Post by MSG. Frank Rook on Sept 27, 2010 20:08:31 GMT -5
“This is Master Sergeant Frank Michael Rook, calling for backup, evacuation, anything.” Frank said into the small radio at his side. He’d found a place to hole up for now, on top of a roof of a six story building. Up the fire escape, a grenade rigged to a tripwire just below the top, enough to make any hostile humans think twice, enough to clear the way for any zombies who tried to make it up.
“Again, this is Master Sergeant Rook. My men have been wiped out, the mission is FUBAR, requesting evacuation or backup, how copy?” He said, taking a drag from a cigarette. It was done by now. He dropped it onto the ground next to the six others and lit another one.
“God damn it, I have lost all three squads, requesting backup or evacuation, even further orders, how copy?” He said. Nothing, still.
“Fuck!” He yelled, launching from his seat at the edge of the building and kicking the air conditioning vent in anger. He almost threw the radio, stopping himself just short of launching the hunk of plastic through the air. It was pretty goddamn useless right now, but it could be a lifeline soon.
“Sierra Actual, do you copy?” He said, trying to reach the close air support Blackhawk’s instead. Silence, still. Either this thing was busted or everyone was out of range. Shit… “Sierra one?” Still, nothing. “Sierra two?” He said. Again, not a damn thing.
Ok… First order of business. Find a long range radio. This one was only good for a few miles, made to keep in contact with squad mates. The radio man had kept the long range radio that kept in contact with Sierra and HQ. They hadn’t even gotten the chance to set up the operating center before they were overrun, no way to stay in contact with HQ.
“All right… Think, motherfucker…” He spoke aloud. He had one more thing to try before he called it a day and went his own way. Fat chance he’d get anything out of that but eaten alive, but what the hell? He didn’t have much to lose at this point.
He turned a few knobs on the radio and changed channels.
“This is Master Sergeant Frank Rook, calling on all channels. Can anyone hear this?” He said. Immediately, it lit up with transmissions. They all seemed to be saying the same thing. Central park. An evac center set up by the military. Why hadn’t he been told this? Did the odds of fifty against half a million really seem that good to the Top Brass? So good that the ones being put right into the fire didn’t need to know where to fall back if there was trouble? He was thinking retirement would be in order when he got back home.
“Central Park…” Frank muttered. He walked to the fire exit, grabbing the string hooked to the grenade and cutting it with his knife. He took the grenade back and slipped it into its pouch, descending the stairs and making his way to Central Park. About ten blocks away. This was going to get interesting, he had a feeling.
“Again, this is Master Sergeant Rook. My men have been wiped out, the mission is FUBAR, requesting evacuation or backup, how copy?” He said, taking a drag from a cigarette. It was done by now. He dropped it onto the ground next to the six others and lit another one.
“God damn it, I have lost all three squads, requesting backup or evacuation, even further orders, how copy?” He said. Nothing, still.
“Fuck!” He yelled, launching from his seat at the edge of the building and kicking the air conditioning vent in anger. He almost threw the radio, stopping himself just short of launching the hunk of plastic through the air. It was pretty goddamn useless right now, but it could be a lifeline soon.
“Sierra Actual, do you copy?” He said, trying to reach the close air support Blackhawk’s instead. Silence, still. Either this thing was busted or everyone was out of range. Shit… “Sierra one?” Still, nothing. “Sierra two?” He said. Again, not a damn thing.
Ok… First order of business. Find a long range radio. This one was only good for a few miles, made to keep in contact with squad mates. The radio man had kept the long range radio that kept in contact with Sierra and HQ. They hadn’t even gotten the chance to set up the operating center before they were overrun, no way to stay in contact with HQ.
“All right… Think, motherfucker…” He spoke aloud. He had one more thing to try before he called it a day and went his own way. Fat chance he’d get anything out of that but eaten alive, but what the hell? He didn’t have much to lose at this point.
He turned a few knobs on the radio and changed channels.
“This is Master Sergeant Frank Rook, calling on all channels. Can anyone hear this?” He said. Immediately, it lit up with transmissions. They all seemed to be saying the same thing. Central park. An evac center set up by the military. Why hadn’t he been told this? Did the odds of fifty against half a million really seem that good to the Top Brass? So good that the ones being put right into the fire didn’t need to know where to fall back if there was trouble? He was thinking retirement would be in order when he got back home.
“Central Park…” Frank muttered. He walked to the fire exit, grabbing the string hooked to the grenade and cutting it with his knife. He took the grenade back and slipped it into its pouch, descending the stairs and making his way to Central Park. About ten blocks away. This was going to get interesting, he had a feeling.
