Zombie apocalypse fiction – Ruth’s story #133 Beginning of battle #TEOTWAWKI #SHTF #WCS

Picking up Honey, Shack tosses the furiously bleeding pregnant girl over his shoulder. Running to the Dodge pickup, he throws Honey across the seat. Shack tears out of the forested area narrowly missing several trees, pelting us with pine needles, pine cones and dirt.

In a battered deuce and a half, Nickola and his assigned fighters arrive at their defensive section. My fighters take their positions, digging fighting holes, and erecting whatever barricade they can. I watch Nikola’s Russian crew do the same.

One thing about Russian soldiers, they fucking know how to use a shovel. I note that Mal’s beau is included in the soldiers assigned to Nickola’s defense force. It is still cold this early in the morning. The frost has not burnt off of the ground.

Despite the cool temperatures, we quickly strip to our shirts while we dig, piling dirt where it will most likely catch bullets rather than using our bodies stopping bullets. After digging our holes, we start dropping trees. Amazingly enough, in the hectic tree cutting operation, no one is hurt despite trees falling every which way.

Cutting logs from the fallen trees, we stack them against the barricade. Hopefully, reinforcing the motley perimeter barricade with mounds of dirt and trees might slow the attackers. Piling dirt around the cut logs holding them in place, we start placing our weapons in convenient spots. Ammo is piled next to weapons.

I make sure that each of my fighters has six frag grenades, two smoke and at least one WP grenade. In the center of our formation, I have one light machine gun, an American M-249B along with a far too young-looking former American soldier behind it.  At each corner, I have an American M-240B. Beside us, I see that Nikola has opted for a pair of Dushkas in the corners, with a battered, OD green PKP in the center.

I could have opted for one of the M2Bs, or even pulled the GAU-19 out of the dump truck, but I felt that this was a better arrangement. I worry that the heavy machine guns maybe too difficult to move should we be forced to fall back to the secondary positions. The Russians have no such compulsions, grabbing the Dushkas with relish.

I have to admit that the sight of the heavy, ancient Russian machine guns does comfort me a little. If the attackers remain true to form, the Dushkas could decimate their vehicles. The machine gunners start hammering limitation stakes in their position, in the hopes of preventing friendly fire – which is not.

I also note that Nikola is toting a KBP GM-94 his Russian, odd ball pump-action grenade launcher. It is probably loaded with the thermobaric grenades favored by the Spetsnaz. Each section has a surprise for the attackers, which I verify is in place, loaded and ready.

As I walk around my defensive position, I confer with Nikola for coordination. Since the Dushkas sit higher on their tripods, as long as my troops remain lying on the ground, the Russian heavy machine guns can fire over our heads. While Nikola and I are talking tactics, the battered old Dodge returns, Shack at the wheel.

Parking the truck, Shack walks over to us. I am glad to see Shack return as he is my second-in-command. Shack has his M4 slung across his back. His Serbu shotgun is in its customary position. His Russian knife hangs from his LBV. Today, Shack carries an ancient, American M79 40mm grenade launcher on his back with an OD green 550 paracord sling.

Shack carries a ragged, cloth bandolier, hastily sewn together. The bandolier holds an eclectic assortment of American 40mm grenades. From the few grenade tops that I can see, Shack went heavy on HE, HEDP, anti-personnel flechette, shotgun, and the rarer American thermobaric grenades. Clipping his grenades to his LBV, Shack rattles when he walks. I note that his BDU pockets bulge, thya are probably stuffed with more ammo or grenades.

“Honey’s in surgery. She’s lost the baby and may bleed to death before Doc can get her sealed up. Doc says the cannibals are tough and heal fast – only reason she has not died before now. He said something about Honey having some fucking thing called placenta accrete – if I’m even fucking pronouncing that right. She’s going to need a hysterectomy, at least, if Doc can stop the bleeding. No more kids for her.”

“She is so young.” I say aloud. Silently I wonder how she survived so long. I also privately wonder that when she was raped, her insides were damaged. I feel sorry for Honey, but I know that she is tough young woman. I cannot think of her as a little girl anymore. The loss of Honey on my crew is upsetting.

Nikola mutters something that I do not catch. He is wearing his Saint George’s medal pinned to his coat. Now that heavy labors are done we have donned our coats and hats once again. I am surprised to see Nikola is carrying a battered Polish PM-63 RAK machine pistol.

“Since we are down one, Honey’s combat skills being second to none, I brought some reinforcements.” Shack points to the parked Dodge truck where I just realize that Junior and the Princess’s daughter are climbing out of the truck bed.

I see, approvingly, that the pair possesses the assigned number and type of grenades rattling on their bulging LBVs. Everyone packed heavy for this operation. Not a time to skimp on the amount of ammo you are carrying. We brought a little food, but a lot of water as well as much ammo as we could cram in our pockets.

Junior and his lady each carry an M4 slung over their shoulders. Junior’s M4 has a M26 Modular Accessory Shotgun System (MASS) underneath the barrel. Seeing the very short 12 gauge shotgun makes me happy. Seeing what else the pair are carrying makes me even happier.

Between them, they carry a pair of 40mm grenade ammo cases. Lying on top of the grenade ammo is a weapon I am grateful Junior brought with him – a Milkor MGL-140 40mm grenade launcher. Once inside our defensive perimeter, the pair immediately starts digging a fighting hole behind my place, near the center.

Not seeing it until her back was to me, the Princess’s daughter has an ancient, disreputable-looking Ithaca model 37 “Stakeout” 12 gauge pump shotgun strapped across her back. The old shotgun with its 13″ barrel and pistol grip was a famous street sweeper in its day.

Leaving the girl digging furiously, Junior runs back to the truck. Returning he carries another weapon that I am pleased he added to our arsenal. Junior carries an American M224 60mm lightweight mortar tube. Returning to the truck for another trip, he returns with the mortar plate and stand.

As Junior turns for another trip to the old truck, Nikola and I detail a couple of our troops helping Junior drag the ammo for the 60mm mortar to the hastily dug mortar pit.