Down the Road: The Fall of Austin by Bowie Ibarra Page B

down,”
Sgt. Nickson said.
    “We need to secure the lawn first,” Sgt.
Arnold added. “Then, perhaps, we can be dropped on the roof. Are
the other gates around the capitol secured, sir?”
    “Affirmative. This is currently the only
approved entrance and exit to the capitol.”
    “Then our choice is easy,” Sgt. Nickson said,
butting in to subtly take credit for the decision. “We secure the
yard around the capitol, then get an airlift to the roof.”
    “Sounds like a good plan, Sgt. Nickson,” Cpt.
Barrigan said, patting him on the shoulder.
    Sgt. Arnold shot Nickson a severe look of
disdain. Nickson just smiled back.
    The fireteams were just in earshot. Both
sized each other up, brandishing their weapons with
testosterone-fueled pride.
    “We’re sending you to get it done in five
minutes, men. Set up your teams. Dismissed.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Sgt. Arnold returned to his team. Spc. Noble
approached him first and made an observation. “Woman’s intuition,
but why do I get the distinct feeling Nickson and his goons wish we
were dead?”
    Sgt. Arnold shouldered his grenade launcher
and checked the submachine gun he was going to have to use in and
around the building.
    “Because they do.”
    Spc. Knight moved close. “They’ve been
eyeballing us all night, like they’re looking for an excuse to
fight us.”
    “Look, it doesn’t make a shit right now,”
Sgt. Arnold said. “Nickson and his shithead crew might be assholes,
but we’ve got to work together with them.”
    “I heard that, Arnold,” Sgt. Nickson said as
he turned to the rival team, his men looming behind him, armed and
ready. Each had an evil sparkle about them, as if they were picking
the rival member they wanted to kill.
    “If any of you cocksuckers get viral, I
promise to put you out of your misery,” promised the cowardly Spc.
Garrison, who was unconsciously standing behind the monstrous Spc.
Rodriguez.
    “No, thanks,” Spc. Goodson said. “I’d be too
scared Rodriguez would try to fuck me in the ass when I’m dead like
he does you, you nasty faggots.”
    Fireteam Arnold chuckled at the open
insult.
    “Don’t talk shit to Rodriguez,” Garrison
said, slapping the stout stack of bricks across the back. “He’ll
part you like the Red Sea.” The two smiled, petting Rodriguez’s
M249 SAW.
    “You mean part our ass like he does your ass, you homos?” Spc. Noble chimed. She knew nobody on
Nickson’s team had any respect for her, so she had no problem
expressing her distaste for them.
    Sgt. Nickson had been brewing like a teapot,
and the final crack, made by Noble, a woman—more like a girl not that far separated from boot camp—pushed him to the boiling
point. He shoved Sgt. Arnold with both hands, and Sgt. Arnold
immediately responded with a right cross that dropped Nickson to
one knee. He clinched, and Sgt. Arnold began to work the body with
angry uppercuts. Had Cpt. Barrigan not broke them up, their men
might have joined in, the stoic Spc. Talltree being an
exception.
    “Goddammit, you two!” Cpt. Barrigan yelled.
“Do you morons understand we’re in the middle of a goddamn global
epidemic?! Huh?!”
    The men stood ashamed, like school children
being reprimanded by their teacher.
    “If a group of our nation’s finest soldiers
can’t get their shit together, then its all over, boys. All over.
Now you’d better get your egos squared away, pronto .
Understand?”
    A brief silence ensued, broken only by
distant wails of terror and angry car horns down near 6th
Street.
    “Arnold, Nickson, get the fucking job done
and don’t disgrace the U.S. of A.”
    The pride the men held for their country put
things back into perspective for them, at least momentarily.
Begrudgingly, they took a deep breath. Then, slowly, they moved to
the gate and formulated the details of their plan.
    “If we spread out along the gate and walk to
the back gate, we can secure the yard quick,” Sgt. Nickson
said.
    “Make it the plan,” Sgt. Arnold