Special Purposes: First Strike Weapon

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

1405 GMT, 24th November 1987

Furness Peninsula, North-West England

IT FELT AS though Vadim had watched the stag for a long time, but it must have been only a few moments. It ignored the dead, now wandering aimlessly on the sand: they didn’t seem to recognise the proud animal as a source of flesh. When Skull caught up with them, the stag bolted. Gulag turned to glare at the sniper.

The Fräulein stared at where the stag had been for another moment, then turned to Vadim.

“We’re going after them.” It wasn’t a question. Vadim nodded. They both looked at Gulag.

“What?” he demanded. “Princess is with them.”

“Can you track them?” Vadim asked Skull. The sniper looked momentarily affronted that the captain even had to ask if he could track a tank through snow.

THE TANK TRACKS followed the coastal road. The commandos found the odd car half buried in the black snow as they walked; broken glass and bloodstained vehicles told a story similar to what they had seen in New York. The tracks eventually turned north, following the road towards what looked like a reasonable-sized town, its skyline dominated by cranes and what looked like an indoor shipyard.

The tracks took them into the town, where they found evidence of tank damage to abandoned vehicles. They had seen little of the dead since leaving the beach, but as they entered the town they started to see more of them shuffling around. The zombies ignored them unless they made significant noise.

They passed neatly-ordered streets of red-bricked terraces with smashed windows and doors. They saw corpses frozen in the street. Some of the older buildings were made from red or brown stone; Vadim wasn’t an expert, but he suspected much of the architecture dated back to the 19th century.

Led by Skull, they left the residential areas behind them and entered the docks. They crossed a bridge, the shipyard on their right, a large yellow crane hanging overhead. Somehow the presence of the wandering dead made it seem all the more abandoned.

The walk had given Vadim a lot of time to think, most of it spent trying to suppress his disappointment that the virus had already reached Britain.

They made their way through the docks, and then past more terraced houses. To the west they saw a narrow channel between the mainland and what Vadim assumed was an island, spanned by a bascule bridge, currently raised. At the east end of the bridge was a concrete barricade. A double-decker bus, with sheet metal wielded over the windows, acted as a gate between the barricades. Just behind the bus, Vadim made out what he suspected was another museum-piece armoured vehicle, this one with a mine roller attached to the front. Clever; the roller, designed to roll over mines and detonate them, would work equally well to clear the zombies milling around the gate so vehicles could cross the bridge. If any zombies did get through, they still couldn’t cross the channel with the bridge raised.

The team were hunkered behind an abandoned van. They had seen movement behind the bus gate on this side of the channel; at the far end of the bridge, they made out sandbag-protected machine gun posts.

There were a number of small vessels moored in the channel, zombies dotted about them, stuck in the mud. Vadim was already considering using one of the vessels to cross the channel.

The whole situation seemed very strange. He couldn’t understand why this shambles – they were too badly trained to be soldiers – were pretending to be an SS panzer division. All sorts of fantastical explanations were crossing his mind: the existence of zombies seemed to make anything possible.

“I don’t fancy an assault with next to no ammunition,” the Fräulein muttered.

“We need information before we make any decisions,” Vadim said. Not for the first time since the refugees’ apparent capture, he wondered what had become of Princess and New Boy. He would have expected some action from them by now. Not that he would necessarily be aware of it, if they did act.

“Reconnaissance?” she asked. Vadim just nodded. He noticed Skull staring at a pile of bodies. They were resolutely dead and unmoving; not a great deal of snow had settled on them, and they all had head wounds. Skull looked at him and nodded. Vadim signalled for the Fräulein and Gulag to keep a watch as he approached the pile of corpses with the sniper. They kept low, trying to avoid being seen by the guards at the double-decker gate.

“Try not to draw attention to me,” the pile of corpses said. Vadim hadn’t thought anything was capable of surprising him today.

“Princess?” he managed. He caught the barrel of her Dragunov sniper rifle sticking out of the pile; she was presumably using the scope to watch the bridge and the island. Skull and Vadim lay down next to the pile. Skull aimed his own .303 rifle at the bridge. He still had a few rounds left.

“Boss,” Princess said.

“The bodies are a good idea,” Skull commented.

“I think they mask my scent,” she told them. She spoke softly, but even so, a couple of zombies stopped and stared in their direction. The three soldiers remained stock-still until the dead moved on. “I got the idea when Gulag saved those kids.” Vadim glanced at Gulag. Had the criminal worked out that the dead ignored the dead before Vadim? Why hadn’t he shared it? It was a conversation for another time.

“What happened?” he asked.

“We’d pretty much run out of ammunition by the time we’d made the beach. I was sure the refugees and crew were dead. I was going to try and make a break for it with New Boy, but we saw the tanks and the trucks. The refugees made for them, and New Boy followed, but I held back. Troops jumped out of the back and started ordering the refugees into the trucks. When the machine gun started firing, New Boy tried to intervene. He got clubbed down…” She went quiet again as another zombie walked slowly by. He was naked except for a sock.

“Who were they?” Vadim asked.

“They wore SS uniforms,” Princess said. “But they had British accents.”

“Soldiers?” Skull asked.

“I’m not sure, but they’d had training, some more than others.”

“Equipment?” Vadim asked.

“The tank and half-track were from the Great Patriotic War, so was most of their weaponry. The trucks, however, looked like British Army: old, but not that old. And a few of them carried Belgian FNs.”

“SLRs,” Skull said. “It’s the version of the FN that the British Army use.”

The more Vadim knew about the situation, the stranger it became.

“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.

“Not taking any risks,” the Fräulein said quietly. Multiple redundancies, it was clever. “The guards on the bus have to be in contact with the island.”

The Saracen parked up behind the mine-rolling vehicle. The bus moved and the zombies surged forwards, but not at full sprint. It didn’t look as though they had the scent yet. The mine-roller came forwards. It looked like a World War II tank, but not German; American, possibly. Pushing a big, heavy, gore-encrusted, zombie-flattening roller. The dead became red smears. The mine-roller came out just far enough for the Saracen to get past, and then it reversed and the bus rolled back into place.

“Did you see that?” the Fräulein asked.

“One of them ran in behind the tank-thing,” Princess said.

“Give me your rifle,” Vadim said. Princess looked conflicted for a moment and then handed her Dragunov to him.

“Don’t mess up my scope,” she warned him, and Gulag chuckled from the bed. Vadim looked through the scope. Even with the increased elevation, he couldn’t see much – the bus and the concrete wall blocked his view – but he did see someone appear in the turret of the roller with an MP-40 submachine gun. He saw the muzzle flash, heard its chatter a moment later. “Wrong tool for the job,” he said to himself. The guard wore a grey tunic and a German stalhelm helmet, with its distinctive coalscuttle shape. Through the scope, Vadim could see the swastika on the helmet and the two Nordic lightning bolts of the SS on the tunic’s collar. He felt the old hatred bubbling up.

Suddenly the zombie – the one-socked naked man they’d seen earlier – bounded into view and started climbing up the tank. The guard was firing the MP-40 on full automatic, spraying it everywhere. Vadim saw an explosion of matter from the back of the zombie’s head and it fell out of sight. It was sheer dumb luck that the man in the turret had hit anything at all. It was a shame; Vadim had found himself rooting for the naked zombie. He heard shouting coming from the bus. He couldn’t make out what was being said, but whoever was shouting sounded angry.

He moved the scope off the bridge and followed the Saracen as it headed north and curved out of sight towards the town. He lowered the sniper rifle and handed it back to Princess.

“Are you coming with us?” Vadim asked Gulag.

“You’re going after the vehicle?” the Fräulein asked.

Vadim nodded. “We’re going to need to capture at least a couple of them alive,” he said.

“To interrogate?” Gulag asked. He couldn’t quite keep the eagerness out of his voice.

Vadim nodded again.

“I’m in.”