by John Holmes
“Nice. Why not insert from boats? Seems like it would be a lot easier.”
The Infantry company Supply Sergeant chimed in.
“Gas shortage, and a boat shortage. We’re having a real hard time getting gasoline for the patrol boats, and spare parts, too. Aviation fuel we have a shit ton of, courtesy of the Navy.”
I chewed that around for a bit. “OK, but how do we get out?”
“Well, if the facility looks useable, based on your report, you will be relieved by a reinforced Marine Rifle Company from the USS New York flying in on Ospreys. From there, the Navy will expand its presence in the city and you will be retasked.”
“What if the place is unusable?”
“Then the same Ospreys will pick you up and take you back here to FOB Castle.”
“How long can we expect to be on the ground before pickup?”
He turned to the Marine sitting in the front row. He leaned back and said “Just give us a call, and we’ll come get you.”
“Right, and the check is in the mail. You better.”
Chapter 47
I hated flying. I didn’t mind helos, but a plane? No fraking way. Just ordinary flying turned me white with fear. Tonight we were bucking violent winds, the tail end of a storm front that had blown through.
The C-130 lurched in another downdraft. Beside me, Brit threw up her hands in the air and screamed at the top of her lungs, “YEEEEHHHHHAAAAAA! We’re on a goddamn roller coaster from Hell, Nick!”
I bent forward and stared at the floor in front of me, trying to ignore her, whispering a prayer for safety as we lurched through the sky. Across from me, Ahmed slept. Doc was reading a medical textbook by the light of a headlamp. Redshirt looked out the window as we flew down the Hudson River Valley from Albany.
I took a minute to study the three new people on our team. Corporal Killeen and Specialist Desen were two regular Army infantry soldiers whom I had picked out to accompany us, out of the half dozen volunteers we had gotten. Killeen was the big redneck sniper who had been shooting with Ahmed on the boat when the airborne trooper was killed. Desen was his spotter. The two went everywhere together, and with the wide open spaces of the cargo terminal, I wanted some longer range hitting power. He carried an M14EBR-R, a modified M-14 rifle that fired the heavier 7.62 round and had better range and hitting power than our M4A2s (the M4s firing .22 magnum rounds). I had watched him shoot on the barge, and he was good. The only thing I wanted to know was where he was able to find dip. I knew guys who would kill for it, and here he was, spitting in between the seats when the C-130 crew wasn’t watching. His partner, Desen, was one of those small, wiry guys who looked like he never ate anything and could run your ass into the ground. He chain smoked on base, but I knew a guy like that could make himself so unseen a whole zombie horde could walk right past him.
Directly next to them sat our newest civilian Zombie Killer. He had shown up on the island at dusk the day before, paddling a canoe from the far shore of the river. Sasha Zivcovic, or “Ziv,” so he called himself, said he was looking to kill Zs. He claimed he had been surviving up in the Hudson highlands and had heard the gunfire and come down to investigate. He looked like a tough character, battered and scarred, somewhere around fifty, and had readily agreed to come with us to the city when I explained what we about.
“We’re going to be jumping into the City. What experience do you have with airborne operations?”
I already knew he was tough if he had been surviving this close to the hordes in the city, but I didn’t want someone without any jump experience getting hurt on a static line drop. In answer, he rolled up his sleeve to reveal a tattoo of a parachute with the number 63 on it. Over it were several Cyrillic letters, and over that, an old scar I recognizes as a crudely sewn-up bullet puncture.
“Serbian Army. 63rd Parachute Battalion. Bosnians, Croats, Zombies, all the same.” he said in a thick eastern European accent.
“OK then, I guess you’re qualified. Ever jump with a T-11 chute?”
“Six hundred and fifty two times. Eleven times into combat in war.”
Jeez, where the hell did we find these guys? I guess it figured though, war veterans survived where others didn’t. We knew the world could go to shit any time, and half expected it.
I introduced him to the team, and shook their hands in a reserved, standoff manner. When he got to Brit, he stared at her for a minute, left her hand hanging, then turned to me.
“You have woman on your team?”
“Yes we do. She is third in command, after myself and Doc.” Out of the corner of my eye I could see Brit starting to get angry. Not a good way to start off, brother.
“She is soldier? Maybe lesbian. They make good fighters. Very angry.” He eyed her up and down, and she glared back at him.
“I’ll cut your effing balls off! Lesbian, my ass. Nick, dump him. We don’t need him.”
“Ha, she has spirit. I like that in woman.” He grinned at her, showing bad European dental work.
Problem was, we did need him. I tried to smooth things over before one of them knifed the other.
“Yes, Brit is a damn good soldier and I have every confidence in her. She has saved me more times than I can count. Is it going to be a problem?”
He spoke after a moment. “No, no problem. This is America, I forget sometimes, you are not old country.” After that he had said little, just pitched in and helped organize the pallets for loading on the C-130.
Now he sat across from me, eyes closed, ignoring the bumping ride of the plane. I hoped he would be an asset to the team. We could use a good fighter to replace Jonesy, but the attitude toward Brit might be a problem. That and he might be full of shit about his combat experience, but I didn’t think so.
The ride smoothed out as we approached the city, passing through the tail end of the front. The crew chief came back to lower the ramp prior to the pallet drop, and gave me a “six minutes” sign. We stood up, a tough thing to do with chute and equipment, and staged ourselves at the jump door on the side of the plane, doing the usual pre-jump checks. I was jump master, so I went out last, making sure everyone had a good exit. If anyone held up at the door, I wanted to be able to kick them in the ass. Being last out, I could also watch how the others landed. We were jumping onto a park about 500 meters east of the container facility. Jumping onto hard concrete was a good way to get a broken leg. The team used static lines instead of jumping off the back ramp because Brit and Ahmed had only gone through a rushed, one week airborne qualification jumping from helicopters up at Fort Orange. Good enough to get them out the door and onto the ground without breaking their necks, but that was about it.
The pallets went out first, off the back ramp. They would drop directly onto the port grounds, showing an IR beacon so we didn’t have to haul them from the Drop Zone. A slow turn back out over lower New York Harbor and the pilot lined up on our DZ.
Over the rush of air from the slipstream and the droning engines, the Crew Chief yelled to me “THIRTY SECONDS!” I felt that icy knot build up in my stomach, happened no matter how many times I had done this before, and then the light turned green.
Chapter 48
One thing I loved about the Zombie Apocalypse, and I won’t deny it, was how dark it got at night. With very few places using electricity, you could see the stars burning in the night sky. They distracted me for a moment as I looked up to check my canopy. Then I looked down and counted chutes. We were dropping from 500 feet above ground level, and that ground came up awfully fast.
One, two, three … I reached six. Dammit! Below me in the moonlight I saw a body plummeting towards earth, spread eagle, his chute a tangled mess. His reserve chute came out, but he still hit hard, with a sickening crunch I could hear from several hundred feet away.
As soon as I was on the ground and had gathered up my chute, I jogged over to where the figure still lay prone. Doc was already bent over him, giving him a quick once over. Around me, the team gathered in a circle, pulli
ng 360 degree security.
“It’s Desen. Compound fracture of the right leg.” grunted Doc as he worked to cut off Desen’s pant leg. He untied his boot, then put on a rough splint. “We’re going to have to carry him.”
He lay there groaning as Doc shot him up with some morphine. “Don’t worry about it, trooper. You just sit tight and we’ll get you out of here once we’re done with the scout.”
Ziv came over and looked down at Desen, then turned to me.
“If he compromises us, we kill him, yes?”
In the darkness, I doubt he could see my expression, but I’m sure he could tell from the tone of my voice how pissed I was.
“He’s my troop. I decide what happens to whom. Got it? Now get back to your position.”
“Sure, boss. Whatever you say.” He shuffled back to his position in the circle. What the hell? Yeah, sometimes we had to do things that you wouldn’t consider in the old world. But you don’t freaking talk about it right in front of the guy. .
“OK. Ahmed and Killeen, you two carry him, the rest, split up his gear. Let’s go.” Way to start off a mission.
We set off towards the Northwest. In our NVG’s we could see the infrared strobe from the two pallets that had dropped down before us, directly onto the container yard. Brit led on point, stopping every few hundred meters to listen for any Zombie howls. The place was eerily silent, and I hoped it would stay that way. The day before, a US Navy destroyer, the USS Reuben James, had bombarded the other side of Staten Island for more than an hour with its 76mm main gun. Hopefully the noise had drawn off most of the Zs present. They were scheduled to provide Naval gunfire support if we needed it, but small calibre Naval guns didn’t have much effect on zombies. Rumour had it that the USS New Jersey, one of the old Iowa class battleships, was being refitted to fire 16 inch BB rounds. Last year we had scouted and raided the Watervliet Arsenal, with engineers stripping out all the machine tools and sending them back west. Meanwhile, we made do.
Brit made it to the gate at the container yard without encountering a single Z and we quickly cut a hole in the fence. Each of us slid through, dragging Desen on a collapsible stretcher.
“Brit, Ahmed, Red, you scout out the closest building. Clear it, and then report back to me. Killeen, Ziv, and I will go to the next closest. Doc, stay here with Desen, be ready to move to whichever we decide forts up best.”
Brit and her team took off running towards a building that looked like it was the operations center for the place. We passed them just as Ahmed fired into the door lock with a loud cough and they piled into the first room.
Our target building was a large garage. I didn’t expect much trouble there, but I wanted to keep an eye on Ziv and Killeen.
The first door we tried was open, and we cautiously stepped into the deeper darkness. Through my NGVs, I immediately saw the softly glowing heat shapes of two zombies stumbling towards us, attracted by the noise. I sighted down my rifle to shoot, and my optics were suddenly obscured by the bright heat source of a warm, live body. I felt, more than heard, one of my team members run past me.
I dropped my rifle barrel down to the floor and watched as Ziv rushed them and swung left, then right, knocking them both across their skulls with a three pound hammer. He spit on them and muttered something, then came stalking back to us.
Ignoring Ziv, Killeen and I continued to sweep the rest of the building, coming up empty.
“Outside, let’s go.” I kept my voice tight, but I was furious.
In my ear, Brit’s voice crackled over the radio. “Building clear. Three Zulus down. Looks like a good place to fort up, over.”
“Roger, be there in two mikes, over.”
“Roger, out.”
We stepped outside and I stopped Ziv.
“Ziv, hang on a second.”
He stood silently. Killeen kept walking, not wanting to be part of the conversation he knew was coming.
“Let’s get something straight. We aren’t glory hounds. We’re not here to kill every zombie on earth. We’re here to scout. That means doing the job quick and at the least risk to ourselves. I know you have been living on your own, surviving for years now, but we are a team. Do you understand?”
“Are you coward, Nick?”
Was this guy shitting me? Coward? I took a deep breath.
“No, Ziv, I’m not a coward. No one on this team is, but we have one job to do, and I want every one of us to come back alive. That means you work as part of a team, or I leave your ass here on Staten Island. Do you understand me?”
He snorted, then sighed. “Yes, I understand. You Americans, such technology whores, so weak. But I will do as you say.”
“Good. You’re a good fighter. We can use you, but go off on your own again, and I’ll put a bullet in you. True story.”
“It’s been done before, and I am still here.”
“Me too, Ziv. Listen, we need you, and the time for lone wolf is over. This conversation is done.” I turned my back and left him standing there.
I keyed the mike to raise Brit. “Brit, take Red, get over to the pallets, get the supplies, see if you can get some transport running.”
“Roger that.”
“Ahmed, you and Killeen have overwatch. Ziv and I will be there in a minute to start forting up. Tell Doc to keep an eye on Desen.”
I headed over towards the office building, not looking back to see if Ziv was following. In the East, the sky was starting to lighten.
Chapter 49
Sunrise brought a wind, like it always did. The air was full of pollen, and Brit started sneezing as she pulled up in a pickup truck, the back filled with supplies from the two pallets. We had included spare car batteries, a foot pump, Fix-A-Flat, gasoline, everything needed to get two or three vehicles running. Brit had found a fairly new Ford F-300 pickup with a winch on front. She knew what to look for.
We quickly unloaded and started forting up the building. It was two stories, and we started by boarding up the windows with plywood and two by fours. The generator, running quietly with a special muffler, had sandbags around it to further dampen the sound. Doc ran an air-powered nail gun, tacking up the plywood. The sound of hammers would carry too far in the summer air. Ahmed ran a steel escape cable from the roof out to the nearest building while Red and Ziv worked on demolishing the stairway up to the second floor.
On the roof, Killen sat in overwatch with Brit on the spotting scope, watching for Zs that might come stumbling into the yard. Occasionally a muted pop came from the end of Killeen’s rifle, and I could hear Brit calling out spottings. She leaned over and called down to me “Hey Nick, this guy really can handle a rifle. I think I might like him to show me how he handles his gun.” I gave her a salute and she started sucking on her finger. Grrrrrrrr.
We took a break at 1200 and sat down to figure out our next step. Our mission was to see what shape the container yard was in. From first look, it was a wreck. Next to some of the cranes, I could see the bow of a half-sunken freighter rising over the edge of the docking area. That we already knew about from satellite recon, and it was the Navy’s problem. Our interest was in the cranes themselves and the loading bays for the trucks. We had been tasked with getting a complete rundown on how workable they were, and I expected it to take about two full days. If we had the time. I expected the undead would start showing up tonight, so we had to hustle.
“OK, we have two things to accomplish. Desen is stable, and he can shoot. He stays here. Killeen, he’s your teammate, you keep an eye on him. Ahmed stays here, so the two of you can provide rotating overwatch. Red is staying also.” He was currently up on the roof, keeping an eye out. “Start into shifts, Red and Ahmed, Killeen and Desen.”
Doc spoke up. “I’m not sure Desen is up for it. I think he might have a broken rib, but I can’t be sure without an x-ray.”
“I’m alright. I can fight.” said Desen, then started coughing. “Ow. Fuck, that hurts. Someone gimme a smoke.” Brit handed him a cigarette and he drew
it down to the filter, then lay back and passed out.
“Like I said, Desen is out of it.”
“OK, then. Can you three handle providing overwatch on the gate area and cover us as we scout?”
Ahmed nodded. “We can do that.”
I turned to Brit and Ziv. “You two will be coming with me. First things first, the cranes. I’m not sure how we can tell if they’re working without any power, but we can inspect the cables and machinery. Ziv, do you have any engineering experience?” I wanted to bring him into the team. His loner attitude bothered me, and the more useful I could make him, the better.
“In parachute regiment, we learn how to build things so we can blow them up. Mostly bridges, some buildings. Machinery, no.”
“OK, well, if you see anything out of place, anything, let one of us know.” I turned to Brit.
“Camera, pictures of EVERYTHING.”
“You betcha, Chiefarooney.”
Ziv barked out a laugh, short and harsh. Brit shot me a “sorry” look.
“OK, check your ammo, make sure you have water, any extras you want to bring. SP is in fifteen mikes. Poop or piss or smoke, whatever you gotta do. Remember, we won’t be more than 500 meters from the fort. Stay away from the edge of the docks, I’m not jumping in after anyone. Again.”
Chapter 50
Doc jumped up and said “1200 BBC news!”
Ahmed spoke up. “Can we get it on the SINCGARS down here?”
“No, we would have to use the Harris radio if they were broadcasting on those freqs, but they aren’t. Brother this comes courtesy of the US Navy, broadcasting on the AM radio. Just started last week, up and down the east coast. Lady and gentlemen, AM 890, WUSN!”
He walked over to the pickup truck and turned on the radio. We gathered around just as he tuned it in.
