Zombie Crusade

by J. W. Vohs

  Zombie

  Crusade

  J.W. Vohs

  Copyright © 2012

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 1479325589

  ISBN-13: 9781479325580

  DEDICATION

  One day after a visit to our school library one of my students, who had just checked out Max Brooks’ World War Z, asked me how I thought the Spartan and Roman armies would have done against the zombies. I told him that I would have to give that idea some thought, but suspected that once those ancient soldiers figured out the nature of the threat they were facing their shield walls, spears, javelins, and short swords would have proven to be very effective tactics and weaponry against the zombie armies. This book explores one plausible scenario in which ancient weapons are employed against zombies by present day survivors, and I thank my student, Tyler Maxwell, for asking the question that led me to write this book.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  My beautiful and supportive wife is my muse and my editor, and without her inspiration, exhortation, and extensive editing this book would not be the quality story you are about to read. Almost forty years ago I read Pat Frank’s Alas Babylon, and have been addicted to apocalyptic fiction ever since. Several years ago I read Max Brooks’ World War Z, and like many of you, I was immediately hooked on zombie fiction. To all of the authors out there writing the zombie novels that provide countless hours of entertainment for my slightly twisted mind I thank you, and hope that you find this book as engaging and fun to read as I have found yours to be.

  CHAPTER 1

  Afghanistan, 2002

  The last place Sgt. Jack Smith wanted to be in the middle of March, with only three months to go before his enlistment was up, was in the freezing mountains of western Afghanistan. Straight out of Whitko High School, Indiana, in the spring of 1998, he had joined the Army as an intelligence analyst with an airborne training option. He decided to go ahead and attend the Army Airborne School at Fort Benning and six months later was assigned to division intelligence with the 82nd Airborne Division. Mostly out of boredom with the peacetime army, Jack had volunteered for every training opportunity his commanding officer would approve. Jungle training, Ranger School, air assault, mountain training, and after two years of outshooting everyone in his company during M-4 training, he was sent to Sniper school.

  The various training schools were somewhat challenging to the former three-sport star, especially the Ranger School, but overall his six-two, one-ninety frame combined with his athletic ability to render most of the training relatively easy to complete. Thick dark hair, olive skin, and a face that was all planes and angles completed the All-American boy image Jack did little to maintain beyond required physical training and continuing a healthy lifestyle inherited from his mother. Life at Fort Bragg was easy and sometimes fun, and Jack even found time to take enough college courses to take care of the first-year basics he would be required to complete when he finally arrived at the university of his choice.

  As the third year of his four-year enlistment with the army passed without incident, he began to look forward to leaving the service and going to college on the GI Bill. Even though his parents would have covered the cost of just about any university in the nation, Jack wanted to earn his education the same way his father did: military service first, followed by a college degree. Dad didn’t talk about the war much, but he did tell Jack that it was on the battlefields of Korea that he learned the most significant and profound lessons of his life. Jack wasn’t bothered by the fact that none of his own training was ever going to be utilized in a combat setting – he truly believed that he could handle the stress of combat, but his intelligence experience had taught him that he was just as likely to end up with a child’s blood on his hands as that of a terrorist or other enemy assigned to him by the government. He had long ago decided that he could live without combat experience.

  Then came September 11, 2001, and with nine months left in his enlistment everything in his world was tossed upside down. He had immediately received orders to Kuwait, where he worked sixteen hour days organizing intelligence reports on Al Qaida and the Taliban for the rapidly growing command staff assembling in the desert. Through the college classes he had managed to complete at Fort Bragg, he had discovered a natural talent for writing, and his concise, accurate situation reports had caught the eye of several divisional and corps commanders. Soon he found himself transferred to the intelligence staff for the growing Army task force being hastily tossed together from all over the world in preparation for the assault on Afghanistan, and that is where he met Colonel Matthew Barnes.

  The colonel was short and pale, thin, with bright blue eyes that sometimes disturbed Jack with their piercing intensity. He maintained a short brown mustache, which did little to offset the difference between his large nose and thin lips. Jack instinctively distrusted Barnes and spent most of his time with the officer committing everything he said to long-term memory. The colonel talked all of the time, mostly about how awesome he was at his job with the US Army. He was a doctor who served in a research capacity, but he believed that his work was the most important business taking place in the Western World. After a few weeks of listening to the colonel’s rambling, Jack began to catch Barnes lying and exaggerating in small but noticeable ways that bothered the young sergeant for reasons he couldn’t quite determine.

  Somehow Jack ended up being assigned a temporary duty driving Barnes all over the desert in his armored Humvee. Sleep and decent food were tough to come by, but Jack did everything asked of him without complaint, and the colonel was immensely impressed with the young sergeant’s competence and professionalism. Barnes had also discovered that Jack had easily passed many of the Army’s toughest training schools and was convinced he had a true killer-hero working for him. Sgt. Smith was savvy enough to realize that Barnes was an important player in the drama that was about to unfold in Afghanistan, so he didn’t bother to explain to the colonel that he had never heard or fired a shot in anger. Barnes obviously wasn’t cannon fodder, so Jack figured he had a good chance of surviving what was going to be an ugly conflict by staying close to the colonel. The air force began clobbering the Taliban a few weeks later, and by December he and the colonel and their Hummer had been dropped deep in the back-country of Afghanistan by a Chinook helicopter.

  Looking back on those early days of confident bliss, Jack realized he should have been concerned when Barnes explained his position in the Army. After three too many shots of Wild Turkey during a cold night hunkered down in a non-descript mountain village being used as a forward operating base by a special forces detachment, the colonel was obviously a few over the limit when he told Jack, “So I’ve read your file, kid. You’ve trained and hung around Bragg for over three years, gaining quite a reputation as a mastermind of intelligence reports for generals and other military geniuses who’ve believed your slop actually meant something important to this country. But I know better, and so do you. I want you to know that you’re out here with me for one reason only: Major John Brooks.”

  Chuckling at Jack’s surprised expression, Barnes continued, “Yep, Brooks and I go way back. We used to chase tail all over campus during our ROTC days at Texas A&M. Served in the Gulf War together as lieutenants on Schwarzkopf’s staff. Must have done a good job too, ‘cause we both came back as captains. He stayed with intelligence, but I went back to medical school on the Army’s dime.”

  The colonel stared at the young sergeant for a long moment before asking, “You know what USAMRIID stands for kid?”

  With Wild Turkey courage Jack quipped, “The Army’s back-up for the CDC in Atlanta.”

  Barnes scowled and declared, “We’re the US Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases, and we’ve forgotten mor
e about bio-threats than any civilian jack-ass in Atlanta has ever learned!”

  Jack enjoyed the fact that he had gotten a rise out of the normally stoic colonel, so he flippantly asked, “Is that why you’re stuck in these mountains with me? Learning more stuff over here that the CDC has never heard of?”

  Barnes said nothing for at least fifteen seconds; he just stared at Jack with dark, cold eyes that added to the shiver already intensifying in the freezing mountain air. Then the colonel did something that surprised Jack: he lied.

  “We’re over here making sure these bastards don’t have any bio-surprises waiting for our boys, maybe stuff left over from the Soviet invasion, or even weapons from China or some other nation that wouldn’t mind seeing us get our noses bloodied in this dung-heap of a country.”

  Jack realized then that Colonel Barnes had underestimated him; the young sergeant knew a great deal about biological warfare. On the off-chance that he might make a career out of the Army, Jack had spent countless hours as a young private learning about all known threats to the United States. Even if you ignored the fact that advanced technology in this part of the world amounted to Mosin-Nagants and goat carts, one thing he was fairly certain of was that no nation with the ability to develop a major bio-warfare program would trust Al-Qaida or the Taliban with their precious weapons of mass destruction. The bottom line was that too many variables could not be controlled once those weapons left any nation’s arsenal. History had proven time and again that today’s ally could very easily become tomorrow’s enemy, and nobody wanted bioweapons turned against their own people.

  Finally grasping some common sense through the Wild Turkey haze, Jack wisely backed away from the subject. “Well, sir, I’ll drive you to hell and back to make sure nothing like that gets dumped on any of our guys. Hope you don’t mind if I start carrying something other than a spare MRE in my gas mask case.”

  Feeling reassured that the young sergeant’s questions were sufficiently answered, Barnes chuckled and replied, “You carry that mask, son. I still carry mine.”

  Jack chuckled along with the colonel for a moment and then listened intently as Barnes explained, “Well, I didn’t need to pull any more of our guys out of Fort Detrick to drive me around up here; losing me for a few months was more than General Lane wanted in any event. So I called Major Brooks and asked him if he had a non-com who could drive and shoot and wasn’t a complete idiot. I guess he got the last laugh because he sent me you.”

  They both laughed together until the colonel became serious again. “Plus, you’re cleared way beyond Top Secret, and I never know when I might need somebody who knows how to keep his mouth shut. Or at least knows he’ll spend the rest of his life in Leavenworth if he does talk about classified information.”

  Rapidly sobering, Jack asked, “You really think we might run into bio-threats out here, sir?”

  Barnes shrugged and replied, “Well, I really doubt it, but important people at high levels wanted to make sure somebody from USAMRIID was over here just in case our boys ran into something; I guess I won the lottery this time.”

  “Well, sir, I’m honored that Major Brooks thought I was good enough to accompany you over here. He was our CO when I worked in the All Source Intelligence Center for the 82nd. To be honest with you, I never realized that he noticed me much.”

  Barnes smiled, “A good Intel officer keeps his cards hidden. He knew which of his officers and non-coms were good, and you must have been at the top of the list.”

  Jack flushed with pride and declared, “Well, sir, I won’t let either of you down over here.”

  Signaling that the conversation was over by pulling out his sleeping bag, Barnes mumbled, “I know you won’t Sgt. Smith; I know you won’t.”

  As fate would have it, that evening spent talking with Colonel Barnes over shots of bourbon would be the last normal night of Sgt. Smith’s life for several years. Early the next morning he was kicked awake in his bag by Barnes before dawn and told to pack up and be in the Hummer within five minutes; an impossible order, but he was ready to move out in less than ten. The colonel ordered him to drive deeper into the mountains over roads and crossroads that left the young sergeant hopelessly confused as to their location. Keeping a close eye on his GPS, Barnes finally ordered Jack to turn onto what appeared to be nothing but a goat-path, but the Hummer was ideal for such terrain, and they reached a forward air base fifteen minutes after making the turn.

  Jack was told to sit tight while the colonel trotted over to a helipad and held a brief discussion with a warrant officer conducting preflight checks on a rather new-looking Blackhawk. A few minutes later, Barnes walked over to the driver’s side of the Hummer and motioned for Jack to roll down the window.

  “Pop the back so I can grab my gear. I’m going to be flying out to have a look at a village we’re concerned about up near the border, and I’ll probably be gone for a few days. I want you to bivouac inside the wire and keep a low profile. When I get back we’ll need to move out right away, so stay on your toes and make sure you’re somewhere between the Hummer and your tent at all times you’re not in the latrine or the mess tent. Got it?”

  Jack was a bit confused as to why he wasn’t being invited to accompany the colonel, but also realized that he wouldn’t mind a few days without Barnes’ constant talking and bragging. “Yes, sir, I got it. Sure you don’t want me to go along so you have another rifle out there?”

  “I’ll be fine, Jack, just a medical operation at this point; we’re going in under the Red Cross so I don’t expect any trouble. We’ll have plenty of firepower at our disposal though, just in case some of the Taliban don’t honor the symbol. Nope, I want you to stay here and relax for a few days; I know you wouldn’t mind catching up on some sleep.”

  Jack gave a genuine smile, “You’re right about that sir. I’ll also give the Hummer a once over and maybe get one of these grease-monkeys to give us a tune-up.”

  Barnes nodded, “Sounds good, sergeant; I’ll see you in a few days.”

  Jack followed orders and enjoyed the two days off, actually catching up on his sleep and taking advantage of the opportunity to read a paperback novel he had brought along in the bottom of his pack. On the morning of the third day, Jack had managed to grab a hot breakfast in the mess tent when the warrant officer he’d seen conversing with Barnes when they first arrived tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Just received a message from your colonel, he’s on his way back here and asked me to tell you to be packed up and ready to move within an hour.”

  Jack reluctantly set down his tray and thanked the officer, then headed over to the Hummer to break camp. Barnes landed an hour later and immediately threw his bags in the back and told Jack they were leaving. The colonel was dirty and haggard-looking, and he tore into the MRE Jack tossed in his lap as they were passing through the gate.

  Perhaps two hours later Barnes ordered Smith to pull into line with a convoy gathered on the side of a grassy track which passed for a road in this part of the world. They waited about five minutes before moving out under the cover of an entire squadron of Apache helicopters loaded for World War III. Another hour of treacherous driving found the convoy halted just below the ridgeline of a high mountain range, where a group of officers were gathered on the crest peering down into a deep valley with their field glasses.

  Colonel Barnes pulled Sgt. Smith aside and brusquely commanded, “Put up our tents and store the gear down at the bivouac they’re setting up a few hundred yards below this side of the ridge. Clean your M-4 and reload all of your magazines. Then take a nap. Read a book. Do whatever you want as long as it doesn’t involve sticking your head out of your tent until I join you. Do you understand my orders sergeant?”

  “What’s going on, sir?” Smith asked in a concerned tone.

  The colonel literally snarled, “What two requirements must be met for access to classified information, sergeant?”

  Sgt. Smith declared, “Clearance level and need to kno
w, sir!”

  Satisfied with Jack’s response, Barnes’ resumed his normal tone as he explained, “Your presence here as my aide meets neither of those requirements, sergeant. Even you aren’t cleared high enough, and you have no need to know what is happening here.”

  Smith nodded, “Yes, sir! I’ll get us set up at the bivouac and wait for you there.”

  Barnes did an about face without another word, pulling out his own optics as he walked toward the officers gathered at the top of the ridge. Smith obediently grabbed their gear and started carrying it down the mountain. The bivouac site wasn’t far, but he still needed three trips to transfer everything from the Hummer to their tents. Once he had all the gear stowed away he set to cleaning his weapon and checking all of his loads. He followed the same ritual every night, but the actions seemed especially important today. Finally, after several hours to himself, he heard Barnes enter his own tent. Five minutes later the colonel called for him.

  Barnes met Jack outside and tossed him an MRE. Both men sat on the cold, hard ground while busying themselves with preparing their meals. Finally Barnes explained, “Based on reports from a Ranger patrol, USAMRIID believes there’s a pretty bad virus down in that village on the other side of the ridge. We’re certain that every local with access to the place is now contained in the village, and none of our people have been exposed to whatever is breaking out down there.”

  Jack only nodded as he began eating his entrée, keeping his version of a poker face tightly in place.

  The colonel continued, “I doubt that you’re going to like your job here, but it’s a job that is critical to containing this thing.”

  Jack mumbled, “What do you need me to do, sir?