Author's note - updated Nov 11, 2018

Carl watched the Colonel storm away thinking that could not have gone much worse. He turned back to his men. Stigg was staring at the ground and looked terrible

Hoffman put a big hand on her shoulder and squeezed a little too hard as usual. He couldn't help it, of course, he was a mountain of a man. At six-foot-seven, three-hundred and twenty pounds Major Carl Hoffman was by far the largest person you might ever meet. His skin was the colour of coal with extraordinarily white teeth and hands the size of dinner plates. His arms were a canvas of tattoos and he shaved his huge head meticulously every day. Yet, for all that he was a big teddy bear. Hoff read romance novels before bed and was always a perfect gentleman. He almost never cursed.

"What an Asshole." He whispered to Stigg. "Count it out, Lieutenant."

Very quietly she counted. "One – two – three – four" Slowly the color returned to her skin and she looked up at him and smiled wanly.

Hoff gave her another painful squeeze and then stepped around and kicked dust and dirt onto his boot before stooping down to wipe the Colonels spit away with a dirty rag from his back pocket.

When he stood back up and glanced back over his shoulder, she looked better... not great but better.

She gave him another of those smiles and a small thumbs up.

Lieutenant Anna Stigg was an enigma. Carl had read her service record and it didn't add up the woman who he had met twenty-four hours ago.

According to her jacket, she was twenty-seven years old and career military. ROTC graduated in the top of her class from West Point, two tours of duty in Afghanistan (the second one cut short by a bullet through the neck) She was awarded the Silver Star for valor in combat along with a Purple Heart. President Johnson pinned the Medal of Honor on her himself on March 25th, 2021.

The detail was short on her injury, but a special notation stated she continued to fight even after being shot and saved at least ten of her squad. The scars on her neck were the first thing Carl had noticed when he met her. The front entry wound was small but the exit was something else altogether. A mass of swirls and ridges in the flesh denoted a rough circle about the diameter of a baseball. How she had kept fighting with that big a hole in her he had no idea.

By comparison, the pretty young woman standing in front of him now was, quiet and meek. She rarely looked him in the eyes and when she did there was no confidence in her gaze. She seemed weak and in need of constant reassurance. Her voice was small and halting when she spoke at all. His own personal evaluation was a bad case of PTSD which was the last thing he needed in a member of his team. Still, he liked her and he found he wanted to protect her... from men like Brody... from the zombies (cuz all bullshit aside that's what they were) and maybe even from himself.

"I'll find us somewhere to bunk." She said, and with that, she walked towards a group of enlisted men. She spoke to the nearest one and he said something Carl couldn't hear, then she came back to the chopper, grabbed one of the cases of gear, threw her pack over her back and motioned for them to follow without a word.

The other two men on his team, Jones and Bethault immediately hoisted the other cases and their own packs leaving Carl with only his own gear to carry. He didn't know these men well, but they had come highly recommended.

Jones was pale with a sunburned neck, standing about six-one and very skinny. He spoke with a thick southern accent, bit his nails and sweated profusely. Bethault was an anomaly, he was not American, his accent was hard to place but to Carl, it sounded almost Russian. He was a short thick man with almost no neck, rippling biceps, and a broad chest but his legs were disproportionally skinny, making him look as though he might tip over at any moment. He wore a fancy gold cross around his neck and Carl had seen him kiss it before they boarded the helicopter and then again when they passed over the sick, grey people in the city.

The enlisted man, whose name turned out to be Walters, led their small group to a tent and evicted the two men who were playing cards inside. Jones sprawled out on a bunk with his back propped up against his pack while Bethault sat down on one of the cases and lit a cigarette.

"This is the best we got I'm afraid," Walters mumbled sounding not in the least apologetic. "We don't have much room..." He looked pointedly at Lieutenant Stigg. "That alright with you ma'am?"

"It's fine." She said staring at the ground. The tips of her ears turned pink.

Walters turned to leave but Hoffman blocked his exit. "What's the Colonel's issue?" he demanded.

Walters looked pointedly at Carl. "Colonel Brody's a good man, he's the only reason this base even exists... Hell... he's the only reason this hasn't spread across the whole fucking country... uh... Sir."

Carl was intrigued. He had heard rumors like everyone else. "You wanna elaborate on that, Walters?"

Walters stared at him for a moment with a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He was obviously pleased to tell this story and had told it many times before.

"Well, sir, when this all started Brody was one of first on the ground. He was a captain back then. The zombies --"

Carl cut him off. "Victims."

Walters looked perplexed. "Huh?"

"Their not zombies... these people aren't dead. Their victims... victims of a virus that's killing them."

Walters nodded not looking convinced. "Oh, right. Well, there weren't that many 'victims' then and the big brass came down to see firsthand what was going on. Brody and his team were going, street by street getting people evacuated and picking off the odd zomb – victim when General Halsey and his bunch landed this big chopper right in the middle of town. That's when all Hell broke loose.

He paused and Carl looked at him expectantly. "So what happened?"

"Fuckers were hiding, weren't they? Hundreds... thousands of zombies...uh victims... were all hold up in the subway tunnels. Sound of the chopper brought 'em out! They were everywhere, way too many to fight. General Halsey called a retreat but too late. All the big brass were killed... less than fifty men got away. That's when Brody took charge.

Carl nodded. "The 'serpent' maneuver?"

"That's right," Walters looked pleased. "Zombies were on their tail and Brody led them around and back on themselves so that the end of the horde hit the front and in the confusion, he was able to get his men set up on high ground. Then it was..."

"Just like shooting fish in a barrel," Hoffman growled.

Walters looked at him and nodded. "Yessir. Brody held the city until re-enforcements arrived and supervised the digging of the moat and the erection of the wall. That was the largest, fastest military construction project ever competed. President Johnson himself gave Brody a field promotion to Colonel afterwards."

"Well, son," Drawled Jones. "Our orders come from President Johnson, so what's Brody's problem?"

"What orders?"

"Takin' pictures... video..." Jones started but Carl raised his hand stopping him.

"Our orders are 'need to know' private."

Walters smirked. "Yes, sir." He snapped a salute at Carl, which the Major returned tiredly.

"Dismissed."

Walters immediately skirted around Hoffman and out of the tent.

After the door shut, Jones coughed and looked over at Carl shamefaced.

"Sorry about that Major..."

"It's alright, Jones. I'm sure our 'top secret' mission is already the talk of the camp. Let's get our stuff sorted and grab some shut-eye. I have a feeling Colonel Brody will be calling sooner than later."

"I would imagine he is on ze phone wid the president as we speak," Bethault said. His words came slowly and carefully as you would expect from someone whose first language was not English.

"No doubt."

Over the next hour, Bethault set to work cleaning weapons while Carl and the others unpacked and tested their equipment. Every few minutes a shot would ring out from the direction of the wall as another of Walters 'zombies' entered the killing-ground. Carl tried not to show any reaction.

Once they were finished Carl ordered them to their bunks. The old army adage held true in his mind. 'Don't stand if you can sit. Don't sit if you can lie down and don't lie down without going to sleep." It was good advice, especially as he had no idea when they might need to be awake and alert. It wouldn't surprise him if Colonel Brody waited until the middle of the night to burst in for answers and he wanted to be as clear headed as possible when he gave them.

He lay down on his bunk and peeked over at Lieutenant Anna Stigg with his eyes half closed feeling like a peeping tom. As he watched she pulled off her boots and socks. He noted the incongruous 'passion pink' nail polish (her one indulgence) and smiled. She wiggled and flexed her long toes, undoubtedly to relieve the cramps every soldier felt after a hard day on his or her feet. He was just considering how pretty she was even with a stubbly red crew cut when she turned her back to him and lay her head down on her thin pillow. The scar stood out like a stop sign on her pale skin, looking red and hot and painful at the nape of her neck.

Carl scowled and silently mouthed the word 'Ouch'. Then rolled over to face the wall.

He knew he would never get to sleep. Who could with the sun still high in the sky and random shots being fired a few hundred feet away?

In less than five minutes he was snoring.

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