“Is that kid certifiable or a glory hound? There’s no way he can pull that off.” Conrad said to himself from his office as he monitored the mission from his desk. You have to let the kids go out on their own sometime, he reasoned wryly.
The door opened and MG Peters walked in. “Stay seated, Sergeant.” Peters pulled up another chair next to Conrad and sat down facing the monitor. “You know, it’s harder to sit back and watch then it is to be in the game. That’s why I was on my way to my third divorce when the shit came down.” Conrad swallowed hard, not really knowing how to reply to the general.
“Crap!” Wetzel muttered as the bridge came into view. Strings of razor wire had been strung across the bridge. In the center of the bridge sat two heavy cargo trucks, each with a Ma deuce .50 cal machinegun mounted above the truck cabin. The razor wire in front of the trucks was flattened with the weight of dead zombies; many still alive were unable to pull themselves off the wire and thrashed about. The bridge itself ran red with the blood of over a thousand dead bodies. Wetzel magnified the view of the trucks and was confused. Both gunners still held their position behind their guns; further magnification revealed their heads covered in blood. How the hell did the Zs get up there at the gunners? Maybe they came from the other side of the river.
“Driver, proceed forward slow and cautious. Gunner, watch them bodies. Something is wrong and I don’t like this at all. The armored car narrowly scraped by, scratching up against the truck. “Campbell, will I have to do an accident report for your collision with that Army truck?” Tension was lifted slightly as everyone laughed at the joke. Wetzel adjusted the communications terminal and new music blasted out as he laughed to the point of tears.
Campbell could not hide his curiosity, “What are you playing that’s so damn funny at a time like this?”
Wetzel gave a little gasp and then replied, “Gary Owen”, laughing even harder now.
“Why is that so funny?” Campbell was perplexed and it showed on his face.
“Gary Owen, 7th Cavalry Regiment March. I figured when we go in like the cavalry to rescue them, a cavalry tune would be perfect.”
“You are a sick man, Wetzel, just don’t forget what happened to the 7th Cavalry Regiment at a place called Little Big Horn.” The thump of 40mm grenades going off behind them on the bridge brought them back to the present. Ahead of them there was only small arms fire; the heavy machinegun they’d heard earlier was silent.
The National Guard Armory came into view on the left of the road, the situation looked much worse than it did from the satellite view. The entire front of the building was ten deep of zombies. The view of the gated area in the back still appeared zombie free. The infected turned towards the music as Campbell waited for instruction on where to drive.
“I can’t fire into the Zs without shooting into the building. What are your orders, SrA Wetzel?” Damn, damn, damn, I could screw up a wet dream.
“Driver, pull alongside the building, then proceed parallel along the front of the building, stay five feet away from the building, keep steady at ten miles per hour. Gunner, wait for my order to fire.”
Wetzel looked at the satellite view of the building again and didn’t see any zombies in the gated area where their vehicles were stored. “Control, Troop 21” Conrad nearly jumped for his radio.
“Troop 21, Control, go ahead.”
“Control, we need someone to get through to the National Guard here so I can coordinate their evacuation. Over.” Conrad looked over at Peters and saw he was already talking on his handheld.
“Troop 21, we are attempting to contact the Guard now. Continue with what you are doing. It looks good from back here on the big screen. Control out”
The armored car was bouncing like crazy, as they drove over the zombies; the resistance from the sheer bulk of the huge number of bodies could be felt slowing the car down. “Driver, right turn.” Wetzel said in disgust. “We’re going to peter out before we know it. There’s just too damn many of them.”
“Boss, we’re mowing these guys like the lawn, why not just trim them? We can just use the corner of the car to knock them down and run them over. That way there’s not as much resistance, sorta like when you have to mow real high weeds or grass.” Wyatt suggested as he watched the zombies, feeling helpless, unable to fire his weapons.
“Sound like a way to pass the time till the Guard get their asses on the road.” Campbell replied.
“Driver, trim the grass!” Wetzel ordered, feeling a little light headed. I’m glad it’s the driver’s responsibility to clean this thing when we get off shift. I bet whoever’s left from fleet maintenance will have a field day repairing the damage from running over all these Zs.
“Aww shit!” MG Peters looked like he wanted to shoot someone. “The acting CO of the unit refuses to evacuate. The reason they’re on the roof is because their building is full of family and members of their unit. They setup a makeshift hospital, and then they were overwhelmed as the infected turned. Their CO and First Sergeant are among the infected. They won’t listen to reason.”
“Kill’em,” Conrad replied, “Tell them if they don’t abandon their position and retreat to our position, we’ll have the armored cars pull back so they can use their 40mm grenades and start lobbing them in through the windows, destroying all the Zs. The concussion alone would probably do the job. Then for good measure, strafe the entire side of the building with our .50 cals.”
“You’re a hard man, MSgt Conrad. However, that’s the only option to get them the hell off the roof and even more importantly, our people out of danger. If we tell them to abandon them, it’d leave a bad taste that would never go away.” Peters picked up his handheld and ordered his team to connect him to the Guard. He listened to the exchange until it was a good time to jump in.
“Lieutenant Bossier, this is Major General Peters. Due to the exigencies of the current pandemic and breakdown in the chain of command, I have assumed the role of Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. I’m placing you and your company under my command. You will now evacuate from the roof of your building, taking as many vehicles as possible, and follow the escort I sent to assist you. If you do not follow my order, I will have the escort I sent begin to lob 40mm grenades into the building. The other escort is currently blocking the bridge and is about to pull back because there’s too damn many Zs heading your way. I am observing you via satellite. If I don’t see people heading for those trucks in two minutes, well, you have two minutes from now.” Peters disconnected the call.
“Troop 21, Control”
“Control, Troop 21, Go ahead”
“Troop 21, back away from the building until you are in a safe range to engage the Zs inside the building using your MK19 when I give the command. There are no friendlies inside the building. Try to avoid collateral damage to friendlies on the roof.”
“Troop 21 copies.” Wetzel looked at Campbell in shock, “Jesus Christ, that was fucking Peterson himself giving those orders. Back us the hell up now so the grenades will have enough distance to arm. Gunner, aim for the window on the far right. One shot on my command”
Peters watched the monitor in silence as two uniformed members from the group on the roof went over to the edge, climbed over and then dropped to the ground. They were making their way to a JLTV light tactical truck. Both seemed to collapse onto the pavement. “That bastard just murdered two of his men!” Conrad almost shouted in his anger and surprise.
One man collapsed on the roof, followed by four men climbing down the side of the building. Two men ran to check on their comrades. The pair grabbed one of the men and carried him to the cargo bed of the light tactical truck, then the men climbed into the cab. Meanwhile, the other pair of men had separated, each climbing up into a heavy high mobility truck (HEMTT). The first pair drove to the side of the building. Soldiers were now helping women and children go over the side of the building, dropping to the cargo bed of the truck. From there they jumped to the ground and went to the HEMT
Ts, making their way into the cargo beds of the vehicles.
Conrad heard a soft sigh escape from Peters. “Sir, do you want me to tell Troop 21 and Troop 22 to escort the Guard back to the base?” Conrad asked. He could see the relief in the general’s face as he answered.
Peters rose to leave and looked back. “Go ahead and coordinate their return, MSgt Conrad.” Only at that moment did he realize what he had suggested as a bluff, the general had planned to go through with if needed. The general’s a harder man than I gave him credit for.
“Troop 21, Control.”
“Control, go ahead.”
“Troop 21 is to rendezvous with the Guard unit survivors. Provide escort west to Hwy 59 back to the base. When the Guard has left their compound, Control will notify Troop 22 to rendezvous with you while you are en route. Control out.”
Wetzel went back to watching the monitor. The last of the survivors were now dropping off the roof. The Guard has assembled their trucks in a convoy formation consisting of a light tactical truck at its head, four HEMTTs, and a light tactical truck at the rear.
The convoy reached the compound gate the same time as the armored car and about fifty zombies. “This just adds to the fun. I’ve just about had all the fun I’m going to have for the night. Campbell, trim those things down so the Guard can gather their courage and open the damn gate.” Wetzel ordered. Campbell did a hard right circle until the armored car was facing the National Guard Armory, then turned a little tighter and began clearing out the zombies at about fifteen per pass. The zombies lost all interest in those behind the gate as they followed the armored car instead. The passenger in the first truck ran out, opened the padlock and slid the gate open, then rushed back as the trucks began to pull out. The passenger in the last truck ran to the gate and closed it before locking the padlock shut. Conrad observed from his desk and gained more respect for the citizen soldier’s professionalism.
“Troop 22, Control.” Conrad could see the armored car had slowed down its rate of fire even though it was still a target rich environment. Thousands of zombies lay dead on the bridge. Between two and three thousand more were still approaching from the east.
“Control, Troop 22. Go ahead.”
“Troop 22, you are to fall back and join the convoy being led by Troop 21. You will assume the position of rear guard. Route from your position will be west to Hwy 59, then directly back to the base.”
“Control, we copy. Falling back now.” Conrad could just feel the weariness in the man’s voice. He resisted the thought of having the one armored car finish the night’s original mission, especially with the large following they had accumulated. If I keep them out there any longer, I think I’d even be displeased with me. The boys did okay.
The road heading to Hwy 59 was relatively clear of any dangers. Campbell made a point to sideswipe the stray zombies they saw along the way to entertain himself. Wetzel laughed at his antics and wanted to be there when he was told to wash down the vehicle.
The road sign for Hwy 59 was coming up quickly. Wetzel could no longer wait. “Troop 22, Troop 21, report.”
“Troop 21. En route to your location. Have visual on convoy, estimate quarter to half mile ahead of me.” Four miles to the airport from here so in an hour I’ll finish the post mission brief, clean my weapons, get something to eat, and pass out and the day will be all over, Wetzel thought.
The uneventful drive back to the base, gave the team too much time, too much time to think of family. Wyatt thought of his time growing up just south of San Francisco, fishing with his grandpa, Sunday get-togethers with the whole family at his aunt’s house and their big pool. Who’s left now, if anyone?
Campbell was thinking of becoming a road warrior. Get a couple hot chicks and just drive the roads looking for excitement, looting whatever I need. I could choose a new car every day from one of the thousands of abandoned car dealerships.
Conrad stood next to the armored car, waiting for the convoy. All the armored cars were manned and ready to receive the visitors. He knew the next task before him was going to be unpleasant, but there were no other options available. He was just relieved that MG Peters had accepted the recommendation and the suggestion that only his security forces greet the convoy initially.
The quiet night air was disturbed by the arrival of the armored cars and assorted heavy trucks. Once through the airport gate, the lead armored car slowed down dramatically forcing the following vehicles to bunch up close behind it, as Conrad had ordered. The vehicles came to a stop less than ten feet from him as he stood waiting for the drivers and passengers to exit the vehicles. The passenger from the light tactical truck was the first to exit. He went directly to the cargo bed of the truck to check on his wounded man in the back. Conrad walked over to see if he could assist.
“What can I do to help you, Sir?” Conrad noted the soldier was wearing train tracks as he bent over the wounded man in the back of the truck, poking at a wound. He pulled his first aid kit off his body armor and handed to the captain as he tried to determine the severity of the wound. Pulling out the contents of the kit, he spoke.
“That dumbass, Capt Smith, threatened to shoot anyone else that tried to go to the trucks, after he shot Bernstein and Lebowitch. This is Lebowitch here with the two extra holes in his ass, by the way. Smith was waving his weapon around, saying the Air Force general didn’t have the balls to murder those that were under us in the building. That was the same time your M1117 was backing away to use the MK19. I didn’t have any other choice to save the rest of the people on the roof. I put my pistol to his head and then I pulled the trigger on Smith. I could have wounded him, but I wanted to make sure someone didn’t try to back him up if I only wounded him.” The distress was apparent in his voice. Conrad didn’t like what he had to do next.
“Capt...” Conrad looked at the Captain’s nametape, “Capt Abrams, I’m going to need you to line up your people. Then we need to do a 100% infection check on each one of them. After that, we’ll get them inside, some food in their bellies, and a place to sleep.”
Abrams pounded on the truck bed and the driver got out from behind the wheel. “Get everyone out of the trucks and lined up alongside your truck.” Abrams never looked up from the wound while he spoke.
Motley was the first thought that went through Conrad’s head. The survivors were all bloody, many in tattered clothes. Well, let’s see, we have ten male uniformed personnel, thirty civilian women, five civilian males, and thirteen kids. “Okay, send out the inspection team,” he radioed.
The team of five men and five women, each wearing butyl gloves, and carrying a flashlight and bucket of medical supplies, walked briskly towards the survivors. “We need to do a quick inspection on each of you, and then you can go inside and get cleaned up, have a meal, and get some sleep.” The mention of food and sleep perked up the ears on some as others appeared suspicious of an examination. The inspection team members started with the children, wiping away blood and having them take off clothing when they suspected there might be injuries. A pair of teenagers, a boy and a girl, walked over to stand off to the side as the other kids entered the building. Neither had a parent there to comfort them.
“I’m not getting undressed for some perverted Air Force Lesbos!” a civilian woman shouted. The Sergeant’s face got red; she took a moment before replying.
“I can’t pass you as cleared then. Go stand over with the two kids, please.” she replied pleasantly.
“And if I just go into the building, grab some food and go to sleep. What will you do about it?” she shouted, spittle running down her chin.
“Ma'am, I wouldn’t do a thing. I’m trying to help you and protect everyone from spreading the infection. Now, please let me proceed.” The woman shoved the sergeant aside and walked five steps when a lone shot rang out, hitting the asphalt five feet in front of the woman.
“Ma’am, that was the only warning shot that will be given this evening. If you take another step towards the building, it
will be your last one. Please turn around and come back to me.”
Defeated, the woman came back and stood in silence as the sergeant removed her blouse for her, then wiped away the dried blood from a scratch along her shoulder. “See, that wasn’t so bad. Now why don’t you go inside and warm up?” The sergeant smiled as the tension dissolved.
“I thought I was infected. I thought as soon as you saw the scratch, I was dead.”
“Ma'am, the scratch is just that, a scratch, but not from a Z. If it’d been by a Z, it would have been more than one straight scratch; it would have been at least two as they grabbed at you. In addition, there would be infection streaks by it. Fresh infected have the skin around a wound turn white. My money says you ran into something when you were running. Now, please head inside. I have more people I need to help here.”
The process of inspecting and cleaning the survivors was tedious, especially when the wind began to pick up. A corporal reluctantly stepped forward for his turn. His eyes kept moving, trying to see everything going on all around him. The Airman sensed his nervousness and made a point to scratch himself behind his left ear. “Corporal, I’ll need you to remove your scarf from around your neck, please.” He did not see the punch that laid him out as the Corporal turned and began to run to the open field and the darkness beyond. After ten feet, he zigged sharply to the right, the same time as the report of an M4 was heard. He went ten feet again and zagged to the left, again just as another shot rang out that missed him. Wyatt watched the poor display of marksmanship in disgust, tracked the fleeing corporal and fired a three second burst from his Ma Deuce. The runner looked like he was dancing before he fell to the ground, cut in half.
“Troop 21, report to me immediately after we secure from this operation.” No identification was required, nor was there any wondering the state of mind of MSgt Conrad.
Zombie Airman Page 16
