Chapter 115

Trudge: Surviving The Zombie Apocalypse By Shawn Chesser

Day 2 - Fort Bragg, North Carolina

 

The moment President Odero had called for nationwide martial law, secure smart phones rang and vibrated across the country as operators were mobilized to return to post. The Tier-One operators all had secure encrypted phones utilizing government satellites to keep everyone in constant contact. 

Mike Desantos was on the phone with his base commander, Major Phillip Link, giving him a situation report.

“Sir, the call has been made; all of the active shooters have been ordered RTB. Half of our active Alpha Teams are in the ‘Stan, and days away. Coronado is calling in all of their support personnel, SEAL Teams One and Ten are on deployment but most of the other teams have formed up and are on base. I just received word that the East Coast garrisons are doing call backs. SEAL Team Six is still in Afghanistan hunting HVTs. We recently received a sit-rep from them, they want an exfil ASAP. Their last transmission indicated everyone in the Middle East is going to meet their seventy two virgins pretty soon. Almost all of the civilian communications are down. At least we have our satellite comms up and running for our operators.”

Cutting his subordinate off Major Link said “Captain Desantos, I need to see you ASAP. I have a high priority mission for you.”

“Right away sir, give me five mikes.”

Captain Desantos walked across the base from the north entry to have a face-to-face with his commander. He was summoned in after knocking on the door to the air-conditioned communications room.

Captain Desantos saluted his superior and was greeted with the same, followed by an “At ease” coming from Major Link.

“What do you have for me sir?”

Straight and to the point, Link said, “POTUS (President of the United States) is incommunicado and has been since 03:00 EST.”

Mike’s face blanched at the news. “Last known location?” he asked.

“1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. Apparently he thought he would be safe there… ride it out with his family,” the Major said, shaking his head. “All comms are down in the district. Our NSA bird sent back images of Marine One sitting on the south lawn. The walking dead are on the grounds and no living beings have been seen in the vicinity since communications ceased.”

“What are the rules of engagement?”

“Shoot to kill any undead on sight no matter who they may be. POTUS and all VIPs must be rescued at all costs. If there are any casualties amongst them, then documentation is necessary. Take any credentials from the bodies and obtain DNA swabs and digital video to confirm their identity and condition. Protect you and your men at all costs,” the Colonel said while patting the operator on the shoulder.

“I’ll take two teams of six. Have the Night Stalkers been briefed?”

“Yes. They will be ready in thirty mikes. Two 160th SOAR Pave Hawks with Apache support.” The Major paused and adjusted his black beret before saying, “It’s bad out there… worse than any of our war gaming scenarios suggested. Watch your six, Cowboy.”

The two men exchanged salutes.

The red phone on the commander’s desk chirped. An MP made it very clear the perimeter needed fortification and he wanted to call McCord AFB to request that a Spectre gunship be brought on station. The Spectre was a close air support modified AC-130 with multiple weapons proven to be devastating against enemy forces on the ground.

“I’ll make it happen, in the meantime keep me updated!” Major Link barked as he hung up.

At SOCOM headquarters, Fort Bragg, North Carolina, MPs were checking identifications at the double gate in front of the compound. Cars and SUVs full of soldiers and family that usually lived off of base were lined up for blocks. The first priority of the guards would be to quarantine the injured and ensure none of the infected got inside.

Overnight, several hundred walkers had amassed around the perimeter having been attracted by the commotion and halide lights. The snipers in the guard towers had orders to confirm with thermal imaging if their targets were in fact walking dead before engaging them. The undead didn’t have the same heat signature as the living. The newly turned did show up as almost normal for the first few minutes, therefore any questionable targets also required a visual identification.

Dawn broke and the day wore on as hundreds more of the infected streamed across the highway from the hospital and the surrounding businesses. Bodies of the infected were bulldozed into mass graves as fast as the snipers and tower guards could put them down.

Mike had checked his phone for personal messages. One was from his wife Annie, saying she was en route with their two girls. Annie was pregnant with Mike’s first boy. Mike thought, Only two more months of being the only male of the household. Message number two was Cade. Mike listened intently, hung up and called each of the three gate houses. He left orders to look out for anyone fitting Brook’s description as well as anyone that was with her. They were to let them in and contact Mike immediately. Cade’s family was his family, as far as Mike was concerned.

Private First Class Chillcut had his hands full checking identities and making sure the infected were kept outside of the wire. Things at the south entrance were getting hairy.

Back to back, staccato reports of automatic gunfire came from his left, and the third vehicle in line failed to move forward. Inside the car, one of the soldiers had turned and attacked the other occupants of the Ford Taurus wagon. The driver shrieked as her head was pulled towards the backseat, her undead husband’s teeth sinking into the soft part of her neck ripping free a mouthful of flesh. He then turned his attention to the crying baby in the car seat. The baby’s wailing intensified as the monster tried to wrest it from the car seat.

Seeing this happening through his thermal scope, the sniper in the nearest tower opened fire. The bullet entered the ghoul’s head at the base of the neck, causing it to slump over the baby.

Having just bled out, the mom in the front seat reanimated and began banging on the driver’s side window. Bursts of gunfire from the soldiers at the checkpoint killed her. The troops rushed to the car to check for survivors. The first to arrive at the vehicle’s open window could hear muffled cries escaping from under the dead ghoul. Afraid of what he would find, Private First Class Chillcut reluctantly pulled the corpse off of the infant in the car seat, and then screamed “Medic!” at the top of his lungs. The orphaned baby kept screaming; miraculously she was unhurt.

The sky over Fort Bragg faded from a brilliant blue to a burnt orange as the sun set. Little did Mike Desantos know that the next twenty-four hours would be the most difficult of his entire life. He ran the impending mission through his head as he watched four black helicopters of the 160th SOAR (Special Operations Aviation Regiment) bleed off airspeed, flare at the last moment and softly land in tight formation on the tarmac.

The show in the heavens was finishing its run with deep purples and blues slowly fading to black. Stars emerged, winking at those among the living willing to look up and imagine a world where the dead didn’t roam.

Mike “Cowboy” Desantos walked with purpose to greet the Night Stalkers and bring the other eleven operators that would accompany him up to speed on this very important mission. He looked at the stars one last time and prayed to anyone listening to deliver his family to safety.

A few hours later, Mike and his Delta Operators were fully kitted out and ready to undertake Operation Eagle Aerie. The Delta Team call signs were Zulu One and Zulu Two. The MH-60G Pave Hawks were given the call signs Reapers One and Two. Three and Four were the AH-64 Apache Longbows.

Walking towards the waiting flat black MH-60G Pave Hawk, Mike bowed under the spinning rotor and thought, God help us all.