John Holmes - Even Zombie Killers Need a Break

“Penny is on the salad bar.” William said.

“They put her in a salad!” I said and turned to look. Sure enough she was in the salad bowl, eating a radish.

“As team medic it is my duty to inform everyone that you should not eat anything from the salad bar.” Ethan said authoritatively.

“As if you could. We’ve all seen Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Rabbits are ferocious, and this one will be bigger than those dogs we fought yesterday when she’s full grown.” I said to some anxious chuckling.

A few hours later and we were on the Seahawk flying towards Fort McHenry. Sterett, with Taney in tow, had anchored just off the peninsula. All of the artillery on Sterett was facing the fort, even the guns that had previously been mounted on the opposite side of the ship. “It has been a long time since a naval invasion has had a proper shore bombardment I thought to myself.”

I was in the cabin with the crew chief and the remaining five Warthogs. Commander Owen was talking into my headset. “Command wants this to be theatrical. That’s why we’re doing this at night. I’m going to be shooting star shells from the five incher, should look like fireworks, or bombs bursting in air, or whatever command expects. They want you to go in without fire support so the fort doesn’t get damaged. I’m guessing that is Morano’s idea. I don’t know what you scouts did to piss her off, but she seems to have it out for you. Regardless, I don’t intend to sit here with my thumb up my ass so keep your head low, get the picture, and the helo will circle back around and pick you up.”

“Thank you sir, I owe you big time if we get out of this.”

“Don’t mention it. Command thinks that with enough propaganda we can win this war. I don’t usually agree with the brass hats, but if they’re right I will light up the sky with so many shells Francis Scott Key will add another verse to the national anthem. Good luck Ryan”

There was nothing else to say. Ours is not to reason why ours is but to do and die.

“Thirty Seconds!” the crew chief yelled over the sound of the rotors.

I reached out and shook hands with my team. Ethan Szimanski, William Szimanski, Dan Walls, Markus Muth, Bull St. Pier. I closed my eyes Brian Baublitz, Marion Robbins. A star shell went off. The intense light showed through my closed eyelids.

“GO, GO, GO!”

We jumped out into the courtyard shooting.

The helo rose and flew to its holding pattern near the top of the peninsula. On the Patapsco side the PBR open up with everything they had. From the opposite side of the peninsula the Seahawk opened up with its minigun. Another flare went off. Deep booms in the darkness and flashes from Sterett told us the Marines were joining the fight.

The shadows from the multiple airborne flares danced cruelly all around us, playing tricks on our eyes. The flashes from our weapons going off added to the horror. The moaning was getting louder. The courtyard was full of sun bleached bones from long dead zombies.

Red eyes above yellow and white grins swayed back and forth as they approached from all direction. The rockets’ red glare burned above us. Bombs were bursting in air, releasing hundreds of pellets on the moat and ramparts.

Scenes from Dante’s Inferno seemed like paradise compared to what we were seeing now.

I pushed another mag into my carbine and hit the slide release. Bull was nowhere to be seen. Ethan and William, ever by my side were firing into the darkness. The moaning was getting louder. Walls had the folded flag, he ran to the flagstaff at the east end of the courtyard.

With the buzz of a chainsaw, Sterett’s Phalanx Gatling gun opened up. Grass and dirt and pieces of centuries old brick flew into the air as a million angry firefly-bees buzzed into the ramparts once gleaming. There was fire all around us as flares and tracers ignited parched grass.

They came through the gate, straight in front of the flag staff at the east end. Walls was frantically hauling the large flag up the old weathered staff. The moaning was getting loader. The old halyard creaked; it hadn’t been used in years.

Markus threw his shotgun like a centurion lobbing his pilum javelin. The two foot bayonet on the front lodged in a zombies chest feet away from Walls. It didn’t kill the zombie but it knocked the thing over and bought Walls more time to raise the flag.

Markus ran into the crowd coming through the gate swinging his gladius like Russell Crowe in Gladiator. The moaning was getting louder. It drowned out the sound of the helo as it circled around, calling in adjustments for the gunners on Sterett.

The BB rounds momentarily stopped the horde at the gates. Markus disappeared in the hail of tungsten and glory. Walls, who had just tied off the halyard was beating a zombie with his E-tool when a few errant BBs shredded his left leg.

We ran for him. Our rifles dangled useless and empty. They piled on top of him faster than the Ravens defense dives onto a fumbled football. Another salvo of BB rounds completed the devastation.

Now it was just the three of us. Ethan swung his AR-15 like a club. William stabbed the straight end of his crowbar into the closest zombie’s bright red eye. I fired my pistol until it ran dry with my left hand. In my right hand I had my machete, a kopis sword, the kind Alexander the Great and Hannibal Barca used. The two foot blade curved forward giving it the slashing power of a sword and the chopping power of an ax.

The ax came out of nowhere. I got my machete up in time to block it. I will never forget the look in Bull’s eyes as he came at me. They were not red, he had not been bitten, but they were dead. At some point tonight he had looked into the darkness and it had broken him. I’ve heard of soldiers losing it in combat like this. Honestly I was surprised we all hadn’t broken. We were in hell on earth.

He raised the ax over his head. I could not look away from his intense, lifeless eyes. Behind him explosions rocked the earth. It was night but the sun never shone so intensely. He bought the ax down with all his considerable strength.

Ethan tackled him with his full force. He was always the most agile of us from his days as a hockey goalie. Bull stumbled but did not fall. He raised the ax again. Ethan landed heavily on the ground and lay there gasping. The acrid smoke burned my lungs too.

William hit him hard across the back with his crowbar. Bull spun violently, throwing William off balance, but diverting his attention from me. That was all I needed to regain my footing. I swung my machete in a vicious overhand arch. Never in my life had I wanted to kill something so bad. The kopis blade made contact.

He blocked it with his ax as he turned back towards me. The shock of the hit reverberated all the way down my arm. I dropped my badly nicked blade and he dropped his ax.

I still had my empty 1911 in my left hand. I passed it to my right and gripped it by the red-hot barrel like some old time pirate. He was drawing a long curved knife but I dove on him before he could get it out. I hammered the end of my metal pistol grip into his face over and over again until Ethan and William dragged me to my feet.

The zombies were closing in and we had nothing left.

The helo came in low as the three of us readied ourselves for death in the courtyard. It blinded us with its spotlight. On the far side its minigun chewed threw the horde. Flares, fires, and artillery explosions formed the background. We stood there shielding our eyes. Later it would be said that we were saluting. The dead lay all around us. Above us flew the tattered Star Spangled Banner. The Copilot leaned out and snapped the picture.

The rotor wash blew over the rotted wood flagstaff which had stood just long enough. It fell into one of the burning buildings. The facsimile of Betsy Ross’s flag burst into flames. The Seahawk touched down just long enough for us to jump in.