Designated (Book 1): Designated Infected (2 page)

Baker muttered a string of curses that would have turned
the air a pale shade of blue, if anyone had actually heard them
properly.

'At least Division Thirty-Six played it straight; Rook
and his team are a bunch of solid, stand up men despite being
American. Fadei and his lot don't trust anyone, especially those not
sporting a Russian accent.' Pushing open the plywood door in front of
him, Baker walked off to his bunk, occupying himself with rearranging
his bergen as the room fell silent. Several of the men in the small
semi-submerged dug out barracks turned to the source of the sudden
quieting, watching Pottergate intently.

'Gentlemen, pack your gear and be ready to move by
nineteen hundred hours, we are being re-tasked. You will be furnished
with a full briefing in transit. Just know that this is a Code Four
operation, so prepare accordingly.'

The room became a hushed buzz of controlled movement as
the men moved methodically through their duties. Baker locked eyes
once more with Pottergate who simply nodded before turning and
heading back through the door to get his own kit ready for
transportation.

Darkness descended quickly, the sky about them seeming
to swallow the sun whole as the pole lights flickered to life. The
harsh halogen lights of the compound illuminating the night sky like
the sun; bathing the interior of the small forward operating base in
a warm but somehow bitter light. The four foot thick rampart topped
Hesco bastion walls of the compound stood like silent sentinels,
shielding them from the beasts that dwelt in the dark.

The patrolling soldier, a nineteen
year old private from North Cumbria, dropped, clutching his throat
long before the rifle shot was heard. The rattling echo rolled across
the rutted fields surrounding the small forward operating base as his
gurgling choked gasp for air died on his lips.

His eyes faded to nothing as the
blood bubbled forth, the crimson liquid seeping between his slowly
diminishing grasp as it dribbled away, carrying his life with it.

The soldier pitched forwards slamming into the dust
covered walkway as his life and pain finally left him. The base
exploded into a flurry of action as spotlights danced across the open
plain surrounding the forward operating base. They found nothing,
even as patrols combed the area vainly searching for the man they
knew they would never find.

Baker watched silently as they lifted the young man's
body on to the stretcher and carried him away, a small lone tear
rolled down his face as he stared at the gently rocking boots of the
deceased soldier.

'What a bloody waste.'

Pottergate stared at Baker mutely holding his own
private counsel as he listened.

'Kid's here five minutes before he is shipped back home
in a brushed steel box, he deserved better.'

Baker turned to Pottergate as he bit down hard on his
frustrated scream, his teeth grinding together harshly.

'Any chance we can get him sent home on our flight out?'

Pottergate, nodded silently before turning. As he
walked away, his back ramrod straight and the night's air carrying
away his reply, all Baker heard was the faint whispers of what he
thought was.

'I'll see what I can do.'

****

The plane was noisy, harsh and empty. Cargo containers
groaned with the subtly shifting mass within them, the noise doing
nothing to drown out the ever present droning rattle as it was
jostled by the unrelenting swirl of the wind only inches away behind
the aluminium and steel shell of the plane.

A pallet shifted, the team's equipment pivoting in mid
air before the load straps went taught and stopped it crashing to the
floor of the hold.

The plane rocked and jolted as Baker and the rest of the
team dozed in their seats. The canvas webbing groaning beneath them
with their shifting bodies as the plane slid through the void.

Baker shifted his legs slightly the cold aluminium frame
of the chair beneath him making comfort a scarce commodity, levering
his feet further towards the skin of the plane he finally settled
into a semblance of comfort and closed his eyes.

The engine noise drowned out any chance of conversation
as it rattled around the interior of the plane; their ears throbbed
as the vibrations wormed across their camouflage clad bodies. The
thin walls of the aircraft cold to the touch as it slid through the
air high above the ocean, Kingsley shook his shoulders as the icy
tendrils of the colds searching fingers seeped into his flesh.

The squealing thump was the first
indication of the Hercules C1's first stop of its short tour over
Europe and Russia. The rear cargo ramp whined as the tail section
split open allowing the ever widening gap of daylight to filter in.
Squinting his eyes against the watery glare of a British morning
Pottergate watched a wry smirk playing across his worn battle
hardened hide as the load master seemed to melt from the plane's
siding, making Baker jump ever so slightly as he approached the
coffin. The remaining members of Broadhead snapped to attention, all
of them crisply saluting as the coffin was slowly rolled past them.
The British flag adorning its top rippled softly in the air
circulating through the plane's hold. Baker cast his gaze out of the
plane as the coffin continued its sedate journey onto
Terra
firma
. The burial
detail stood on either side of the gangway, rigidly at attention. All
of them saluting, faces blank as slate; Baker cast his gaze from one
to another his probing eyes locking onto the clean shaven Corporal at
the foot of the ramp. The young man's face remained an impassive mask
as his eyes shimmered with un-shed tears. Nodding sharply as if in
silent thanks and recognition the Corporal turned on his heel, the
clean, freshly starched uniform lining his weary frame as the eight
man detail lead their comrade home. Four minutes later the team once
again found themselves taxiing down the runway.

As the plane lifted off and settled into the journey
towards destinations unknown Pottergate got to his feet. Resting his
back against the pallet containing their bergens, he tapped his ear,
indicating for them all to turn on their personal communicators. His
voice crackled through the ear beads of their headsets as he spoke,
his words dancing amidst a wall of static; Derek idly wondered if the
cold or the altitude was affecting the equipment slightly.

'Okay, boys and girls, we are headed to Russia.' His
statement was met with silence; he smirked as he watched their
less-than-amused reactions. 'Well, don't all cheer at once, for
fuck's sake.'

A ripple of a chuckle left one or two of the men as he
pushed on, straining to make himself heard over the engines even with
the aid of the communicators.

'The Russians have asked us to “help” clean
up a mess they made. It seems that the virus we encountered in the
Panjshir Valley somehow found its way onto a UK bound Russian
freighter. We think it was brought on board by a “stow away,”
although reading between the lines the vessel's captain has been
known to aide in the expatriation of anyone with enough money.

It was luckily contained on the ship after it departed
from the docks, although from reports one or two of the Infected crew
made it off the vessel, and have now as luck would have it, Infected
the entire area. The Red Directorate has quarantined the place and
has a small team working the perimeter making sure none of the
Infected, make it into the city. However, that only makes our job all
the harder, as technically speaking the site is not supposed to be
there, so we have no data on the layout or just how many possible
Infected combatants there are likely to be.'

The men groaned collectively as they digested the
information, muttered curses and mumbled statements rolled over the
small network as the men spoke amongst themselves not bothering to
disconnect from the radio system. Rawlings smirked as he looked
directly at Pottergate.

'So, let me get this straight, we,

He waved his hand around the
aircraft indicating all present.

'Are going into an unknown location; with an unknown
enemy force, under armed, and working on third hand information.'

Bolton, chuckled as he sat next to Rawlings.

'Gotta love this job ain't ya.'

The group laughed amongst themselves as Pottergate
smirked.

'Problem there, Corporal?'

Rawlings shrugged.

'Nah boss, just checking to see if we were as fucked as
I thought we were.'

The rest of the journey continued in silence, once
Pottergate finished his briefing; Baker felt a tension begin to
settle in his stomach as he thought through the events that had taken
place four weeks before; he felt his eye lids droop, the rocking of
the plane lulling him, his body sinking deeper into the all
encompassing embrace of the canvas harness as sleep slowly claimed
him. Drifting deeper into his subconscious the memories of the past
four months came back to haunt him, once again.

2

Panjshir
Valley

Four
months ago

'This is Echo Four, we have an inbound technical on the
northern pass, please advise.'

Rawlings stared through the scope of his L115A3 rifle as
he tracked the incoming vehicle, he knew the rifle didn't pack enough
punch to take the engine out without a very lucky shot; but he could
still, with the right Windage, take out the driver and gunner with
ease. The truck rolled through the centre of the village passing the
corner of one of the squat mud caked buildings by no more than two
feet.

His spotter, Bolton, stared down the telescope relaying
the conditions as he saw them; checking and cross checking everything
with Rawlings second by second as they waited for a reply.

'Gunner's tracking the road ahead, he's worried about
something down there.'

Rawlings clicked the windage drum
one place as he settled the cross hairs over the insurgent's chest.
The chequered Shemag, covering his features, flapped and ruffled as
he was dragged through the air by the vehicle beneath him. The barrel
of the .50 calibre machine gun tracking wildly from left to right.

'I see it.'

Bolton tracked a few feet ahead of the vehicle laying
eyes on a plastic bag caught in the jumbled spool of razor wire on
the side of the road, the sniper team had hung it there twelve hours
before as range marker and windage indicator.

'Wind's shifted, and picked up, blowing in from the
north east at,' Bolton quickly glanced at the displayed wind speed.
'Two miles per.'

'Roger that.'

Two soft clicks were heard as Rawlings dialled it in
tracking his target, as he did so his radio crackled, the bead in his
ear causing him to wince ever so slightly. He shifted his weight, the
dust laden grit beneath him grating at his elbows. He pulled the
rifle's stock tighter into his shoulder as he adjusted the hood of
his ghillie suit.

'Target is cleared, let them pass.'

Rawlings let his finger ease off the trigger as he
continued to follow the vehicle. Watching, he eased away from it and
swung the rifle scope's reticle back to the pass he was covering as
the truck rounded the corner of another house and dropped from view.

Baker slipped round the corner of the building tipping a
wave as he moved, knowing that Rawlings and Bolton would be following
his every move.

'Comfy up there?'

Baker heard a soft chuckle in his ear piece as he moved
through the dust laden shadow of a building.

'Yes, thanks. Fancy a cuppa, Bolton's putting a brew
on.'

Derek grinned and stuck his middle finger up in their
direction as he entered a doorway.

Baker scanned left and right, his rifle tracking across
the room. His foot lowered slowly as he crept into the room and
slipped through the door like oil over water as he moved down the two
stone and mud steps into the partially sunken floor of the one story
building.

Stepping lightly across the uneven surface of the plain
dirt floor, Baker made his way quickly and quietly to the open
archway leading through to the next room.

Sliding to the edge of the archway, Baker slowly edged
his face closer to the corner. Stealing a glance inside the room he
froze, his eyes transfixed on what lay before him. The young boy lay
pinned to the floor, his feet pummelling the chest and lower torso of
the man atop him as the young boy's fists pounded at the man's
bearded face and head.

A stream of garbled Arabic spewed forth from the youth,
Baker with his limited understanding picked out a few choice curses
from the jumbled stream of words. Baker watched as the man's head
dove forwards aiming for the child's neck. Saliva spewed forth as the
man's slathering jaws snapped and gnashed as if trying to chew
through the air to quicken his decent; the screaming and thrashing
continued even as the man's teeth made contact with the boy's skin.
Baker had seen enough; spinning round the corner he raised his rifle
in one smooth motion and fired a single suppressed shot, the bullet
impacted with the side of the Arab's head. The back of the man's
skull shattered in a spray of brain matter and splintered bone, the
dull clink of wet bone echoed slightly as it bounced over the walls
and floor. A dull thump followed scant milliseconds later as the now
lifeless body hit the floor; the boy's struggling redoubled as he
felt the lifeless corpse pressing down upon him.