Zombie War: An account of the zombie apocalypse that swept across America (23 page)

“And drove the undead back?”

“Yeah,” McMaster said. “The bodies piled up. They were climbing over the corpses trying to get over the gate. There must have been a thousand of the fuckers torn apart, like a barricade of limbs and gruesome bodies… and the others were scrambling over them.”

“Was there a point where you worried that the gate might collapse, or that they might breach the fort?”

“Twice,” McMaster said. “When they first crashed against the gate I thought the whole structure might collapse. But it didn’t. We fired into a solid wall of ‘em and ripped them to pieces. The firefight was intense. The road was awash with blood and gore.”

“But they kept coming.”

“Yes, they did,” the Marine nodded his head. “They were climbing over the other undead like they were scrambling up a man-made mountain. The captain brought up some of the Humvees and we hit them with heavy machine guns to hose them off the wire. It was like riot police firing water cannon – except each time they fell, more would climb over them. They were utterly relentless.”

“How did you eventually stop them?”

The veteran Marine shook his head, like maybe he was still wondering that himself. “Once we had contact, we sent for reinforcements,” McMaster explained. “We knew a battalion – even of Marines – was not going to be able to hold them off forever. We had good lines of supply out through the back entrance of the camp. We brought up more Humvees and heavy machine guns from further along the trench system to the west.”

“So it was weight of numbers?”

“No. It was weight of firepower,” he said. “That’s all it was. That was all that saved us – the defensive system of the fort, and the ability to bring an overwhelming amount of fire to bear.”

“What lessons do you think were learned from the battle around the fort?” I asked the Marine. “Did the conflict create any revision of tactics for future encounters of this scale?”

Larry McMaster kicked at the dirt for a few seconds. There was a tuft of weed growing like a vine up through the wire. He severed it with the tip of his boot, and then turned his back to the distant horizon and swept his gaze across the compound, maybe seeing yet again the position of his men from 3
rd
Battalion as they had been drawn up to fend off the assault.

“We had to change the way we communicated,” McMaster thought carefully before he answered me. “There is no doubt that overwhelming firepower won the day, and that was something we expected and planned for. But what we hadn’t anticipated were the troubles we encountered in keeping the fire directed at tactical points that demanded attention.” He paused again like he was playing the words back over in his mind to be sure they made sense. “So we began to develop a series of hand signals,” he explained. “Because in the intensity of the moment, communication lines were overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the firefight. Simple hand signals became the best way to reach the troops and direct their fire.”

“Like in the battles of old?”

“Yeah,” McMaster conceded. “Just like the battle of old. Except in those days, captains and generals carried swords and they swept them down to order the troops to open fire, and used the weapon to rally their men.”

“Anything else?”

“Drills,” McMaster said. “We drilled in the line formations until the men were comfortable and adjusted to the din of battle, and trained to watch for command signals. It was parade ground stuff – things we hadn’t reviewed since basic training. Since this battle it has become the approved way to manoeuver troops into a defensive position and to form them up for combat.”

I tried on a wry smile. McMaster looked like he might punch me on the nose. He found nothing at all about this moment in America’s military history amusing. “History repeats itself,” I offered. “The lessons of the past re-learned.”

“Yeah,” McMaster grunted. He still looked like he wanted to punch me – maybe just for the satisfaction it would give him.

“Coming back to the battle at the fort,” I changed the subject to distract him from any brewing violent intent. “Did the zombie attack just peter out, or were they driven off?”

“They were slaughtered,” McMaster said grudgingly. “But it still wasn’t over. They didn’t just retreat to lick their injuries. They didn’t flee the field carrying their wounded under a cover of smoke or anything remotely familiar. They just died. And those that weren’t killed in the initial battle, were finished off throughout the night. In the morning, we burned the remains. Now, all that’s left is this rusted old fort, and thousands of shattered broken bones, burning in the dirt and dust.”

KNOXVILLE, TENNESSEE:

278
TH
ARMORED CAVALRY REGIMENT HEADQUARTERS:

While I sat and waited for the Colonel to arrive, all I could do was focus on the hat that sat on the polished surface of the desk.

It wasn’t an ordinary hat – it was a military headpiece as famous as the bicorn worn by Napoleon, or the feathered war bonnets worn by red Indians.

It was a Cavalry Stetson.

The acorn band was a black and gold weave, just below gold crossed sabers. The winged eagle above the sabers, designating a ‘full’ Colonel, was silver. Like I said it wasn’t just a hat: it was an iconic image of the Cavalry, and America’s military heritage.

Colonel Chip Biggins’ office was large and utilitarian. Behind the desk was the American flag, and a view of barracks buildings through a large window. The rest of the office was uncluttered. Everything was in its place, and there was nothing that did not belong, or serve a purpose.

When the Colonel came into the room, he glanced at me quickly and then went around behind his desk. He had a fistful of papers in his hand. He set them down, and then stared at them for a moment as though their presence somehow bothered him. He scowled, and then moved the papers into a drawer. Finally I had his attention.

I leaned across the wide space of the desk and we shook hands. “Colonel. It’s nice to meet you.”

Chip Biggins’ expression was stern. He reminded me of one of those old portrait photographs of a grim man staring out at the world with a fearsome expression darkening his features. His eyes were hard and wary. He had light brown wavy hair that was beginning to turn grey, and a fleshy face. The sun had browned his skin so that his eyebrows looked almost invisible. He stared at me for a long second and then said, “Pleasure.”

That was it.

I sat back in my seat. I had my notebook in my lap and a page of prepared questions. Colonel Chip Biggins glared at me like he was almost daring me to open my mouth.

He was an intimidating man – a big barrel-chested body and huge forearms. He swayed in the leather chair like it was a rocker.

“Colonel, I wanted to ask you some questions about your unit – the 278
th
Armored Cavalry Regiment. SAFCUR II – General Winchester – told me in a recent interview that you and your men were instrumental in developing tank tactics against the zombies during ‘Operation Conquest’.”

Colonel Biggins nodded. “We did our job,” he said obliquely, and then lapsed once more into silence.

I have the utmost respect for our fighting men and women, but they’re difficult subjects to interview. Men like Biggins are guarded when dealing with the media – partially because of mistrust, and partially because of matters of operational security. I had thought by mentioning SAFCUR II’s name, Biggins would be a little more willing to talk.

Apparently not.

“Can you tell me about the tactics you developed? How were they different from the normal tank tactics that would be employed against conventional armies?”

The Colonel stopped swinging back in the big padded seat. He leaned forward and clasped his hands together on the desk, forearms resting on the polished surface like he was about to deliver a lecture… or a sermon.

“Let’s start at the start,” he said. His voice was deep and gruff. “Even though the 278
th
is referred to as an Armored Cavalry Regiment, its make up is actually an Armored Brigade Combat Team.”

“Is there a difference?”

The Colonel nodded. “There is,” he said. “The ABCT structure we operate under now uses a few less vehicles, but it gives us more flexibility and the ability to deploy more efficiently. The ABCT is a modular unit. The change in structure is to enhance our ability to be deployed to overseas theaters of action quickly.”

I nodded and wrote everything down. The Colonel paused and waited. When I looked up again, he was staring at me impatiently.

“Don’t you take shorthand?”

I shook my head. “And normally when I do these kind of interviews people prefer me not to record the conversation. That’s why I have to write everything down and then decipher my notes when I get back to a hotel.

“Inefficient,” Biggins said. “You got a phone?”

I nodded.

The Colonel grunted. “Then record the conversation. I’d rather take a chance on you catching something off the record than you writing everything I say down wrong.”

I dived into my pocket for my cell phone, and threw the notepad down, glad to be rid of it. I set the phone down on the edge of the desk and started recording. The Colonel looked grimly satisfied. His eyes flicked to the office door, as though he was reassuring himself it was closed and we were completely alone.

It was… and we were.

“Chariots,” the Colonel said.

I blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“You asked about the tank tactics my unit developed to fight the zombie horde. I’m giving you the answer. Chariots.”

I did a double take. “Can you tell me more?”

Biggins got up from his chair and paced around the room. Every step was measured and precise. It was like he was marching on a parade ground. He circled the office twice, and stopped beside the American flag. I turned a little in my seat until I was facing him, and then slid the phone closer across the desk.

“You’ve probably heard this before,” Biggins explained, “but the fact is that we were forced to rethink all of our tactics when we went up against the zombies. Normal tactics no longer applied, because the circumstance was different, and because our enemy was vastly different from those we had beaten before.”

“So you turned to history?”

“Of course,” Biggins conceded. “Every commander knows the history of warfare – the tactics of the great strategists that shaped the world we live in. In every aspect of this conflict, it was the lessons learned from the past that allowed us to fight an enemy from our future. The tank tactics we employed were no different.”

“But chariots?”

Biggins looked bleak. “Why not,” he shrugged. “When I was first approached by SAFCUR II, and told about ‘Operation Conquest’ my team and I went back through time, looking for comparative scenarios that were similar to what we were facing. Tanks first appeared on the battlefield during World War I, and they had some military success. But their biggest success was the shock value.”

I was listening, but not understanding. The Colonel’s explanation seemed a contradiction.

“But what use was shock value when you’re fighting an enemy like the zombies? They couldn’t be shocked. Not in the same way. You couldn’t affect their morale, right?”

“Of course,” the Colonel snapped. Maybe my interruptions were affecting his train of thought. I decided it was better to sit quietly and shut my mouth. I sat back and stared up at the man.

“That’s why we kept going back through time. Finally we explored the great ancient battles – and that was where we found the real key to success.”

He paused for a moment, like maybe he was waiting for me to nod my head or mutter some sound of sudden understanding. But I had learned my lesson. I kept quiet. The Colonel went on.

“The tanks employed in the First Great War were against an enemy that was entrenched. The other problem with focusing on the First War for our ultimate strategy was that the early tanks in theater were few and far between. So we went back to the first ancient battles where chariots were employed. In ancient times, chariots were used against tightly packed infantry formations. But they were used in a
specific way
.”

I couldn’t help myself. “Which was?”

“In dense formations,” Colonel Biggins declared like it was significant. “The first chariots were formed up wheel-to-wheel and unleashed on the unsuspecting infantry. They ripped through the ranks and shattered the enemy formations. They weren’t about delivering a platform that killed thousands of soldiers, they were impact weapons that broke apart columns and left them exposed for the infantry that followed the chariots into the breach.”

“And that was the inspiration for the tank tactics you employed – the tactics that won the Battle at Rock Hill?”

“It was,” Biggins said. There was an air of grim satisfaction in his voice. He stepped away from the flag and dropped down into the big leather chair.

‘Zombies are the most lethal enemy America has ever faced,” the Colonel said emphatically. “You can’t demoralize them – but you can
immobilize
them. Do that, and they become target practice. A running zombie is a hideous, terrifying threat, and a critical danger to everyone. A crawling, broken zombie is a sitting duck. We needed to develop ways to rob them of their speed and their ability to move.”