Aliens Versus Zombies (3 page)

* * * *

May 2034.

Squad Subregulator MerFon stood at the foot of the ramp as his men marched off the battle pod. He paused for a moment to look over their heads at the far side of the clearing.

What an ugly planet! I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to trees that are green instead of blue. Green everywhere, even underfoot! And that sky… Ugh! Too-bright sun, light blue sky, and only one moon.

He shook his head and sighed to himself.
It’s home now. Ugly or not, better get used to it. The heavier gravity might take some adjustment, though.

MerFon stepped out from under the shade of the battle pod, walked in front of the men standing at attention, and turned to face them.

“At ease.” It was a testament to his training that, although they shifted from attention to parade rest, they did so in unison and as smartly as any precision field maneuver.

“Men, our orders are to reconnoiter the area, looking for potential threats. Intel indicates there shouldn’t be anything we can’t handle. Due to some unknown cause, the indigenes’ civilization appears to have collapsed, along with their military forces. Intel says the population has gone feral, living day to day, hand to mouth.”

He paused to look his men in the eye, one by one. “In
my
opinion…long-distance intel is worthless until verified by boots on the ground. Men, we’re those boots. We’re to scout the western part of the city up ahead. Three other squads are entering from the other three cardinal points. We don’t really know what to expect, so keep your eyes open and don’t take any chances. If you see any creatures holding what looks like a weapon, or that bares its teeth at you, shoot to kill. But, for MemKar’s sake, don’t shoot each other.”

The latter was a minor joke on his part. He knew they were too well trained for that.

“All right, men, formation!”

The squad of nine formed a circle around MerFon in a matter of seconds, with each man precisely five paces apart.

“March!”

The ten soldiers marched for the nearby highway that headed into town, half a mile from their battle pod.

* * * *

The members of Daniels’ group hurried to fill their backpacks with as much food and drink as they could squeeze in. The store had been ransacked in the past, probably more than once, but there were plenty of canned goods left untouched. The lighter stuff tended to go first. No one wanted to be loaded down with heavy cans in case they got cornered. Still, food was food, and you took what you could find.

It would be dark soon and they needed to get back to their base. Maybe the Zoms couldn’t see them in the dark, but they couldn’t see the Zoms, either. No one liked the feeling that one could be sneaking up behind them. It didn’t help that the Zoms tended to scream when they attacked. It was creepy and often terrifying to operate at night.

Daniels held up a hand. “Shhhhh! I think I heard something.”

Everyone knew to shut up and listen. After a minute of silence, Daniels gave the go-ahead and they resumed stuffing, now with a higher sense of urgency.

And then all hell broke loose.

A large piece of rubble crashed through the big window and four Zoms charged through, shrieking and hooting. Daniels fired his pistol; they were too close for a rifle. Moose blasted with his shotgun. Five more Zoms poured in behind the others.

The others opened fire and it was insanity. The cacophony of hooting, howling, shrieking, and grunting, combined with the echoes of pistol and shotgun fire, was deafening.

The humans fired round after round. The Zoms kept coming. Nine Zoms fell; the same number didn’t. Daniels wrestled with two, Chrissy with another, and six fell upon the other four humans.

Three more Zoms ran inside as Daniels finished off his second with the knife. He turned and switched hands with the knife, drew his pistol and shot the one that launched itself at Chrissy. Three others fell at the feet of Moose Villa, and Peter DeBerge. Jesse Jefferson and Jerry Lombard were fighting from under a pile of four Zoms.

Moose and Peter shot two at close range, and Chrissy picked off another from across the room. Daniels kicked one in the knee and shot him as he fell.

That left three in the pile. It was too risky to shoot, with Jesse and Jerry underneath. Daniels grabbed one Zom by the hair and pulled his head back. Chrissy slit his throat and Daniels shoved him aside. Blood fountained from the Zom’s throat. At the same time, Moose and Peter took care of the second.

That left only one, and Jesse shoved her back with his legs and shot as she stumbled backward, still shrieking. He put another round into her chest and she finally dropped.

“Wow!” Jesse said. He struggled to regain his feet amid all of the bodies. “That was intense. How many’d we kill?”

No one responded.

“What? What’s the matter?”

Chrissy pointed down near his feet. There lay Jerry, with his throat ripped open, in a pool of blood. Some of it was his and some belonged to the Zom who had Jerry’s knife sticking out of her neck.

Jesse swallowed. “Damn. I was right next to him. That coulda been me.”

“It’s small consolation,” Peter said, “but at least he took his killer with him.”

Daniels grimaced. “I doubt he’d find that any consolation at all.” He took a deep breath. “All right. Get your things and let’s get out of here before any more show up.”

Chrissy said, “We can’t just leave him here to be eaten by the next Zoms to come by.”

“I didn’t plan to leave him. Moose, would you mind helping me carry him when you’re all packed up?”

“Sure thing, Sarge.”

Peter shook his head. “This sucks.
Life
sucks.”

Daniels shrugged. “You can always eat a bullet.”

Peter snorted. “It doesn’t suck
quite
that much.”

* * * *

MerFon’s squad neared the first two buildings on the left side of the four-lane highway on high alert. Three men, forming Team One, quietly darted from cover to cover as they approached the first building, while three others in Team Two leapfrogged them to check out the second one. The subregulator and the remaining two men stayed back and to the right to provide covering fire for the other two teams.

One of the men in Team One peered in through a window a split second before a man in Team Two did the same at the other building. Both men gestured and the other two men in each team blasted the front door lock, kicked in the door and dashed inside, panning their weapons from side to side. It took only a minute for each team to signal all-clear. The teams continued in a similar manner as they drew closer to the city.

Subregulator MerFon kept his eyes focused on the buildings across the highway, watching for movement, as his men cleared the buildings on this side. It would take an army to clear the whole city. That army would be coming shortly.

For now, his squad was merely there to get the lay of the land.

Five buildings later, the first two members of Team One entered a large, low building. Energy weapons buzzed. The third member ran inside.

Shortly thereafter, shrieks and guttural screams accompanied the sounds of continuous weapons fire.

MerFon squawked Team Two with the command to back up Team one. The trio entered through a side door and MerFon’s Team Three closed the gap.

As Team Three entered by the expedient of blowing out the display window in the center; more weapons fire and screaming came from inside.

MerFon took point. More guttural sounds and moaning emanated from the left, beyond the second rack of shelved inventory.

Although schooled in the art of warfare for more than two decades, MerFon was stunned by what he saw. Four of his highly trained soldiers lay torn and bleeding on the floor up and down the aisle, as nine indigenes gnawed on their flesh.

He rained death upon the filthy creatures that had dared to kill and dismember his men. The other members of his team did the same and in a moment, all of the indigenes were dead.

Team Three stepped over the bodies of his people and the creatures and continued to the end of the aisle. He barely registered how much redder the blood of the indigenes was than that of the Drahtch.

At the sound of scuffling to his right, MerFon turned in that direction in time to see the legs of one of his men being dragged around the corner of the next aisle. Team Three raced in that direction and turned the corner ready to fire. Four indigenes turned toward them. Two of the creatures held legs, one an arm, and one the torso that was still attached to the other arm, minus the head. The creatures dropped their loads and charged.

Team Three opened fire and immediately fell under the weight of eight more indigenes dropping down upon them from the top of the aisles, eight feet above. Helmets and body armor might protect their heads and torsos against hand weapons, but they did little against the ferocity of teeth and adrenaline-fueled rage ripping at their throats, arms, and legs.

MerFon managed to get two more shots off before two indigenes pulled him down and a third went for his throat.

“Your Excellency?” Subcommander for Communications JorGov waited patiently for the Viceroy to notice him. Battle Commander FronCar stood beside him.

“Yes, Subcommander?”

“Sir, we may have a problem.”

“Which is?” CresNal hated subordinates who dithered. “Speak up!”

“Sir, all four exploratory squads are overdue. They should have reported in nearly an hour ago.

CresNal frowned. “All of them? Have you looked for a communications malfunction?”

“Yes, sir. That was the first thing we checked. All equipment on this end is functioning correctly. Either all of the equipment on the ground is malfunctioning—which is highly unlikely; it was all tested before they left—or something is preventing all four squads from responding to repeated hails. We checked for jamming or other interference, and there doesn’t appear to be any. The most likely explanation is that the squads are unable to use their gear.”

FronCar spoke, finally. “Sir, I request permission to send down a larger contingent of several platoons to investigate, in case there was unexpected military resistance.”

“What about their locator chips?” CresNal asked.

“They’re still functioning, however the readings indicate that the men are either stationary or wandering aimlessly. Definitely not normal behavior for trained troops, under the circumstances.”

“Very well, Commander. Make sure they are better equipped this time as well.”

“I plan to, sir.”

* * * *

Platoon Regulator BlexJasp signaled to the fifty-four soldiers and two subregulators under his command to mount the three six-wheeled armored vehicles and head toward the city. The craft the previous squad had landed in appeared undamaged but abandoned.

Homing in on the subcutaneous nanochips of the ten missing men led the oversized platoon to a section of town near the outskirts.

As they pulled up in front of the large single-story structure, rows of shelving stocked with various unrecognizable goods were visible through the shattered display window and front door. It appeared that was how the squad had entered the building.

BlexJasp checked the heads-up display on the inside of his helmet visor. The HUD showed the location and movement of the chips.

He gestured to Subregulator FligJeen. “Send a squad of your men around the back and have them look for an entrance there or blow a hole. Have a second squad wait by the door on the left, and a third by the front door until we hear from the squad in the back. Then have all squads enter simultaneously. Send Subregulator ChibNorl and the other three squads across the street to clear those buildings, in case of snipers.”

FligJeen nodded sharply in the Drahtch form of salute and said, “Yes, Regulator!”

“Go!”

FligJeen took off at a trot to relay the orders to ChibNorl. It took less than a minute before the six squads were off on their respective sorties.

Another minute and the three squads penetrated the building. Regulator BlexJasp strode toward the entrance to the building in time to see a large number of energy blasts through the window opening. By the time he entered the building, the fight was over.

He approached FligJeen for a status report.

“Regulator, we subdued all fourteen of the indies. It was madness. They were unarmed, yet they charged us as if we were as well, even while we were shooting. Are they all insane?”

BlexJasp shook his head. “I don’t know, but it sure sounds that way. What about our men?”

“One was bitten on the arm before the indigene could be shot. It doesn’t appear serious.”

“Have the medic give him an antibiotic and antiviral, just in case. We don’t know what nasty bugs these creatures might be harboring, or whether they’re even compatible with our biology, but better to err on the side of caution.”

“Yes, Regulator.”

“And what of the earlier squad? I see their transponders are no longer moving.”

“That…that would be better shown than explained. Please follow me.”

The two men walked toward the back of the building, where most of the action had occurred. Body armor, helmets, and shredded bloody clothing lay strewn across the floor, along with large bones recognizable as coming from Drahtch arms and legs. The dead indigenes in the area appeared to have distended bellies.

“Are you telling me…”

“Yes, sir. It appears that way. The men have been dead for hours and the transponders are in the bellies of these disgusting creatures.”

“Disgusting is certainly the word for it.” BlexJasp took a deep breath and let it out. “Very well. It appears we’ve accounted for the entire squad here. It’s time to check the other squads to see if there might be any survivors.”

“Yes, Regulator. Although, if this is any indication of what the indigenous population is like on this planet, I wouldn’t hold my breath on that count.”

“I agree. But we have to verify, anyway. Make sure we monitor all of the sensors closely from here on out. We don’t want to end up like these men.”

* * * *

BlexJasp reported the findings from the first location. Then the platoon visited the other three landing sites and tracked down all of the transponders. Afterward, BlexJasp reported in with the sad news that all transponders had been accounted for, with no survivors. Every last subdermal transponder had been found in the gut of a dead indigene.

He was ordered to return to the command ship with the platoon and to bring an indigene corpse for examination, pending further orders.

* * * *

CresNal and Battle Commander FronCar sat in the Viceroy’s opulent ready room, along with the Chief Military Strategist, YuvStilp. An argument was already in full bloom.

FronCar, commander of all the ground forces, said “I disagree, sir. We came here
expecting
to have to bombard the planet from orbit to subdue the indies. That is still the best approach, in my opinion. We can do that without losing a single soldier. If we continue with the ground-based approach, we may salvage some infrastructure, but we stand to lose a lot of good men.”

YuvStilp shook his head. “No! Preserving the infrastructure will put us months, if not years ahead of schedule for colonization. So
what
if we lose a million troops? That’s why we brought them along. We would have expected to lose at least that many in a full-on invasion once we destroyed the major defenses and cities and got to the ground-level mop-up phase. As long as we make sure our forces are large enough and well-enough equipped, we shouldn’t have any serious problems.”

FronCar’s face tightened at the other’s cavalier write-off of a million of his men. “Sir,” he countered, “wiping out what, from orbital observation, appears to be tens of millions of these demented indigenes could take many years and subject our colonists to ongoing danger that whole time. If we engage in orbital bombardment of all the major and minor cities, we could reduce the number of indigenes by eighty percent or more. That would also leave us with all two million of our soldiers to defend our colonies against them. So
what
if we have to replace their infrastructure with ours? We were planning to do that anyway.”

YuvStilp stood, enraged, “I already
told
you, preserving the infrastructure would allow us to concentrate on other priorities. We—”

“Stop bickering like gestating females!” CresNal admonished. “You both make valid points, but we can’t follow both courses. I
suggest
that we begin by attempting to clear the indigenes at the ground level to preserve the infrastructure,
if possible
.”

A suggestion by the Viceroy was tantamount to an order.

“We don’t have to clear the entire planet all at once. We’ll start with one city, then expand outward as we settle the colonists. Once we clear one continent, things should go easier. We can do much of that using low-flying attack craft. It would appear the indigenes no longer possess the ability to operate air, space, or ocean-going vessels. This means our colonists should be safe from attack once we clear the first continent. If, however, this approach doesn’t work, we can always fall back on the orbital bombardment approach. But I want you two to
find
a way to make it work. Clear?”

Both men nodded, however YuvStilp did so with more much enthusiasm than FronCar showed.

* * * *

FronCar sat on his bunk and leaned back against the wall. He massaged his temples for a moment to relieve the tension there, and then stretched out and let his eyes wander around the room.

There wasn’t much to look at in his spartan quarters. This was an officer’s billet, a senior officer’s at that and, as such, he’d earned the larger space that went with the position. It had a desk and chair for work, a private bath—an extreme luxury aboard a warship, three seats surrounding a small table for entertaining visitors, and some hidden compartments for clothing and personal items.

It was a working man’s quarters, not a frilly luxury flat, like the pompous ass of a viceroy had. Devote a lifetime to the service of the Emperor and this is what you got.

Finally, his eyes lit upon the only real item of personal meaning in the entire room: a framed 3D image of a beach with waves lapping against the pale white sand. The blue-green sea was topped by a pale blue sky, with lightning visible in the distance.

One of the early probes sent to this planet had sent back this and millions of other images and videos more than twenty years ago. Part of preparing for an attack was understanding the opponent’s military strengths and weaknesses. The Drahtch had no plans to converse with the indigenes, so no thought was given to really understanding their language. Just enough to issue the surrender ultimatum and translate the response.

FronCar had always thought that was a mistake; understanding an enemy’s language provided a basis for understanding how they thought. However, it wasn’t his call. He just followed orders.

After nearly five decades of serving the empire and living the structured life of a soldier, FronCar had been ready to retire and finally make a life for himself. The peaceful image of that beach struck a chord within him. Suddenly he couldn’t stand the idea of spending the rest of his life in the overcrowded warrens of a city on Draht. There were no unspoiled beaches—or unspoiled anything—left on the Drahtch homeworld. The only opportunities for expansion existed on other worlds.

When the opportunity presented itself to lead the ground contingent of the military forces heading to Planet 2383, he cashed in all his favors to make sure his name was near the top of the list. He even did some behind-the-scenes plotting to move his name higher up the list.

When the name at the top met with an unfortunate accident, FronCar was in.

He spent two years preparing for the mission, and then eighteen more drilling his men constantly so they’d be prepared for battle when they arrived.

The plan was to bombard the hell out of the planet, drop his men in to clean up the rag-tag survivors, and then spend the last four decades of his life basking in the glow of that beach, or one very much like it. Forty years of peace and quiet after seventy-plus years of dedicated service. Was that too much to ask for?

Instead, that MemKar-damned political appointee second-cousin-to-the-Emperor planned what looked more and more like it would be a long drawn-out ground campaign that would suck years of his life and the lives of thousands—perhaps tens of thousands—of his men.

Battle Commander FronCar took a deep calming breath and let it out slowly. Then he stood, straightened his shoulders, and went back to work.