Zombie Dawn Outbreak

by Michael G. Thomas

  As he rode off from the shop front pavement a creature took the turn around the wall ahead of him. Dave could have avoided this creature, but the absolute hatred he now felt for the beasts made him deliberately veer closer. Riding past leisurely to the left side of the zombie he smacked it hard in the face. The beast’s neck twisted sharply and it collapsed to the street. He continued on.

  The relaxed fighting position and ride afforded him a comfortable journey out of the town, and the revenge he so desperately wanted could be had at any moment he chose. Every hundred yards, Dave would hammer another zombie in the face, each time feeling just a little better about things than he had before.

  Finally, he reached a small bridge which crossed over the motorway. Getting to the railings he stopped to look below. The road was always busy, no matter the time or day, but now the traffic was stopped completely, but there were few people. Some creatures could be seen hammering on windows and staggering between the jam. However many people survived in those cars, they would not for long, and there was nothing Dave could do about it.

  Looking back from where he’d just come two creatures staggered towards him in the distance. The only way was forwards. Dave was now quickly growing tired, he had the willpower to ride on, but little else. He followed the road to a village he’d never heard of, it would at least have as few people as possible, less potential enemies. Time was going on, with just a few hours of light, he only hoped he could find shelter before this terrible day was over.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Helmand Province, Afghanistan

  It was Afghanistan and even though it was only 5am the marines were already feeling the start of the day’s heat. Though they’d been in the country for three months now, none of them enjoyed being out in full combat gear in the blistering temperature. The country was dry, barren and the dust and sand got everywhere. On top of this they were crammed in like sardines into the Osprey, an aircraft that on paper was state-of-the-art, but to the marines it was like every other vehicle they travelled in; noisy, dark and cramped!

  Each of the marines was equipped with the latest Modular Tactical Vest (MTV) set of body armour which was the newest and most advanced vest in marine inventories. It offered better protection than previous vests and was proving invaluable in the continuing war with the insurgency. The marines also wore the latest Combat Utility Uniform that consisted of MARPAT digital camouflage blouse and trousers, green undershirt, and tan suede boots. On their heads they wore the new Lightweight Helmets that offered better protection than the previous ‘Fritz’ type designs even though they were less than light! These marines looked well armed and equipped and were the spearhead of the US Marines assault troops.

  Reports had been coming in all morning and the stories were not good, not good at all. Private Torres, a twenty four year old marine tried to find out more as he read the latest on his Apple iPhone. He was taller than average, shaved hair and was the stereotypical jarhead. He squinted as he tried to examine the small scrolling ticker at the bottom. The tiny text gave him the latest figures whilst on the main screen he was watching a live video feed.

  He turned to the man sat next to him and thrust the phone at his face. Making sure that the display was placed right in front of his nose.

  “Have you seen this shit?” he asked excitedly. “The attacks are spreading!”

  The man ignored the phone and swore directly as Torres.

  “Get that piece of shit out of my face!”

  The other men onboard laughed at the usual banter between these two men. Torres was always waving his phone about, much to the annoyance of the rest who were convinced he must work for the company. Torres pretended to not have heard his comments and described what he had read.

  “According to this report some of those guys managed to attack the English parliament.”

  Fernanda, the unit’s only female soldier leaned forwards, looking towards Torres. She had short, dark hair tied loose behind her head and carried her M4 carbine across her chest.

  “How many this time?” she shouted.

  Torres examined the screen more closely, watching the video feed of the action. Though the footage was small he could see the inside of the building, incredibly the panic had been caught on camera. As armed police arrived, firing automatic weapons, the feed started to stutter and parts of the video froze.

  “I’m losing the signal. I think it said the Prime Minister was injured and there are more than fifty more dead or injured. They said something about martial law I think,” said Torres.

  Fernanda leaned back, “First Canada gets hit, then France. When is this gonna stop?”

  The rest of the men were silent. They were all experienced marines from the 3rd Battalion, 4th Marines infantry battalion of the United States Marine Corps. Known by the rest of the armed forces as the ‘Thundering Third’, they had already accumulated an impressive score of victories in the country. Unlike their previous missions though, this was only their third in the new Osprey aircraft. They were sat inside the V22-Osprey and it was cramped, especially with the rest of the unit packed in. This aircraft was the latest piece of equipment in the arsenal of the US Marines and over time it would be replacing most of the battlefield helicopters. It was a tiltrotor aircraft with both a vertical takeoff and landing capability, and combined the functionality of a conventional helicopter with the long-range, high-speed cruise performance of a fixed wing aircraft.

  The First Sergeant, a tough marine called Black was standing up, holding onto one of the internal rails whilst he spoke over the headset to the pilots. Something caught his attention and he moved closer to the front of the aircraft, engaging in a conversation for about a minute. The rest of the marines tried to hear what was going on. It didn’t matter though because after just a few more seconds he moved to the centre of the aircraft and tapped his ear, signalling to the men to fit their intercom systems on so they could be more easily heard over the sound of the two massive rotors.

  “Ok ladies, listen up. We’ve received reports from Nawzad District that the operation has hit a shit storm,” he said.

  Now that he had their attention he continued.

  “The ANA units patrolling the Nawzad Valley were hit earlier this morning. Information from our Force Recon unit there says they’ve been wiped out and Nawzad itself has been hit by Taliban forces. That was an hour ago, since then we’ve heard nothing.”

  The Sergeant looked around the craft, spotting the concern and anger amongst the men. He received more information and gestured to the marines to wait whilst he listened in.

  Sergeant Black had been involved in operations in Nawzad three months earlier and he was dismayed to hear that this success story seemed to be unravelling. Though not particularly massive it was the centre of the Nawzad District in Helmand Province. The area had been fought over for the last few years by the Taliban forces on one side and the outnumbered British forces with their Ghurkha troops and small numbers of the new Afghan National Army soldiers. Though they’d fought hard their numbers just weren’t enough to do the job alone. With the heavy fighting over in Iraq they’d been able to transfer combat forces, including the Marine units, to Helmand Province to assist their comrades in the British Army. With the skills and knowledge of the area the British were capable allies and the process of pacifying the region was now coming to an end.

  He stopped, listening to more news on his headset before continuing.

  “We have the latest intel from the Reapers, it shows the area has been involved in some kind of action but there are no signs of insurgents moving in the area.

  “Any news on the garrison in the town?” asked Torres.

  “Not since the start of the action. At 4.25am we received news that the civilians were being attacked and shortly after that the two compounds came under fire. All transmissions stopped at 4.42am and we have to assume that Coalition and ANA forces in the town have been neutralised. This area is critical to our progress in the Nawzad Valley.”


  The Sergeant spoke a few words into his headset before turning back to Torres.

  “Remember marines, we’re here to disrupt Taliban supply and communications lines and to remove his support in this region.”

  He lifted himself up straight, looking at the rest of the marines in the Osprey.

  “Either way we need to retake control and bring this town back under the control of the ANA,” said the sergeant.

  Lieutenant Wade, a pale looking officer, moved from the cockpit into the main passenger area. He thrust a map into Sergeant Black’s hands and shouted into the sergeant’s ear. He looked at it for a moment before nodding and passing the map back to him, saying a few words. The Lieutenant moved back to the front of the craft, avoiding eye contact with the rest of the marines.

  Sergeant Black continued his explanation to the men.

  “The plan has changed, we’re no longer on a logistical mission, this is now a combat operation and you will hit the ground running. Make sure your gear is ready, we hit the ground in sixty seconds!”

  A chorus of ‘Ooh-rah’ echoed through the noisy interior. The marines grabbed their weapons, each checking their ammunition and equipment. The marines, as always were well equipped for most tasks. Between them they carried a significant amount of rifles and machineguns, as well as grenade launcher attachments and grenades. There was little they couldn’t handle. The First Sergeant continued.

  “We’ll be landing half a click from the south of the town. Our mission is to secure the main access to the town from the south and then to hump down to the forward base and establish a foothold. Once we’ve taken it we’ll evacuate any wounded and reinforce the position prior to the arrival of additional ANA units,” said Sergeant Black.

  The interior warning lights came on, indicating that the unit would be landing shortly. The massive engines on the short, stubby wings groaned as they changed position. The rotors were currently forward facing, just like the engines in an aircraft like a C130 Hercules. As the motors moved though they changed configuration until the V22 looked more like a conventional helicopter.

  From the small window Torres could see the dusty ground as the aircraft swooped down in its standard landing pattern. This procedure was the most dangerous part of their trip as they were slower and most vulnerable as they lowered down to the ground. Unlike other aircraft such as helicopters the Osprey used a more automated landing procedure that made touchdown more predictable. On top of this the Osprey needed much more space than an equivalent helicopter to land, making potential landing zones more obvious to the enemy. The end result was that the marines wanted to get out as quickly as possible.

  As the ground rushed upwards, Torres found his visibility was ruined by a huge cloud of dust. This was one problem that so far hadn’t been solved. Because of the two massive rotors and the immense downdraft the V-22 Osprey created a huge dust cloud that surrounded the craft upon landing. This was known as brownout and was the problem responsible for three out of four helicopter crashes and losses in Afghanistan. The downside was that the men could see almost nothing upon leaving, the upside was that it created a smokescreen for their arrival.

  With a thud the Osprey hit the ground, sliding a few feet forwards, the undercarriage compressed, taking the impact on the hard, dry soil and cushioning the landing. In seconds the tail ramp dropped down, exposing the men to the elements. Lowering his goggles the Sergeant was the first out, signalling to the rest of the men to follow him. It didn’t take long, none of the marines wanted to stay a moment longer in a lightly armoured aircraft that was kicking up a cloud that could be seen for miles in every direction. As the men left the Osprey they moved back about thirty metres to take cover behind the rocks and cover nearby. The aircraft took off almost as soon as the last man left. The downdraft was massive and blew sand and dust over the men as they sheltered.

  The second Osprey came in low, looking like a futuristic drop ship from a science fiction movie. It hit the ground and quickly disgorged its marines nearby giving a total of forty two men, a full, combat ready Marine rifle platoon. The platoon consisted of three rifle squads each led by a sergeant. With single hand signal the three NCO’s responded to First Lieutenant Wade and split up, the three squads moving out to secure the landing area. The unit was a short distance from the town, a slightly raised position within the remnants of a few low broken walls and barbed wire marking the perimeter. In the previous campaigns this had actually been a forward base, now it was simply a convenient resupply position that usually housed a handful of ANA soldiers. As the marines spread out it was clear that it was missing any sign of the soldiers. Near the northern perimeter was a small blockhouse that was used as a shelter for the guards. The 1st Squad was already in position and in sections stormed the room and the area around it to find the place deserted. Sergeant Weathers moved in first, followed by one of his riflemen. There was a sound of equipment being kicked around before he returned, moving up to the Lieutenant.

  “Sir, no sign of them. Their weapons are still here and the communication equipment is on, but not transmitting,” he said.

  Lieutenant Wade signalled to the leaders of the other two squads, calling them over.

  “Ok, uh, I want 1st Squad to stay here with me,” he looked around at what was left of the compound, “we need to make this defensible in case of any attempt to re-take it.”

  Sergeants Black and Weathers exchanged knowing looks. Their confidence in the officer was at an all time low. Luckily the Marine Corps placed great emphasis on its NCO’s and their ability to command. This was something that had been a tradition right back to the island hopping campaigns in the Pacific back in World War II.

  The Lieutenant, looking nervous continued with his orders, looking first at Sergeant Black.

  “We need to secure this point and co-ordinate the relief of the town.”

  He waved his arm, pointing at the abandoned base.

  “Weathers, I want 1st Squad to setup a defensive perimeter around this LZ. Get the heavy weapons set up and establish a command post in there,” he pointed to the small blockhouse.

  The sergeant saluted and then moved back, shouting out to his men. In just seconds the men from 1st Squad were busy preparing the position. Lieutenant Wade seemed to forget what he was doing for a moment, looking around the old site. Whatever he was thinking, it certainly wasn’t inspiring confidence in the men. Sergeant Black stepped closer, drawing attention to himself.

  “Sir!” he called.

  The Lieutenant turned back to face the NCO, the realisation that he needed to do more than just dig a hole and hide possibly kicking in. Wade paused and then seemed to regain his composure.

  “Sergeant Black, I want you take 2nd Squad and advance to the bazaar. I need to know what has happened in the town,” he said.

  Sergeant Black looked confused.

  “What about 3rd Squad, Sir? I could do with the manpower. We’ve got no intel on the area and no idea what might be there,” he said.

  He tried to make it sound like a suggestion rather than the obvious way it should be done, but it was difficult for him to hide the derision he had for the officer. It was his job to keep his marines alive and combat ready.

  “I’m sure it’s nothing you can’t handle, Sergeant. Get to it! I’ve got other things to do.”

  Mathews, an experienced NCO in his own right interrupted.

  “I agree with Sergeant Black, Sir. Sending just one squad into the bazaar could be risky. If we send in...”

  He was stopped by Wade raising his hand.

  “Look, I have a job for 3rd Squad. Just get your men ready and tell me when you’ve secured the bazaar.”

  He turned away, an obvious signal that he’d finished his discussion with the men. Sergeant Black saluted and then turned to his men to get them ready.

  “I have a special mission for you Mathews. Apparently the last reports said something about fighting near the supply compound here,” said Wade.

  He poi
nted to his map, showing him the location of the site that appeared about half way into the town and probably five hundred metres from the bazaar.

  The sergeant scratched his chin in confusion.

  “I don’t understand, Sir. The bazaar is not far away, wouldn’t it be more efficient to secure the compound first with 2nd Squad and then sweep into the bazaar once we have a central position to operate from,” he said, almost pleading.

  “No, Sergeant, that is not helpful. We’re marines and I want both objectives taken before the rest of the unit arrives. This is our mission and we deserve the credit for securing the town.”

  “But Sir, it’s not a race, my men...” he said.

  “Sergeant! You will secure the compound and keep me informed, that is all!” he shouted.

  Sergeant Mathews saluted, knowing full well that the discussion was over and that this mission had just taken a deadly turn for the worse. He spotted Sergeant Black about to leave and made his way discretely over to the man. Black spotted him and paused for a moment, so they could speak.

  “This is shit,” said Black, “I’m not sending my men into an ambush. Wade is an assfuck!”

  Mathews smiled, “I agree. He wants me to take the compound first.”

  Sergeant Black examined his map. He traced two lines with hands, leading from their landing zone and out to the two objectives.

  “I don’t understand this, we could easily support each other and take both locations, one after the other,” he said.

  Sergeant Mathews considered the situation. He looked around, noticing the Lieutenant was already chasing the men of 1st Squad to set up his base of operations. He’d come up with a simple solution.

  “Wade is too busy building his little empire here, I suggest we split up as ordered, but I’ll radio in that the route is blocked,” he suggested.