Survival of The Fittest ( OpEn )

[Crusifix Anthony]

January 16th, 1924
0700-0930 Hours
London, Thames River District
12 Degrees, Cloudy

Watching intently through the dark window of the third story window, one of the last four survivors of the 87th Infantry Unit kept his rifle at the ready. The young soldier's dark brown gaze stayed fixed upon the three; moving figures on the city street below. Known as the 'Guardian Angel' to his unit since they had been deployed, he kept his location to himself; but kept a close eye on the other three. Glancing over at the door, which he had barricaded incase some of Londons effected population caught him in the small room. The trainned soldier had already went over every possible escape route before he had even decided to make this room his nest for the morning. Shifting his gaze back to the other three survivors, he quickly place his rifle against the wall. Looking around the small office like space around him he caught site of a adult sized wooden chair. Not a rocker, but he'd live with the only chair within the room. Grabbing the back of the wooden chair, he picked it up and quietly placed it infront of the window in which he had been watching out.

Within a few minutes, the highly trainned sniper was perched again infront of the opened window. The chilly breeze from outside drew goosebumps on his forearms when he had first gotten there, but within the last hour he had gotten used to it. Marcus, David, and Trent; the three others were supposed to be gathering useable equipment. To Cross it seemed as if they were dicking the dog, and messing around more then needed. The barrel of his rifle poked out the window, and aimed directly into the middle of the street ahead. The others had been going in and out of everyone of the first floor doors. Stores, apartments, butchershops, they didn't care; ecspecially Cross. Not until the loud echo's of his companions firearms started to go off. Counting the invidiual shots, the soldier stopped himself at thirty seven. "Stupid..." He mumbled loudly under his breath as he thought about all the waisted ammo they were going through. Weather the infected humans were going to try and eat you or not, a headshot would put'em down.

Patiently waitting for them to come out onto the street, five minutes turned into twenty. It didn't take long before the never ending sound of gunfire to cease. Reaching into the front pocket of his jacket, he slowly withdrew the single pack or marlboro cigarettes and silver zippo lighter. Placing the filtered end of one of the twenty cigarettes between his pale lips, he ignited the naked end, and replaced the items back into the pocket from which they had come. It didn't take long for the young soldier to smoke the entire cigarette, and then yet another afterward. Emensely irriated at the fact that none of the others had ventured out into the street yet, he strongly debated weather or not he should leave his position and aid them in whatever they were doing.

After an hour turned into two, Cross knew what had happened to the rest of his unit. Among the fifty men in the 87th, he was the last survivor. Shaking his head at the thought of being alone in an unknown city really, didn't sit well with him. These infected people within the city weren't exactly like everyone else he had encountered. They wouldn't stop, their hunger for flesh drove them more then anything. Quietly sitting there on the wooden chair, perched on the third story window; he debated on what to do. Alone wasn't exactly the greatest idea come dark. If the other three didn't eventually come out then he'd be stuck in a tough spot. Standing up to his feet, he stepped close to the window. Peering out in both directions, hoping to catch the slightest movement outside.

[Scott Bruhn]

American Military Compound
Portsmouth
0700 hrs
16.01.1924

Scott was sitting on his bunk in the barracks after the disastrous mission. There were only eight survivors from the mission out of the 100 man platoon that was sent in. Scott considered it an immense success, normally you'd be lucky to see two men make it out alive from a mission that dealt with such a high rate of infection. He reported that he had been field promoted by his Lieutenant and the few military survivors confirmed it. Even the civilian had confirmed it. He was thankful that he had kept the promotion. Now he was in charge of a small squad of about ten. Those ten men were going to be trained day and night until they could survive what Scott had survived the previous day. There was a sound from one of the doors in the barracks and Scott grabbed his trenchgun that was leaning against the wall next to his bed. Quickly chambering a round, he stood up and walked toward the sound with his gun shouldered, ready to fire. Then the sound of brisk even footfalls reached his ears and he lowered his weapon as a Private First Class walked into view. "Sir, the officers would like to see you. There's an emergency." He said. "Firstly, I work for a livin' call me Master Sergeant. Secondly, what kind of emergency?" Scott responded gruffly. The look in the PFC's eyes told Scot he didn't know even before he spoke. Scott just grabbed his shirt and pulled it on, since he was still wearing his pants, before walking to the briefing room with his trenchgun in hand.

Walking across the complex sucked. The barracks were on one side and the briefing room was on the other. Scott sighed as he passed several enlisted ranks that were doing PT. They had a look of pure tiredness and prissiness in their faces to confirm that they deserved what they got as a punishment. Stepping into the briefing room, Scott snapped a brisk salute to the officers that were gathered around a table. "You wanted to see me sirs?" Scott asked. "Yes Master Sergeant, there was a distress call from the 85th regiment. Evidently there were fifteen survivors when the pigeon came in. We are sending you and your new squad in to search for any survivors. If you find any, debrief them and head back. Their last known position was the Thames River District. Head there for the initial sweep and see if you can pick up their tracks and follow them until you come across them or their bodies. If your search comes up inconclusive, return to base. You move out as soon as your squad is ready. That is all soldier." A Colonial informed Scott. Scott snapped a brisk salute and headed back ti the barracks to get his squad ready.

Upon entering the barracks, he was surprised to see his squad up and fully dressed in combat attire. "Master Sergeant, we're ready to move out." Corporal Higginson stated as he stepped forward and offered Scott a salute. "Alright then, we're going into the Thames River District to find a missing regiment. This is your first mission with me and I haven't had the time to train you in all you need to know about the infected. Just remember, they're smart, deadly and can only be killed with a headshot. They can plan ambushes and a single infected can take out at least twenty un-trained men. Now since you're my squad, whatever I say you do. No questions asked. I cannot say how many of you will survive, but I can guarantee that whomever survives this will be trained vigorously to be the best zombie killers that the American Army has ever seen." Scott told his men.

Two Hours Later

The eleven men moved through the streets effectively staying in cover. There was blood and gore everywhere. He heard one of his men vomit, probably from the stench and the intestine covered rubble. Then he heard it, the sound of gunfire and of a lone soldier screaming. Scott signaled his men to keep their weapons at the ready and to watch their surroundings. Walking out into the middle of the street, Scott looked across it to see a rifle aimed out a window and waved at it.

[Crusifix Anthony]

The young soldier couldn't help but feel a slightly surprised as his gaze focused on a dark figure moving about only a hundred meters away from 'his' window. Flicking the cigarette butt out the window, he quickly snapped the rest of the rifle on his shoulder and peered down the barrel. Placing his right index finger upon the trigger, he waitted for his target to come out onto the street again. Patiently waitting he sat there as still as possible, when his target finally came back into sight he slowly removed his finger from the cold metal trigger of his rifle. Relieved that the figure was dressed in a tightly ironed Army issued uniform, he pulled the rifle out from the window when the man waved. Standing up from the chair, he quickly peeked his face out of the building so that he could be fully seen by the Master Sergeant.

Slinging the rifle over his shoulder, he kept hold of the strap with one hand as his other hand started to push the heavy objects from the barricaded doorway which was his only exit, except for the window which he wouldn't have jumped out of unless the infected were obviously trying to break through the door to get to him; which hadn't happened. It only took a couple short minutes to push away the dresser, bedframe, and desk and open the door. Stepping out into the hallway, his bright blue gaze shifted up above him and out into the sky from the huge hole that had been created from the bombing a few months back. Shuffling down the rock, and platered walls that still stood; the young soldier quickly made his way to the second floor, then to the first.

Within four minutes after seeing the MS out in the street, Cross was standing just behind the doorway which would bring him out onto the street himself. Before he stepped out into the street to join the uninfected man, his awareness felt the presense of something. A pair of eyes watching him. Seeing the hand reach out for his shoulder from the corner of his eye, a fast hand cross-drew his .45 from its holster and shoved the barrel of the pistol against the armed mans throated with enough force to knock the wind out of the man. Side stepping, he withdrew the gun from the mans throat and slammed the handle of his against the back of his head. The unknown mans head jerked down with the blow and instantly went to his knees. Noticing the man was dressed in an army uniform aswell, Cross' bright blue eyes went wide. "Why did you do that?" The man groaned as his right hand went to the cut on the back of his head.

Chuckling to himself, he quickly holstered his weapon and gave the injured man a helping hand. "Sorry about that... Reflex..." He responded in a commical tone of voice that was as smooth as grease. The soldier hand been trainned to subdue an attacker, and for some reason he had known that the man wasn't infected. Zombie's were more.... Loud with their actions then he had been. Leading the bleeding man through the doorway and onto the street where he finally seen all of the ten men that was in this regiment, he nodded respectfully to the one that seemed in charge. The others were leery, and not so eager to be out on whatever their mission was.

[Scott Bruhn]

"Hernandez, Mathias; cover the West. Higgison, Westholme; cover the East. Madson, Brown; take the North. Oakly, Birch; Take the South. Remember engage if necessary and take them out quietly if possible and watch the walls. Move out," Scott whispered to his troops. They saluted and quietly headed for their designated positions. "Sullivan, stay in the shadows and cover some of the men, you're the sniper on the team it's your job soldier. Just don't fire until A, you got a clear shot and B the infected are alerted that we're here. Other than that, take the shot if one of the men are in imminent danger." The soldier nodded and moved to the shadows to keep and eye on the two man teams that were deployed. Looking up at the last soldier in his squad, Scott suppressed a laugh. He was holding the back of his head, but the moment ended as he saw the crimson on his hands. "Fuck, Steele cover that wound. The infected can smell that shit for a mile. Now soldier." Scott ordered quietly.

If this was going to be a successful mission, they had to stay as quiet as possible. And they had to avoid any and all blood induced injuries. The damned infected would be on them like sharks in bloodied water. It took a small amount of blood, a papercut for example, to attract at least one infected. And that one would turn into two then four and so on til the whole fucking city was on them. It was something that had happened numerous times. They couldn't risk sending a pigeon back, the infected were smart enough to find the point of origin. The teams would have to keep the perimeter secured long enough for Scott to debrief the soldier and to find out if there were any other survivors of his regiment. Or if he was even part of the 85th. Turning his attention to the soldier, Scott started. "Alright soldier, we were sent in to find any survivors of the 85th regiment. Once we find any and all survivors, we are going to hike five miles to a Jeep that was placed in front of a Spinnaker Tower at 50 degrees latitude and 1 degree longitude. I'm warning you now. Now don't fuck around or lie to me or I'll leave your ass out here. I need your name and rank and if you are part of the 85th regiment. Also if you are where is the rest of your regiment?" it was blunt and to the point, something that saved time and lives in the field.