by Lund, Dave
Glorietta Bay, Coronado, CA
The Zodiac came to life, Hammer and Gonzo piloting the craft carefully to the docks where the Chinese patrol boat had been left. Alongside the tied-up boat, the two of them carefully transferred the gas cans from the bottom of the Zodiac to the patrol boat. Gonzo stayed on the patrol boat and Hammer stayed with the Zodiac. The patrol boat coughed to life, Gonzo released the lines and backed the boat slowly out of the slip.
Motoring up, the patrol boat left a larger wake than the Zodiac, which Hammer used to mask his presence as he followed behind. They crossed under the Coronado Bridge, turning west and towards the cargo ship they’d run aground the night before.
Powerful spotlights illuminated the shipwreck; containers that had fallen to shore lay twisted, bent, and open. As they came closer to the wrecked ship it was obvious that what the Chinese and Koreans lacked in machinery they more than made up for in manpower.
Gonzo smiled. God, I hope they haven’t dumped the fuel tanks yet.
The pair passed the USS Midway; Gonzo slowed the patrol boat and scanned the shore with binoculars.
There appears to be about a half-dozen of those radar trucks spaced on either side of the recovery, maybe another three dozen trucks that they’re using to haul away the material from inside the containers.
Zeroing in on the containers that lay broken open on the shore, which coincidentally was near the original recon spot, Gonzo tried to figure out what the cargo was. It didn’t appear to be military in nature; most of it appeared to be repair pieces, and some looked like electrical transformers one would see on power poles in neighborhoods.
Sure, fuck you guys, kill us off, fix the infrastructure and take the whole damned thing? Gonzo snorted in anger. He hadn’t felt this angry since his first tour in Afghanistan. He pointed the nose of the ship towards the front of the wreck, where he saw the most people, tied the wheel to the seat, keeping the rudder straight, and looked at Hammer, who had pulled alongside the port side, away from the view of anyone on most of the shoreline. Gonzo took out a Zippo, flicked it twice, smiled at the dancing flame, pushed the red button taped to the can on the left and lit the rags hanging out of the four other fuel cans on the boat.
The lid of the Zippo lighter slapped closed before Gonzo put it in his pocket, pushed the twin throttles all the way forward, and jumped over the gunwale into the Zodiac. Hammer steered sharply away from the patrol boat and pushed the throttle as far open as it would go. The nose of the rubber boat stood sharply out of the water as it sped past the USS Midway. Rounding the corner of the north shore, a fireball erupted behind them, the dark sky glowing red. A hard pressure wave ripped over them, nearly knocking them out of the boat before the deep hard thump of the explosion could be heard. Hammer slowed the Zodiac while Gonzo held the binoculars to his face.
“Holy shit, buddy, there’s a huge hole in the hull. It’s ripped open like the fucking Titanic … sinking like it too.”
Gonzo scanned as much of the shoreline near the explosion as he could see; most of it looked absolutely destroyed, and the rest of it was on fire. Even some of the airport terminals looked damaged.
“Good kill. Another point for the good guys.”
Hammer smiled at the comment, the two of them giving a quick fist bump before turning into the marina near the convention center. The motor off, they tied the Zodiac to a chain-link fence sticking into the water from shore and climbed out of the boat. Once on shore, they crouched back to back, scanning each direction for any threats, while gathering their bearings and preparing for what should be a short wait.
MSOT Convoy, Coronado, CA
The short convoy of two raced south on Silver Strand Boulevard before reaching the end of the bay and following the curve in the road into Imperial Beach. Approaching I-5, Happy and Chuck peeled off from the convoy and turned north on Saturn Boulevard before driving over the landscaping and into the parking lot of the home improvement store. Happy keyed the radio.
“Switchblade, time to roll.”
The M-ATV started and drove out of the broken storefront, Zeds falling off of the hood and away from the doors as it rolled, more bodies falling and being pulled under the front bumper. There were dozens and dozens of Zeds. Once clear of the largest group, the armored truck sped up before stopping by the Humvee. Happy and Chuck stood on the hood of their truck, picking off the undead closest to them and no more, conserving their ammo. Once Simmons brought the truck to a stop, Happy jumped off the hood and climbed into the back seat of the M-ATV, tossing a large rucksack on the seat next to him before being pushed out of the way by Chuck and his large rucksack.
“Well hello, guys, finish all your shopping? Ready to go?”
“Dude.” Simmons frowned at Happy, who was smiling like someone who couldn’t wait to tell a secret.
“OK, in all seriousness, how much fuel do you have?”
“Three-quarters.”
“Perfect. Fucking get going, we’re racing west. This is going to be fun.”
“What exploded?”
“It was the fun balloon.”
“What about our Humvee?”
“If everything works out right we can pick it up after the party.”
Simmons shook his head. Regular grunt Marines were weird sometimes in combat zones, but these secret squirrel commando types were a breed all their own.
Full MSOT Convoy, Coronado, CA
The truck rocketed down the flyover and onto I-5, which was surprisingly clear of Zeds. Snow scanned the route ahead with the remote turret, switching between night vision and IR; the Zeds didn’t show up on Infrared due to their bodies being the same temperature as the air around them, but they would show up on NV. Living people, trucks, aircraft, all of them glowed in IR, if there were any to be found. So far the few helicopters that Snow had seen were hovering around the site of the explosion, the powerful spotlights blooming out the night vision screen.
Zeds fell from the overpasses onto the Interstate as the truck rolled past. Simmons and Jones, their truck quickly catching up to Aymond and the lead truck, were listening to the details of the operation as Chuck explained them.
Jones shook his head. “That’s the plan? We called those goat fuckers suicide jockeys on Route Irish for doing the same shit in Baghdad.”
“How well did it work?” Chuck smiled.
“Great until air cover blew them to hell.”
Chuck shrugged. He wasn’t worried, he had no doubt they would win; if everything went to hell they would wing it and win no matter what.
The pair of armored trucks raced across the bridge down the ramp to Harbor Drive. As they bounced across the median, dodging the few abandoned vehicles and Zeds in their path, power poles and fences around huge naval support facilities flew past them. The army of the dead marched west with them, following the sight of the fireball, the sound of the massive explosion. A seemingly endless row of railcars appeared on their right, all full of new vehicles that had arrived by boat to be dispersed and sold all over the U.S. Every new car had been ruined by the EMP and was now worthless, left to rust and rot back into the earth.
Low-slung pedestrian walkways crossed over the roadway. Aymond in the lead M-ATV kept rolling at fifty mph, a blindingly fast speed as the trucks bounced through the median and around all the obstacles.
“Stop, stop here!”
Simmons slammed on the brakes, Happy yelling at him.
“Chuck and I are getting out for a second. Stay put.”
Simmons gave a thumbs up Jones spun the remote turret, scanning for anything approaching that was a threat, but away from the direction of the other Marines.
Chuck and Happy climbed out of the truck, each holding a paint can and a garden hose. One hand holding the random supplies, they drew their pistols and ran quickly to either side of the heavy concrete pedestrian bridge. A paint can was placed against the concrete walls, the garden hoses unrolled across the roadway, wires and det cord sticking out of the end of the hoses by t
he paint cans; each man worked quickly, setting and arming their IEDs. The paint cans were each full of bolts and nails and a motorcycle battery to power the system, an improvised circuit that would squeeze together when a vehicle ran over the hose—hopefully not if a lone Zed stepped on it—and all of it set off with a pound of C4.
With a few more quick shots from their pistols to put down the closest Zeds, Happy and Chuck ran back to the running M-ATV and climbed in, Happy taking a glance over his shoulder at the blue sign welcoming everyone to the Naval Base San Diego. More like fuck you for coming.
Lead M-ATV, Coronado, CA
Aymond drove the truck hard, harder than they had driven the trucks from the MWTC to come here. In his mind that was a caravan, a simple convoy; this was a combat operation and they didn’t have time to waste. Besides, two of his men were out in the open and a world of shit was about to go down. The truck practically flew under the overpass leading up the Coronado Bridge. The other ruined Chinese cargo ship lay across the spur lines and against the concrete pier.
Against the red sky in the distance the silhouette of the Hilton loomed towards his left. He couldn’t remember the street names but he knew that was where he needed to turn, under another pedestrian bridge. He stood on the brakes hard before turning hard left, all four tires clawing at the pavement, trying to gain traction. The truck shuddered as it shot through the intersection and bounced over the concrete median. The massive convention center lay to his right, and the Zeds’ activity was getting heavier, all headed towards the siren call of the glowing red sky and the remains of the Chinese ship.
A semi-truck stood across all the lanes of the road, jack-knifed, the cab lodged against the wall of the convention center. Aymond stood on the brakes, Snow yelling, “LEFT LEFT LEFT!”
Aymond jerked the wheel left, bouncing over the curb, the wheels churning through the dead grass before he jerked the wheel right and onto the wide concrete boardwalk. Snow spun the remote turret towards the marina park. “Got’em, Chief, they’re running towards us from the left.”
The M-ATV slid to a stop, tires leaving dark marks on the pristine concrete. Hammer and Gonzo piled into the truck, Aymond gassing it before they could even get their doors closed.
Trail M-ATV, Coronado, CA
Simmons slammed on the brakes again, the Coronado Bridge towering over the roadway. Happy and Chuck piled out of the back of the M-ATV with a handful of soda cans tied together with something that looked like a rope to Jones. This time Jones jumped out with an M4, taking shots to protect the other Marines while they rolled the rope across the roadway, the soda cans draped across the middle of the road on either side of the dirt median. Changing magazines, Jones kept firing, the Zeds coming in greater and greater numbers with each passing moment.
“Chuck, Happy, get your white asses back in the fucking truck!” Jones flipped to three-round bursts, burning through another magazine while holding protection. Simmons fired his pistol from inside the truck, shooting through the open passenger door, picking off Zeds that shambled up behind Jones, his attention directed to the rear, where Chuck and Happy worked fast.
An eternity later, mere seconds really, all three of them were in the M-ATV and Simmons had the pedal pressed all the way to the floor.
Lead M-ATV, Coronado, CA
“Gonzo, how many birds do you see up?”
“Only two, Chief; they’re pretty much just circling the explosion, the spotlights are pointed down. They must have a hell of a mess.”
“Well fuck’em.”
Gonzo nodded. “How close do you want to get?
“Just past Hawthorn Street should do it, ya think, Gonzo?”
“Damnit Hammer, I don’t know the streets over here like you and your little frat buddies do.”
Hammer smirked. “Just past the courthouse-looking building, Chief, like a block and some change past it.”
“See, those are directions I can work with.”
At the next park entrance, Aymond steered right and back onto a real road, before turning left and back onto Harbor, where he needed to be. Moments later they passed the USS Midway on their left and then the San Diego County Building on their right.
“Tell me when, guys.”
“Just a little further, Chief … and stop.”
Aymond followed Hammer’s instructions and slowed to a stop. They were very close to the edge of destruction from the ship’s fuel tanks exploding. Snow spun the remote turret again. “Still only see two; the IR on the ground is white-out due to the flames, so no idea on that one, guys.”
Hammer and Gonzo climbed out and into the cargo box in the back of the truck, each unpacking their long 50-caliber rifles from the cases. Nearly in unison, they flipped the bipods down and braced the rifles on the roof of the truck. They were almost in reach of the Zeds; cold dead fingers clawed at their boots, trying to pull their prey to the ground for a feast. Behind them a legion of death approached, all the Zeds that Aymond had sped around and past now converging en masse.
“I’ve got left.”
“I’ve got right,” Gonzo responded.
Each of them concentrated on their breathing, letting the circling helicopters fly into the view of their optic instead of trying to chase the aircraft through the sky. The helicopters flying opposite each other, slowly circling, made the shot easier for the pair.
One then the other! Flames followed the heavy round out of the barrel, both Marines working the bolt to place another round into battery. For a moment it seemed as if neither Marine had made the shot, the helicopters continuing on their path, but then one began to spin, rotating faster and faster before rolling and falling into the debris of the ship and the fire. The other fell straight out of the sky and crashed into the runway opposite the ship. Both of the Marines quickly put their rifles back in the cases and raised their M4s, Gonzo pushing the transmit button on his radio.
“Chief, we’re crawling with Zeds back here; splashed two, but we can’t climb out yet.”
“Roger, stay put. We continue as planned.”
The turret and heavy machine gun faced forward, so both of them turned and faced the rear, flipping their NODs down from the front of their bump helmets. Each of their worlds became awash in a green and black glow from the night vision. The truck lurched forward, driving slower than it had been before, the mass of Zeds making it nearly impossible to drive any faster. They pushed on each side of the truck, far too many for Gonzo and Hammer to put down, their fingers still grasping at their boots. Both of them backed up against the cab of the truck, getting as far away from the openings of the cargo area as they could.
Trail M-ATV, Coronado, CA
Simmons drove quickly, but much slower than before, the concentration of the dead becoming thicker and thicker as they approached the fire.
“We’re supposed to put another set of IEDs out with this walking bridge for the Hilton.”
“Chuck, are you really going to climb out there and do that?”
“Fuck no, what about you?”
Happy shook his head. “No way.”
Jones spun the turret, scanning. “I lost the helicopters, that’s the good news; bad news is it is wall to fucking wall of Zeds as far as the eye can see.”
Simmons tightened his grip on the wheel. “Any ideas or just keep driving?”
Chuck and Happy shouted at the same time, “Just keep driving!”
Lead M-ATV, Coronado, CA
Gonzo looked forward as the M-ATV pushed through the crowd of dead, reaching the edge of the blast radius. He held down his transmitter: “Radar truck, about hundred yards up and right twenty.”
Snow replied, “See’em.”
The heavy M2 machine gun ripped open the air around the truck, the tracer rounds following their path like lasers, a stream of heavy 50-caliber rounds in between the spaced tracer rounds. Five seconds later and the burst was finished, the stream of rounds walking up the front of the radar truck and through the radar face, the truck catching on fir
e and two men running away from behind it.
“I’ve got’em.” Hammer braced his M4 on the truck and fired a burst, the green figures in his night vision crumpling to the ground. In front of the radar truck was a wall of death, stacked twenty yards deep; the Zeds fell to the ground along the arcing path of the truck’s invisible destruction.
“Chief, think we can get one of those trucks?”
“Where, Gonzo?”
“Figure this one is one of a number holding a perimeter, right? Roll through here, race to the north, and find the next in line. If we reach the far edge of the airport we turn and burn. Their birds are down, by now they know someone is out there … fuck it, do it live!”
Aymond looked at Snow, who shrugged before giving a thumbs up. Aymond keyed the radio. “Alright Gonzo, you two assholes are driving the damn thing since you’re riding in the back anyways. Dagger-One, you copy?”
Chuck grabbed the mic, “Good copy Dagger-Actual, inbound from the northwest, five mikes.”
Trail M-ATV, Coronado, CA
“Simmons, we’re going to have to speed it up; use the fucking sidewalks if you have to, but when you get to the Embassy Suites go right instead of straight. That’ll point us towards the end of the runway and where Chief is headed.”
Simmons focused hard forward, Chuck and Happy pulling the remaining IEDs out of their bags in the backseat and working fast to modify their already modified explosives.
