellowing, he alerts the others. The rest watch the dead petty officer through the port hole in shock. Ordering the men to stand to the side and back up, Murdock unlocks the door stepping away as Mad Dogg pulls the door open taking cover behind it. The dead petty officer stumbles out, drawn to the group in front of it, moaning and reaching. Mack stabs him in the head. The dead petty officer drops heavy to the floor. The men eye each other in shock at the turn of events.

      Squatting to assess how the petty officer originally came to his end, Mad Dogg pulls back his shirt collar, revealing the broken neck the man has contorting his spine. “Well ain’t this some shit” Mad Dogg grumbles. “Who’d want him dead? And why leave him to possibly attack others?” Red asks, horrified at the possibilities. Lips press together in confusion. Catch, eyeing the lettering above the door turns to the others, “Is this the explosives magazine?” he wonders. Captain Murdock registers the fact, horrified at the ramifications.

      “We should probably find the EOD team in charge and have them do an inventory count” Hunch suggests, eyes wide at Murdock. Emerging as if summoned, a navy soldier stumbles from the door behind Mad Dogg, still crouched over the dead petty officer. Reaching, mouth dripping with saliva, stumbling over the threshold, the dead EOD officer falls towards the man on the ground below him.

      Long, staring into the darkness of the room, expecting a physical apparition of some kind after Hunch’s suggestion, steps forward, kicking the figure back at the chest with a powerful leg, the dead solider sent reeling back onto the floor of the explosive storage room, followed by a rapid spray of bullets to the dead man’s head. Mad Dogg had rolled out of the way at Long’s sudden movement, is up, along with the rest aiming into the darkened room.

      Flashlights out, the special ops soldiers enter and separate to the sides as they make their way through rows and stacks of bullet proof containers. Murdock and Gen. Nelson await at the door, Murdock quickly throwing on the light switch to the room.

      As the lights flicker on, the team members quickly assess the streaks of blood lining the floor. Handprints streaking across explosive containers scream red around them. Rounding the first corner, Mack, Angus, Long, Mad Dogg, and Nolan, encounter three dead EOD soldiers wandering at the lights above them. Two have bullets to their hearts, a third, a gaping hole ripped through its throat. As the dead figures turn to face the living, the four men react, pelting multiple bullets into their heads.

      Red, with his three team members, followed by Catch and Hunch, eye two more dead soldiers at the end of their path, throats and chest dripping flesh and blood. Red and the man next to him at the front take them out with bullets to the head. Both teams eyeing the corners at the end of their columns, survey another pair of dead navy EOD personnel gaping at the fallen bodies. They drop from a shot at either side of the isles. Separating and searching the rest of the room in pairs, the groups find the rest of the magazine room empty.

      Indicating the storage room is clear to the two men awaiting at the door, Gen. Nelson, eyes a bitch box grabs the receiver, yelling into the phone to get the Captain up and down to their location. “We need to search every section of this ship, and the hell we’re going to make any headway with just a few of us.” Gen. Nelson informs them after the call. Murdock nods, “We’ll need army and marine stationed personnel. I’ll get a hold of the commanders.” He informs them, backing down the hallway to a midsection area with multiple phones.

      Eyeing the security cameras, “Anyone been watching those?” Mad Dogg questions. The men follow his line of sight.  How had an alert not been sounded when whatever had happened in this hallway and storage room should have been seen and reported at the time. May not be useful now that they had found the men dead, but they may be able to review the footage, see who was responsible.

      Gen. Nelson growls with the frustration at the delayed realization, making his way over to Murdock on the phone. “Long, why don’t you get up and get the comma to get you access” Mack orders behind the general striding away. Long had a knack for spotting the oddities in what was probably going to look like normal security footage, if the lack of anyone being alerted earlier was any indication. Long nods and takes off. “I’ll let them know he’s coming up” Murdock states, overhearing the exchange, watching Long set off. The teams stand in confusion and shock at the exit to the explosives storage room. “They got any living EOD techs to do a count?” Angus wonders.  

Chapter 57 

      Noticing an argument outside the door, overhearing the voice of Dr. Shelly insisting he just needed to check on Brig’s back before his shift, Brig throws the door open to reveal Dr. Shelly and a marine officer holding him back. “Sir, I can’t let you enter. I have my orders. No one goes in unless it’s the XO, Maj. Nelson or one of her team members.” The soldier growls, red faced and growing madder by the second. The finger on his rifle inching closer to the trigger. The two men turn to her in surprise at the doorway, both eyeing her fully dressed and weaponized body in shock.

      Eyebrows twitching at the mention of his order, “Soldier, who gave you that order?” Brig asks. “Maj. Nelson and the XO personally ma’am” he tells her. Eyeing the doc, registering his annoyance and nervousness. Is he really that concerned? alarmed by the bizarre turn of events, “It’s Brig. Dr. Shelly, I can only imagine what this soldier was threatened with if he violated those orders…” she starts. “A bullet, thrown over the side, sharks to deal with my brain” the soldier quips. Keeping a straight face, “…But as you can see I’m fine. I’m more than happy to come down later when you aren’t busy and you can look at my back then” she tells the doctor. Huffing, “It’ll only take a moment, I’m not sure when I’ll have time later” he says as he tries to force his way past the guard and into the room.

      With a snap of her fingers to T, the dog launches herself at the door barking and growling at the physician. Frightened he backs up, turning red. T ceases her threat once he’s away “She isn’t going to let you in either. I’m sorry. I’m sure one of the other docs can take a look if you’re busy.” She tells him. “Well fine. I don’t see what the big deal is. But fine” he huffs, turning around and shuffling away, undecided about where to go.

      Sighing, wondering at the doctor’s disheveled appearance and bizarre behavior, Brig turns to the soldier, recognizing his navy seal regalia. That was odd. Navy seals weren’t usually pulled for guard duty. “Who the hell are you and why are you guarding my door?” Brig asks, backing up into the room so the man can stand in the doorway.  She wasn’t stupid. Something had happened while she was asleep.

      “Sargent Campbell ma’am. Brig” He corrects at her angry look, then explains the orders over their concern about PO Waters. That there are two other guards, one at the hospital for Canadian soldiers and one keeping an eye on the medic by her sleeping quarters. The navy seal team had arrived last night after an op, the XO explaining they didn’t trust any stationed military to stand guard. 

      “Is my team back?” she asks, pacing the room. “Yes ma’am. Brig.” He belatedly remembers again. “They arrived back a little after oh one hundred. They were in a conference room with the XO and Gen. Nelson for a while after, then went below. A few of your men have been checking on you throughout the night, but they’ve been gone for a while now.” He tells her. “Where’d they go?” Brig demands. “I’m not sure. The XO and Gen. Nelson just showed up a little bit ago, pissed about something, ordered me to stay put, not let you go anywhere, and not let anyone in” he informs her. Brig’s eyebrows furrow at the “not letting her go anywhere” bit.

      Remembering the twins are in the hospital unit, the easiest to get a hold of, Brig storms over to a phone and dials the hospital, informing the medic on the other end to get Erik on the line. “Erik it’s Brig, what’s going on?” she demands when he picks up. “Brig, hey sexy lady, how you feeling?” he rasps into the phone. Overkill for the situation even for him. “Shut your face. What’s going on or I’m leaving this room to find out” she declares, knowing full well he’d assume any orders given about her staying put.

      “Well shit. Look Angus and I let the teams know about the petty officer situation and we decided to take shifts to keep an eye on things. They wanted to find the petty officer to question him, but no one’s seen him since Angus outside the room. And he wasn’t in his quarters so the teams are searching the ship.” He tells her sighing. “What are Gen. Nelson and the XO so pissed about?” she asks. “I don’t know anything about that. Other than we just haven’t been able to find the PO.” He says, distracted. “Hang on” he tells her, someone getting his attention in the background.

      After some muffled conversations and a “Where the fuck are the other ones” hollered by Erik, he returns to the phone. “I just found out, but I gotta go. Stay put. Do NOT leave that room” he declares and hangs up. Frowning, Brig looks at the phone for a few seconds.

      Completely ignoring that assumptive order, Brig grabs her rifle off the table, checking the magazine, and swinging the weapon over her shoulder. She turns back to the soldier guarding the door, staring at her, alarmed with what she’s doing. “We’re leaving” she tells him. “The hell we are. I was ordered not to let you out and you know what the threat was if I did.” Campbell squawks, crossing his arms over his chest, planting his feet apart. “I do. But they only ordered you to not let me wonder out on my own. Isn’t that correct?” she informs him. About to argue, realization dawns on his face. “How’d you know that?” he asks shocked. “I know my uncle better than you” she offers, startling the soldier with the familial information.

      “Your choice. But you come with me, I promise you’re not getting shot, thrown over the ship and left for the sharks. Or I can just shoot you in the head and you don’t have to worry about the threat from my uncle” she tells him, resting her hand on her side arm, then eyes T with a similar threat akin to the doctor’s.

      Irritated, but at a loss, he eyes her heavily weaponized fatigues, considering her threats. Never knew of a female soldier with a Delta Force squadron, she could probably pull it off, he surmises, I’ve been bored as hell anyway. Standing straighter, backing into the hallway. “Ok fine, but I better not get my ass reamed for this shit.” he tells her.

      Brig rolls her eyes at him, then the comprehension that he’s a Navy Seal fully dawns on her. A familiarity, “Who’s your squad leader?” she asks. Surprised, “Colonel Samuel Peterson” Campbell answers, curious. Brig just stares at him blankly for a few second. “That’s funny” she comments, eyeing the space over his shoulder in thought. Campbell frowns at the reaction, confused. She didn’t look like she found it funny. She looked like she was about to murder him for telling her who it was.

      Shaking her head, dismissing the information, Brig blows out an annoyed sigh, “Quit acting like you’re still wet behind the ears. You’ll be fine. Let’s go” she orders exiting the room and heading down the hall. T prancing after her. The unnerved soldier following along.

      Brig makes her way through the ship, slipping the through throngs of navy and air force personnel rushing to their morning stations. Sensing Campbell’s confused stare at her back, watching her with apprehension, “You should ask Sam how his ass feels” she suggests as they press up against the wall as a group of ship crew scurry passed them. “I don’t wanna ask him how his ass feels” Campbell huffs, offended.

      After a moment of the thinking about the bizarre statement, “Why am I gonna ask him how his ass is feeling?” he hisses. Expecting his curiosity would kick in, Brig looks back at him, eyebrows raised, a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth, but able to keep them straight, “Cuz I shot him in it once” she declares, as a path opens. Ignoring his baffled look and mumbling that he didn’t know anything about his squad leader getting shot, Brig takes the lead again.

      Stopping at the hospital unit, she strolls to Vidar’s bed. Erik standing at the curtained section, rolls his eyes and growls at her approach. “You were supposed to stay in the room.” He hisses. Eyeing the soldier behind Brig, “She was supposed to stay in the room” he groans at the marine. “She wasn’t supposed to leave alone. She happens to have a viscous dog and a lot of weapons on her. Wasn’t arguing” Campbell defends. Erik frowns at the vicious dog part, she’s been in her room the whole time, when would he have seen her dog being vicious? but fully appreciates her lethal laden body and previous experience with her capabilities had the soldier refused.

      Erik looks back at Brig, cutting her off before she can even ask, “There were eight bodies in those refrigerators back there, six are missing, and they haven’t been able to find the petty officer. They’re trying the maintenance levels since he hasn’t been seen anywhere else.” He tells her crossing his arms over his chest. Shock and fear shudder through her body. “Where the hell are the other bodies?” Brig demands. “They’re looking for those as well.” Erik remarks. 

      Just then, another navy seal guard they had passed out in the hall enters, rushing to Erik. “My unit has been assigned to assist with the search. I won’t be out in the hall. Just letting you know.” He informs them, looking at his fellow soldier with Brig, curious. “What about the guard for the medic?” Erik asks. “I think they told him to stay put.” He says. “I’ve been ordered to stay with her” Campbell explains to the soldier, exasperated at his lot in life, eyeing Brig. The soldier nods and heads out.

      Roaring over the loud speakers, the CO orders navy, air force and medical personnel to return to their quarters or stay where they are, close and lock their doors. The ship is on lock down. Army and Marines are making sweeps. No one leaves where they are until the order is given.  Erik nods for Brig to go, he’ll stay with Vidar, sleeping behind the curtain, but follows to the door, shutting and locking it behind the pair.

Chapter 58 

      Brig and Campbell make their way to the levels below, fighting to get around Army and Marine personnel getting orders barked out to them from commanders, then going to an end to start their search. Navy and Airforce personnel head to berthing compartments, shutting themselves inside, swearing and moaning about what was going on, why were they being ordered to stay put instead of helping with the search?

      Stepping off at the maintenance level, Brig leads the way down the hall towards the front of the ship, searching for any sight or sound of her team. Not eyeing or hearing anything familiar or concerning straight ahead, Brig heads towards aft, crossing to the other side of the ship, towards starboard, at the midsection. Pausing at the corner, she scans the hallway towards the bow of the ship, the hallway empty.

      Edging around the corner towards aft, T hooked at her waist, just behind her, Campbell following, she stops a few feet down the hall. She can hear arguing ahead, but a strange shuffling figure emerges from a side passageway on the left, facing straight ahead to the hallway in front of it. T’s hackles raise and she begins to growl. Silencing the dog, motioning her to lay flat to the floor she coaxes Campbell against the wall behind her, he instantly reacts.

      The pair watch in silence until the figure is out of sight heading towards port. Making their way down to the cross section, Brig orders Campbell to cover their six, after scanning further ahead and the hallway to the left.

      Glancing around the corner to her right, she sees Mack with some of the Delta team, Red with a few of his Canadian soldiers, her uncle with Murdock and the CO, standing in front of an open door. Two bodies on the floor in the center of the of the crowd. They stare and yell at each other in the hallway facing away from her.

      So distracted, the men don’t notice the approaching dead figure just about to reach the CO. Stepping from the corner to the middle of the hallway, Brig grabs one of her throwing daggers, the dead figure too close to the man in front of it to use a bullet, as it may pierce through and into the CO it’s heading for. Brig grimaces at the tug of stitches on her knife wound. Probably just ripped a few out, she laments to herself. The men ahead of her, belatedly sensing the dead figure’s approach, turn in time to see its head snap forward, a knife sticking out of its mouth, then dropping to the floor.

      The men around the CO grab him away, after-the-fact. Soldiers on the far side of the group, wisely turn and cover from the other end, towards port. Others assess the hallway behind her, but remain fixated on her surprise approach. The CO huffs and puffs, trying to form words, his face turning purple at the frightening experience he just encountered.

      Gen. Nelson is the first to react Brig walking towards them. “You’re supposed to be in the room. She’s supposed to be in the room” he bellows at Campbell’s back. “You only ordered that I didn’t leave alone” Brig reminds him, daring him to argue. “Well fuck! I meant not at all” He blusters turning red. “Words. They’re so tricky” Brig laments. Her uncle just glares at her.

       “Goddamn it what are you doing here?” Angus roars, walking up next to the General, along with Mack and Mad Dogg, all glaring at her. The rest of the men seem to have at least caught on that if she wasn’t, the CO would be either dead or soon dying. Brig notices the addition of Levy’s group stomping their way towards them from portside, taking in the situation in seconds, wondering at the two dead bodies.

      “Brig?” Campbell calls softly behind her, no one registering his low voice as at the same time, Captain Bellen terrified by the event, blusters. “You could’ve missed” he hisses, eyes wide, staring at the corpse, a ripped apart maintenance man. Brig gives him an insulted look indicating how ridiculous that statement was. The men around them, frown at the Captain just as offended. “I don’t miss. If one of my knives goes into your head, it’s because I was aiming for it” Brig informs him, her infamous crazy eyes flashing in warning. Captain Bellen grows red at her boast, about to retort, but Gen. Nelson, flabbergasted at the ridiculous penis-size argument about to ensue, steps in front of Brig. The Delta Force members encircle behind her as well, fully prepared to take over the argument. “Captain Bellen. This isn’t the conversation we need to be having. We need to find the other bodies. There are thousands of lives at risk right now.” Gen. Nelson snarls at the Captain. 

      “Um Brig” Campbell hisses again from behind. But he is ignored as everyone focuses on the potentially crazy actions Brig might take, she’s so livid, actively fingering another blade, and the pompous CO who could potentially escalate an absurd situation. “We need get to the bridge and coordinate what has been cleared and not” Gen. Nelson orders.

      “Commander McGreggor!” Campbell roars, from behind. T turns and growls, belly to the floor at his tone. She had been focused on the men in front of her as well, feeling the threat from that end, ready to protect her handler. The rest recognizing the tone in Campbell’s voice, turn and advance towards him. Brig pulls her side arm, the rest raising their rifles, eyeing two dead figures shuffling their way towards the group, about to enter the cross section of the hallways.

      Brig silences T, bolting to Campbell’s side. Still pissed at the CO, Brig takes out the two in rapid succession, allowing the rest to advance forward to the corners of the hallway, surveying the hallway running bow to aft, then continuing down the hallway to starboard. She signals Campbell to follow as Red and Mack take the lead, Levy’s group behind them.

      Gen. Nelson, Murdock and the CO, assess the bodies on the floor. Murdock informs them that only one of them is from the hospital morgue, its naked body and tagged toe backing him up. The other one is a housekeeping woman. No one had mentioned her or the maintenance man missing.

Chapter 59 

      The teams spread out down the hallway, eyeing the trail of dripping entrails and smeared blood. Mack, Angus and Brig with Campbell having been forced behind Red’s team, since no one had worked with him before, head toward the far end of the hallway, stopping at a narrow hallway running bow to aft at the end.

      After noticing an open door at the end of the hallway towards aft, the trail of blood ending at it, Mack signals Levy to check out the hallway heading to bow. Mack and Red’s small team make their way down towards the door. Brig wonders as T sniffs at the ground towards the hallway heading to the bow, pulling at her lead, but follows Brig as she refocuses her their way aft with the group.

      Ahead of them, a dead figure emerges from the door, bringing Mack’s group to a surprised halt. The figure stumbling out of the hidden storage room is none other than the nurse they had found with the doctor in the storage room in the hospital yesterday. The one who also assisted Dr. Shelly with Brig up in Gen. Nelson’s room. Kathy.

      Advancing towards them, her torso ripped open and dripping with blood and intestines. The group pauses, at a loss at to how she’d come to be here. Mack, refocusing, advances forward and fires a bullet in her head, her body dropping heavy in front of them. Suddenly, another naked hospital morgue body flings itself from the room, grabbing at Mack, Mad Dogg sending a bullet into the side of its head before it can latch on.

      Flashlights out, Mack and Mad Dogg pause at the doorframe, then advance into the small area, flipping on the light switch once they can make out a clear area around them. Angus and Brig cover behind them.

      Behind rows and columns of supply racks, they discover a miniature lab-like set-up on empty storage shelves. A door to a room further on, swings open. Mack and Mad Dogg make their way to the door, flashing their lights inside the tiny room; empty.

      Backing out and joining the rest of the group as they survey another dead hospital morgue soldier laying on a metal table in between the rows of shelving. The figure is still writhing, strapped to the table. However, its skull has been removed, slices of the frontal and parietal lobes inside having been removed. A microscope sits on one of the storage shelves, slides with tiny slivers of brain stacked beside it.

      “What the hell” Mad Dogg sighs. Brig taking in the scene, “Someone was curious about these things. Thought they’d figure it out themselves” she offers, walking towards the microscope and papers with notes and calculations littering the area. Angus, rolling his eyes at her complete dismissal of the still dead body on the table, which could possibly get free any second, moves in front of her. Using a long machete, Angus hacks through its head. The rest of the US team take in Brig’s OCD, and nod a silent irritated thank you to Angus. Brig’s mind is whirling. Where are the other three bodies from the morgue?

      With the Captain sent above with his entourage to continue the search coordination, Gen. Nelson and Murdock follow the men down the hall, coming up behind the group, at the door. Murdock behind him recognizing the nurse, gasping and then reminding Gen. Nelson that she was in the room when the doctor was tending to Brig’s back. “What did you find” Gen. Nelson’s hollers into the room. The men at the door part to make room so the two men can see for themselves.

      Taking in the obvious then stepping back out, Murdock and Gen. Nelson await the Israeli team’s return from front of the ship to relay they haven’t found anything. Ordering Sgt. Campbell to stay put until the rest of his unit arrives to guard the room, “You all have been going at it now almost twenty-four hours.” Gen. Nelson orders the rest to follow.

Chapter 60 

      Making their way back up through the bowels of the ship, passing hundreds of Army and Marine soldiers, the group assembles in the operations room Murdock leads them to. The rest of the team members not with the group during the search, have been assembled as well, many surprised at the sight of Brig, up and roaming around. Murdock, Gen. Nelson and a very annoyed Captain Bellen face the group.

      “We need to find the other three bodies and this is taking too long. Long’s going through footage but that could take hours. We’ve already spent the whole night trying to find what we have. Any thoughts?” Gen. Nelson asks, confounded.

      The room remains silent. They don’t know the ship well enough to know the lay out or possible hiding places for a bunch of bodies someone would not want others running into. Brig sits, dazed, the sight in the little storage room confounding her. The Dilaudid had worked its way out of her body hours ago, but she was getting fatigued, almost still drugged, staring into space.

      “You got a lay out of the ship?” Mack asks. Murdock gleaning Mack’s thought, pulls a schematic up on a large overhead screen. The group leans forward, studying the screen as a ship officer scrolls through at the direction of Captain Bellen. Angus frowns at Brig’s lack of interest, eyeing the others who notice as well.

      Brig had eyed the initial aircraft carrier plans, but her mind was too busy thinking over the last few days. Her memory taking her on the tour of the ship she’d gone on herself.  Rehashing every moment and parts of the ship she had set foot on and surveyed, everyone she’d encountered on her trip, her mind returning to the hospital unit and coolers.

      The puzzle was making her brain ache. Noticing the din of the men barking around her, pointing out possible places on the pages of the schematics, she lets her brain take its natural problem solving path out loud.

      “How did they get the bodies out of the hospital unit without anyone noticing?” Brig asks the room, the biggest thing stumping her. The room goes silent, everyone assessing scenarios. “They would have needed to do it when there wasn’t a bunch of people around to question them” Murdock offers. “And when? Those bodies were left here the other day when we all arrived. But then we discovered them gone the next morning.” Red wonders. “They would’ve needed to have access to the hospital and the storage units in maintenance” Levy states. “So they’d need a petty officer and someone on the medical crew.” Lee surmises. “Well we can obviously assume the petty officer was Waters.” Hunch comments.

      A rap at the door pauses the discussion. After allowing entrance, a petty officer hands the CO a folded piece of paper. The CO reads the message. “Well shit”, the CO blurts out, eyeing Murdock, “I’ll be back, got a missing chopper that should’ve been back by now” he informs him, making his way with the petty officer out the door. Nodding, Murdock shuts the door, turning back to the group.

      Brig surveys the room, noticing everyone intrigued with the interruption, her mind clicking the pieces together the random observation, “He wasn’t watching us” Brig declares, breaking the silence, looking around at the group. “What?” the group grumbles in unison, confused. “He wasn’t watching us. They were moving the bodies. That night, when the petty officer was at the stairs. They must have been moving one or some downstairs, but when we were up, he disappeared. They had to find another route…” Brig trails off, eyeing Angus, shock registering on her face.

      “What the hell are you talking about?” Mack roars, not liking the sudden paleness of her face, having a flashback to the hospital ship. Recalling their conversation that night. “You were right that he may have tried to follow me to the gym. T had growled at the door while I was working out, but only for a moment. She’s only growled at one person on this ship. Well until I sent her to back Dr. Shelly from the room, and that’s been the petty officer. But he wasn’t spying on me. They were moving the bodies. The gym I was in was on the hospital level. The bodies have to be somewhere on that deck.” She says, breathless.

      “How would someone not notice? There’s security cameras everywhere?” Cohen asks, the Canadian and Israeli teams turn at his observation at a loss. “Have a feeling that may take a while to explain. Long reviewing them or not.” Hunch guesses.

      “What the hell are you talking about Dr. Shelly trying to get into your room? When?” Gen. Nelson bellows, the rest of the US Delta Force members snapping their heads to Brig with the same alarm. Murdock grabs at a phone handle relaying the order for every person on the crew searching the ship to focus on the hospital level, then slams down the phone.

      Mind still whirling, Brig misses Gen. Nelson’s question. The rest, dreading as well, start yelling at her. “When did Dr. Shelly try to get in the room?” Angus hollers. Shocked from her internal speculation, Brig looks at him, registering the panic on his and the rest of her team’s faces, “This morning, just before I found you. He was outside the room, arguing with the marine you posted” eyeing her uncle and Murdock. “Sgt. Campbell had been holding him off for a few minutes and when I opened the door to see what was going on, the soldier explained the orders. But Dr. Shelly was annoyed, said it would only take a moment to check my back before his shift, and tried to enter the room. I had T change his mind to get him to back up. Then he just huffed away.” Brig explains, confused.

      “Your docs usually make unannounced house calls at five in the morning?” Gen. Nelson growls, eyeing Murdock. “No. Especially Dr. Shelly. He isn’t one for willingly going anywhere from the hospital to deal with stuff. Probably why he was so annoyed he had to come to your room in the first place.” Murdock answers.

      “But I don’t get it. Why would they move them that night? They must have of known a chopper would be back to get the bodies at some point. They were bound to be noticed missing.” Levy wonders. “And what the hell would he want with Brig if she wasn’t the one being spied on?” Mad Dogg adds. “A hostage” Brig breathes out. A resounding “What?” erupts from the group. Looking straight at Murdock, “Captain Murdock, do you have an employee file on Dr. Shelly” she asks. Murdock immediately catching on, rushes over and orders the sitting naval officer to pull up a screen on one of the computers.

      Brig makes her way over, holding her side from the wrenching it got throwing her dagger. Scrolling through Dr. Shelly’s work history, Brig indicates for the officer to stop at list of the physician’s medical education, Brig wheezes in a breath at what she sees, knocking into the chair.

      Murdock, noticing the color draining from her face, and her scowl to keep it quiet, orders the computer tech out of the chair. Apparently, I really suck at taking it easy, Brig laments as she gains her breath, staring dumbfounded at the screen, blindly taking the empty seat. The US soldiers oblivious, wait. They know how her brain works. She’ll tell them once she’s figured out whatever the puzzle is she’s trying to solve. The rest of the men grumble about the need for a hostage. “Wait, those two were on shift that night.” Hunch suddenly bellows. Heads snap to him. “Dr. Shelly and that nurse we just found, Kathy. They were both on shift that morning when we found them, the same night the bodies would have been moved.” Hunch clarifies. Eyes widen at the reminder.

      Finally, sitting back in the chair sighing, without even turning to face anyone. “He was right. He did know my mother. I didn’t recognize his name at first, but my mother had mentioned him, like fifteen years ago. Just a brief sentence about how annoying her undergrad was. Mr. Know-It-All. But the only reason she had to deal with him was because he was kicked out of epidemiology. Questionable ethics.” She says swiveling in the chair to face the rest at the last.

      Blank stares wait for her to enlighten them. “He had to have known about the hospital ship. He would’ve known a chopper wasn’t going to pick up the bodies for a while, especially after the hospital in Tel Aviv. Figured he’d have plenty of time to research.” She tells them. “But how the hell did he know about the hospital ship before us. We only found out after you all discovered the ones in hospital unit? And the bodies were missing then.” Murdock hollers.

      Looking at Mack, “Didn’t the physician on the hospital ship seem overly annoyed about us figuring out the blood transfusions?” Brig asks him. “Yeah” Mack responds, remembering the physician going red at the mention of the bad blood packs.

      “If they were working together, he would have already known the blood was bad from the hospital physician. You saw the nurse’s reaction, it was the same day we came in, that the men on the hospital ship would’ve gotten the transfusions and gotten sick. Do you think him and Dr. Shelly were both in on trying to figure out whatever this thing is?” Red asks.

      “If he knew the blood was bad, why offer it?” Lee asks confused. “He could’ve just been suspicious. Great way to test it until the nurse confirmed it. It’d sure be a nice life having saved the world from some deadly disease” Brig offers. “But why take a hostage?” Murdock asks. “We were searching the ship, he probably realized we had caught on to the other missing bodies. Freaked out.” Brig says, eyes going wide, she stands up, making for the door.

      “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Gen. Nelson grabs her. “Where’s the medic?” she asks, looking around the room. “In her quarters” Murdock informs them, shaking his head confused. “She was with me for a long time. The petty officer knew that. If he was working with Dr. Shelly, he could have told him. They could have gotten suspicious about what I told her. I don’t recall saying much about any particular situation. But I was still drugged. If I did, they may not have wanted others to know. She may have said something.” Brig says.

      Lee, having been concerned about the medic since they had returned, catches on to Brig’s train of thought. Standing up, racing to the door, Lee throws it open and starts running down the hall. “Now what the hell?” Mack asks, eyeing the rest to follow.

      Brig attempting to join, is held onto by her uncle, “Angus” Gen. Nelson yells out, Angus, grabs her by the back of her neck and shoulders, pulling her back as the rest exit. “You’re not going damn it” Angus roars in her face, holding her in place as she struggles. “He could be holding her hostage!” Brig growls up at him. “Exactly. And since he was going for you we’re not going to give him the satisfaction of having you around to try to barter with” He roars back at her.

Chapter  61

      Lee, with thirty men behind him, including Captain Bellen who was about to return to the operations room, caught up on the situation by Murdock, race through the halls. “Lee, what the hell?” Mack roars, still trying to understand the reason for the concern for the medic. They’ve had a guard stationed all night for crying out loud, he laments.

      As they reach the hospital deck, Lee flies down the hallway, pushing searching soldiers out of his way. Stopping at the medical personnel quarters, he pins the soldier stationed there to the wall. “Has that medic come out?” Lee yells at him. The soldier, completely shocked by the horde, shakes his head, “No. No one’s come out since they were ordered to remain inside.” He stammers.

      Turning to the door, pausing to eye Mack, “Like Brig said, she may have said something about the blood packs. We just found that nurse torn to pieces in a room she had no business being in. If that doctor and the nurse were involved, who else could they have with them on the medical team?” he explains, throwing the door wide open, a resounding “Jesus” as the rest catch on to the ramifications, follow.

      The group of men pile into the room. Medics and nurses jump at the intrusion, “Where’s the medic Heather?” Mack roars. “Her bunks back there”, a frightened soldier points. “Heather!” Lee bellows, making his way through the bunks. He stops at a bunk covered in pictures of the medic and friends taped to the wall over the bed at eye level. Lee eyes the lump on the cot. At first relieved that she’s probably sleeping, he bellows her name. No response. He whips off the blanket. Pillows stuffed in the shape of a body stare back at him.

      Eyes wide at the sight, Lee turns to the rest of the men horrified. “When’s the last time someone saw this girl?” Mad Dogg bellows out looking at the wide eyes from the medical crew all around them. “Not since late last night. I think she got up to use the bathroom.” A nervous medic answers. “Where?” Lee asks, dumbfounded by how she hadn’t been seen by the soldier stationed outside. “There” the medic points.

      At the back of the room is a door to showers and restrooms. Lee throws it open, startling medics inside, none of them know where Heather is. Then the soldiers notice another door that leads out into the hallway. “Son-of-a-bitch!” Mack grumbles, as they pile out of the restroom.

      “There’s medical supply closets and coolers in the aft section. They been checked yet?” Captain Bellen remembers. Racing down the hall, the team comes up on a group of stationed army soldiers going through storage rooms.

      The special ops team pauses, wondering where the storage rooms are. “No! They’re at the very back” Murdock realizes, ordering the Marine and Army soldiers out of the way to make it through the single file narrow passages.

      At the end of the hall, ten doors lay against the back wall and passageway spanning half the aft section of the ship running, starboard to port. “Everyone grab a door” Murdock orders. Testing the first one; its locked, “We don’t have keys” Mack reminds him. “Shit” Murdock grumbles, eyeing the Captain.

      Each starts with doors in the middle, working their way down to opposite ends, unlocking the doors, then moving to the next. Guns out, flashlights on, groups enter the storage rooms centered among the first four doors, then the last three doors on either end opening up to coolers, flipping lights switches as they make their way in.

      The coolers are small, barely six feet wide, ten feet long. As the men make their way down the hall towards starboard, Lee throws the last door open, flashlight shining on a disheveled room. Moaning and movement can be heard. Mad Dogg throws on the light switch beside them.

      To the right, a hospital morgue body lays naked on the ground, reaching at something on a bottom shelf, blocked by over-turned boxes of supplies. An empty body bag lays ripped and shredded through on the floor behind it. Whimpering and muffled screaming can be heard. “Fuck” Lee roars, pulling the body back from the shelf, stabbing it in the head with a ten-inch long hunting knife.

      Mad Dogg and others move further in, eyeing the back side of the storage shelf. Boxes have been knocked off allowing them to see Heather’s figure, hands bound behind her back, feet bound and tied to her hands, trying to worm her body away from the attacking dead.

      Looking around, they eye the other two body bags from the hospital unit wriggling on the bottom storage shelf against the back wall. The bags are being shredded open by the dead bodies inside. Levy and Red put knives through the heads. “Lee, over here” Mack hollers. Heather is closer to their side than the front where Lee is trying to move boxes out of the way.

      Shushing and getting Heather’s attention, she rolls over seeing the soldiers. Tears streak down her face, she shivers uncontrollably. She was dressed for bed in a tank top and shorts, her skin pale, fingers and lips turning blue. She had been there awhile. “They already had her. What would he need from Brig?” Mad Dogg wonders, eyeing the rest.

      Mack and Mad Dogg pull her out, cutting the mouth gag, feet, and hand bindings. Noticing livid and congealed bloody scrapes to her neck and shoulders. Picking her up, Mack hands her off to Lee, who turns to exit but is blocked by Maier who has his arms up, stopping him. “Wait. I have an idea.” He starts.

      The men around him stare dumbfounded. “It’s freezing in here right?” He asks. “Well no shit. Kind of the point about getting her out of here” Levy growls. “Just hear me out. The blood packs that Brig figured out, she said the cells had time to die. But they’re frozen, right? I had a blood transfusion a few years ago, they had to warm it up” Maier continues, looking around at his fellow Israelis who nod remembering. “That dead guys been here a long time. No idea how it can still be moving, but she’s been here a long time too…” “Get to the point” Lee growls. “…Maybe, it’s been cold enough, that when it scratched her, the cells were too cold to penetrate. We take her out, she warms up, so do the other cells. What if we could clean the wounds, you know, get rid of the bad cells, before we warm her up?” Maier trails off, looking around at the men, hoping someone else can catch on to his train of thought.

      “Son-of-a-bitch. You got yourself your own thinker there Levy” Mack growls. “Go get cleansers from the hospital” Mack yells. Vega and Martinez, at the back of the group look at each other. “What kind?” Vega yells. “All of them” Mack roars back.

      Immediately twenty men run back to the hospital unit. Captain Bellen and Murdock going with them to alert the medical crew about the situation and informing the commanders of the searching crew that they had found the rest of the bodies, but to continue the search for any possible missing explosives until the remaining EOD team can produce a count. “Guess it’s a good thing Brig didn’t kill ya” Mad Dogg growls a teasing wink at Maier in appreciation for the quick thinking.

      Holding Heather, Lee looks down at her face, trying to suppress her shaking body, but realizing he doesn’t want to risk warming her up yet. “Sorry sweetie. A few more minutes of freezing and we’ll get you out of here. We all raced to save you. Sure like to make sure you live.” He tells her. Heather grimaces, shivering nonstop. “I like that idea as well” she stammers back, attempting a small grin. “How’s Brig?” she grits through her teeth, trying to stay alert. Lee smiles, “She’s doing good. She’s the reason we found you” Lee informs her, kneeling on the floor so the men can get to her shoulders and neck once they return with the cleansers. “Figured. She is the smartest out of all of you” Heather quips through the convulsions racking her body.

      The men in the room exchange heartbreaking grins. Anyone who can joke in a situation like this was one strong bad-ass in their view. It was dismaying that the girl would probably die. Lee gives her a huge smile, “Yes. She is” he tells her.

      Racing back into the room, Martinez holds an armful of packages of skin cleansers. “What did you get?” Mad Dogg growls. Sifting through them, “Alcohol, chlor…, chlorhex…, some shit, and iodine” Martinez stammers. “Which one should we use?” Dahan asks standing behind Vega out the door. “Alcohol, the chlorhexidine, and then the iodine. The iodine has to dry to work” Heather surprises them through her chattering teeth. Lee sighs with emotion “Good girl.” 

      The five closest men, Mack, Mad Dogg, Maier, Martinez and Vega rip open packages, each scrubbing at a different wound as fast as possible. As the cold cleanser hits her, Heather’s body shudders violently, Lee struggling to keep her still. At last, as iodine is poured and smeared over her, Lee stands up nodding for the men to get out of the way.

Chapter 62 

      The group rushes to the hospital, Lee setting Heather on a gurney in the medical unit next to Erik and Vidar. Erik and Vidar shocked at the sight, “What the fuck happened?” they holler out. Red explains the situation.

      Medical staff and the doctor, all wondering at the sight, swarm to her side. Heather is quickly assessed. Warm blankets are passed through the groups of soldiers and medics; an IV is placed once they get Heather warmed enough to find a vein. Lee stands at her side, eyeing her wounds, hope to god what we did works, he grimaces to himself, running an anxious hand over his face.

      “Dr. Morris? Have you seen Dr. Shelly lately?” Murdock asks, as the physician pulls the stethoscope from his ears. Confused, he looks at the men. “He’s been off since yesterday morning. Doesn’t go back on until tomorrow night. I’m sure he’s probably in his quarters” Dr. Morris suggests. “Wait, he wasn’t supposed to be on shift today?” Murdock clarifies. “No. Dr. Jansen and I cover today until about six, then Dr. Barlow is on tonight’s shift, then Dr. Jansen and I again during the day tomorrow, then Dr. Shelly.” He explains.

      “Were you and the other physicians aware to put any dead bodies down two days ago?” Mack asks, wondering. He hadn’t had a chance to have someone follow up with the other doctors. “Of course, we got the orders that morning. I was told Dr. Shelly said he’d take care of it.” Dr. Morris tells them, his eyes going wide as the dead attacking within the hospital unit flashes through his mind.

      “Well ain’t that some shit” Mad Dogg quips eyeing Mack. Captain Bellen, backing out of the room, finds a phone, ordering someone on the Bridge to check the physician’s officer’s quarters for Dr. Shelly. Amazing everyone around him as he tells the person on the other end of the line that they just needed his assistance with “that soldier, Brig, he worked on earlier” in the most pleasant and agreeable voice they’ve ever heard. 

      Murdock, completely surprised at the CO’s ingenuity, “What was that?” he asks. “Well the woman does tend to be rather irksome, and if he was so interested in her earlier, he may still be” he huffs, earning glares from the soldiers closest to him.

      “Dr. Morris, are you aware of this team’s member, Commander Brig McGreggor?” the CO asks. “Yes. We got reports from the hospital ship and then the shift reports. She had a knife wound and some abscesses on her back. Correct?” Dr. Morris answers. Nodding, Captain Bellen explains, “Dr. I’m gonna need your assistance. If Dr. Shelly calls or shows up, convince him that we have her down here in the unit, just need him to look at her back since you didn’t see the original wounds. Murdock?” he eyes the XO and then the soldiers around them. “He’ll think I’m an idiot. I am a trained physician and can assess the current stage of wounds without having seen the original” Dr. Morris responds, raising an insulted eyebrow. “Then make up something he will believe for Christ’s sake” the CO sighs in exasperation.

      Catching on, Murdock turns to the soldiers, as Gen. Nelson, the CO and doctor walk away, pulling curtains, forcing the medical crew still with Heather to stay put. Signaling Mack, Mad Dogg, Red, Gagnon, Levy, and Cohen to follow, “We’ll find some hiding spots near the entrances, just let him through until the CO and doc approach him, then we’ll surround him” Murdock explains.

      Shaking his head, “Don’t you think he’ll be suspicious? He just tried to get to her in Gen. Nelson’s quarters, then suddenly he gets summoned to take a look at her here? Shit, I’d be suspicious.” Mad Dogg growls. Murdock, agreeing with his thoughts, “Doubt it will work either. But, I think the Captain is hoping he’ll call down first, hence the need for the doctor’s help. It’s a long shot, but it just took us five hours to find the petty officer, then another other two trying to find the three bodies. Someone actually trying to hide is going to be impossible.” Murdock surmises.

      Nodding, might as well try to lure the physician willingly, Mack turns back to the rest of the men. “You all stay here and cover. Lee? Find out what you can from the girl” Mack orders. “You think he’ll actually show up?” Red asks as the drapes drop back in place, separating them from the rest. “Like Mad Dogg said. Why try a go at Brig if they already had the girl? Everything points to him. But why would he purposely risk alerting her, or any of us. Anyone of us could have been with her in the room?” Mack grumbles. The men around him eyeing each other even more confused; wait.

Chapter 63 

      Angus watches Brig pace the room yelling at him like a drill sergeant as he stands in front of the door. She was disgusted at being held hostage in the room when she should be out helping in the search for the medic. This had been going on for a while. Angus gave the remaining ship officer a nod and order to leave the room. The man seemed rather appreciative on his exit.

      Giving up arguing back, Angus had folded his arms and leaned up against the exit allowing her to vent her one-sided argument. He was amazed she was still going at it full force. You’d think with her recent injuries and almost passing out a few moments ago, even though she’d tried to hide it, she would’ve gotten at least winded by now. But nope. There she is, red faced and livid, he sighs to himself. T, frightened at first by Brig’s anger, grew bored as well. She lays beside him at the door, in agreement about not letting her hollering handler out of the room.

      His head aching with the loud tirade and lack of sleep, Angus stomps the two feet to Brig, pins her arms to her side and lifts her off the floor so he can yell in her face. “God dammit woman, we almost lost you three times now in less than two days. A crazy petty officer and doctor on this god forsaken ship were attempting to harm you, and you refuse to discuss this whole situation with me. I’m not letting you out of my sight until they find the doctor, preferably dead, and we get some things straight. First being, we’re done with the charades, we got a thing. Ain’t no one gonna give a damn, and with all the shit going on in the world, it’s the last thing we need to be dicking around about like fucking teenagers. Second, ain’t no one else letting you go traipsing off until they find the doctor. The missing bodies aren’t the problem, but someone trying to threaten you isn’t just a “I’m being an asshole because we got a thing going on” bullshit. It happens to affect the entire team. We aren’t going through another Kandahar so deal with it.” He roars, giving her shake to make his point. 

      Brig’s biceps, grown painful from him holding her up in air by them, grips his forearms with her hands, in complete shock at how pissed he is. His words slowly penetrating her brain. Son-of-a-bitch. He’s right.

      Twenty years she’d been worried about destroying her career or friendships with the men on the team. She had never even dated or allowed herself to be attracted to any military. She’d let it overwhelm her after the unexpected change in their relationship last weekend. But it was the easiest decision I’ve ever made. After all this time. It just worked. And now the world was literally going to hell. Dead were not staying dead, attacking and killing others. Am I ever going to see Aster again? I chose to stay here just hours ago because of this man. If we’re going to survive this, if I’m ever going to get to Aster and protect her, all of us need to make it. We need to focus. He was right. Trying to keep their relationship a secret, in the hopes that the world goes back to normal and they can deal with it a different way was gone.

      The outskirts of Kandahar was where she had been taken and tortured. She knew the rest had been scared to death for her. The memory of glimpsing them before she had collapsed was a study in near faint relief. Mack and Mad Dogg had almost fallen face-first running to her.  

      Sensing a change, Agnus realizes he’s probably hurting her, but frustrated and still frightened at the visions of her falling twice and burning up with fever, the only thing he can think of to keep her from attempting to escape is to wrap one arm around her and cover her mouth from any further protests with his. At first tense with shock, Brig relaxes, responding by wrapping her legs around his waist, allowing her to take the weight off her injured side and arms.

      Sighing with relief, Angus releases her arms so he can hug her to him, her arms going around his neck. After a long moment of feeling his mouth again, Brig’s knife wound flares with pain. Grimacing as he pushes too hard at her side, stupid body! she screams inside, pulling back, staring into his eyes and bearded face, panting at the sudden excitement and frustrating wound.

      Comprehending and mortified at hurting her, Angus backs her to the table, setting her on the edge to take the weight off her body but keep her trapped in front of him to stare at her in astonishment. Which part of what I said did she actually respond to? he wonders. Better have damn well been all of it, he decides.  Eyeing the table behind her, he raises a teasing brow and smirks, “Too bad we don’t have any brownie batter. Think we could break this one?” he comments. “Oh my god” Brig pants, hiding her face against his chest, gasping from the pain and sudden emotional exhaustion of the last week. Their encounter the weekend before flashing through her mind.

      Inhaling a breath, “So what do we do?” Brig asks, still concerned but willing to address it head on. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it. We’ll just figure it out as we go. Doubt we’re gonna get enough time to make a formal announcement anyway. Other than certain advantages of this new thing” Angus begins, flashing her a teasing grin, “Can’t see how much is going to change. I’ll continue to be an overbearing ogre, and you keep telling me how it is. It’s worked for twenty years being friends. However, I’m looking forward to the silence that will ensue from everyone being too shocked to say anything. It’ll be a nice reprieve.” He offers.

      Brig gives him a doubtful look. “Although I may need to have talk with Orlando about his bizarre fascination with your sniping abilities” He wonders aloud. Brig, comprehending his reference, provides him with a surprising full-bellied laugh, grabbing her side as the muscles pull on her wound, earning her an arched eyebrow. “Becca told you” Angus guesses.

      Recovering from her bout of pure joy at the comment, Brig nods her head. “Oh yeah. She kept me entertained while I was waiting for you all to show up at the compound” Brig confesses. “Gun porn” she chuckles harder. “You have no idea how hard it was not to comment when Catch asked him about my ability with knives in the mess” She sighs, winded from the pain in her side and laughing so hard.

      Angus studies her. Amazed that he was still surprised at her reactions to situations after all this time. Cradling her face in his hands he stares confused into her eyes, pulling her to him, giving her a breathless and teeth clashing kiss from her inability to stop smiling and laughing at the last.

      A low growl from T rips their lips apart. Seriously? A flicker of exasperation at her dog for being so astute, then guilt at blaming the poor pup, sears Brig’s brain. Goddamn it, she yells in her head, silencing and signaling the dog away from the door with a hand gesture. Angus backs away from the table, the two eyeing each other in a silent argument.

      The petty officer was dead, who would T growl at? Realization dawns on their faces. Brig gestures to Angus, eyeing the wall behind the door. He glares at her, but acquiesces to her silent communication that this may be the only way to get the suspected person in the room without knowing Angus was there, then Angus can be the hero. Sighing, Angus backs up to the wall behind the door.

      At least he was complying with his declaration about her continuing to tell him how it is, Brig thinks to herself after winning the pantomimed argument, eyeing the door. After a few minutes of wondering what was going on out in the hall, someone taps on it. “Captain? Are you in here?” says an unknown muffled voice from outside.

      Brig now sitting in a chair at the end of the table, frowns at the question. “No soldier, he’s not here?” she hollers out.  “Oh sorry ma’am, do you mind if I come grab some papers for him? I’d thought he had made it back already since the door was shut” the voice asks. He’s lying! Angus and Brig exchange a curious eye flick.

      “Of course not. Come on in” Brig hollers, twisting in the chair, expectant. A wide-eyed average built, brown-headed, navy petty officer slowly opens the door, scrutinizing the room, “Is it just you ma’am?” he asks. A little too meaningfully for Brig and Angus. “Just me. Everyone took off and told me to stay put like a three-year-old.” Brig declares, taking the opportunity to niggle Angus with the remark, earning an eye roll. “At least my dog got to hang out with me” she tells the officer, affecting a bored and frustrated demeanor.

      The petty officer nods and steps forward, a noticeable right hand injury, wrapped in gauze and bandages, curled up in a fist, forcing the door before him open. Stepping into the doorway, behind the man, Dr. Shelly shoves the petty officer forward into the room, “I need to talk to you” he hisses, sweating and nervous, revealing a fat dry erase marker in his hand.

Chapter 64

      Shocked, Angus and Brig notice at the same time, caught off guard and confused. Brig immediately sends T to back the naval officer into the corner, out of the way, in case he’s a threat. T growls and lunges at him until he cowers into position.

      Angus slams the door shut, grabbing the physician. “Angus” Brig yells, putting her hands up to stop him from being so rough. Something is seriously wrong, Brig wonders in confusion. “I just need to talk to you” Dr. Shelly cries out, pained from the arm wrenched behind his back by Angus. “Why her?” Angus bellows. “I don’t know who else to trust” Dr. Shelly whimpers, eyeing the naval officer.

      Eyeing the doctor, taking in his disheveled state and perspiration, recalling that she had wondered at it earlier. Realization and anger at her lack of comprehension at the time drum through her head. “Where were you bit” Brig asks. Angus, frowning, releases his hold on the man, stepping back, aiming his side arm, looking at Brig surprised.

      Huffing at her correct assumption, Dr. Shelly rolls back the sleeve of his left arm, revealing a large bandage covering his forearm, blood seeping through. “I think you may all think I had something to do with what’s going on.” He states. “Funny, why would you think that?” Angus asks. “I think I’ve been set up.” Dr. Shelly sighs, face pale, eyeing the officer again. Angus studies Brig, mulling the situation.

      The rest had just taken off a while ago suspecting that the doctor may be involved with everything going on, but he had shown up twice now to talk to Brig. If he really had bad intentions, he could have shown up with an actual gun either time. Instead he had a damn dry erase marker. Brig could decipher lies from truth no matter what situation, might as well let him make his case, Brig would see through it, Angus exchanges his entire thought process with a single look at her. 

      Deciding to see what the man had to say, “Angus, you got your iPod on you?” Brig asks him. “Of course” he replies. “We can’t let him leave until we figure out what this is about, but obviously, Dr. Shelly is nervous about saying anything with him here.” Brig hints, eyeing the man in the corner. Gleaning her thought, Angus advances to the petty officer, aiming his gun, Brig ordering T over to her side.

      Angus removes the petty officers side arm and searches the rest of his body for any other weapons. Brig grips her own side arm, gesturing to the doctor to take a seat. He sits, grateful but nervous. He’s paler than usual, patting at his face with a cloth napkin. “How much blood did you lose?” Brig asks him. Huffing, “A lot. Bit almost down to the bone.” Dr. Shelly laments.  T, at Brig’s gesture, sits near the doctor’s chair, sniffing, growling low, and whimpering. She doesn’t like what she smells. Brig orders her to silence, but the dog continues to tremble with canine frustration, Curious, Brig wonders.

       “I’m sorry to do this. But we need to make sure you don’t overhear anything and we can’t let you out for now” Angus tells the petty officer, forcing him to sit. “I swear I’m not with him. I don’t know what’s going on. I was just sent to send him down to the hospital” the man argues, attempting to protect his right hand.

      Pulling zip ties out, Angus stuffs a cloth in the man’s mouth, muffling his strained protests. Binding the petty officer’s hands, the man almost crying as Angus roughly grabs the injured one, tying it to his feet. The solider continues to yell behind the gag and struggle, until the gun at his forehead convinces him to give up.

      Once secured, Angus drags him over to the other end of the room, pulling out his iPod, he shoves the earphones in then pauses, “What if I don’t want him hearing some of my music? There’s a few songs I’m rather fond of” Angus comments, flashing a meaningful look at Brig. “Seriously?” Brig groans. The song on the chopper over to the hospital ship and its original cause for concern flashing through her mind. “Put on something you aren’t so fond of” She shakes her head at him.

      Grunting, Angus selects the most annoying music he can find. Lee was always needing to borrow it so had downloaded several his own preferences that drove Angus nuts. He turns up the volume as loud as it can go without rupturing the guy’s eardrums.

      Brig eyes Angus as he steps back to her side, then refocuses on the doctor. “If you’re not involved, I’m sure you’d like to stay around long enough to help us figure out who got you into this mess. We could maybe get a pack of red blood cells and some plasma up here. Give you some to help for the next little bit” Brig offers. Angus frowns at her suggestion. Then remembering they had assumed Dr. Shelly may have been involved with the hospital ship physician.

      “Don’t waste it. It won’t help, might as well save it for those who haven’t been bit.” Dr. Shelly sighs. Brig and Angus stare in shock. He doesn’t know about the blood transfusions. Although he may be covering. “Angus, I need you to go to my uncle’s quarters and get my pack, water, and blankets.” Brig tells him. “What? The hell. I’m not leaving you here alone with him” He bellows.

      Turning to him, gesturing at her sidearm, rifle, weapon laden body, and then T, “Remember that discussion we were having? Prior to last week you wouldn’t have made such a stupid comment. I’m sure I can handle a sick doc and a hog tied petty officer for two minutes”, she glares at him. Realization dawns on his face. Then irritation. “Well if assholes would quit interrupting us” Angus huffs, giving the doc an annoyed glare, exits the room, closing the door.

      Turning her attention back to the curious doctor gaping at the exchange, “Why me?” Brig asks, taking the seat across from the small man, gun still aimed, T still annoyed. Eyeing the dog with apprehension, “Your mother. When I started working with her, I was such an ass. Thought I was the smartest thing that had hit the planet...” pausing, grimacing at his own thoughts. “…She always bragged about you. How smart you were, skilled, in lots of ways, and the most trustworthy person she’d ever known. By the time she’d finished improving my attitude, I had nothing but respect for her. Figured some of those qualities had rubbed off on her daughter.” he laments.  Brig stares at him, saddened at the loss of her mother’s constant bragging.

      “We thought it was you because of your background in epidemiology. You were booted. Questionable ethics. What was that about?” Brig asks. Scowling, “Like I said. When I started working with your mother, thought I knew everything. It wasn’t an ethics problem. I was just an asshole. But not really something that goes on your record. Talented physicians, assholes or not, are hard to come by. A lot of investment had gone into training me already. So, I was asked to leave, find another specialty. Most physicians have an arrogance problem at some point. Easier to pawn them off than go through the effort of booting them entirely.” Dr. Shelly explains, shrugging.

      Angus returns with the supplies, setting the items on the table. Brig hands the water and blanket for the doctor to drink and wrap around him, pulling out her packs of medical gear, an IV line and needles. “What the hell you doing? I don’t think he needs anything tortured out of him. He did come here willingly” Angus states. Dr. Shelly’s eyes grow wide.

      Giving Angus an exasperated glare, “Dr. Shelly how is it that you aren’t aware the packed red blood cells and plasma are bad. We’ve known since the hospital ship yesterday?” Brig asks him. Gulping, “What are you talking about? I’ve never heard anything about something like that. I wasn’t even supposed to be on duty yesterday. Dr. Barlow had called off early from night shift, so I offered to cover until the others came for the day shift. I’d just gotten to the unit when everything went to hell.” Dr. Shelly gasps, confused.

      Taking a deep breath after few seconds of reliving the events in his mind, “But because of the bodies getting out, we were all on call throughout the day. Due to almost getting attacked, and some other personal reasons, Dr. Morris said he and a few others would cover for me in the unit unless anything emergent came up. Said I should take some time, to you know, regroup from the experience. Then, when they got the call about you, they were still busy cleaning up and dealing with new injured arrivals. I had been in my quarters, came straight over. They had sent the nurse and medic to meet me. Otherwise I’d been up in my quarters for most of the day before and after.” He explains, confused.         

      Brig and Angus eye each other with knowing looks. “So Dr. Barlow was on shift, when the bodies went missing?” Angus asks. Nodding, “I assume. I didn’t realize the rest of the bodies were all missing until earlier this morning, before I came to your room.” Dr. Shelly says eyeing Brig. “I thought they’d been moved after the incident.” He explains.

      “Doctor. I realize getting some blood isn’t going to do much about the bite and infection, but I’m sure you’d still like to hang around as long as possible until we figure out whoever did this to you” Brig offers, eyeing the IV and needle sets ready to go. The man wasn’t long for this world from the fever already raging through his body and they would need any information he could provide for as long as possible the way things were going, Brig surmises.

      “Won’t it be bad like the packs?” He asks, warily. “Erik had to give Vidar blood on the way here, he’s fine. Apparently live blood transfusions are okay” Angus informs him while glaring at Brig, for what she wants to do. Seriously? She just lost a ton of blood on the hospital ship, earning a dismissive eye-roll.

      “The red blood cells in the packs had time to die” Brig clarifies. “What blood type are you?” she asks. “AB positive” Dr. Shelly answers. “Then we’re good, I’m O negative.” Brig offers. Looking at them for a long moment, knowing he was going to die anyway, but did like the idea of holding off the end as long as possible. He had lost a lot of blood. Dr. Shelly nods.

      As Brig places the needle and line in Dr. Shelly, then having Agnus assist with the tourniquet on her own arm, “So what’s the story?” she asks, watching him from hooded eyes. Dr. Shelly takes a deep breath, “Well since I’d been sleeping and relaxing most of yesterday, I was up and anxious and feeling guilty for everyone that had been covering the unit and everyone’s shifts. Thought I’d go down and offer to cover whoever was on last night, this morning” He begins, confused about the time of day it was at this point, distracted and impressed by Brig putting in her own needle and hooking everything up.

      “Headed to the unit. But I noticed our nurse, Kathy, coming from the rear of the ship, I thought heading to the hospital. But she seemed off, you know, nervous, worried. She kept looking behind her and around like she was going to get caught doing something. I thought it weird of course. So I got too nosy for my own sake” he huffs out. Obviously being nosy was deadly this time.

      “She didn’t head to the hospital; she went down below. I followed. Eventually she stepped off on the maintenance level. Which of course was even more bizarre. I followed her all the way down towards the back of the ship. Obviously to the same room where you found those bodies, from what the officer said on the way out of my quarters.” He pauses nodding at the bound navy soldier at the other end of the room.

      “I followed to the room, the door was ajar. She was screaming. I ran inside. There were three bodies on the floor, dead, they had been attacked. A maintenance man, a lady in civilian pajamas, so I’m not sure, and a housekeeper I think. It happened so fast.  There were two dead cooler bodies, you know from the hospital freezers. One was still gorging on the housekeeper. The other one had latched on to Kathy, I tried to get the thing off her, but got knocked back onto the table. Where they had a third hospital morgue body strapped to it. My arm landed right over its face, it bit down. Kathy struggled for a long time but went down, I couldn’t save her. I was finally able to tear my arm away. Then the one feasting on the housekeeper got up and came for me. I ran. I shut and locked the door. But I saw what they had been doing. Studying the dead.” He stops to drink some water, growing winded.

      “The door was open when we found it” Angus comments, eyeing Brig. “Someone went back. Maybe meaning to leave it open?” Brig surmises. “What time did you find them?” Angus asks Dr. Shelly. “It was around two a.m. I think. Wrapped my arm up, ran back to my quarters. I had to think for a minute. I didn’t know who was involved, I didn’t know what to do. Maybe someone had seen me.” He rushes out. “And you thought it had to be another doctor or at least someone in medical?” Brig surmises, surveying his half-hazard self-wrapped bandage.

      Dr. Shelly nods his head, horrified that a fellow physician would put so many at risk was disturbing, but had no idea who else would have had such skills. “I have no idea who would do something crazy like this. I keep trying to figure it out. Like you said, Dr. Barlow was on duty that night, but for all I know, if it was slow, he could’ve been in his office the entire time. He had said that he had been feeling fine got some coffee, about thirty minutes later, instead of staying awake, he was groggy and his stomach was upset, when he’d called up to me to cover. I’d hate to falsely accuse him like I think I’ve been.” He says.

      “What made you think you were being set up?” Angus asks. “That only occurred to me when the officer showed up…” Addressing Brig, “…Said they needed my help with Brig down in the hospital. Which I thought was strange after my attempt to talk to you before. But then he mentioned he hadn’t realized you had even left this room. He’d watched as everyone had run out, but didn’t think you had left with them. I asked how the search was going. He said you all had found the room with the bodies, but some were still missing, and they couldn’t find one of the medics. Then I knew. Somehow, I was being implicated. Why would they get me down there if you weren’t even there? Especially if you had time to mention to any of them about my earlier attempt to talk to you. I’m not stupid. So I made him bring me here.” Dr. Shelly explains, giving the naval officers tied up body a guilty look.

      Angus, stares at the doctor bewildered. “Well, if we ever have a lack of guns, a dry erase marker can apparently come in handy” he quips to Brig, glaring at the naval officer with disgust.

      Finished with giving the doctor blood, Brig disconnects her end, pulling out a small bag of saline, attaching it to push the remaining blood in the line, making Angus hold it up. Pulling out her own needle, pressing gauze against her vein, Brig stands and paces a few feet, thinking.

      Nothing the doctor had confessed seemed off. He was telling the truth.  “We need to find out what they know. Or at least what they think they know. But we have to keep any of the naval or other medical personnel out of it. Even the captains. We need everyone that has been there for interactions between the petty officer, Dr. Shelly, Kathy and Heather.” Brig states. “That would be most of us.” Angus reminds her. “Then just a select few so we don’t alert anyone who may be involved. The officer said everyone was down in the hospital unit?” Brig asks the doctor. “I’m assuming, since he said everyone in the room here had ran out. Probably waiting for me to show up.” He tells them.

Chapter 65

      Picking up the phone on the table, Brig calls down to the hospital unit, asking for Gen. Nelson. On his answer, “Major General Nelson. The roof is on fire” She states, their code phrase for situations that required non-reactions to what was about to be conveyed.

      The phrase had demonstrated its usefulness in giving the person on the other end of the line time to unconsciously react to someone declaring a roof was on fire. Most people immediately looked up, Dr. Shelly proving so with his unconscious reaction of doing so himself. The point for the team was to not look or give away that anything was amiss by wanting to naturally survey the room and occupants.

      “Good to go” he responds, understanding the cue. “First, did you find the medic?” Brig asks. “Yes. Alive. With the other three bodies in a medical storage locker” Gen. Nelson whispers. As long as she was found. She’d ask questions later since the man hadn’t been forthcoming trying to remain impassive.

      “Good. Without any naval personnel or medical staff, especially Murdock and the Captain knowing, I need you to send Mack, Mad Dogg, Red, Levy, Erik, Vidar, and Lee back up to the operations room. Them only until further notice and as quickly as possible. You stay by the phone. Can you do that?” she tells him.

      After a long pause, “Sure. The girl has been scratched. Half hour” He whispers. Brig, pained at the news, hangs up the phone turning back to the two men, eyeing Angus, “Heather was scratched. Half hour” she states, taking the empty saline bag from Angus, clamping it off and removing the IV from doctor’s arm.

      Angus stares at her with sadness over the turn of events. Sighing in frustration for Lee. He had liked the girl. “Oh my god. It was Heather they took? Why?” Dr. Shelly asks, shocked as he holds pressure on the IV site. “She had spent a lot of time with me. They may have thought she knew something.” Brig offers. “What are you going to do?” Dr. Shelly asks, concerned about the soldiers coming up. “We need more information. If they’ve found the bodies and their holed up in the hospital unit, obviously, something has happened to lead them to believe it was really you involved. We need to figure out what that is.” Brig explains.

      Sitting back in a chair, feeling drained after giving the doctor some of her blood, watching Angus pace the room, T still trembling next to the doctor, giving him low growls every so often, Brig sighs at the knock on the door. “It’s us” comes a mumble from the other side. Angus opens the door, gesturing for the men to hurry inside as quickly as possible, Vidar dressed in navy blue sweats and t-shirt, on crutches.

      As soon as the soldiers eye the doctor, they aim their rifles or whip out their side arms. “What the…?” Mack bellows. Brig rolling her eyes, “Put your damn guns away. He’s been here for an hour.” She orders. “But we’ve been waiting for him down in the hospital unit, how’d he wind up here?” Red asks. “Someone had a stupid idea and he caught on” Angus announces, pinning Lee back up against the wall, trapping his gun to his side after his instant charge at seeing the doctor. “What the hell? He’s probably got Heather killed. What’s he doing here? Why are you protecting him?” Lee roars. “That’s what we’re trying figuring out. So stand down.” Angus roars back at him.

      After a few tense moments, Lee, eyeing the rest, pants heavily but relaxes. Angus eases up so Lee can stow his gun. “Why is there a naval officer hog-tied back there?” Mad Dogg frowns. Erik guides Vidar to the table to get him into a chair, Brig stands up offering hers to him. “Things aren’t what they seem” Brig comments, unconcerned about the man at the back of the room, launching into the conversation they just had with the doctor.

      Dr. Shelly sits, listening, apprehensive about the large angry men glaring at him throughout the conversation. Mack, catching onto the reason for them being there, explains what they had discovered when they had found the bodies and rescued the medic. “Wait, Dr. Morris said that Dr. Shelly said he would take care of the bodies in the hospital morgue. That’s why we figured he was definitely involved” Lee argues.

      Dr. Shelly’s eyes go wide. Brig clarifies the timeline of Dr. Shelly’s presence in the hospital unit. “So who told Dr. Morris that Dr. Shelly had taken care of it?” Red wonders.

      “Jesus, this is like a goddamn twisted game of Clue!” Angus bellows out, frustrated and pacing. “Let’s find out” Brig says, growing irritated, picking up the phone. On Gen. Nelson’s answer, Brig explains that they need to know how Dr. Morris was informed about Dr. Shelly being the one to take care of the bodies.

      The group wait in silence, the soldiers exhausted from the last twenty-four hours. Calling back, Gen. Nelson informs Brig that it was Dr. Aaron that had told him. Deciding on a different tactic Brig puts him on speaker, explaining the situation. “How many goddamn doctors are there?” Gen. Nelson hisses into the phone. “Eight medical doctors, a radiologist, pharmacist, and two dentists” Dr. Shelly informs them. “Jesus” Gen. Nelson groans. “We need to round them up, figure out how they were made aware or not.” Mack suggests. “God, I feel like I’m in the Twilight Zone” Gen. Nelson growls in agreement, hanging up.

      “But what if it isn’t one of the doctors, anyone with enough medical knowledge, desperate to figure this out could’ve been involved.” Dr. Shelly offers. “It’d had to have been someone large and vile enough to not only to be intrigued to steal and study dead bodies, but then break or slit someone’s neck, and have no qualms about putting bullets in their own countrymen.” Red voices, eyeing the rest to the doctor’s scrawny physique. He could not have broken a man’s neck.

      “And Murdock said the maintenance man and housekeeper weren’t reported missing. What if whoever it is has gone missing as well, how we going to know?” Mad Dogg asks.  “Wait, the housekeeper and maintenance man? What about the other lady?” Dr. Shelly asks, after listening to the conversation, becoming more alert from the additional blood. “Wait, What?” Mack grunts. Everyone eyes each other confused. Brig’s rehash of the doctor’s account clarifies the horrifying reality. There was another missing body. A missing dead, most likely risen by now.  “So what happened to the third unknown female?” Levy asks.

      Brig looks as T, surprisingly having settled down from her aversion to the doctor and now lounging on the floor. The dog had attempted to follow Levy’s team down the hall towards the front of the ship, obviously smelling something. “Dr. Shelly, you said you’d lost a lot of blood. Bit almost down to the bone. You would’ve been losing blood on your way out. What route did you take and do you remember at what point you would have gotten the blood stemmed?” Brig asks him.

      Catching on to her thoughts, Dr. Shelly furrows his brow, “Not knowing if I’d run into those responsible, I headed straight down the hall to the last set of steps leading to the floors above, as close to my quarters as possible. I’d been bleeding for most of the way, realizing just before I got to the bottom of the landing.” He tells them. Brig looks at Levy, “Was there any blood on the floor when you went down the hallway?” She asks him. Frowning, “Not that we noticed. The floor seemed clean” he responds.

      “They did mean to leave the door open, create a diversion, but why clean up the floor?” Angus growls. “Time” Brig shares. “Well, if we have a missing body, they probably wanted to make sure it wouldn’t be found until it could create the most chaos. Keep us occupied.” Red offers. “What did the Captain say about a missing chopper? They’re probably long fucking gone by now” Mad Dogg growls. “Where would they take a dead body to cause as much chaos as possible, but we haven’t heard anything yet?” Lee asks at the same time.

      “Where no one would hear it.” Brig realizes, face pale. The rest of the faces go pale as well. “Son-of-a-bitch!” the room erupts. “Fucking engine rooms! And you’re not going to this one” Angus roars at Brig. Brig just stares at him, tranquil, “The hell” she comments. Frustrated, “You’ve already lost a bunch of blood and just gave up more to that man. You’ll barely be able to walk” Angus declares.

      “I’ll be walking better with less blood in my body than you will having two broken legs” Brig threatens back, unruffled. Angus grunts, rubbing his face in frustration. Angus professing their sudden relationship right then and there was a little inopportune. Like they had argued earlier, there were bigger things to deal with.

      The others frown at the exchange, Erik and Vidar sharing smirks, they adored Brig’s quick-witted come backs. Mack pleads with the ceiling that the two didn’t need to announce their impending marriage or something in the middle of this current shit-fest, Mad Dogg with his usual scowl beside him. Lee wondering with confusion at his best friend.

      Red and Levy patiently wait for the apparent usual bickering to be over. They eye each other in agreement that they did not blame any of the US soldiers for being overly concerned after the Brig’s last few days and close calls with death. However, keeping Brig back from a possible hostage taker was one thing, telling her to stay put like a civilian was another.

      The group stares as the pair wage a silent war, some glaring at the doctor that she had needed to give him blood when she had already lost so much on the hospital ship, as if watching a three-way tennis tournament. Suddenly, distracting them all, a distress alarm sounds throughout the ship, making everyone jump. “Seriously? They can’t pull a fucking alarm before we’ve spent hours trying to figure it out?” Mad Dogg grumbles.

Chapter 66 

      “We’re done with this shit” Mack declares, punching the speaker on the phone with a finger, calling down to the hospital. As soon as Gen. Nelson answers, “There’s still a missing dead body. And I’m betting that’s for the engine room” Mack yells at him over the blaring of the alarm. “Son of a bitch.” Gen. Nelson moans, a distraction on his end confirming Mack’s assumption in the background. “I’m sending down the Navy Seal unit that was posting guard and helping with the search earlier and the rest of your teams, meet them there. The captain has locked down the flight deck and is ordering a head count of every person on this ship, Murdock and I will meet you at the entrance to the engine rooms as well.” Gen. Nelson yells back, hanging up.

      “Vidar, watch the doc” Red orders as Lee throws the door open for the group, rifles out front. “What about the petty officer?” Dr. Shelly comments at the exiting crowd. “Oh shit” Angus remembers.

      The group had forgotten about the tied-up man in the corner, having ignored his grunts and muffled pleas throughout their conversation. Racing back, Angus pulls out the earphones, stowing his IPod, cutting through the zip-ties and pulling out the gag. The man coughs and sputters, grabbing at his aching head, eyeing the men at the table and the group in a rush to leave at the door. Angus pats him in on the back. “Sorry for that. You’re good to go. Maybe find some Tylenol for the headache.” He tells him, standing up and exiting out the door with the rest.

      Dr. Shelly and Vidar stare at the officer as he warily makes his way around the table, mumbling and stammering about his horrible night, someone slamming his hand in a door, and then forced to the room at gunpoint, well, he had thought it was a gun, and then the ensuing treatment. He glares at the two men, grumbling that he was going to go report the situation.

      Dr. Shelly grimaces with guilt, but his ears prick up at the mention of the petty officer’s hand being smashed in a door. Concerned, he studies the blood drenched, fist-clenched bandaged hand that the petty officer favors in front of him as he shuffles to the exit, limping on cramped-up legs from being bound up so long. The man had his hand smashed in a door, on an aircraft carrier. Most likely in between a heavily steeled one, possibly broken, by the pain showing on the man’s face. Why would anyone wrap it up as it was, securing it in a closed fist? How long ago? Dr. Shelly wonders.

      Edging towards the end of the table, slowly rising from his chair, still too weak to make a stronger go at the petty officer, Dr. Shelly, holds up his hands, cautioning, eyeing a curious Vidar across from him with alarm. “Young man, please stop. I apologize for what I did. It was out of line, and obviously because of that you were subjected to further inappropriate treatment. However, I’m rather concerned about that injury. It wasn’t bleeding like it is now, when you came to get me. And I would imagine that if it was treated properly, it wouldn’t be bleeding so bad, even with it being bound as you were. Please, at least let me make it up to you by looking at it. I’ll be quick and real careful. I promise. I’ll have every doctor down in the hospital waiting to help you when you get down there, but at least give me a chance to let them know what they’ll need to do so they have everything ready to go.” Dr. Shelly pleads. 

      The man shakes his head, distrusting the doctor, mumbling no. Vidar, catching onto the alarmed looked on Dr. Shelly’s face, studies the blood dripping from the man’s bandaged hand, creating a trail that even Hansel and Gretel would be hard pressed to miss.

      Easing out of the chair as if defending and protecting the frightened petty officer from the doctor’s approach, using an arm to indicate to the doctor to stay back, not bothering with the crutches but milking his injury instead, grabs the petty officer by the left arm, forcing him into the chair just recently vacated. “That looks really bad. I think the doctor’s right. He needs to take a look at it.” Vidar growls low.  Almost in tears, the man is past feeling pathetic, “God this day sucks.” He laments as the alarm overhead is silenced.

Chapter 67

      With Mack in the lead, the group discovers the rest of their teams squared up at the bottom of the staircase to the engine level, just a little posterior to mid-ship. An engineer stands conversing with the Murdock and Gen. Nelson, a medic tending to his injuries. He’d been scratched and bitten, the first and only one to have made it out. Other medics stand ready to assist with any others.

      Making their way through the entrance, metal grates run the length of the deck. The three teams spread port to starboard heading aft following the passages. Pipes, valves, and pressure gauges, line the walls and alcoves.

      With Mad Dogg in the lead, Angus, Brig, and Lee with half of the three special ops teams, head towards starboard, coming around the corner meeting up with members of the Navy Seal 10 team. They await surrounding the railing to an open room with the propulsion system a level down, aiming their weapons.

      Unimpressive machines hum around the room. The main room seems clear but dozens of hallways and passageways extend beneath them.  Leaning in from the side, “Maybe you should stand back a little bit. I may have earned my nickname for catching things, but I wasn’t even close enough to attempt it last time” Catch teases Brig.

      The rest of the men in earshot roll their eyes. Brig gives him an annoyed death stare.  Angus, eyeing the man at the reminder, places his hand on and grabs the railing in front of her, blocking her torso with his long arm should she suddenly pitch forward. Brig glares at it.

      Mack guides Red and Levy with the rest of the team members down the portside passageway to where the rest of the Navy Seal Team 10 lines the railings. Sgt. Campbell, the soldier who had been assigned to guard Brig earlier, stands next to the Navy Seal captain, eyeing the newcomers on their side of the room. Mack approaches the Captain. “Mack” Peterson declares, surprised, sticking out a hand for a shake, then pauses. Horror registers on his face.

      “Peterson” Mack mumbles, watching with absolute delight at the look on Peterson’s face as he stops in front of him. He was loath to enjoy such a moment with innocent maintenance crew dead or dying below them, but the man had always been a pompous little shit. A soldier had saved his life, regardless if it was a woman or not, but the man was an ungrateful dick and he loved to see him squirming when they all had to work together.

      “Oh God, she’s with you, isn’t she?” Peterson hisses, scanning the balcony around the room. “How’s that ass feeling Sam? How come you don’t call me anymore?” Brig glares from the balcony straight across from him, earning snorts from her team. Angus frowns at realizing she obviously knew the man was on board with her calm reaction, recognizing the Navy Seal soldier they had stationed at the door to Gen. Nelson’s quarters.

            Glaring at her, Sam’s face turns purple with rage, scanning the rest of the team members. He couldn’t react like he wanted to. Now wasn’t the time or place. Even he knew that. “It’s fine” he quips, ignoring her second question, turning back to Mack.

Sgt. Campbell eyes Brig with amazement. He wasn’t sure about believing her comment earlier, but it was obvious that she’d done something to his captain. The rest of the Navy Seal team watch in confused silence at the exchange. The Delta team glare in annoyance. Most of the Canadian and Israelis team had heard the story, and watch with interest.

“You can proceed with your usual bitching later Sam. We got work to do” Mack distracts him. Brig gives the Navy Seal captain an arched, menacing eyebrow at Mack’s words, egging him on. But Peterson acquiesces, focusing back on the level below. “We head down and spread out.” he announces to the group, eyeing Mack for agreement.

“That’s the plan? Some things in here don't react well to bullets” she argues in her best Scottish/Russian, Sean Connery impersonation, earning her a murderous amused glare from Mack. Others turn around and face opposite walls, shaking with not-so-silent laughter. Sam scowls at her, about to argue back, “Did she just pull out a Red October?” Catch loud-whispers, eyeing his friend, cutting off the retort from the Navy Seal captain. Snorting with amusement, “Yes. Yes, she did” Hunch comments loud and with a huge smile, enjoying an opportunity to torment the obviously disliked man.

“Seriously? Why you gotta say shit like that?” Mad Dogg growls, more concerned about her reminder of the nuclear reactor below them. He didn’t like her or Hunch spouting out how they were most likely to die. Even if it was an obvious one. They tended to be correct.  “I’d like to actually get out of this godforsaken ocean at some point if we get stuck on this ship” Brig quips back. The rest grunt in agreement.

      Mack, done with the enjoying the moment, glares at the teams. “She’s right. Guns away, knives only, it’s hand to hand ladies. Assuming your team already got to deal with these things, Sam?” Mack asks the angry man beside him. Nodding his head, “Yeah, we just flew in this morning from an op last night just outside Yemen. There were plenty of them to figure it out” He states, eyeing his men. Their reactions told the rest they had taken some losses.

      Navy seal teams usually had sixteen to twenty men. They were at fourteen from a cursory count. Brig’s eye twitches at the realization they had experience with the dead. Eyeing Sgt. Campbell, why didn’t he just shoot the dead in the hallway if they had interacted with these things before? she wonders.  

      The soldiers stow their rifles, pulling service knives, machetes, hatchets, or whatever other weapon they were fond of that didn’t include bullets. “Technically it’s hand to head” Mad Dogg quips to Mack, earning a tired sigh in agreement. Martinez is ordered to stay above with his dog to relay any information from the general or captains waiting out in the hall.

      On Mack’s go, the groups break up and descend the closest stairwells, spreading forward and aft and to side passageways as they reach the deck below.  Angus takes the lead ahead of Brig, walled behind by Lee. The familiar position isn’t lost on her. “You do realize you two were in the same position when I went flying of the balcony on the hospital ship.” Brig whispers as they make their way forward.

      Angus pauses at the comment, allowing him to spot and grab a dead figure as it flashes before him from a side passage to his right. Grabbing the dead mechanic by the side of the head, he sends him slamming into a jutting end of a pipe on the opposite wall, the head crunching in, the body dropping in a heap on the floor. “At least we’re away from any balconies” Lee grunts.

      The groups make their way down the passageways before them. As they advance, the men break off in pairs, through the smaller corridors. Vega, his dog growling in anticipation, and Nolan fight off a figure surprising them from a side passage, Mad Dogg stabbing it in the head with annoyance, glaring at the pair. The men were tired. It was starting to wear on them. As Lee grabs a figure stepping in front of him, pinning it to the wall, Catch uses a long machete to hack through its head. 

      Avoiding a hatch and ladder to the floor below, Brig glances at the steps down as she passes, registering that the aircraft carrier engine level is nowhere near as loud as the hospital ship’s, but a constant roaring had her ears straining.

      Where’s the missing unknown female body, Brig wonders. So far, they had only run into the three dead figures. If the point was to create a distraction, it didn’t seem likely it was coming from tossing a dead body down here.

      Brig scans the piped-lined walls and soldiers around her, eyeing the groups spread out on the other side of the ship through passageways as they advance, then the grated floor beneath her. Whoever had brought the body down here was probably the same one who had broken the petty officer’s neck, killed or left others to be attacked by the dead and took out an entire EOD team. They probably wouldn’t be shy about killing others as well. The shadows shifting below her snap the puzzle pieces together.

      “Oh god” Brig declares out loud, stopping in her tracks, looking at her feet. The men around her pause, the other teams stopping abruptly at her words through the open com. “Now what the hell?” Mack bemoans, with trepidation.

      Looking around at everyone she has a view of, she growls with frustration, “We think these guys just tossed a body down here in the hopes that it would cause a major commotion? That one dead body would kill a bunch of crew on its own? And we didn’t know about it before now? Whoever it was had no problem snapping a petty officer’s neck or killing an entire EOD team.” Brig comments to the group.

      Confused faces stare back at her, except Mad Dogg’s comprehensive face staring straight at her. “So what the hell happened?” Erik rumbles from behind with Red’s team. “Anyone who got in their way was killed” growls Mad Dogg. “Well, yeah, no shit” Hunch hisses from across the room. “What the hell’s your point Brig” Mack hollers. “Anyone happen to notice the floor beneath us?” Brig sighs, looking at her feet. Heads snap to the floor, then to the sight through the grates.

      There were at least two dozen more dead mechanics and other stationed crew members milling on the level below on either side. The sound and view of them diminished from the hum of the engines and darkened passageways. “Those son-of-a-bitches murdered crew as they made their way down here. But why are they all down there? They can’t go anywhere. They would’ve never made it out of this room?” Lee wonders. “Exactly. They wouldn’t have caused a distraction for hours? Why bother?” Mad Dogg grumbles.  “Anyone coming in would obviously be at risk. But they weren’t meant to make their way out of this room. Terrorizing the locals like we were assuming.” Levy adds.

            “Well shit, how we gonna get at them? Even if we were using bullets, the grates aren’t wide enough” Dahan moans from behind. Angus assesses his machete, meant for hacking, appreciating Brig’s long Wakizashi blades. The level below was no taller than six feet, her swords were almost a foot and half long, slim and razor sharp. They could slide through human tissue and bone like butter.

However, kneeling, he gazes at a dead figure below, its mouth agape, eyes sightless, arms and hands reaching for their boots. Stabbing through the grate, the machete punches through the figure’s head. Angus wrenches it back out as it goes still, dropping to the ground below.

Eyeing the rest of the soldiers, they pull their longest blades, reaching through and following his example. As the level clears, groups descend the ladders as quick as possible. Firefighters sliding down poles, then slipping off to an end.   

       Brig follows the cleared path down another tunnel. As she comes up behind Angus, T yelps as a figure lunges from her left, but she’s ready this time. Shoving one of her blades through its chest, holding it at arms-length, Brig registers, in a split second, the missing unknown woman, then slices through the top of the woman’s skull, with the sword’s twin in her right hand, the end of the swing barely missing Lee behind her, earning a “Jesus Brig” as he leans back avoiding the blade.

      Brig gasps a breath as the twisting motion tears at the stiches in her side. Stepping back, she wrenches the first blade from the dead woman’s torso, leaning up against the wall behind her, breathing hard. “Found the missing body” Brig comments between gasps of breathlessness from the pain. T sniffs at the fallen body, growling low with anger, eyeing the hallway behind it once she had determined the body was no longer a threat.

      Agnus, recognizing the familiar grimacing at her injury from earlier, signals to Lee to lead the men behind her ahead and finish clearing the remaining passageways, allowing Brig a moment to catch her breath.

Chapter 68 

      Martinez, scans the room while he waits. Gen. Nelson and Captain Murdock with medics and ship crew mill around outside the door. Lucy had been wondering around of her own volition, sniffing the room on her long lead.

      Suddenly she yanks on her handler, pulling him towards the wall to right. Piping and electrical panels run the length of the wall. The dog leaps at the wall, alerting to something. Confused, Martinez follows and looks at the wall and piping. Lucy scratches at a pipe running vertically up to a panel. The panel is bolted shut, but a five-inch gap separates it and the piping from the wall.

      Glancing behind it, an explosives detonator surrounding a block of C-4, is attached to the wall with an indicator light glowing that the detonator is live. Eyeing the attached fuses and wires, he follows them in rush, taped to the back side of the piping running horizontally through the room, then down vertical piping through the grates below, attached to more explosives blocks every ten feet, throughout the room. “Son of a bitch! Evac now! The rooms rigged with explosives. Its live.” Martinez yells backing up away from the wall, turning a horrified stare to the crew waiting at the entrance.  

      Everyone stops in their tracks, glancing and swearing at each other in horror. Brig stares straight, T having sensed what Martinez had just declared, barking and yelping an alert at an explosive pack on the wall at the end of the passageway the missing woman had flailed out from. Vega’s dog Bruno, alerts at his own discovery on the other side of the room, joining the din of baying with the other two dogs.  “Guess we found the explosives too” Brig sighs.

      With a shove from Angus to snap her out of her annoyance, the teams rush to the ladders and staircases, a hole cleared for them as they race out of the room. As soon as Mack makes it through the door, the last one out, he pulls it shut, sealing the room.

      The special forces teams and ship crew shove their way to an outer hallway, shutting and ceiling that door as well. Murdock hollers into a bitch box for all personnel away from the area, all doors and hallways locked down. A siren screeches to life. The ship scrambles triple time.

      “What the hell?” the men growl, looking at their squad leaders, then Captain Murdock and Gen. Nelson. Pulling Martinez towards him into the center of the crowd, “You said they were live, what do you mean? What type of explosives? What were they attached to?” Gen. Nelson demands. “They were electronic detonators rigged to C4 bricks. The indicator light was flashing, meaning they’ve been activated, but they haven’t blown yet. Looks like they were rigged to any of the power or pressure lines heading to the propellers I think.” Martinez tells him, horrified with the possibilities.

      “Timer?” Mack asks. “No. One of them would have had a control panel. The detonators have remote trigger capabilities.” Martinez informs them. “A dead man’s trigger?” Murdock growls. “Yeah” Martinez shakes his head in agreement.  “Son-of-a-bitch. One of those could be anywhere on this ship! It could be sitting beneath a damn weight or something. Someone moves it. BOOM! It would be suicide for anyone to try to disarm them without knowing where it is. That they aren’t gonna go off any minute.” Catch growls.

      “So the dead weren’t supposed to be the distraction. The explosion was. But why hasn’t it gone off yet. You’d think whoever armed them, they would’ve wanted it to go off before now. Before any of this. They’ve had hours. Why wait so long?” Hunch speculates. “Something happened.” Brig thinks out loud, a scrunched frown on her face, thinking. “The chopper that went missing, when did it leave? How long has it been missing?” Levy asks Murdock who had been informed by Captain Bellen when they had run to the hospital.

      “Since about oh-three-hundred. Was doing a supply run. Should have been back around oh-six-hundred at the latest. Can’t find it on radar.” He responds. “Captain Bellen reported and ordered a search while he was called away for it earlier”. Murdock explains. “What would have normally been happening between oh-three-hundred and now?” Gen. Nelson asks. “Not a lot. Shift changes maybe, but with everything going on, that hasn’t been on schedule. Most people have been on shift” Murdock comments.

      “But we’ve been running through these decks since about oh-five-hundred, yelling at everyone to return to their bunks. And then we had everyone on lock down around oh-five-thirty.” Mack realizes. “Probably damn good thing for your engineers we were. Do you think it could be somewhere in the engine room?” Red asks, looking at the outer door to the engine room below. “Who the hell’s going in to find out?” Mad Dogg growls. 

      “It wouldn’t be in there. They would have wanted it to be a situation that they could control or expected to happen. Not just whenever. Even in the engine room, no telling when someone would do the thing that needed to happen to detonate them. They would’ve wanted it to occur at a certain time, or when a certain thing would put them at risk of being discovered before they got off the ship. Like she said. Something happened” Angus offers, eyeing Brig beside him.

      “Good lord. Now we gotta search for a damn trigger on this god forsaken ship? First, it’s find the petty officer, then, well shit we’re missing dead bodies, then hell, we’re missing a medic, then another dead body. I’m really starting to hate this ship” Catch growls, earning sighs and grunts of annoyance from the rest. “You done?” Mack glares at him. Snorting, “Not really, but I can bitch along the way.” Catch grumbles with reluctant acceptance.

Chapter 69

      Dr. Shelly was moving slower than usual, his bandages seeping with blood. The blood loss he had suffered making him winded and sluggish. Vidar had notified a passing chief petty officer to alert the hospital to the situation with the petty officer, send another physician up if they could, or at least let them know that Dr. Shelly would be sending the man down with orders once he had a look at the injury.

      The two had sifted through Brig’s pack for the supplies Dr. Shelly needed to cut away the bloodied bandages, wondering at the plethora of what was considered normal surgical paraphernalia, deemed torture devices by Brig. “I’m surprised she hasn’t been given the nickname “The Surgeon” or something just as ridiculous.” Vidar had commented, earning a snort from Dr. Shelly.

      The petty officer sits in the chair eyeing the scalpels, needles, tubing, and scissors with trepidation, both at the soldier’s comment, but also from his hand that was on fire. The flames starting to creep up his arm. “Why the hell does she have Xylazine? It’s a horse tranquilizer.” Dr. Shelly asks noticing a vial and pulling it from the pack. Vidar raises an eyebrow, “Militant horses?” he quips. “Don’t think you want to know doc” he sighs at the instant frown on the doctor’s face.

      “What happened to your hand petty officer?” Dr. Shelly asks, setting aside the medicine vial, dragging his chair around next to the man.  “Some jerk medic slammed it in one of the bathroom doors as I was trying to go in. About oh-one-hundred this morning. Said he didn’t see me, had slammed the door behind him. But the asshole was looking right at me when he did it. Said he was all sorry and shit. But took me down and patched it up himself. Said it would just be sore for a few hours, to take off the bandage around oh-six-hundred and follow up with a doc if it kept hurting. But I had been busy on the bridge all morning.  Then had to come find you.” The man sulks at Dr. Shelly.

      Vidar and Dr. Shelly glance at each other in alarm. The rest had run off to the hospital ward worried about the medic, Heather, earlier, assuming Petty Officer Waters, nurse Kathy, or Dr. Shelly may have been involved with others on the hospital crew and had found her in a storage cooler bound and gagged. Dr. Shelly had so far proven an innocent victim in the scenario, but they yet to figure out who had actually taken her. The petty officer’s story was curious to say the least.  

      Vidar stands on the left of the petty officer in case assistance was needed, the soldier siting back in the chair with his right arm resting on the table. He covers his face with his left arm, head turned away. “This what you did the whole time he was working on it?” Vidar wonders at him. The petty officer just nods his head, trembling. Vidar glares. Had my damn leg ripped almost in half and wasn’t such a cry baby, he thinks to himself.

      Snapping his thoughts away, sirens wail to life. Dr. Shelly is brought up short, just about to cut into the bandage on the soldier’s arm. The three stare at each other in shock, the petty officer yanking his hand away from his face at the alarms. “What the hell’s that?” Vidar demands. The petty officer shakes his head, confused. “One’s the nuclear reactor siren, like a meltdown. The others are evacuation and possible explosion sirens.” He offers.

      Seconds later, Captain’s Bellen’s voice squawks over the com, ordering the crew to prepare for evacuation, a possible explosion in the engine room and reactor may happen at any moment. Aircraft are ordered to take flight, crew to head to the top decks and prepare until further notice.

      Rolling his eyes at the doctor, “You fucking kidding me?” Vidar grouses. The petty officer looks at the two with panic. Debating whether the pain in his hand was worse than possibly getting blown up. “What do we do?” Dr. Shelly wonders, pondering whether to continue with the man’s hand or run out of the room.

      Vidar frowns, recognizing the dilemma. “The rest are down there, probably found the damn thing, they’ll figure it out. There’s going to be thousands trying to get to the top, might as well get this taken care of since we won’t be getting very far in the interim. If the explosions are in the engine rooms, I’m sure there’s plenty of hull between it and us. Although I’d probably make it a quick job.” He comments, nodding at the doctor to proceed.

      Dr. Shelly nods at the suggestion. Vidar watches as he cuts back the soaked wraps from the man’s forearm, cutting through them down to the palm. Pulling the drenched gauze back, the two men inhale a breath at the site of the dark and discolored forearm and wrist. Veins creep blue and red, turning purple up soldier’s arm with infection. Vidar glances at the man. Previous thoughts of him being a pansy dissipating. The doctor glances at Vidar with confusion.

      Shaking his head and refocusing, Dr. Shelly slowly pulls back the gauze at the palm of the petty officer’s hand, revealing darker infected skin and a strange metal tube-like object encased under his fingers. “Jesus” Vidar roars, smacking the doctor’s hand away and grabbing the petty officers fist. He clenches the man’s hand in a death grip so he can’t open it. The petty officer instantly emits a high-pitched scream, his body slamming into the table from the pain and shock.

      Dr. Shelly steps back horrified. “What the…?” he stutters over the continuous waling of the man in the chair. The man’s mouth and body tremble, his face pale. Vidar, horrified and livid, eyes Dr. Shelly, “He’s holding a god-damn explosives trigger” Vidar roars.

THE END