Z Plan
Blood on the Sand
Mikhail Lerma
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s over
active and bizarre imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2012 by Mikhail Lerma
All rights reserved.
ISBN-13:
978-1477682005
ISBN-10:
1477682007
DEDICATION
For my brothers and sisters in arms; may we all find our way home.
And to my loving wife, who pushed me to take this up again, and to finally finish
Special Thanks
I would like to acknowledge Martinez, the guy I was on fire duty with, when this idea came to me. If he hadn’t been spooked by the slow moving civilian, this book may not have ever been written. Also, thanks to my wife Brooke, who motivated me day after day, and whose invaluable advice and suggestions helped make this story what it finally is. I’d like to thank the ‘real’ Zach, who helped me get started, and the ‘real’ Cacy, who not only let me use his name, but also made me take breaks from playing Halo to write. I’d also like to thank my good friend Blair, who every day put up with me ranting about zombies.
With special thanks to Glenda Wildeman, my editor.
Prologue
He laid on the old beat up mattress on the floor, staring at the spot on the ceiling. It was dark brown, water maybe, or maybe even an old blood stain. The curtains hanging in the window began to rustle. The breeze brought in the putrid smell of the crowds of undead wandering the streets outside, their moans never ceasing.
How did he get here? The past few weeks had been a nightmarish blur, running for his life from masses of undead cannibals. He’d had nightmares about this very thing since he was a child, ever since he had seen Return of the Living Dead. Those zombies couldn’t be killed. The ones in the Romero movies could be though; you just had to destroy their brains.
At least he was kind of prepared for this sort of thing. He chuckled to himself, “Who knew Romero would be so accurate? Can’t stay here long, they’ll start gathering again.” He sat up and stretched, making the wound in his side sting for a moment.
Cale had become accustomed to sleeping short hours and packing lightly. He’d also gotten used to talking to himself. It was really the only thing he could do to keep from going mad.
It was like the whole world had gone insane. It started with breakouts of some new form of rabies. Mass acts of violence, murder, and suicide. Most people were calling it an End of Days, the Apocalypse, or Armageddon. Cale thought it was ridiculous what the superstitious freaks thought of.
He believed it was a virus of some kind, nothing magical. Hell hadn’t filled up. Somewhere, someone fucked up. They didn’t wash their hands or something. He put on his boots. Most of his combat uniform, with stains of dirt and blood, he kept. He discarded the top, but kept the undershirt, boots, and pants. Cale looked for the practical reasons for keeping things. He kept the boots because they were comfortable and you could run in them, the pants because they had enough pockets to hold everything he’d need, like snack foods, ammo clips, and his lucky charm. Most importantly, a green piece of cloth, cut to look like a tiny American soldier, and a red, white, and blue charm bracelet identical to the ones his wife and daughter wore.
He often wondered if they made it to his mother-in-law’s. They were going to visit her family in Illinois for the holidays. The last time he talked to his wife, and it seemed so long ago now, he asked her if anything was happening there. Nothing had been reported yet. The outbreaks had started somewhere in Africa. She assured him they’d be fine. After tying his last boot he walked to the dresser for his knife. Actually it wasn’t his knife at all. It had belonged to his friend, most definitely his best friend in the war. It was a remake of a WWII British combat knife.
It was his fault that Zach was now dead. He, after all, suggested they split up.
Part I
Life As It Was
“It is very easy to take for granted the phenomenon that we are each alive, but we must try not to.”
-Alex Grey
2
Same Shit Different Day
Cale was six months into his deployment to Iraq now. Most of his time was spent on the road. The missions seemed to blend together now. It was always, “Escort these trucks here, and then escort these ones back”. This wasn’t at all what they had trained for in Ft. Bragg. They were originally supposed to be a convoy operation. They were to drive “green trucks” here, unload or upload, and drive back to base. They received a FRAGO (fragment order) with two weeks left of training.
The new mission was convoy security. For some, nothing changed, other than the vehicles they were operating. For Cale and a few others however, they’d be going to the .50 cal range. He admits, at first he didn’t want to. It was the fear of responsibility. Firstly, he didn’t want to learn a new weapon system. He slid by in mediocrity as best as he could. Secondly, as a machine gunner he might have to shoot at someone, something he didn’t want to do. This was part of the reason he’d picked the MOS (military occupation specialty) of Motor Transport Operator in the first place. He’d do what he had to, but only as a last resort.
Any down time he had, had been spent playing Halo 3 or messaging his wife. He was a bit of an insomniac, so the time difference didn’t bother him too much. Today, however, the internet had been taken offline. It always happened when a soldier had been killed. It kept soldiers from releasing the news before the military could send someone to do it properly. Some soldiers were even dumb enough to post it on their MySpace or Facebook pages.
This didn’t affect videogames, though. He and a large number of his fellow soldiers had their Xbox consoles linked together through a hub. Each person could play with everyone else from the comfort of their own room.
His room, like everyone else’s, was small. It was just big enough to put a bed and wall locker at either end, with a “common” space in between. He and his roommate integrated their spaces. Cale and Zach had worked out a bunk bed system. Utilizing tent poles, Zach’s bed was elevated above Cale’s. They’d turned the beds perpendicular to each other, to form an ‘L’. That way, Zach could use Cale’s bed as a step ladder, and Cale could sit up at one end without hitting his head.
The two of them got along really well. They were first introduced to each other in Fort Bragg. Zach was to be his driver and roommate. The two didn’t really talk much in the beginning. It wasn’t until one night, Cale was brushing his teeth in the latrine, when Zach walked in, and went to a sink. Zach began checking his earring holes, making sure they hadn’t sealed. Even though Zach loved the military, he liked being an individual. Zach was the product of a Catholic family. He wanted to rebel against whatever he could. He always wanted to blaze his own path. He was tall with dark brown hair and lean, very lean. He had to have weighed a buck fifteen soaking wet. His most dominant feature was his nose. Not freakishly large, but large for his build.
Cale himself was of medium build. Not too thin but not chubby either. If you were to ask his wife what his most attractive features were, she’d say his blue eyes and his dark hair. The two seemed to complement each other. His eyes were almost sky blue at times, but would look dark at others. He claimed what made his eyes appealing, was that they reflected the brightness of his surroundings.
As Zach checked his ears, Cale watched. Spitting his toothpaste into the sink, he asked, “You have both ears pierced?”
“Yeah. What of it?” Zach replied.
> “What are you? A cross dresser?” Cale inquired.
Of course the question was rhetorical and meant as a joke, but there was a moment of silence. Zach analyzed Cale, trying to size him up. If this was the kind of asshole he was going to be, this would be a long deployment. Cale cracked a smile and laughed. Zach couldn’t help but laugh too. Since then, the two got on great. They never really disagreed about anything.
The two of them sat in their room playing Halo 3. It was always eight two-man teams. Zach and Cale worked extremely well together, and always a full thirty points above any other team. The score was set to one hundred kills. They always managed to about break even. Zach however was probably the better player. Most of the time he came out on top, with fifty five kills for their team. Cale had never played Halo until Zach talked him into buying it.
Today’s match was eight versus eight. With the blue team up by twelve, Zach of course, was running up the most kills.
“Smoke break after this round.” Cacy’s voice crackled over the headset.
This was of course followed by a dozen ‘Rogers’. The only downside to playing with all smokers was a ten minute smoke break after every round. This gave Zach and Cale time to look at new armor or weapon placements. The match ended and everyone put their controllers down to congregate outside Cacy’s room. The duo decided to go over just to stretch their legs.
Cacy lived in the next CHU (combat housing unit) down. He and Travis were well known for their homemade burn pit. Travis even made his own fireworks from time to time. By the time Zach and Cale rounded the corner, there was already a cloud of smoke. It seemed everyone in Iraq smoked. Around the burn pit were at least a dozen people, all with cigarettes in their hands. The group began talking about the last round; discussing amazing kills, insane ambushes, and the occasional ‘lucky shot’.
“Who the FUCK is Elite?” one of them asked.
Cale recognized this guy as Bret. His gamer tag was Killa Bret. Cale had known Bret ever since he’d enlisted five years ago.
“That would be Cale.” Zach replied.
Bret looked at Cale with frustration. “Every time I found myself a nice place to start sniping from, you’d pick me off.”
“Yeah. I actually watched you get all settled in and made sure you were comfortable before I killed you.” Cale remarked with a laugh.
“You’re an asshole.” Bret said with a smile.
Someone else was approaching the group. It was Randall, who also had a cigarette in his hand. He lived in the CHU just north of Cale and Zach.
“I think we need to split Cale and Zach up,” he said. “You two are always at the top of the board.”
“I think we should just switch to free-for-all,” Nick said.
Nick was a short guy with dark hair. His tag was Eight-fingers on account of that he only had eight fingers. He’d blown off parts of his hand as a kid. His older brother bet him he couldn’t hold an M80 firecracker as long as he could. Nick won that bet.
“It offers a plethora of targets,” he stated.
Nick was extremely intelligent. What he was doing as a grunt in the army, Cale didn’t know. After mingling for a while, the group returned to their respective rooms to continue their grudge matches.
Today was going to be a slow day. Their platoon had already cleaned up the company area, and had their inspections taken care of. Zach and Cale would be going on a mission tomorrow night. Mission frequency had declined considerably, especially since the news story broke about an epidemic sweeping Africa. It was a new form of rabies or something. Cale didn’t really pay attention to the details of it, not realizing just how close the affected area was.
The Mission
On the day of the mission, the members of the convoy filed into the briefing, half asleep. These things were all the same. They’d receive their mission brief along with any Intel gathered within the last two weeks. Then they’d go over the rules of engagement and their escalation of force, followed by a prayer from the Chaplain. The prayer always made Cale kind of laugh inside. It was always about being a good person and doing the “right thing,” but always contained the words; “And may the bombs of our enemies blow them up instead, Oh Lord.”
It just didn’t seem the Christian thing to say. Cale, not being big on prayer, always just asked that no one got hurt, insurgents included. That seemed like the right thing to do.
After the briefing was over, everyone went outside, where breakfast was waiting in an area with a canvas over it. It was, of course, still dark, and hours before the sun would come up. Cale looked at his watch. 0217. They had till 0230 to get on the trucks, because they’d start rolling out at 0245. Everyone ate quickly and quietly. They’d been lucky so far, but today could be the day they got hit by an IED (improvised explosive device.) Once breakfast was over, they piled into their gun trucks.
Zach and Cale walked to GT112 in silence. Once in the truck they began talking about the same things they’d discussed a hundred times before; how things were back home, how they hated this country, how they hated this war, etc. Staff Sergeant McGregor climbed into the truck’s passenger seat, referred to as the commander’s seat. McGregor was a quiet guy; he was friendly, but quiet. He always spoke of his wife Diana and his daughter Kimmy. He was family oriented, which made it very easy for the three of them to get along. McGregor was the convoy commander as well. Not only was he in charge of the actions of GT112, but the safety and actions of the entire convoy.
The convoy went like any other. Each checkpoint was memorized now. Nothing but endless dirt and sand as far as the eye could see, this was southern Iraq. Once you got past Scania you would start seeing some green. The roads were mostly clear all the way up into Baghdad. Two days in Baghdad, and they’d start heading back down south.
On that morning, their trucks exited the gate, never expecting to see what they saw.
Exodus
The roads were packed. The MSR (main supply route) had lines of cars heading north. The convoy’s presence forced the northbound travelers off the road, and into the desert. The convoy drove about a half mile west of the MSR, but then paralleled it. The military convoy was travelling south in the northbound lane. They often drove on alternating sides of the road to keep the insurgents guessing. You never wanted to continue in a pattern they could anticipate.
“The Intel brief didn’t say anything about a holiday, did it?” Cale asked.
“Not that I recall,” answered McGregor.
“Then what’s going on?” Cale asked again.
“Should we call this up?’ Zach inquired.
The three of them discussed it within the truck and decided it probably didn’t matter. It was the topic of debate on the internal convoy frequency.
“Plus side is the damn towel heads won’t be bombing their own,” someone in another gun truck said.
“Shit. Are you kidding? They’re always killing each other anyway,” someone else replied.
The chatter went on for about an hour. The conversation was filled with honest inquiries, and slanderous feedback.
“Alright, let’s keep the chatter to a minimum, just in case someone may actually need to call something up,” McGregor said.
Each gun truck called back a response, saying they got the message. Cale had resumed listening to his iPod after the first twenty minutes, ignoring most of what was said. Having your ear buds in on convoy was not allowed, but McGregor didn’t seem to mind. As long as Cale did his job, McGregor didn’t care what he did. As far as he was concerned, Cale was a good guy, and likely one of his favorite soldiers. Cale of course suspected as much, but would never take advantage of it.
The civilian traffic continued north and stretched for what seemed like forever. There was zero space left between vehicles, not that they could see much anyway. The dust and sand the traffic kicked up made it hard to see anything. Cale was constantly removing his protective goggles to wipe away whatever particles stuck to them. He was half tempted to just leave them off, but fe
ared eye infection. He’d heard somewhere that the air here contained ten percent fecal matter. Each breath was a horrible reminder of that, fact or not. He was sure there was lots of stuff in the air he didn’t even know about. McGregor called up to higher to notify them of the convoy’s entry into their battle space.
“Can I get a sitrep (situation report) on the civilian traffic?”
“We know about as much as you,” replied the ops personnel on the other end.
“Alright, well, we’re about ten miles from base,” McGregor said.
“Roger. We’ll get the maintenance bays open for you. Out.” The operator terminated his transmission.
“I wonder if they’re going to turn and burn us,” Zach conjectured.
“Normally they’d let me know if that were the case,” McGregor said.
The civilian traffic was at a slow crawl when they made the turn to base. The front gate and entry point one were about three miles from the MSR. Cale looked back at the line of cars headed north. Even in the low light he could see that each vehicle was packed to maximum capacity. Some cars even exceeded the occupancy limit for the vehicle. He wondered what this was. During Ramadan, they would all travel at night, large groups of them. However, Ramadan was back in October. Whatever it was, it must have been important.
The convoy entered the entry control point, and proceeded back to the company area. Each gun truck circled and staged in the large motor pool next to the company building. The motor pool was nothing but a large parking lot, paved with loose white rock.
The company area consisted of three main buildings, surrounded by massive concrete barriers. Outside of those barriers were a series of containers, each housing something of importance. One had weapons in it. Another may have spare parts for the trucks. Behind the company area was what once might have been the foundation of a building. The building had had a basement, but that had been flooded long before their arrival.
Blood on the Sand (Z Plan) Page 1
