World War Z: Tip of the Spear
By Robert H. Gordon Jr.
The rustle of cloth and the quiet clink of metal announced the team of four soldiers preparing to enter an enemy-held structure. The soles of their boots tapping against the concrete beneath them, they moved into position. Their task was to clear the structure of hostiles while avoiding civilian casualties. Command had been plain with regard to their role on the battlefield. Their performance would have resounding ramifications.
The lead soldier stepped to the closed wooden door, carefully placing his shoulder against the wall at his right. His grip on his weapon increased; his heart rate spiking. He felt sweat soaking the uniform beneath his armor and registered it sliding down his nose before dripping to the floor. It was the third mission under his command and his leadership skills were in question.
A tap at his shoulder from his second-in-command, a calming gesture, eased his frayed nerves. His troops had his six. He closed his eyes, letting out a calming breath. There was nothing to it, but to do it. He held up a hand getting his team's attention and silently counted down from three.
At "one", he kicked in the door and rushed through, feeling his squad move with him. Passing through the door, he detected movement at his right. A rifle barked and the target dropped. Ahead a threat presented itself and he neutralized it. There was a flurry of motion behind him for a few more seconds and then his unit announced that the room was clear.
The soldier in the lead advanced to an open doorway, his team close behind, lining up in stacked formation. "Lead" covered the door with "Two" backing him up. "Three" scanned the room for any hostiles they might have missed and "Four" covered their entry point. It was so far, so good.
Lead risked a glance into the next room quickly sizing up the situation. The next space was a large square with two exits to the left, two ahead with one at an angle and a single exit to the right. With one more danger area than he had soldiers, someone was pulling twice the load. Using silent hand signals he gave his orders. After another three-count they rushed inside.
Lead went forward, covering the exit directly in front. Two had the angled entrance ahead to the right and the one at ninety degrees, shooting down a pair of targets. Three was also on double duty covering the exits at the left only having one target to deal with. Four stepped through last and immediately spun to cover their rear.
Checking the squad's position, Four registered motion. Head and body snapping around, weapon sliding into position; a gloved finger tensed on the trigger but the automated motion was stayed the instant the "threat" was identified as a small child. Tense, Four's body relaxed but only slightly. Hearing the others sounding off, Four knew they were only halfway there.
"Stairs," Lead called. "Four take point. Two move to cover. Three take rear." He stepped to the next entrance and took up a position to one side with Two while Four stood directly in front and Three covered their six. The aforementioned stairs descended into a dark room. Anything could be down there.
Digging into a pouch on his vest, Lead removed a flash-bang grenade and held it where Two could pull the pin. Spoon flipping away, Lead counted a few tense seconds letting the explosive "cook" before tossing it down the stairs. It banked off the wall of the stairwell, clattering deep into the room.
There was a chest-rattling whump with a blast of light, bright behind clenched eyelids. Four disappeared down the steps closely followed by Two. Lead waited anxiously, hearing gunfire. His eyes still on the stairs he gave the order to move and hustled down with Three close behind him.
Below, the room was a mess of ruined furniture and neutralized targets. Four and Two were covering the exits, simultaneously calling an all-clear as Lead and Three arrived. Waving his finger around in a circle, Lead continued past Four and Two toward the final doorway, the team rallying into their original positions.
The way was shut this time. There would be no knowing where the dangers could or would come from. Lead signed the letter "Z", a command specific to their team, meaning they would be running a "zone" defense; the group going together with each member covering forty-five degrees in front of them.
"One" was reached and Lead kicked the door open onto a small courtyard. The number of attack angles was infinite. A Humvee marked their extraction point. Then the shooting started. The instinct to find cover caused their formation to widen slightly. They corrected their course, staying together. Threats were located and quickly taken down. In less than ten seconds, they crossed the yard and made it to the Humvee. Moving around it in coordinated fashion, they climbed inside, slamming the doors.
"TIME!"
Spotlights kicked on revealing the area to be contained inside a large building. Men in military uniform, the proctors of the examination, appeared from behind protective shielding. The team emerged from the Humvee and got into formation. They snapped to attention before switching crisply to parade-rest. The lead proctor reviewed information on a clipboard, using a pen to make a note and flicking the board behind his back. He marched down the formation, eyeing the soldiers before sharply turning to the leader of the group.
"On the command of 'fall-out', you and your team will report to the rear for weapons check and debrief," the proctor said. He stepped back, "Squad ten-HUT, fall-out!"
Z
Above the training floor in a darkened office, two men stood at a window. One of them was the commanding officer of the troops in training; the other was not military though dressed in black combat fatigues. Only his posture, rigid with hands firmly clasped behind his back and short haircut gave hint at his former affiliation with the armed services. He watched the last group to move through the course disappear through a side door. The other man in the room said something.
"I'm sorry, what?"
The Army Captain sighed and shook his head. "I asked you what you thought. Christ, man will you ever change?"
The man in black laughed. "How long have you known me, Frank?"
"Too damned long," Frank Grimes replied. He sighed running a wrinkled hand over his aging face. "That was the last of our more exceptional soldiers. The rest are just high-speed."
The man in black chuckled. "They haven't mastered the 'low-drag' bit, eh?" He turned back to the window. "Get the course prepped. I'll handle the briefing."
"Excuse me?" Frank asked with a raised eyebrow. "Since when are you giving me orders?"
"Pretty please with sugar on top, sir," the man said with a smile.
Z
It was a complete one-eighty for the team from the range. Gone were the steely gazes and icy nerves. What remained was a jovial levity, easy smiles and laughter. The trio of men and their single female compatriot shared inner observations and feelings experienced during the exercise. It was their fourth live-fire exercise. They had one more and they could, potentially, graduate. That is, if they had passed this one.
"So how do you think we did?" asked Three, Army Private E-2 Gary Smalls, breaking open his weapon, an M4 carbine and cleaning out the inside of the breech.
"We made good time," answered Four, Private First-Class Moira Wagner. Red hair, freckles and cherubic looks, she was studiously serviced her rifle. "We kept moving, all the targets were eliminated and there weren't any civilian casualties."
"Well the one in the basement was a little charred," said Two, Specialist Cory Jackson. "That flash-bang went off at his feet."
Moira shook her head, "There was no way to know who was where. He was nestled among the hostiles. We go down without the 'shock and awe' and we'd get cut to pieces. It's unfortunate but shit happens. She turned to the last member of their team. "Nate made the right call."
Lead, also known as Specialist Nathan George, looked up from the pieces of his weapon. "I know it was the right call, but if it keeps us from passing this course then it was wrong."
"If it was the right call, then they won't hold it against us," Jackson said. "We'll be fine." He looked up as the door opened, eyes registering brass, "Squad, ten-HUT!"
"As you were," Captain Grimes said as he and the man in black entered the room. He waited until the four soldiers settled back in their seats. "I just passed by your instructors. They've given you a 'go' on this last run. You all came within a cunt-hair of beating the course record." He quickly remembered the female soldier and held up a hand, "My apologies, Private."
"None needed sir," Moira said. "I'm pissed we came up short."
"Do you think you could do better?"
Moira looked to the newcomer. His chestnut features neutral, his dark eyes bored into hers. The look was not challenging, just observing. She met his gaze head-on. "Yes sir, we can."
"Permission to speak freely, sir," Jackson asked.
"Granted," the man replied.
"Who are you?"
"You may call me Cleric," the man said. "Since the next question is obvious, I want you to run the course again."
Smalls assembled his weapon, "Let's do it."
"Understand that this will have no bearing on your previous run," Captain Grimes explained. "Think of it as a bonus round."
"What do we get if we pass, sir?" Moira asked.
"Pass first," Cleric said, "and then we'll talk."
Nathan stirred, "Sit-rep?"
"Same as before," Cleric stated. "You will traverse the combat zone and eliminate every enemy target. Each one of you will be responsible for the termination of five hostiles. You will be given magazines with seven rounds of ammunition."
"What?" Smalls asked.
"Only headshots count," Cleric said.
"Sir," Jackson asked of the Captain.
"Game-face soldier," Captain Grimes replied.
"Failure to eliminate all the targets results in a 'no-go'," Cleric said. "Complete depletion of your ammunition results in a 'no-go'. What is the course record?"
"Two minutes, ten seconds," Captain Grimes said.
"What was their time?"
"Two minutes, fifteen seconds."
"A nanosecond longer than two minutes results in a 'no-go'," Cleric said. "You have five minutes to prep." He turned on his heel and stalked through the door.
Captain Grimes looked at the bewilderment on the faces of his troops. "You heard the man, get it in gear. Four-and-change until you're back on the line!"
Z
A short time later, Cleric was back in the observation room staring down at the course. The squad was below getting into position. Everything was set. Although a large clock would keep an official time, he had his own stopwatch. He had tested countless other squads and individuals. This was his last stop.
The door opened and Captain Grimes walked in, "What the hell is going on, Cleric? And don't give me any bullshit about 'classified'. Those are good soldiers you just mind-fucked down there."
"Cleric" born Marcus Chaplain kept his eyes on the course when he said, "I have my orders, same as you Frank."
"What's the point?" Grimes asked. "You really expect them to sprint through that course taking out twenty targets with a one-shot margin of error?"
"Those are the parameters." Below the team began the test. He started his clock.
"And just what is this about?" Grimes held up one of the paper targets. On it was a man in tattered clothing, his skin rotting and falling off in places. His arms were extended outward with hooked fingers, mouth gaping with broken jagged teeth.
Chaplain glanced at the target. "That's the enemy."
"That's not funny, Chaplain," Grimes said.
Chaplain looked Grimes in the eye, "Believe me, Frank, I agree with you." He looked back down and checked the team's progress against the clock.
"What is going on?" Grimes asked.
Chaplain stared at the course and held up his watch. "Come on, come on," he whispered to himself. The team reached the end of the course with under a second to spare. Chaplain let out a breath and sighed. He turned from the window tucking his watch back in his pocket and trading it for an envelope, "Grade 'em and give the go's these orders."
Grimes dropped the target, "You're really playing this game with me? We been battle buddies ten years. What is going on?"
Chaplain sniffed, rubbing at his chin. "You still have that cabin up the mountains?"
Grimes shrugged, "Yeah, so?"
Chaplain looked down thoughtfully. "At some point I may send you a message. If I do, pack your family, grab some weapons and provisions and go straight there. Tell no one and I mean no one. Drop everything. No obligation is more important."
"Why?"
Chaplain shook Grimes' hand and headed for the door. "It was good seeing you, Frank."
"Marcus," said Grimes, his frustration forgotten, "what's the message?"
Chaplain paused, "Zulu."