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Zombies of Zebbug

Captain Enema

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As far as zombie outbreaks go, the one that suddenly sprang up in Zebbug was about as unexpected as one would expect them to be. The city earned its living from farming, tourism, and fishing. Hidden away in the hills were the villas of the city's few wealthier citizens and in dusty street lanes houses and shops that were hundreds of years old.  Geographically speaking, Zebbug on the island of Rabat, was lazily sprawled down a long valley with the sides bearing terrace farms that dated back hundreds of years. It was in the upper end of the city, farthest from the sea where the first screams were heard. 


The first to the scene, the Zebbug City Police, who were promptly turned. With zombiefied Police Officers chasing people in and out of their homes the National Police were called. They sent a detachment from their barracks and it too was turned. Soon, civilians, police officers, and National Policemen were killing and turning anyone caught by them. The Mayor Zebbug wisely ordered his police force to hold a line at the narrowest part of the city where they were joined by any of the four companies of Militia men that lived in the city who could make it.


The policemen, the Militia Men, the surviving National Police men formed up in the small choke point on the Triq il-Knisja, between Triq il-Goma and Triq Ghajan Mhelhen. Roughly halfway between the two streets a narrow alley darted up and out of the valley. On this alley, two hundred and forty three armed and disorganized men gathered. Orders were given and within minutes the chaos of the retreat from the upper end of Zebbug was brought to heel as the strong willed leader of the Zebbug City Militia took control. 


Marco Alessandro, a strong featured handsome man of forty years old stood on the back of a car and rallied the men. He gave them hope, he gave them spirit, when all was its most bleakest, he inspired them that they stood between the living and whatever it was that was running around sowing mayhem in the upper end of the city. It was fitting that he also was the first to be eaten when the zombies showed up from the other direction having somehow found away the poorly organized blocking force, which didn't so much inspire the men as it caused a general fullisade of automatic rifle fire that sprayed down the few stumbling zombies that were approaching from both directions. 


The men learned a lesson from Marco Alessandro, it was all good and well to give good speeches, but be damn sure someone watches over you when you are taking a crap.






"Biological outbreak of unknown origin?" the King asked.




"Show me the video."


"Here m'grace," Denard replied.


"Was he trying to have movement behind a tree when he got eaten?" asked the King.


"I'm afraid so m'grace," Denard responded.


"Not exactly how I'd like to go."


"Not sure anyone quite envisions their last earthly moments quite like that."


"Any other reports of this sort of thing?"


"Elvis died on the throne."


"NO damn it, the zombies."


"Diberia comes to mind."


"I thought that was folklore?"


"In this world, is anything quite what it seems?"


"Can the Order lend its strength if needed? I'm going to send in troops to contain the entire valley and city of Zebbug, but I fear we must move fast."


"Of course m'grace, it just so happens there is quite a large Order chapter not far off."


"Excellent, what can they send to Zebbug."


"Four hundred thirty eight men in four organized companies."


"That's a start, I'm rerouting a Marine Battalion, 1st Spartan Marines. They should be arriving soon, they've been out with Hope Float 2, but are due home within the hour. Not quite the home coming they envisioned."


"Air Mobile assets?"

"That'd be useful yes, General Staff says nearly all our deploy-able Air Mobile went to South Africa."


"We still have reserve helicopter squadrons, activate them. Fly them off any ship that can land one its deck."




"M'Grace, zombies can't fly, helicopters can."






The order to gather any ship that could support a helicopter landing on it was sent to the Armed Malta Forces General Staff. From there it filtered down to the Chief of the Malta Navy and then down to a dour looking Rear Admiral in charge of all reserve ships and auxiliary vessels. Computer keyboards clattered, phone buttons were pushed, and orders were sent out. Before long a dozen civilian vessels, eight Naval Reserve Vessels, and a dozen large Malta Coastal Safety Commission ships were steaming towards Rabat Island. 


Additional orders were sent to the 555th Air Transport Wing (Reserve). The Unit, a medium helicopter wing, was in good shape having just completed its annual maneuvers and evaluations. Thirty Six UH-1N helicopters began ferrying equipment and ground crews to their temporary homes on the gathering ships as they steamed past their base. It was a complicated operation that was going to require a great deal of shuffling of men and equipment once everyone was at sea. 


The 555th wasn't a combat unit, though it had seen its taste of fire during the classified African Emergency ten years before. It normally spent its time hauling men and equipment around to fill in the gaps that existed in the Armed Malta Forces Logistical and Transport Command's excellent ability to move large volumes of men and material but complete inability to move small batches of men and equipment. It was a problem the General Staff had been working on for sometime and the 555th had been stood up as an Active Reserve unit to help address it.


More orders went out and the C-4B Galaxies of the Logistical and Transport Command began flying nonstop missions to evacuate civilians from different cities on Rabat that had not yet reported zombie infestations. With the reports pouring in from Zebburg, none had arrived from other cities other than a few smaller villages that had been overrun near Zebburg itself. The massive transport planes flew in tanks and armored vehicles, of the 1st Mechanized Division, into Rabat's one major airport on the other side of the island from the zombies. They then wasted no time as they flew out as many civilians as could be fit onto the planes.


As far as full scale pear shaped emergencies went, the Armed Malta Forces were responding reasonably well. How well they'd continue to respond was anyone's guess, particularly so when they came face to face with the zombie menace that was actively rampaging through the upper end of Zebburg held back only by a thin line of Militia and Policemen. 






Edited by Tidy Bowl Man
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As the food supply in upper Zebbug ran low and the number of predators jumped, a migration to new feeding grounds came instinctively. At first the Militiamen and Policemen holding a line at the narrowest point of the city faced the zombies coming in a trickle. Their pistols, shotguns, and rifles held them off admirably. The Militiamen carrying their Armed Malta Forces issued 7.62 x 51 M-14 rifles had spent long hours of training learning to make their shots count out. Most other Militia companies had transitioned to surplus M-16A4 rifles but the change over had not happened yet for the Zebbug units. 


The paper-strength of the Zebbug Milita was 300 men. 143 had made it to the alleyway that was being designated as the main line of resistance. In truthfulness, not a single flatfoot copper or pasty faced businessman/part time soldier wannabe was calling it the main line of resistance, that would have been to prestigious of a name for the bloody alley. Joining them were 23 National Policemen carrying their pistols and shotguns. Another 83 Police Officers of the Zebbug Police Department had showed up to join the fight and they had at least been sensible and raided the nearest Armed Malta Forces Federal Emergency Armory and looted every single rifle and set of body armor they could find. 


Local farmers helped as well by bringing in their tractors and smashing down houses and trees to form natural barricades that funneled the Zombies towards small opening. It wasn't impossible to climb the barricade, but given your druthers and a lack of critical thinking brought on by the destruction of most of your 'marbles' by a mutated virus, stumbling towards the opening that had a blood covered cow staked out near it had more appeal. The sad fact of the matter that the cow wasn't even real didn't even pass through what was left of the zombies minds before they had large holes blown in them by the waiting ad hoc group of defenders. 


The defenders of lower Zebburg didn't congratulate themselves too quickly as they quickly noticed a perceptible surge in number of zombies arriving. Wisely the opening was blocked by moving a milk truck into the opening of the quickly thrown together barricade. This forces the zombies to try and scratch and crawl their way over the wall into the waiting muzzles of the defenders weapons. Hope grew in the hearts of the defenders as they held their line, farmers showed up and start blasting away with their hunting rifles, two dozen men from a local sports shooting club arrived as well and joined in, and a dozen boy scouts with their .22 rifles wandered in and were promptly sent home. Still, the arrival of the plucky lads did the men wonders and it might have even made a difference.


In the end, it didn't, the zombies had already gotten around the barricade by staggering up the side valley walls on goat paths and small roads. Once they were out of the valley they quickly began adding to their ranks by gorging themselves on villagers, farmers, and a bus full of nuns. The newly turned lurched and farted their way back towards the valley drawn to the sounds of rifle fire and the smell of blood. They ambled their way down the side of the valley, falling slipping, sliding, tumbling, and flopping their way down to the valley floor directly behind the so called main line of resistance. Once they they topped up their fuel tanks by chowing down on anything with two legs or four before lurching their now larger brainless forces right up to the rear of the defenders before a single one of them noticed. 


Two hours later the now larger group of zombies, many of them wearing Militia uniforms and police gear, began lurching their way towards lower Zebbug. 




The nearby Order of the Hospitallars Chapter had been ordered to deploy to Zebbug. The Rabat Island Chapter houses were spread out across the island with one main encampment in the hills not far from Zebbug. It just so happened that nearly five hundred Ordermen were camped out in the Rabat Island Order Training Center for the weekend. Once word came they wasted little time in gathering their weapons, armor, and vehicles as they formed up according to their Chapter houses and began to move towards Zebbug to lend assistance. 


They approached from the West, along the coast, and before arrival they launched a single drone to gain some sort of picture into what exactly was going on in the city before attempting to enter it.





1st Spartan Marines, LHD Swampduck


"Say what, zombies?"


"Yeah zombies."


"Right..... ok sarge, been hitting the Death Juice before 10 AM in the morning again have you?"





555th Helicopter Transport Wing


Fully deploying the helicopters and their ground crews to the passing civilian ships was not going according to plan. However, it was of little surprise to the officers of the unit who had expected the plan to fall apart at least 11 times before it promptly collapsed altogether. 


So far they weren't at all disappointed.





1st Mechanized Division, Lead Element of the 1st Corp


The entire 1st Corp was being called up for smashing this infestation. Already F-22 Raptors and B-1 Lancers were starting to circle over Rabat Island waiting for fire approval on anything that moved. The deploying of the 1st Mech Division was going absolutely not as planned as no one had ever in their wildest, most drunkest, most hopped up on various substances moment ever considered the possibility they'd be going in hot to combat zombies all the while aiding in a full scale evacuation of Malta's 2nd most populated island. 





Order of St. Hospitallars Brighton Gun and Rod Club Meeting Room, Fort Khartoum (outside of Valletta)




"Yes, zombies."




"Yes, zombies."




"Look god damn it, yes Zombies, stop looking at me slack jawed you oaf," shouted Denard as he banged the table with his shoe to order another drink.


The bartender walked up and poured Denard another beer and as he handed it to him he said, "Zombies?"


"Christ almighty, not you also."


A messenger barreled through the door and shouted, "Grand Councilor Denard, we've news from Zebburg."


"Out with it man, happy hour is almost over," Denard demanded.


"Zebburg has almost fallen, our troops launched a drone and are reporting that the survivors of Zebburg and fleeing down the coast right towards them with a horde of lurching pursuers."


"Question," the bartender said.


"Yes?" Denard asked.


"How can you tell if someone is lurching with a drone?"

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Lord Colonel Raphael Cruz and his men watched the Order LAV-25 from their borrowed pontoon boats. To move with speed and in strength the decision had been made to send the majority of the Lord Colonel Cruz's troops by sea on several large tourist pontoon boats and a few large fishing boats. Cruz's radioman shouted to Cruz over the rumble of the boat's motor, "Lord Colonel sir, the drone is reporting a large number of civilians fleeing down the beach towards us."


"How many?"


"Several hundred."


"Any of these zombies behind them?"


"A few thousand I think," the radioman replied.


"Any air support we can call on from the AMF?" Cruz asked.


"No sir, the AMF is still getting organized, soon yes, but not right this minute," the radioman said.


"Give me the microphone," the Colonel ordered as he took it from the radioman's hand. He pushed the PTT button and said, "All Ordermen, relay this transmission to your brothers. Rabat Battalion will land on the beach, form a defensive perimeter and use these boats to evacuate the civilians moving down the beach. Any man bitten or infected will do his duty as is expected of a soldier in the Order of the Hospitallar."


Each and every single Ordermen at the same time shouted, "For St. George!" 


"Chapter House leaders, sound off," Cruz requested. He listened as each of the Chapter House Leaders reported in. Once they did so, he said, "There isn't going to be a lot of time to get organized, spread the word, once we hit the beach the men will advance 100 meters into the dunes and form a perimeter. If they get separated from their Chapter House, they will attach themselves to the nearest one they can find and stay with them until otherwise notified. We have one 81 mm mortar and a not many rounds for it. We have four M-60 machine guns that have seen better days but are in working order. The LAV-25s are not armed, which means this is going to get up close and personal. We are going to have men who get infected. Our ranks are going to be a mess of confusion. Officers are expected to maintain discipline and control at all times. Our mission is to protect those civilians until they are fully evacuated. We won't be able to get them out in one wave, we are going to have to make a stand. Do you all understand what this means?"


"Ain't most of us coming back sir," obne of the Chapter House leaders replied.


"Unfortunately, this is true," Cruz replied.


"Well sir, its what we signed up for," another responded.


"I ain't signed up for no zombie apocalypse to die on some nameless stretch of beach forgotten and nameless for all eternity," another one grumbled.


"Don't worry my brother, if we survive and you end up a zombie's lunch, we'll be sure to name a bench after you," replied Cruz, which brought a round of laughter. Getting a bench commemorated to you was known for being a bit of an insult by the Order, only lazy men and civilians had time to sit on a bench. Real men were too damn busy to bother with such. 


"Hold your men together the best you can, I can't tell you what to do about those who are infected, but if I get infected you will finish me off, make it quick and clean, do not let me roam the earth as a mindless beast, I say this before god, there can be no peace so long as one of those foul things walks the earth," Cruz concluded as he ordered the boats to turn towards the beach. Ordermen began working the actions of their weapons to load a round into the chambers as they prepared to meet the advancing zombies, not a single of of them looked particularly thrilled about it either.





"Lord General, Lord Colonel Cruz's men have landed and are trying to evacuate the civilians," a messenger informed Denard.


"How is it going?"


"Badly sir."


"Damn it. Get the General Staff of the AMF on the line, we need to bring the rain as fast as we can," Denard replied.

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The 555th Air Transport Wing was just barely able to extract the few dozen surviving Order soldiers from the blood soaked beach. The last helicopter out had a zombie dangling from the landing skid that had to be removed by a door gunner who leaned over over the side and used his side arm on it. The torn corpses and walking dead were left behind for a the crows and an incoming flight of Eurofighters carrying 500 pound bombs among other things. The explosions and fire that rocked the beach and surround sea seemed a poor tribute to the men who died so that the civilians they protected could be taken away to safety by sea. 


AMF Replenishment Ship Zabbar


The ad hoc fleet had four Berlin Class Replenishment vessels attached to it, which proved useful as they were able to host two each of the UH-1N helicopters assigned to the fleet. The destroyers had their own helicopters, but were of little help due to them being ASW models. Once the equipment necessary is collected, the six destroyers would quickly head back to the Grand Harbor, fly in their helicopters, the crews would dismount, run over to waiting helicopters that are outfitted for a ground support role, and then fly back to their ships.


Until then, the destroyers helped out when possible at sea, with the exception of the AMF Sliema that made a run right into Zebbug. Once inside the small harbor the crew of the Sliema cleared a wharf with their automatic weapons and effected a daring rescue using the ship's security officers and volunteers from the crew's Engineering department. While this action was brave and noteworthy, it was entirely unknown to Lord Colonel Cruz who was being flown to the Zabbar with the rest of his few dozen surviving men. 


As he traveled by the miracle of modern flight, he did his absolute best not to reflect on the horrors of the jaws of death that he was just snatched free. He looked over at Octavio and nodded, what really could either of them say about what they just survived? Had the helicopters come a minute later, everyone of the small group of surviving Ordermen would be dead or walking dead. Cruz wasn't sure what the future held for him, but he did know that if he never saw another zombie again he wouldn't be too terribly inconvenienced. Watching his own men being pulled apart limb by limb was something he never wanted to see again. Having to give mercy to young children turned into walking nightmares was never going to leave his memory. Quite possibly, he was just afflicted with about every medical version of PTSD that Maltese Psychological Association had ever dreamed up including some they haven't invented yet. 


Despite being completely sent around the bend by what he just experienced, Lord Colonel Rapheal Cruz knew his duty. He has sworn an oath to the Order and he was bound by that oath and god to satisfy it. Neither he or his oldest living friend, Octavio de Semilona, never envisioned that their journey from Chile would end up with them being pitted against the slavering beasts of hell, yet they had both done just that. Two men from South America, survivors of the Chilean War of Reunification, the South American War on Terror, the Great Anti-Marxist Campaign of 2005, and a few other highly classified jobs were now part of an elite fraternity of men who met the zombies in battle and somehow survived to tell the tale. 


Mind you, it was a small fraternity, but the way things were going it was looking like it would be growing quickly.


(ooc: Rapheal and Octavio are two of my legacy characters from cnrp1)




Valletta Order House


"Bring everything you can spare from Port Sudan and pull everything we have in Northern Africa back. In one week I want every single Orderman who can take the field hitting the beaches somewhere on Rabat Island," Denard explained.


"It's going to take time to organize all of that."


"Horse#@#, time isn't something we have much of, we go in with what we have and anything that lurches and smells bad who isn't a Marine or a Sicilian is fair game to be shot on sight. Other than the obvious, what could go wrong with a plan like that?" Denard asked.


"It's a bold move sir, a winning strategy."


"Son, these are zombies, there is no winning, only shades of losing."




Most of the 1st Corp had been landed. 80,000 men armed, trained and dangerous to fight an unknown infestation of undead. Normally moving 80,000 men and equipment would have taken far more time. Luckily, 20,000 of them were already on Rabat Island and they were busy moving in the general direction of Zebbug to begin containing the zombies. 


As they marched the ominous signs of B-1 Lancers flying over head in wave after wave as they rained down ordinance on targets unseen proved a bit unnerving. When the Destroyer escorts of the vessels carrying the 555th Air Transport Wing opened up with every single ground attack missile they carried the men of the 1st Corp about had a heart attack. Despite all of this they steadily crept forward moving in a sweeping arc around the city killing zombies in small pockets as they went. 





The Tears of God


Deep in the mountains on the Island of Rabat is a small little noticed chapel. This chapel, and Order owned and operated Chapel, had been rebuilt from its former state of decay and given over to several Order Chaplain pensioners who agreed to care for the grounds and hold services for any who wish to attend. For the most part, not many showed up other than the occasional weary Orderman looking for a period of silent repose. 


Many a night had been passed with the quite singing of the Chaplains rolling over the ancient hills where, as legend would have it, played host to a Minotaur and all manner of mythological creatures. No Legends lay in this hills today, just relics of a nearly forgotten era. In the heart of a Chapel a room played host to several small boxes containing the Order of the Hospitallars Holiest of relics. A hand carved oak box lined with velvet carried a pair of matching .45 pistols made immortal by their long dead bearer Mad Dog Denard. Another box held a melted flagstaff taken from the fields of Austria where so many Legionnaires did in a horrific and dishonorable nuclear attack. The Order understands the value of these relics but also understands that the past is often best forgotten and left in the past. 


Still, one can't completely ignore the fact that an Army of Undead were currently on the march and heading right towards a poor defended Chapel. Particularly when that Chapel held the objects that it was restored to contain. One doesn't turn its back completely on the past, not with the echoes of memories that men and women whispered around the campfires at night. The sacred only remains sacred so long as men are willing to shed their blood to pay the asking price of those object's full value. With resources spread so thin, Lord Commander Denard found himself with little choice but to make a decision he was certain that he would regret for the rest of his life. 


:"Get me Lord Colonel Cruz on the line."


Nearly an hour after coming aboard the Zebbar, Cruz found himself speaking with Lord Commander Denard. Having served with Denard during the African Crisis, Cruz and Denard were on more than just the stiff formal terms that exists between certain types of men who life by a certain set of rigid black and white values. "How are the pegs doing?" Cruz asked.


"Still not fully mobile but the surgery seems to have worked, I can walk, feel my dick even," replied Denard.


"I'm sure the missus is overjoyed," replied Cruz.


"Yeah, let's not talk about that, I have work for you," Denard replied.


"Sir, I got at best 10 men who can walk in a straight line without too much help," Cruz said warily. 


"That's all you'll need, this is a quick in and out."


"Alright, what do you need us to do."


Eight hours later, the stiff and battered looking survivors of the Island of Rabat Order of Hospitallars Chapter Houses boarded a pair of waiting helicopters. Each one is armed with a Legionworks Mistery Carbine and sidearm. They are carrying double their normal ammunition load and several of them are lugging cases of claymore mines. The helicopter crew looks at the men and materials skeptically as they wonder if it'll even be possible for the helicopters to get into the air with all the extra weight. 


It doesn't stretch the imagination of the crewmen for them to guess that they probably should just be quiet and not ask. 







Edited by Tidy Bowl Man
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