brought the gun to bear, the BCU sweatshirt zombie clambering towards O’Connell took several bullets to the shoulders before one shattered its skull; popping one eye from its socket en route. The corpse fell backwards into the throng below. And a great melancholy moan filled the night air.
Suddenly Amir was with Suzie, a shot gun at the ready. He braced his shoulder against its kick and ripped off two rounds in quick succession, the 12 gauge opening the chest of a zombie wearing a West Mercia police officers’ uniform, the force knocking it back for a few steps before it retraced them again. Amir took aim at PC Zombie’s head and disintegrated with his next shot.
“ Do what you have to, O’Connell!” Suzie screamed above the clamoring moans. “We’ve got your back!”
“ Didn’t doubt it for a second, babe,” he replied warmly.
O’Connell turned back to cab, and began to crawl.
***
“ You hearing that, Sir?” Connors shouted at the sound of gunfire nearby. Not even the rushing noise of the wind could mute it.
“ I hear it,” Shipman confirmed. “SA80’s and a Benelli M4 trench gun; standard tactical issue.”
“ We going to check it out?” Keene asked. “Probably some of our lads in deep shit.”
“ No doubt,” Shipman conceded. “But we stay on mission. There’s more at stake here.”
They all knew it, and despite their instinctive reservations at leaving their own behind, they didn’t argue with the Major. They swallowed it and kept focused.
The Jackal approached the town centre, heading for the luxury apartments situated near the Symphony Hall and the National Indoor Arena. To access the site Connors would have to veer off road and head through a pedestrianised zone. There were far more direct routes but that would lead them into potential dead ends, loading bays and multi-storey car parks for example, which was nothing short of strategic folly. They needed open spaces, places that would allow them to move - and fight - at speed.
Since their encounter with the jumpers at Clydesdale Tower, the unit had kept up their speed. They had seen plenty of zombies en route, and it would have been so easy to become ensnared in the cramped Birmingham streets by the sheer numbers alone.
“ ETA to target zone?” Shipman asked Connors.
“ Ten minutes,” the driver said. “I’d like to get as close to the entrance as possible.”
“ Hey, Connors, save your chat up lines for the ladies,” Honeyman mused.
“ Stow it,” Shipman said sternly. “We lose focus here and we lose a lot more than the mission.”
“ Sorry, Sir,” Honeyman grumbled. But had Shipman looked there was something in Honeyman’s eyes that said that he wasn’t sorry at all.
***
11
As O’Connell edged towards the cab, he prepared himself for what lay ahead.
It was possible that Kunaka had been caught off guard and was now at the mercy many unfettered, undead teeth.
O’Connell was reviled by such a thought. Not least because: Stu Kunaka was far too noble a man to depart this life in such an unceremonious fashion. To go out fighting - on a field of battle – yes, O’Connell could have seen that happening at one point in their lives.
But this? No, no-one could have ever foreseen this happening.
He’d known Kunaka for over ten years; serving with him in the marines for much of this time. They did several tours together; the usual places, some not-so-usual places too, until their careers were cut short.
“ DD”, that's what the army called it. Dishonourable Discharge . O’Connell called it something else: Getting Screwed . Not as snappy as “DD” but far more accurate.
It had happened in Bosnia in the June of ’95, and it started with a covert op and Kunaka and O’Connell were on point. Their Captain was Joseph Wiggets, a young man who had all the qualifications, and, on paper, pulled strategic clout. But on the ground he was a sticky thinker, hesitant when under stress.
Both of
Suddenly Amir was with Suzie, a shot gun at the ready. He braced his shoulder against its kick and ripped off two rounds in quick succession, the 12 gauge opening the chest of a zombie wearing a West Mercia police officers’ uniform, the force knocking it back for a few steps before it retraced them again. Amir took aim at PC Zombie’s head and disintegrated with his next shot.
“ Do what you have to, O’Connell!” Suzie screamed above the clamoring moans. “We’ve got your back!”
“ Didn’t doubt it for a second, babe,” he replied warmly.
O’Connell turned back to cab, and began to crawl.
***
“ You hearing that, Sir?” Connors shouted at the sound of gunfire nearby. Not even the rushing noise of the wind could mute it.
“ I hear it,” Shipman confirmed. “SA80’s and a Benelli M4 trench gun; standard tactical issue.”
“ We going to check it out?” Keene asked. “Probably some of our lads in deep shit.”
“ No doubt,” Shipman conceded. “But we stay on mission. There’s more at stake here.”
They all knew it, and despite their instinctive reservations at leaving their own behind, they didn’t argue with the Major. They swallowed it and kept focused.
The Jackal approached the town centre, heading for the luxury apartments situated near the Symphony Hall and the National Indoor Arena. To access the site Connors would have to veer off road and head through a pedestrianised zone. There were far more direct routes but that would lead them into potential dead ends, loading bays and multi-storey car parks for example, which was nothing short of strategic folly. They needed open spaces, places that would allow them to move - and fight - at speed.
Since their encounter with the jumpers at Clydesdale Tower, the unit had kept up their speed. They had seen plenty of zombies en route, and it would have been so easy to become ensnared in the cramped Birmingham streets by the sheer numbers alone.
“ ETA to target zone?” Shipman asked Connors.
“ Ten minutes,” the driver said. “I’d like to get as close to the entrance as possible.”
“ Hey, Connors, save your chat up lines for the ladies,” Honeyman mused.
“ Stow it,” Shipman said sternly. “We lose focus here and we lose a lot more than the mission.”
“ Sorry, Sir,” Honeyman grumbled. But had Shipman looked there was something in Honeyman’s eyes that said that he wasn’t sorry at all.
***
11
As O’Connell edged towards the cab, he prepared himself for what lay ahead.
It was possible that Kunaka had been caught off guard and was now at the mercy many unfettered, undead teeth.
O’Connell was reviled by such a thought. Not least because: Stu Kunaka was far too noble a man to depart this life in such an unceremonious fashion. To go out fighting - on a field of battle – yes, O’Connell could have seen that happening at one point in their lives.
But this? No, no-one could have ever foreseen this happening.
He’d known Kunaka for over ten years; serving with him in the marines for much of this time. They did several tours together; the usual places, some not-so-usual places too, until their careers were cut short.
“ DD”, that's what the army called it. Dishonourable Discharge . O’Connell called it something else: Getting Screwed . Not as snappy as “DD” but far more accurate.
It had happened in Bosnia in the June of ’95, and it started with a covert op and Kunaka and O’Connell were on point. Their Captain was Joseph Wiggets, a young man who had all the qualifications, and, on paper, pulled strategic clout. But on the ground he was a sticky thinker, hesitant when under stress.
Both of
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