The photographer sighed, “Yes, he was a good man. He was one of those bitten after the crash. They turn into monsters after they’re bitten, you know?”
Steiner nodded; he was familiar with these things.
“He didn’t want us to kill him so he went out through the door to kill as many as he could.”
There was an uncomfortable silence that Steiner quickly broke.
“Isn’t there anything you can do for him?”
“No,” answered the man who looked like a labourer, “once you’re bitten we think you only have an hour or so and then you turn into one of them. The only thing he wanted us to do was to let him go and kill them.”
Steiner slumped down, exhausted and confused. The older man looked up and down at him, noticing the insignia on his uniform.
“How about you, your unit is based nearby isn’t it?”
Steiner explained what had happened at the tank and then his minor saga in evading the creatures to get to the house. The photographer took in all the details, seemingly intrigued about the church and the people Steiner thought were hiding there.
“Do you have any idea how many are in the church?” he asked.
Steiner was confused by the man’s almost obsessive interest in the church. He looked over to the other man, trying to get a better idea as to what was going on. He then turned back to answer the question.
“No idea. Right now I’m more concerned with what we are going to do,” he replied.
The older man moved to the window and looked out towards the church. He sounded excited as he explained what he saw.
“I can see lots of the creatures now, and it looks like they’re trying to get into the church.”
Almost at the same time came a flurry of gunshots along with the buzzing sound of machinegun fire. He looked at Steiner without saying anything else. More shots started as a number of people began some kind of firefight, presumably at the church.
The photographer spoke first, “We can use this as a diversion to escape to the main road and try and get to the Orne Bridge and the army base there.”
Steiner turned his head in disagreement.
“I don’t think so. Have you seen how many of those things are out there? We could try to get over there though,” he gestured to the church, “and give them a hand. What if those creatures are at the bridge, we’ll never make it. Whoever is at the church seems to have plenty of weapons and ammunition, more than we have.”
Steiner picked up a slightly curved sword; it was a well made 1890 French cavalry trooper’s sword. He looked at it, somewhat confused that it would be in a vicarage of all places. The weapon had a well used brass hilt and a triple bars to protect the hand. The blade was firmly housed inside its steel scabbard. He pulled at the hilt, drawing the weapon to reveal a pristine blade. The edge was fine and unmarked, evidently it had seen little to no use. He gently touched the edge of the blade, it was still sharp. He’d practiced fencing as a boy, though this was a world way from the weapons he had used. He had even been considered for the German team in the ‘36 Olympics but had just missed out.
The man stepped away from the window. He moved up to the German soldier, looking intently at the sword he was examining. He looked up at Steiner and spoke, “Okay, what do you have in mind, soldier?”
Steiner, the rugged but tired soldier from the Ost Battalion looked a sight. His uniform was filthy and his tunic was torn. He had a fresh cut on his cheek and looked every part the rogue. He pulled the bandolier of shotgun shells over his shoulder, looking like some kind of Mexican bandit. In his left hand he held the steel scabbard and in his right he held out the sword. He slid the blade back inside its sheath and pushed it inside his belt. With his hands free he lifted the shotgun from the table and then looked directly at the old man. He gave him a sly grin.
CHAPTER NINE
Lance Sergeant Jones stood in the centre of the nave, amazed at the amount of gunfire they were expending. Looking around he could see the soldiers firing from their positions. The Enfields and Stens blazed away, whilst the steady sound of the Bren and MG42 added to the din. The civilians, especially the two girls, looked terrified. The sound of the weapons was incredibly loud in a building that featured such wonderful acoustics. This was probably not what the original builders had in mind when it was built. Around Jones stood M. Poulain, now armed with one of the Sten guns, plus the two young Frenchman and the middle-aged couple. They were all armed and waiting for his command.
Nearby the three older civilians helped load the bullets into the Sten magazine using the loading tools. As they finished each one the girls took them and rushed them to the defender. It seemed to be going well, apart from the fact that half the bullets had already been used.
A loud thudding sound came from the main entrance; they were now close enough they could reach the walls and the doors. Most of the wailing from the undead seemed to be coming from the southern wall of the nave. Captain Scott shouted over to the altar, calling Archer over with his Bren gun. Cracks started to appear in the doors as the creatures kept kicking, hitting and clawing at the old timber. They couldn’t hold for long. Archer slid to the ground behind one of the pews and swung the weapon around to face the doors. The gunfire in the church continued as the creatures started to claw at the wall, each trying to find a weakness, a way in. The glass windows to the north shattered and hands appeared on the ledges; surely it was too high for them to reach?
With another dull hammering sound a piece of a door tore off, exposing the creatures to the sight of Archer and his Bren gun. He rattled off a handful of rounds, his expert training allowing him to use the least amount of bullets to do the job. One thing you could always count on with the British was discipline and control under fire. The undead beasts disappeared from the entrance, either having been killed or encouraged to look elsewhere for a way in. Archer gave the nave a quick look around, it looked secure, and he looked back to the damaged door and waited. His finger rested near but not on the trigger.
In the base of the tower Lewis defended the small room alone. This wasn’t entirely fair though, as directly above him he was protected by the sustained firepower of the MG42 and the long range shooting of Trent on the Enfield sniper rifle. Moving quickly between the three walls he provided extra shots as and when a target presented itself. So far though, the machinegun was keeping the west end of the church safe and clear.
At the opposite end of the church Smith led the defence of the chancel. Standing on top of the altar Smith had an excellent view of the battle. On his flanks were Wilks and Clarke, each with a Sten gun. Clarke had slid his rifle around onto his back, using the recently acquired Sten due to the extra ammunition and the fact that it was more suited to this type of fighting. Two of the windows shattered and heads and arms appeared, the undead things were trying to pull themselves into the chancel. The three defenders opened fire, the combined firepower cutting through the monsters’ heads and limbs with ease. Clarke squeezed the trigger for a second burst only to find the Sten gun jam. He smashed it down onto the altar, trying to free the jam, swearing at the weapons, “Piece of god damned shit Sten!”
Sergeant Smith slapped him across the face, pointing to the large wooden cross behind the altar. It seemed a strange thing to consider in the middle of such a hellish scenario.
More bodies appeared and yet Clarke could still not clear the jam. They’d found this problem a couple of years before when the first versions of this gun had been manufactured. Though they were simple and effective, the build quality was variable. The airborne soldiers had quickly learnt that you never took an untested Sten into the field. Providing you obtained a known weapon they were strong and reliable. The odd dog of a gun could get you killed though.
Clarke threw the weapon down in disgust and swung his Enfield off his shoulder and loosed off a round from the hip. The powerful .303 round ripped through one of the creature’s shoulders, knocking it from the window ledge. Yet more of them pulled themselves up
, at least a dozen of them were now on the window ledges and dragging themselves inside. Two managed to drop into the chancel only to be hit by half a magazine fired by Wilks. The second one, though lying on the ground, managed to grab at his leg and took a deep chunk of flesh from Wilks’ leg. He fell back, crying out in pain.
Smith reached for another magazine for his Sten, he was out. To his left Clarke was stabbing at the creatures with his rifle, the spike bayonet doing fine work. Yet more of them came through the windows. Letting the Sten gun drop and swing back on its sling Smith pulled out his ’38 Enfield pistol.
Smith turned to the nave, shouting to Jones. In the nave area he could see Archer on the Bren gun, blazing away at targets in the windows along the southern aisle of the church. Captain Scott was blasting away with his own M1 carbine, lending his fire to the wall.
“Here!” he cried.
Jones, waiting with his small group immediately spotted the danger and rushed to the altar to assist the defence. Jones got there first, firing bursts from the hip as he ran. The two Frenchmen flanked him, both adding to his fire. The middle-aged couple moved to Wilks, pulling him out of danger and towards the nave. M. Poulain moved up to the altar and fired a shot from his blunderbuss, the shards of lead and thick white smoke engulfing the east side of the church and blasted the last remaining undead out into the cemetery. Clarke moved up to the broken windows and continued shooting with his Enfield rifle. The two Frenchmen joined him, finally forcing back the creatures nearest to the church. Smith called to the girls who ran over, handing out more ammunition to the men. Smith turned to Jones.
“Good work...that was looking a bit hairy.”
Jones grinned, “That’s two you owe me now!”
Jones returned to the nave, taking M. Poulain with him. The two Frenchmen stayed with Smith and Clarke to defend the chancel. All the windows were now shattered, leaving over a dozen places for the creatures to pull themselves up and through. With four armed men now there it would hopefully be enough to hold another assault.
In the nave Captain Scott surveyed the battle. Archer had managed to stop yet another attempt on the southern part of the church, including another group in the doorway. There was almost nothing left of the doors and that worried him...a lot. On top of that they were running low on ammunition and had suffered their first injury to Wilks at the chancel. He knew in his heart that this meant he would need to deal with him before the end. It wouldn’t be easy, the man was popular in the unit and his death would not be taken well. The tower seemed to be the part of the church that was being hit the least, quite possibly because of its thick walls and small windows. He made a mental note to make use of this if they needed a strongpoint, should the rest of the church prove indefensible at any point. He moved off the main entrance, calling over to Jones and M. Poulain to help him. They helped him to move several of the containers into the doorway and up against the door. Their timing was perfect as with another two thumps the rest of the damaged doors were ripped away to reveal a terrifying sight. Jones was the closest and from his position all he could see were the undead, literally hundreds of them, all pushing up to the door and walls of the church.
Jones fell back, shouting out to the Captain, “Sir!”
As Jones retreated he lifted his Sten, emptying yet another magazine into the mass of the creatures. The bullets slammed into the stacked containers as well as the undead trying to force their way through. The rest of the defenders in the nave added more fire; even the middle-aged couple did what they could until it seemed nothing could live at the door. With a groan the containers started to move inwards, the overwhelming weight of numbers proving an irresistible force. Jones ran to the small amount of weapons and ammunition that as yet had not been claimed. He grabbed a couple of the grenades and threw one at the Captain who deftly caught it.
Back at the base of the tower a number of the creatures had made it to a window and were trying to lift themselves through the shattered frame. Lewis fought them off with his Enfield, shooting and stabbing in sequence but more kept pulling at him. He drew a grenade and pulled the pin, ready to throw outside. The walls were strong and easily capable of stopping any blast damage to those sheltered inside. After waiting long enough he approached the southern window of the base of the tower and threw the grenade gently out of the window making sure he didn’t hit the frame. Astonishingly as the grenade left his hand one of the creatures lifted itself up, blocking the window. The grenade simply bounced of its body and rolled back inside the room. Lewis staggered backwards, trying to get away but it was too late. With a flash the grenade exploded, sending shards of metal into his torso and face, killing him instantly. His shredded body flew back into the nave, leaving the base of the tower completely unguarded.
Trent, from his spot immediately above the grenade saw what happened with a look of horror on his face. He shouted to Harris and Gardner who were still shooting.
“Get down there and secure the floor, we can’t let them in!” he shouted.
The two men grabbed their weapons and equipment and rushed down the narrow staircase. Trent, now alone with just his sniper rifle for company, simply concentrated on the horde outside and kept firing. At the bottom of the stairs Harris reached the floor just in time to find one of the creatures dragging itself in. With two shots fired smoothly from his Enfield he killed the creature instantly and then took up watch at the window. Gardner was close behind and within seconds the floor was secure.
Humphreys, momentarily leaving his position on the northern face of the nave turned to put fire down on the entrance as a dozen of the creatures forced their way inside. M. Poulain was the only person between the doorway and the rest of the nave and he took the full brunt of the rush of the creatures. The first of them crashed into the man and forced him to the ground. One of the Frenchman from the chancel left his window position and jumped back to help with the fight. The three survivors from the village moved backwards, away from the door whilst the two girls ran and hid in the corner of the nave.
The glass from the windows along the northern face of the nave shattered and dark figures fell through the framing into the aisles. The old woman, too slow and frail was immediately caught, as was the old man who was knocked down by the creatures. The girls started screaming at the horror of the situation. Wilhelm, who until now had kept away, probably because he had no useful weapon, rushed ahead, swiping at the monsters with his mallet. With a couple of deft strikes he made it to the wall and proceeded to halt the tide, knocking one after another to the ground. The third of the locals joined in, hitting the creatures with a small pitchfork.
The Frenchman, who until now had been adamant about not arming the German, threw a pistol to him. He must have been carrying it somewhere inside his coat. The German caught it and with a look of familiarity cocked it and emptied several rounds into the last of the creatures along the northern aisle.
Captain Scott, pocketed the grenade thrown by Jones and emptied the full magazine from his carbine into the horde. Jones waded in, smashing his now empty Sten at the monsters before drawing his handgun and then added his fire to the Captain’s.
Even though half of the creatures were down an equal number kept pushing forwards. Archer, who had been loading more ammunition into his Bren gun stood up, the gun hanging down low to his waist and proceeded to fire from the hip. Round after round pounded into the rush, filling the porch with bone and gore. Chard, from his position at the window dropped a grenade outside; the blast came moments later and sent dust and debris in through the doorway and windows. A loud cry from outside signalled that yet more of the things were there but at least the immediate assault had been stopped.
Captain Scott looked down to see the wounded old man. M. Poulain had sustained multiple bites from the creatures and was losing blood at a rapid rate. Before the officer could even try to move him the old man reached out and grabbed his hand, pulling the soldier’s pistol to his forehead. The look on the man’s face told him exact
ly what he had to do. Closing his eyes for just a moment he fired a single shot from his handgun. M. Poulain, the crazy old man with the blunderbuss was dead. There was no time to grieve though as the creatures were still massing in numbers outside and more were making their way to the doorway. Moving the body up against the wall, Captain Scott approached one of the south facing windows where Chard was defending. Shouting up to him, Captain Scott passed up his grenade, which Chard deftly armed and then threw twenty feet out in front of the doorway. From the other window Jones threw out two more grenades. The men ducked down and the thuds and piles of debris announced the detonation of the devices. Chard looked back out of the window; the grenades had done their job well. At least thirty of the creatures were down, some still moving but none on their feet. Looking out further the numbers were still substantial but at least this part of the church had held.
Archer climbed on top of the stacked material so he could take up position with his Bren gun. Jones jumped down, giving him full access to the window. From there Archer had an unrestricted view of the southern face of the church. Popping in another thirty round magazine he started shooting, picking off the closest of the creatures from the pack. Though the weapon carried only small magazines Archer was carrying almost a dozen more, taken from the rest of the men who as a matter of course carried spare magazines for the Brens.
Several more explosions blasted around the church. The defenders in the main tower, and Humphreys along the northern wall of the church, did their bit to force back the attacks. With a loud wailing sound the attack seemed to stop just as soon as it had started.
Up in the tower Trent watched the unfolding battle with awe. The MG42 team had used up all their ammunition and had left him with just one spare MP40 and several spare magazines they had found earlier. The MP40 submachine gun seemed to be working pretty well and from his vantage point he was able to put a considerable amount of fire down into the area around the base of the tower. They had now withstood two pushes to break inside the church and though difficult had held them off, so far. Lifting his scope rifle up he surveyed the scene out to the south and then followed through to the west and up to the north. These main attacks seemed to have slowed. There were no major groups of the creatures within a distance of about a quarter of a mile to the south. To the west a large group of the things were shambling forwards, they were much closer and would probably reach the church in five to ten minutes. The north looked pretty clear, apart from the odd straggler. He saw one out on its own and without hesitation put a bullet into the side of its head. Normally he would be very pleased with a shot like that; today it just seemed it made no difference. He shouted down through the tower to the Captain.
Night of the Nazi Zombies Page 15
