The village of Rosca, island of Corsica, 14 August 2010, 0200 Hours Local: Countdown: 1 Year, 2 months, 16 days

Collin DuBois dropped the spent magazine out of his M4 and slapped in a fresh one. These buggers were putting up more of a fight than he expected. Bullets splintered the corner of the building he was using as cover. Collin crouched, spun around the corner, and let out a pair of quick bursts. Screams of pain told him he’d at least wounded the gunmen. He darted down the alley. He needed to get his team back together. Collin had just heard the helicopter. Second part of the operation was underway.

The first part of the operation had gone like clockwork. Collin, The Steve, and Slim along with Chief Warrant Officer Stahl and three other soldiers from Task Force 11 jumped into the night sky and HALO’d in. They touched down in an LZ roughly three klicks west of the village three hours ago. Then, came the slow infiltration into the outskirts of the village. It had been a while since Collin did that sort of thing. With Zombie Strike, sneaking was done more for noise control. This was more like what Collin did when he was in the SAS.

As expected, the bloody cultists were all warm and cozy in their little hamlet. Running a proper guard schedule just wasn’t something they thought about. Why should they? They were safe in this village. The team made contact with the village about thirty minutes ago. The minion and some lesser cultists were taken down before they even realized they were under fire. Some of the villagers brought out their own weapons and attacked Collin’s team. They were brought down in short order. Collin was concerned his little group of shooters would plow through the village’s defenses before Matty and his group arrived. Then, the cult’s own shooters arrived.

The firefight that erupted brought back memories of desperate fights around Belfast in Collin’s early days with the Army. Whoever was commanding the Truth’s militia, as Collin started thinking of them, was bloody brilliant. He’d had Collin’s team in a right nice trap. If Slim hadn’t accidentally run into one of the fire teams, all of them would’ve been wiped out. One of the Yanks unloaded his funny-looking grenade launcher. It was amazing how much breathing room five air-bursting grenades could give you. The team was now strung out in pairs along a line of buildings. From the sounds of the firefight, they were dealing out far more than the militia. That would last only as long as their ammo held out. Collin needed to get them back into action before they were killed off one by one. He couldn’t fail. This was his last chance at redemption.

"Dude, The Steve thought you were a goner," The Steve said as Collin slid behind the low wall the medic and Slim were using as cover. It was pretty bad when even the medic’s insanity was comforting.

"The thought crossed my mind a time or two as well," Collin admitted. A hail of bullets cracked into the wall. The old stones held. Slim casually rose up above the edge of the wall and fired twice.

"About six left," Slim reported as he ducked back down an instant before another stream of bullets trimmed the top of the wall. His tone was professional, but his eyes glowed with hatred as they met Collin’s. Slim was not happy with Collin’s command of the assault team.

Collin was surprised when Matty brought him in to help plan the assault on the village. He’d been absolutely stunned when Matty assigned him command of the first team. Needless to say, not everyone was happy with the idea. As far as Slim was concerned, Collin should have been either locked in a dark, dank cell or swinging from a noose. The team sniper only grudgingly agreed that Collin was the best person available when Mateo directly asked him. Slim also made it perfectly clear that as soon as this operation was done, he would make sure Collin faced some sort of justice. Slim had been vague as to what form justice would take, and Collin just couldn’t blame him. As to the rest of his team, well, they were all soldiers. They’d fought under commanders they didn’t quite trust before. As long as Collin didn’t get them killed, they’d deal with it.

"Stahl, are you able to move?" Collin asked over the radio. Collin was really missing satellites at the moment.

"If we can take care of the guys shooting at us, yeah," the warrant officer answered, "Right now, we’re just bleeding them."

"Do you think your group can make it to the butcher shop?" Collin asked, looking at the map on his PDA. The shop was about a block deeper into the town. From there, the Yanks should either be flanking the militia or acting as a blocking force if the militia tried to flank them. At any rate, it would be easier to strengthen their position.

"We could," the warrant officer, his tone making it clear he was also studying the situation. "It might be better if I moved my group to the jewelry store." Collin swallowed his angry retort as the warrant officer’s plan dawned on Collin. Risky and bold, but a bloody smart scheme. Oh yes, this American would do nicely.

"I see what you’re after Mr. Stahl," Collin said, "Will our enemies act as you’re expecting?"

"Already have once, and we wiped out that little group," Stahl answered calmly, "We just need you to catch up with us."

"On our way then," Collin said, and looked over to his two comrades. The Steve understood the plan and gave Collin a thumbs-up. Slim just scowled as he fiddled with the scope on his SR-25 rifle. "Boys, let’s take care of these buggers. I think a Mexico City is in order."

The three Zombie Strike shooters spread out along the wall. Slim kept the center as The Steve and Collin moved to each side a few meters. The militia figured something was going on and poured more fire at the team. This was going better than expected. All three men lifted their nightvision goggles an instant before The Steve tossed a small grenade shaped device into the street. The "disco ball" bounced twice before landing on little legs. The ball rotated towards the militia and opened up like a flower. The small, but powerful LEDs flashed to light. Reflecting off the flower of intricately designed mirror panels, the brilliant white light illuminated the militia’s side of the street. The militia fire stopped as the men were blinded. The three Zombie Strike shooters rose up and took down the half-dozen militia with volleys of hammer pairs.

"Let’s move mates," Collin said, leaping over the wall.

"The Steve was hoping he wouldn’t have to use that so early," the medic said, scooping up the spent disco ball as the team hustled down the street. From the sound of gunfire, Stahl and his men were already moving. "The Steve didn’t bring the European adapter to recharge it."

"At least you didn’t lose the bloody thing," Slim commented, "Thousand pounds a pop, Mr. Cortez would be a bit miffed with you." Collin didn’t join in the banter. For one, he lost the right with his betrayal. For two, he was concentrating on getting his team into place. Chief Stahl’s plan was relatively simple. The jeweler’s shop was at the outskirts of the town, but to get there the Americans would have to advance at the militia and then retreat down a cross street from their current position. The same street Collin’s group was advancing down. From the crescendo of small arms echoing up the street, the Americans completed the first part – hitting the militia hard. The militia was better than the first gunmen the team engaged, but they weren’t professionals. When amateurs got their blood up during a firefight, they had a nasty habit of chasing a retreating enemy. Like the American soldiers retreating back to the jeweler’s shop. Stahl and his boys were leading those militia fighters into a nasty trap. The American soldiers were the anvil. Collin’s group was the hammer – if they moved fast enough.

A pair of stragglers stepped out of an alley. The two men froze in shock as they saw the three Zombie Strike team members. Slim and The Steve took them down without breaking stride. Collin didn’t even spare a glance at the falling bodies. They were less than a hundred meters from snapping the trap shut. Already, he could see black-garbed men advancing down the street in formation. A machine gun opened up. Collin’s ears perked up. That wasn’t the Minimi SAW machine gun the Americans brought with them. That sounded like an FN MAG. Lord knew Collin had enough experience with the weapon from his army days. That bloody thing could tear the Americans apart if Collin didn’t put it out of commission.

Collin took off in a sprint. He’d gone maybe a dozen meters before he slammed into a wall that suddenly appeared in the middle of the street. Collin grunted as he slammed back into the asphalt. The pain was bad enough. Then, the wall moved towards him. Collin’s vision cleared and saw the largest gollum he’d ever seen looming over him. Still stunned from the impact, Collin could only watch as the gigantic monster swung its axe down on him.

Zombie Strike Part 6 Chapter 59

Approximately 20 miles from the village of Rosca, island of Corsica, 14 August 2010, 0200 Hours Local: Countdown: 1 Year, 2 months, 16 days

Mateo Cortez gripped the handhold tighter as the helicopter bucked from a sudden updraft. He learned to hate flying in choppers. They were noisy, uncomfortable, and tended to jerk at the wrong moment. Mateo was half-convinced the machines wanted to crash. Unfortunately, there was nothing better for a rapid entry into a combat zone. Another jolt made Mateo wish he’d been able to lead Collin’s part of the mission. Then, he remembered he hated sky-diving more than flying in a helicopter. That was better left to the experienced people.

"Two minutes, Mr. Cortez," the pilot said over the headphones. Mateo held up two fingers to his team in the helicopter’s cabin. The red light cut out, plunging the cabin into darkness. Mateo took off the headphones and put on his helmet. A few quick attachments and his eyes lit up with the distinctive green of nightvision. Mateo checked his team. Jim was almost hanging out of the helicopter’s door by one hand. The other was firmly gripped on his precious Big Horn .500 S&W lever-action. The team’s resident cowboy demanded to be a part of the offensive, and Mateo was glad to have him along. Sport sat next to Jim, looking almost asleep. Sport was one of those good utility shooters. For this assault, Sport was the team’s grenadier. He carried an M4 and an XM25 20mm grenade launcher the Army lent the team. Sitting next to Mateo was Jess. The girl had become very serious over the last couple of weeks. She pushed herself almost as hard as Mateo. He knew it wasn’t healthy for her. Robyn Adams told him as much the day before. Zombie Strike’s new liaison from M&W practically demanded Mateo leave Jess behind. One look in his foster daughter’s eyes, and Mateo knew that wasn’t going to happen. The girl needed vengeance as bad as Mateo. She caught him looking at her, and she patted the SCAR-H strapped to her chest. She preferred the semi-auto rifle to her previous bolt gun. The team sharpshooter was ready. Billy, the spirit wolf pup looked up from her feet. He was ready as well. Quentin McLintock was pulling triple duty for this operation. Not only was he the team’s close-quarters person, but he was also acting as Mateo’s tactical deputy. Those two roles would have been hard enough, but Mateo knew that Kenn Blanchard, the commander of Zombie Strike, asked the big man to keep an eye on Mateo and act as the team conscience. The last member of the team was a surprise. Special Agent Edgar Tredegar of the FBI was lounging in the helicopter seat. Tredegar was acting as the team medic and intelligence specialist. Apparently, Tredegar made his way into college via the US Army, where he’d been a medic in the 101st. Mateo still thought Tredegar looked out of place in battle rattle with an M4 strapped to his chest.

Gunfire cracked over the sound of the helicopter. From the sound, it was all small-arms fire, and none of it was coming near the helicopter. Collin’s team must have made contact. Earlier than expected, but well within the plan’s parameters. Well, Collin’s team had all of the experienced shooters for a reason. Mateo looked out the opened cargo door. The town’s power had been cut an hour ago. There were a few lights, either from generators or torches. Tracers from the gun battle between Collin’s team and the town’s defenders gave the scene an almost sci-fi feel. Mateo’s stomach revolted as the helicopter dropped out of the sky only to flare to a hover a bare few feet from the dusty ground. The crew chief forcefully gestured for the team to get out. Jim, Jess, and Billy jumped out and sprinted about twenty yards away from the helicopter before crouching down with their weapons up. Sport and Quentin were the next out, hustling across the ground to their positions. Mateo and Tredegar jumped out an instant before the helicopter roared back into the night sky. The downwash pelted the team with stinging dust. Mateo remembered another reason he hated helicopters.

The team was motionless as the dust settled around them. The edge of the town was maybe three hundred yards away from them. The buildings stood in shadows, just barely visible in the team’s nightvision. Mateo waited, and listening for Billy. The spirit wolf pup wasn’t growling, so the team wasn’t in immediate danger. Even so, they didn’t have time to waste. Mateo motioned to Jim. The cowboy gave a short nod and trotted towards the town. The team filed in behind him. Jess and Billy were next, following about ten yards behind Jim. Quentin jogged behind the pair with Tredegar right behind him. Mateo came next with Sport covering their rear. All of the team was anxious as they neared their target. This mission was different than any they had done before. In the past year, Zombie Strike engaged the cult known as The Truth several times, but it was always in reaction to the Truth’s operations. Contain a zombie outbreak here, or try to prevent the cultists from stealing an artifact there. This time, Zombie Strike was on the offensive. This town was one of the Truth’s strongholds, and Zombie Strike was here to wipe it out.

Billy growled an instant before the darkness was broken by the twinkling of muzzle flashes and the distinctive sound of assault rifles from the town. The team instantly scattered as bullets kicked up plumes of dust. There wasn’t any cover on this side of the town, and precious little in the way of concealment. The team managed to duck behind sparse bushes and small rises in the ground. More weapons opened up on the team. Not ARs or AKs from the sound. Probably something German.

"Jess, Jim suppressive fire," Mateo ordered over the team’s radio net, "Quentin, Sport, we need a hole opened up." A chorus of double-clicks acknowledged Mateo’s commands. Jim’s rifle boomed over the puny sounds of assault rifles. One of the muzzle flashes stopped suddenly. Jim racked another cartridge and continued firing. Jess was methodically taking out targets. Her suppressed SCAR was essentially silent next to Jim’s thunderous lever-action. The incoming fire lessened as the Truth shooters were either killed or hid from the two sharpshooters. Sport and Quentin sprinted the last hundred yards to the town. Mateo waited impatiently as the two kicked their way into a small building and set up a cross-fire against their assailants.

"Matt, we’ve got them pinned down in a shop catty-corner to us," Quentin reported after a tense two minutes, "We could use some help." Mateo leapt to his feet and charged towards the town. The town was essentially a large diamond with several neatly laid out blocks of homes and shops clustered around what Mateo thought of as the town hall. Scattered single buildings, like the one Quentin and Sport were fighting from, dotted the edges of the town. From what Mateo remembered of the town’s layout, the bad guys were using a shop on the edge of one of the city blocks. Mateo and the rest of the team lined up behind Quentin’s building.

"Jess, see if you can get up on the roof and rain down some fire," Mateo said. The teen nodded. She slipped around the corner with Billy in tow. Mateo wished the wolf pup was coming with him, but he had to admit he felt easier knowing the pup was guarding Jess. Directly across from Mateo was a vacant lot the town had been using as an impromptu dump for large appliances. Discarded ovens, refrigerators, and other junk were scattered across the grass and gravel lot. It wasn’t great cover, but it would have to do. The bad guys opened up with a new fusillade. Mateo ducked into the scrap lot with Jim and Tredegar in tow. A couple of the more observant bad guys saw the three men running and fired bursts at them. Bullets panged off of metal. Close. Too close. That just wouldn’t do. Mateo rose up just enough where the building was in sight. He could see maybe a dozen or so pale green figures in what had been a café across the street. Mateo aimed and squeezed the trigger. The suppressed M4 stuttered like an electric typewriter. The figure collapsed to the ground. Tredegar dropped another. Then, Jess opened fire from her roof perch. Three went down in less than three seconds. Another two went down, victims of Quentin and Sport. The remaining five threw their weapons out into the street and raised their hands. Under the cover of Jim and Jess’s rifles, Mateo ordered the bad guys out into the street.

Four of the five were just townspeople, not active members of the Truth. Mateo didn’t feel any guilt as he watched them zip-tied. These men weren’t innocent people defending their town from invaders. Zombie Strike had good intel the townspeople were willing partners of the Truth. Whether it was because they believed in the Truth’s mad plan or just because they wanted the Truth’s money wasn’t clear. In the end, it didn’t matter. If they were willing to take up arms in defense of the cult, they were targets. If they surrendered, Mateo was willing to tie them up and stash them until the fight was over.

Tredegar had the last man off to the side with his arms bound behind him and lying on his stomach. This one was definitely a member of the cult. He was maybe twenty, if a day, with his brown hair in a fashionable cut. At least, that’s what Jess said. Duct tape across his mouth muffled the unending string of angry protests. Tredegar was busily sorting through the contents of the cultist’s jeans and out-dated web gear.

"Anything useful?" Mateo asked.

"Doesn’t look like it," Tredegar said. "He’s just a flunky. Probably not even one of their Champions." Mateo grimaced as Tredegar used the cult’s name for what Zombie Strike called minions. It felt like the special agent was giving the cult respect it didn’t deserve.

"I’ll check the ones that didn’t survive the fight," Tredegar said, starting to walk to the bodies.

"We don’t have time for an investigation," Mateo said. Over the past two weeks, Mateo gained a newfound respect for the investigative abilities of the FBI special agent and his colleagues. They could do some amazing detective work, but they did it at a methodical pace. Excellent for preparing a criminal case. Not so much in the middle of an operation.

"Five minutes?" Tredegar asked. Mateo scanned the surrounding area. No sign of additional bad guys. He nodded. Tredegar took two steps towards the café before he stopped suddenly and cursed. Mateo looked back as the dead began to rise.

"Team, we get to kill them twice," Mateo announced over the radio as he brought up his M4.

Zombie Strike Part 6 Chapter 58