“Good,” the General came back. “And the interstate team for downtown?”
Kersey leaned on his hand. “Last I heard, Corporal Bretz and his team were securing the trucks and awaiting dawn,” he said. “With where they’re going, they’ll need the daylight.”
“Understood,” Stephens replied. “I appreciate the work you’re doing for us.”
The Captain nodded. “It’s my job, General,” he said. “And to be frank, you put your faith in me and I want to make sure you never think it was misplaced.”
“I appreciate that as well,” Stephens replied. “I’ll never complain about being made to look good.” They chuckled together and then he continued, “I do have one additional task for you, Captain.”
“Of course, sir,” Kersey said.
“As you know, ammunition is at a premium,” the General began, “so in addition to the clear teams that will be trailing behind the main force, I need you to set aside some scroungers. They will need to look in every business that would carry guns and ammo, and even homes if they have time.”
The Captain nodded. “Yes sir, I will make it happen.”
“I know you will,” Stephens replied confidently.
Kersey took a deep breath. “Sir, if there’s nothing else,” he said slowly. “I need to brief Sergeant Copeland and his team before they head off.”
“Of course, Captain,” the General replied. “I look forward to your updates.”
The line went dead and Kersey took a beat before setting the receiver down and glancing at his watch. It was just past midnight.
“Okay,” he said to himself, straightening his shoulders. “Game time.”
He picked up a few of the maps of the northern area, the town of Burlington. It was a sleepy little villa just across the river from Mount Vernon, and if things went well, it would be a perfect choke point for the hundreds of thousands of zombies looming in the north.
He walked out of the room, maps tucked under his arm, and onto the airfield. There were six small planes lined up on the runway, pilots standing outside of them and biding their time. He made his way to the hangar at the far end of the field, currently bathed in light, both artificial and from barrel fires to keep the men warm. As he stepped in, Sergeant Copeland approached him immediately.
“Captain Kersey,” he said politely, dark skin glimmering in the firelight.
“Sergeant,” Kersey replied with a nod. “You boys about ready to go?” he asked, glancing past the burly bald Sergeant at the thirty-four other men prepping their gear for the assault. He pursed his lips, a look of concern crossing his face. “Looks like you’re a little light on men there,” he said.
Copeland sighed. “Yeah, tell me about it,” he agreed. “Two of the planes conked out, so unless someone wanted to hang on to the wings, we weren’t getting them there.”
“No volunteers, I take it?” Kersey asked with a lopsided smile.
Copeland chuckled. “No, sir,” he replied. “Although I’m pretty sure I could get Kowalski to do it on a dare.”
Private Kowalski looked up from his pack. “I heard my name,” he barked. “Whatever it is, I swear I didn’t do it!”
“Must not be talking about any hot women, then,” Private Wade quipped from beside him, grinning ear-to-ear.
Kowalski put a hand to his chest in mock offense. “What the hell, man?” he demanded playfully. “I thought us snipers stuck together?”
“If that were true, you wouldn’t have cranked up the yacht rock the other day,” Wade shot back, pointing a finger at his friend.
Kowalski smirked. “Eh, valid point.”
Private Johnson began muttering obscenities behind them as he tried to strap on his parachute. Kersey and Copeland chuckled and shook their heads before the latter snapped his fingers at one of the other men.
“Corporal Dawson,” he called.
“Yes, sir?” Dawson’s short and stocky frame snapped to attention.
Copeland motioned to the struggling Private. “Can you please help Johnson there before he pulls something?” he asked.
Dawson laughed and turned to help the wild redneck, who was still grunting and huffing in frustration even as he lowered his arms to accept the help.
Kersey handed the maps out to Copeland, and the Sergeant flipped through them quickly. They were printed maps this time instead of hand drawn, with multiple locations circled throughout.
“Not bad quality,” Copeland said.
Kersey wrinkled his nose. “Printer ran out of cyan before they all came out, so some of your boys will have to share,” he said.
“First world problems, Captain,” Copeland replied with a chuckle, shaking his head. “First world problems.” He took one of the maps and then handed the stack to Private Mack, who began distributing them amongst the men. “All right boys!” Copeland barked. “Let’s settle down. We got a busy-ass morning ahead of us, so we need to go over the game plan.”
There was a shuffle as the men settled in, turning towards their Sergeant and holding their maps, a few bending over shared papers. Kersey stepped off to the side to watch the briefing.
“Our primary goal this morning is to block off the I-Five bridge over the river,” Copeland began. “The bad news is, it’s a four-lane road with thousands of zombies to the north and south of it. The good news is, the tools we need to block it off are already there in the form of concrete median barriers. Only thing we need is to go find a way to move them.
“Our secondary goal is to block off the town bridge to the east. Luckily, this is only a two-lane bridge, and the expected enemy push is going to be minimal compared to the interstate area, so a few trucks oughta do the trick.” He held up the map, pointing to the north. “There are going to be three teams working together to make this happen. Kowalski, Wade,” he said, pointing to the two snipers.
They perked up, sitting at attention as their names were called.
“Your sniper teams are going
