Aug 22, 20238 min read

Chapter 91: The Island Mission

Updated: Jun 5

Sometime after the outbreak in Idaho. “Here are your orders.” Falcon hands each of the three men sitting in front of him a folder. They open them and review the information provided.

Crossfire, furrowing his brows, looked up from the dossier and inquired, “Sir, this doesn’t say where we’re going.”

Falcon response is stern, “That’s because you don’t need to know.”

Crossfire looks over at Crankcase and Hit & Run, they all seem taken aback by Falcon’s response. “Sir…”

“Let me stop you right there, Sergeant.” Falcon’s annoyance evident. “This comes from the top. The POTUS himself issued it. You have been provided all the information necessary.”

Falcon paused, taking a deep breath before continuing, “Men, I’m not going to waste your time here. The truth is I don’t know where you’re going. I have reservations about this mission. I don’t like it. Not one bit. But it has been designated as the highest priority, and we must proceed. Given the current state of affairs, with the..." He trailed off, searching for the right word.

Crankcase interjects, “Zombies. The word you’re looking for is zombies.”

“Yeah. Zombies. Your task is to enter the target area, locate and secure the objective, and then exfil. You’ve been allotted six hours to accomplish this. After six hours…” He paused, his gaze piercing each man in turn before continuing, “After six hours, you will be disavowed and listed KIA.” The weight of his words hung heavily in the air., sending a chill through the assembled men.

Crankcase leaned back, propping his feet up on the table and interlacing his fingers behind his head, “Well shit, if we have six hours, we’ll only need two. Plenty of time for a nap and a barbecue.” His attempt to lighten the mood was met with a nervous ripple of laughter from the others.

______________________

Cobra Island. We were dropped on fucking Cobra Island. 3 men. At night. On Cobra fuckin’ Island. This Op was FUBAR from the get-go. We knew we were in the shit as soon as we were dropped out of the plane. The island was lit up like a Christmas tree. The fact that we weren’t shot out of the sky still shocks me to this day. Falcon had filled us in on some new experimental tech that was going to help us land undetected, it was a small box that was dropped with us, it emitted some signal that scattered our radar signature. It worked I guess. We piled onto the Striker and off we went. We followed the map but we didn’t need to, I had been on Cobra Island before as had Hit & Run, Crossfire was the only one who was having a new experience, and he was in charge of the Op. They sent us behind enemy lines with someone who had never been on the damn island.

We made it to the area, got in, located our target, and secured it. All undetected. It was when we tried to make our escape that we were caught. Walked out the way we came in to find a squad of Vipers staring at us. I don’t know who fired first. Crossfire was hit in the arm by a ricochet, and Hit & Run caught a round in the leg. Somehow we made it to the Striker, but the alarm had been rung. It felt like the entirety of Cobra was on our ass.

“Go. Go. Go!” Each word shouted between rifle shots.

“I’m going as fast as I can.” the accelerator was on the floor but Crankcase pushed down a little harder anyway. Hit & Run and Crossfire were both hit, but they laid down fierce return fire. Crossfire unleashed his SAW as fast as he could reload. Thankfully the heavy jungle growth and single-lane road meant only one pursuer could fire at a time. Unfortunately, for each one that was eliminated, there were others who were waiting in line.

“Last magazine!” Crossfire shouted. Hot lead bombarded the Cobra Stinger closest to them. The hood flew up and it careened off the road. Behind it was a Humvee, from its roof erupted the sound of a .50cal. Crossfire tossed his SAW into the brush and shouldered his M4.

“Last mag!” This time from Hit & Run. The chasing Humvee was falling behind, the AWE Striker being much lighter and having a superior driver behind the wheel. Unfortunately, the gunner was landing his shots closer. Hit & Run let his M4 go, the two-point sling kept it out his way as he pulled and began firing his sidearm.

Crankcase noticed what he thought was a small side trail, “Hold on!” He cut the wheel and the Striker was up on to wheels as it took the sharp corner. “Holeeshit!” It slammed back to the ground with a bounce. The pursuing driver missed the turn as did the next two Stingers, the third turned, but by then the team had put a healthy distance between them and their hunters. Crankcase killed the lights and flipped down his NODs. The others did the same. He drove by the green glow of his Night Optical Device staying on the road that wasn’t a road, it was a trail. Jungle vines and greenery slapped against the side of the fast-moving vehicle.

“Crankcase.” The tension in Crossfire’s voice easy heard.

“I see it,” Crankcase replies.

"Crankcase!” The tension mounting.

“I see it!” Crankcase snaps back. The “it” being a large tree stump blocking the trail, leaving only a small footpath going around it to one side. He slams on the brakes. Their bodies continue forward stopped only by their restraint system. Crankcase quickly unstraps himself and gets out of the vehicle. “We go on foot from here.” He grabs his Fn Fal and his ruck. “What’re you waiting for?” Hit & Run jumps out followed by Crossfire. “We have to be at the extraction point at 0530 hours. That’s 90 minutes from now.” They all check their watches.

“So we have to survive Cobra Island for 90 mins with limited arms and ammo.” Crossfire declares.

“Sounds like a walk in the park.” Hit & Run pops the mag from his sidearm, checks in, and slaps it back into place. “Let’s not waste any more time here." He turns to walk off into the jungle.

“Hold on.” Crankcase takes out a frag grenade. “I don’t want no Snake getting my baby.” He takes out a piece of wire, ties it to the pin, and sets a quick trip wire. “Go!” The three men run into the jungle knowing that the effective radius of the grenade combined with the shrapnel could kill them if the fast approaching enemy gets to it before they get away. They make their way for what feels like an eternity following a game trail. BOOM! The pressure wave bends the foliage of the jungle. “Fuckin’ Snakes.”

Crossfire signals for the trio to stop. Look we need to slow down. We’re leaving a trail that Hellen Keller could follow.” The men look behind them their footprints clear on the path. “We bought ourselves a few minutes before they come looking but they will find our trail.”

“You’re right. Lead the way.” Hit & Run replies.

“I think you should take point on this. This seems more up your alley.”

“You got it.” Hit & Run moves to the front and begins to pick out a path as Crossfire takes up the back covering their tracks as they go.

________________

Extraction. I never made it. We got separated in a firefight. I don’t know if Hit & Run or Crossfire made it. I haven’t found their bodies so I’m guessing they did. Me. I reckon I’m “disavowed” and “KIA.” I spent several days being pursued. I made it to the swamps. Then they stopped following me. Figure they thought the crocs and gators would get me. They were almost right. Those things are huge and mean. But I made it. I saw the final battle, between Cobra and the Storm Troopers. I saw the Island evacuated. I saw those monsters unleashed. Then I saw Hell on Earth. Spent the last several years avoiding those things. They don’t come into the swamp much, I can thank my associate for that. Croc Master found me, rather his crocs found me. Had me up a tree. He made his way out of the swamp water and looked up at me. “Joe?”

“Yes.”

He turned to his bask. I don’t know what he did but they all turned and left, albeit angrily. He looked back up, “Come down.” I hesitated but made my way down the tree. I looked like Hell. I don’t know how long I ran around that swamp. Getting by on bugs and whatever fish and critters I could catch. I had lost a lot of weight, my skin was raw with bug bites, blisters, cuts, and bruises. “You got ammo?” He tilted his masked visage toward my holstered pistol. I decided not to lie, “Not for months.” He reached behind his back brandishing a 357 Magnum. “Take it. It’s loaded.” He handed it to me grip first. “Come with me.” He turned and slunk out into the black water. I could have shot him. It would have been easy. But he’d offered me no violence. So I followed him. We made our way through the swamp till we came to what looked like an impenetrable mass of vegetation. He turned back to me black eyes glowing in the quickly fading light. “You swim?”

“Yes.”

He reached into the small satchel at his back, “Take this. Put it in your mouth. Help you breathe.” He handed me a regulator with a small bottle attached to it. “Hold this. Keep you from getting lost.” He placed one end of a whip in my hand. He hooked the other end of it to his belt. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

“We go.” And just like that he was gone. I felt the whip getting tighter so under I went. It felt like we were underwater for a lifetime. I’ve since learned it’s exactly 5 minutes. When we came up we were surrounded on all sides by thick vegetation. A small island with a camp rose out of the water. Crocs and gators snapped at the air. “You safe now.” I let go of the whip and handed back the regulator. “Keep it. You need it. I give you more air.” He led me out of the water, the gators and crocs moving out of his way. “Water.” He pointed at what looked like a distillery. He pointed up, “Food.” There were several racks of dried meat hanging between some trees. “Him.” He pointed a finger at a small lean-to. The underside was completely dark, and a large gator lay in front of it. It moved at some command from Croc Master. I peered in and could make out a figure. “Out. Now.” Without a word, a man crawled out from under the moss-covered wood. He wore combat pants and a sweater that were both once black. His clothes, like my own, were torn and dirty. He looked at Croc Master with fear and admiration. “Joe. Storm Trooper.” The introduction was blunt. Here was a Storm Trooper. Not just any but one of the Good General’s top Sergeants.

It’s been years. Croc Master has taught us how to survive the swamp. What plants keep the insects away. What plants are edible when. The crocs and gators don’t listen to us like they do him but they’ve learned not to eat us, for now at least. The creatures, those Nemesis Enforcers, still roam the island but they steer clear of the swamps. Most of the wildlife figured that out so it congregates in, near, or around the marshes. That is what we feed on. We have had to head out to the ocean for fishing, we set nets, and when we go we have to watch out for any zombies that wash ashore. We have scavenged gear and weapons from the fallen remains for Cobra and Storm Trooper alike. Croc Master has taken us into Cobra Mountain through tunnels on numerous occasions to gather gear and try to radio for help. We’ve heard the cries of the dying fill the airwaves. Sergeant Major Alesander, the Storm Trooper, and I have tried to convince Croc Master to let us secure an area in the base. He always says no. He’s right too. Those monstrosities of Mind Bender always seem to discover our presence. We’ve escaped each time but there have been some close calls.

We need to get the fuck off this island. ________________________

Pre-ZomPoc Operator/Driver Crankcase and Post-ZomPoc Survivor Crankscase