by Alex McHale
Before he could finish what he was saying tracer rounds erupted all over the aircraft, a few rounds punched through my chin bubble and hit my dashboard displays, shattering them. The aircraft suddenly lurch hard to the right and strait down. I looked over at Jackal who was slumped over the controls, leaning up against his door. I pulled back on the cylic with both hands and hard as I could to get his body weight off of it and correct our soon to be smoking wreck.
“Jackals hit, GET HIM OFF THE CONTROLS!” I yelled. I grunted as hard as I tried to correct the aircraft attitude. Thompson unbuckled and reached up and pulled Jackal’s harness reel and pulled him back into the seat.
Rounds continued to hit the aircraft, the MASTER CAUTION panel lit up yellow, the #1 fire light 0-++++a++illuminated and then an enormous loud BANG and concussion wave hit the aircraft inside of the cabin0. Blood flew up to the cockpit on the center console.
I looked back, thinking that Thompson has shot the 240 inside the aircraft. In reality, we figured out later, a Rocket Propelled Grenade hit the back of the crew compartment, punching through the rear right cargo door and detonating over the APU accumulator and igniting the fuel line above the #2 engine. “FUCK!! What the fuck was that! ” I shouted out.
The aircraft became a lot harder to control. I felt the flight controls get really sloppy. I wiped the blood of of Jackal’s MFD panel and saw that a #1 Hydraulic pump failure, Backup Reservoir low and #1 and #2 tail rotor servo failure and # 1 primary flight control servo failure… In infantry terms, I was all out of magic and smoke to make Miss UH60 Michelle the helicopter fly and I was barely keeping control, and was on fucking fire.
“MAYDAY MAYDAY MAYDAY, VooDoo 41 is hit and going down, in the south east corner of Central Park, 16 people on board…. Will call down and safe!” The radio exploded in chatter on the SATCOM when I broadcast it. I wasn’t listening, I was just trying to keep here strait and level and find a fucking place to land.
“Slim you alive?”
“Yeah Im alright…. My head is fucking killing me…” he said. “Make the radio calls, talk to chalk 2, Thompson is the Number 2 on fire still?”
“YES SIR flames are at the cargo door now!!!” he said in a terrified voice.” The civilians strapped into the cargo seats were screaming. I felt a wiggling yaw in the rudder pedals, I was 85kts and had no choice, she was starting to yaw to the right a little bit more and more. I reached up with my right pulled the #2 fire handle on the engine which shut the fuel off, popped a fire bottle on engine number 2 saw the engine RPM drop. The cockpit was an array of warning tones and lights now. I dropped the collective and started an Autorotation and begin the emergency landing. If I didn’t we would spiral out of control and crash.
I left the number #1 on in order to maintain a power on auto rotation. I didn’t have single engine capability anyways, not with a full load of passengers. I would try to make it a gentle landing. I pulled back the #2 engine and pointed the aircraft towards and open bluff looking field with only few tree.
My heart was beating out of my fucking chest as the aircraft was barely staying up, the radios were exploding with traffic.
Jim’s UH-60 flew by the front of my aircraft above me and I looked down the ground rushing up towards the cockpit, the radar altimeter read 200ft… The Number 1 engine failed. now this shit was real…. 100ft….
I pulled in a hard decel and felt the aircraft start to sink 30 feet. Come on Michelle don’t fall apart on me baby come on!!!! I pulled in the collective and heard the low rotor horn go off
“HOLD ON GUYS!” I pulled the guts out of it and we hit the ground with a thunderous *CRASH*. My seat stroked down to the floor, the rotor blades flexed and smashed into the ground, and the transmission caved in through the back of the aircraft, my head hit the dashboard and I saw a stars and blacked out for minute. My face had hit top of the foam dash and I was bleeding from a gash under my left cheek bone. The rotors knocked off the tail boom and we spun around in a circle; I saw a HUGE fiery flame spurt around as the aircraft spun 90 degrees to the right… I quickly pulled the #1 engine fire handle and hit the extinguisher. It didn’t work, the fire was still on. We spun to a stop.
Chapter 4
I was alive. The crashed knocked the frigging breath out of me and my neck was burned and bleeding from the seat belt digging into me during the crash sequence. There was shit everywhere, there was brass and smoke grenades , charts and approach plates all over fucking place. Jackals dip bottle had spattered all over his windshield. I came out of the slow motion and entered into freak out crash mode.
“IS EVERYONE ALL RIGHT? “ The old man in the back seat with the blue shirt, had already unbuckled, and crawled out Thompson’s window and was dragging Thompson slumped body out of the aircraft. I could feel the heat from the flames, and smoke was starting to obscure the cockpit.
“SLIM! Are you fucking alive? “ I shouted as I started to unbuckle myself. A Zombie Jumped on top of my windshield and started to beat on the windshield. FUCK YOU MOTHER FUCKER!!!! I pulled out my M9 and emptied half the magazine in its face. I jettisoned my cockpit door, and tried to get up and out of it… I was in fucking pain all over, I was okay, my right knee was really fucking hurting but I powered through it and got out of the helicopter to help Slim, who was stuck in his harness and had blood all over his face. I hopped out, weapon at the ready, did a quick scan, reached in and pulled him out of the widow, his eyes’ were blood shot and he was bleeding from the forehead.
I looked to my right and saw that the fire was consuming almost all of the rear of the aircraft and passenger compartment. The Plexiglas widows were melted, the doors charred and I could feel the intense heat of the JP8 flame, the passengers, were all dead, the business man and two of the women were squished and disfigured from the transmission caving through the cabin ceiling, there was a severed arm and someone’s intestines strewn about on the floor in a pool of blood. One of the men in the hurricane seat was decapitated and the man next to him was burning and split in half. The Asian dude sitting next to Slim had a shard metal sticking out of his neck and was bleeding out, he was alive, but not for much longer, perhaps another minute max; he was clutching his leg that was bleeding profusely from behind the knee where I could see his bone sticking through. He looked over at us and then slumped down in his chair.
I was able to pull out Slim who was hacking and coughing. I ran around to Jackal’s door where I met the geezer pulling off the 240 from the mount. He looked at me and shouted “GET YOUR FUCKING BROTHER CAPTAIN I GOT THIS”.
I opened up Jackal’s door and jettisoned it. He was bleeding from this shoulder and had taken several rounds to his chest plate. I cut away his seatbelts, and started to pull him out of the seat “SLIM GET THE WEAPONS OUT OF THE AIRCRAFT!! I’M OVER HERE PULLING OUT JACKAL”
I got him out and dragged him away about 20 meters and set him up against a tree, where the crazy old guy had put Thompson. Slim came running over to me without weapons in hand the 240 slung around his waist, with a couple ammo cans. I saw Jim still circling overhead. “Pack his wounds, check Thompson and get ready for the Zs.” I sprinted back to the aircraft. It was still ablaze as I plugged into the ICS, and tried to push out on Guard on battery power
“Jim, we’re alive, Jackals hit but coming around, Thompson is critical” Nothing… what the fuck was I thinking!? The aircraft was on fire and all the antennas are fucking toast. I reached in the back grabbed Jackals and my GO Bag and ran back out to where Slim was working on Jackal and Thompson.
The surviving civilian was already set up with the 240 conversion kit and everything… wtf!? I packed up jackal’s wound pretty good and the bleeding stopped, lucky for him his plate stopped the other rounds, but knocked him the fuck out. Thompson on the other hand was serious. He was bleeding from a gigantic gash on his leg. Slim was threw a tourniquet on, packed it out, and was working on a splint.
“Hey Old timer! Any Zs coming our way?”
“Negative sir, I hear them stirr
ing though. “
“Who the hell are you? “ I asked him while trying to dress up Thompson.
“Staff Sergeant Retired John Halaszynski. US ARMY and Nam 73”
“I knew it!”
“Don’t worry bro this aint the first time I’ve been shot down in a helicopter! HA HA HA HA! ” The old coot was having a great time, from the look on his face. “Glad to have you aboard Ski, watch our six, man.”
“Rodger that! Let those motherfuckers come on my way!” The old dude was really loving this shit. I mean seriously they say in NYC you see everything, well they weren’t kidding. I pulled out my CSEL radio and got Jim on the horn over UHF guard “Jim, you copy? We’re down, 2 injured, come down and get us dude”
“Will do Lex, I have to kick these civis out man, or I won’t have the power.”
“Bullshit! You have a half a tank of gas bro you can take 5 more people!!”
“Rodger that, 64s are on the way btw bro.” he shot over the radio. We started across the field. Ski and I had jackal in a two man chair carry, and Slim was had Thompson over his shoulder.
“Awesome glad to hear, we’re PZ posture you should be clear down man.” The r adio cracked again, Buck said something but I couldn’t understand it. Jackal started coughing “New guys always fucking suck on the Radio” he mumbled with a pale smirk.
“Zs incoming!” As if almost on queue a fucking horde of zombies started to make their way towards the crash site; Ski opened on the 240 and Slim and I started firing away. Jim was on short approach final but these motherfuckers were getting close. I could hear the identifiable gargle and growl of the zombies as they got closer. “
LOADING! “ Ski shouted, as he changed belts on the 240. I hit a chick in a jogging suit, and they waxed a dude in one of those foam hot dog suits you see people on the side of the road. Dropped some club rat looking thug and popped the face off of some Hipster looking dude.
“Where fuck are we!? WHY ARE WE FUCKING SHOOTING?! FUCK WE CRASHED!!!” Jackal came out of his blacked out state, he freaked for a minute back pedaling in the dirt. “HOLY FUCK! Zs!!!” he said with great emphasis. “Can you stand?” I yelled over the sound of 240 fire. “YEAH I think so, he stumbled to his feet grabbed his suppressed UMP and started blasting Zs covering our Six. “LOADING”! I yelled as I slapped another fresh mag in my weapon.
“BOOM MOTHER FUCKERS!!! “ Jackal threw a frag grenade at deep in to encroaching horde, sending body parts flying everywhere. ”Last MAG! “ Slim shouted, his weapon jammed on the first round “FUCK ME!!!” he shouted.
I threw him mine “Here!” then transitioned to my M9. The zombies were within 20 meters of us. Jim swooped in, his door gunners blasting away cutting down the horde of Zs coming our way… “COME ON COME ON COME ON!!” He yelled over the deafening sound of the Black Hawk’s rotors. We loaded up Thompson, then Ski, Slim and I jumped on the aircraft the Zs were within 10 feet from the aircraft , we lifted off emptying out magazines on the horde. Jackal sent a burst through a terribly obese man, his stomach exploding onto the Z next to him. I unloaded my last magazine on a construction worker Z, the rounds punching through his hard hat that had somehow stayed on his head.
“ FUCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!” Ski yelled as we took off, blasting away at the mob below us. I looked down to see a severed hand wrapped around Ski’s ankle He shook it off, and lit a cigarette. He Looked at us and yelled “DAMN I MISS THIS SHIT!” I went up on headset , looked at Jim, who turned around and said “You alright?
“Yeah….” I said out of breath. “I’m all right.” The rest of the flight was quiet, as we flew away from the central park the Apaches rolled in blasting 30mm and Rockets, then rolled out soon as we departed the park.
I met Jackal at the Aid Station when we got back. His bed was in the hallway. “What the fuck are you doing in the hallway?” I asked
“They kicked me out for slapping one of nurse’s asses” he said with his usual grin.
“Just one?” I said with a smirk.
“I got a few fractured ribs and a shallow GSW on the shoulder. Doc said it just missed an artery. Said I should be back and flying in a few weeks.”
“Good to hear bro, take it a day at a time, do you remember what happened when we got hit?”
“Nope, I just remember waking up and seeing that crazy guy in the blue shirt shooting fucking zombies and bleeding all over myself.” He paused for a minute looked down at this hospital bracelet and looked up at me with his serious Jackal face and said “Alex, I don’t ever want you to beat yourself up about what happened out there, you were able to put an aircraft down that was seriously fucked up. I don’t even know If I could have done the same. is Thompson Okay?”
“Yeah, funny enough he was actually In better shape that we thought, he should be good to go in 2 weeks, Oh and hey. I know you’re not supposed to have theses either but whose knows, maybe it will help.”
I cracked the top of a Sam Adams and handed it to him, put the others by his feet, raised my beer and said “Juambo!” which was “cheers” in Swahlili, meaning “brothers” . He smiled, klinked his beer and said “Juambo!”
Scrounging
by
Will Shaffer
Sacramento, California
Day Date Month Year
0900 Hours Local
Jake moved quickly and quietly through the suburban terrain. He had left his team on the roof of a convenience store a couple blocks back. He was out to forage a bit for his team and to also get a feel for the environment in the area. They had been inserted into the area to scout in preparation for a push to retake the agricultural area that the Sacramento Valley represented. The ability to grow more food would be a great relief to the American enclave that the Pacific Northwest had become. While the climate and terrain had made it naturally defensible, the growing season was restricted by the same. While surveillance of the area showed only moderate numbers of Zs, there had been a larger than normal presence of rogue survivor bands. Double-edged swords. Life was all about double-edged swords those days.
For his little excursion, which would have pissed the Task Force CO off, Jake traveled light. His clothes were fairly basic. Baseball cap, tactical "bite shirt," blue jeans, and hiking boots. Tyr Tactical "PICO" plate carrier, "war belt," and his rifle rounded out his gear. The plate carrier and war belt were a hodge-podge of different color/camo pouches that resulted from the previous few years of adapting to the Z War. Multicam, coyote brown, black, and olive drab pouches were all present on his gear, though Multicam was the predominant camo. Multicam had just become the primary camouflage pattern at the time of the The Fall and was "Tacticool" with SWAT Teams around the country at the time.
Wearing the plate carrier sucked. It was heavy. Front and rear ESAPI plates along with side plates came out to about twenty pounds of weight alone. The carrier, made of heavy Cordura nylon, weighed a couple more pounds. The pouches were weight. Then, the contents of the pouches added even more weight. Six rifle mags that each weighed a pound, two grenades that added another pound, a couple of smoke grenades, a heavy Strider fighting knife, medical kit, tactical radio, and other accoutrements of battle. While, some would argue that you could ditch the body armor in the time of zombies, the threat from the independent and rogue human groups threw a wrench into that concept. What good would the cool "bite suits" be if some hillbillie whacked you with a hundred year old .30-06?
As Jake moved, his eyes tracked in a tried and true manner. He scanned his surroundings then the ground in front of him every few steps. Moving like a "ninja" would quickly cease if stepped on a noisy "tattle tale" like broken glass or if he ran a nail up through his boot. As he moved, he let his senses work. For someone who had used to live in the Sacramento area, the absolute silence was unreal. There was no sound of airlines in the pattern for Sac International, no trains, no cars on the freeways or city streets. There were very little bird sounds, though more than a few birds about. Even the birds had learned that sound attra
cted Zs like little else would. The silence was a good thing from a tactical stance. Most Zs were not quiet. They groaned, shuffled, dragged legs, bumped into things, and stumbled about like drunks. If a Z was on the trail of something living, it's howl could be heard at some distance. That howl would attract other Zs and before long, a herd would be on a single-minded hunt for some poor soul, or even a squirrel, that had gotten the attention of the Z. It often took days for the zombies to cease their chase.
In addition to the sound, Jake watched for movement. Some things moved naturally, like animals. People and Zs did not. Smell came into play. The Zs were really just pieces of slowly rotting meat, so they could be smelled at a distance at times. More than once, Jake had made the decision to bypass scouting a structure from the smell of death at the breach point. Either there were Zs inside or some purple-shirt-wearing church group had committed mass suicide. With all the horror Jake had seen in the previous few years, there were still things that bothered him to the soul. Dozens of healthy people drinking antifreeze in hopes that Jabba the Hutt would save their souls was one of those things.
