Hellspawn Dominion Read online

  “Clever bastard,” Holbeck muttered to Eldridge, smiling with admiration. “Thank you, sir. Over and out,” he said, ending the transmission.

  “Orders, Sarge?”

  “I have a couple of tricks up my sleeve,” Holbeck replied with a wink. “Let’s see how the others are getting on.”

  Glancing through the binoculars one last time, Eldridge could see the massive horde was gaining ground. Her stomach fluttered in apprehension; this was different to the island barracks, with no fast-flowing river or high fences to keep them safe. They would literally be face to face with the festering dead in the coming battle. Turning, she jogged after her superior.

  ***

  Langham and Dougal skirted the massive barn and positioned themselves to give a full field of vision. The two farmhouses were protected on three sides by the marshland, with only a bottleneck to reach the buildings themselves. Spreading out in an arc from the access road to the north was the farmable land. Wheat was abundant as far as the eye could see, providing perfect concealment for the approaching dead.

  “I thought they harvested in the summer? You know, make hay while the sun shines?” Dougal called out.

  “Beats me, just keep your eyes open. I can’t be there to save your ass all the time,” Langham shouted back.

  “It’s winter wheat!” Maxine shouted from the barn, “We plant in the autumn and harvest in the spring.”

  Angela peered around the corner, “I don’t think we are going to be able to make it this year with what I’ve got planned.”

  The two soldiers exchanged a confused look at the statement before returning their attention to the approach road. Dougal checked his magazine, before switching the safety off. The sounds of machinery vibrated into life through the corrugated steel cladding as the two fearsome farmers went about their business. Unable to see any clear and present danger, he started to kick at the loose stones on the ground. It would not detract from his awareness, but he hated the inactivity of guard duty. Fidgeting and an excess of energy had led to a couple of reprimands during his early soldiering career. A short sharp whistle caught his attention and he turned to see Langham pointing at the fields.

  “We’ve got company,” she called out.

  A shambling group of zombies pushed their way through the tall crops. The wheat had been unforgiving as they had forced their way through, with slashed skin and sharp stems embedded deeply in their flesh. Ten had become twenty and Langham raced over to a bare sycamore tree.

  “What the fuck are you doing?”

  “Climbing a tree,” Langham replied, sarcastically, “What does it look like, you tit?”

  Lost for words, Dougal ignored her and banged on the steel barn. Harkiss came running, sweat pouring from his exertion in moving the heavy bales.

  “We’ve got incoming,” Dougal explained, “If we can’t hold them off I’ll whistle twice.”

  “We’ll come running, brother,” Harkiss declared and went back to work.

  “Are you going to come down or am I doing this on my own?” Dougal barked up at Langham.

  “Don’t piss your pants.” Her eyes were rapt on the fields, watching for any movement. The parting of the crops was a sure sign of an approaching zombie and she nodded almost imperceptibly with each discovery. Satisfied with her findings, she jumped down from branch to branch before landing lithely on the ground. “I count about fifty-five, with twenty heading towards us on the road.”

  “Let’s close the gate, it’ll buy us some time,” Dougal offered.

  As he swung it closed and slid the bolt home, Langham took a stray piece of timber and wedged it against the metal. With a few solid kicks, the lower end embedded in the ground, providing more stability.

  “Shall we fix bayonets?” Langham asked with a sly grin.

  “Are you shitting me? You want to get all stabby with a hundred zombies?”

  “It’s about seventy-five. Don’t exaggerate,” she mocked light heartedly.

  “Fuck it, why not. It’s not like they’re clever enough to dodge, is it?”

  Removing them from their equipment, they twisted the blades to lock them in place. Sliding the scabbards off, they grinned at each other.

  “It’s like being back at basic training at Catterick,” said Langham.

  “I never thought we’d ever get to actually use them,” Dougal replied.

  “I bet you’ve got a shit war face,” she teased.

  “RAAAARRGGHHHHHH!” Dougal screamed as fiercely as he could.

  Langham doubled over with laughter, “I’ve pulled scarier faces while having a shit.”

  “Oh yeah? Let’s see yours then!”

  “RAAAAARGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!” she screamed, twisting her face into a mask of rage.

  “That’s a bloody good war face,” he grudgingly conceded.

  “Playtime’s over,” Langham muttered, face set in a scowl.

  Metal rattled as the first body hit the gate, quickly followed by the others. The combination of the wooden brace and bolt were solid enough to ensure their safety for a short while. Caught in a cross wind, the stench of their assailants washed over the soldiers. Stomachs churning from the vile fragrances, the sights were even worse and threatened to rob them of strength. Each of the cadavers was in an advanced state of decay. Blackened stumps of teeth gnashing in mouths without lips. Eyes that were little more than mushy, dribbling orbs of jelly. One of the zombies was pressed hard into the top railing and, with a pop, his distended stomach burst, showering the ground with entrails and gore.

  Raising the rifles by the handguard and stock, the training kicked in. With short, sharp thrusts, the soldiers stabbed at the surging mass of rotten flesh. With each scream of hatred, the fear was banished until the muscle memory took over. The razor-sharp blades sank through eye sockets and foreheads like a hot knife through butter. A growing pile of bodies was causing the latecomers to flail out of range of the bayonets. With a quick nod, they twisted them free and laid them on the ground to be cleaned later. Corporal would have been proud, Dougal thought, remembering the instructor who had at first yelled how useless he was, before showing him the errors he was making.

  “You need to up your game,” Langham mocked, “I’ve already killed eighteen to your thirteen.”

  “You had time to count? I was just trying to stay away from their mouths and hands. I don’t know if a scratch is fatal, but I don’t want to take the chance.”

  “Pussy!” Langham grinned, shouldering her rifle and firing single shots into the undead.

  ***

  “Watch out!” Angela called.

  As she swung the tractor through the entrance, Harkiss marvelled at the long black bale spear attached to the machine.

  “You could do some real damage with that thing,” he gloated, cupping his genitals. “I should know.”

  “Yours is the size of a toothpick,” Carpenter replied. “The only damage you could do is popping balloons.”

  “Oy! It’s not the size that matters but how you use it. I’ve never had any complaints.”

  “Only because the women had fallen asleep before you finished.”

  “Yeah? And? It makes it easier for a Romeo like me to slip away.” Harkiss puffed his chest out.

  “If you ever tried that shit with me I’d kick your ass,” Carpenter remarked.

  Harkiss was lost for words. There was no mistaking the subtle invitation in the warning or the way her gaze lingered for a second longer than necessary. Staring at her pretty face and dark hair pulled back in a tight bun, he found his mouth drying out. They had always shared some good natured and flirty banter, but never had he imagined she was interested. She’s out of my league, he decided, shaking his head at the absurdity. In his peripheral vision, she turned to stare at him and the heat spread to his cheeks. She gently bumped her rump against his hip; a promise of what may be.

  “Stand back!” Angela yelled, expertly inserting the steel rod through the closest bale.

  “Oh my,” Carpe
nter sighed.

  Harkiss’s glowing red cheeks grew a deeper shade of scarlet at the suggestive tone in her voice and he was glad when the fiery twin dropped it at their feet. Standing side by side, the soldiers started the laborious task of turning and guiding it through the wide opening. In spite of the day’s chill, after fifty feet they were all sweating profusely. By the time it had rolled to the farmhouse, they were aching and gasping for breath.

  “Look at the state of you! Call yourselves soldiers?” Holbeck ranted, unable to hide the grin as Max guided a trailer around the corner loaded with twelve bales.

  “They’re… heavy… as…” Petermann tried to gasp a reply, but his superior dismissed the protests.

  “I thought you were meant to be fit and strong?” Max shouted from the driver’s seat.

  “Step back and let the experts work,” Angela added as she trundled past.

  Picking up their solitary bale, she moved it into position and dropped it close to the Warthog. With a final nudge, it sat snugly against the armour. Repeating the process all the way around the two vehicles, the sisters headed off to collect another load.

  “I’ve got a nice surprise for those undead bastards if I have a couple of volunteers?” Holbeck asked, sliding a wooden box from the back of the APC.

  Laying it gently to the floor, he pried the lid off and carefully removed four individual containers. M18 Claymore was imprinted on the side of each box and the soldiers whistled their appreciation.

  “We’re going to try and funnel the bastards between the trees at the rear of the property. If we can get a decent concentration of zombies then we blow the things. If not, we leave them and reclaim them after the fighting’s done and use them later,” Holbeck explained.

  Carpenter mused for a moment before speaking, “Why don’t we mount them on the top of the embankments?”

  “What would that achieve? The explosion would disperse the bearings over open ground instead of into a group,” Eldridge replied.

  “Not if we play it right. What do these things crave more than anything else?” Carpenter posed.

  “Us,” Harkiss answered.

  “Exactly! We need some fresh bait.” Her eyes stared at Harkiss until he held his hands up.

  “No, no, no. Fuck right off! I’m a fighter, not a distraction.”

  “You’re certainly a distraction,” Carpenter agreed, teasing him even more, much to the amusement of the others, “But we’d all need to be fighting as well.”

  “I don’t follow,” Holbeck admitted.

  Carpenter scored a rough line on the ground with the toe of her boot representing the southerly curvature of the piece of land they were on. Kneeling down, she drew four arrows pointing west.

  “We have the biggest threat coming from that direction. I suggest two man teams, armed with blunt weapons at each Claymore; lengths of wood should do. When they reach us, they’ve got to fight their way up the slope before we’re in any real danger. Using our sticks, we keep them contained for as long as possible until the numbers reach critical mass and we have to fall back. Then… boom!”

  “Good thinking, Corporal,” Holbeck clapped her on the back, “That’ll be our first line. From there we fall back by the numbers taking out as many as we can before we reach the APCs.”

  Controlled gunshots rang out from the farm entrance, breaking into their planning. “Walker, on me!” Eldridge cried, racing towards the disturbance.

  Max and Angela were on their way back with the second load of tightly compacted hay. The fortification was taking shape and would provide some much-needed cover. Bales were laid two deep against each other on the ground tight to the Warthogs, with a third placed on top of the outer row. Ten-foot-tall and weighing thousands of pounds, it made for a solid barricade to fight the coming horde.

  Eldridge came jogging back, “They’ve got it under control. I’ve left Walker to support.”

  Holbeck nodded and gathered the mines. Waving at the two vehicles, the sisters leaned out to hear his shouts, “We’re setting up a welcoming party to the west.”

  “Do what you have to.” Max stuck her thumb up. “If anything shows up we can just run it over.”

  Angela made a squelching noise for dramatic effect and picked up the next bale. Holbeck and the soldiers skirted the farm building and made for the piles of discarded windows and assorted rubbish. Laid amongst the junk were offcuts of fence posts in varying lengths.

  “We use the long ones to jab them back down and the short pieces like bats to clout them with,” Carpenter explained.

  Picking up a selection, the group carried their loot to the edge of the property and dispersed them along the perimeter. They spent a few minutes picking the best sites for each device.

  “Do you remember how to use them?” Holbeck queried.

  Everyone nodded. Claymores were one of the most dangerous pieces of equipment they could set up and a healthy dose of caution had been drilled into them by the instructors. Reserved mostly for special forces, the regular soldiers had not laid eyes on them since the open fields of their training. Laying down, they peered through the peep sight and positioned each charge at an angle which would ensure as many head injuries as possible. Being especially careful, they inserted the blasting caps.

  “Sarge, are we using tripwires?” Petermann asked.

  “No. We’re going to spool out the wire as far as it’ll reach towards the house. We’ll use the triggers once we’ve all fallen back to a safe zone.”

  Four lines of cable were quickly unwound and laid behind the brick outbuilding. The detonators were left unplugged to minimise the chances of a deadly mishap. From across the field, the guttural moans were getting louder.

  “Let’s get prepared,” Holbeck growled, turning from the approaching horde, “I want all boxes of fifty-cal on the roof in easy reach. Because of the angle of fire, they’ll be our second line, and finally the hay and APCs themselves.”

  “What about the grenades, sir?” asked Petermann.

  “We only use them when the dead are thick at the walls,” Holbeck stated, “I don’t know what the density of the hay will do to slow the fragments. At least with meat in the way it will disperse some of the blast.”

  As the troops reached the front of the farmhouse, Angela was dropping the final bale into place. The wall was tight to the brickwork and surrounded the vehicles totally on all sides.

  “All done!”

  “Great work, ma’am,” Holbeck said, banging a fist against the curved fortification. “Everyone, put your weapons down and shoulder charge the wall with me.”

  With a roar, the row of soldiers hit the barricade as one and it didn’t move an inch. Satisfied, he nodded.

  “What’s the matter, don’t you trust our building skills?” Max called out.

  “Just being thorough, no offense intended.”

  “We’ll get these stowed away and be right back,” Angela added, turning the tractor around.

  “There’s a set of stepladders around that corner.” Maxine pointed to the far side of the farmhouse then followed her sister out of sight.

  ***

  “Not too shabby,” Langham sighed, switching the safety back on.

  The unmoving corpses lolled against the steel gate and with a twang, the bolt sheared off, dropping them into a gory, green pile.

  “I’m not cleaning that up,” Walker declared.

  “I vote Harkiss,” Dougal added.

  “Agreed,” Langham chuckled, “We’ll tell him the good news if we survive the afternoon.”

  “Are you nervous?” Walker asked them both.

  “A bit,” admitted Dougal, “But at least we don’t have IED’s or insurgents with suicide vests trying to blow us up.”

  “It’s the smell that does it for me,” Langham said, pinching her nose.

  A deeper rumble sprung into life inside the barn, piquing their interest. As they left the fallen zombies, Angela emerged from the darkness. Grinning like a madwoman, she steered t
he combine harvester towards the farmhouse.

  “What the hell?” Walker asked, jogging to catch up.

  Holbeck’s head peered over the wall and he broke out into a grin of his own. Stopping the huge thresher machine, Angela and Max climbed out of the cab.

  “Mavis should be good for a single pass before her blades seize up,” Max explained.

  “Mavis?”

  “Our trusty harvester.” Angela slapped the solid yellow body.

  “I think we’ve got our second line of defence.” Holbeck nodded appreciatively.

  “Huh?” Max frowned.

  “We’ve set up mines at the perimeter. Once we have detonated them, we’re going to fall back to the fortification. If you ladies wouldn’t mind shredding the first undead who follow, I’d appreciate it.”

  “Of course,” Angela confirmed as she hopped down into the space between the rear of the APCs.

  Everything was prepared and it was just a matter of time until contact. Petermann was on sentry and would fire a single shot to signal the horde was five minutes away. Opening her front door, Angela released the excited hounds. The innocent bounding immediately cut through a palpable layer of tension which had been growing. She winked to her sister who was perched at the top of the steps, and Max smiled back. Making a fuss of the three dogs was a calming distraction and the soldiers scratched, stroked, and coddled for all they were worth. A whistle from inside the house called them back and Angela emerged with a tray of shot glasses. Tucked under her arm was a bottle of Russian Standard vodka and she placed the tray down before filling each small container with the clear liquor.

  “Sarge?” Eldridge asked, seeking permission.

  Looking at the eager faces of his troops was enough and he nodded. “You warriors deserve it. I’m proud as hell to stand by your side,” he declared, tipping the glass back and swallowing with a hiss. “That includes you too.” He indicated the brave twins.