DENVER, COLORADO
[The weather is perfect for the neighborhood picnic in Victory Park. The fact that not one sighting has been recorded this spring gives everyone even more reason to celebrate. Todd Wainio stands in the outfield, waiting for a high fly ball that he claims “will never come.” Perhaps he’s right, as no one seems to mind me standing next to him.]
They called it “the road to New York” and it was a long, long road. We had three main Army Groups: North, Center, and South. The grand strategy was to advance as one across the Great Plains, across the Midwest, then break off at the Appalachians, the wings sweeping north and south, shoot for Maine and Florida, then grind across the coast and link up with AG Center as they slogged it over the mountains. It took three years.
Why so slow?
Dude, take your pick: foot transport, terrain, weather, enemies, battle doctrine…Doctrine was to advance as two solid lines, one behind the other, stretching from Canada to Aztlan…No, Mexico, it wasn’t Aztlan yet. You know when a plane goes down, how all these firemen or whoever would check a field for pieces of wreckage? They’d all go in a line, real slow, making sure not one inch of ground was missed. That was us. We didn’t skip one damn inch between the Rockies and the Atlantic. Whenever you spotted Zack, either in a group or just on his own, a FAR unit would halt…
FAR?
Force Appropriate Response. You couldn’t stop, like, the whole Army Group, for one or two zombies. A lot of the older Gs, the ones infected early in the war, they were starting to get pretty grody, all deflated, parts of their skulls starting to show, some bone poking through the flesh. Some of them couldn’t even stand anymore, and those are the ones you really had to watch for. They’d be crawling on their bellies toward you, or just thrashing facedown in the mud. You’d halt a section, a platoon, maybe even a company depending on how many you encountered, just enough to take ’em down and sanitize the battlefield. The hole your FAR unit left in the battle line was replaced by an equal force from the secondary line a click and a half behind you. That way the front was never broken. We leapfrogged this way all the way across the country. It worked, no doubt, but man, it took its time. Night also put the brakes on. Once the sun dipped, no matter how confident you felt or how safe the area seemed, the show was over till dawn the next morning.
And there was fog. I didn’t know fog could be so thick that far inland. I always wanted to ask a climatologist or someone about that. The whole front might get slammed, sometimes for days. Just sitting there in zero visibility, occasionally one of your Ks would start barking or a man down the line would shout “Contact!” You’d hear the moan and then the shapes would appear. Hard enough just standing still and waiting for them. I saw a movie once, 1 this BBC documentary about how because the UK was so foggy, the British army would never stop. There was a scene, where the cameras caught a real firefight, just sparks from their weapons and hazy silhouettes going down. They didn’t need that extra creepy soundtrack. 2 It freaked me out just to watch.
It also slowed us down to have to keep pace with the other countries, the Mexicans and Canucks. Neither army had the manpower to liberate their entire country. The deal was that they’d keep our borders clear while we get our house in order. Once the U.S. was secure, we’d give them everything they need. That was the start of the UN multinational force, but I was discharged long before those days. For me, it always felt like hurry up and wait, creeping along through rough terrain or built-up areas. Oh, and you wanna talk about speed bumps, try urban combat.
The strategy was always to surround the target area. We’d set up semipermanent defenses, recon with everything from satellites to sniffer Ks, do whatever we could to call Zack out, and go in only after we were sure no more of them were coming. Smart and safe and relatively easy. Yeah, right!
As far as surrounding the “area,” someone wanna tell me where that area actually begins? Cities weren’t cities anymore, you know, they just grew out into this suburban sprawl. Mrs. Ruiz, one of our medics, called it “in-fill.” She was in real estate before the war and explained that the hottest properties were always the land between two existing cities. Freakin’ “in-fill,” we all learned to hate that term. For us, it meant clearing block after block of burbland before we could even think of establishing a quarantine perimeter. Fast-food joints, shopping centers, endless miles of cheap, cookie-cutter housing.
Even in winter, it’s not like everything was safe and snuggly. I was in Army Group North. At first I thought we were golden, you know. Six months out of the year, I wouldn’t have to see a live G, eight months actually, given what wartime weather was like. I thought, hey, once the temp drops, we’re little more than garbage men: find ’em, Lobo ’em, mark ’em for burial once the ground begins to thaw, no problem. But I should be Lobo’d for thinking that Zack was the only bad guy out there.