by TW Gallier
Second Platoon broke up in laugher. I glanced at them. We were supposedly an infantry company, but were extremely under-staffed. Second platoon was the largest with four squads, while the other platoons only had three.
There were four E7s in our group: two Army, one Air Force, and one Marine. Master Sergeant Samuels was active duty Air Force, but on leave when he was rounded up. He was a combat control soldier, so practically an infantryman in my book and was put in command of First Platoon. Gunnery Sergeant Phillips managed to get all of the Marines and sailors assigned to his Second Platoon. Sergeant First Class Villarosa was a retired supply sergeant, but was given Third Platoon. Sergeant First Class Beatty was given Fourth Platoon. I got first squad under Beatty, with Mike Huston and Charlie Bailey getting the other two squads. We were the only NCOs in our platoon. Mike and Charlie were both buck sergeants.
SFC Beatty was actually Army Reserve, though active. There would've been a time when regular soldiers would've looked down on him with derision. Not anymore. The reserves and National Guard units deployed to the war zones just like the rest of us. He was a combat veteran with more deployments than me, Charlie, and Mike combined.
Problem was SFC Beatty was a tanker. He had no infantry experience. I didn't understand why he was put in charge of us, since the brigade had armored units.
He was also a hard core asshole. I think he thought he was a Drill Sergeant or something. We were assigned four squad tents, which we had to put up. He didn't like them, so made us tear them down and put back up three times before he was satisfied. Personally, I think he only did it to prove his authority.
Then he marched us over to be issued uniforms. Once we were all nice and pretty in brand new Woodland camo BDUs, then we joined the full company to get our basic issue.
The supply room must have been run by a logistical genius. They marched the platoons through in record time. Everything was laid out like at an all you can eat buffet. We picked up a duffle bag and sent down the line and picking up one of each. Supplies personnel watched us like hawks to ensure no one took more than allotted.
As we exited the supply tent on the other side, there was a SP4 with a black permanent marker writing everyone's name on their duffle bag. SFC Beatty was waiting for us. We formed up, dumped our duffle bags, and did an inventory. Strangely enough, we found three men with things missing. How?
After stowing our new gear in the tents, SFC Beatty marched us over to the armory. We arrived before any of the other platoons. The armory was an old barn. Racks upon racks of weapons filled it. It looked like they emptied the local National Guard and Army Reserve armories for a hundred mile radius. There were a lot of weapons.
"Is every company using the same armory?" I asked.
"For now," the armorer said. Staff Sergeant Edwards was a rail thin woman with a look in her eyes that said she'd spent well more than one too many tours in combat zones. "We'll split them up once I can get some others trained properly."
SFC Beatty, Mike, Charlie, and I discussed and assigned weapons. Normally, combat troops weren't issued a sidearm, but they had a lot. We made sure everyone in our platoon received the same Beretta 9mm. Most of us were issued M-4 Carbines. The platoon was only allowed two M-203 grenade launchers attached to M-4s, and Mike snagged one for himself. Each squad was also assigned one M-249 Squad Automatic Weapon.
"Are grenades even effective against zombies?" I asked. "Only head and heart shots kill them."
"It'll mess them up," Mike said. "Good enough for me."
Being the hardcore ass that he was, Beatty made us all clean our weapons first thing. We grumbled, but did as told. Since they were already immaculate, it didn't take long. And then we had to turn the weapons back in.
It was midday and time for lunch before we returned to our tents. There was no mess hall, but there were kitchen trailers set up in four locations. Each unit was assigned a chow trailer with cooks. We were marched over to eat when it was our turn.
"At least they're feeding us," Mike said.
"Yeah. We're lucky it isn't MREs," I added.
"After today, it'll be MREs for breakfast and lunch, and a hot dinner," Beatty said. "At least until we run out of food. That might happen."
I nodded. Didn't matter to me. I was out of there at the first opportunity. Love of country, duty, service, and all that shit was second to my family. I did my time. I didn't want to be Uncle Sam's bitch anymore.
We heard some booms midafternoon. With a little digging, I found out the Air Force was bombing towns and farms close to the new border the government set up. To the east were the contaminated lands. Everyone, zombie or not, was considered infected, so no longer allowed to cross over the Rockies. That was just crazy, since just about everyone of us, a ton of government officials, and the President of the United States of America just crossed over from the "contaminated lands."
Funny how that worked.
"Why do you keep looking at that phone, Sarge?" Mike asked me while we ate dinner.
It was late afternoon. We'd spent the afternoon giving classes to the platoon to get everyone back up to speed. About half our men weren't even combat arms prior to their impressments back into service. We had to teach every one of them how to fight as a unit as quickly as possible.
"My wife is waiting for me to save her," I whispered. "I promised her I was on my way, before I was swept up in this mess."
"Where is she?" Charlie asked.
"Georgia. Up in the mountains around Blue Ridge," I said. "We have a cabin. I told her to take our two sons to the cabin, and that I was on my way to meet them there. I can't even speak to her after the EMP."
"That is truly messed up, man," Mike said. "I don't have any family. I'm an only child, and my parents died in a car accident two years ago. I'm only twenty-two, so haven't married."
"My family's over in Oregon," Charlie said. "I'm just twenty-two as well. I'm still having too much fun to settle down."
I arched a brow. "Oh, you find this fun?"
"Actually, I kind of liked being in the Army," he said. Charlie glanced around nervously, then caught and held my eyes. "When you go AWOL, I want to go with you."
That shocked me. The idea of going AWOL was scary. Good soldiers didn't do that. Yet, he was right. I couldn't stay. I had greater obligations to uphold. So it wasn't a matter of if I'd go AWOL, but when.
"Man, that's crazy talk. Don't let anyone hear you saying that, either. There's already over a dozen men in the brig for just talking about leaving," I said. "Colonel Humphries' not playing games. This is serious shit."
"That's not a no," Charlie said. He leaned closer, voice dropping. "Have you considered what kind of vehicle to commandeer, and how do we get our hands on some decent weaponry?"
I glanced at Mike, who was leaning in, too. He noticed my gaze.
"Don't cut me out of the action. I did my time," he said. "Being a zombie border guard for no telling how long doesn't sound like anything I'd sign up for. I live for action. I want to go, too."
I looked back and forth between them. Was I that obvious? Or was it my story that convinced them I was going over the fence at the first opportunity? Also, there was no way to know if they were serious, or if one of them would be a mole and turn everyone involved in for some benefit.
Thinking about how long and arduous the journey could be, I knew I'd have a better chance if I wasn't alone. A small, highly trained team of soldiers might be able to cross the zombie dead-zone.
"We'll need access to the armory, which we know will be guarded," I said. "This place is filled with vehicles designed to cross hostile terrain. One of the Humvees would be perfect. It would hold a lot of food and ammo."
We went for a walk around the camp. The motor pools were guarded so we couldn't enter, but they were not individually fenced off. Indeed, the entire camp was surrounded by concertina wire, with armed guards patrolling along the inside of it. Then I spotted the headquarter tents. Five Humvees idled outside them. All were covered with
desert camo paint, except for one M1113 still a solid tan. It was completely open, and looked like one of the brand new vehicles.
Drivers sat in all of them waiting for whatever senior officer they serviced.
"We have transportation," I said. "Provided they keep those Humvees ready to go at all times."
"We can get a lot of guys in five Humvees," Mike said.
Four of them had crew serviced weapons mounted on the roofs. Yeah, it brought back memories of Iraq and Afghanistan. Not all of them good.
Even better, HQ wasn't too far from the armory. Ideas flowed. Most of them scary dangerous. There was a damned good chance we'd all die in the attempt. Still, it was better than staying and betraying my family.
"All we have to do is figure out a way to get our hands on the armory keys," Charlie said. "No small feat."
"Agreed," I said. "In the meantime, let's see if we can get hold of some road maps across the Dakotas."
None of us were from that area. My understanding was there weren't many roads. It was mostly wilderness. The Wild, Wild West, with zombies.
When we returned to our tent, Sergeant Major Russell was talking to SFC Beatty. We hung back until they finished and the Sergeant Major strode off.
"Gilley," Beatty said, looking impatient as we approached. "You're Sergeant of the Guard tonight."
I'd forgotten all about pulling guard duty. They'd probably expect me to work the next day, too. Yeah, not happy.
"What are we guarding? The perimeter? Front gate?"
"No, you're guarding the brig and armory," he said. "They have another unit guarding the perimeter."
I looked at Mike, then Charlie, and grinned.
Chapter 8
I quickly put on all my gear. Kevlar helmet. WEB gear. It was pretty basic. In a war zone we were issued a lot more equipment. Then I headed over to the armory, where I was issued my M-4 and pistol. I was even given three full 30-round magazines for the rifle, and two for the Beretta 9mm. The "enlisted" men showed up and were issued their weapons and ammo.
There were just six men. One for the brig and one for the armory per shift. We all knew how guard duty worked, but I gave them the spiel again. Everyone was going to be on guard for two hours, four hours off to sleep. I didn't know what time guard duty ended, but most likely around 6 AM. That was twelve hours, so each man would pull two shifts.
I was expected to stay awake all night.
"Here you go, Sarge," SSG Edwards said, handing over the armory keys. The armorer looked harried after a long day of issuing weapons. I really didn't expect her to give me the keys. No one ever gave me keys when I was on active duty. "If anything happens, meet me back here so I can open up and issue weapons. Otherwise, give the keys back to me in the morning."
After marching the guard detail over to HQ, I formed them up right in front of the five Humvees idling away. Only one of the drivers still sat in her vehicle. I went inside to find the Officer of the Guard. It was Lieutenant Miller, a raw butter bar National Guard officer. He looked out of his comfort zone, but was putting on a brave face. Sort of.
"Sir, the guards are ready for inspection."
After the inspection, which he barely took any time to conduct, Lieutenant Miller gave me the keys to the brig with orders to keep a close eye on them.
"Also, that first Humvee is ours," he said. He pointed at the brand new one, with no top. "They didn't give us a driver, but I don't see any reason we'd need to use it." He started to go back inside the Brigade TOC. "Oh, you are also responsible for ensuring all five are topped off at all times."
"What about that driver?"
The driver looked up from the book she was reading and frowned. She was a pretty little brunette. Her rank was PFC, and she had a patch on her left shoulder that I'd learned was the area's Army Reserve unit. Sanchez was on her name tag.
"She's yours to use."
I looked her over after the lieutenant left.
"By use he means I'll drive you around," she said.
We both laughed. "Don't worry. I'm happily married, PFC."
"Oooh, I have a gun. I wasn't worried."
"Duly noted," I said. She kind of reminded me of Jenny. "How much fuel do you have?"
"Three-quarters of a tank, Sergeant."
After ordering her to top off all five vehicles, I posted the guards and assigned the others their shifts. As the pieces began falling into place, my doubts increased. I knew what I had to do, but the real prospect of going AWOL was starting to sink in. I was about to break Military Law and do a very bad thing. Under the current situation, it could be a capital offense.
I hadn't heard a declaration of war, but the nation was under Martial Law and a state of National Emergency. AWOL might be tantamount to treason at that time.
And then I thought of Jenny, Timmy, and Harlan.
So I sent the brig guard over to help PFC Sanchez top off the five Humvees. I took his post while he was gone. The brig was a hastily constructed shack surrounded by three rolls of stacked concertina wire. Obviously just a temporary facility. The men inside were looking at their first night in jail, and an uncertain future.
"Why are you guys in here? Just because you refuse to serve again?"
A couple nodded, but none of them seemed inclined to speak to me.
"If some guys out here decided to go over the fence, would any of you want to go, too?"
That got their attention.
"What do you get out of it?" one of them asked.
"Confusion. Everyone taking off, going in different directions will confuse and divide the pursuing units. That'll give everyone a better chance of escape. Are you in?"
"You know we are."
"Good. Rest up. It'll be many hours before we go," I said. "By the way, the other guards are not in on it, so no talking about it."
I trusted those men as much as a snake in my shorts. But I really thought I had a better chance of escaping with everyone running off on their own.
Just after midnight Mike and Charlie met with me. They were dressed in their helmets and WEB gear. We finalized our barely sketched out plans. Charlie had managed to acquire a gas station road map of the region, so we could maneuver cross country if need be. A topographic map would've been better, but it was better than nothing.
The first three guard shifts went without incident. Halfway through the fourth shift, I sent both guards over to help PFC Sanchez top off the Humvees again. And by the end of their shift at 2 AM, both guards were groggy and swaying on their feet. I relieved them, sending them back to the guard tent.
"Just go to bed. I already woke up your relief," I said.
And amazingly, they did. I really half-expected them to go ahead and check on their relief, but the SOG usually woke the relief early so there was no gap between shifts. They took me on my word.
"How did you get rid of the guards?" Mike whispered when he and Charlie joined me next to the armory.
"I told them to go to bed and that I'd already awakened their relief."
"But they're all in the same tent. They could see their relief sleeping," Charlie said.
I shrugged and grinned. "It worked. They probably went to sleep knowing I was waiting for a relief that was not coming. I bet they thought it funny."
I had double-checked to ensure the last shift didn't wake up the next. They were all sound asleep, with a few of them snoring.
"That's sad," Mike said, and sighed.
We unlocked the armory, and then went inside and unlocked all of the weapon racks. We got ourselves well-armed. Charlie and I took M-4 Airborne rifles. Mike grabbed an M-4 with M203. We set a M-249 SAW aside with twelve 200 round belts of ammo. We wanted to ensure we got our cache before I unleashed the prisoners inside the armory.
Once we were locked and loaded, the three of us headed for the makeshift brig. The prisoners were all up and waiting. That worried me. If they saw what we were doing, what kept others from doing the same?
I thought of PFC Sanchez.
"Quick. Get inside the armory," I commanded. "And be quiet."
They did me proud and went from brig to armory without a word or joyful cry. One and all looked frightened and determined. We all knew we were committing a terrible crime in the military. The consequences would be severe if caught.
"Take whatever weapons you want," Mike told them. "Don't overload yourselves to the point you cannot run and fight."
Charlie distributed the ammo based on the weapons they chose. Once they were all armed I got their attention.
"Okay, here's the deal. There are five idling Humvees in front of headquarters. We're going to run over there, jump into vehicles, and tear ass. Do NOT fire a shot unless absolutely necessary. One shot, and everyone in camp is awake." They nodded. "One last thing. There is at least one driver in the Humvees. PFC Sanchez is a chick. Don't touch her. Just chase her off."
"Oh man, I know Sanchez. She's hot," one guy said. "I don't think I'll be chasing her off."
"I said she's off limits."
"Fuck you. Who do you think – "
I shot him in the right thigh, and then kicked him in the jaw as he fell. He hit the ground unconscious. Everyone looked at me like I was crazy.
"That scumbag was talking kidnapping and rape, so he's lucky I didn't kill his ass. Anyone have a problem with that?" I demanded. They were grim, but said nothing. "Good."
They were silent, gawking down at the dead man. So I opened the door. "Me and my friends get the first truck in line. You can have the other four. GO!"
We didn't have time to sort it all out. After I shot that guy, we had to go balls to the wall. I could hear the camp coming alive as I ran out the door. Mike and Charlie were right behind me. We all carried extra cases of ammo and the SAW.
It was a short run. Sanchez was standing next to her Humvee and looking our way curiously. I waved her away.
"Run for your life!"
She was a smart girl. PFC Sanchez raced away into the dark. Charlie, Mike, and I tossed our stuff in the back of the open Humvee in front. I jumped behind the wheel. I heard Charlie racking the SAW in back. Mike rode shotgun, and loaded a 40mm grenade into the M203. And then he fired it at the front gate, scattering the guards there.