by Ricky Cooper
'Fucking move it, I haven’t got all day to fuck about with twats like you. Right you six go with Corporal Belinson and get fitted out for the drop test, I want to see how well you Para boys think you can fly.'
Baker watched as the Paratroopers marched away.
Falling in step behind the war weary, grizzled corporal, the six men were led away to the hangers on the far side of the square. Baker smiled as he thought about the task that lay ahead, a small shiver ran through him. Smirking he turned back to face the remaining twelve soldiers in this latest batch. A vicious grin twisted his features causing more than one to choke down a sudden sense of trepidation as they stared at his hardened countenance.
'You lot; are mine.'
The words themselves were little more than a pejorative statement, but as the remaining soldiers watched him more than one suppressed a nervous swallowing of fear.
'I want two teams of six. We're going to run a simple test, the first six are with me, the second six are to go with Sergeant Kingsley here, then once you are all ready we shall reconvene back here and let the fun begin.'
The two ranks filed off in opposite directions as they moved following their respective commanders. Baker lead the men to the Quarter Master's stores. The stable door fronted building sat, squat and square edged on its own side of the drill square. Bakers balled fist, clacked off the gloss-coated panelling, the sharp rapping of his knuckles echoing behind the white door.
The top half of the door swung inwards, revealing a hard faced man with thinning brown hair and watery green eyes, in a rasping bark he demanded to know what they wanted. Baker detested the man, he was rude, coarse, and well past his prime, but like the rest of the buildings on the base, he was a well-rooted fixture and although it pained him to admit it, he was good at his job.
Baker handed the Quarter Master the clipboard, all nineteen pages pre-signed and dated. Nodding the officer briskly rolled off a signature before turning and barking at one of the privates detailed to him. Sharp, a member of the Special Air Service one of Britain’s elite special-forces and anti-terrorism units, groaned in pained recognition as he saw the equipment.
'What's the matter Sharp I thought you SAS boys were supposed to be tough bastards, or you were when I worked with your mob.'
A sly smirk played across the soldier's features as he played up to Bakers statement.
Not that staff, I just know what this kit does to ya. Your American friends love all the fancy neuron kit. The last time I used this shit I could barely stand up right, let alone do my damned job. You're a mean fuck ya know that,' the Scotsman replied. The thickly layered amateur dramatics drawing a pained groan from Sharp's co-workers. Cold calculation ran through Sharp as he watched Baker's reaction each man studying the other, as the rest filed forwards to take their equipment.
Baker could see in the Scotsman’s eyes, that he cared neither one way or the other about the effects of the apparatus and was doing it more to wind up the others than in actual complaint, but still something was tickling away at the back of Derek's mind, telling him that Sharp was going to be a hard nut to crack and if pushed to far someone that could make or break the new units.
'Well I suppose that's why I am on this side of it and you're not, now shut ya yap and get prepared.'
The SAS trooper walked off to get himself ready leaving a grinning Baker in his wake turning he let the façade fall from his face as he raised his voice once more.
'Okay ladies, on the double; move it.'
The six men followed Baker as he sprinted away towards the drill square, Sharp's eyes widening in surprise as he took off like a whippet chasing a hare. As they neared the drill square they heard Baker's heavy laughter his voice carrying easily through the cold morning air.
Kingsley grinned at Baker as the others formed up; leaning in Kingsley whispered his voice passing no further than Bakers ear.
'Took you long enough mate, what happened?'
Baker raised a hand motioning for him to shelve the questions until later. Kingsley nodded plastering a self assured smirk back across his features as Baker's small detail fell in beside the rest.
'Okay boys and girls, we are going to enter what is known as the Dead Box. During the initial formation of Broadhead, the higher up's deemed it necessary to take in and study several of the Infected. I cannot disclose where they came from, you're not paid enough to know, and frankly you wouldn't want to, trust me on that.'
Stepping forwards slightly, Baker waved his hand indicating the building's in front of them as Kingsley stopped speaking.
'The two buildings behind you now house Infected. Remember, although they have had their teeth removed and fingers bound up in a Kevlar coated webbing they are very real, as is the threat they pose; not only to you but to your team mates.
Your kit is decked out with a series of sensors that register a certain type of contact, in this case conductive impact. If the Infected touches you the suit registers it and shocks you accordingly.
Before you ask it is capable of differentiating between falls and physical contact, if you slip and land on your arse nothing will happen, but if an Infected comes into contact with you!'
Baker strode up to the nearest recruit and punched him in the chest, a soft beep was heard as he went ridged and fell to the floor spasmodically convulsing, the muscles in his body rapidly contracting and flexing as the small charged current raced through him.
'That happens.'
Baker motioned to the two men on either side of him.
'Help him up will you, he's getting my drill square dirty.'
Baker turned his back to the teams, as the two soldiers helped their mildly dazed compatriot to his feet a wide grin running across his face, he brushed it aside before turning to face the men once more.
'You will be issued with a pepper ball gun that contains a highly concentrated cerebral paralyser. It knocks an Infected out cold, although funnily enough punching them in the head achieves the same result, I should know I've done it'.
Several of the soldiers looked more than sceptical, others just grinned at the forced mental image.
'Now, I will not tell you the whereabouts, or number of the enemy; as I don't actually know, and also it's cheating. I would much rather watch you stumble about in there scared witless, it's more fun that way, besides they are left to roam the buildings freely. With that said all that remains for me to say is get in there and kick some ass.'
The men filed into the building, moving to where another member of the training staff distributed the weapons and ammunition. The floor was nothing more than dust laden concrete. As they shuffled through grasping hands reached out for the proffered weapons and another instructor rattled off a set of instructions, his monotone and slightly bored voice doing nothing to negate the rising sense of trepidation and excitement coursing through the men as they neared the entrance.
Davies glanced at Sharp, the Scotsman’s eyes alive with a child like sense of excitement as he checked his weapon's mechanism.
'Form into teams of two and move through your designated zone, remember, limb and body shots are ineffective; only head shots will put down the Infected. Move quickly and quietly towards your objective markers.
Fail to reach your markers by the time allotted and your team will be considered eliminated and therefore washed from the programme, are we clear?'
Outside Baker and Kingsley stood side by side; Kingsley turned and looked at Baker, eyebrow raised.
'So with this lot what do you reckon?'
Baker took on a mildly contemplative look as he ran through the list of candidates.
'I think fools money would be placed on the Special Air and Special Boat Service boys washing out; although, there are a couple I would like to keep an eye on, would have told you earlier when you asked, but I wanted to get them in the Box first.'
Kingsley nodded as Derek continued to talk. 'The Scottish SAS guy named Sharp. He seems solid enough but something is bugging me about him, he'
s a competent operator, his record reflects that; just need you to watch him when I ain't around.
Second is Davies, came in with Clarkenwell, his C.O at Stirlinglines had him pegged for promotion and seems to think he would be a good choice for team two section chief, and from what I have read, I would agree.'
Kingsley nodded as he motioned for Baker to continue as Derek raised his fist to stifle a yawn.
`The Paratroopers, they're One Para, part of the Special Forces Support Group so...'
He simply shrugged as he left the sentence hanging.
'I think the Commandos though, I would put them in the same boat as the Special Forces fellas, only odd birds in the mix are the Princess of Wales Royal Regiment and the Irish Guards guys who could go either way.'
Turning to Kingsley he grinned. 'What about you, what do you think?' Kingsley shrugged Non-committally.
'I think I need a drink, you coming.' Baker watched his friend turn and walk away as he looked at his watch. 'Fuck it, go on then.'
They walked off towards the Sergeant's mess, amicably chatting between themselves.
Hamilton and Jones, both corporals in the Princess of Wales Royal Regiment, quickly coasted through the corridor ahead of them. The floor was slick with stagnant water and slime from the dilapidated state of the building; the soft pattering of dripping water echoed back at them as they stopped momentarily to gain their bearings. Silently they both dropped to one knee, back-to-back they covered either end of the corridor as Jones checked the small map in his hand. Taping Hamilton on the head he rose to his feet and moved off watching his footing as the floor groaned beneath him.
Both men moved as quietly as they could, ears pricked for the slightest sound, Jones' eyes narrowed as he watched the water covering the floor shift. A small rolling ripple flowed out from the corner ahead as a shambling Infected shuffled into view; its flesh puckered and blue its dull lifeless eyes searching for anything resembling food as it scanned the darkness.
Both men slid to a stop, their trainer covered feet gliding as they aquaplaned on the liquid covered floor; almost tripping, they fought for traction. Their guns spat out rapid bursts of the small pellets near simultaneously, a hissing puff of compressed air rolling from the barrels in a conical spray.
The shuffling Infected jerked with the impact as the pellets crashed into its shoulder and throat. The Infected pirouetted on its heels its atrophying muscles and ligaments doing little to support its dying plague ridden body. They scrambled to their feet as the creature, with a wailing screech, charged at the pair. Bare feet slapped water as it ploughed towards them, its eyes suddenly dancing with a feral awareness it had lacked only seconds before. Its mouth opened in what could only have been an attempted snarl, the twisted black gums doing little to slake the nightmare inducing image before the two career servicemen.
Hamilton was first to his feet, shaking his head side to side as he tried in vain to clear the haze from where his head had hit the floor. Looking up all he saw was the torn bloodied shirt of the Infected and the small stitched name tag sewn into it as it bodily slammed into him. Hitting the floor he began to convulse as the suit delivered shock after shock into his prostrate form.
His teeth chattered as he grimaced, groaning with effort as he tried to push the creature off of his chest. His breath rasped as the bound fists of the Infected slammed into his torso, the dull crunch of its bound hands echoing off the walls as it attempted to rip him limb from limb. Leaping to his feet Jones fired off three rapid bursts into the Infected's head from point blank range watching the pellets punch through its weakened semi-necrotic skull, the exit wound blossomed like a macabre rose bathing Hamilton in a putrid paste of brain matter and skull fragments.
Wiping his gloved hand over the ballistics mask he wore, Hamilton could feel the wet paste-like texture of crushed grey matter and the grit like quality of its shattered skull grating over the hardened plastic mask covering his face, he curled his fingers scooping the mixture up into his hand and letting it fall to the floor with a plop akin to dripping porridge.
Holding his hand out Jones helped Hamilton to his feet the light reflecting in his eye drew his attention as he glanced to his watch covered wrist.
'Fuck, we better move, three minutes till rendezvous.'
Casting his gaze sideways Jones gave voice to his as yet unasked question.
'How does that feel anyway?'
Hamilton punched Jones in the chest, his irate anger at being shocked twice in the space of thirty minutes spilling over slightly as he watched the contorted features of his friend and squad mate glare back at him from behind his mask.
'Like that.'
Holding his hand out Hamilton helped Jones to his feet both men continuing onwards to their rendezvous point.
****
Mariani and Fisher ghosted through their zone with surgical precision, the two Irish Guardsmen didn't bat an eyelid as three Infected came stumbling out of a doorway ahead of them, guns pressed tightly into their shoulders the small weapons spat six times and they watched as all three Infected fell to the floor immobilised.
'Is it just me or is this a little boring, these things are far to easy to take down.'
Glancing to his left he saw Fisher grin as they made their way round the corner.
'Don't forget bud these have been stewing in their juices for God knows how long, the newly Infected are basically a psychotic version of me or you with a massive appetite for anything edible, so yeah of course these are going to be easy to slot, they're already half way dead.'
****
In the control centre two officers stood and watched the men progress on the hidden cameras that covered the entire training arena.
'They're getting bored huh.'
Colinson leaned over staring at the monitor in front of him.
'Okay, release subjects twenty-three, eighteen, ninety-two and one hundred and six into their zone see how they do with them.
The Americans were kind enough to send over a fresh batch last week so that should liven things up and give them some livelier meat to play with.'
A technician nodded as he programmed the parameters into the computer terminal in front of him, watching the monitor to his right as it snapped between cameras watching as each door opened revealing it's flesh starved occupant.
****
Corporals Riley and Baxter moved silent as wraiths dropping anything that came into their path, turning to their right, a small beep was heard and two impact proof Plexi-glass doors slid into place blocking their entrance and exit, panic began to slowly rise in both Commandos, guns pressed tighter to their shoulders as they spun in all directions, covering any and all possible firing angles their minds could conjure up.
'Congratulations gentlemen, rest easy you are in no danger here, you both successfully reached your rendezvous point well ahead of schedule, very well done.'
Both men visibly relaxed as the voice issued from hidden speakers in the walls, 'set your weapons down in the box that is appearing to your left and exit through the door on your right, again well done men, welcome to stage two.'
Dropping their weapons into the box the two Commandos made their way out into the evening sun. Riley rubbing at his sweat dampened hair as he marched out through the door.
'That was quick.'
Baxter just shrugged as he walked over to the small grass embankment outside the building and lay down closing his eyes against the warming light of the sun.
****
Sharp and Hooper, wandered down the corridor weapons held lazily in their arms as they chatted to one another.
'So Splinter, how's the missus?'
Sharps eye brow rose as he looked at his friend.
'How many times have I asked you now, to not call me that, I used it once a chat up line, and you've hounded me with it ever since, fuck my life your annoying.'
Hooper laughed as he watched his friend bristle at the name.
'Oh you know, it's a quirk of mine, annoyi
ng people'
He went quiet, letting the sentence trail off as he listened before speaking again.
'And if I heard that right there should be three Infected round the corner here, you want 'em?'
Richard 'Splinter' Sharp Shrugged.
'Orite then, I was getting a little restless.'
Sharp jogged ahead his gun pressed loosely to his shoulder, sixty seconds later Hooper walked round the corner to see Sharp stood amongst three unconscious Infected.
'Come on then ya lazy git took ya long enough to get here, I reckon we got another three hundred meters then we hit the RV, fancy a run?'
Hooper Shrugged, 'guess so, not much else to do, could use a bit of exercise.'
Both SAS troopers took off at a dead sprint towards their rendezvous point under the watchful eye of the two Instructors.
A technician watched the two men move off screen as he turned to face Colinson, the wire-thin Lance corporal by the name of Hendrix motioned sharply catching Colinson's attention.
'Sir, shall I release any more into Sharp and Hooper’s target area?'
'Negative Lance Corporal, no point they would just drop them as easily as the rest, we've hit gold so far with these men, except for the slip up with the two PWRR boys all have passed with flying colours, let them pass unhindered, they've earned it, and Lance corporal,' the young military technician looked up expectantly, 'don't call me sir I work for a living.'
'Yes Captain.'
14
The remaining two teams of Special Forces troopers cleaned their zones with the accuracy of master surgeons, making their rendezvous points a full four minutes ahead of schedule.
Davies and Clarkenwell strolled out of the building with Clarkenwell grinning from ear to ear. Stopping next to Hooper and Sharp the two soldiers glanced at the new comers.
'What the hell got you so happy?' Hooper quizzed the still grinning Clarkenwell. Throwing a thumb over his shoulder he pointed at Davies.
