The Dead Walk The Earth (Book 3)

by Luke Duffy

  With a loud crash and a heavy jolt, the van came to a sudden and complete stop with its front wheels jammed into a shallow ditch at the roadside. All three of the occupants were flung forward and into one another with the sudden halt in the truck’s momentum. They shouted and cursed at no one and nothing in particular but more as a result of the situation that they found themselves in. Enemy bullets continued to plough into them, and a series of large holes appeared along the length of the vehicle and close to the roof, almost decapitating the ruined and smouldering ice-cream van.

  “Out,” Stan shouted. “Get out of the truck.”

  In one swift movement and without needing to be told a second time, Bull jumped to his feet and flung himself through the serving hatch. He sailed through the air for what seemed a lifetime as rounds exploded all around him, tearing through the remains of their vehicle, and churning up the dirt around the lip of the ditch, splintering the asphalt of the road. He landed on his side and rolled away to the left, knowing that Stan and Gerry would be close behind him. Within seconds, Bull was up and flicking off the safety catch on his M-4 and sending back a torrent of fire in the general direction of their ambushers. He could not see their positions but his aim was not to score accurate hits, rather to force the enemy to take cover and slacken their rate of fire.

  Bull’s immediate reaction had the effect that he desired. For a few precious seconds the fire directed towards them wilted and seemed to sail high above their heads as the enemy ducked and pushed themselves into the ground. Bull turned and grabbed hold of Gerry as Stan was climbing to his feet and already turning to follow. Dragging their Operations Officer along behind him, Bull hurled himself from the road and pushed his way through the bushes on the opposite side. Once through, he dropped the still unresponsive Gerry into the dirt and turned to send another long burst towards their attackers as Stan rushed through the foliage and joined him in suppressing the enemy fire.

  “Magazine.”

  To the right of them, they caught sight of the twisted and smouldering wreckage of the other vehicles in their group. They, too, had been hit just as badly and now sat in ruins and immobile with clouds of thick black smoke pouring out from their destroyed engines. From somewhere to the right, a long drawn out burst of fire erupted as one of the survivors from their group joined in with the fight. It was the veteran, firing his machinegun from the hip and forcing the enemy troops to cower in their positions as his heavy rounds chomped at the ground and snapped at their ears. He was standing in the road, shouting with anger and ordering the remaining survivors to pull back as the shrinking belt of ammunition juddered through the breach of his gun at a blinding rate.

  Taff burst through the bushes, virtually falling through the hedgerow and dragging a limp form along behind him as he gripped onto the man’s collar. Another two figures emerged from the chaos, tracer snapping at their heels and chomping up the bushes. Dropping down behind the line of thick foliage, Taff turned to begin firing back into the ambush.

  “Move, Kyle,” Taff’s voice called out. “Move.”

  The group unleashed a heavy weight of fire along with Stan and Bull, allowing Kyle the chance to turn and bound back into cover from his exposed position in the road. Once through, the veteran quickly slapped in a fresh belt of ammunition into the feed-tray of the gun and began pouring out the same thundering rate of fire again, denying the enemy of any chance of movement or sustained accuracy against them.

  Stan checked to his right. He could see Taff, Kyle, and a number of other figures that had escaped from the second vehicle, but there was no sign of Bobby or the others. Allowing the rest of the team to continue the fire fight, he dropped back a couple of metres and made a quick appreciation of the situation. The ambush had clearly been a snap decision with no time to place cut-off groups or select the best ground to provide them with complete dominance over the killing area. The rate of fire that Stan’s group was throwing back at them was forcing the enemy fire to waver, something that would never happen in a deliberately placed and well sighted ambush.

  To their right, sitting in the road and burning fiercely, Bobby’s vehicle continued to draw fire. It was slowly disintegrating from the amount of rounds that were spewing into it with chunks of metal and rubber being ripped from the Land Rover and flung into the air.

  “Bull, on me,” Stan called as he began to push towards the right and raced along behind the veteran and the others. “Taff, provide fire support. We’re going right flanking.”

  Bull peeled off and chased after his team commander as Taff took control of the battle. He did not need to be told where they were going or why. He automatically knew that they were heading to assist Bobby and the others and attempt to extract them out of the immediate killing zone. As he bounded along in Stan’s wake, Bull ripped the magazine from his rifle, letting it drop into the long grass as he slammed in a fresh one.

  Kyle’s gun continued to roar and pepper the enemy positions as the brass cases piled up in the dirt beside him, the butt continuously juddering against his shoulder. He could not see the enemy, but he knew where they were. Right now, his sole purpose was to keep them occupied and prevent them from regaining the initiative. Taff and the others increased their rate of fire when they saw Stan and Bull moving to the right. The sudden increased weight of gunfire shattered the air over a large distance, sounding like great sheets of metal being torn to pieces, accompanied by the anger filled cries of the men as they unleashed their fury.

  Bull and Stan, out towards the right flank, were just a few metres short of the road and Bobby’s vehicle. They kept themselves low as they advanced, not wanting to give away their position or intentions. They reached the hedge and began to carefully push their way through as Taff and the others continued the fire fight to their left. There in front of them was the unrecognisable remains of Bobby’s vehicle, slowly sinking into the ground as more of its frame collapsed from beneath it.

  Stan squatted and made a quick check to his left and right along the road before moving forward into the open. Stepping through the hedge, the earth around him was suddenly flung up amidst a wall of flame and noise. Stan and Bull were hurled back off their feet and sent sprawling into the grass as glowing hot shrapnel ripped by their heads. Their vision danced, and their heads swam as their ears rang loudly, jolting their brains and almost knocking them from their foundations. Stan, rolling to the side as he landed, was the first to reach his feet again and saw that Bobby’s vehicle had been splayed open like a tin can, almost being split into two separate pieces. From around the far side, staggering through the billowing black smoke, a small figure appeared, swaying on its feet and completely detached from the hell and chaos that was going on around it.

  “William,” Bull exclaimed, instantly recognising the boy.

  He began to crawl forward, intent on grabbing the child and dragging him into cover as Stan bounded forward and took up a firing position. As Bull raced forward and Stan’s MP-5 began to bark, William suddenly arched and convulsed, spinning on the spot and then being thrown from his feet. A long burst of machinegun bullets tore through his small body, sending out mists of bright red blood amongst clods of flesh and bone. He dropped to the ground, his mangled head smashing into the road’s surface as another stream of heavy rounds chewed up the ground around his blood soaked corpse.

  Bull let out a roar of rage and rushed forward. Another explosion to his front threw him from his feet as a second rocket, erupting in a wall of sparks and heat, destroyed what was left of the Land Rover that Bobby and the others had been travelling in. Before he could climb back up, Stan pounced upon him and pushed him into the dirt as rounds began ploughing the ground close by.

  To their right, Stan could see movement and muzzle flashes accompanied by distant voices barking commands. Another enemy unit had arrived and was advancing from the east, catching the battered remnants of the team in a deadly crossfire.

  “Fall back,” Stan screamed into Bull’s face as the big man str
uggled to crawl away from him and reach the area where William had collapsed. “We can’t get to them. They’re dead, and there’s nothing we can do. Fall back.”

  Together, the pair of them began to fire and manoeuvre their way back towards Taff and the others. The unit moving up on their right were clearly unaware of the team’s exact positions and were gingerly probing forward. However, once they were in position and having linked up with the ambush group, Stan knew that he and his team would not stand a chance at escaping from the trap. They needed to break contact and get into cover.

  By now, they were beginning to run low on ammunition, and with the amount of enemy troops closing in on their position, they needed to extract from the area and gain some distance. There was nothing that they could do for Bobby and the rest of his group. Stan had seen the devastation inflicted upon the rear vehicle and its occupants and knew that there was no way that anyone could have survived.

  “They’re rolling up on our right,” Stan hollered to Taff as he bounded past him and then turned to give what fire support he could. “Kyle, switch fire to the right, enemy troops in the open. Taff, move back and cover the ambush. Bug out.”

  With the last belt of ammunition placed into his GPMG, the veteran turned and concentrated his fire towards the troops moving up on their right flank. They were still some distance away and pushing up along the southern edge of the road in an attempt to roll up their positions while the main body of the ambush kept them pinned down. Kyle began throwing a heavy weight of fire against the new arrivals, stopping them in their tracks and forcing them to seek cover. He saw a couple of distant figures, roughly three-hundred metres away, moving amongst the scrub filled landscape and adjusted his aim, pushing forward against the bipod legs of his machinegun. Gripping the butt of the gun tightly against his shoulder, he carefully brought his foresight so that it hovered over the area that the two enemy soldiers were moving towards. Kyle held his breath and squeezed the trigger, hearing the loud and rapid buzz of the GPMG and feeling its shuddering, yet comforting, recoil against his body. From the muzzle, a stream of glowing red lines spewed out in a lazy arc and slammed into the area where he had been aiming. Fountains of dust and dirt sprang into the air as the advancing soldiers jumped to their left and right, attempting to avoid the storm of bullets raining down upon them. Another burst, and Kyle watched as one of the figures crumpled, the man’s final scream being unheard amongst the roar of the battle.

  Stan and the others, with what little ammunition they had remaining, poured one final long burst into the ambush firing positions to their left. Instantly, the enemy fire all but ceased, giving the team the chance to take a bound backwards and away from the line of fire. The team automatically split into two groups with one group firing and the other moving, leap-frogging back towards the coast and into dead ground.

  Taff hauled up the limp and blood covered body from the grass and turned, cradling the wounded man in his arms and sprinting away while the others covered his withdrawal. He was desperate to find a rally point to allow them a few precious moments to reorganise themselves and provide what medical aid they could to the man in his arms.

  “It’s okay, mate,” he gasped as he raced down the slope and towards a row of scrub that paralleled a track running down towards the sea. “Hang in there, mate.”

  Behind him the battle continued to rage with the sound of gunfire thundering through the air and mixed with the distant screams of wounded men. The heavy rate of fire continued from Stan and the others as they fell back, alternating between laying down covering fire and moving towards the rally point. Their guns rattled relentlessly, exacting a heavy toll on their attackers for what they had done.

  Reaching the track, Taff dropped down into the dip. It was a good position to catch their breath, and hopefully, the enemy would hesitate to follow them after the weight of fire they had received from the small group of fleeing soldiers. Taff jumped back up and checked on the progress of Stan and the others. Bull was the first to reach the rally point, crashing into the dip and turning to cover the withdrawal of the remainder of the team. One by one, they arrived, gasping for breath and grimacing with rage.

  “Where’s the GPMG?” Stan asked.

  “Out of ammo, mate, so I ditched it,” Kyle grunted as he arrived, sweating and panting at the rally point.

  The veteran unslung his rifle from across his back and took up a position alongside Bull, keeping an eye on their rear and the progress of the enemy. A hundred and fifty metres away, they could see movement in and around the area of the ambush, but it was the movement of men that were hesitant to give chase. They had clearly underestimated the capabilities of Stan and his small band of soldiers and were now licking their wounds and unwilling to continue the attack with the same vigour as they had done just a few minutes earlier.

  “I think we’ve got them demoralised,” Kyle grunted sarcastically.

  “It won’t be long before they find their balls again,” Stan huffed as he moved along the track and towards where Taff was crouched beside a body.

  Taff looked up at his commander as he arrived, his face spattered with blood, and his eyes filled with anguish. For a moment, they said nothing as Stan stared down at Danny’s face. Taff shook his head, telling Stan all that he needed to know.

  Danny was still conscious, barely. His frightened eyes stared back at Stan, filled with pleading as he clung tightly to Taff’s hand. His lower jaw and much of his features had been destroyed by a round that had ripped through the side of his face, leaving him virtually unrecognisable. He lay there struggling to breathe through the damage caused to his nasal cavities and throat. His body twitched with each wheezing breath, and a sickening wet bubbling sound emitted from the tangled mass of bloodied bone and tissue which was all that was left of his mouth. Stan crouched down, staring into Danny’s eyes and cupping his head in his hands, whispering to him in a soothing, choking voice.

  “Fuck no. Fucking no, Danny,” he said, shaking his head and staring into the terrified eyes of the youngest member of his team. “It’ll be okay, Dan. It’s going to be okay, mate.”

  Their eyes remained locked on one another as Danny struggled to cling to life. Stan could see that it would not be long now and felt the young man becoming heavier in his arms. He saw Taff make a move, reaching his hand around to his back. Stan reached out and gripped him by the arm, shaking his head slightly as Taff released his hold on the hilt of the knife, leaving it secure within its scabbard. He wanted to ease Danny’s suffering, but Stan’s expression told him that it would not be necessary and it would soon be over, saving him the torment of having to be the one to do it.

  “It’ll be okay, Dan. Just let it go, mate.”

  Danny’s eyes widened for a moment and then suddenly lost focus. His grip on Taff’s hand slackened as his body gave up the struggle. The rasping noises from his wrecked throat softened and steadily faded as his life ebbed away from him. A moment later, Danny’s chest ceased to rise and fall as his eyes closed for the final time.

  “Off you go, lad. Stay safe, mate.” Stan continued to hold him, whispering as he sent him on his way to wherever men like them went to when they passed on.

  Stan had never been religious, but he hoped for the sake of Danny and the other friends they had lost, that there was something waiting for them when they died. The suffering that they had undergone during life had to account for something when they were dead.

  Leaning back from his dead friend, Stan let out a long sigh. He twisted and glanced around at his surroundings and then turned his attention to Taff. He did not need to say anything. His thoughts were etched into his face. Only three of them from their original eight man team remained now, and they were still in a dire position with enemy troops closing in on them and with no way off the island.

  “Do him the honours, Taff,” Stan grumbled as he climbed back to his feet and moved over towards where Bull was positioned.

  Nothing could be seen of their attackers, but they co
uld clearly be heard. They sounded reluctant and scared to commit to any kind of concerted follow-up after the beating they had taken from the retreating men. They were still in and around the area of the ambush, calling out to one another from cover, sounding confused and hesitant.

  “I think we have a chance to do a Houdini here, Stan,” Bull grunted. “They’re all over the place and haven’t a clue where we are or the minerals to come after us.”

  Stan took a look for himself and studied the long grassy plain in front of him. He could see the tops of the hedgerow and the clouds of black, acrid smoke rising up from their abandoned vehicles. Somewhere out there was the rest of their group, including Bobby. He had no idea if any of them had survived the ambush, but he could not see how any of them could have. The fire they had taken and the rockets that tore the vehicles apart had caused enough devastation and carnage to ensure that no one from the rear vehicle remained alive. He slid back down from the embankment and checked his ammunition status. He was down to his last magazine and suspected that the rest of them were probably just as low.

  “Fuck,” he hissed.

  “What now then, Stan?” Bull asked as he kept watch.

  “Danny’s dead,” Stan replied, staring at the track in front of him.

  Bull said nothing, but dropped his gaze, looking down at the grass and nodding solemnly. He had already accepted that Danny would not make it after seeing him being dragged from the second vehicle by Taff. He had seen the blood, and knew that in their present predicament and without proper treatment, their wounded friend would die. However, it was no less painful for him to hear those words, confirming his fears.