while Eliza provided rear cover. After ten minutes of stalking through
the brush, they came to a bowl-shaped depression. Eighty yards below were four
men huddled around a mortar and two wooden crates full of 120mm rounds. One of
them was fidgeting with an electronic device but it was too far away to make
out what it was. The team of poorly clad goons was hunkered down in a four-foot-deep
circular pit which was further fortified with two feet of sandbags. The men
stopped firing the mortar and started bickering amongst themselves.
“Pretty elaborate setup,” said Brinkman.
“These guys used up some time and calories to dig in here.”
Twenty feet away, cloaked in a
white-and-gray-dappled camouflage net, was an F-350 pickup truck. On the
tailgate was a radio and two AK-47s. There were no vehicle tracks in the snow
and the amount of footprints in the immediate camp area informed Carlie that
there had been no movement outside of their layup position. She scanned the
forest to her right and then out to the meadow to her left where the hordes of
undead were streaming around the buildings on the central part of the base. A
plume of black smoke from the burning helo wreckage wafted into the low-hanging
clouds.
“We can snipe those guys from here,” said Eliza,
who was squatting on one knee beside her.
“Yeah, that seems a little too easy,” said
Carlie. “These guys should…” She paused and then secreted herself against the
tree trunk while the others did the same just as a small drone flew into the
encampment. The black device circled the mortar pit and then clunkily landed on
the hardpacked snow by the truck. A man in greasy brown coveralls climbed out
of the foxhole and walked over to the device. He flipped it over and removed a
battery pack then set the drone down on the tailgate beside the radio. He
walked around to the side door and began sifting through a cardboard box on the
back seat.
“How the hell do they have drone
capabilities?” whispered Eliza.
“They must have procured it from the base
here or some other installation as that’s a military-grade device,” said Brinkman.
“That’s why they must have stopped the
shelling,” said Carlie. “We need to take them out now while their eyes are down.”
She shifted her weight forward and raised
up her M4 rifle. “You two dispatch the men remaining in the foxhole. I’ll take
the drone operator.
“Wait until I’ve removed him as he’s closest to the radio.”
They all got into position, with Brinkman and
Eliza squatting down on either side of her, resting their rifles on fallen
logs. Carlie peered through her red-dot scope and aligned the head of the stout
figure beside the truck. He kept bobbing around as he frantically tried to
replace the batteries. She could see a red wreath of crude tattoos around his
neck beyond his tattered wool scarf. He twisted back to curse at the other men
in the foxhole who were berating him. As he turned forward, a round struck him
in the left side of the head, exiting out his right jaw. He slumped forward
onto the tailgate. Carlie heard muzzles crack next to her as the others
dispatched the surly goons below. Within seconds the woods were silent again,
with only the churning flow of undead resounding off the natural amphitheater
of the meadow.
They waited and watched for anyone moving
below then scurried down the steep hillside until they were at the foxhole.
“Get those bodies out of the way and
reconfigure the mortar so we can start sending rounds downrange into the undead
and the spotters,” said Carlie as she made her way to the vehicle. She grabbed
the shirt collar of the slumped figure and slid him out of the way then grabbed
the drone and remote control. “This was transmitting to this guy’s handheld remote
and also to another location,” she said, noticing a green light on the remote
beside the words, Console 2.
She smashed both devices with the butt of
her rifle and then grabbed the two-way radio on
the brush, they came to a bowl-shaped depression. Eighty yards below were four
men huddled around a mortar and two wooden crates full of 120mm rounds. One of
them was fidgeting with an electronic device but it was too far away to make
out what it was. The team of poorly clad goons was hunkered down in a four-foot-deep
circular pit which was further fortified with two feet of sandbags. The men
stopped firing the mortar and started bickering amongst themselves.
“Pretty elaborate setup,” said Brinkman.
“These guys used up some time and calories to dig in here.”
Twenty feet away, cloaked in a
white-and-gray-dappled camouflage net, was an F-350 pickup truck. On the
tailgate was a radio and two AK-47s. There were no vehicle tracks in the snow
and the amount of footprints in the immediate camp area informed Carlie that
there had been no movement outside of their layup position. She scanned the
forest to her right and then out to the meadow to her left where the hordes of
undead were streaming around the buildings on the central part of the base. A
plume of black smoke from the burning helo wreckage wafted into the low-hanging
clouds.
“We can snipe those guys from here,” said Eliza,
who was squatting on one knee beside her.
“Yeah, that seems a little too easy,” said
Carlie. “These guys should…” She paused and then secreted herself against the
tree trunk while the others did the same just as a small drone flew into the
encampment. The black device circled the mortar pit and then clunkily landed on
the hardpacked snow by the truck. A man in greasy brown coveralls climbed out
of the foxhole and walked over to the device. He flipped it over and removed a
battery pack then set the drone down on the tailgate beside the radio. He
walked around to the side door and began sifting through a cardboard box on the
back seat.
“How the hell do they have drone
capabilities?” whispered Eliza.
“They must have procured it from the base
here or some other installation as that’s a military-grade device,” said Brinkman.
“That’s why they must have stopped the
shelling,” said Carlie. “We need to take them out now while their eyes are down.”
She shifted her weight forward and raised
up her M4 rifle. “You two dispatch the men remaining in the foxhole. I’ll take
the drone operator.
“Wait until I’ve removed him as he’s closest to the radio.”
They all got into position, with Brinkman and
Eliza squatting down on either side of her, resting their rifles on fallen
logs. Carlie peered through her red-dot scope and aligned the head of the stout
figure beside the truck. He kept bobbing around as he frantically tried to
replace the batteries. She could see a red wreath of crude tattoos around his
neck beyond his tattered wool scarf. He twisted back to curse at the other men
in the foxhole who were berating him. As he turned forward, a round struck him
in the left side of the head, exiting out his right jaw. He slumped forward
onto the tailgate. Carlie heard muzzles crack next to her as the others
dispatched the surly goons below. Within seconds the woods were silent again,
with only the churning flow of undead resounding off the natural amphitheater
of the meadow.
They waited and watched for anyone moving
below then scurried down the steep hillside until they were at the foxhole.
“Get those bodies out of the way and
reconfigure the mortar so we can start sending rounds downrange into the undead
and the spotters,” said Carlie as she made her way to the vehicle. She grabbed
the shirt collar of the slumped figure and slid him out of the way then grabbed
the drone and remote control. “This was transmitting to this guy’s handheld remote
and also to another location,” she said, noticing a green light on the remote
beside the words, Console 2.
She smashed both devices with the butt of
her rifle and then grabbed the two-way radio on
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