Pandæmonium
315th Currahee Dragoons Regimental Platoon
Lieutenant Darryl McNaughton, Commanding
Forty-Five Kilometers Southwest of Wynbourne
Wednesday, September 22nd, 2010 - 5:04 PM
"Contact, right!"
Lieutenant McNaughton flung himself towards the ground, wincing as his extremely sore abdomen absorbed the brunt of the impact from his tumble. Darryl crawled forward, sliding down a short embankment into a run-off culvert.
"What the Fuck was that?" Sergeant Pusey called out, speedily loading his F-27A .50 Caliber Tactical Sniper, an older McElveen model he'd managed to scrounge from the Fort Reynolds armory. McNaughton didn't answer, too intent on trying to figure out where the Hell the sniper had been. The Dragoons of Currahee had been scavenging for food in a small grocery store, and had just made it back onto the road when a sniper's bullet had cut down Private Malarkey.
"Sir!" Corporal Paige muttered, crawling through the muck and disheveled dirt of the run-off ditch. "We saw two flashes from the third-story window of that large building overlooking the intersection. The one with the front facade blown to Hell and gone!"
McNaughton peered upwards over his shoulders, trying to keep his concealment. The medium sized suburb of Wynbourne had apparently taken some damage in the nuclear attacks; fires burned haphazardly across the broken four and five story buildings. There hadn't been a soul in sight when they'd entered the town.
"Lieutenant!" Corporal Mullins shouted from across the road, concealed in the opposing culvert. "I need covering fire to get Private Malarkey out of the street!"
"Hold on!" McNaughton screamed, using his hands to signal Sergeant Pusey. The veteran enlisted man watched diligently for the Lieutenant's orders, nodding his affirmation when the Lieutenant finished. Silently, the Sergeant carried his rifle at the ready, peeling behind a charred SUV to find defilade.
"Lieutenant! Malarkey is going to die if I don't get to him now!" Corporal Mullins shouted.
"Then get the fuck out there!" McNaughton screamed, signaling with his hands for Sergeant Pusey to prepare to fire. Pusey nodded, leaning back against the corner of a drug store which had significant piles of rubble blocking its entrance. McNaughton turned back to the scene in the street, watching as Corporal Mullins tried to steel himself for his run.
Don't fuck this up, Mullins!
The Corporal took off from his position, scampering up the embankment like a man possessed. Malarkey was down thirty feet ahead of him, having been the point man of the platoon. Mullins pumped his arms for speed, zig-zagging to give Pusey more time...
Find the bitch, Nick-
A loud, boisterous concussion in the otherwise silent expanse of the town rang out, as a .50 Caliber cartridge jetted through the air, impacting the civilian sniper above the left temple. McNaughton shuddered, watching as a spray of crimson flung upwards as the sniper's head imploded, sending the now-visible corpse tumbling to the ground.
"Got 'em!" McNaughton shouted, excited and relieved at the same time. Sergeant Pusey nodded, slowly creeping from his position in case another sniper was nearby. Corporal Mullins knelt down beside Private Malarkey, feeling for a pulse. It was never easy being the runner that exposed an enemy sniper...
"Lieutenant!" Mullins shouted, "Malarkey still has a pulse! I think-"
BAM! BAM BAM BAM!
McNaughton jumped, startled by the sudden volley of gunfire. Corporal Mullins gasped, the barrage sending him flailing backwards onto the pavement. Several rounds of the extensive fire found their way into Private Malarkey's body, causing a few brief spasms, then nothing. Mullins himself shuddered involuntarily, breathing laboriously before falling still himself.
What the fuck!
"Contact, left!" Private Jansen shouted, taking aim with his F-22 Carbine. Lieutenant McNaughton corrected his position, looking up at an nondescript three story flat across the thoroughfare. The brilliant bursts of gunfire from civilian-model rifles and twelve-gauge shotguns illuminated at least a half-dozen windows, sending a Hellish barrage of fire down on the Dragoons.
"Platoon! Form left! Tactical positions!" McNaughton hollered, rolling up into a crouch to his left. From all around the street level, the humming chatter of military carbines unleashing Hell upon the building. Several civilians could be seen going down in the fire, splaying out across the open windows, but more still continued to lay down heavy fire on McNaughton's position.
"Gah!" An unknown voice hollered from the street in agony, "I'm hit! God... damn it!"
"Cover the flank!" McNaughton hollered, beginning to crawl towards the screamer, Corporal Shaw. Sergeant Pusey pulled out his XZ-34E Submachine Gun, crouching his way forward to rendezvous with McNaughton. The Lieutenant shuddered, crawling through a stream of blood that had begun to collect near the sewage manhole cover in the street. He was completely exposed to the crossfire.
"Damn it, Lieutenant!" Pusey screamed, providing covering fire for his commander. "Get the fuck back there! I'll take care of him!"
"Like Hell you will!" McNaughton hollered, flinching as a shotgun blast ate asphalt not five feet to his right. "Get them the fuck out of there!"
Pusey nodded, emptying the last rounds out of his magazine as the Lieutenant began dragging the screaming Corporal Shaw back towards cover. Nick threw his weapon away, running towards the entrance of the enemy position as fast as humanly possible. McNaughton marveled as a rifle round found its target, hitting the Sergeant in the shoulder. Except for the slightest of flinches with the Sergeant's back turned, he didn't even slow down.
"Ha!" Private Jansen shouted, mixing shock and fear with amusement. "Crazy fools, the Slavs!" McNaughton shook his head, watching as Pusey hit the doorway with his uninjured shoulder, flinging it inward. Pusey dove forward, evading shotgun pellets from above. Quickly, Nick withdrew his Lycos Combatant Machete from its sheath, running stealthily forward. He slowed as he neared an open expanse, listening to the sound of gunfire coming from behind the door.
Father, forgive me of my sins...
Like a serpent, Pusey finagled his way into the room, swiping with his machete at the nearest enemy combatant, a broad-shouldered man with his back turned away from him. The brutal swipe opened the civilian's back up, as he crumpled to the floor, dead. Four of the five gunmen in the room turned towards him, but Pusey was already positioning himself, taking out the next closest gunman with a vicious uppercut swing. The man gurgled incoherently, blood bubbling up from his severed jugular vein as gravity brought him to the floor. The remaining gunmen charged, one behind the other with their rifles and shotguns held high, ready to club the soldier.
Fucking nutters!
Pusey dodged the first clumsy strike, using his forward momentum to bury his machete deep into the second man's abdomen. The machete buried deep, getting caught on the gunman's ribs. Using his boot, Pusey pushed off on the man, withdrawing an entrails-covered blade from the deceased man's sternum, sending him flying back into the gunman behind him. Thinking quickly, Pusey withdrew his combat knife from its chest sheath, praying that his sense of direction was still intact. Spinning, he hurled the knife in the vague direction where he thought the first gunmen would be. He was rewarded with nary a scream, as the knife implanted in the gunman's head, just below the left eye. His gun had been raised, prepared to fire at Pusey's back.
"Fuck you!" The Sergeant shouted, quickly spinning back towards the last remaining gunman in the room. The civilian hadn't even taken notice to the shouting in the room until just now; his face awash with adrenaline and drug-induced paranoia. As he turned to raise his weapon at Pusey, the Sergeant quickly took four giant strides forward, bringing his Lycos down into the man's skull. The machete embedded itself nearly four inches deep, causing the very-dead civilian to begin shaking uncontrollably.
"Hang on! We're coming!"
Pusey tensed, understanding that the voices had come from a room in the building, and not from the outside. Sergeant Pusey trained his sights on the door along the eastern-most wall in the open room, bringing his machete up into a ready stance. Flattening himself against the wall, Pusey mentally prepared himself, catching his breath.
BOOM! The door flung inwards, narrowly avoiding hitting the Sergeant in the face. A disheveled French speaker charged inwards at a steady jog, not bothering to conceal himself. As he stepped past the hidden Pusey, Nick brought his machete down hard against the back of the man's neck, snapping it. Without delay, Pusey sprang forward, running through the doorway and surveying the scene. The cluttered stairwell that led up to the second floor was drenched with blood and gore, making Pusey gag at the stench. A civilian was standing halfway up the stairwell, taking aim with a hunting rifle. Pusey dove forward, as the gunman fired an errant shot, then another. Pusey took a chance, flinging his machete up the stairwell, praying that it would find its way home.
"Ahh!" The gunman yelped, falling forward as the machete lodged itself in the man's thigh. Pusey sprinted up the steps, attempting to catch the man before his tumble brought him all the way to the bottom.
Sharpened that bitch up right!
Pusey used his legs to stop the writhing man's descent, stomping on the man's head as hard as he could. The gunman's skull collapsed inward, revealing a broken, bloody mess where his face had once been. Pusey grabbed the machete out of the corpse, vaguely aware that another man was standing at the top of the stairwell with a shotgun. Nick ran up the last remaining flight of steps, sheepishly grinning at the fear in the eyes of the young man on the landing. Despite having a double-barrel shotgun in his hands, the civilian dropped the weapon, throwing his hands up in a gesture of surrender.
Pusey took the last step at a bound, leaped forward, and swung the Lycos like a baseball bat, slicing the man's head open like a PEZ dispenser. The man tensed, attempting to scream but being unable to do so. Violently, the corpse flung backwards, hitting a closed door. The rotting wooden frame held for a second, then caved inward as the man fell into the next room. Pusey charged into the vast, open room after him, making sure that he wouldn't be getting back up-
BAM BAM!
Pusey shuddered as a pair of rounds hit him; the first in his already-injured shoulder, the second in the left flank, two inches above his hip. A small, diminutive man was standing alone about fifteen feet away in the open expanse, covered in gore and holding what looked to be a cheap .22 Handgun. Pusey hobbled forward as the man fired once, twice, three times, each bullet finding its way home into the Sergeant's abdomen and sending the machete clamoring to the floor.
"Die, bastard bitch!" Pusey screamed, tackling the man to the floor with all the strength he could muster. Though aching and bleeding badly, Nick found the energy to begin pounding on the man's face with his fists, overpowering the weaker civilian. Blood and teeth began to fly, as Nick unleashed his rage upon his attacker. The man reached to his left, grabbing a piece of broken glass and slicing upwards with what little strength he had. The glass sliced at Nick's wrist, nicking his artery.
"Fuuck!" Pusey gritted, bringing his head forward in a headbutt-type motion. The man fell away, gasping from the impact. Pusey wrestled the glass away from the dazed civilian. With both hands wrapped around it, Pusey lunged downwards with the shard of glass, digging it into his attacker's left eye.
"Oh, God! God! Aaah! Aaaaah!" The civilian screamed, writing in agony as Pusey manipulated the shard of glass viciously, tearing at the man's retina and surrounding tissue. Blood began filling the wound grotesquely, and Pusey relented, scanning the ground for his machete. The man brought his hands up to his eye in a horrific, bloodcurdling scream as Pusey found his machete, not two feet away from where the men had tumbled to the floor. Nick lunged for the machete, grasping a hold on it despite the furious pain from his gunshot wounds. The Sergeant got back to his knees, spat at the blinded civilian, and brought his machete down like a hatchet onto the gunman's throat. A bubbling, bloody liquid poured from the man's mouth, as Nick brought the machete down again, and again, and again. Muscle and sinew and bones cracked, then gave way, as the machete nearly decapitated the man's head. The civilian began to convulse, as the shock and massive trauma would kill him in seconds. Pusey mustered his strength and grabbed at the wounded man's head, pulling on his hair while simultaneously pushing down on the man's shoulder. With a horrific cry, the man's eyes rolled back into his head, as tendons and bone finally cracked completely; the head becoming fully detached from the now-lifeless body.
Pusey flung the head of the corpse to the side, noticing as his adrenaline began to ebb away just how gore-filled the open room was. Bloody entrails littered the room, with half-gnawed torsos and bloody sutures lying everywhere. The pain began to overwhelm the Sergeant, who settled backwards, assessing his wounds. The artery in his wrist had been sliced open, and the multiple gunshot wounds in his abdomen had probably shredded his digestive tract.
I'm dead...
Pusey clasped his hand over his wrist, closing his eyes as he fell backwards. He attempted to holler for help, but thought against it. There wasn't a functioning hospital in a thousand miles, and even if there were one nearby, he was as good as dead anyways...
"Move up, slowly!" Lieutenant McNaughton exclaimed, keeping his platoon on its toes. It had been several minutes since the gunfire had ceased, yet Sergeant Pusey hadn't materialized yet. McNaughton and a group of scouts had moved into the building, following a trail of mutilated corpses to the second-floor landing.
"Jesus," McNaughton murmured, stepping up onto the landing. The whole place smelled like a slaughterhouse on a hot day.
"Oh, God! Nick!" Sergeant Boswell hollered, running into the open room ahead of the party. McNaughton and the soldiers followed him in, half-caught off guard by the amount of limbs and disfigured corpses lying about in the room. Then McNaughton saw the Sergeant; Nick was lying face up, about a foot away from a corpse who's head had been detached. Blood was seeping from multiple wounds, yet Pusey's shallow breathing seemed to imply that he wouldn't be alive for much longer.
"Stabilize him! Then get him the Hell out of this madhouse!" McNaughton shouted, pushing Private Jansen forward. McNaughton rubbed at the back of his neck, trying not to throw up his lunch at the gruesome sight.
"Lieutenant..." Private Johnston blurted, his head turned to one side. McNaughton looked towards the Private, ready to respond, but stopped short of speaking. A soft, distressed murmur could be heard from behind a closed door along the back wall. As the others began tending to the ailing Sergeant Pusey, both McNaughton and Johnston brought their assault rifles up at the ready.
"Standard sweep," the Lieutenant whispered, creeping towards the door. Private Johnston silently took his position to the right of the door; McNaughton moved to the left. With a firm nod, Johnston stepped in front of the door, breathing deeply. With a firm kick, the door flew inward roughly. Johnston moved in, sweeping low with his rifle at the ready, followed quickly by McNaughton, who stopped-
Oh, Christ!
-and nearly wretched at the sight. The small, musky room was barely lit by dim candles mounted along the back wall of the room. A row of gurneys were sat side-by-side along the back wall, with another row of them extending down the interior wall to their left. There had to be at least thirty gurneys total; each with a woman handcuffed and tied down onto it.
"Oh, my God..." Johnston muttered before gagging, bring his hand up to his mouth to keep from vomiting. He stumbled backwards out of the room, as several scouts moved in behind the Lieutenant. The women chained to the beds along the back wall were almost all dead, with the exception of one lost, damned soul. Her body twisted and shuddered, as her exposed intestines fluctuated in the pale light. McNaughton shook his head, hearing the gasps behind him.
"Somebody put her out, for Christ's sake," McNaughton mumbled incoherently, realizing that the women were being eaten - this one, apparently, alive. The Lieutenant turned to survey the scene along the interior wall, and at first felt mild relief when he realized that most were still alive along this wall. However, any relief he felt soon faded when a different type of horror encroached upon him.
My God...
Most of the women along the interior wall were in their early twenties, by the looks, but a few were probably in their mid-to-late teens. All had been gagged and bound to the mattress as the others along the back wall, only these women had a different story to tell. Their clothes had been ripped away in tatters from their bodies, exposing their chests and their groins. Bruises and slash marks on their lower torso and groin area confirmed McNaughton's worst fears: they had all been raped and severely beaten, perhaps for several days. Most of the women were still alive, squirming in fear and disgust, though several had apparently lost the will to live and died; their bodies giving up rather than enduring the pain and humility in the macabre setting.
McNaughton spat impulsively, his gorge rising in his throat. Turning back to the scouts behind him, his countenance was firm and furious. "Get help the fuck up here, now!" McNaughton added extra emphasis behind the final bit of the sentence, noticing at that same moment the used syringes lying on the floor in the corner. Judging from the paraphernalia that he now spotted, it looked to be heroin.
McNaughton walked for the door, bracing himself. A trio of soldiers were carrying Sergeant Pusey out on a gurney, being followed closely behind by Sergeant Boswell.
"Your orders, sir?" Boswell asked earnestly.
"Mount up," McNaughton muttered remorselessly. "If there are other camps like these, we're going to find them and break them in pieces. Move out!"