Gavin Smith - Special Purposes - First Strike Weapon

“The Territorial Army?” Princess asked.

“Then why are they dressed as the SS?” Vadim wondered out loud. “How’d you get away?”

“They started to beat Montgomery, New Boy stepped in. There was a fight. I made a run for it. A couple of them took shots at me, but they can’t shoot for shit.”

“Why’d they beat this Montgomery?” Skull asked.

“The policeman, Skull. Montgomery Harris. I’m not sure, it looked unprovoked. They called him names…”

“What names?” Vadim demanded, a little too sharply. Another zombie, an old man in a frayed tweed blazer and flat cap, jerked his head towards them, hissing. They went quiet again. After a little while, the zombie lost focus and shuffled off through the snow.

“I don’t know. I didn’t recognise the English. It sounded like gibberish, the kind of thing a child would spout; but I think they beat him because he was black.”

It wasn’t the snow that made Vadim feel cold. He wasn’t quite sure what was going on here, but he was pretty sure the refugees, the crew of the Dietrich , and New Boy were all in trouble.

“What have you seen?” Skull asked.

“Foot and vehicle patrols along the opposite bank, work parties under the watch of the soldiers maintaining the defences. I’m not sure, but I think the bridge on the west side is mined, probably antipersonnel mines, claymores, something like that. If I can see it, it’s not too subtle.” That made sense to Vadim; zombies wouldn’t know what they were looking at in any case.

“Work parties?” Vadim asked. “There are civilians over there?”

“Yes,” Princess said, and Vadim found himself looking at the pile of bodies. The girl – woman, he corrected himself – on top of the pile looked to have been of an age with Princess. She’d probably had a very different life from the sniper’s, at least until the war. The dead women’s eyes were a mass of black, possibly the result of Princess caving in her head with a saperka . Just for a moment, Vadim wondered what her life had been like.

“Anything else?” Skull asked, breaking Vadim out of his thoughts.

“There are zombies stuck in the mud, but a bit further north of here I think the channel is shallow enough to walk across. But they’ve blown trenches in the mud and fortified the island side of the shallows. It’s constantly guarded and the shore’s been mined.”

“Any idea where they took them?” Vadim asked.

“See the village just to the left of the bridge?” she asked. Vadim nodded. “In there somewhere. I heard the engines for maybe two or three more minutes, but some of that sounded like they were parking up rather than travelling.”

“Okay, good work,” Vadim said, and meant it. Vadim had known Princess was a very capable soldier, but even so, he was impressed. He started looking around for a place where they could keep their eyes on the bridge and the whole squad could plan with less worry of being interrupted.

THEY WAITED UNTIL there were no zombies nearby before Princess emerged from under the pile of corpses. The four dead Spetsnaz remained close to her as they made their way towards a tenement house. Vadim wasn’t sure how the other three felt about it, but he was finding it difficult being this close to a living person.

Skull fell a little way behind. A couple of the zombies turned to look at them as they reached the open door of the house. Vadim had picked it because the open door was unbroken, as were the windows.

The black snow had drifted into the house’s hallway. Princess was shaking, clearly freezing.

“Check for frostbite,” Vadim told her. “We need to get your core temperature up.” She nodded, but it was easier said than done. They couldn’t risk a fire; the best she could do was wrap herself in blankets, assuming they could find any in the house.

Skull caught up and stayed with Princess while the rest of them checked the house, Stechkins in hand. Other than Vadim’s shotgun and the two sniper rifles, the pistols were the only weapons anyone had ammunition for.

The house looked like it had belonged to an old person. They found signs of a struggle: smashed furniture in the lounge, blood on the carpet, the walls, the inside of the windows, but nothing else. Skull had closed and locked the door after them.

They made their way upstairs to the front bedroom overlooking the bridge. Gulag sat down on the bed. Princess had wrapped herself up and was moving around, trying to get warmer. Vadim didn’t want to look at the black-and-white photos on top of the chest of drawers. He didn’t want to recognise one of the zombies out in the street from the photos. Instead, he looked out the window. For a moment, Vadim could imagine the zombies outside were just pedestrians on a snowy day. Skull limped into the back bedroom, which looked out over the shipyard, but stayed close to the doorway so he could see down the stairs as well.

“Well?” the Fräulein asked, and Princess repeated the information she had told Vadim and Skull. “Any idea of numbers?” the East German sergeant asked after she’d heard Princess’s story. It was the question Vadim should have asked.

“The two tank crews, and maybe another squad between the half-tracks and two trucks,” Princess told them. “But I’ve seen more on the island.”

“How many more?” Vadim asked. She shrugged.

“Even if it’s just a platoon, which seems unlikely, we don’t have any ammunition,” the Fräulein pointed out.

“I’m aware of that,” Vadim said, testily.

“Are we sure that they’re hostile?” the Fräulein asked. Vadim stared at her. “All they’ve done, as far as we know, is rescue refugees from zombies. The shouting, the weapons, might have just been to get people moving. Shooting at Princess could have been their own panic.”

“They were pretty hostile to Montgomery,” Princess said.

“Who?” Gulag asked.

“Officer Harris,” Vadim said. He didn’t much like the look Gulag gave Princess.

“We need more information,” the Fräulein said. Vadim and Princess nodded.

“Why?” Gulag asked.

The other three turned to look at him.

He pointed at the sniper. “We’ve got Princess.”

“The refugees, the crew of the Dietrich ,” Princess surprised Vadim by saying.

“Very sad,” Gulag said quietly, and then more loudly: “But we’re at war with their fucking countries!”

“Will you keep your voice down ?” Vadim hissed.

“New Boy,” the Fräulein said.

“Oh, come on, the Ukrainian virgin? He’s not one of us” – he looked between Vadim and the Fräulein – “and you both know it, don’t you?”

“He’s paid his dues,” the Fräulein growled. Vadim could see her getting angry.

“He’s not even been with us a month!” Gulag protested. “He was dumb enough to get caught. He could have fought.” He pointed at Princess. “ She got away.”

“We had no ammunition. They all had guns and we were surrounded by civilians. And we didn’t know if they were there to help or not, until the last minute,” Princess said. Gulag opened his mouth to retort.

“Gulag, I’m sick of this,” Vadim said, forestalling him.

“We all are,” the Fräulein added. Princess nodded.

“New Boy’s one of us. We’re going to get him and make sure the refugees and crew are all right. Either come with us or don’t, but I’m sick of arguing with you every time we try and get something done.”

Gulag looked at Vadim, then at Princess and the Fräulein. “Women,” he muttered. The Fräulein rolled her eyes.

“So what—” Princess started and then they heard the creaking. They looked out the window.

The bridge was lowering. The zombies had heard the noise as well and were shuffling towards the ad-hoc double-decker gate on this side of the bridge. They heard the rumble as the APC with the mine roller started up; then the bus began to vibrate as it was started up as well. The bridge came down and a six-wheeled armoured vehicle drove across it. Vadim was pretty sure it was a Saracen; he’d seen them used by the British Army in footage of Northern Ireland. The bridge was lifted again the moment it had crossed.