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orders.”
    The young sergeant
nodded his head then looked to Brooks and Brad. “Roger that… Petty Officer,
Sergeant Turner, we’re moving; if you want to tag along, now’s the time.”
    Brad nodded and
turned back to face Brooks, who shot him a grin and stepped off following the
patrol leader. Brad pulled his rifle into his chest and fell in line with the
rest of the men as he moved ahead of the Bradley and through a break in the
concertina wire. As the men moved out, he spun back and saw that the lieutenant
had not heeded their suggestion; he was still posting his men around the perimeter
and forming a small observation post.
    Brad’s mind flashed
back to a time, months earlier in the deserts of Afghanistan, to a patrol on the
other side of the planet. Moving on, patrolling ahead while the remains of his
unit formed a similar ill-fated perimeter. His foot fell hard against the
pavement as tension twisted the muscles in his back.
    “No, this isn’t
Afghanistan,” he whispered to himself.
    A soldier near Brad
turned to look back. “You say something, Sergeant?”
    Brad swept his head
left and right. They were moving in a staggered column down a two-lane blacktop
road—high grass on the left and right sides, tall trees fifty feet off the road
to the right, and open field to the left. They were less than a few football
fields from the first buildings straight ahead. Brad was walking two paces
behind Brooks, who moved quickly to stay next to the patrol leader.
     Brad looked up at
the soldier to his front-left. “Nahh, just thinking… you patrolled this road
before?” he asked.
    “A few times, but
mostly by vehicle—just route recons. We usually stick to the city side of the
fort; that’s where most of the action’s at.”
    “So what’s the story
back here?” Brad said.
    The soldier slowed
his pace and looked back over his shoulder. “Back here?” He put his right hand
up and pointed far down the road. “Ain’t nothing back here or anywhere else. It’s
all rot nowadays. I don’t even know why we waste our time on these damn
patrols. This town up ahead… been through it a half dozen times; nothing but
Primals in there.”
    Brad picked up his
pace so that he could fall in next to the soldier. “How many?”
    “Not a lot; we
cleared most of ’em out, but they filter down from the northwest. Guess that’s
why the colonel wants us to keep an eye on the place. In case the fire pushes
more at us.”
    A soldier walking
point far ahead of the patrol put a fist in the air. The rest of the men slowed
their advance and spread out, taking a knee around a central portion of the
road. Brad passed through the circle and knelt next to Brooks. They stayed
together while the sergeant in charge of the patrol jogged forward to speak
with the point man. They were nearing the mouth of the small town. Looking left
and right, Brad noticed how exposed they were on the open road. He could feel
the electricity in the air as the hair on his neck began to stiffen.
    “We need to get off
this road,” Brad said.
    Brooks’ head stayed
in motion, searching the distant structures and tree line. “You see something?”
    A gunshot cracked.

 
    Chapter
6
     
     
     
    Dust swirled thick,
moving across the neighboring city in a dense cloud, blocking out the sun and
pushing a cold breeze ahead of it. Turner stood at the edge of the warehouse roof,
watching the sandstorm building strength. It twisted as it moved from street to
street, blocking his view of the rooftops in the distance, the tan buildings
quickly concealed by the snarling sand.
    Turner pulled down
his goggles in anticipation of the storm and spit dust onto the roof. “Looks
like it’s going to be a good one, Cole,” he said.
    A young soldier
stood beside him, watching the sandstorm through binoculars. He lifted a hand,
pointing to a distant intersection. “Don’t seem to bother the Primals much.
Look at the dumb bastards; they don’t even run for cover.”
    Turner