The Dead Walk The Earth II (28 page)

While Stan and Marty landed heavily on unsteady legs but managed to remain upright and balanced, Bull smashed into the concrete pathway. A small crater formed in the centre of a spider’s web effect in the broken cement, the cracks branching out from the site of the impact. He landed with a heavy splat and bounced into the wall of the factory perimeter with a loud huff.

“Fuck…,” he gasped.

Without waiting to see if Bull was conscious or free from injury, Taff began heaving him to his feet just as the first of the infected rounded the corner of the apartment building. Bobby raised his rifle and began firing while the others retreated towards the gate, hobbling and dragging one another through the narrow entrance.

Bobby slammed the gate shut but discovered that there was nothing to secure it with. The alleyway was now packed with the infected making their way along towards where they had seen the men disappear through the gap in the wall.

“Leave it, Bobby,” Danny was shouting over to him from the door leading into the main factory floor. “Leave it and move.”

Bobby turned and from the peripherals of his vision, he saw movement to his left within the courtyard of the factory complex. A wall of dead faces were staring back at him and staggering in his direction. They had entered through the main gates, having caught sight of the men as they began climbing down from the roof and naturally turned in that direction, spewing in through the twisted iron barriers of the gatehouse. By now he could hear their moans and excited cries as they caught sight of his animated movements and radiant flesh.

“Watch the wire,” Danny called frantically, pointing down towards the threshold of the factory doorway as Bobby leapt towards him. “The wire. Watch the fucking wire, Bob.”

Bobby looked in time to allow himself an extra-long stride and cleared the trip-wire connected to the S-Mine that was situated at the side of the doorway on the outside of the building. The hair-thin cable stretched across the bottom of the frame and ran up alongside the door and would trigger the mine if the entrance were breached. As Bobby landed inside the factory, Danny connected the end of the thin line to the door handle.

Bobby and Danny fled through the factory, ducking between the machinery and hurdling over pipes and fallen ducts in the wake of the others. As they made their way through the maze of rusted steel obstacles, their ears detected a deep rumbling from outside and beyond the factory walls. The noise grew in volume and ferocity and soon became a screaming snarl as the fighter jets returned for another bombing run.

“Incoming,” Stan howled from somewhere up ahead within the warren of machinery. “It’s HE coming in. Get down.”

Danny and Bobby threw themselves to the ground and scampered across the dust covered surface of the factory floor, crawling towards a huge rusted iron piece of equipment towering above them that would hopefully provide them with some cover from falling debris. By now, the noise of jet wash raged within the building, sounding as though a storm was blowing in amongst the abandoned industrial equipment.

“Down, get down,” Stan’s voice continued to echo around them.

Bobby and Danny curled themselves into balls and clenched their teeth, waiting for the inevitable impacts of the high explosives.

The Tornados and Typhoons were now overhead.

17

For hours, the battle had continued to rage for control of the airfield. The first troops to land had very nearly been overrun as they desperately held onto the ground that they had retaken. The CH-47s, packed with troops and flanked by gunships screeched in low and fast, barely slowing as they swooped in with their wheels bouncing against the runway. While the soldiers poured out from the rear ramps, thousands of corpses wandering through the local roads, fields, and built-up areas turned and headed for the noises of racing engines, thumping rotor blades, and chattering gunfire.

As the troop carrying helicopters, barely on the ground for more than a few seconds, returned to the island to pick up reinforcements, the vastly outnumbered soldiers left behind formed a perimeter around the landing zone. They fought off wave after wave of undead as they ferociously charged at the terrified men and women throwing up a hail of bullets from rifles and machineguns into their path. Before long, massed crowds of ravenous bodies were assaulting the besieged airbase from all directions.

The air droned with the incessant sound of battle as hordes of the dead were cut down. Tracer rounds zipped out in all directions like laser beams, tearing through flesh and bone. The airfield was quickly becoming sodden with the congealed blood and putrefied brains of the infected and a vast swathe of bodies was beginning to pile up around the beleaguered defenders as they valiantly stood their ground. They had no choice but to stand and fight. There was nowhere for them to retreat to and there was no possibility of surrender. This was a war of attrition against an enemy who asked for and gave no quarter.

In a number of places, the reanimated corpses had broken through but the soldiers who had been kept in reserve for that exact reason quickly plugged the holes in the line. The few vehicles that had been carried across from the Isle of Wight raced from one crisis to the next, carrying the Quick Reaction Force. The QRF, made up of the hardest veterans, relentlessly counter-attacked along the entire line to support the crumbling defences and throw back the attackers.

The support helicopters above them did what they could, concentrating their fire on large clusters of the infected moving towards the airfield but they could not afford to waste valuable ammunition on individuals and smaller groups. That task was left to the troops below with controlled firepower and dogged determination in the face of death as they stood together, fighting for the people beside them.

Casualties were sustained. Some were hurt from the explosions that erupted around the perimeter as the Apaches and Cobras blasted the dead. Others were bitten and torn as groups of the infected managed to crash through their defences and wreak panic upon the terrified men and women.

The aid stations were slowly becoming ineffective as the wounded began to pile up around the handful of medics that were expected and equipped to deal with much smaller numbers. Some of the bite victims took their own lives but many needed to be helped. Most of them screamed in protest and begged to be spared as the Military Police stepped in to deal with them before allowing them the chance to die and return.

Only when reinforcements and resupply began to arrive did the tide begin to turn in the favour of the living. The hopes of the men and women on the ground soared when they looked to the south and saw the large dark silhouettes of the Chinooks as they approached, returning from the island. After being alone for almost two hours, their confidence grew and their fighting spirit lifted as the reinforcements began pouring onto the airfield and were launched straight into the attack. With the extra manpower and ammunition, and the landing zone secured, the assault troops went onto the offensive. They advanced out from the perimeter and began pushing the enemy back, leaving a trail of devastated bodies in their wake as they formed a new defensive line.

More vehicles arrived and attack helicopters from the island relieved the Apaches and Cobras already on station, allowing them to return for refuelling and rearmament. The offensive on the Farnborough airfield was beginning to take shape. The more soldiers arrived, the further the defences were able to push outwards until eventually a ring was formed around a great swathe of the runway and buildings, including the all-important fuel depot.

With the airfield in their hands, the troops were able to begin refuelling their support aircraft on site, rather than having to send the helicopters back to the island. Huge amounts of soldiers and material began to disembark onto the runways as the Chinooks stubbornly continued their shuttle runs to and from the island.

Peter and Michael had been amongst the first of the militia to arrive. They stepped off the aircraft and into a raging hell. Smoke swirled around them, pouring out from the buildings lining the runway that had caught fire from the burning tracer rounds and the rockets fired from the gunships. The sound of clattering gunfire echoed all around and the tortured screams of the wounded could even be heard over the howl of the helicopters.

Their commander led them towards an area just to the rear of the forward defences. The terrified militia sat clustered together, unable to form a clear thought in their racing minds as they watched the defenders running about just metres away from them, screaming to one another and endlessly firing their weapons.

The loud crack of a grenade exploding just twenty metres away caused Peter to flinch and yelp involuntarily. He turned and saw a small dense murky cloud of debris and smoke where, only a moment before, there had been two soldiers desperately fighting against a number of the dead. He clutched his rifle tightly and huddled close to his brother.

Michael was just as shocked and terrified. His gaping eyes darted in all directions as he watched hundreds of twisted figures falling beneath a storm of gunfire all around them. The helicopter ride had been fun and exciting but he would have gladly refused the adventure if he had known what to expect once they landed.

Eventually, the battle had been all but won. The avalanche of corpses slowed and petered out to a trickle as the bodies began to stack up around the perimeter. Shots still rang out from all around the defensive line but they were intermittent now instead of the raging hailstorm of thundering guns. The attack helicopters continued to circle the area surrounding the airfield, keeping a vigil for the people below and loosing off the occasional rocket or burst of cannon fire into clusters of approaching infected.

The airfield was quickly being reorganised and the civilian militia, who now numbered in their thousands, were tasked with replacing the fighting men and women on the line and holding the perimeter. The regular soldiers were withdrawn into the centre to resupply their weapons and ammunition in preparation for the next phase, the assault on London.

Peter and Michael had not been sent to the front. They had gladly accepted the task of helping to unload the helicopters as they came in to drop equipment, vehicles, personnel, and pick up the wounded. For well over an hour, the two brothers toiled and sweated in the early morning chill as the airfield buzzed with activity around them. Concentrating on what he was doing, Peter was almost able to forget where he was, and about the fact that millions of the infected surrounded them.

“Are we winning, Peter?” Michael asked as he dropped a heavy crate of machinegun ammunition onto a huge stack.

“I don’t know,” Peter replied, pausing and arching his aching back. He looked around at the preparations being carried out all across the airfield. “I think we are.”

“Good, because when this is all over, I want us to live in a big house with a swimming pool. I want two puppies and a helicopter of my own.” Michael looked up at one of the menacing Apaches as it flew over the airfield towards the east. He raised his hand and waved before turning back to his brother. “Do you think they’ll teach me how to fly one of those when it’s all over?”

“Yeah, Mike, I’m sure they will,” Peter replied dryly as he went back to hefting the ammunition onto the stack.

Unfortunately, their respite from the horror of the battle was not long lived. As the long column of trucks, loaded with ammunition and soldiers moved out towards the north where they would push through into the southern outskirts of London and link up with the air-assault troops, Peter’s platoon, along with many others, were ordered to follow their commanders. They picked up their weapons and equipment and moved towards a row of waiting helicopters. Their engines were already running at full revolutions and the Loadmaster was frantically waving them forward towards the ramp.

Peter looked around, knowing full well where they were headed. His hands trembled and a cold sweat began to trickle down from his neck and along his spine. The four regular soldiers that had been attached to each militia platoon were standing to the rear of the group, herding them forward and ensuring that none of them attempted to flee. Since landing at the airfield, Peter had witnessed a number of summary executions being carried out on deserting men and women by officers and soldiers alike. He glanced down at Michael standing beside him and appearing completely oblivious to what was going on. He was back to looking excited and eager to climb aboard the Chinook. Peter wondered just how far they would get before they were cut down by gunfire if he decided they should run. He eyed the faces of the regular troops. They were tough and vigilant, expectant of such actions from the militia.

Not very far
, he reasoned.

“Are we going in the helicopter again, Pete?”

“Yeah, looks that way, Mikey,” Peter replied, feeling forsaken.

“I’ve decided,” Michael said, turning to his brother with a broad and innocent smile. “Chinooks are now my favourite helicopters.”

“Good for you, Mike,” Peter said hollowly. “Good for you.”

The militia moved forward and stepped up onto the tailgate of the CH-47. The Loadmaster impatiently pushed them along, slapping his hand against the shoulder of each man and woman who passed him and screaming over the noise of the engines for them to move along and find a seat.

Crammed into the fuselage like cattle, the press-ganged soldiers crouched and sat wherever they could. No one had told them where they were going but most of them had worked it out for themselves. The assurances of them not being thrown into the front line unless it was really necessary seemed to have been forgotten. There were still a large number of regular and better trained and equipped soldiers at the airfield and it was becoming clear to Peter that they were being used as infected fodder.

Surely, it can’t be going that badly at the front already?
Peter wondered as he looked around the aircraft at the frightened civilians who were about to be thrown into the thick of battle against an enemy that, in his mind, could not be beaten.

Once again, he felt the now familiar lift of the aircraft as the rotors tilted forward and the wheels left the ground. Through the small round windows along either side of the fuselage, Peter watched the other CH-47s as they all climbed in unison, quickly rising into the air above the airfield and heading to the north.

“Michael,” Peter yelled down to his foolishly grinning brother, “remember what I told you before the last helicopter ride?”

A look of deep thought swept over Michael’s face for a moment before he turned back up to Peter with no indication of having found the answer. Peter leaned down, holding onto one of the cargo-nets hanging from the bulkhead behind the cockpit as the helicopter shook and lurched, threatening to throw him into the wall.

“Stay close to me. Don’t leave my sight, Mikey. Move only when I move and stop only when I stop. Don’t do
anything
unless I tell you to. Okay?”

Michael nodded enthusiastically and held up his thumb. He held it there for a while, keeping his eyes locked on Peter before turning his attention back to the window and staring out at the landscape below them.

It was not long before Peter noticed that the aircraft was slowing down and had developed a slight tilt as the nose lifted and the tail dropped. He looked around at the expectant faces surrounding him. Eyes shone brightly with fear as they turned to one another with silent questions and looked to the regular troops amongst them for answers.

The veterans were climbing to their feet, checking their equipment, and readying their weapons. They turned and began shouting orders, barely audible within the fuselage, to the militia who just sat staring back at them, too frightened to move or completely unaware as to what was expected from them.

Peter leaned over and looked over Michael’s shoulder and out through the window. The ground below was no longer the sprawling green fields that they had been travelling above for the previous fifteen minutes. It was now a jumble of buildings, houses, and clogged roadways with broken down traffic. The landscape was no longer whipping by as the engines of the Chinook forced them along at speeds which defied the cumbersome size and shape of the aircraft. They were now moving at a much slower pace and the distance between the CH-47 and the ground was decreasing rapidly. They were coming in to land.

Peter reached down and slapped his brother on the shoulder.

“Stay close,” he reiterated as he shouted into Michael’s ear. “Do you understand me? Stay close, Mike.”

“Yeah, Peter, I understand. I will stay close and only move when you tell me to,” Michael screamed back up at him with a proud look on his face for having remembered the instructions his brother had given him earlier.