Kilo-29 (Damned of the 2/19th, Book 15)

Part 5

Site Kilo-29-Civil Defense Area
United States of America
Winter, 1993
Day One-Night

"Let's go. We've gotta get out of here." I hissed, and scooped up my bayonet from the table.

"What's going on, Sergeant?" I couldn't blame him for the tremor in his voice.

"Let's go, stay quiet." I warned him, climbing over the desk and the fallen door.

I waited for him to struggle across the desk and door, the dufflebags slowing him down.

"Please don't leave me behind." Donaldson said. His face was pale around the NVG's.

"I don't leave my men behind, kid." I reassured him. "Give me one." I held out my hand and he handed me one of the duffles. I jogged down the hallway, hurrying around the corners. We went past the door I'd forced open then stopped in front of the door we'd taken to get into the room. I told him to pocket the NVG's when he tried to hand them back, and flipped mine up.

"Oh, shit, Sergeant, what's going on?" Donaldson asked, puffing.

"I don't know. Something bad." I told him. "Stay close, anything comes at you, remember your bayonet training."

"I don't have a bayonet."

"Trust me, kid, you hit them with the muzzle and it'll still hurt, but go through the whole routine." I advised him, turning and looking at the other doors.

I threw the handle, and listened as the door tried to use its primary systems then clunked over to backups.

The smell of rotting blood was thicker if anything in the egg room.

When the door opened far enough, I ducked through and Donaldson followed me, slapping the lever on our side down. We hustled to the next door and followed suit, moving quickly into the locker room.

We were halfway across when something flew off the top of the row of lockers at me.

"SERGEANT!" Donaldson yelled, but I'd already seen it, bringing around the dufflebag between me and the shape, tightening my grip on the knife.

I slammed down on my back, my ruck taking most of the shock, and the stench of rotting blood rolled over me. There was the sound of canvas tearing and something hissed, the stench of rotting carrion flowing over me.

I threw it to the left, rolling to my right and coming up to one knee. Whatever it was bounded off the lockers and came at me again as I came up to my feet.

Rather than flinching from it, I ducked down and moved in, blocking what looked like an arm swiping at my face with my left arm and stabbing into the middle of the figure with my bayonet. It coughed something wet into my face but I kept stabbing.

It knocked me down again, and I heard something rip as whoever it was kicked at my legs. I stabbed it in the side, twisting the blade, and there was a snarling yowl. I threw it off me and rolled, coming up just in time to see it leap up on top of the lockers and then bound away.

...that's too light for a cougar, Ant...

...I know, Bomber...

"Get that door open, kid, I'll hold it off." I barked, watching the lockers and the space on either side.

...it'll rush you, Ant...

I know, Bomber.

Donaldson moved by me, and I thought I saw a shadow flicker against the wall on the right hand side.

The smell of rotting meat and blood was a miasma.

"What is it?" Donaldson asked as the bar clacked down.

"I think it's an animal that got in through an access point." I reassured him.

...liar...

Shut it, Nagle.

I heard sheet metal deform and pop back and checked to both sides, checking the top of the lockers as I did so.

"It's opening, Sergeant."

"Tell me when you're through."

Two of the lights shattered, plunging the left hand side into darkness. I snapped my head down, and my NVG's popped down over my eyes as the two lights on the right shattered and dropped that side into darkness. I snapped on the NVG's and the room instantly lit up.

WE OWN THE NIGHT, BITCHES!

There was another series of pops, and the room went black and green.

"Almost, Sergeant." he told me.

I scooted forward, grabbed my duffle, and slung it behind me. "Throw it through." I used my left hand to pull up the snaps on my ruck straps, yank the tabs then pinch the points, dropping my rucksack. "That too."

"Leave it." He suggested.

"No, leave nothing behind for the enemy." I told him.

I heard a rapid scraping, like a dog trying to get purchase on a tile floor, from the other side of the lockers.

"Sergeant, come on, you can duck through." Donaldson told me.

I started backing up.

ON YOUR LEFT! Bomber yelled.

I pivoted to the left, and it came at me in a rush. Even with the NVG's I couldn't get a good look at it, it was just a strange four limbed lean mass that came straight at me. Rather than back up I stepped forward and kicked like I was going for a field goal.

My boot took it right on the chin and it still crashed into me, bringing both of us to the floor. Something grabbed my left arm in a vise and started shaking it, something was tearing at my legs, but I rammed the knife into its side twice before it screeched and sprang off me again.

"Sergeant, come on!" Donaldson screamed, his voice raw with barely suppressed panic.

I rolled over and scrambled toward the door.

"Sergeant!" Donaldson yelled again.

I rolled to the left and whatever it was landed on the floor. It went to crouch down and I swung my blade hard, catching it on the side of the knee. It screeched and jumped away.

"Throw the lever!" I bellowed as I scrambled forward.

"You're not..."

"THROW IT, DAMN YOU!" I bellowed. Donaldson slammed the bar into place and the door reversed.

I managed to scramble under the door, which was rapidly closing.

Something grabbed my boot, twisting my foot, and I rolled with it, ending up on my back. Instead of trying to kick it away, I braced my foot against the door and shoved hard, pushing myself out from under the door.

Blackish green paws were attached to my boot, long white claws sinking into the leather. My damaged knee began to burn.

Donaldson gave a Basic Training perfect war cry and slammed the weapon down on the slender arm. There was a screech and the paws let go of my boot.

The door thudded down and I scrambled to my feet, turning off my NVG's and flipping them back up.

"What the fuck was that?" Donaldson yelled. I put the bayonet between my LBE and my shirt and grabbed my ruck and the duffle.

"Cougar? Hurry." I urged.

We rushed down the hallway to the door to the motorpool and I dropped the ruck and duffle then pulled my knife back out.

"OK, when this opens far enough, throw the stuff through. Do not go through until I give you the signal." I said.

"Why not?" Donaldson asked.

"Because whatever that was might have killed everyone already or might have a mate or cubs in the motorpool." I warned. The kid went pale and I nodded. "We're in hostile territory, kid, don't think the mission's over till you're in the NCO Club drinking whiskey with at least two fingers in a blond and a brunette sucking you off."

Donaldson grinned, and some color came back into his face.

I nodded and he threw the bar. The door began lifting and Donaldson waited nervously. My nerves were singing, every sense running in overdrive. A soon as it lifted out of the countersunk drop we could hear a klaxon wailing.

When it lifted high enough, he began chucking stuff through as soon as he could stuff them through. I kept watch behind us.

The bulb by the door went off in a shower of sparks.

"Hurry, kid." I hissed.

A second light bulb went out and something made a thick, choking, coughing sound.

I set my feet, bringing my left hand up, ignoring the burning pain my forearm, and my right hand, knife point down, right below it, flexing my knees and bouncing slightly on my toes.

Come on, bitch, let's see what you got.

Another light exploded, and I caught a glimpse of something reddish black with no muzzle, just a flat face, that was on all fours.

"Let's go, Sergeant!" Donaldson yelled, and I ducked through as half the bulbs exploded in rapid succession.

Donaldson slapped the bar into place without being prompted.

Something came at us, but the door slid into place before whatever it was reached us, and I looked at Donaldson, breathing heavily.

"You all right, Sergeant?" He asked.

"Fine." I grinned.

"What happened to your pants?" he asked, and I looked down to see huge rents in my pantlegs, with bloody scrapes below.

"Whatever it was raked me." I told him, lifting up my knife. It was covered in blackish crap, and I wiped it on my hip before tucking it back behind my back. I could smell rotting blood from it.

I could hear the Major or his dumbasses running up. I looked at my forearm, and the blood running down my hand and fingers.

When I turned around, I could see four of them running up as I fumbled my field dressing out of the pouch.

"Did you manage to open the doors?" One of them asked. I'd stopped what I was doing, just staring.

"Christ, what happened to Sergeant Ant?" one asked, but I wasn't paying any attention. I'd just finally noticed something.

There was an Air Force sedan sitting there, without any dust on it.

My head started to pound.

I could smell blood and snow.