Zombie Theorem (Book 4): Aces Mortis

by James Wallace

  Butch didn’t stop to watch the after effects of the explosion and shouted at his men to retreat to the Chinook. He grabbed Dio by his armor straps and pulled him after. The crew chief of the Chinook motioned for them to hurry and pulled back on the charging handle of his machine gun and started leaning in on it as he fired long bursts behind and over the men’s heads. As the Seals reached the ramp, the pilots pulled back on their sticks and the two huge rotors clawed at the air to pull its thirty-three-thousand plus pounds into the air. The crew chief screamed as he went down on the ramp with a zombie on top of him. The only thing keeping him in the helicopter were his straps he had attached to the frame of the copter and himself. Hashkeh moved quickly, grabbing the head of the zombie and pulling back and up. He had pulled so hard the zombie’s arms pulled free out of its sockets and fell limp on the crew chief’s chest. Hashkeh spit in the zombie’s face and threw it off the ramp. He turned on the crew chief and watched closely as the man pulled the bloody stumps off his chest and tossed them outside. The crew chief pulled off his chest rig and rolled up his sleeves. He looked over his arms and then at the far side of his forearm as blood pooled then dripped onto the closing ramp. His face paled and he grabbed his sidearm off his belt holster, snapping it to his head. Hashkeh reached out lightning fast and enclosed the man’s hand in his. He wouldn’t let the man pull the trigger. Hashkeh bent the man’s arm back and examined the wound.

  “This is not caused by the teeth of the bite. The zombie had pinched the skin with your sleeve and pulled the skin free. You are not infected, but if you wish to throw away your life when your brothers need you most, then do not let me stop you,” he let go of the man’s gun hand. The crew chief stared at the gun like it was the first time he had ever seen it before. He slowly, as if in a dream holstered his weapon and moved to a first aid kit. Dio met him there and assisted with the disinfecting and cleaning of the wound, and bandaged it.

  The pilots fought with the big Chinook, something felt wrong Butch could feel the shutter. He moved forward and stuck a headset on. “What’s going on, guys?”

  “A little busy right now, Master Chief,” the pilot answered, fighting with the stick.

  The copilot started flipping switches, and turned his head enough to see Butch. “Something from that exploding Hornet hit us, the rear rotors to be exact. We have a heavy vibration coming from back there. I think we can keep it airborne and even limp back to the carrier. But we are out of this mission, we couldn’t lift a flea right now in the shape we are in.”

  Butch stroked his long beard in thought. “Fuck it, open the rear hatch and drop us over the golf course as you head back over water. Those men down there are going to need us.”

  “We won’t be able to slow down much. I am afraid we will never be able to get our speed back.”

  Butch opened the file cabinet in his brain and went through a hundred different scenarios in less than a minute. He chose the one he thought gave him and his men the best chance at survival and put them back in the fight. “There is a water hazard in the middle of the golf course. Try and pass it as slow and low as you dare. We will free jump, we have no choice,” he tore the headset off, not willing to argue or hear the pilots whining.

  Butch strode to the rear and motioned for his men to get up. “Grab your gear, we are going out the ramp into the water hazard at the golf course. The helo has been hit and they are aborting the mission. They cannot afford to fly slow or low. So, we are going to jump and see what happens,”

  “We didn’t come to sit on our hands or jerk off, so let’s get in the fight, Master Chief,” shouted Lupo.

  “Glad you feel that way. And thank you for volunteering to go first,” he slapped the control button to lower the ramp and moved to the edge.

  Lupo came forward and reached up, holding on to a strap at the top of the overhead in the helo. He watched the grass go by and prepared himself to jump. The crew chief yelled and slapped his back. “GO!”

  Lupo wasted no time and jumped from the ramp, he was in the air for a millisecond, he raised his legs and took the landing into the water on his ass. He skipped for a moment across the water and then slowed and sunk into the three feet of liquid. He rolled to his right and submerged face first, getting out of the way of the rest of his team. As he came to his knees, he witnessed his team breach the water's rippling surface. He then turned his head and tracked the Chinook as it disappeared behind trees and then out over the ocean. He coughed up a little bit of water and rubbed his sore lower back. “Next time, I am not going ass first,” he muttered to himself.

  “I thought it was terrific you went ass first. I give you a five for difficulty, but a seven for technique. Now get your sore ass up, we need to get moving,” Butch stood up next to him and waded to the shore and up to the putting green. Water sloshing off his BUDs and equipment.

  The men did a quick supply and weapon check. Butch had left his SAW aboard the Chinook and was only armed with his sidearm, bladed weapon, and Kabar knife. The rest of the team came out fine with all weapons intact. He took a bead on the direction they needed to move and took off at a jog. He tried his radio and found it still worked. “Nunzio, Butch. Come in. Over,” he called out.

  “I heard you guys lost a bird and that your helo was damaged. I figured you were going back with them, I should’ve known you guys were too stupid to do that. What is your posit?”

  “Our position is on the golf course. We are moving up towards the Ocean Boulevard. We have a large housing tract in front of us that is going to slow us down if there are any putrefied roadblocks in our way.”

  “We can’t land on the road, but my pilot says he can do a touch and go on the beach. If you look up and to the east, you will see us coming up on you fast.”

  Butch looked up, and thanked the Gods he remembered to put on his Oakley sunglasses, the sun was rising, washing Coronado in warmth and light. Butch opened his stride, pumping his arms and legs to make it to the beach before they got bogged down by the dead. His men easily stayed close behind Butch, he was the oldest and slowest on the team. Lupo and Dio easily could out distance the team, except for Hashkeh who never seemed to tire, he was raised on a reservation and reveled in running through the fields and mountains.

  The Chinook appeared overhead and hovered over a spot five hundred yards away. “Ahead and to the left, enemy sighted,” Hootie yelled out suddenly.

  Butch kept his stride, but took the time to look off in the direction Hootie called out. He saw a sizeable crowd of at least thirty of the dead things moving in their direction. He judged that they would intercept the men a hundred yards short of their destination. He opened that file cabinet in his head again and went through scenarios, one worse than the next. He came to a reluctant decision and called out to Nunzio on the radio. “We are going to have to stop and un fuck ourselves in a minute. Unless there is something you can do to assist.”

  “What? You mean to tell me the big balled hairy tier one guys needs help from little old me?” Nunzio called back with laughter in his voice.

  “Dragonfly one on scene, we would be happy to help the knuckle draggers. That is if they are buying the first two rounds,” a voice broke over on the channel.

  A shadow crossed over the Seals as they ran, causing them to crane their necks up. One of the Apache helicopters sat overhead, its nose cannon coming to life and spitting 30mm M789 High Explosive Dual Purpose rounds at six hundred and twenty-five rounds a minute. The rounds plowed into the bodies, literally blowing them apart and littering their parts ten yards away. Dragonfly one stayed on the scene covering the Seals as they ran. The gun would chatter in short bursts, taking care of problems that the men didn’t have time to turn and deal with. As Butch and his men hit a small grassy hill leading them to the beach, the Chinook lowered its ramp and settled down on the sand.

  Lupo and Dio passed Butch and stopped feet from the Chinook’s ramp and turned to cover the rest of their team as they filed past and up the ramp. Nunzio stood at the
top of the ramp wearing a sly grin on his lips. Butch raised a finger up, motioning for Nunzio to give him a moment. He clicked on his radio and called out. “Dragonfly One, thank you for the assist. Tell you what, if we are ever in a bar with you, you and yours drink for free.”

  “I think you just made my pilot start drooling, I can feel it dripping down the back of my neck. Glad we could help guys,” a female voice answered. Butch guessed she must be the gunner.

  The Chinook left its ramp open and lifted off the sand as soon as Lupo and Dio stepped on. They rose into the air higher and higher. Hashkeh stood at the end of the ramp, his BDUs, battle dress uniform, flapped in the wind created by the Chinooks rotors. He examined the houses and buildings as they flashed past. Something was on his mind, but he could not capture what it was that kept his attention. He would need time to reflect, and ask his Gods to help him.

  Butch took Nunzio’s arm and walked him to the front of the Chinook. “How is the mission progressing?” he had to shout to be heard over the whopping of the blades overhead beating the air into submission to keep the Chinook in the air.

  “They have met resistance, but are doing well. The Marines from the USS Zumwalt have made an appearance and inserted themselves into a heavy pitched battle. They were able to turn it around and are even now guarding our brothers as they prepare the vehicles and weapons. We have a problem though,” Nunzio took off his cover and ran his hand through his black bushy hair.

  Butch closed his eyes and prepared himself for the bad news. He knew they would overcome whatever it was. He had no doubt he would really like it if one plan would go off without a hitch though. “Alright, lay it on me.”

  “With your Chinook out of action, we have no way to move all the vehicles and weapons,” Nunzio informed.

  “Okay, give me a minute. I will figure something out,” Butch was upset with himself that he had not figured the problem out ahead of time. He pulled a can of chew out of his vest and snapped the can in his fingers. He cracked the can open took a large pinch of the tobacco and inserted it between his cheek and gum. He offered it to Nunzio who motioned no. “Looks like I picked the wrong week to give up chew,” he said dryly.

  “Are you really trying to quote the movie Airplane? Surely you can’t be serious.”

  “I am serious and don’t call me Shirley,” one of the pilots called over his shoulder from the cockpit.

  “Everyone is a joker now, huh?” Butch said through the big gob of chew. He reached over Nunzio and took a bottle of water out of the webbing on the wall. He cracked open the lid and drained it in one shot. Once it was empty, he spit a large brown gob of tobacco juice into it.

  “I thought real men swallowed that stuff,” Nunzio said with a disgusting look on his face.

  “Really, you are going to give me shit now? Just as I came up with a way to solve your little problem?”

  Nunzio raised his hands in front of his chest, palms out in a surrender suggestion. “I apologize, Compagno.”

  “I speak better Italian than you, and I am a purebred wasp from Nebraska,” Butch grumbled out.

  “Yeah, yeah. Whatever, so what is your solution to our problem?” Nunzio looked out the front windscreen of the helo and examined the scene. One of the Chinooks hovered over a large building, with a huge hole in the roof. A strap connected to the big helo hung down into the hole and looked to be in the process of pulling something out.

  “Me and my boys will drive the vehicles out of here,” Butch spit another big stream of the juice into his water bottle.

  Nunzio squinted his eyes and shook his head. “What the fuck kind of plan is that? There is no way you guys could make it off the island much less through San Diego.”

  “We are in the business of making the impossible possible, buddy. Adapt and overcome and all,” Butch winked at him.

  “I am telling you Butch, there is no way you are going to get through San Diego,” Nunzio tapped the co-pilot on the shoulder. “This idiot thinks he can drive through San Diego, mind flying over the city real quick so he can come to his senses?” he jerked his thumb at Butch.

  The pilot moved his thumb and forefinger together in the universal ‘ok’ gesture. The Chinook gained altitude and banked out of its leisure race track pattern it had been flying over the scene unfolding below them. The Apache escort stuck to its ass and followed. They flew over the bridge first and Butch could see it was crowded with the dead. But he judged they could get through them. Next, he saw the city itself. The streets looked alive, the masses of dead took on the image of maggots feeding on the carcass of a great animal. Everywhere Butch looked he could not find a way through the mighty horde. He judged they would make it one block and then be swept away in the wave of dead, torn apart and fed upon. He felt deflated, there had to be a way to make this work.

  It hit him like a punch from a young Mike Tyson. “Okay, your point is valid. But I have a different idea. When we drove into this city and then boarded a boat and came to Coronado, we could drive free enough. So, we change our plans and insert just outside of the city in the hills. The Chinooks can make multiple trips, then we head overland east of LA and to those poor bastards getting their asses handed to them.”

  Nunzio looked down to his tablet and called up a map of the hills north of San Diego. Butch stabbed his finger at a point in the hills. Nunzio did the calculations of time it would take to get the vehicles and supplies delivered there. He rocked his head side to side as he did the math and discarded the risks. “We need to move fast to make this work,” he turned to the pilots and spoke into the mic of his headset he pulled off his neck and placed back on his ears. “I need a channel to Commander Langham. While I update her, I want you to deliver these coordinates to your other helos. I want as much equipment moved there ASAP, tell them not to dawdle and get to it,” the copilot hit some switches and moved Nunzio on to a separate channel to the Reagan. He then relayed the new coordinates to the other Chinooks, alerting them to the change in orders.

  Butch patted Nunzio on the shoulder and let the Lt take care of the coordinating. He had his own orders to give to his men. He worked his way down the bay and stood in front of the team as they waited anxiously. “Okay, here is the situation. With our helo out of the fight, we had to change our parameters. Nunzio and I changed the muster point to the hill we sat on overlooking San Diego the other day. We will then take the vehicles overland and complete our mission, hopefully at some point Chun will make an appearance and join us. Any questions or concerns?”

  “I’ll start working on the route on my map with Hashkeh, we should be able to use some of the same routes we came in on unless some hordes have shifted. Can one of the Apaches fly the route and check for us?” Lupo asked while removing a map from his thigh pocket.

  “Fuel is going to start becoming an issue very quickly. Hurry up and get the route mapped out and then I will make the request,” Butch scratched his chin.

  “Aye, aye Master Chief.” Hashkeh produced a grease pencil and sat with Lupo, huddling over the map and working through the problem in front of them.

  Nunzio bounced a plastic bottle off Butch’s shoulder, getting his attention. Once he had it, he motioned him over. “Alright, first I just love pissing off Commanders. Secondly, I alerted the teams down below, they say shit is getting hairy down there. The first two loads are on their way, we will be maneuvering into position to take our first load,” he pointed out the cockpit and to the incoming hordes coming south through the tract housing.

  “How about the horde you led away to the bridge?”

  “That is not looking good either, they are growing in size, collecting new dead along the way. That number has doubled in size and keeps growing.”

  Butch motioned for the headset. Nunzio offered it over without question. Butch settled it over his ears and then thought of something. “What is the call signs for those Ospreys?”

  “Reaper One, and Two,” answered the copilot.

  “Outstanding,” he directed to th
e copilot. “Reaper One, this is,” he looked to Nunzio.

  “Our call sign is Big Bird One.”

  Butch gave him a look as if to say ‘are you serious’. “Reaper One, this is Big Bird One.”

  “Go ahead, Big Bird One,” the calm, professional voice came back.

  “Reaper One, what kind of armament are you loaded up with?”

  “Big Bird One, Reaper One and Two are loaded with our 30mm cannon, two Hellfires each, and two Hades bombs between us.”

  “Reaper One, what the hell is a Hades bomb?” a confused look came over Butch’s face.

  “Big Bird One, the Hades bomb is like steroid hopped up napalm. When it goes boom, an area the size of a football field squared goes up in a lake of fire.”