Sever, p.5
Sever, page 5
Mike knew the limitations of the tank’s machine guns, but he’d been hoping to last more than ten minutes into the fight. Each round that went down the barrel of a weapon caused the metal to heat up. When you put a lot of rounds through it in rapid succession, then the heat quickly spreads. When you put a hell of a lot of ammo through a barrel, the metal can get so hot that it warps and loses the factory shape, which then turns the 24–pound barrel of the M2A1 .50 caliber machine gun into a heavy hunk of useless metal.
“Shit. You’re right.” He hated that he was going to have to retreat, but his crew had poured thousands of rounds down the length of the tunnel, decimating the creatures that swarmed toward New York and he needed to change the barrels or else they were out of the fight for good.
“Blue Three and Four, move up. We have to let our barrels cool,” the Chaos Company commander ordered into his radio while Sergeant Gilstrap fretted with the replacement barrel for the M2. The large .50 caliber machine gun was mounted in the tanks’ CROWS system. The CROWS, Common Remote-Operated Weapons Station, was a lethal weapons system that allowed the tank crew to fire the gun without exposing themselves to the zombies outside of the vehicle. It was joystick operated and the display monitor was mounted in front of Mike to use as the tank’s commander. Each of the tanks in C/1-101 Cavalry had the CROWS installed and the captain knew that the system would be key in the fight ahead—as long as they could get the barrels changed.
Mike turned in his seat and looked through the periscope toward the rear of the tank. “Driver, back,” he ordered. The massive 72-ton M1A2 Abrams began to move slowly backward as Specialist Greeley blindly followed the commander’s instructions from the driver’s hatch where he could only see toward the front.
Through the periscope, Mike saw the two tanks from his third platoon moving to either side of him as they came forward to fill the gap in the shallow line that his tank had created. His wingman, the company executive officer, was also pulling out of position so his tank could switch barrels too. The fight to save New York was fully underway.
They’d made the trip from Hoosick Falls easily enough. It had been a surreal experience as they traveled southwest in their Humvees and trucks, shadowing the semis carrying the tanks down the highway toward the impending fight. The lanes leaving the city were jammed with cars who’d become hopelessly stuck in their mad flight from the danger to the south, while the lanes that they were in remained closed to traffic by the state highway patrol. Mike’s chest swelled with pride as men and women cheered them on when their convoy passed the snarled traffic jams. The military was America’s only hope and the salvation of their country would start right here in New York.
Chaos Company had quickly unloaded their tanks and gotten into position yesterday morning before the creatures arrived. Their mission was to block access to the city through the Lincoln Tunnel while the other companies in the battalion performed the same task at the city’s southernmost bridges and tunnels leading from New Jersey. Other National Guard units secured the Tappan Zee Bridge, the next closest bridge to the city from the west, and there were rings of men along the north of the city in case the zombies somehow tried to flank the defenders at the main southern bridges.
Mike had devised a rotating defensive strategy for his fourteen tanks to address the three tunnels that emerged from under the Hudson River. His plan involved a section of two tanks in overwatch and the other two-and-a-half platoons situated close to the tunnel’s exit. Two tanks were placed at each exit, firing into the gaping maw of the tunnel. When those tanks needed to rotate so they could change their weapons’ barrels or reload ammo, he’d call the second line of six tanks forward while the section in overwatch took care of any creatures that made it past them. The company Headquarters Platoon had the unenviable job of resupplying ammo to the tankers who were buttoned up tight in the safety of their metal behemoths. Further back, dismounted infantrymen had been set up to kill any zombies that made it past the tank company; they were the final line of defense.
Given the situation and the terrain that they’d been assigned, it was the best that Mike could come up with. Ideally, they would have had enough time to completely block two of the tunnels and then defend the one so there could potentially be an escape route in the future, but time was against them. Mike summed it up to his troopers in the age-old Army axiom: It is what it is. That meant, stop bitching about the situation and deal with the facts that were presented to you because you couldn’t change reality.
By midday yesterday, the battalion’s Alpha Company reported contact on Staten Island and the men of Chaos had listened intently to the battalion radio frequency as the reports filtered up to the headquarters. By nightfall, Delta Company had begun fighting at the Holland Tunnel and Alpha fought a retrograde operation to make it back to the Verrazano Bridge, which was held by the dismounted soldiers from the Headquarters Company. In less than six hours, they’d lost Staten Island.
Charlie Company’s turn came soon after as the gunners began to discern the shifting, shuffling mass of zombies through their night vision sights. Mike had immediately ordered them to switch to infrared to determine if they were human or not. They weren’t. The creatures moving toward them gave off no discernable body heat; they were as dead as any other inanimate object, except they were moving on their own accord.
Due to the way the tunnel sank below the river, they could only fire out to about two hundred meters before the angle of the tunnel became too great for the machine guns. That worked to the creature’s advantage as they massed in the darkness and came forward in never-ending waves of the undead. Mike estimated that they killed close to a thousand of them in the first several minutes of fighting alone. Regardless of how many they killed, they kept coming and the machine guns began to fail from the heat of all those rounds passing through the barrels.
Mike unlatched the commander’s hatch and heaved upwards against the door’s weight. His 9-millimeter Beretta pistol led the way as he popped up from inside the tank to keep Sergeant Gilstrap safe while the gunner changed out the barrel of the Ma Deuce. The new quick-change barrel and fixed headspace and timing were a major improvement over the old model’s screw-in barrel and quirky firing mechanism that he’d learned how to operate as a brand new lieutenant. Even with the improvements, the problem that remained—and couldn’t be helped—that in order to change the barrel, the gunner had to leave the safety of the tank, exposing them to whatever was outside, be that infantrymen, chemicals or zombies.
Mike hadn’t been able to hear much through the protective sound-muffling headset that he wore when he was down inside the vehicle, but now that he was exposed to the elements, he could hear the chugging of the machine guns at the tunnels. Each round exiting the barrel and racing toward another target seemed to thump against his chest, causing his heart to stutter and beat faster to keep up with the sound waves that assailed him. He longed for the wide, open fields and desert terrain where the Abrams was designed to operate, not this city defense where they couldn’t maneuver or fire from long distances.
The machine guns from the two tanks to Chaos’ rear began to chatter away. Mike jerked his eyes from the immediate area around his tank to the scene at the tunnel. One of the tanks on the far left had accidentally pivoted too hard when it backed up to change position with another behind it. When they pivoted, the tank ran into the one beside it, ripping the tracks off of both tanks, which blocked the replacement tank’s ability to fire into the tunnel’s exit. As the firepower had decreased significantly, the creatures took advantage of the situation and swarmed through.
“Shit! Get that barrel in, Gilstrap!” he shouted as his tank’s loader popped up and started firing the 7.62-millimeter machine gun beside his hatch. Rounds from the Specialist Walker’s weapon slammed into the zombies pressed against the disabled tanks. The small caliber wouldn’t do much damage to the tanks or the crew inside, but it was devastating to the creatures caught in its withering fire.
The company radio frequency exploded in a series of questions as the men inside realized that their friends were shooting at them and Mike knew that he had to take charge of the situation before they panicked. “Red One, this is Chaos Six. Stay buttoned up, we’re just cleaning them off of you with the coax, over.”
“Don’t you fucking fire that Ma Deuce at us, sir!” the platoon leader answered back as Sergeant Gilstrap stopped working on the .50 cal and dropped back down into the safety of the tank to use the slaved machine gun.
There was a slight possibility that with enough hits from the .50 cal they could do some damage to the tank and possibly the men trapped inside, but the 7.62s wouldn’t penetrate the armor. “We’re not gonna do that, Ben,” Mike answered. “Hang tight and we’ll get you out.”
“Roger. Can you see what the damage is?”
Mike’s tank shuddered as the gunner slewed the turret toward the two tanks so he could fire the machine gun that was slaved to the barrel. The Abrams main battle tank bristles with weaponry. Aside from the 120-millimeter main gun, the commander has a .50 caliber machine gun—lovingly referred to as the Ma Deuce by those who’ve used it in combat—and there are two smaller 7.62-millimeter machine guns, one beside the loader’s hatch that has to be fired manually and another that is mounted beside the main gun. Anywhere the main gun points, the second machine gun does as well, giving the gunner inside the vehicle the option to utilize the smaller caliber instead of the massive destructive power of the main gun.
“Yeah, your fucking driver knocked the treads off both your tank and Red Two’s. You guys are disabled and we can’t repair you in this environment.”
“Shit, that’s not good. Sir, what’s the plan?” the platoon leader asked. Mike didn’t even have the opportunity to respond before Red One yelled over the radio, “Hey! Get back here, don’t do it, Jones!”
Fuck. Mike fumbled for his binoculars and saw the loader’s hatch on the Red One tank pop open as one of the soldiers inside panicked and tried to escape. Too late to shout a warning, Specialist Walker had already unleashed a volley of fire from his machine gun. Mike watched in horror as the rounds slammed into Red One’s loader, pitching him over backward across the top of the tank. Zombies swarmed the man and several wormed their way past Jones’ body through the hatch inside.
It happened in a matter of seconds and Mike couldn’t do anything about it, Red One’s crew was gone. “Jesus!” he shouted and fumbled with the transmit switch on his radio. “Red One! Red One, this is Chaos Six! Ben, are you alright?”
“I can hear them back there, sir,” a small, scared voice replied over the radio.
Mike thought hard for a moment to remember Red One’s driver. The tank was designed so that the driver’s compartment was separate from the main compartment and could barely be reached through a small opening that even a dog would have trouble making it through. Tankers usually kept a wooden dowel in the crew compartment that they could shove through the hole and tap the driver’s helmet if the communication system became disconnected. It wasn’t big enough for a normal man to make it through, but Mike had no clue about the abilities of the zombies; if that kid was still alive, he had to save him.
“Private Halloran, this is Captain Miranda,” he answered calmly into the radio. “Take it easy and don’t panic. The guys in the back are gone and those things can’t get to you up there in the driver’s compartment. We need to figure out how to get you out of there safely.”
“O… Okay, sir,” the young soldier replied.
“It’s important that you stay as quiet as you can so they figure out that you’re up there. Give me a minute to think.”
Over the radio, the commander could hear the harsh growling of the creatures as they attacked the two men in the Abrams’ crew compartment. He was pissed off at Jones, the loader who’d panicked and opened the hatch, killing all three men. Everyone was safe inside the tanks if they didn’t open any of the access hatches.
Over the radio, Mike said, “Red Two, this is Chaos Six. Over.”
“Red Two,” the platoon sergeant answered back immediately.
“Look, here’s the deal. Private Halloran is the only one left alive from Red One and we can’t recover your tank with these creatures around.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but we ain’t gonna open these hatches and try to make a run for it. Over.”
“Not what I’m saying, Red Two. We’re going to abandon your tank, so put that bitch in reverse and pull back as far as you can with one track and the road wheels. Red Three will move up and take up your position to fire into the tunnel.”
“With only one track, we’ll be limited to a hard pivot behind Red One, but I can clear the position, sir.”
“That’s all I’m asking. You guys will have to sit tight. Then once we reestablish the initiative, we’ll pull you guys out of there.”
“Roger. Red Two moving now.”
Mike peered through a set of binoculars as the tank’s engines revved up and it began to back up. The track on the far side caught and propelled the massive vehicle while it grated along the front and then the side of Red One. The sprockets on the side with the missing track spun impotently, but the 1,500 horsepower turbine engine propelled the beast backward. As the tank got more traction, it began to turn since the remaining set of tracks only moved the one side of the vehicle and it ended up perpendicular, behind Red One.
“Red Two clear,” the platoon sergeant reported. Immediately, Red Three’s tank surged forward into the gap and began chugging away with their weapons to clear the tunnel.
Over his tank’s internal intercom Mike said, “Alright, fellas. Let’s clear those fuckers off Red One and then we’ll move up and rescue Private Halloran.”
The loader and gunner both raked the disabled tank with their machine guns, decimating the remaining creatures. “Driver, move forward. Get as close to Red One as you can, but don’t hit them,” Mike ordered.
His tank surged forward alongside of Red One. Bones were crushed while intestines and bodily fluids sprayed in every direction as the tracks split open the zombies’ putrid, rotting bodies. “Private Halloran, this is Captain Miranda. My tank is sitting to the right side of you and my loader’s hatch is open. Are you ready to exit the vehicle and come over here?”
“I… I can’t do it, sir.”
“Listen to me, Halloran. This is your one shot to survive. The area is clear right now, but you either come over here now or you’re going to be left behind.” Mike paused for a minute, waiting for the kid to answer. When he didn’t respond Mike said, “Private Halloran, this is an order. Get your ass over here now!”
“Yeah, come on, man!” Specialist Walker yelled from the loaders hatch.
Something dark flashed beside Mike and out of his peripheral vision, he saw a shape fall down inside the crew compartment. “Fuck!” he screamed and dropped down inside to kill the creature.
“Hold on, sir! It’s Halloran,” his gunner yelled as the loader’s hatch slammed shut.
“Holy shit. Halloran, you almost had a few more breathing holes!” Mike called over to the sobbing kid at Walker’s feet. “You alright?”
“Yes, sir. Thanks for coming to get me.”
“Well, we’re not done yet.” The commander turned in the turret to look behind them once more. “Driver, back!” he barked into the microphone.
The tank backed up in a straight line as Greely held the steering wheel steady. When they reached their previous position Mike shouted to Private Halloran, “Alright, here you go Halloran. We don’t have room for you in here. The first sergeant’s Humvee is about fifty meters directly behind us.”
Over the gun’s breach he saw Watkins reach down and grab a handful of Halloran’s belt. The loader picked him up and virtually threw him out of the tank. Mike lifted his hatch and watched the driver scramble toward the Headquarters Platoon where the company’s first sergeant sat with the extra ammunition.
Chaos Six checked his watch. It was almost 6 a.m., the sun would be up soon and they’d be able to see the bastards deeper into the tunnel system than they could now. Gilstrap slapped the top of the tank to get his attention. He’d begun to work on the Ma Deuce the moment that they stopped and now his thumbs up told Mike that they were ready to go, barrels changed and new belts of ammo loaded up into the guns.
“Driver, move up,” Mike said and sank down inside the tank once more. He pulled the hatch shut and heard the other two hatches slam closed as well, letting him know that both Sergeant Gilstrap and Specialist Walker were inside the safety of the turret.
The tank clanked forward and he depressed the trigger on his joystick, firing the .50 cal down the tunnel. For the next fifteen minutes Mike and his crew rained metal into the horde that continued to press forward, heedless of their death. When his guns clicked empty, he simply ordered, “Driver, back.”
As his command tank pulled backward, another maneuvered around him to take his place. He needed to piss badly, so he grabbed an empty Gatorade bottle and started to unzip his combat vehicle crewman’s suit at the crotch. Before he could complete the action, the two tanks in overwatch began to fire.
“Shit. They’re coming your way, Chaos Six! Stay buttoned up.”
“Acknowledged,” he replied and winced as the high-pitched pinging sound of machine gun rounds impacting all along the tank reverberated through the turret. No wonder Jones had freaked out.
“Steady, gentlemen,” he whispered hoarsely into the internal tank frequency. Mike’s nerves grated against one another with every snap and ricochet of the metal-on-metal barrage. He wanted to run away from the madness. It was insane to stay put and take the rounds; surely they’d hit something and the vehicle would explode.
That’s what made Jones panic, look at what happened to Red One, he screamed to himself—it might have even been out loud, he no longer knew. “Steady!” he shouted into the radio, more of an effort to calm himself than the crew.
