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Authors note: during parts of the story below containing conversation over the radio, numbers used as 15, 27, 61 etc are pronounced as one five, two seven, six one, not as they look. This is normally used during military operations to prevent someone from stumbling over the number and getting a garbled transmission. Example Bravo One Five.
UP FROM THE DEPTHS
While the rest of the country was reeling from news of mass rioting and alleged ‘zombie’ attacks, re-animation of the dead, and other assorted strange events, an Ohio class, 688 ballistic missile submarine, a ‘boomer’ was gliding silently unaware of what was happening on the surface. This boomer had been decommissioned as a missile boat, its ‘Sherwood forest’ of missile tubes removed and in their place, a two-section dive out ‘locker’ installed. This locker was for use by special warfare teams, SEALs and SDV units, and provided enough space for both units to work comfortably and have plenty of room for storage, including a ‘wet’ locker for dive out operations.
The boomer, christened the Claggett, was returning from a combined exercise to test a new SPECWAR delivery method. They had been operating under strict EMCOM conditions so therefore had no communication with the outside world.
Captain Powell, CO of the Claggett, a naval veteran that had come up through the submarine fleet and now had command of this vessel.
“Diving officer, make your depth 65 feet.”
“65 feet, aye sir.”
Powell moved towards the center section of the command bridge and pushed the controls to raise the periscope.
“Sonar, any surface contacts?” he asked as he put his eyes to the rubber cups.
“Conn, Sonar, negative surface contact.” Powell swiveled the periscope slowly, looking at the calm surface above.
“COB, prepare to surface the boat. Mr. Ridley contact CINPAC and let them know we’re heading to port.”
Chief Wilson, or Chief of the Boat (COB), ordered the seaman manning the dive controls to surface the boat.
“Mr. Ridley, you have the Conn, I’ll be in my quarters.” Powell stated as he went aft of the command area, down a small ladder, through a passageway and into his quarters.
Further aft, just outside the wet locker/storage area, Lieutenant Willis, SEAL team commander; team Shark was reviewing the reports of the completed exercise. The concept was promising and with some more training, the method would be a boon to the SPECWAR community.
“Billy, what’s this about a snag?” Willis asked Billy Rogers, team chief.
“Ell-tee, its not that bad, one of the zodiacs hung up on the initial deployment. One of those tie down straps popped and slowed down the ascent rate, boat crew had to bail some water out of it. Damn thing almost inflated on the way up.”
Willis nodded and returned to his reading.
“Captain, flash traffic from CINCPAC.” The 1MC speaker barked in Powell’s quarters.
“Pipe it down here, sparks.” Powell ordered.
“To captain, USS Claggett. Major civil unrest has occurred on a national level. All military units have been ordered to secure themselves for attack and to assist civilian authorities if possible. Contact has been lost with several installations already. CINC, (the president) was unable to get to NEACP, (National Emergency Airborne Command Post, a converted 747 that allows communications to all military and civilian emergency command centers) and has taken refuge in the emergency bunker underneath the white house. The Pentagon is under siege from an as yet unknown force and whatever joint chiefs were in residence, have secured themselves in the emergency command bunker.”
Powell was shocked to hear all this but knew that more was coming.
“All naval vessels still operating are to remain offshore. Under no circumstances are they to dock unless the facilities have been secured and no infected persons are present. The infection appears to be spread through bites and anyone who is bitten will become violent within hours. All bite victims will attack. I repeat, all bite victims will attack. A list of symptoms is being sent to you via secure SATCOM fax. If for any reason you need to go ashore, go well armed. Any infected encountered must be terminated with extreme prejudice. I repeat, all infected are to be shot on sight, do not attempt to capture or approach. Do not aim for center of mass, headshots only. I say again, engage any infected at long range if at all possible and headshots only.”
Powell sat there, listening; almost unable to comprehend what he was hearing.
“Until control of the situation can be attained on a national level, all units still operating will be under regional command to be determined by the onsite commanders. That is all.”
Captain Powell had begun taking notes but stopped several times to just listen. He realized that communication with other ships and land bases was necessary to establish some sort of chain of command. He reached over and snapped the intercom to the bridge.
“Mr. Ridley, notify all department heads and the embarked SEAL commander to be in the ready room in 10 minutes. Have Doc Brown there and bring a copy of the flash traffic with you.” He released the button and took a deep breath. Holy shit. What was happening? He got up and went to his private head and splashed water on his face before drying his face and hands, grabbing his notes and heading to the ready room.
Powell conducted the briefing and answered any questions he might be able to, which weren’t many. Most of the men assembled sat there with shocked expressions, except lieutenant Willis. Internally he was shocked at what Powell described, but he kept his emotions in check, partially due to training but mostly because he had always had a poker face.
“Sir, let me get this straight.” Lieutenant Peters, engineering section. “ Civilians are rioting and biting each other, then the bite victims get violent and become rioters themselves?”
“Lieutenant Peters, that is an assumption I’m not willing to make at this time. I suggest that we treat this as a viral/biological event and remove the infected personnel expediently. All we know is that mass civil unrest has occurred, people are apparently biting each other and the bite victims become violent just hours after being bitten. Civilian authorities are having a difficult time restoring order and communication with several military installations has been lost.” Powell reiterated.
“Captain, before coming here, I had radio try to contact Port Winthrop. They were unable to do so.” Ridley added.
Powell nodded solemnly. The assembled men began talking amongst themselves.
“Gentlemen. You have your orders. I want to see a working plan at 1200. Dismissed.”
All the department heads filed out except Lt. Willis.
“Captain.”
“Yes Willis.”
“I’d like to get a copy of the medical information for my corpsman and offer my men for strategic recon of any shore sites.”
“Very well lieutenant. I’ll see to it.”
Willis turned to go but stopped at the door.
“Dave? Is this shit for real?” he asked.
“Yeah Jim, it is.” Powell confirmed.
Several hours later, all the department heads had returned their plans and Powell was reviewing them in his quarters with Ridley.
“The only good news is from stores and engineering. Apparently we have enough food for 8months, maybe a year if we half ration. This old tub is still listed as an operational boomer so supply loads us according to that. Engineering tells me the reactor was overhauled two months ago so we have prime fuel rods and the desalinization plant is operating at peak efficiency.”
Ridley nodded affirmation to all Powell had just read off.
“Sir the crew has heard some of it and you know how scuttlebutt is. Hell sir, some of them are even planning on watching some old zombie attack movie tonight in the galley.”
“Whatever works for them. I want you to keep an eye on the crew for me and tell all the officers and senior enlisted to do the same. We can’t afford for someone to lose it.”
“Aye sir. One other thing, radio had some sporadic contact with Fort Pastor. What they could make out was that initially it was a displaced person center and then something happened at the hospital. We’ve had no further contact.”
“I see. Have them keep trying. Any luck with any other naval vessels?”
“We have made contact with a tender out of Guam and a Coast Guard cutter off Point Magoo.”
“The tender we could use. Out of Guam? Damn. That’s a long trip for them. Any word on their crew or supplies on board?”
“No sir. They estimate 22 days until they can rendezvous with us.”
“22 days? We can hold out that long no problem.”
“What about that cutter?”
“Yes sir. They were on a Caribbean drug patrol and were heading back to port when they got a distress call from a civilian sailboat. Their report states that two civilians were on board and told about dead people coming back to life and attacking the living.”
Powell looked at Ridley with a raised eyebrow.
“Obviously in some form of shock.” If they only knew the truth, Powell thought, sure wish I did.
“Aye sir.”
“Contact that cutter and let them know that we are attempting to reach Port Winthrop. Give them a sitrep, captain’s eyes only. Don’t tell them what type of vessel we are as yet. We don’t want to tip our hand.”
“Aye sir.”
“Anything else Mr. Ridley?”
“Nothing yet sir.” Ridley paused. “ We will pass the lighthouse at Dante’s finger just after dusk. We can contact the keeper there for independent confirmation of the situation.”
“Very well Mr. Ridley. Send me a sitrep when you do.”
“Aye sir.”
“That will be all Mr. Ridley.”
“Aye sir.” Ridley turned and left the captain’s quarters.
Meanwhile further aft.
“Ell-tee you bullshitting us?” Jimmy Webb, team sniper asked.
“No Webb, I’m not. This is the real deal, no shit.”
“Gawd damn Ell-tee. What the fuck?” Hannaberry, the team commo expert added.
“Stow that shit Berry.” Rogers chided.
“You know what I know. This is some serious shit and we will be in harms way. Doc Johnson has all the details that CINCPAC knows at this time. When I get something new, I’ll pass it on.”
Just after 1730hrs.
“Sir, contact with the lighthouse keeper has been established.”
“Very well pipe in here.” Powell commanded.
“Hello Navy. This is the lighthouse keeper, Dante’s Finger. How goes it?” The voice crackled over the speaker.
“Dante’s Finger, this is Naval vessel Archangel One One. Request station verification.”
“Naval Vessel this is the operator at Dante’s Finger Lighthouse, station ID is KWXRL9857. How copy Navy?”
“Confirm Dante’s, station ID confirmed. "
“You boys a little jumpy this evening?” the old voice asked.
“Negative that last Dante’s. Just checking out the signal strength, got a newbie working the comm gear.”
“Good one Navy.” The voice chuckled.
“Mr. Ridley. Slow to one half. I’m going topside to look around.”
“Aye sir, slowing to one half.”
Powell pulled on his jacket and climbed the ladder inside the conning tower to the upper deck. Fresh sea air greeted him as he popped out the hatch and took the offered binoculars from the deck watch. He automatically scanned the horizon before focusing on the lighthouse off the starboard. He reached over and flipped the switch that would allow him to listen into the radio chatter.
“Say Navy, can you spare a cup of sugar for an old sailor?” the lighthouse keeper was asking.
“You short of supplies there Dante’s?”
“Ayup. My supply ship is running late and I’m down to my hard stores. Thought my radio was broke but then you called me.”
“Wait one Dante’s.”
“Captain. Request permission to send a shore party out and verify the conditions.” Ridley called up to the observation deck.
Powell thought for a few seconds, his eyes still pressed to the rubber eyecups of his binoculars as he stared at the lighthouse.
“Very well Mr. Ridley. Inform Lieutenant Willis he has a mission.”
“Aye sir.”
In the aft area.
“Get those zodiacs prepped. Four man team per boat, Webb you and Lindsay cover our asses when we hit the rocks. You all remember rock portage so now we get to do it for real ladies.”
Rogers would take control of one boat crew and Willis would have the other. The SEALs wrestled the collapsed zodiacs or IBS, inflatable boat, small, out the hatch and onto the deck where the rest of the team inflated and tied them off to the sub. Each man had an M4 with nightscope; two with the 203, 40mm grenade launcher attached and Doc Johnson had a M249 SAW. They all had sidearms.
“OK ladies, saddle up. We go in, check out the place, extract the lighthouse keeper if needed and exfil. I want it to go by the numbers and no mistakes. This is the shit.” As Willis spoke, each man checked his weapons, equipment and made sure his face was blackened, before Willis directed them to take to their boats. Powell watched from the tower as the SEALs efficiently boarded their craft. Willis paused before boarding to throw Powell a jaunty salute. Powell returned it and Willis was off.
The SEALs lay along the gunwales or sides of their rubber boats and made for the rocks at the base of the lighthouse. The only sign of their passing, a faint wake from the heavily muffled powerful engines. The first boat made the rocks and the point man jumped out to secure the boat while the rest of the crew dug their paddles in to hold the boat. The second boat went around to the supply boat dock and glided up to the shore. Through the use of silent hand signals, Willis directed his boat crew. Over the inter team comm net, two quick squelches notified him that the first team was in position. The men crept silently up the dock, weapons ready, checking every shadow and darkened area. Willis moved up to the door to the keeper’s house and motioned his men to take positions. Two more squelches notified him that the rest of the team was ready. He took one last look around, motioned to Webb, stepped onto the small porch and knocked.
Willis was about to knock again when the door swung open and a grizzled old man stood there, dressed in a white turtleneck and jeans. They looked at each other.
“Navy?” The old man asked.
“Yes sir.”
“Well damn son, come on in then.” The old man swung the door open wider and Willis stepped inside.
“Coffee?”
“No sir. I’m Lt. Willis. We’re here to get you out sir.”
The old man paused from his coffee making. He half turned.
“Get me out? Where we going Lt.?”
“Sir, there had been major civil unrest. Our job is to evacuate all civilians to a safe area.”
The old man handed Willis a steaming cup of coffee.
“Safe area? Hell Lt. What you think this is? I heard what’s been going on. Seems to me this here is a safe area.” The old man said as he sipped his coffee.
“Give me a minute.” Willis handed the coffee back and reached up to his throat mike.
“Saber 27 to Archangel 11”
“Archangel 11, go ahead Saber 27”
“Saber Actual request secure commo with Archangel Actual.”
“This is Archangel Actual, go ahead Saber 27.”
“Actual, civilian realizes situation. Request permission to designate this area a safe zone. Also request additional supplies and medical stores be distributed until such time as we can locate a more suitable area.”
Powell paused while he considered what Willis suggested. He put the binoculars back up to his eyes and scanned the lighthouse island from point to dock. A barren rock, small, secured easily, no place to hide, surrounded by water on all sides.
“Saber 27, Archangel Actual. Permission granted.”
“Mr. Ridley, all stop, assemble a shore party and get a corpsman ready.”
“Aye sir.”
Over the next several hours, a relay of zodiacs raced back and forth to the lighthouse island. The little storage building was supplied with fuel for the generator and spare parts. The storage areas in the house and lighthouse itself were filled with canned food and MRE rations. A small group of sailors volunteered to stay there and make temporary housing for any survivors that the Claggett might find. The old lighthouse keeper, Amos Coffelt was very happy to have company and Powell promised him to locate his supply ship or return with the supplies himself. As Powell was turning to leave, the old man handed him a picture.
“This is my grand daughter. If you find her, can you bring her to me? She’s all I got left in this world.”
Powell took the picture, looked at the young, college age girl in it and then looked back up at the old man.
“I’ll do what I can Mr. Coffelt.”
“Ayup. I wouldn’t ask any more.”
It was just after 2100hrs when the Claggett made the channel buoy.
“Mr. Ridley, any contact with Port Winthrop?”
"Negative sir. Nothing.”
“Keep trying.”
“Aye sir.”
Powell had been on the tower for hours, constantly scanning the surrounding waters. There had been no ship traffic, which was a little strange, considering the current situation. As the Claggett turned to line itself with the deep section of the channel, Powell turned to look at the civilian shipyard as it passed by. He scanned the ships and the docks; all lit up like a Christmas tree. Something was wrong but he couldn’t put his finger on it. As he scanned each of the large freighters in turn, it dawned on him what it was. No activity on the docks or the ships. He watched the docks as they passed by. Gunfire echoed across the water and all the deck watch swiveled as one to focus on the civilian dock. They all watched as several people ran from a disabled van along the waterfront, firing at another group that appeared to be chasing them. Powell focused on the group chasing and shocked to see people with large chunks of flesh missing, some trying to run on legs that had no feet, arms hung slack like dislocated, all looked like rejects from a bad car accident. He watched as several were shot but didn’t drop, just staggered as chunks of meat were blown off them. He panned back to the running group and saw some of the men turn and fire and a couple stop and take careful aim, dropping a few of the chasers with headshots. Finally he was galvanized into action when he panned beyond the running group to see that the dock ended in a high fence topped with razor wire.
“Mr. Ridley. All Stop!”
“Aye sir. All Stop.”
“Get Lt. Willis up here.”
“Aye sir.”
Seemingly seconds later, Willis joined Powell on the tower.
“That group of civvies is fighting off a horde of infected. I want you to get them out of there and extract them to safety.”
Willis was watching the scene unfold as Powell spoke. He saw the infected for the first time and realized what his team was up against.
“Hostile extraction. Sir. Those facilities could be of use to us in the future as well as any cargo those ships might have.” Willis voiced his views aloud while he realized that he could use more men.
“I know that Lt. But our primary mission is to extract any civilians in a hostile area and see to their safety.”
“Aye sir. My teams on it.” Willis handed the binoculars back and popped back down the hatch like a prairie dog. He joined his team on the aft deck as they boarded their boats.
The zodiacs flew across the smooth water as the team raced to the end of the dock. The gunfire had slackened as they drew closer. They could see that the civilians were almost to the fence and that several of them had run out of ammo for their rifles and were using handguns. A few even had tire irons or baseball bats. The SEALs made it to the end of the dock, tied up their boats and started climbing up the pilings.
Rogers was the first one to the top and directed Doc Johnson to start laying down suppressive fire with his 249. The civilians froze when the 249 started yammering. As the rest of the team got to the top to of the dock, they added their weapons to the firing, effectively pushing back the zombie horde. Webb started using his PSG1 rifle, dropping the closest zombies with well-placed headshots. Willis had Hannaberry begin cutting the chain link fence to allow the civilians to pass through. Rogers switched weapons with Johnson so Doc could check out the survivors as they went by. More and more zombies seemed to be coming out of the warehouses and surrounding areas. Willis told his men to prepare to peel when the last civvie was in the boats.
Doc yelled out that was the last of them.
“PEEL!” Willis yelled out as Rogers started to lay down long bursts from the 249 and everyone else went to full auto fire, cutting huge swaths of the undead down. The two grenadiers began popping white phosphorous grenades into the ever-growing horde, setting fire to dozens.
Smith, the team demo expert set up some Claymore mines at the fence breech as the rest of the team jumped through the hole and dropped to the water below. Smith dropped into the water and grabbed the first boat he was next to.
“GO! GO! GO!” he yelled.
The zodiacs swung around and sped out to the waiting submarine. The team looked behind them as the zombie horde reached the fence and pushed against it, the fence bowing out as more and more of them pressed against the ones at the front. Smith reached into his tactical vest, removed a small radio transmitter and pushed the button.
A white flash and a series of dull explosions blew the zombies to pieces as the claymores detonated. Small chunks of zombie meat was flung in all directions. Several tried to get back up only there were no legs to stand on. Several more were ‘killed’ outright as the small ball bearings within the antipersonnel mines penetrated their skulls and perforated their undead brains.
The medical staff and Doc Johnson checked out the civilians rescued only to find that any injuries they had were mostly cuts and scrapes, no bites. Powell went down to the sick bay to talk to the survivors. He ordered the COB to assign armed guards to the med bay area. He stepped through the hatchway, as Doc Brown was just finishing up stitches on a nasty looking wound on a young mans forehead. Sitting or standing were the rest of the survivors, eight in all.
“I’m Captain Powell, CO of this vessel.”
“I’m Chuck and that’s my brother Bobby that your doctor is sewing up.”
“I’m Steve.” A tall lanky guy that had the knees of his jeans cut out.
“That’s Julie over there. We were at a party when all this shit went down.” He pointed to a blonde girl sitting in a chair with an ice pack on her head. She raised a hand and gave a weak smile and wave.
“Stan, I used to work security at the docks.” An older guy with the remnants of a security uniform on.
“Larry, I ran the roach coach for the night shift.” A short squat man with a smeared apron.
“Norbert, I was doing some work down the road from the docks when those two,” he gestures to Steve and Julie.” came roaring up with this wild tale and then the ‘others’ showed up.” Others meaning the undead.
“Aaron, I was kind of like dumpster diving.” A young kid who hung his head when he finished speaking.
“Yeah I thought so, I’ve been trying to catch your ass for months.” Stan said. “ But after you saved my ass, I think I can let bygones be bygones.” Stan walked over to the kid and stuck his hand out.
“What you say kid? We let it go?” Aaron raised his head up and flashed a smile at Stan.
“Sure man, no problem.” He said as he shook the older mans hand.
Powell watched the exchange and realized that this was group of survivors that had been through some serious shit. Over the next half hour, he got some background on them as they each told their story of how they came to be where they were when Willis and his team intervened and saved them.
“Captain, radio contact with Port Winthrop established.”
“On my way Mr. Ridley.” Powell excused himself from sickbay and headed for the bridge.
“Attention all vessels, this is Port Winthrop Naval base. Do not attempt to pass by the restricted markers without being inspected first. The base is conducting a security lockdown. This is not an exercise. Deadly force has been authorized and any vessel will be fired upon without warning that fails to heave to. This is the Port Winthrop Naval base. Do not attempt to pass by the restricted markers without being inspected first. The base is conducting a security lockdown.” The message repeated itself.
“Captain, someone had to be there to start the recording.”
“How far are we from Winthrop?”
“About 45minutes sir.”
“Slow to one half.”
“Aye sir.”
Several tense minutes later.
“Sir, sonar contact bearing 195.”
“Sonar, Conn, what you got?”
“Sir, single screws bearing 195, holding stationary.”
“Deck watch, any contact bearing 195?”
“Conn, Deck watch, I have lights at 195, looks like two vessels, stationary at inlet to Winthrop.”
Powell looked at Ridley.
“Radio attempt to establish contact with vessels.”
“Aye sir.”
“Mr. Ridley I’ll be topside. Have Lt. Willis meet me there.”
“Aye sir.”
Powell took the offered binoculars and focused them on the two smaller watercraft as his ship moved towards them. Willis, still in his tactical gear, climbed up and joined him.
“What’s up Sir?”
“Sonar contact at the opening to the inlet.” Willis took picked up another set of binoculars.
“Sir, looks like inland patrol boats. Any response from the radio?”
“Not yet.”
“What about the signal lights?”
Powell let his binos hang and called down for a signalman. The young sailor popped up onto the tower and was briefed on what he needed to do.
“Flash them an authentication code.” Powell ordered.
Almost immediately a flashed response came back.
“Hold position. Do not attempt to enter inlet without being inspected.” Powell read through the binoculars.
“Hold position?” Willis asked.
“Mr. Ridley, all stop.” Powell turned to Willis. “Send your men aft and over the side. Get me some hard intel on what’s going on here.”
“Aye sir.” Willis popped down the hatch and made his way aft to brief his men. Minutes later, a hatch opened and several men scampered over the side of the sub with sea sleds. The hatch was sealed and the men disappeared into the dark waters.
“Captain, sonar. Single screw vessel approaching.”
Powell watched as one of the small craft slowly approached the sub, stopping about 20feet off the starboard. He could make out several armed personnel onboard.
“AHOY SUBMARINE!” A voice called out.
“AHOY VESSEL!” Powell responded.
“PERMISSION TO COME ALONGSIDE!”
Powell glanced down the hatch at Willis who gave him thumbs up.
“PERMISSION GRANTED!”
“DO YOU HAVE ANY INFECTED ONBOARD?”
“NEGATIVE!”
Powell motioned for some of his deck crew to throw out bumpers as the smaller boat came alongside and was tied up. Four armed men in Marine Corps duty uniforms, rifles, heavy body armor and helmets climbed on board and watched the deck crew. Finally a thin looking younger man, in navy khakis, stepped onto the sub deck and looked up at Powell and saluted.
“Sir, Lieutenant Commander Grant requests permission to come aboard.”
Powell just waved at him and the young man started inside the sail and up to the tower. The two men looked at each other before shaking hands.
“Captain, am I sure glad to see you sir.” The young man said as he finished the handshake.
“Same here Commander. What happened?”
“Well sir, it all started pretty simple. We had some protesters at the outer fence, the usual; idiots thought we had nukes here like they always do. The Marine security team was onsite and patrolling. Another group of protestors came out of the woods behind the first group. Then the protestors started screaming and attacking each other. We sealed the perimeter and the Marines locked down everything. We had enough time to get the civilian workers to help us move jersey barriers to block the main gate and then the Marines set razor wire on that. The perimeter is sealed up really tight, nothing gets in and if anything does, the Marines have orders to shoot on sight. Thankfully this isn’t a large installation and most of the gates had already been sealed due to budget cuts.” Commander Grant paused a little to catch his breath.
“Where’s Rear Admiral Harrington?” Powell asked.
“The admiral’s dead sir so is the executive officer and most of the staff. They were off base when IT happened. I tried to call them on their cell phones and was on the phone with the admiral when it just went dead. Sir I think that the admiral was attacked and killed. He said something about a car accident in front of him then nothing.” Grant paused again as if remembering the event.
“What about the civilian authorities? Didn’t any of the local police try to stop it?”
“Yes sir, they tried. There were a few state troopers watching the protestors. They called for backup and then tried to break up the attackers. Those people just tore them to ribbons. One trooper made it back to his car and they just ripped him out of it. After that, the local sheriff sent some cars but the same thing happened. We tried contacting anyone after that but all the lines were busy and then nothing on the civilian net. We got a coded message from CINCPAC about the rioting and infection and I ordered the Marine officer to secure and reinforce the perimeter.” Grant stopped and took a deep breath. “Sir, most of the civilian workers have families on the outside. I have them quartered in the old Base Exchange building with some shore patrol and Marines watching the place. I didn’t know what else to do sir, I’m just an admin guy.”
“You did fine Commander. Who’s in charge of the base now?”
“Sir that would be you sir.”
Powell just nodded and looked away.
An hour later the Claggett was tied up to the dock and some basic maintenance was being done. Willis had recalled his team from their recon mission and now all the remaining officers and head civilian workers from Port Winthrop and the officers from the sub were in the headquarters building briefing room.
“OK you all know the current sitrep. Any of you have anything to add?” Powell asked after introductions were made.
“Sir, I’d like permission to form recon teams and begin combing the local area for survivors, supplies and equipment that we could use.” Marine captain Burgess, Marine Security Forces, Port Winthrop.
“I’m sure you would captain. I want you to work with Lt Willis on that and present a plan to me later today.”
“The base medical station is well supplied and we can handle most anything.” Doc Brown, now the acting base resident doctor added.
“Me and my workers want a chance to help out, look for survivors, our families, whatever. Don’t like being under house arrest, if that’s what you want to call it.” Warren Noel, civilian worker foreman.
“Mr. Noel, we’ll get to your part in all this very shortly.” Powell said.
“Captain Powell, Steve Hurgeson, civilian security.”
“Yes, Mr. Hurgeson?”
“Captain, I got twelve men, roughly trained in security, we were augmenting the Marine security detachment, handling passes and the main gate.”
“Captain Burgess, I want you to include Mr. Hurgeson on the inner security planning and see that his men know which end of the weapon the bullet comes out.”
”Aye sir.” Burgess made some notes on his paper.
“Now gentlemen the way I see it is pretty simple. According to the last transmission from CINCPAC, we’re pretty much on our own. I want verification of a secure perimeter at all times. No one goes anywhere alone. Get every vehicle we have and check them out, if something goes down, I don’t want any vehicle not starting or breaking down. No soft sided vehicles. Any hummer we have that doesn’t have hard sides or top, replace it with something that is, make it, fabricate it, I don’t care how you do it just do it. Mr. Noel, I hear some of your people are welders? OK then have them assigned to make armor for the hummers and vehicles that don’t have it.”
Powell paused and looked around the room.
“Secondly, once that has been done, we will begin to send out recon patrols to the surrounding towns and cities to look for survivors and supplies. Primary on the list is foodstuffs, medical supplies, ammunition and fuel. Anyone know how to run heavy equipment?” A small show of hands from Mr. Noel and some of the civilian security personnel.
“Very well. Mr. Noel, I want you to interview those people and find out what the Sea Bees have that you can use. Work on an estimate of how much material you’ll need to build a wall around this base, 12ft high, eight feet thick at the base and six feet thick at the top.” Several people looked up at that with questioning eyes.
“I want this facility totally secure, one can’t be too safe and after what we’ve all seen, that may not be enough. Our back is to the water and we have nowhere to run to. We make a stand here.” Powell added.
“And lastly, I want to see a working long distance radio system that we can get contact with someone in the civilian sector. There is a water tower on base, see if you can use that to rig up an antenna. By the end of today, I want to see estimates and readiness reports. Dismissed.”
By the end of the week, a plan was already in action to enhance the perimeter and begin recon patrols of the surrounding town. Several theories about why there hadn’t been more zombie attacks were brought up and discussed, the most common being that the closest town had at one time been a thriving community of over 10,000, supporting the naval base, but soon after defense budget cuts, it had dwindled down to only slightly less than 4000. Construction of the wall had begun after it was determined that materials were already at hand to facilitate it. The final plan called for the wall to have a slope to the outside, starting at the base but be straight up and down on the inside. Lt. Willis and Capt. Burgess recommended that claymore mines be placed at five feet height along the outside with command detonation switches located at the guard stations, which were every 50 feet. A successful recon/forage patrol had recovered the stadium lights from the local high school, several large generators of construction size, all the medical supplies from the small community hospital, 4.2mm mortars, ammunition, more weapons from the national guard armory, the local police station and the only sporting goods store in town. The minimal zombie presence was a great training aid for the Marines who conducted the patrols sometimes with Aaron who had become the master scrounger. Because of the past protestor problem, the Marine security element had been equipped with the Cadillac Gage ‘Ranger’ patrol vehicle that they had used occasionally for perimeter patrol. Essentially a Chevy suburban on steroids, it sported a 7.62 machine gun on the roof, a crew of eight, smoke grenade dispensers, fully armored, had firing ports along the side, could have side skirts attached for crowd control that could be swung out and locked into place and heavy enough to prevent a crowd from tipping it over if they got close enough. The only downfall of this vehicle was fuel consumption.
At present, the base fuel stores were sufficient as several tankers trucks had been located and recovered at the truck stop just outside of town. The patrol to recover those tankers had gone down like clockwork. The Marines who were to breech the building all wore the riot armor that had sat in storage for years. This armor was several layers thick, had forearm, elbow, leg, groin, shin, chest and foot coverings and when completed with a large four foot by three foot shield, the Marines were virtually unstoppable. The zombies who had remained at the truck stop for whatever reason were quickly dispatched when the doors were kicked in and the Marines entered with their shields and armor. One Marine had even had a zombie bite onto his weapon arm with no effect. The riot armor was too thick for them to bite through and he just dropped his shield, reached over to take the his Kimber .45 out of that hand and blew the brains out of the zombie that thought he was a meal. The mop up was quick and dirty and the zombie bodies were checked to make sure that all had received the fatal headshot before the Marines conducted an exfil of the area with the tankers.
The radio antenna project had started but was stopped temporarily when supplies ran out to complete it. Contact with CINCPAC was attempted using the secure SATCOM on the Claggett but was unable to be reestablished. The DSN hard lines were still up and Powell had a mixed team of civilians and military dialing through the military phone books in hopes that somewhere, a facility was still intact and operational. The Coast Guard Cutter, Hampton was due to return from its coastal patrol pattern search for survivors in a few days and the submarine tender, McAffee, had finally made Port Winthrop with a crew of twenty five carrying enough supplies and equipment to keep the Claggett running in top shape for several more years, and bringing with it skilled machinists and technicians.
Within a month, the perimeter wall project was complete and sat some 50ft back from the inside fence. Any zombie attack would now have to breach the exterior chain link fence climb over the concrete barriers and razor wire, cross the patrol road, breach the interior fence, cross more concrete barriers and razor wire and then have the wall to contend with, if they managed to get through the mortar barrage and heavy machine gun fire. The main gate was rebuilt to a large rebar and iron interlaced gate that operated on hydraulic arms. The civilian security personnel manned the walls with a small group of Marines acting as cadre during the day and at night, the Marines and some of the SEALs patrolled it with their night vision equipment. Noels’ group of workers had used heavy equipment to push back the tree line on some parts of the perimeter to over 100yards, making it a killing zone with no where to hide. The 4.2mm mortars, located in firing pits adjacent to their ammo, were sited in to fire into that killing field and each had overlapping fields of fire. Several .50 M2 heavy machine guns that had been scrounged from the same armory as the mortars had been sited at every other guard station with two overlooking the main gate. All the extra 7.62 older M60s that had been recovered were used at the rest of the stations. Placing the claymores along the outside of the wall had severely depleted the supplies of both the SEALs and the Marines and now plans to send a larger recon force to the next largest city that had a major military base for supplies and a survivor search, were in the works.
End of part one
UP FROM THE DEPTHS:
THE ROAD TO FORT MORRIS
Once the basics were laid out for the supply/survivor mission, Captain Powell took all the paperwork and went to his office, or rather the office that he had appropriated for his use. Burgess and Noel had worked together and all the buildings within the perimeter had steel mess welded to the outside frame and all the doors had been reinforced with several being replaced with a steel frame, rebar reinforced concrete door of a design that one of Noels’ workers had come up with. Two rooms per building had those doors on them as well as all the exterior doors; inside those rooms was access to the roof, food, water, weapons, ammo and hard line communication to other safe rooms in other buildings. These measures had been taken when some of the Marines had been out doing the first of many recon patrols, watched helpless as a large group of zombies attacked a small group of survivors that had barricaded themselves inside a bank.
The zombies had taken some time to crash through the door only because it was an older style bank that didn’t have the typical glass doors. The survivors had nailed boards across the windows but the sheer mass of the zombies had pushed through them after repeated attacks. The Marines had called back to Port Winthrop for orders and by the time the orders had been sent, the attack was over. Captain Burgess directed his men to drive down to clean out the remaining zombies and look for any survivors. As luck would have it, one of Noels’ men had been along on this particular trip to look at the structural integrity of some bridges and automated refueling areas. Once the Marines secured the area, he checked the old bank and took notes about how the attack went down and how improvements could be made to the base buildings. Burgess’ Marines had videotaped the attack to see if any particular tactics were used. This videotape became the blueprint for security enhancements and a way to study the zombie methods.
There had been no attacks against Port Winthrop since the perimeter wall had been built. The most popular theory was that zombies were attracted to the major cities due to the population associated with those areas, a readily available food source or maybe some kind of latent memory. Port Winthrop had been overlooked for years since the base closures and force reduction and the military made good use of that for staging top secret testing such as the kind that the Claggett had been participating in. The port facilities, although small, were up to date and most of the minor functions had been automated. The Hampton, a 282’, Medium Endurance Coast Guard cutter (WMEC) that had picked up survivors from the Caribbean, was tied up at a space on the pier, taking on food and fuel. Although it was a steam turbine vessel it still required fuel to get the steam plant up and running. It had a helipad for a helicopter and quarters for its crew, but its air asset had been ‘on the beach’ for maintenance when IT happened. Commander Borsen had kept his crew focused and together when the zombie attacks started, and was now a seasoned team. He had just received a contact report from another Coast Guard vessel in the region that he wanted to review with Powell.
Borsen walked the short distance to the headquarters building, taking note of the lack of idle people on the streets. Most of the residents had jobs to do or were working security on the walls. Everyone knew that a moment of complacency was all it took for the zombies to get the upper hand. Borsen walked into Powell’s office and handed him the contact report.
“Morning Captain.”
“Morning Commander.”
Powell took the offered report and scanned it quickly.
“So that’s it then?”
“Yes it is.”
“This a reliable source?”
“Yes, I’ve known the captain of the Farragut since the academy.”
“I see.” Powell read some more of the report.
“How soon can they get here?”
“Just under two weeks. They made contact with an army reserve maritime unit in the gulf and are bringing them along as well.”
“And this maritime unit has what?”
“Its apparently an engineering construction unit much like the navy’s Seabee units.”
“Excellent.”
“May I?” Borsen asked as he gestured to a chair.
“By all means”
“How’s the plan for the Fort Morris trip?” He asked once he was seated.
“It looks good so far. What’s slowing us down is the fuel. Burgess insists on using the Rangers and those things burn fuel while parked. I’m a little reluctant to send fuel trucks with them, but there really is no choice.”
“What about other options? Like using civilian refueling points?”
“Yes, we thought of that but it brings up a lot of what if. What if they are shut off? Out of fuel? Not accessible due to road conditions? Too many problems with that.”
Borsen was thoughtful for a few seconds.
“How about we convert some of those bilge pumps from storage to run on 12-24 volt, put some filters on them and use them to pump fuel out of ground tanks?”
Powell looked at Borsen with astonishment.
“Damn, Commander that would work”
Two weeks later, the Farragut and three smaller vessels had entered the Port Winthrop inlet and tied up to the pier. The Army reserves ships, small, boxy and not having any sleek lines to them at all, were true workboats. Two were floating workshops, one a complete metal shop and the third vessel, basically a barge full of raw materials for the other two. Captain Harold, the Farragut’s captain, had a crew that was highly trained in drug interdiction, VBSS, MIO and Search and Rescue (SAR) their cutter was probably the most heavily armed that remained in service, a 378’ High Endurance Cutter (WHEC), it even had a SAR helicopter onboard, a HH65 ‘Dauphin’ and a trained flight crew. They had been on the list to rotate the H65 out for a larger HH60 Jayhawk, but the one assigned to them hadn’t arrived before they sailed prior to IT. Powell planned to use the Farragut and it’s helo to insert Willis’s team into various coastal cities for quick survivor recons.
Burgess and Willis were walking around one of the large warehouses watching as Noel’s metal workers now assisted by the Army reserve engineers, welded armor and installed weapons mounts on the vehicles selected to make the trip to Fort Morris. The plan was to have a five-ton dump truck lead the way with a snowplow blade attached to the front, followed by a Ranger to provide fire support. Behind them, would be a wheeled recovery vehicle, a fuel truck, then some box trucks with lift gates, another five-ton dump truck configured as a gun truck with a .50 M2 mounted over the cab and two M60s on each side manned by a crew of four, mixed Marines and civilians. After those vehicles was a standard five-ton truck with armor over the doors and windows, and special brackets holding claymore mines along the side. The sides had been reinforced and sandbags placed two deep on the bed floor. This was considered to be one of the ‘street sweepers’ if they got into it thick with the zombies. Behind that truck was another five-ton dump truck almost identical to the one in front, but it had one of the 4.2mm mortars mounted in the back. M60s mounted front, side and rear, claymores on the sides, and dozer blade attached to the front. Behind those trucks a plain five-ton truck with armored doors and windows and a small squad of Marines in their riot armor. Behind them would be two more fuel trucks and a second Ranger. Following them at a small distance would be two hard top, ‘turtleback’ hummers each sporting a M240, to be used as forward scouts, rearguard and flankers. Inside the Rangers were four people, two per vehicle that had experience with semi-trucks in the event that something was found that could be useful and able to be loaded on the trucks. One of the two box trucks had welding equipment and spare sheet metal to add to any vehicle that deemed useful along the way. Some of the survivors that had been picked up in the Caribbean decided to tag along, as they wanted some payback for what had happened to their friends and a couple were experienced mechanics.
Most of the planned route was to follow the shoreline and go through the small, coastal towns, citing that reason as less traffic problems, before moving inland in hopes to bypass the main zombie infestation by using that circuitous route.
Two days later, after repeated radio broadcasts over civilian frequencies, HAM and CB, telling any survivors to hang white sheets on the roofs or outside the buildings they had taken refuge in, the mission was a go. Burgess and some of his men were spread out over the convoy with a portion of Hurgeson’s civilian security and Noel’s workers, the vehicles left the secure compound of Port Winthrop to begin the trip to Fort Morris. The Farragut had left port a few hours earlier and was steaming towards the first location to recon with a short team of Willis’s SEALs onboard. Powell had made a decision to leave half of Willis’s SEALs behind to form a cadre for the react force made up with the remainder of Burgess’s Marines and the remaining civilian security personnel. The base would be on high alert until the two teams returned. The first stop for both groups would be the coastal tourist town of Seaview.
Hours later, the H65 was flying over Seaview. Burgess had ordered the convoy to stop on a hill overlooking the city while the helo conducted an overflight.
“Bravo 15, Saber 27”
“27, go ahead.”
“Looks like we might have something at the resort. Spotters report some white sheets at the top floors.”
“Copy 27, you are go for a closer look.”
“27 going in.”
The H65 made a tight orbit over the large resort building. It was one of those private resort building where one bought membership. The top floors had penthouse suites and several outside balcony doors were open the curtains flapping in the ocean breeze.
“Lt., I can put your men down on the roof.” Warrant Officer Vaughn reported via intercom.
“Roger that, set us down as close to the edge as possible.”
Vaughn moved the nimble H65 into position while Willis and three of his team readied themselves for entry. The orange and white helo lowered its landing gear and lightly touched down, never putting its full weight on the roof. Willis and team jumped off and ran crouched to the roof access door while Vaughn pulled pitch and gained altitude before taking up an orbit around the building. Willis motioned forward and the men moved as a group to the door, there boots crunching on the roof material. Hannaberry put his hand on the doorknob and looked back at Willis. The rest of the men had taken up positions of mutual coverage. Willis nodded to Hannaberry who then yanked open the door. All the men aimed into the dark opening. Nothing was there to greet them. Willis pointed to Hannaberry who nodded, turned on his infrared tactical light mounted on the handguard of his M4 and preceded inside and down the stairs followed by the rest of the team.
“Bravo 15, Helo 61, team has entered.”
“Copy 61.” Burgess looked at the men inside the Ranger vehicle, all had that expectant nervous look on their faces.
Once inside, all the men pulled down night vision goggles over their eyes. Hannaberry and Willis were moving along one wall, each covering the other when they got to room doors while Lindsay and Smith did the same. Most of the top floor doors had been locked and the few that hadn’t been, were ransacked, the interior in shambles. At the stairs down to the next level, the team halted and looked back at the way they had come. Smith had dropped infrared light sticks at intervals leading back to the roof access door and both teams had chalked an ‘X’ over the doors still locked and check marks on the open rooms. Lindsay moved to the stair door and paused looking back at the rest of the team. The only noise in the hallway was the wind whistling through the smashed windows and the sound of the helo rotors as it orbited their location.
“15, 27, we are moving down to the next floor.” Willis said quietly into his boom mike.
“Copy 27.”
Willis motioned to Lindsay to open the door. He was reaching out with a gloved hand when suddenly the door crashed open and a man ran out wielding a fire ax. The team leapt back as the man turned back to the doorway and began yelling to others.
“C’MON! HURRY! THAT HELICOPTER WON’T STAY THERE FOREVER!”
Several more people ran out into the hallway, none noticing the team as the stayed in the shadows. Willis counted four before the stair door was slammed shut and the last man jammed a piece of 2X4 under the handle, kicking the other end into place against the carpet. Hannaberry grabbed him from behind and pulled the struggling man into the shadows while Smith and Lindsay watched the retreating group run for the roof door. Willis rose up and looked through the wire mesh glass window of the stair door. He could hear thumping and moaning. Zombies were on the way up. He moved to Hannaberry who had secured the man with zip cuffs and had his weapon to the mans head. Willis flipped his goggles up and used a penlight to look at the guy.
“Who’re you?” he asked. The man looked at him, took note of the black uniform, the tactical vest festooned with grenades, ammo pouches, and other articles of combat.
“I’m Morris. We were hiding out in several places since the shit hit. Lost lots of good people to those things. Heard your radio broadcast, so we moved our stuff over here and did what you said, hung them sheets out the windows and shit.”
Thumping and muffled moaning began coming from the stair door. Smith spun from his position and covered the door. Willis looked over his shoulder at it.
“Boss, maybe we should get a move on?” Hannaberry suggested.
“How many in your group?”
“What you saw was all that’s left. Used to be more of us but them things got them.” Willis looked back at the stair door, the thumping was getting louder.
“Get him on his feet. We’re pulling out.”
“Ell-tee, I’ll set a surprise for the deadheads, cover our six.” Smith reported already pulling items out of his demo bag.
“Lets move it out.” Willis ordered, “ When we get close enough, I want you to tell your people we’re friendlies coming out.”
To make his point, Willis grabbed a handful of Morris’s shirt and yanked him close so he could look into his eyes.
“Got that?”
“Yeah man, whatever you say.” Morris replied nervously, looking back at the stair door, now vibrating from the pounding of the zombies behind it.
The team moved to the roof door. As they got closer Lindsay heard several people talking at once.
“Where in the hell is Morris?”
“I don’t know, he was right behind me.”
“Damn it, I hope he blocked that door.”
“He did or those things would be all over us right now.”
“LOOK! LOOK! ITS THAT HELICOPTER AGAIN!”
Willis’s team stopped at the door and took positions, each one pulling their NVGs off. Willis prodded Morris.
“Hey! Hey you guys! It’s me Morris! I’m coming up, I got some people with me!”
“Morris you idiot! Those things aren’t people!”
“THIS IS LIEUTENANT WILLIS, UNITED STATES NAVY! I’M COMING UP WITH YOUR MAN! WE’RE ARMED AND WILL RETURN FIRE IF FIRED UPON!”
The excited voices got suddenly quiet. Willis motioned his team forward and they ran up the stairs and onto the roof, covering the small group with their weapons.
“Who’s in charge of this gaggle?” Willis asked.
“I am. Dale Brown.” an older guy stepped forward.
Willis extended his hand.
“Lt. Willis, SEAL team, we’re here to get you out.”
Brown took the offered hand and his eyes watered.
“Goddamn son, its good to see you people.” Brown composed himself as two of the women began sobbing.
“Boss, we got company.” Lindsay reported from the roof door as a muffled explosion echoed from the lower hallway. He slammed the roof door closed after Smith tossed down a satchel.
“Might be a good time to call in for extraction.” Smith mentioned.
“61,27 requesting immediate evac our position.”
“61 enroute.”
The rotor throb of the helo grew louder as the H65 increased throttle and raced for the rooftop, it settled down on the edge with Willis’s team directed the loading. Smith was the last onboard.
“GO! GO! GO!”
The helo lifted and then banked over the edge of the building, dropping into a dive to gain some airspeed before firewalling the throttle, going into a slight nose down attitude and making a beeline for its base ship. Smith craned to look back, a small radio transmitter in his hand. Once the helo got halfway to the Farragut, Smith pressed the button. The top floor of the resort seemed to lift in the air amid a great orange and black fireball before falling into itself and compressing down on the lower floors, fires broke out, flames could be seen shooting hundreds of feet in the air as debris and flaming zombie parts rained down onto the street.
“Use enough dynamite Butch?” Hannaberry asked him with a smirk.
On the flight back, Willis asked questions until he was convinced that Brown and his group were the only survivors left in Seaview. The H65 settled onto the Farragut’s landing pad and the ground crew ran out to tie it down. Several medical staff were present to help the survivors out and below decks. The medical staff thoroughly checked out Brown’s group, showed where the showers were and gave them new clothes out of ships stores.
“15, 27, recommend you divert around and proceed to objective Log. I say again, divert to objective Log. How copy?”
“27,15 copies all. Diverting to objective Log. Whiskey Six has been updated on sitrep. 15 out.”
Burgess radioed his convoy to skirt the city of Seaview and move to the next objective, Log, a city of 25,000, a few hours up the coast. The Farragut moved with them, at a slower pace so that they could provide support with their 8-inch deck gun and allow the H65 to hop ahead and scout.
Hours later outside Objective Log.
“Sir, scouts report a major infestation in the city.” Burgess nodded as he heard the news, they had planned for something like this, now lets hope all that planning worked. Giving commands over the radio to shuffle the vehicles around, placing the snowplow dump truck in front and one of the street sweepers directly behind it then a Ranger bringing up the rear. The rest of the vehicles would be back a few yards to make sure they weren’t caught in the over spray of the mines going off but could still provide support. They had stopped just outside the city limits designated by a bridge that crossed over the river. Burgess was considering blowing the bridge if they had to fall back but was hesitant to send men outside the protection of the vehicles.
Already they could see shapes moving on the far side of the bridge and both groups designated sniper had been busting caps on targets of opportunity. The helo had spotted some signs of survivors at the local high school but had yet to determine how many. First problem was to get across the bridge. The local police had blocked it with barrels, concrete barriers and patrol cars before the zombies behind their lines had overrun them.
Burgess radioed for the first trucks to start across. The five-ton dump truck easily pushed the barricades aside and shoved the patrol cars off the road. The trucks moved slowly, cautiously, and stopped at the first intersection, the crew in the back opening up on the zombies present and splattering the streets with zombie parts. This only seemed to attract more. Zombies by the dozens began to come out of buildings, alleys, houses, everywhere to stumble, shamble and move towards the idling trucks. The Marines inside the Ranger made use of the firing ports and started dropping zombies as they shuffled around the small convoy. The Marine manning the topside M60 was spraying zombies and dropping them before they could get close enough to touch the vehicle. Three more vehicles moved onto the bridge and stopped about 20 yards from the first group, adding its firepower to the melee. More zombies came from everywhere. The H65 hovered overhead and provided spotter and fire support.
“15, 27 you’re getting bogged down there. Move.”
“27, copy that.” Burgess radioed his lead truck and told them to move out to the high school football field, which would offer them a clear field of fire, multiple exits and be able to assist with the evacuation of the survivors barricaded inside. The lead truck, its driver sweating under the pressure of being surrounded by virtually hundreds of the undead, put the truck in a lower gear and began pushing forward, flattening and crushing any zombie that was in front of it. The co-driver had his MP5 out and was firing out the slot made in the armored door, blowing zombies back as they approached the truck. The six trucks, moving with space between each group of three, moved slowing, allowing the teams in the back to lay waste to the hordes of zombies that seemed to be constantly replenishing itself. Turning onto a different street, guided past potential blocked roads by the overhead helo, the first set of three trucks was picking up speed as the drivers shifted up and began knocking over, running down and just crushing any zombie in front of them, the fire teams in the back, raking the stragglers with auto weapons fire. Turning another corner, the six trucks were on a narrower street but still made good time even pushing aside parked cars. The final turn to the high school put the trucks in a residential neighborhood, albeit filled to capacity with swarms of the undead. The overhead tree cover prevented the H65 from getting the onboard shooters a good position, so it flew ahead to the field and orbited around it, the team taking shots at random zombies wandering around the athletic fields.
The first set of three trucks was almost to the field gate when the lead truck sputtered and stalled out. The driver attempted to restart. No luck. Zombies began to focus their efforts on the lead truck as the fire team in the back was shooting in all directions. The sweeper truck pulled up along the driver’s side, scraping paint and smearing any zombie between the two vehicles, then command detonated the claymores on the driver’s side.
The steel ball bearings from the eight mines mounted on that side, shredded the zombies. Flaming chunks of zombie meat sprayed the street and houses, blowing out windows, overturning parked cars and igniting fuel tanks. The sweeper truck then backed up, crushing more of the undead under its wheels, and repeated the maneuver on the other side, clearing the streets, decapitating a nearby fire hydrant and decimating the zombie mass. The next set of three trucks came forward and formed a protective cordon, while two mechanics and some Marines jumped out and ran to the stalled truck, getting soaked in the first few seconds from the cascading water spray of the damaged hydrant. The first mechanic climbed onto the right side tire and popped the hood; the second one hung back, .45 in hand, covering his buddy while some of the Marines kept their weapons ready and replaced the spent claymores. The first mechanic poked his head under the hood and yelled out that some zombie guts had fouled the filters and stalled out the truck. He deftly removed the still moist chunks, checked out the filters and gave the engine a quick visual inspection before slamming the hood shut and flashing thumbs up to the driver, who cranked up the truck with no problem. The men ran back to their vehicle as zombie masses began forming yet again on the streets and the water pressure lessened to a small gurgling fountain.
The vehicles moved forward to the football field and the H65 lowered a man to the roof of the stadium. The trucks again formed a security circle and waited for the next attack. The SEAL on the stadium roof moved into a good position to provide sniper cover and act as spotter for the mortar team. The helo moved over the high school, hovered over the inside courtyard and several SEALs fast roped down, before taking up an orbit over the area.
The SEALs looked around the courtyard, some benches, a couple of garbage cans, two doors and lots of high windows, all with wire mesh impregnated within the glass. Willis motioned to check the doors. Both doors were locked. Smith boosted Lindsay up to the windows to look inside. All he could see were empty hallways and lockers, nothing blocking the door or anything on the other side. Lindsay jumped down and Smith began preparing charges for the door from his seemingly bottomless demo bag. The rest of the team moved to covering positions. Willis gave Smith the nod and he placed his charges and moved back.
“Fire in the hole.” he said somewhat quietly as he rapidly worked the clacker.
A dull thud and small puff of smoke from the door, it opened slightly. The team formed up and moved inside the hallway, Hannaberry securing the door behind them, before they moved silently down the hall in search of the survivors. Outside, the six trucks were engaging zombies from every corner of the field while the SEAL sniper on the roof was popping heads as fast as targets appeared.
“Captain! Radar contact, 50miles!” The excited tech yelled out onboard the Farragut.
“What you have there radar?”
“Sir, contact bearing 257 at five zero miles, holding steady.” Harold walked over to look at the scope.
“Captain. You need to hear this.” The radio operator stated.
“ATTENTION COAST GUARD VESSEL. THIS IS NAVAL FLOTILLA PALADIN. STATE YOUR INTENTIONS.”
“Radio back that we are engaged in rescue support operations with a ground unit.”
“Aye sir.”
A few tense minutes later.
“Sir, they are offering assistance in our operations.”
“Very well, tell them to go ahead.”
A few second later the Farragut was over flown by two fast moving jets, the sonic boom rattling the windows.
“Jesus Christ! What was that?” one of the seamen on the bridge crew exclaimed.
“Looked like a pair of Harrier jets.”
“Holy shit.” Harold muttered to himself
Just then two small helicopter gunships and a larger helicopter, a MH60 Seahawk, the Navy’s version of the Army Blackhawk flew over them as well.
“Coast Guard helo, this is Trap flight 2 of 2 with you at 1500.”
Vaughn looked over at his copilot.
“Trap flight? What the ...?”
“Coast Guard helo be advised that tactical aircraft are in the area.”
“Copy that Trap flight. What are your intentions?”
“Trap 01 to Coast Guard, we’ll provide support for your operation.”
“Roger that Trap flight.”
“Who?” Burgess asked his radio operator.
“Captain, its a naval unit off the coast, they just launched some jets and helos to support us.”
“I’ll be damned.” Burgess muttered.
On the field, the six trucks were engaging heavy numbers of zombies from all directions as more of the walking dead shambled into the stadium. The sweeper trucks had been used several times and were now down to just a few claymores apiece. The gun trucks were running out of ammo and the mortar crew had used up everything they had and were now adding their small arms fire to the ever-growing horde of hungry zombies. The perimeter of the field looked like a war zone, smoking craters from the mortars, zombie bodies and parts of bodies littering the ground all around the parked, idling trucks.
The two gunships, AH1 SeaCobras, swept low over the stadium roof, adding their 20mm gatling guns to the melee, making several gun passes, creating huge swaths in the undead horde before taking station over the field and school. The Seahawk settled into a hover and deposited a few Marine snipers to assist the SEAL sniper on the roof before moving off and orbiting the area. The Harriers remained in a high CAP, eagerly waiting for targets. Willis and team made their way deeper into the school, hearing the shooting outside increase, moving around the debris in the hallways until stopping at the double doors leading to the cafeteria. Hannaberry looked into the large room, seeing several zombies moving around inside. He turned to Willis and shook his head. Willis pointed to Smith, who began setting up charges at the doors, while Lindsay moved a couple of desks over to block the opening. Willis and the rest of the team moved a short distance away.
“Boss, this isn’t right.”
“Yeah I know. The survivors have to be here somewhere.”
“Maybe they’re in a different room?”
“We need a floor plan to find all the exits in this place.”
Smith and Lindsay joined them.
“That should slow down the deadheads if they come that way.” Smith said.
“Lets go people.”
The men moved silently down the hall, stopping at the next set of double doors, these doors leading outside. Willis looked out and saw that the exterior covered walkway that connected the sections of the school, was blocked with school furnishings, tables and overturned cars. Some civilians were standing around burning barrel with makeshift weapons and a few rifles. A few zombies could be seen beyond the haphazard barricade.
Willis dropped back down and motioned to his team, and then pointed to the door he had his back against. They all nodded and took positions. Willis cracked the door and called out.
“HEY OUT THERE! WE’RE HERE TO GET YOU OUT! DON’T SHOOT!”
The civilians jumped and aimed weapons at the door. Willis’s yelling stirred up the zombies who started moaning louder and beating on the barricade. Willis opened the door further and chanced a look. The civilians were crowding around, nervously looking at the door and back at the zombies gathered at the barricade.
“WE’RE HERE TO GET YOU OUT!” Willis repeated. He used his hand to motion them to him.
“C’MON! WE HAVE TO LEAVE NOW!” That was all the motivation that the people needed. They ran to the open door and rushed through. Willis closed the door and jammed a chair, its legs running through the push bars, preventing it from being opened.
“OK people, let’s move and try to stick together.” He started leading the way back to the courtyard his team herding the frightened people along with them. They all gave the doors to the cafeteria a wide berth as they went by. Smith chanced a glance in the window and saw that more zombies had crowded inside. One saw his face and started moaning which caused the rest to start and then move towards the door.
“Shit. Ell-tee, they’re a might stirred up in there.”
Willis’s only response was to break into a light jog and motion everyone to hurry up. He keyed his boom mike as he ran.
“61, 27 we’re going to need immediate extract asap!”
“61 copies.” Vaughn swung the helo over and moved it into a hover over the courtyard. He switched to interplane comm and made sure that the rescue basket was ready.
“61 to gunships, we have a team extracting from the courtyard, can you assist?”
“Helo 61 this is Raptor flight. We’re on it.” Vaughn looked to see the two gunships move towards him with the Seahawk following.
“27, 61 how many survivors you got with you?”
Willis waited until they were all inside the courtyard and the door secured before answering.
“61, 27 we got twelve, I say again twelve souls.”
“Shit.” Vaughn looked over at his copilot. They didn’t have room for all of them.
“Copy that 27. Wait one.”
Willis looked up at the hovering helo, expecting to see the rescue basket motor out on the winch arm and began its descent. A muffled explosion echoed from inside.
“That’s the doors Boss.” Smith casually commented.
“61 what’s the delay?”
“27, 61 we have a problem up here.”
“Say again 61?”
“We don’t have room for all of you.”
Willis looked at his men and the other people gathered around. Shit. He ran through several ideas in his head but they all came out the same. Shit.
”61, 27 lower the basket and we’ll load who we can.”
“Roger that 27.” Willis looked back up and saw the basket motor out and start to lower.
He did a quick head count just to make sure and came up with the same answer. Just a little over half of the people they had rescued would be able to get out and none of his team. The first two were loaded in the basket and they began the trip up. Willis pulled aside some of the larger men and spoke to them. With the help of his team, they began to pull up the benches and jam them against the door they had blown to get in.
Once the helo was full, it took off back to the Farragut, the Seahawk moving into its position. Over the heavy thumping of the rotors, the team could hear zombies beating on the courtyard door. Willis looked at the remaining benches and an idea came to mind. He outlined it very quickly and everyone chipped in to rip up the picnic benches and lean them on the wall to form a ladder to get to the roof. He sent one of his men up top then all the civilians, leaving Smith, Lindsay and himself below. Smith went up next. Willis was about ready to go up when the window behind the bench shattered and a zombie threw itself halfway out of it.
Both Willis and Lindsay opened up on it and blew its head apart. More and more zombies began trying to push themselves through. Willis began taking them out with single shots to the head. The window was small and that’s what kept the zombi