Designated (Book 1): Designated Infected (15 page)

Sharp shrugged in response, 'Okay then, just thought I'd
ask.'

Turning his gaze back to the group Baker cocked an
eyebrow a he fired off the most telling question he would ask them
during their career with Broadhead.

'So whose in?'

Baker
glanced around at the men gathered together; no one said a word as he
looked over the faces in front of him, then as one they stepped
forward. A grin unfurled across his features as he looked on, nodding
he spoke once more. 'Okay; gather your kit.'

They turned heading off in the direction Baker
indicated; as the group walked away Baker turned to Kingsley again.

'Who's going in on watcher with this lot?'

Kingsley pulled a fifty pence piece from his pocket,
'Heads or Tails' he asked as he flipped the coin into the air then
caught it slapping it down on the back of his left hand. 'Heads',
Baker said as Kingsley pulled his hand away.

'Sorry mate, your turn.'

Baker cursed as he stared at the tails side of the coin.

'See you in three days.'

Baker grumbled at Kingsley's grinning face as he walked
off after the slowly disappearing trainees.

****

Woodwrow and the other five Paratroopers stood in the
bay of the C130J 'Super' Hercules. Air seething over its fuselage as
it sailed over the rolling English countryside on its way to their
drop site. The Load Master stood in the bay watching the twin lights
above his head intently. His gaze never wavered as he waited for them
to go from red to green, the men behind him slowly walked to their
designated spots, their jump gear shifting as they moved.

Standing there, they checked their helmets were securely
fitted before helping the man in front check their kit over. The
heavy rasping of straps being pulled tight filled the hold as their
harnesses were secured. Woodwrow looked up as the Load Master rotated
his hand through the air in a circular motion, nodding he began the
slow march forwards opening the rear cargo bay door.

The pressure shift made their ears pop as the cargo bay
was vented, stepping into a half trot, Woodwrow led the team forward,
jumping into the waiting arms of the sky as one by one they launched
themselves out of the back of the aircraft; floating like leaves on a
breeze they disappeared into the wide blue yonder that awaited them.

The Automatic Activation Device on their parachutes
slowly ticked down as they made their way rapidly towards the up
rushing ground. A patchwork of fields and lanes passed by as they
shot towards their target, the village nestling safely in the folds
of the land like a cotton topped button in a quilt.

Streamlining his body, Woodwrow shot toward the ground
as he read the ticking numbers of A.A.D. flashing up in his heads up
display. Throwing out his arms and legs he shifted his weight and
slowed his descent. The sleeves of his shirt and trousers snapping in
the air as it buffeted his form. A sharp beep echoed in his ears as
his Parachute opened, snapping taut against his harness-covered body,
the sudden deceleration leaving his suspended in mid air as the
rooftop loomed large in his vision.

****

Ropes spooled from the helicopters slapping down on the
concrete pavement below, the men fanned out, scrambling to the
nearest concealed position. Raising his hand; index and middle finger
pointed Sharp motioned to Davies and Clarkenwell sending them into a
small post office on the corner of the street. Then he stood
signalling to Hooper as he moved, both men scurried in a low crouch
to the adjacent corner, knees scraping on concrete as the dropped to
the floor. Sharp looked on from where he was hunkered down just
inside the building's doorway and watched their fellow team mates
clear the ground floor of the post office.

Davies leant out the door, and signalled the others to
move into the now secured the ground floor. Sharp looked around him,
taking stock of the men he had available. 'Right, I want to sort one
thing out here, and that's who is in charge for the three days we are
out here. What ranks we got amongst us, if you're a Corporal raise
your hand, I know this is a kiddies way of doing things but it's
quickest.'

Sharp watched as Riley, Baxter, Hamilton, Jones,
Mariani, Roberts, and Collins all raised their hands. Sighing he knew
where this was heading, 'Okay lads you're out, sorry.' The seven men
just shrugged, secretly glad to be out of the running for leadership,
none of them wanted the hassle. Looking around him he stared into the
faces of remaining three men, 'We're all sergeants aren't we?' he got
a collective nod, confirming his guess. 'Bollocks.'

He scratched at the back of his neck as an inexplicable
itch started niggling at the base of his skull. 'Right...okay, do
this the simpler way, any one got a problem taking orders off me?'

He already knew the answer he would get from Hooper.
Davies and Clarkenwell, although SAS were from A troop, so he had no
idea of their attitude towards him, all he saw were gestures
confirming no one did.

'Okay, that's that sorted, dunno why I didn't just ask
in the first place.' Running his hand over his shaved head he
breathed out through his nose. He glanced at Fisher who through it
all had stood silent.

'Hey, Fisher ain't it?' The man nodded. 'What rank are
you?' a questioning look passed over his face.

'I am a lance jack,' he said slightly embarrassed, at
being the only Lance Corporal in the unit, Sharp clapped a hand on to
his shoulder with a gentle squeeze. 'Don't worry about it lad.
Davies, I want you, Clarkenwell, and you two Commandos,' he snapped
his fingers as he sought out their names, 'Riley and Baxter ain't
it?' Both men nodded as he looked at them. 'Right, I want you four to
sit tight here and keep watch, two behind the counter, one on the
door and one in the window. Keep hidden but, well screw it you know
what to do I ain't teaching you to suck eggs, just do it.'

Looking round him he motioned to the remaining seven
men. 'Rest of you on me, we're clearing the remainder of the
building.'

****

Belinson watched the six men spill out the plane's rear
hatch like coins out a jar, glancing at his wrist he watched the
chronometer synchronised to the one the team leader wore tick down
rapidly. He smiled lightly as the parachutes below him bloomed open
like six spring roses.

'Well, good luck lads, you're going to need it.'

The six paratroopers were jerked to a stop as their
parachutes opened, leaving them floating in the open air. They felt
weightless as they hung from the nylon ropes of their open canopys,
the only thing that broke the sensation was the heavy tugging at
their legs and torso, the straps of the harness biting into the soft
skin of their thighs and underarms.

The men drifted downwards, the toggles of their
parachutes gripped tightly in their fists, as they guided themselves
on to the designated landing zone, the stark white circle of sprayed
paint showing up brightly against the gravel covered roof.

Glancing down, all six men pulled on the right toggle
and banked in a slow, deep arc; heading for a large flat-roofed
building below them. Baker glanced up at the sky, he could just make
out the six man shaped silhouettes slowly falling from above.

'Well here comes the cavalry.'

He muttered as he bit down on a cheese burger he had
bought on his way to the village, the camouflaged netting flapping
against the poles of the hide as he silently watched the six men
land.

One after the other they touched down on the roof, feet
skimming the surface before they tucked into a roll. Gravel
skittering across the rooftop as they rolled, bodies scraping against
the tar-covered lining. Then one-by-one, they began rising to their
feet, scrambling in a flail of limbs as they started to frantically
drag in their parachutes. Within ninety seconds all six men were
formed up in two ranks in front of Derek. Baker smiled nodding in
appreciation, although he remained sat on the small camping chair he
had brought with him.

'Not bad, not bad at all, but it's not what we want from
you.'

The six men looked aghast, Kerr's mouth opened and
closed several times before he decided against speaking, Baker nodded
to the man, knowing it took a lot of willpower not to speak out.

'What we want. From you six especially, is a Rapid
Reaction Team; one that can drop into a hot zone and rip the stomach
out the fire before it has a chance to take hold. Your drops perfect,
your control perfect, your landings, got you killed.'

The men once again looked shocked, this time Kerr lost
all semblance of control.

'What do you mean killed? That was textbook stuff.'

Baker smiled although there was none of his previous
levity behind it.

'What
I mean is, textbook drop training is no good for an Infected
controlled hot zone. In the time it takes for you to land, roll, and
draw in your chute, your head and neck would be half way down an
Infected's gullet. The whole point of R.R.T, is to get boots on the
ground quickly. In some, if not all situations, the team would be
dropped right into Infected central; so what we want to see is a
landing-on-the-run, for you to hit the ground running; ready to drop
the first Infected that's dumb enough to stick its head out. It's why
the rifles you carry, the
Diemaco
L.M.G
,
are set up on the rapid release quick draw mechanism across your
chest and not strapped to your gut, like they otherwise would be.
Now, I'm going to let this slide, for now.'

The six men looked relieved. 'But trust me, when I say
you're doing it all again. For now your job is to secure this
location and accompany me. The rest of your training team is below in
the village hunkered down in the post office. You will; in
approximately thirteen hours, pass by their position and set up a
staging point of your own; I will leave it to you to find out the
details from your mates on the ground, oh, and one last thing all of
you must leave your rifles here; only side arms and knife are to be
taken in, now get some grub down your necks you'll need it.'

16

Davies leant against the window frame staring out into
the unfolding maelstrom beyond the glass. It wasn't a sight he cared
for; the streets crawling with Infected, their skeletal semi-emaciate
forms stumbling through the litter strewn thoroughfare. He watched
with a well practised-sense of caution as one of them caught a scent,
its vaporous form carried on the air, teasing the weather dulled
senses of the decrepit Infected.

Its head turned, a questioning look crossing its dried
and hollow features as it searched for the source of the enticing
odour. Its fingers slid over the window only inches from Davies face
as he watched through the parted slats of a venetian blind. The
malodorous being slipped off, passing out of Davies field of vision
and onto parts unknown, shaking his head he turned away from the
window; his fingers slipping from the dust coated metal of the blind
letting the slats snap closed.

Sighing, more from boredom than any real feeling of
emotion he turned running his hand over his closely cropped hair;
feeling the coarse fibres of his own epidermis pass over his skin he
wondered just what the hell had caused them to come into being in the
first place. Rumours had it about, that a virus had caused some
dormant brain functions to activate in the Infected people. He
snorted derisively, infections and viruses could do strange things to
a person, he knew that, he just couldn't get his head round what he
was seeing despite what Baker had shown them earlier that day.

It made him dizzy trying to think it all through and the
fact that all the empirical and irrefutable data dredged up by that
Russian scientist only added fuel to the already raging inferno that
was his brain. He stepped into the store room and tested the taps; a
smile crept across his face as he watched the first spluttering rust
tinged dregs of fluid drip from the mouth of the tap.

'Typical, decent security but no damned water, it's
Borneo all over again.' He turned to walk out the door when a loud
clunk echoed up from the floor. He turned sharply mild surprise
registering as the tap sent water crashing into the stained porcelain
basin.

'Well, guess I was wrong.'

Davies gulped down the cold liquid as he scanned the
faces of the men in front of him. 'Water's working.' Baxter nodded
before turning back to the window, worry etching the corners of his
eyes as he watched the passing tide of Infected, their massed forms
bumping against the windows making the aged and brittle glass creak
and rattle in the old worm eaten, semi-rotten wooden frames.

Their luck, such that it was, seemed to be holding, and
as long as they kept quiet they were safe, theoretically any way;
making his way upstairs Davies checked the Browning on his hip. His
mind turned inwards as he began methodically running through the
minor checks as he continued up the stairs. He nudged the door with
his shoulder. The aged timber swinging inwards with a soft creak as
he began scanning the room. He was halfway through the door before he
realised he was still holding the pistol in a partially disassembled
state, shaking his head he quickly slid the weapon back together and
walked over to Sharp.