The Dying of the Light (Book 3): Beginning Read Online Free PDF

as it destroyed the roof access of the stairwell. The rocket destroyed a big part of the roof as well, trapping the remaining zombies below. He leaned back against the bulkhead and closed his eyes as the helo’s crew chief reported in. He felt the helo turn northeast, headed for Tacoma and the ExForce base.
    “Nest, Ranger One,” the chief said. “Evac complete. Echo team is secure. We are RTB.”

     
    Expeditionary Force Command
Joint Base Lewis-McChord
Tacoma, Washington
     
    Powell was a tall man, but his CO, even seated, made the captain feel like a little boy brought into his father’s study for a spanking. He’d only received what the major described as a “talking to” twice in twenty years, but they were both memorable experiences and not ones Powell was eager to repeat.
    It seemed Major Gaines had other plans.
    “Captain Powell, what the hell happened out there today? How did you let yourself get to a stage one alert?” The major wasn’t shouting, but then again, he didn’t need to. Powell knew from experience that the man was pissed. “I should restrict you to quarters for this. Hell, I should bust you back to private. You’re better than this, man! Hell, you were with us at the beginning. So what the hell happened?”
    Okay, severely pissed. “Sir, I…”
    “You better not be giving me an excuse, Captain. ‘Cause I damn sure don’t want to hear it.” He held up one hand to forestall further discussion and pushed his intercom button. “Marcy, get me Crew Chief Silvera, now.”
    The intercom buzzed with Marcy’s reply. “He’s already here, sir. I’ll send him in.”
    The office door opened, and the crew chief from Ranger One entered, closing the door and standing at attention. He was a short man with medium-length black hair, dark eyes, and a swarthy complexion. The chief stared straight ahead.
    “Crew Chief Silvera, reporting as ordered, sir,” he said.
    It took Powell every ounce of discipline he had to keep from decking the chief right there. Gaines stared at Silvera for such a long time that Powell was starting to wonder if the major was having the same struggle. The sweat on Silvera’s brow was a good sign he was wondering as well.
    In a calm, low voice that surprised the hell out of Powell, the major addressed the crew chief. “Where were you, Chief?”
    “Sir, we were—”
    “Because I know where you weren’t,” Gaines interrupted as he stood up, pounding one thick fist onto the desk. “Where you weren’t was at your station. We had six men on the ground in walker territory performing a sweep, and you weren’t at your goddamned post !”
    Silvera swallowed, and Gaines composed himself, straightening his uniform.
    “We had a Stage One alert today because you and your crew were off gallivantin’ about while we had a sweep team on the ground.”
    “Sir, I’d hardly call it gallivant—”
    “Oh really? Let’s hear it ourselves, then.” He leaned over to the intercom again. “Marcy, please bring it in.”
    The door opened once more, and Marcy entered. She placed a small disc unit on the desk, turned around, and walked back out, closing the door.
    Silvera looked at the disc unit, first puzzled, then nervous. Without further preamble, the major started the playback. There was no static or disruption. The recording was clear. The crew chief and his pilots had flown over a mile away from the sweep team to pick off stray walkers. “Having fun,” as they referred to it.
    It was clear to Powell that they hadn’t paid any attention to their radios for whatever reason. Whether it was too much noise from the rotors, the guns, or the walkers, or something else, it didn’t matter why they’d done it. All that mattered was that they had missed the first alert call and that they were far off station.
    As the disc played, Chief Silvera slumped, his face growing paler by the moment. It was clear the chief hadn’t known that the helicopters were bugged. He looked down at his