the United Kingdom and the wider world. Captain Skellen, the ranking officer on board would coordinate with his team, lending what limited assistance he could to regular forces on the ground battling against the outbreak.
As time went by there was less and less to communicate, fewer battles, not because we were winning, but because the military had been decimated by the conflict and was waging the war with ever dwindling manpower. Then came the big one, the Battle of London. The militaries last ditch attempt to regain control of the capital. For five days we listened to the screams of the dying over the radio. Then it all went quiet, we heard nothing more from the land, satellite communications went offline, we were alone.
Now the command room is a mess. It reeks of stale swear, cigars and liqueur. The shiny console screens are dark, the room is filled with the essence of defeat and despair. As I take my seat in the shadows I look around at the dishevelled officer core who sit and mumble to each other and to themselves.
Just in front of the captains chair I see an open file the contents of which immediately pique my interest. The report inside is entitled 'Provisional theory's on the nature of the Morphid threat'. Morphids, a name which was whispered more and more these days. It had become evident as the conflict waged that we fought not only the dead but other equally foul foes.
Wild ideas circulated about their origins, about the confluence of the deathwalker virus mixed with high levels of radiation. Whatever their source the presence of the Morphids was undeniable, malformed creatures, some which seemed to be hybrid of man and beast, some which seemed to have no discernible earthly origin. Their numbers had grown considerably, to the extent that the foraging missions we launched were entirely prohibited from entering the southern counties due to the extent of the infestation.
I glanced down the document, noting a few designations for the various types of Morphids; the many armed Genglers, Devils Dogs and Vulturion. But my prying ceased when Captain Skellen entered the command centre, closing the file as he sat down. There was an air of excitement about the man, a feverish enthusiasm which had been absent for many months.
The Captain briefed us on a new mission. A three copter squad would fly further west than we'd gone before, the objective, the Brampton Barracks. At the name my attention focused, my heart began to race. The barracks was only about thirty miles outside Carlisle, thirty miles from home, from them. As the Captain rambled on about the potential benefits to be gained from the stores at Brampton I spoke.
“What about Carlisle?” I said interrupting. The captain was a hard eyed man, a thirty year veteran of iron discipline, he alone amongst the officer core seemed to have found the will to maintain a clean shaven look throughout the apocalypse.
“What about it?” he barked. I licked my lips and pondered my next words carefully.
“Pendragon systems global headquarters at Edenpark is just outside the city” said I.
“Not too far from your home either I believe?” interjected Lieutenant Tasker with a slight sneer.
“Looking to go home Redmayne?” said Captain Skellen quizzically.
“No. The coincidence is just that.”
“Explain”
So I told them. I told them about the underground bunker at Edenpark. I told them about the command and control centre it housed which might, just might still have an operational satellite link which could give us an idea of what was happening in the wider world and allow us to link up with the remnants of the Royal Navy in other parts of the globe.
They lapped it up, the thought of not being alone any more was enough to push them over into endorsing my plan. I neglected to tell them that the chances of the building having power, let alone being able to establish a satellite link were slim to nil. Let them have their hope, and I will have mine. The Redmayne
As time went by there was less and less to communicate, fewer battles, not because we were winning, but because the military had been decimated by the conflict and was waging the war with ever dwindling manpower. Then came the big one, the Battle of London. The militaries last ditch attempt to regain control of the capital. For five days we listened to the screams of the dying over the radio. Then it all went quiet, we heard nothing more from the land, satellite communications went offline, we were alone.
Now the command room is a mess. It reeks of stale swear, cigars and liqueur. The shiny console screens are dark, the room is filled with the essence of defeat and despair. As I take my seat in the shadows I look around at the dishevelled officer core who sit and mumble to each other and to themselves.
Just in front of the captains chair I see an open file the contents of which immediately pique my interest. The report inside is entitled 'Provisional theory's on the nature of the Morphid threat'. Morphids, a name which was whispered more and more these days. It had become evident as the conflict waged that we fought not only the dead but other equally foul foes.
Wild ideas circulated about their origins, about the confluence of the deathwalker virus mixed with high levels of radiation. Whatever their source the presence of the Morphids was undeniable, malformed creatures, some which seemed to be hybrid of man and beast, some which seemed to have no discernible earthly origin. Their numbers had grown considerably, to the extent that the foraging missions we launched were entirely prohibited from entering the southern counties due to the extent of the infestation.
I glanced down the document, noting a few designations for the various types of Morphids; the many armed Genglers, Devils Dogs and Vulturion. But my prying ceased when Captain Skellen entered the command centre, closing the file as he sat down. There was an air of excitement about the man, a feverish enthusiasm which had been absent for many months.
The Captain briefed us on a new mission. A three copter squad would fly further west than we'd gone before, the objective, the Brampton Barracks. At the name my attention focused, my heart began to race. The barracks was only about thirty miles outside Carlisle, thirty miles from home, from them. As the Captain rambled on about the potential benefits to be gained from the stores at Brampton I spoke.
“What about Carlisle?” I said interrupting. The captain was a hard eyed man, a thirty year veteran of iron discipline, he alone amongst the officer core seemed to have found the will to maintain a clean shaven look throughout the apocalypse.
“What about it?” he barked. I licked my lips and pondered my next words carefully.
“Pendragon systems global headquarters at Edenpark is just outside the city” said I.
“Not too far from your home either I believe?” interjected Lieutenant Tasker with a slight sneer.
“Looking to go home Redmayne?” said Captain Skellen quizzically.
“No. The coincidence is just that.”
“Explain”
So I told them. I told them about the underground bunker at Edenpark. I told them about the command and control centre it housed which might, just might still have an operational satellite link which could give us an idea of what was happening in the wider world and allow us to link up with the remnants of the Royal Navy in other parts of the globe.
They lapped it up, the thought of not being alone any more was enough to push them over into endorsing my plan. I neglected to tell them that the chances of the building having power, let alone being able to establish a satellite link were slim to nil. Let them have their hope, and I will have mine. The Redmayne
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