Previously Published on the Substack
The distant boom of 3 M1’s firing followed the might flash and roiling discharge from the HE rounds that hurtled into the mass of civilians. Well they used to be civilians. We had elected to just call them zombies, dead civilians arisen to try and tear us to bits and according to some eat our brains. In a sad way I found that kind of funny. Not the hear or liver. Nope the mush inside the cranium bone encased skull. Well anyway the flat shots rip through the 100’s of forms racing toward the tanks. Each tank commander fired 100’s of rounds of 50 caliber from the top mounted mgs.
Bodies were torn to pieces, but unless you really carved them up on they came. Headshots worked best we had discovered. Then the tanks started to back up! Wait, what? No! Then they went hatches closed and bugged out! As their diesel engines roared into reverse the Zombies sensed they could not keep up. They began to slow. Were they really smelling the air? As one they turned and head right for us. For me.
Absolutely got to be a Tuesday. ‘Heads up, hold fire until you have clear shots.!’ I called out to the men nearest me.
‘Well we may as well get this over with boys. Stay close, I would not let those bastards touch you if I were you. Lets pour it on!
Our M16’s cracked first as a volley then as targets of opportunity. Droves fell. Some kept crawling towards, the smell of death arrived before the enemy did. I retched at the fetid odour, and heard others do the same ‘mag change.’ Someone called then another, bolts locked. ‘Reloading! I said almost automatically pressing the mag release, slapping anew magazine full of hate in, and popping the receiver. Smooth as butter and back on target. Rounds cracked out, and we selected targets quickly, no need for cover, most of the guys had propped on a log or through a suitable limb of tree. Despite our accurate fire they closed fast.
Once these things got within 100 yards it was going to be a different game. ‘We need to move, retrograde, overwatch.’ Sounds fancy, but shit, we just retired to the rear by squads and sections, move and shoot move and shoot. We were thinning their numbers but they kept coming. At least you could rely on a Russkie to a stay dead and b, eventually give up and go to ground. Trying to keep space between us and their brain eating craziness. It was time for my boys to move, Jonsey called ‘moving’, we all backed up a few paces, then ran, while another team fired away, blasting, everything and anything that moved. The chatter of an M60 chugging away gave us all comfort. Those things were blowing through two or three of these pale apparitions. Literally tearing the dead flesh and bones and splattering them everywhere. No blood. Which made sense, the things roared and moaned and gnashed jaws.
This is going to be close. I really had not time to think about Hood and his team. I had not heard from him in the last 10 minutes either.
Pivot to town –
I learned later on that the Soviets saw all of the Zombies, and our redirected fire and used this as a means to make a rapid advance.
Tanks rushed the town and men raced over open fields using aggressive overwatch movement. But not all was going aces for the Russkies. Up on the hilltop troopers in town could see the Soviet BMP’s pivot and fire to the rear. Perhaps they too were being set up by Zombies?
I did catch a glimpse of a BMP exploding. But we did not have eyes on the action there.
Hood, according to him, had a similar harrowing experience as we did. Except they were surprised when the Zombies came from the woods and closed in a rush! He was being pushed back towards town and the zombies knowingly or unknowingly were cutting off his only route for exfil.
Meanwhile I finally got through to the tank commander. The Lt apologized for losing his shit, and seemed to have it back together. I pressed him and the TOW team into the edge of town. We need some firepower to stem the tide or those armoured tanks were going to overrun us. He got to work, and in between scrapping to find more TOW rounds, the M1’s cover and popped 4 tanks lickety split.
With the TOWS rearmed we then sent two more to an early grave. Turrets popped, ammo cooked off and bodie parts flew. The blooms of tanks going up is unique. I could hear all the other T-80’s down shift and take things a bit more cautiously. There was however no way we could keep this bridge. We needed to bug out and fast.
I had requested air, arty, and flowers! None were available. At this point we were close to going black on ammo, the Abrams were low on gas and just advised they were pulling back to provide covering fire for us to make a run for it. Umm ok. Across open ground. Super.
But we could not leave without Hood. His dragon team got swallowed up, all those poor bastards were killed and scratched and maimed and almost immediately dropped dead only to jerk upright in back break manners then began to march right at Hood and his team who were literally caught between the T-80s and the Zombies. Tough choice for him.
More freaking zombies. Seriously, ‘Our left, our left- direct fire’ I heard, while I had my ear buried in the headset once again seeking support.
They closed fast, I dropped radio and spun to shoot. The lads got into it close range, nades flew, the M60 ca-chunked and then stopped. “Reloading”. We all doubled down on spraying and praying, no time for head shots, no time to think, just dishevelled death everywhere I looked.
The ground shook, and huge blasts echoed across the valley where the Russians had been fighting the zombies instead of us. Rockets screamed in, sending plumes of dirt and debris sky high. Thank God that was to aimed at us!
From the woods I could see tanks assaulting the balance of Hoods men who wer holding one side of he bridge. “broken arrow”I called across all channels. “Bug out Hood, your boys held as long as they could, we need to boogie. Say again BROKEN ARROW – out”.
We ran. Yes sir. It isn’t a movie. Its not a book. We are not heroes. We failed.
Time to fly and fight another day. But I was building up a righteous anger. Whatever was going on was bigger than some incredibly hot and sexy Vampire. More than a Thunderstorm that blanks out communications. Those zombies or whatever you want to call them. That shit, was not natural. Not a virus, not a man made weapon. It scared the living hell out of me.
Somewhere above, around, feeling near, but sounding far Hudson heard an old man laugh. It sent a chill down his spine. Then a whispered sentence “The best is yet to come boy, the best is yet to come.”