Zombie Night In Canada (Book 2): 2nd Period

by Friesen, Jamie

  Chapter 21

  November 11th

  “Okay you fucking pussies, today you get a history lesson!” Master Corporal Girardi shouted to the assembled platoon after breakfast. “Does anyone know what today is?”

  None of the recruits said a word.

  How the fuck are we supposed to know, it’s not like there were any calendars hanging around the barracks, Xander thought. Although, a couple of those with some big-titted hotties sure would be nice. Of course, that was considered sexual harassment these days and a total non-starter.

  “Today is November 11, Remembrance Day in case you weren’t aware. We are going to do our morning drill, then there will be a short ceremony to mark the day. Drill will be conducted in PT gear. Then you will all change into your Sunday best and march your worthless asses to the HQ building. When we arrive, we will look the part of proper soldiers, goddammit!”

  He continued, “Now, you will be standing at attention for approximately one hour, and to avoid having the blood pool in your legs, you will wiggle your toes in your boots. That will keep you pussies from passing out and embarrassing both yourself and the instructors. Anyone who passes out will be severely punished!”

  Sure enough, they marched around the parade square for about an hour, then spent the next hour training with their weapons. Then the entire company marched back to the barracks, changed into their dress uniforms, formed up outside and marched to the Headquarters building. Mustered in front of it were hundreds of other soldiers, while a couple dozen dignitaries shivered in the November air on a stage in front of it, facing an antique cannon with a small metal plaque in front of the building. On the far left, a large crowd of several hundred refugees stood. Xander strained to see if he could find Diane, Jared or Evelyn, but couldn’t find any of them in the crowd. While they waited, the instructors walked through the ranks and quietly reminded the recruits to wiggle their toes while at attention.

  After a few minutes of everyone standing in the miserable cold, a crisply dressed officer marched onto the parking lot in front of the HQ building and shouted, “Attention!”

  The troops, both regular and recruit, snapped to attention, their feet slamming to the ground as one loud thunderclap.

  The officer, turned and faced the stage. An officer on the stage stood and walked to the microphone.

  “Today is Remembrance Day. This day is always a solemn affair, where both the armed forces and society remember those who have given the ultimate sacrifice for our great nation. The hostilities of the First World War ceased on November 11, 1918, at 11:00 a.m. the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month. The following year marked the first observance of a day to remember and honour those who died, as well as to give thanks for the sacrifices of those who came back from serving their country. Since then, Canadians have fought in other conflicts and many have given their lives so that we might enjoy freedom today. They too should be remembered. This Remembrance Day however, is unlike any in our nation’s history. Literally millions of our fellow citizens have died, infected by this scourge, and many of us are unsure of the fate of our loved ones. For many more, the tragedy is compounded by knowing exactly their grisly fate. Despite all this death and despair, we as Canadians must rally to survive as a nation. We must fight to ensure that Canada continues and does not go into that gentle good night,” General Raine said.

  “We will now observe a minute of silence,” General Raines said, pausing.

  After a long pause, General Raine continued, “I’d like to introduce a number of distinguished guests with us today. His Worship, Mayor Steven Johnson, Councilor Jim Tkachuck, Councillor Melanie Fisher, Member of the Legislature Scott Gregson, Member of Parliament Steve Franklin, and Deputy Police Chief Robert Lewis from the Edmonton Police Service.”

  As their names had been called, the VIPs waved or nodded to the assembled crowd.

  General Raine stepped back from the microphone and a young cadet moved forward.

  “In Flanders fields the poppies blow,”

  “Between the crosses, row on row,”

  “That mark our place; and in the sky,”

  “The larks, still bravely singing, fly”

  “Scarce heard amid the guns below.”

  “We are the Dead. Short days ago”

  “We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,”

  “Loved and were loved, and now we lie”

  “In Flanders fields.”

  “Take up our quarrel with the foe:”

  “To you from failing hands we throw,”

  “The torch; be yours to hold it high.”

  “If ye break faith with us who die,”

  “We shall not sleep, though poppies grow”

  “In Flanders fields.”

  The cadet paused, then faded back into the crowd and a bugler replaced him at the microphone. There was a short pause, and then he belted out Last Post over the speakers, the sound reverberating across the field. Xander only knew what it was because he heard Last Post every night in the barracks just before the instructors turned off the lights.

  When the bugler finished, there was a short painful pause as the mournful notes rolled over the crowd. Then the bugler began to play Reveille, which Xander also recognized as the music played while recruits tried to get out of bed and get out the door in time to avoid punishment.

  Reveille is more upbeat in tone, but still had a harsh edge to it, Xander thought.

  The bugler stepped back and another officer approached the microphone.

  “Please bow your heads as I read this simple prayer for the fallen,” Padre Christopher said.

  “Loving God, have mercy on your people and open our hearts to your peace and love,”

  “Reward all who have fallen with your kindness and grace,”

  “Protect those who go forward with the armour of God, the sword of the spirit, and the shield of the Lord,”

  “Grant that Canada, indeed all nations, may once again soon find peace and solace,”

  “Bless us in your service, amen.”

  “Amen,” repeated a large number of the crowd, including a fair number of the assembled soldiers.

  General Raines then returned to the microphone, “Wreaths will now be laid as act of remembrance.”

  He stepped back and the bugler returned, playing a tune Xander wasn’t familiar with. At the same time, several of the VIPs left the stage and were joined by military escorts. MP Franklin laid the first wreath, which seemed odd to Xander, given that the Conservatives weren’t in office at the moment. They approached, then paused as he took the wreath from his escort and laid it at the base of the cannon, then waited for his escort to salute, then they left. They were followed by MLA Gregson, Mayor Johnson, then General Raines, and finally, what looked to be a refugee.

  After the wreaths were laid, the bugler played O Canada, then someone behind Xander barked out a command, and the trio of cannons off to the left fired in unison.

  They roared like thunder and the shockwaves rolled over the audience, surprising many, including most of the children present, some of whom began crying.

  The crews serving the weapons fired six more salvoes, working quickly but carefully to reload between each shot.

  Finally, the same, smartly dressed officer marched out in front of the troops and ordered each unit to return to barracks.

  Corporal Girardi turned around and shouted, “Right Face!” and the recruits turned to the right.

  “Forward march!” barked the Corporal and the recruits began marching way from the HQ building. Girardi marched them all to the mess hall, just in time for lunch. Halfway through lunch, Xander thought he heard a lot of weapons fire. It wasn’t all that uncommon, as infected would stumble up to the base on occasion and they had to be disposed of, but this sounded much more intense than anything Xander was familiar with.

  Xander was halfway finished lunch when Master Corporal Girardi came into the mess hall and screamed, “Recruits, meal time is over. Clear
your plates and get your asses outside in two minutes!”

  There was a moment of hesitation in the room, and Girardi screamed, “Now goddammit!”

  Troops raced to the exit, unceremoniously dumping their trays at the exit and rushing outside. As they got outside, each soldier was handed a helmet, a stop sign shield and a mace by an instructor out of the back of a truck parked outside the entrance. In the distance, the weapons fire Xander thought he had heard earlier was at a fever pitch.

  “Form Up!” Master Corporal Girardi shouted. “The base is under attack and we’ve been ordered to the fence line to assist in repelling the attack!”

  The troops frantically fell into ranks, forming platoons and sections.

  “Attention!” Master Corporal Girardi shouted. “Right face! On the double!”

  The company took off at a jog towards the southern fence line. The closer the company got, the louder and more intense the weapons fire was.

  In a few short minutes, the company reached the fence line and halted about one hundred metres away from it. Off to their left, a group of a couple dozen police officers in riot gear was assembled, standing two deep.

  Troops on the wall were firing as fast as they could and still wave after wave of infected poured towards the fence. LAVs stationed along the perimeter added heavy machinegun and cannon fire to the mix, while the heavy weapons teams rained mortar shells down on the advancing infected. Griffon helicopters flew low sweeps back and forth over the fence line and poured machinegun fire into the horde from above, tearing gaping holes in the multitudes of infected.

  “Platoon commanders, assume defensive formation and hold!” Master Corporal Girardi barked.

  The troops moved into double lines, raising their shields and raising their maces. However, because they had just come from the Remembrance Day ceremony, none of them were wearing their armour.

  Man, I got a bad feeling about this, Xander thought.

  Master Corporal Girardi raced over to a cluster of officers and saluted one of them. Xander couldn’t hear his orders of the gunfire, but after a moment, Girardi ran back.

  “Be ready men, the infected may breach the fence line any minute!”

  The air smelled of cordite, blood and rotting flesh and the stench wafted over the recruits, causing several to lose their lunch. Those who didn’t throw up, turned green and swallowed huge gulps of air nervously to stave off vomiting.

  Along the fence line, makeshift flamethrowers ignited the infected in the trenches, sending black smoke and the most vile stench Xander had ever smelled into billowing into the air. When this wafted over the training company, those who had been holding their lunches in, Xander included, lost it and added to the river of vomit running between their feet.

  Just when it looked like the battle was over, a section of the fence crumbled and dozens of infected poured through the gap.

  The recruits tensed, seeing the infected moving towards them.

  A pair of huge Leopard tanks rumbled forward, each firing its machineguns into the infected pouring through the gap. Instead of stopping, each roared through the infected, impaling infected on the makeshift rams welded on the front of their hulls. More were squashed flat underneath their tank treads.

  Still the infected came forward. The riot police formed a wall and engaged a handful of stragglers, but the majority of the infected were headed right for the recruits.

  “Company, shields up and brace for contact!” Master Corporal Girardi shouted.

  The recruits tensed as the infected rushed forward.

  The impact was more psychological than physical, as the infected shambled forward slowly, but when the infected arrived, the stench of rotting flesh hit the recruits like a sledgehammer.

  “Company, strike!”

  Xander swung his mace and connected with an infected on the shoulder. The infected woman in front of him shrugged off the blow and tried to push forward, grasping at Xander. He used his shield to push her back and ward off her blows, which thundered down on his shield.

  Up and down the line, recruits struck at the infected. Some recruits connected with heads, but the majority hit arms, shoulders or missed outright.

  “Company, step back!”

  The company fell back one step and the infected surged forward.

  “Company, strike!” Master Corporal Girardi repeated.

  This time Xander connected and the woman went down.

  Over and over, Master Corporal Girardi ordered the recruits to strike, and the recruits responded. After what seemed an eternity, the numbers of infected finally slackened and then stopped.

  The riot police moved forward to defend the gap in the fence. Along the fence line, engineers rushed forward to repair the gap in the fence while nervous soldiers stood watch, some firing at the occasional infected moving towards the fence line. Outside, helicopters dumped barrels of gasoline into the trenches, and lances of flame from the towers re-ignited the fuel soaked infected in the trenches below, sending flames roaring high into the air. Soon, huge pillars of black smoke billowed skywards, followed by the same foul odor Xander had hoped to hell he would never smell again.

  Xander glanced down the line at the recruits. It looked like the company had survived unscathed but the field in front of the recruits was littered with corpses. The company tensed and waited for a long time, but as the minutes ticked by, the fire from the fence line began to slack off and then stop almost completely.

  Finally, Captain Koch came over to the company, still tensed in it defensive position and ordered, “Company, stand down. Master Corporal Girardi, the company is yours, please have the recruits inspected by the medics, then resume their training schedule this afternoon.”

  Captain Koch turned to the company, “Excellent work recruits!”

  “Attention!” Master Corporal Girardi shouted. “Right face! Forward march!”

  The company marched back to the barracks, where they returned their shields and weapons, then quickly checked by the medics. Two recruits in First Platoon had sustained minor injuries, while the rest were all given a break. Food was offered, but nobody was interested in eating. Xander used the short break to go to the toilet and throw up again, and he wasn’t the only one. Most other recruits had done the same.

  After an hour of relative peace, training resumed, with the instructors pushing the recruits even harder, and most recruits, having seen what was expected of them, forcing themselves to match their instructors’ intensity and drive.

  Chapter 22

  November 12th

  The flight of CF-188 fighter-bombers flew through the grey skies. Bought almost forty years ago, they were considered obsolete when matched up against high tech fighters from most other nations. These days that mattered little. Few planes anywhere in the world were flying, and those few that did were generally those of their allies.

  The flight leader and his wingman carried a variety of weapons, a pair of CRV-7 rocket pods and two GBU-12s, which were basically Mark 82 500 lb. bombs with a laser guidance package attached. The other pair of planes each carried four ‘dumb’ 1000 lb. Mark 83 bombs.

  They flew in relative silence, not because of any need for radio silence, but simply because there wasn’t much to say. They had a vital mission and they had to succeed, no matter the cost.

  “Coming up on Hinton, Major,” said Captain Moore.

  “Okay gentlemen, we’ll be over the target area in 2 minutes. Drop speed to Mach point five. Hill, activate your laser designator. Moore and Wilson, you will launch your bombs if we don’t get the job done,” Major Lewis said. “Let’s hope those grunts are ready to bug out.”

  This was one of the first missions Major Lewis and his squadron had flown in more than a month, aside from a pair of close air support missions to protect troops at CFB Edmonton. Unlike many other nations, Canada didn’t have huge war stocks of bombs and ammunition and simply couldn’t launch attack after attack like perhaps the Americans or Russians could – and did.

&nb
sp; The Royal Canadian Air Force had flown initial strike missions against swarms of infected in Toronto and Montreal, and after clips of bombs falling on Canadian cities and citizens had gotten out, public outrage forced the government to order the RCAF to stand down. While the Opposition had screamed and pilots and front line troops grumbled at that decision, commanders at Department of National Defence HQ in Ottawa knew that the sorties had expended significant amounts of irreplaceable bombs to little effect. After that, sorties had focused on gathering Intel on the movement of large groups of infected and monitoring the flight of refugees or shifting cargo and personnel across the country. As infection had raced across southern Ontario and Quebec, more and more sorties had been focused on shifting assets and personnel to out of the way bases like CFB Cold Lake and CFB Goose Bay, both which were in more remote, rural areas.

  Major Lewis keyed his mike,” This is Spartan Flight, Commander, Task Force Leonidas come in, over.”

  His radio crackled,” Go for Task Force Leonidas, Spartan Flight.”

  “Execute bug out Leonidas, repeat, execute Bug Out, over,” Major Lewis replied.

  “Copy that Spartan Flight, roger wilco. Will execute Bug Out in three minutes, over.”

  “Check, Leonidas. Spartan Flight out.”

  The planes slowed considerably and each pilot began his preparations. In less than a minute, they passed Jasper and headed across the Rockies towards British Columbia.

  Below them, the Yellowhead Pass was full of infected, streaming northwest from Vancouver and the Okanagan Valley. A ragtag group of various municipal police forces, Royal Canadian Mounted Police, Army reservists, and troops from the 3rd Battalion, Princess Patricia Canadian Light Infantry had been deployed several hundred metres further back, firing into the horde, trying in vain to stall them. Now members of Task Force Leonidas were scrambling for their vehicles to retreat, lest they be caught in the maelstrom Spartan Flight was about to unleash. The sheer numbers of infected had prevented Task Force Leonidas from taking more than a small tithe of their overall numbers, and their efforts were akin to bailing a sinking boat out with a teaspoon.