Chapter 13 #2
“PFC Scott,” he mumbled dazedly, blinking up at Blake.
“I need to get him inside.” Blake slung his other arm over his shoulder, and they half-carried Scott into the station.
Tommy had already cleared off the table and had another stranger on it; her leg extended over his lap.
The leg was grossly purple, hastily wrapped in bandages that had once been white but were now a ghastly grayish brown color.
With Scott seated, the two medics got to work sliding off plate carriers and gear. Blake asked him questions to ascertain his mental status.
Gabriel directed his attention to the second person. She was tall and slender, her blonde hair pulled back tight into a sagging bun. Her face was filthy, caked in dried blood and dirt, but the biggest injury was her leg. It was clearly broken.
She was wearing a dark green flight suit with Navy insignia.
“Lieutenant?”
Nodding, she extended a hand. “Lieutenant Victoria Hollis.”
Gabriel took the hand, introducing himself as he shook it gently so as not to jostle Tommy’s work. He took in the woman’s battered uniform and the handgun attached at her hip.
“You were the pilot that shot up the ship?”
The room went silent, everyone turning to face Lieutenant Hollis. Her lips pressed together, and she looked down at her lap, nodding tersely. “I was.”
“Damn, Danger Tits.” Judd went to clap her on the back, but Gabriel grabbed his wrist, pulling it away. “That was some grade A flying.”
Judging by her face, Lieutenant Hollis didn’t think so.
Changing the subject, he gestured toward Scott. “How did you two meet up?”
“Scott’s squadron was defending a block close to Capitol Hill. I saw them on my approach and aided where I could. After I ejected, they came for me. Helped get me to cover.”
“You broke your leg on ejection?”
She nodded. “Scott literally pulled me from the fire.”
“Where’s his squad?” Judd asked, arms crossed as he leaned against the counter.
“Dead,” Scott snapped, smacking Blake’s hands away from the cut on his head. “We had the little shits on the ropes and they…the ship blew up the entire fucking block.”
His face collapsed, and he looked like he was biting his tongue to keep from getting emotional. Blake forcibly turned his head away from the group, ostensibly to look at the cut on his head, but Gabriel knew it was to give him some privacy.
“We only survived because we got blown off the main road,” Lt. Hollis explained, taking over for Scott. She was older than the PFC—maybe mid-thirties, while the National Guardsman hardly looked old enough to shave.
Phin walked into the room, his gun slung over his shoulder. “Pretty sure they’re dead,”
“Pretty sure?” Gabriel repeated.
“I cut one of the FUD’s head off, but it uh…turned to goo.”
Blake looked up, raising an eyebrow. “It turned to goo? Could you be more specific?”
Phin shrugged. “Smelled like death. The second I got the armor stuff off…it just melted.”
Tommy shared a quick look with Blake. “Sounds like it started decomposing the moment it was exposed to our atmosphere.”
“It makes sense,” Hollis said with a wince, sliding her leg off Tommy’s lap after he finished wrapping it. “Their outer exoskeleton works as armor and as a protective suit. Our atmosphere is probably poisonous to them.”
“Or it’s a safety measure,” Gabriel said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “They could self-destruct if their armor is tampered with.”
Did it matter? Either way, they were dead. And that meant he could turn his attention back to the issue at hand—the two injured people in the kitchen.
Blake clicked off his penlight and stepped back from Scott. “You’ve got a nasty concussion and a laceration that needs stitches, and your rib is probably broken.”
The National Guardsman nodded, running his fingers through his sweaty hair. His features were hard to distinguish under all the blood and dirt, but he could see a narrow nose. What struck him was his eyes—they were hard.
Phin offered the two some water, and they drank greedily. Blake moved away from Scott and checked with Tommy about Lt. Hollis’s fractured leg.
“Tommy, grab some meds from my bag,” Blake called, sending the EMT over to pick through the bag until he found what he was looking for.
“It’s just ibuprofen, but it might help a little.”
The two didn’t look like they were going to complain, tossing the pills back and swallowing them down. Blake had his arms crossed as he looked between the two, his lips pursed. He was clearly itching to treat them properly.
Gabriel pulled off his helmet and dropped it on the counter beside her. “Why were there only three planes?”
He wasn’t sure what hurt worse, the throbbing in his shoulder or the malice in Lt. Hollis’s eyes. Scott stood from his chair, fists clenching.
“The fuck you mean? Only three?”
“Scott, it’s fine.” Lt. Hollis put a hand on Scott’s arm.
“No, it’s not. These fuckers think they can just—”
“He’s asking a question, Private.” Scott jerked at the reprimand, blinking at Lt. Hollis. “The commander is trying to understand what led us here and get information he might need to complete his mission.”
Scott still looked like he wanted to rip his throat out, but Gabriel was grateful Lt. Hollis seemed to understand.
“I’m not questioning you, Lieutenant.”
“Call me Victoria,” she hissed as she shifted her leg, eyes closing. Breathing through her nose, she finally looked up at Gabriel again.
“The three of us were the only ones who made it through.”
Phin shared a look with Gabriel. “Through what?”
Victoria’s eyebrows raised. “The shield,” she said, like it was obvious. The blank looks she received made her sit up a little straighter. “The pulsating energy field surrounding DC? Nothing can get through.”
Gabriel tried not to let his shock show. That’s why they hadn’t had any backup, but…how? The entire city? That was…
“How did you?” Blake asked.
“It’s not stable,” Victoria said. “At least, that’s what they think. It pulses. Too fast for helos to get through. They weren’t even sure a plane could.”
Now Gabriel understood Scott’s anger. They had sent more planes. Those planes had crashed, failed their mission before they even entered enemy airspace. Lt. Hollis and the two pilots with her were the only ones who managed to slip in, and they died trying the impossible.
A suicide mission.
“That might explain communication,” Judd mumbled, squinting at the far wall in thought. “If it was giving off some kind of electrical interference, the radios wouldn’t be able to get a signal.”
But more than communication, what Gabriel couldn’t understand was where the shield had come from? It certainly wasn’t there days ago when he and his team had flown in. What the hell was going on? Why would they put up a shield after arriving?
It was educated guesswork based on unreliable evidence that all boiled down to one thing: they were trapped inside a warzone with no help coming, and no chance of escape.