by Vic Sandel
“Human or not, I'm going too!” Glen Sanders stood up. He was carrying the Springfield slung over his shoulder, and his arms cradled the BAR. Every pocket was packed with loaded clips.
“Sir, I know I promised no cowboy antics and to be part of the team. Believe me I'm not playing Roy Rogers. You need someone who can deliver head shots while the team gets things going. Who do you have, vampire or not, that can do it better than me?”
He walked over to where Bradley was standing and put a hand on his shoulder. “Besides, I'm really getting to like this big guy. He needs my help to stay out of trouble.”
“Okay, Mr. Sanders, I accept your reasons and you're offer. Thank you!”
Before they could position the big helicopter, the two F-16s roared overhead.
“They're being overwhelmed ,Doug, we've got to close up that tunnel!”
“Roger that. Our missiles have more juice that what the helicopters carried. Let's see what a couple of “Sidewinders” will do.”
Doug Abbington streaked downward and fired the two missiles right on target into the tunnel.
Bob Eller followed right in his slipstream and sent two more against the sides of the tunnel.
As the smoke cleared, the zombies were moving through again, despite the many losses they have suffered. A few small pieces of rock had broken off near the mouth of the structure.
Two more rockets each had about the same result.
The jets had two more rockets each. They decided they would be best used in trying to break up the crowd to give the ice idea more room to work.
They both sped in and fired their last rockets. The zombies flew everywhere amid the powerful explosions. Maybe five or six hundred were terminated, but with more still flowing in from the tunnel, the net result was nil.
Bob's air-to-air radio came alive. “Buddy, we can't help them unless we can close that tunnel. Thanks for flying with me and helping me get my life back!”
Before Bob could grasp the meaning of Doug's message, he saw his comrade's plane streak past him at afterburner speeds, heading for the mouth of the tunnel.
There was no thinking about it. Within a second, Major Douglas Abbington made the only decision he could. The tunnel had to be closed, period. He armed all his ordinance and dashed for the tunnel. His last thoughts were clear. Let those sons-of-bitches pry an F-16 out of their way!
The plane was perfectly guided. As it entered the opening the wings collapsed spilling jet fuel everywhere. A few seconds later, the rest of the plane hit the ground exploding in a giant fireball, enhanced by two Napalm bombs and the Hades. Everything that had been inside the tunnel was engulfed in the force of the explosion and flames. It would be a while before anything else came through there, if ever.
In spite of the feelings of shock and dis-belief Bradley urged the stunned pilots to place the Chinook over the flatbed as he threw over the ropes he had secured earlier. Minutes later Brad and eleven other V-men from CAG-1 slid down the ropes along with one human, Glen Sanders.
The only thing coming out of the tunnel at that moment was smoke and an occasional lick of flame. But none of the zombies paid any attention to what had happened at the tunnel. They did however see the “fresh food supply” sliding down the ropes.
The flatbed had been armored with four-foot high sections of one inch steel all around. Like an old fortress, gun ports had been cut along the sides.
Instantly, the generator was started and the air separator was activated. A couple of team members grabbed the insulated filling hose and began to spray the freezing slush on the “undead” surrounding the flatbed. Raising the hose they created a path of frozen statues to the nearest fire truck. Another man ran for the truck and got it started. His small sound unit was turned on and as he turned back toward the trailer for a Liquid nitrogen load. The frozen zombies shattered as he approached.
Glen had found himself a high perch atop the nitro maker. As the creatures tried to climb the sides of the trailer, he picked them off, using as little ammo as possible. A few zombies tried to mount the returning fire vehicle but he dispatched those too.
Aiming the hose in the opposite direction, they attempted to clear a path to the armored vehicle with the larger array installed. Unfortunately the stream didn't reach and fell about twenty feet short. The small sound cannon aboard the approaching fire engine shattered the newly frozen, giving the guys a good head start to the little tank.
Being the biggest and one of the strongest V-men, Bradley jumped over the side along with one other vamp and headed for the tank at a flat out run, swinging his machete all the way.
They reached the vehicle, jumped in and locked the doors. It was only then that they realized that neither one of them knew how to drive the thing.
Zombies pounded on the doors and body as they read over the labels on the controls. They were aware that they couldn't pan around with the big, killing sound blaster. They could however narrow the wave and turn it toward specific targets.
The first loaded fire engine left the bed and began to create a new path back to the vehicles with another driver aboard. The brass nozzles froze dozens as seconds later they shattered under the vibration of the broadcast sound. They stopped at a parked fire vehicle and the passenger got out and into the new one. He activated his electronics and headed to the flatbed to be filled up.
Bradley had finally figured the tank out while his teammate studied the panel for the array. Slowly, they began to pull forward and headed towards the bulk of the crowd.
It was working! The plan was finally coming together, thanks to Doug Abbington's sacrifice. During the last thirty minutes or so, not one zombie had passed through the tunnel and the tide was definitely turning.
Enough space had almost been cleared for the Chinook to land.
One more pass with it's nozzles blasting should give them the room they needed. With two vehicles now broadcasting, the zombies they froze would shatter quickly.
With everybody committed to the battle all around them, no one
noticed the blackened and twisted tail section of a USAF F-16 moving backward slowly at the mouth of the tunnel.Bob Eller had been flying around in circles, watching the battle unfold and knowing there was nothing he could do to help. He was taking Doug's loss very hard. In all his years , never had he seen a more selfless act of courage. To top it off, the man had thanked him for giving him back his life. He didn't understand, if he was finally happy to be alive, why surrender that new life? He found within himself the answer. To Doug Abbington, it had been a matter of honor and redemption!
He stared down at the spot where Doug had surrendered his life and was shocked to see the tail section, now partially out of the tunnel. It was hard to see from this height but he could swear it was moving!
He grabbed his mike. “Hey, everyone, they're back in the tunnel. The tail of the plane is almost out!”
He finally knew what he needed to do to help. He descended to only five-hundred feet and decided to follow the tunnel back to the entry point. He needed to terminate every zombie trying to enter that passage.
Actually, the entrance turned out to be pretty easy to find. The fireball that had blown through both sides, when the jet exploded, and had burned away and marked the entire formerly forested area.
There they were, slowly moving like a line for seats to the Super Bowl or something.
“Jessie, you still out there son? Come back.”
“I'm here, 'Pop'.
Just flyin around up here waiting to be needed somewhere.”
“You're needed. Take these coordinates. Kill everything you see trying to get into the tunnel entrance. Then go over the woods for ten miles or so and kill everything you don't see. What's your ETA?”
“Will seven minutes do 'Pappy'?”
“Make it five!”
As Jessie approached the battlefield and the tunnel exit, he could see the lopsided battle below. Thousands of mindless abominations being held off by a little over a dozen h
umans and vampires.
He could see that relief was finally on the way as the Chinook was finally setting down. The numbers would still be out of proportion, but determination and technology was on their side.
As they passed over the tunnel exit, Ron Macklin activated the array. They didn't know if there would be any effect on the zombies inside of the passage but what was there to lose by trying? Passing over the tunnel entrance, however, was another story.
As was the case everywhere else, the “undead” began to fall. They dropped by the hundreds and then the thousands.
Watching Jessie's pass from a couple of miles away on a perpendicular course was Bob Eller. He pumped the air with his fist with the excitement of watching the Skycraft terminating everything it was flying over.
His course had taken him to within one mile of Jessie's craft, but he was safely above the altitude being flown by the other plane. He would pass, above and behind, with no problem.
Unfortunately, there was a problem! Suddenly, Bob spotted a trail of smoke coming from the few remaining trees above the tunnel entrance. Like an arrow the smoke trail was headed directly for the slowly moving Monarch.
It didn't take a computer to know that Bob was looking at the trail from a shoulder-launched Stinger missile. There was no time to analyze who would be firing at an aircraft that was killing zombies. He slammed the throttle forward and dove, pushing the F-16 to pass at the same altitude and directly behind Jessie's plane.
As he passed, he activated the AN/ALE airborne countermeasure dispenser and launched the equipment designed to protect his F-16 from a rocket attack. A few seconds later, neither pilot saw or heard the explosion as the missile was destroyed by the countermeasures.
Unaware of his close call, Jessie continued on his path. There had been no time for warnings. It was a time for immediate action and fortunately Bob Eller had been there to act.
Quickly, the F-16 reversed course, heading for the spot the had seen the smoke trail emanating from. What maniac would help the zombies and if he was atop the tunnel, why hadn't the sonic arrays killed him too? Unless of course he knew what was coming and wore ear protection. But that would make him one of us!
He doubted anyone was still there, but maybe whoever it had been stayed around to see if he hit his target. He locked onto the area and let loose his next-to-last rocket.
Despite the battle raging around him, from his perch atop the air separator, Glen Sanders had seen the missile climb into the air. He couldn’t begin to understand why a weapon would be aimed upward except to shoot down a plane. For the moment his area was clear of targets. He put down the BAR and picked up his sniper weapon. He scanned the area through his powerful scope, and after several minutes spotted someone running among the trees through the raised area above the tunnel. Whoever it was still had the launcher below his arm and secured by a shoulder strap.
It would be a long shot, just over a mile, and the target was moving. Just then, things changed a bit. The man must have run a long way and suddenly stopped, leaning against a tree to catch his breath. Glen made a couple of adjustments to his scope, took a deep breath, began to slowly exhale as he gently squeezed the trigger. The Springfield pounded his shoulder as the round left the barrel. Despite the recoil, he stared through the scope as his target slid down the tree to the ground.
Oddly enough, Glen felt no emotion as he put down the Springfield and went back to the business of terminating zombies.
Chapter 54
Back to the “Moat”
Finally, the Chinook touched down. Six CAG members quickly surrounded the helicopter in a defensive position. Another dozen ran to where six Humvees, fully equipped with sound arrays, are sitting, lined up in a neat row only about seventy five yards away. Swinging their machetes just above shoulder height, they chopped and slashed their way toward the parked vehicles.
Several more jumped aboard the flatbed to reinforce the defenders of the air separator. Still more ran for the few fire vehicles, that are still vertical, and could now be loaded from two sources.
When they are not loading, both the flatbed and Chinook sprayed the freezing mixture at any zombies coming within range.
A couple thousand “undead” however, were not affected when Jessie's Skycraft passed over the tunnel. Being inside, insulated them from the effects of the killing arrays. The tail of Abbington's plane was still moving outward, and by twos and threes, new creatures were joining the battle.
Bob tried to send his last rocket into the tunnel mouth but his shot went wide and struck the side of the passageway instead. He needed a way to clear that tunnel. There was nobody around to help but he put out a call, just in case.
A familiar voice answered. “Hold your water Eller, I'll be there in a second. Just move that beast out of my way and we'll terminate their dead butts!”
The voice was familiar, but using language he had never heard come out of the mouth. “Colonel Dickerson?”
At that moment one of the almost forgotten Hueys dropped straight down out of the sky and hovered at the tunnel mouth. Two rockets, accompanied from a burst from a Gatling had to just about finish anything left inside there.
“Did you think I was gonna let you guys have all the fun!”
“I never knew you could fly sir.”
“Son, I began my military career as a Warrant Officer 1, helicopter pilot. Hell, the damn Huey was just sitting there, so I took it!”
“I thought the Hueys were to remain on the base for backup security. Your words sir.”
“Well, now the Apache and Dolphin are back there rearming and fueling up.”
“Well sir, I thank you. I'm sucking fumes myself and heading back to base.”
“Good job, Eller and thank you.”
“Sir, Abbington, he's......”
“I know Bob, we'll see he's honored when we're done here.”
“Are you also aware that someone fired on Porter's aircraft?”
“No I wasn't, tell me.”
He told the Colonel all about the Stinger missile, where it had been launched from, and what he had done to save Jessie.
“Roger that, and again, good job. I'm going to fly over there and see what I can find.”
Colonel Dickerson flew his Huey slowly over the path of the tunnel, as low as he could go and still clear the treetops. A good many of the trees and foliage had been felled and beaten down by the force of the many explosions they had indirectly endured.
He was about a mile from the raging battle when he spotted something crumpled on the ground. It seemed to be a body, but why there? He backed up about a half mile and found a small clearing where he could set down somewhat safely.
Slinging An M-16 over his shoulder and hooking a large machete to his belt, the old soldier left the chopper. He locked the door and began the trek up the rise through what was left of the woods, to the spot where the body lay. It was chancy, but he needed to find out who would try to shoot down a plane that was killing zombies.
The answer might help settle a number of questions. How had the zombies found the tunnel? Why had Wright Patterson and other bases around the world been targeted? The clue might lay against a tree in these woods.
He had been walking about fifteen minutes when he heard a rustling in the trees. He stopped and parked himself behind the thickest tree in the immediate area. A couple of minutes later, a staggering couple moved past his hiding place. In a time of unusual sights and sounds, the Colonel had to admit that this was without a doubt the weirdest thing he had yet seen.
Despite the bloody snarling faces, he could tell that they were until recently, an attractive young couple. Obviously, they had been having sex in the forest on a blanket when they were discovered by the “undead”. Neither of them were wearing bottoms which were obviously off at the time they were attacked. Despite their staggering gaits they still had their arms around each other. A blanket was draped over the young man's left shoulder.
After a moment's debate, a bullet
to the head of each from his M-16 sealed their love forever!
He continued about another half hour before he found what he was seeking. On the ground before him and still leaning forward against the tree was a soldier in full camouflage. It was obvious that this was the one who had launched the missile, as the launcher was alongside the body. The back of his head was smashed, revealing the bullet's exit wound.
A quick yank on the collar dropped the corpse on it's back. Despite the clean hole in the forehead, Dickerson could easily identify the shooter. Lieutenant Beane. Why he was McCaffrey's aide. Come to think of it he hasn't been around, either. What had the two of them been up to? I know he was upset about being relieved ,but helping the zombies? When you think about it, he never tried to fight them either, when he was in command!
He looked again at Beane and seeing nobody around he wondered, who killed him? He opened a case hanging off one shoulder and withdrew a pair of 30x50 Zeiss binoculars that had served him through three wars. He looked off towards the battle scene. As far from him as it was he got a pretty clear picture. From where he stood he continued looking for one man, the only one he knew could make such a shot. And then he saw him. Alone atop the air separator firing into the zombie throng stood Glen Sanders, Springfield slung over his shoulders. At least one question had been answered.
He turned, still with even more questions than he had before and began the hike back to his waiting chopper.
Chapter 55
To the North
Pete Marcus was at the northern apex of his route. For hours, he had been cleaning up the remainders of anything still moving. He was presently over Sandusky , which had a small airport. He opted instead to move a short distance to the east and refuel in Cleveland.
He had passed over the areas to the northeast and northwest, repeatedly, each time expanding the search to make sure there was nothing left whatsoever.He would refuel and proceed to the southeast.
The airport was on the outskirts of Cleveland proper, but he chose to fly as low as he could over the city. The once beautiful metropolis was now in a shambles. The streets were inundated with bodies, wrecked vehicles and all the makings of what were once statuesque buildings. Nothing moved.
