Chapter Twelve: Radio Ga Ga
Ottawa, Ontario, Canada
8:13 PM EST
Footsteps clattered on the street next to the Marine encampment in the Canadian capital, which was just an apartment building and some tents outside, the ruckus from the Marines outside somehow not drowning out the footsteps. A majority of the civilians that weren't turned were evacuated to London and Toronto, so the Marines took up shop in an apartment building. The commanding officer of the men sent to Ottawa looked out of the window and stood up from his makeshift desk, his M1911A1 quickly being drawn from his leg holster.
One of his men was running across the street, though neither fear or worry was detectable. The Marine in question was Major Clark, who'd seen a few ill-fated tours in Iraq and Afghanistan, making it understandable why he didn't seem to be afraid. Lowering his handgun, the CO opened the door to the apartment building, which the Major ran through and stopped. Looking back out of the window, the commanding officer noticed a couple Marines giving quizzical looks toward the apartment building.
"Lieu-Lieutenant Colonel..." the Major breathed. He was on recon near Parliament Hill, close to a mile away, meaning he ran nonstop. The Canadian Parliament building was the site of an ongoing hostage situation, which, when coupled with a joint Canadian-American attempt to reclaim the city, made things difficult. Most of the terrorists' threats were empty, but the commanding officer knew something was definitely wrong this time, since the Major returned without his men.
"Where are your men, Clark?" Lieutenant Colonel Phil Collins asked. The two had known each other for a while, so the Lieutenant Colonel often skipped formalities.
"Still... at the Hill..." Major Clark gasped for air and stood erect, the Lieutenant Colonel taking note of the blood spatters on the Major's fatigues. "Private Kowalski went to enter the front door despite orders not to and he got blown to fuck-all. I ran to stop him, but I was too late. There must've been... five or six shotguns rigged to a tripwire that tore Alec to pieces."
Collins shook his head. Alec Kowalski was an absolute fool, much like the Lieutenant Colonel's son's friend Luke, whose surname was also Kowalski. He doubted the two had any relation, other than their foolishness.
"What about rest of the squad?"
The Major, having resupplied his oxygen to an adequate level, walked toward the window. "They're still at the Hill, keeping an eye on the entrance. After Kowalski fucked up, one of the terrorists walked out with an AK and a megaphone."
"What did the damn raghead want?" Collins asked.
"He demanded that American forces go home and accept defeat, else the entire building would be demolished, killing everyone in it."
The Lieutenant Colonel, a calm and collected man, walked to the desk and sat down, setting his M1911 on the desk with a sigh. The situation wasn't progressing positively and, like many other members of the United States Armed Forces, the Lieutenant Colonel was beginning to doubt how secure the situation was in the States. He already knew it had gone to hell, since Washington, D.C. was already lost and the Presidency had shifted to the Secretary of the Department of Energy since the whole issue began six days earlier, but he was slowly losing hope in returning to a normal life, especially after the nuclear missiles were launched. He didn't even know where his own son was, other than Seattle, where things reportedly got bad quick. Phil had faith in his son, though.
At first, Phil couldn't complain about his tasking. It was a simple enough job: secure the Canadian Parliament and all within the building. Then the terrorists showed up, an unknown variable in the task. Intelligence reports indicated them to be a group made up of various generally anti-American nationalities: Chinese, North Korean, Russian, Iraqi... The Lieutenant Colonel and some other high-ranking members of the Marine Corps speculated that they were part of the group that caused the zombie outbreak, but they had no hard evidence. The Canadian military was working its way on securing an opposite part of town and left the hostage situation to the Marines, much to the chagrin of the United States Marines, but their leaders shared a similar opinion.
"What do you suggest we do, Phil?" the Major asked, leaning on the wall with a grim look on his face.
Collins ran his right hand through his short blond hair. "We'll be fucked in the ass harder than a porn star if we piss this up," he said, looking out of the window. Marines passed by the two as they spoke. "Have we tried an entry from the top?"
"I don't think we can, to be honest. Besides, if we could, it'd probably be trapped with more shotguns or explosives."
The Lieutenant Colonel nodded. "True, but I think that's our best bet for right now." He clapped his hands together and motioned for the Major to follow him as he walked further back in the lobby. "What I'm going to need you to do is get some of the Black Diamonds rounded up."
"Force Recon? Why?" The Major had a surprised and concerned look on his face, but then noticed the Explosive Ordinance Disposal suits that the Lieutenant Colonel was leading him to. Shock replaced his previous emotions. "What the fuck are you planning, Phil? "
"Do what I said, Major." Phil grimaced. "And get me one of the ballistic shields. " The Major was reluctant to move as his commanding officer began to put one of the suits on, the Advanced Bomb Suit. "That's a Goddamn order, Andrew."
Reluctantly, the Major nodded and ran off to fetch the people and equipment the Lieutenant Colonel requested. What the Major didn't understand was that someone needed to end the pointless standoff.
He would have to be that person.
Tokonosu City, Tokonosu Prefecture, Japan
10:43 A.M. JST
My foot pushes down on the brake pedal and the truck slows to a stop. My hand snakes up to the ignition and my fingers twist the key, killing the engine. I look around the outside of the building, noting nothing out of the ordinary. Some zombies are stumbling about further down the street, but other than that, we're in the clear.
"This a clothing store?" Kiera asks.
"No, I stopped in front of a soup kitchen," I sarcastically reply, scratching my neck. "Of course it's a damn clothing store!"
"Can you be any more of an asshole?" she asks.
"Don't start," Dom intervenes as Luke and Luigi open their doors and get out. "Let's get in there, change our clothes, and get out, real quick-like."
I nod and get out, though I'm nowhere near as reluctant as Kiera. I wonder what the hell is up with her, since she went from being all up in my shit to being all up in my shit.
...One way was semi-good, the other is bad. Shaking my head, my arm pushes the door shut and I round the front of the truck, my AUG held tight. Oddly, the zombies aren't being attracted to the sound of the closing doors, though I'm not complaining. It's just an observation of how strange it is. Luigi and Luke are the first ones to enter the clothing store while I'm going to be the last. Kiera and Dom rush inside ahead of me and I follow, closing the doors and dragging a display rack in front of them. The rack wasn't that heavy, but it should do the job... I hope.
Dom's already stripped off most of his gear and is walking around the shirts without one. I'll always wonder how he can just do that, walk around without a shirt... Well, I probably can't because of having to deal with massive amounts of acne on my back, face, and chest until recently. Yeah, that's probably it. "Bacne," as everyone seemed to call it. It really made me stand out and gave me quite the hard time trying to woo the women. Oh hey, how you doing beau- oh, yeah. Just walk away, like I can help this shit on my face any... Damn genetics...
Heaving a heavy sigh at my reminiscence, I set the AUG and my backpack down in front of the display rack and take off the tactical vest, the jacket following that. Opening the backpack, I shove the jacket inside and start walking around the store, the all-cotton beige shirt covering my torso. The shirt, standard issue with Marine uniforms, is in desperate need of a wash, unlike myself. I showered at that one house we stayed at this morning, before we left to go further into the suburbs. While the shirt was washed a couple days ago, all the sweat since then is making it all nasty feeling.
Countless shirts are on display racks with random English words on them, such as "what," "condensation," "coitus," and "hydrogen peroxide." I'd definitely wear the one that says "coitus," but I'm also starting to wonder just what the Japanese do when they make these shirts. Do they just open an English dictionary and pick out cool looking words? I'm pretty sure walking around while wearing a shirt that says "vaginal sex," albeit the technical term, will get one labeled as a slut. And hydrogen peroxide? I just...
Shaking my head, I walk past the graphic tees, which are just a bunch of Engrish, and start looking at other shirts. There are some legitimate graphic tees, but the script used with the Japanese is absolutely illegible to me. Now I know what the Japanese feel like when they know English and there's something in English that's absolutely unreadable thanks to the way it's written...
This may take a while...
Fifteen minutes later...
I'm gonna need a new backpack. Inside it now are several magazines and miscellaneous items in addition to a t-shirt, a pair of camouflaged cargo trousers, and a USMC jacket.
Surprisingly, I found a pair of Levi's that fit me inside the store, and none of that skinny jean shit. A pair of red and blue running shoes replace my combat boots and I'm now wearing a maroon zip-up hoodie with a Scandal t-shirt underneath. Luckily for me, they have — or had, not sure which — a worldwide fanbase of differing genders and ages, so I'm believable as hell if I take the jacket off. The katana's sheath-thingy is hanging off of one of the belt loops on my jeans. Dom's also wearing blue jeans, but he has on one of the Engrish t-shirts and a gray hoodie. White and blue sneakers replace his combat boots.
I slide the tactical vest on, having already slipped fresh magazines into every pouch possible, then pull on my backpack and grab my AUG, slinging it. As I fasten the vest, Kiera walks out of a dressing room at the same time as Luigi. She's wearing tight blue jeans, a cutesy t-shirt, and black skate shoes, while Luigi somehow found an American Eagle shirt. He's also wearing track pants and green-orange running shoes, as well as a jacket in his hands in addition to his Marine clothing. Luke walks out from behind a couple mannequins wearing a fedora, a pair of aviators, a girl's shirt, extremely baggy cargo pants, girly open-toe shoes, and a jean jacket. I didn't know that Luke was into cross-dressing. It seems that Dad was right when he said " something is wrong with that boy. "
"Luke, you look like an absolute pleb," Dom remarks.
I nod and say, "he's right. You look like you were put in one hell of a fucked-up fashion blender."
Luigi takes note of Luke's appearance and begins to laugh hysterically, which leads me to look at Dom with a raised eyebrow before the laugh catches hold of me and I hahaha! I... woo, I begin laughing, too. Hehe... Dom looks back at me, picks up his vest, and shakes his head, motioning for me to move the rack while he puts it on. Instead of doing that, maybe I should tell Luke to change his clothes. He looks absolutely ridiculous.
"Luke, go back in there with some normal looking clothes and come out looking normal," I say. "We want to blend in. Y'know, look like normal tourists, maybe? Our facial features prevent us from looking like natives, that's for damn sure, but you... you stand out like a white guy in the ghetto — kinda like Luigi — which is much more conspicuous than a damned tourist." Granted, tactical vests aren't all too inconspicuous, either, but that's neither here nor there.
"Hey!" Luigi exclaims, despite knowing just how little I care about political correctness. Granted, his home was the only one in the ghetto to belong to a white family, and I'm not making this up. If I remember correctly, Luigi once said that the police were called to his street six times within a three hour period one day last year. That's not the worst it was, it was much worse a couple years ago, but...
Shaking my head, I motion for Luke to go back to the changing room again. "Get some normal clothes on, you damn drag queen. " Seemingly disheartened, Luke walks back to the changing room. What, did he really think that was acceptable clothing? Jesus Christ, he can be such an idiot... I turn to Dom, who is now wearing his vest, and raise an eyebrow. "You know him better than I do, I think. Any idea what the hell he did that for?"
Dom shrugs. "No clue."
I shake my head some more and inch closer to the door, looking out the window. There are a couple zombies outside, but they're not close to the truck. Still, they might wander close, so we'll have to kill 'em anyway... My head snaps to Dom, who looks at me with raised eyebrows. Closing the door, I open my mouth.
"Put on your suppressor," I say, drawing my katana from its.. saya! That's the word, saya! I stop feeling happy about my ability to remember a word and jerk my head slightly towards the outside. "We're gonna take those freaksacks out, ya dig?"
"I dig," my cousin says, nodding and drawing his HK45. He reaches into a pocket on his vest and slides out the suppressor, proceeding to attach it to the handgun. He flicks off the safety and nods to me, so I slowly push the door open. Looking up, clouds are gathering in the sky, though I don't think they're rainclouds. Despite my love for the rain and precipitation in general, I feel that this is a good thing, since it will help out a lot in the long run if we aren't wet. You get wet, you get cold. It's not even the middle of April and the air's cool, maybe high fifties, so we'd be cold. I wasn't cold yesterday largely because it was much warmer, maybe in the low eighties, but now, since it rained, the temperature dropped.
I let go of the door and Dom catches it as I lightly move forward. I close the gap between me and the first zombie quickly and strike at its neck, slicing halfway through — cutting and separating the rotting flesh, muscle, and sinew — before pulling the blade out. Blood, which somehow didn't gel up already, spurts out a little, though it doesn't hit me. The sound of a suppressed gunshot reaches my ears, then another, then another... Three successive shots? I look at Dom, who has his HK45 raised. My eyes follow where he shot and three zombies are down, about ten feet apart, but two different blood spatters are behind two different zombies, while one has only one spatter. Guess he missed...
I dash toward the next zombie and swing upward, the blade slicing into her jugular vein. I retract the blade and the zombie walks forward a little with blood spurting out, but falls. I guess it'll either bleed out or drown in its own blood. My legs barely move as my arms extend and move in a diagonal motion, the blade touching another zombie's flesh and penetrating it. Pus and blood squeeze out and I feel the blade encounter resistance. I pull the blade out and the zombie turns around, blood visibly outlining where the flesh separated. Honestly, how the fuck are these things still bleeding? Unless their brains still maintain a degree of functionality...
Now is not the time for pondering such trivial things. Now is the time for killing.
The zombie lunges towards me, a movement I respond to by raising my foot. My leg shoots forward, propelling my foot into the zombie's midsection. Through my foot, the feeling of a couple decaying ribs breaking reaches me. The zombie flies back and smacks its skull off of the concrete curb, blood and brain matter spattering out from behind the decaying bone. A sixth suppressed gunshot sounds and the forty-five caliber bullet smacks into the skull of a zombie five feet to my left. Blood paints the ground right next to me as I propel myself into a spin, moving towards another undead freaksack. The blade connects with its lower torso, slicing through the torn fabric that was once a whole shirt and the skin of the zombie's abdomen. The skin and flesh separate, as do the outer portions of the stomach muscle and both of the intestines. I stop my spin and look at my victim, gelled blood and stomach acid drooping out of the wound in conjunction with unreleased bowels. How odd... don't the dead release their bowels shortly after death?
I take a look around the technical battlefield, satisfied with the evidence that no immediate threats remain. I bend down and tear off a strip of cloth from the zombie, a strip that's not soaked with blood, acid, or poop, and wipe off the blade of the katana as Dom walks over to me, holstering his HK45. As the cloth absorbs the blood from the blade, I see the door to the clothing store open out of the corner of my eye, though I can't make out who's opening it. No matter. I stand up, the blade wiped off, and turn to Dom, who's motioning for whoever opened the door to come out.
"Think we're ready to head out?" I ask, sheathing the katana in its saya and turning to the door.
"We should be able to," my cousin replies as Luigi walks out with my boots in his right hand, Luke close behind. Wait a minute, is he...? Oh, thank god! Luke is finally wearing clothes that are normal, like jeans and a brown hoodie, which I assume has a t-shirt underneath. Sneakers, not girly open-toed things, are on his feet and his head is empty, though that's neither here nor there. The only glasses on his face are the ones that correct his vision.
Kiera walks out and I motion for everyone to enter the truck. Luke walks forward and I nod to him. "Wasn't so hard, now was it?"
He doesn't say anything, which isn't surprising, and just gets in the back of the truck with Dom. Wait, Dom already go- whatever, he's a quick bastard. I walk around the front of the truck and open the door to the driver's seat. Swinging my body upward, I plop down in the seat and close the door with my right hand as my left hand curls around the key in the ignition. Wait a second...
I stop myself from turning the engine on and look around as Luigi and Kiera close their doors. We'll just be wasting gas if we drive around aimlessly looking for this place. What was it, the Nakai Radio Building? Yeah, we're just gonna waste gas. That's not exactly a good thing, since it'd be nice to have decent amount of gas after this.
"What's the hold up?" Kiera asks, not being smarmy for once. I still wonder what caused her sudden shift in opinion of me, but that's not important right now.
"We don't know where the hell this radio building is," I inform her. "Maybe we should look around for a map or so-" Luigi's hand flicks and something lands in my lap, effectively stopping me. I pick it up and look at it, irritation quickly being felt due to the excessive usage of exclamation points: Welcome to Tokonosu City! ! Please, check out the sights of the city! ! You will enjoy yourself! ! It seems to be a brochure, and it's in English and not Engrish, but I want to know, "what the hell is this for?"
Luigi shrugs. "I saw it near the cash register. I think it's for tourists. Y'know, one of those little fold-up maps that tourists use to-"
" Navigate the city, yeah." I'm already opening it up. "Did you look at it at all?"
He nods. "Yeah, though the English on the front is misleading. Most of the thing is in Japanese, normal Japanese and that thing they do with the English letters, bar the key and street names."
"You mean romaji, Weeg. And they're Latin characters." I finish unfolding the brochure and take a look. Indeed, it is a big ass map of the business district and there is Romanized Japanese and regular Japanese everywhere. Maybe this was for people who could read romaji better than traditional Japanese? I know I hate kanji, so it makes sense, but there seem to be equal amounts of regular Japanese and romaji... Well, there goes that theory.
"Whatever," he says. "I did pick out a 'Nakai,' though, so that may be something."
I nod, happy that he found something. "Indeed it may."
The map doesn't have a "you are here point," which is logical, but that means I have no clue where the hell we are. I take a look at the store we just came out of and glance at the sign above the door. ユニクロ。 " Uniqlo" is on another sign right next to it. I look around on the map for the Japanese characters and... bam! Right there! Now I know where we are, so now for Nakai Radio Building. That would be "Nakai Raijo Biru" in Japanese, or 「中井ライジョビル,」 though "Nakai" alone should be sufficient enough to find it. Unless there's a Nakai Memorial, a Nakai General Hospital, and a Nakai Gentleman's Club with some hella good wings... Baka. Don't get distracted. Some wings would be nice, though.
My eyes dart around and... oh, there it is! Nakai Raijo Biru is on... Goma Street. Goma... I can't even...
On the bright side, the building's only a few blocks away. On the other hand... I sigh and hand the map back to Luigi. Shaking my head, I start the engine.
"You found it?" Dom asks, unaware of my inability to even...
Despite losing that ability, my head bobs in a nod. "Yeah, I found it."
"All right!" Luke exclaims. "Let's go, then!"
Couldn't've said it better myself... "Weegee. " I point to where we are on the map and then point to the radio building. "Directions."
"Alright," he replies with a nod. I throw the transmission into drive and depress the gas pedal, accelerating toward an intersection that has a few cars abandoned in the middle. I turn the steering wheel clockwise and begin to make a turn opposite those of NASCAR drivers. "Make a right!"
"I know, you dimwit! I remembered the first turn I had to make. Now you can give me directions."
Meanwhile, in Ottawa, Ontario, Canada, above Parliament Hill...
Lieutenant Colonel Phil Collins of the United States Marine Corps sat in the bulky suit usually worn by Explosive Ordinance Disposal personnel. He was wearing a Type IV bullet resistant vest underneath the suit and held a ballistic shield in his right hand. He had a UMP40 submachine gun fitted with a laser sight in his left hand, one of the many firearms obtained from sources outside of the Marine Corps. When the Marines crossed the American-Canadian border, there were several of the guns at a United States Border Patrol station that they stopped at, so they took them. They were more powerful than the nine millimeter MP5s and the MP5/40s that the Marines in Ottawa had were too uncomfortable to fire one-handed, so the Lieutenant Colonel was glad he made the call.
"You sure you wanna do this, Phil?" Major Andrew Clark asked, sitting next to the Lieutenant Colonel with a laptop in his lap. Three Force Recon snipers were getting in position around the building's perimeter below as they neared the roof of the Centre Block Building via helo.
"I don't see any other way, Andrew," the Lieutenant Colonel said.
Collins' plan was to touch down and enter above the main room, where the hostages were supposedly held, and eliminate the tangos. The terrorist group was a force of fifty people, probably full of untrained terrorists who couldn't even mix soda and Mentos properly, but the threats of detonating the building still deterred Phil's superiors, the Canadians, and Phil himself. However, since nothing was getting done, it was the Lieutenant Colonel's job to do something, something the death of Private Alec Kowalski helped the half-bird decide on doing. The Major would be radioing info about thermal satellite scans of the building to the squad of five Marines and the Lieutenant Colonel, who would be taking point due to his amount of protection. The Force Recon Marines were there as a precaution and mainly in case some terrorist walked outside stupidly. Ten more Marines lied in wait for the front doors to be secured and opened. All thirteen of them were also to repel any zombies, should the undead desire to be part of the Canadian lawmaking process.
The helicopter lowered to the roof of the Parliament and hovered merely six inches off of the ground. Collins, sweating only a little because the Canadian night air was cool, was the first off. He landed on the roof with a small thud as the five Marines he selected hopped off and onto the roof behind him.
"Don't do anything stupid, Phil," the Major said, genuine concern being expressed for his friend and commanding officer.
The Lieutenant Colonel nodded with a grunt. A rooftop access stairwell was to their right, which the Lieutenant Colonel motioned for his men to move to. Men and one woman, to be precise. The helicopter took off again and he heard a voice within his headgear.
"Everyone able to read me?" the Major asked, his voice accompanied by the typical radio distortion as he abandoned radio procedure as usual. Even the technology of the twenty-first century couldn't get rid of that distortion.
"Affirmative," Phil responded, as did his team of Marines.
"I've connected to the satellite, but like I said earlier, it's only a prototype. I don't know how well this'll see through walls and all that fun shit, but I'll help as best I can."
"If you can't help us too much," the more experienced Marine said, "don't fret, alright?"
"Yes sir," Clark muttered, the radio unable to distort his wariness. Phil shook his head. That man worried too much in regards for his friend for the past fifteen years. Though some may call it good friendship, Phil felt it was annoying after seven years. He wasn't mentally unstable or anything. Shit happens and he knew it.
Shaking his armored head, Collins lumbered toward the stairwell, his increased safety gained at the cost of a portion of his mobility and natural hearing. He had utilized the suits before, so he had learned how to move faster, though he had to be careful he didn't fall down. Should he tumble, getting up would be more fun than moving.
The half-bird opened the door to the stairwell and stepped inside as the light from inside bathed the dark outside, wordlessly commanding his squad to stay low and follow behind him. He crouched down and lowered the shield to cover his torso and legs. The terrorists heard the helicopter, no doubt, and the Lieutenant Colonel knew it, as did his men. He kept his guard up, though he wasn't able to hear much aside from the radio. He crept down the staircase, which was seemingly designed in the seventies, and held his UMP up vertically, halting the Marines behind him. Below him on the landing stood one of the terrorists, completely oblivious to the Marines' presence. Collins kept creeping, keeping the noise he made to an absolute minimum. The man, probably in his early twenties, had jet black hair and very chiseled features, those typical of a Russian, though his nose was quite big. He was leaning forward on the railing with his eyes closed.
"Chert voz'mi," the Ruskie loudly said, though the Marine couldn't understand. "Eto tak chertovski bessmyslenno."
The bomb-suited Lieutenant Colonel moved the shield some more to look at the Russian man and noticed an almost empty bottle of Russian Vigor in his hand. Two other vodka bottles laid on the floor behind him, one empty, one broken with glass scattered around near it. Collins slowly inched forward, the ballistic shield at the ready. The Lieutenant Colonel managed to sneak in behind the drunk Russian, but dealing with him was a newly presented obstacle. Killing him would be the easy choice, the one that would be chosen had the Russian been just an ordinary target, a layman with no purpose other than to be cannon fodder. However, the half-bird had decided it was in their best interest to take as many of the terrorists captive as possible, at least until the Marines captured the leaders of the group.
The Lieutenant Colonel pondered what to do with the Russian, how to subdue him. Dropping any piece of equipment would create noise, which, in turn, would draw the drunk Russian's attention away from the troubles of having little vodka and to the American about to knock his ass out. Collins knew from first-hand experience that drunk Ivans weren't fun people. The Tokarev TT-33 holstered on his right thigh supplemented the prediction that this Ruskie wouldn't be any different.
The Russian suddenly stopped swishing vodka inside his bottle and stood erect. He slowly turned around and looked directly at the American, but made no movements. The two just stared at each other, neither blinking. The Russian slowly raised his vodka to his mouth and took a draft, his gaze not moving from the American Marine directly in front of him. The Marine broke the stare to look at what had caused Ivan to turn around: the broken glass on the floor. His eyes immediately relocked with Ivan's.
"What are you here for, American?" the Russian said, his English heavily accented, keeping the bottle near his lips. "You are American, no?"
Phil didn't move, but he noticed out of the corner of his eye that the Marines hadn't moved too much on the stairs. They hadn't even started down the stairs to assist their commanding officer, which is exactly what they were instructed to do: stay until told otherwise. The Marine and the Russian stared each other down some more, hostilities oddly being avoided.
"What will you do?" Ivan asked, raising the bottle to his lips. "Kill them?"
"What's it to you?" the Lieutenant Colonel asked calmly and loudly.
"Do not worry. I will not alert my 'allies.'"
"What the hell do you mean, 'allies?'" the half-bird asked, intrigued by how Ivan said it. Did the Russian and the others have a falling out?
"I merely thought they were survivors. Instead, they are terrorist." He pointed to his Tokarev as he said "terrorist." "As if situation wasn't already fucked enough!" He turned around and lobbed his vodka bottle across the stairs, the bottle smashing against the far wall. "Give me a rifle! I'll kill the fuckers with bare hands if I have to!"
The Lieutenant Colonel motioned for the waiting Marines to walk down, causing Ivan to cock an eyebrow. "What's your name?" Collins asked.
"Nikolai," the Russian replied with a huff, the three bottles of alcohol doing nothing to hinder his cognitive thought. "You Americans are here to rescue hosers, no?"
Figuring that "hosers" meant "Canadians," the bomb-suited Marine nodded. "Yes. We're here to take out your buddies and safely evacuate the Canadian hostages."
"They are not 'buddies,'" the seemingly drunk man spat, unintentionally showing off quite a bit of stubble that Collins didn't notice at first, and suddenly held his hand up in the air. "Nikolai has idea!"
The Lieutenant Colonel looked at his subordinates, then to the drunk Russian, back to his squad, and back to Nikolai. "Might as well hear you out..." Phil set the shield and UMP both down and pulled off the helmet. "What's your idea?"
Nikolai leaned back on the railing and crossed his arms. "You go back on roof, all of you. Then, Nikolai — that's me — goes and brings everyone up to roof! Then they die!" Nikolai laughed heartily. "Just like third wife..."
Shaking his head at the thought of neutralizing everyone — as well as deciding not to pursue his curiosity regarding the Russian's wife — the Lieutenant Colonel cocked an eyebrow. "And how will you get them up to the roof?"
"Is easy!" Nikolai replied, extending his arms and then pointing to himself. "I get one guy up on roof and you deal with him. Simple, no?" Collins nodded, his Marines looking at him with somewhat confused feelings about the Russian. "Then I tell more douches that douche you dealt with wants them all on roof!" He chuckled some more.
The Lieutenant Colonel pondered the offer for a few seconds, quickly concluding that it was a good idea. Utilizing their own men against them. It was a tactic usually employed by the Central Intelligence Agency, but Collins wasn't about to denounce such a method. If it meant that he could handle the situation easier, he'd gladly take the Russian up on his offer. Besides, EOD suits weren't exactly meant to absorb bullets.
"Alright, Nikolai," the Marine Officer said. "I accept your offer. Do you want anything in return?" The Lieutenant Colonel figured that it would be best to figure out wha-
"Vodka."
The Lieutenant Colonel wasn't the only one dumbstruck. His squad looked at the Russian with wide eyes, a look uncharacteristic of them. "Okay, vodka it is..."
"Phil, what the hell are you doing?" Clark said through the radio.
The half-bird was barely able to hear him since he took the helmet off. Swearing under his breath, he raised the headwear to his head. Sliding the helmet back on, Phil replied, "what do you mean?"
"There's a tango right there and you're all-"
"He's a friendly," Collins interrupted. "Glad to know that satellite works, though."
"Yeah, but I have to ask, how's he a friendly?"
"He just is, trust me." A period of radio silence was broken by the Marines being ushered upstairs and the Lieutenant Colonel staying behind. "Tell me, Andy, are we above the hostages?"
"Affirmative, Phil."
"Head count."
A few seconds of silence passed. "Approximately four hundred individuals, give or take. They're all clustered together in two separate area, but I still can't get an accurate reading."
Four hundred individuals taken hostage... Collins nodded in disbelief, but grabbed his shield and UMP. "Thanks, Andy." He turned to Nikolai, who was oddly quiet. "Get your plan started, but bring the head honchos first. We'll be up on the roof."
Nikolai nodded and walked down the stairs, muttering "vodka" repeatedly. The Lieutenant Colonel recalled him mentioned having a third wife, making him possibly older than he looked. Shaking his head, the bomb suit-clad half-bird walked up the stairs to the roof. The stairs were somewhat difficult to climb in the suit, given the restriction of movement the suit caused, especially that of the legs.
Once on the roof, the Marines nodded to their commanding officer and one, Sergeant Woods, stepped forward, toward Lieutenant Colonel Collins. "Sir, what exactly are we going to do?"
"Simple, Woods," the senior Marine replied, slightly wishing he wasn't in the suit. "I'll have one of you subdue the other guy, not our Russian friend."
Woods cocked an eyebrow, as if he were in disbelief about the plan. "And when they all get up here?"
The Lieutenant Colonel shrugged as best he could in the heavy bomb suit. "Kill a few, take a few captive. Depends on how it pans out." He motioned for the Marines to get under the cover of darkness, raised his shield, and began to whisper as Woods crouched down next to him in the dark shadows. "I aim to primarily capture the leaders of the group, Sergeant. The rest are... they're expendable."
The Sergeant nodded, though he seemed reluctant to do so, at least from what the Lieutenant Colonel was able to see. "Understood, sir."
Satisfied that Woods wouldn't be questioning orders, Collins decided to check in with Clark. "Andy, what do you see?"
The built-in radio speaker inside the helmet emitted radio static for a very short period of time, approximately two seconds, before the Major responded, his voice still slightly distorted. "Heat signatures from that stairwell."
"How many?"
"Three. Looks like your Russian buddy's plan didn't go exactly as he had intended."
The Lieutenant Colonel shook his head, unconcerned with the small number, and tapped the Marine next to him with the shield. "Woods, Knutson, get ready to knock some terrorists down. At the door."
The two Marines quickly maneuvered themselves to the door, keeping in the shadows. Both sergeants let their rifles hang at their torsos as they hunched over. Knutson cracked his knuckles audibly, probably itching to get into a fight. His commanding officer silently berated him. Knuckle cracking was an unnecessary-
Gunfire rang out below, almost causing Phil to do a double take. He looked over the edge of the roof and saw a couple of stray zombies wandering towards the Marines positioned outside. Looking back up, the half-bird and his remaining three Marines kept quiet.
"Yes, the Americans are outside," an Arabic-sounding man said in a cocky tone. "Nikolai, is that what you saw?"
"I'm not sure," the Marines' Russian comrade lied. "I still think you must check it out."
"Alright, alright," the Arabic man loudly said, laughing. "Oh, the Americans have no clue that we're not going to blow the building up. They're so stupid. Standing outside is what I expected from-"
The Arabic man, who had entered the shadowed Marines' view, suddenly fell to the ground at the hands of Knutson.
"Farid?" a feminine and Chinese-accented voice said, questioning her compatriot's sudden silence. She gasped for one reason, one the half-bird concluded was her seeing Farid knocked out. "Nikolai, what the hell happened to him? Wáng bā, he's unconscious!"
Another gasp and a thud later, Woods began to drag the Chinese woman away from the door alongside Knutson and his Arabic victim. Nikolai stood in front of the shadowed Marines and waved.
"Were they the leaders?" Collins asked, standing up.
The Russian nodded, allowing Collins to breathe a sigh of relief. "Nikolai shall return with more sobaki," he stated, oddly switching back to the third-person, before heading back down the stairs. The Russian's mixed perspectives when talking caused the half-bird to conclude that he had some sort of mental disorder or trauma.
The sergeants dropped the unconscious terrorists and looked at their commanding officer expectantly, basically ushering the Lieutenant Colonel as he walked forward. "It's gonna be a firefight, men..." He looked at the female of the group, Private First Class Subaru, as the Marines left the cloak of darkness. "...and woman. Anyway, I'll distract their fire, so all you need to do is take them out. Ideally, we'll capture a couple of them, but a few 'accidents...' Well, they're just that." He cleared his throat. "Alright, Marines! Get into position! Subaru, you're over there..."
Meanwhile, back in Tokonosu City, Tokonosu Prefecture, Japan...
THUD!
A zombie crunches into the front end of the truck and falls underneath, the tires crushing and ripping it up even more. I depress the brake pedal once more and sigh, the scene ahead displeasing me. Zombies, for the third time in a row, are blocking our once-clear cut path to possible answers. The truck almost screeches to a stop, though its stopping garners a sigh from us all, one big collective expulsion of breath in an equally big collective display of displeasure.
"More of these damned things," I groan, setting my face on the steering wheel and throwing the transmission into park at the same time. Honestly, I wouldn't mind taking a nap right about now.
"We've only got one street to go," Luigi says, tapping my shoulder. I look up and he points at the zombie-infested intersection. "Take a right right down there."
"I would," I mutter, glaring at him. "Were these damn things not in the way!"
"Just run 'em down!" Kiera exclaims. "God, you're a freaking retard!"
I turn around and shove my finger in her face, annoyed with her. She's been like this the whole time. "I don't know what the hell you have against me right now, but drop it! Or are you going to just shoot me in the knees, too?!"
Dom raises his hand in a disarming manner. "Jake-"
"I had my reasons for shooting that prick in the knees, alright?! Whenever you have a daughter, you're not supposed to use her for looks and-and-and then ignore her the rest of the time!" Kiera's eyes are wild right now and her face is slightly red, likely because of her anger. She may have just said why she shot him, which is totally what I wanted, but I know there's more to it. The faltering she just had more or less confirms it, almost as if she was quickly trying to think of something else to say. "Are you satisfied, you damn sociopathic piece-of-shit?"
I grimace. "No, I'm not," I angrily reply. "Cut the crap and I'll leave you be for now." She shuts her mouth and glares at me, which is oddly arousing. An attractive girl getting angry with you doesn't seem like it would be a stimulating sight — and it hasn't been for the past couple of days — but there's something about the way she's looking at me now that has made it so. That aside, it's quite obvious that she wants to verbally fight about something, but I'm not in the mood. Hell, I haven't been in the mood for a while, since she always wants to get into it at the most inopportune of moments. "Anyway, we can't just run them all down, baka."
"And why the hell not?" She really thinks she's the one with the best ideas, doesn't she?
"Technically, we could mow them down like blades of grass-"
"Then do it!"
"-but there are a couple things I don't want to risk. Unnecessary external damage to the front end, broken windows-"
"Jake," Dom suddenly says.
I look at him. "What?"
"Just run them over. We're getting nowhere by just sitting here."
"Yeah!" Luke, Kiera, and Luigi agree at the same time. Goddammit...
I throw the transmission out of park and back into overdrive. "It's you assholes' funeral if the truck gets totaled."
"It won't get totaled," Kiera mutters. What she doesn't realize is how nice it is to have a windshield. Enough collisions could cause dents deep enough to mess with the engine, especially with how much fiberglass is used in cars today. I don't know much about cars, so this is merely speculation, but still not a chance I want to take.
A sigh escapes my lips, the thought of tossing the undead flying in the air not too pleasing with this- wait, what if I just move at a slow speed? Maybe, oh I don't know, twenty miles-per-hour? I don't know how many kilometers-per-hour that'd be, but I'll just take an estimate.
My foot pushes down on the pedal lightly, not to where I'm putting the pedal to the metal, and the truck begins accelerating. The outer layer of the undead and the truck get closer until the difference is zero and a zombie meets the front end, then I turn the steering wheel. That zombie turns into two, then five, then ten... all of the zombies lose their balance and fall down, only to either have the weight of the truck crush their fragile bones and the tires rip up their rotting flesh a little, causing the truck the thump from running them over, or just get pushed out of the way. I push the pedal down some more, gaining more and more speed, until we reach the other side. The last of the zombies either fall under the truck or to the sides.
I lean up some as we distance ourselves from the undead. The only things the zombies left behind were a few dents around the grille and some blood spatter from the bleeders. Satisfied, I lean back in my seat and start applying the brakes.
"See, that wasn't so hard, now was it?" Kiera mockingly says. Why. I'd love to mollywop her for her smarminess.
"Not to listening to you?" I ask, turning in my seat. "No, it wasn't hard at all."
She shrugs. "I knew you had it in you."
What the...? SHE WAS BEING A- I sigh in exasperation. Calm down some, Jake. Women aren't meant for you to understand. Not at all, not one bit... Never. Never ever.
I shake my head and look around as the truck rolls to a complete stop. There are some buildings with kanji on them to our right, and I despise kanji, so while I can read them, I choose not to. Besides, the characters for Nakai, 中井, aren't on those signs. I look to the left, past some abandoned cars and a bus, my eyes locking on to the buildings... There it is! Underneath the Japanese characters 「中井ライジョビル」are the English words "Nakai Radio Building." On top of the building, at least from what I can see, is the base of a radio antenna.
"There it is!" Luigi and Kiera exclaim at the same time, Luigi basically shouting into my ear. Louder things have been heard at close distances, so I'm not too discomforted.
"Huh," Luke breathes. "There are armed guards in front of it."
I look back at Luke and then the building, disbelief a very real feeling. Holy hell, he's right. They look like Japanese Ground Self-Defense Forces, to be quite honest. Why the JGSDF would be guarding a civilian radio building is... Wait, that's similar to the Brotherhood of Steel in Fallout 3. Yeah, it's not too farfetched.
"They're Japanese 'military,'" I say, using air quotes.
"Okay, and...?" my cousin replies, as though he's not sure why I brought it up.
"It'll be a little tougher for us to get in."
"Then why not just put the Marine stuff back on?" Luke suggests.
"That's not stupid Luke, but we are going for a casual tourist look, remember?" I remind him.
"But how are tactical vests casual?" Luigi chimes in. "And the guns at our sides or slung over our shoulders? We look like mercenaries or something. That's not exactly a tourist, Jake."
"Okay, maybe not. We can play the part of very fortunate survivors, but we do not want to go in as Marines. Not with the JGSDF there."
"Why not?"
"Because we'll be dragged into more things to help people, which I know all of you hate doing."
"Don't even act like you enjoy being an errand boy!" Luigi shoves his finger in my face. "You're the laziest person I know besides Luke!"
I shrug, though I am getting real sick of everyone getting all up in my shit. "I won't deny that I dislike it," I reply, grabbing Luigi's wrist and pushing it down. "But I've done more in the past week than your ass has done in three years!"
"I don't care! You're still-"
"Shut up!" Luke shouts, shocking the both of us. "We're supposed to be working together, not fighting! Geez, guys."
I let go of my chubby friend's wrist and nod. "He's right." Luigi nods reluctantly and turns to the windshield while I point at Kiera and cock an eyebrow. "You should understand that, too."
Her mouth shoots open in protest, but Dom clasps his hand over her mouth. "Don't start, either of you," he says, earning a muffled sigh of exasperation from Kiera.
I shrug, look forward, and put my foot down on the gas pedal, pulling in close to the left-hand curb. Applying the brake, the truck stops and I throw the transmission into park once more. I unsling the AUG and slide the backpack off, setting it on the console, then I take the key out of the ignition and wait for everyone to open their door. All doors except mine open, which I then open and then hit the lock button, locking all of the doors. I'm still going to be wary about grand theft auto, even now.
"Paranoid twat," my cousin mutters as he hops out and shuts his door.
The doors all close, though Luke ends up shutting Kiera's. I resling my AUG and slide out, shutting the door with my back. I slip the key into the right pocket of my pants and walk around the front of the truck. I take point and lead the group between a couple abandoned Subaru Imprezas before reaching the door to the building. The Japanese Ground Self-Defense Force guards raise their Howa Type 89 assault rifles at us when we get ten feet from the door.
「Halt!」the trooper, a woman, on the right says. She has medium-length brown hair covered by a cap, though the bangs hang out.「What's your business here?」
I certainly hope she doesn't think all foreign-looking people speak Japanese. I take a quick glance at her uniform and note her last name.「We're here to see Kazuto Okumura, Taneshima-san.」
Taneshima, who I assume is probably only in her early twenties, softens a little and lowers her rifle.「Why do you need to see him?」
Her fellow guard, a bespectacled man of a similar age but probably more military experience, groans.「Taneshima, you're not supposed to just fold that easily.」
She flusters with her rifle a little.「So-sorry, Sakamoto-senpai.」
「Don't call me "senpai!"」Sakamoto whines.
I wave my hand between the two.「Uh, you mind if we see Okumura-san?」
Sakamoto lowers his rifle, but holds out his hand. 「We'll have to confiscate your weapons if you do.」
"What'd he say?" Dom asks. "I heard something about our weapons."
I turn around to face my cousin and nod. "He wants us to hand them over."
Dom and Luigi shake their heads, but Kiera and Luke shrug. Since I disagree with handing over our firearms, it seems that persuasion is going to be needed. I turn back to the Japanese and clear my throat.
「No can do,」I say, shaking my head. 「You ever take an American's guns away?」Sakamoto and Taneshima both shake their heads. Going good, going good... I take a step forward and lean in towards Taneshima.「Word of advice. Don't.」
Sakamoto retracts his hand and nods toward the door. 「Go on,」he says monotonously. Either my "persuasion" worked or he really doesn't care. The latter seems more likely, since he yelled at his fellow guard for softening too quickly. I open the door and he speaks up again.「Yui, show them where Okumura is.」
I turn my head and Taneshima nods, eagerly squeezing in front of me. Luigi bumps into me due to my sudden stop and I can hear him sigh lightly behind me, though I'm surprised he didn't shout, "JESUS!" Taneshima walks inside the door and points toward herself.
「Follow me!」she exclaims. I quickly turn and shrug to Luigi and the others.
"What'd she say?" Luke asks.
"'Follow me,'" Dom and I reply, almost like we were synchronized. I give my cousin a thumbs up and he does the same, but quickly stops due to a glare from Kiera. Man, I can hear the whip cracking now. Kinda quick for that to start, though, since it's been only a little over twelve hours.
I turn back to Taneshima and nod. 「Lead the way.」
She takes her cap off and stuffs it into her pocket as we walk, the others behind me talking, though I'm not paying any attention. She holds her rifle by the handguard and points to another member of the JGSDF in what I assume is the lobby, which is we are now. She then points outside and he runs off.
「We're gonna go up those stairs,」she informs me, pointing to a set of stairs to the right of the reception desk. Couches and low-lying coffee tables adorn the lobby, and to be honest, those couches look comfortable. They'd be nicer than the truck's seats, though those aren't uncomfortable either. The beige walls contrast with the black-carpeted floor. It's not the carpet that is fun to run your feet through, either, it's that flat stuff that passes as carpeting. As is expected of a place being used by the military — even if it technically isn't a military, like Japan's Self-Defense Forces — there are sleeping bags and weapons crates, among other things. JGSDF personnel wander around the floor, one woman working a radio behind the reception desk.
「So, what're the JGSDF doing here?」I ask as we begin walking up the stairs.
Taneshima scratches her neck with her free hand, her brown hair bobbing a little. 「Uh... I don't remember exactly why we came initially, but I'm pretty sure it was to make sure this building was clear, that way we could inform people of evacuation locations and such, but that was before the EMP.」
We turn on a landing to go up another flight. 「What about now?」
「Well, Okumura-san was here when we first arrived and he insisted on just reporting the news. I didn't mind, but some of the senior officers refused to agree, but after the EMP, we still had power and were able to gather information from across the globe. Apparently, this place has some really strong backup generators or something, so it was decided that we just keep survivors informed via radio.」She sighs and runs a hand through her hair. 「What about you and your friends? You said you're American, right?」
I nod and we make another turn on another landing. It seems that her group is disobeying orders, so I don't think it'll hurt to tell her our situation.「We came in with the Marine Corps at the airport.」
「You're Marines?」She seems excited, kinda like Kouta was, but also not as much as him. 「But, where are your uniforms?」
「You see,」I say. 「We're technically Marines, but we're only high-schoolers.」The Japanese woman, who I speculate may only be twenty-two at the oldest, raises an eyebrow. 「Regardless, we got separated and our radios were broken, so we ended up at the Takagi Estate until that got overrun. We repelled the zombies there and then we left, got a change of clothes, and here we are, just a group of American teenagers surviving.」I decided to leave some things out on purpose. I don't want to start telling her my whole life story.
「Separated, Takagi Estate...」she looks down and then looks back up as she leads us through a doorway on the third landing and into a hallway with a similar color scheme as the first floor. 「You guys wouldn't happen to have survived that helicopter crash that happened a few days back in the residential district, would you?」
I nod.「Yeah, we are.」
She gasps a little, which is kinda cute.「That was a nasty crash. You're lucky you survived!」
「Yeah, we are.」
We stop in front of a door labeled "Broadcasting 4" accompanied by a plaque with some kanji on it that I don't care to read. 「Okumura-san is in here, but I think you'll have to wait until he's finished.」She points to a series of ten chairs conveniently placed outside of the broadcasting room. 「You can sit there while you wait.」
I nod and bow my head. 「Thank you very much, Taneshima-san.」
Taneshima blushes a little, though I wonder why. This a reversal of the "senpai noticed me" thing, it seems. 「You're very welcome, um...」
Right, I never mentioned my name. 「Jake Collins.」
She smiles and nods. 「You're welcome, Collins-san.」She looks around anxiously. 「Uh, I'd better get back to my post. It was nice meeting you!」
「Likewise!」I loudly reply as she dashes off, now carrying her Howa Type 89 with both hands. She seems like a nice girl. Attractive and nice.
I look at my group and notice that Dom's already on his ass in a chair. "I see you're already making moves on military chicks now."
"Friendly conversation never hurt anyone," I reply, planting my posterior on the chair next to his.
"It always hurt you when you tried with girls not even two weeks ago," my cousin bluntly replies. "Damn, you used to be so awkward with them. What happened?"
A shrug rolls off of my shoulders in a very nonchalant manner. "Hell if I know." I lean back, tap my feet on the ground, and groan. "Oh, this better not take forever."
Meanwhile, on top of the Centre Block building on Parliament Hill in Ottawa, Ontario, Canada...
"I'll wipe my ass with your face, American!"
The Lieutenant Colonel and one of the terrorists, likely a North Korean but definitely Asian, were facing off near the roof's edge. Nikolai had returned with quite a few of his former allies, roughly twenty-two of them. The Marines, shrouded in shadows at the time, ended up capturing four and killing seventeen. Since Nikolai brought them the leaders first, Collins' subordinates saw no reason to keep a majority of the others alive and Collins himself wasn't too worried about them.
The senior Marine raised his shield to block a blow from the Korean's knife, the fifth time he had done so. The Korean's gun, a Norinco QBZ-97, was knocked out of his hands by the American's shield earlier in the fight. Since then, the Korean kept attempting to puncture a shield able to deflect small arms fire with a seemingly dull combat knife. The Lieutenant Colonel passed it off as the typical mindset of any patriotic North Korean: more superior in mind and body and more pure in blood than a bodybuilding scholar who was the most Aryan of Nazis. In other words, the Korean felt that he was able to defeat his heavily armored opponent with nothing more than a display knife due to his nationality.
The Marine sidestepped the Korean's "attack" and watched as he nearly fell over the roof.
"Here, lemme help you with that," Phil said blankly. The Korean man quickly turned around and looked at his adversary with wide, pleading eyes. Deeming the North Korean as another pest, Collins rose the shield in the air and rammed it into the Asian's midsection. With a yelp, the terrorist flew off the edge of the roof and the Lieutenant Colonel watched. Screaming like a little girl, the once fearless man plummeted to the ground, either lamenting his alliance at the last minute and damning the Kim family to hell for eternity or praying that Kim Jong-un would survive the nuke dropped on Pyongyang and have plenty to eat. No matter what he was doing, his prayers likely wouldn't be answered and his skull was the first thing to say "hello" to the ground, blood and brain matter instantly exploding out of the cranium to meet the cement.
Undisturbed, the Lieutenant Colonel walked away from the edge of the roof, the occasional gunshot from below reaching his eardrums. The Marines below were still beating back the occasional small wave of zombies.
"Phil, what did you just do?" Major Clark asked over the radio.
"I took care of some communist scum, that's it," the half-bird replied.
The Major laughed a little before getting serious. "You threw him off of the roof, didn't you?"
"'Smacked' would be a more accurate verb."
"Whatever. Now, in the room directly below you, there are five terrorists, all aiming their weapons at the door. None of you would happen to have any flashbangs, would you?"
"I have two," Subaru said over the radio, her voice still too soft by her commanding officer's standards.
"Well, Private, you're gonna get to use 'em."
Collins jogged to the best of his ability to the dropped QBZ-97, jamming the UMP40 into the handle of the ballistic shield to keep it in place. He bent down and grabbed the now-dead North Korean's gun with his left hand, still keeping a firm hold on the shield with his right hand.
"Down the stairs, Marines and Nikolai," Phil commanded. The Marines all filed into the stairwell in an orderly fashion and headed down into the stairwell while Nikolai, now outfitted with an AN-94 courtesy of a former countryman, drunkenly stumbled about before following. Collins brought up the rear and followed the other six down the stairs. They stopped in front of a door on the second landing down, Subaru and Knutson pressed up against the walls adjacent to the door.
"That's the room," Andrew informed the squad, minus Nikolai.
The Lieutenant Colonel nodded toward Subaru, silently commanding her to toss a flashbang. Knutson opened the door slightly as Subaru primed the grenade. She lobbed it into the room and Collins took point. The grenade detonated and Knutson pushed the door open completely. The bomb suit-clad Marine walked into the room, its occupants dazed and confused, and raised the Chinese assault rifle with one hand. He aimed it sideways and squeezed the trigger, the rifle firing in an arc due to the recoil. Out of the five targets in the room, the Lieutenant Colonel hit four with his improvised style of shooting, though he personally despised shooting guns sideways. Two of the four hit terrorists were dead, several rounds in their chest and probably one or two in the head. The remaining two were bleeding out, while Nikolai took care of the last one, double-tapping him in the head.
"Just like sixth wife!" Nikolai shouted drunkenly as the terrorist fell to the ground with a demolished skull, causing Collins — and probably all of the Marines — to raise an eyebrow.
"Alright." Phil crouched down next to the dead terrorists and set the QBZ and shield down. He began rummaging for 5.56x45mm NATO STANAG magazines and he found a few. Picking the QBZ back up, he hit the mag release, slid in a fresh magazine, and chambered a fresh round, the spent brass flying out of the ejection port. He handed the remaining magazines to Subaru and motioned for everyone to head to the next door. "We're taking this place by storm, men and woman. I'll take point, just in case there are bombs rigged to tripwires." He pointed at Subaru. "Private, behind me and stay low."
"Yes sir!" she replied, crouching down as her superior grabbed his shield once more. The Marines and one Russian then proceeded to the next room.
The Canadian Parliament was on the verge of liberation.
Meanwhile, in the Nakai Radio Building, Tokonosu City, Tokonosu Prefecture, Japan...
「American Marines reportedly entered the Canadian capital of Ottawa a couple of days ago and met with Canadian Armed Forces to retake the city, but have encountered terrorists in the Canadian Parliament's Centre Block building, now the site of an ongoing hostage situation.」
It's been a few minutes since we sat down out here and this Okumura guy's broadcasts are even played over loudspeakers in the halls. Yeah, it's great to catch up on the news and all, but my god does he talk. Out of boredom, I slide my M1911 out of its leg holster and slide the magazine out, then in, then out, then in...
"Jake, what the hell are you doing?" Dom asks.
"I'm bored, dude. Lay off."
My cousin shrugs and I slide the M1911 back into the holster. Jesus, can this dude take any longer?
「Up next is a Western song, from the English rock band Queen.」
Through the window, we're able to see the Okumura fellow. He's about five foot six, has messy black hair, and is wearing a black jacket and jeans. He stands up from his... I dunno, broadcasting station and walks to the door, opening it. Music plays over the loudspeakers, what I think is a drum machine opening it. I already know what song it is, but I don't think that matters.
「Come in,」Okumura beckons through the open door. Dom and I stand and I motion for the others to get up. We all walk into the studio, I guess you could call it, and Okumura sits back down.「You're all American, yes?」
I nod.「But you wouldn't speak to an American in Japanese under normal circumstances, now would you?」
"I'd sit alone and watch your light," Freddie Mercury sings. I shouldn't be surprised that we can hear it in here. "My only friend through teenage nights. And everything I had to know, I heard it on my radio..."
He nods and points at me before turning to a desk.「Ah, but Collins-san, I would if I knew the American could speak it.」
What the...?「How do you know my name? And how do you-」
「Know that you speak Japanese?」He turns and I nod.「Simple.」
He spins back around, grabs a folder, and tosses it to me. I open it and... Why the hell is my picture on a military news website? Above my picture is the heading "Treacherous Teenager Leads Group That Impersonates Marines," with "by Captain Rowan Daniels" right below my picture. That prick... I knew I didn't like him for a good reason.「Where the hell did you find this?」
"What the hell?" my cousin says, grabbing the folder and looking at it.
「It was on that site,」Okumura says, cupping his hands behind his head.「As a news reporter, I was interested, but my interest really got piqued when I read that you were all headed to Japan, specifically Tokonosu Offshore Airport.」He sighs and grabs another printed off piece of paper and holds it up, this one also with my picture on it. It's a "student of the month" article from the Herald-Standard, the local newspaper back home. But that was published a few months ago...「I Googled your name and came up with this.」He clears his throat and turns the paper back to himself. "Collins is able to speak Japanese well and hopes to attend Tokyo University after graduation." Okumura's English is accented, just like any nonnative speaker. He sets the paper back down and looks at me expectantly.
「So you're a stalker?」I reply, giving the man a cold stare.
He shakes his head.「No, Collins-san, I'm no stalker. I'm merely a man interested in the pursuit of knowledge, not too different from yourself. So tell me, what is it you wish to know? I may have the answer.」
I look at him, wary of what to do. This man is sort of creeping me out, but I guess I do the same to people when I don't get disgusted by massive amounts of gore. A hand taps my shoulder, Dom's, and I turn my head to him. "Huh?"
"Listen to this bullshit," my cousin says. "'Jacob Collins, son of the Marine Lieutenant Colonel Phil Collins, is currently leading a group of teenagers who are believed to have killed five Marines in Kubota Garden before fleeing to Japan aboard a C-130 filled with more unsuspecting members of the USMC. They are wearing Marine gear and have weapons from USMC armories. It is my duty to warn all members of the Marine Corps of these teenagers. I suggest the best course of action is to eliminate them with extreme prejudice.'"
"What the fuck?" I'm stunned. Absolutely appalled. We never did a damn thing that he said!
"This asswhore then goes on to describe the 'atrocities' we committed. He claims we killed innocent civilians during the siege, when me and Weeg were bedridden. He also says that we killed two National Guardsman, stole their Humvee, and likely ran over innocent bystanders."
"Goddammit!" I run my hand through my hair and sigh. I don't know how we'll get out of this except keep our presence unknown to other Marines, unless Daniels' reputation is rather poor, then we could slander him some... We'll worry about that in a little bit, despite how much I want to fret about it now.
I turn back to Okumura.「What parts of the city have power?」
「Most of the eastern business district, which is where we are.」
「Is the shopping mall within that area?」
「Taiei? Yeah, it's barely within the reach of the restored power plant.」
I turn around and face my friends, what I think is a confused look on my face. What else do we ask? This guy has a lot of answers, so...
I spin back around. 「Do you know who caused this outbreak?」
Okumura looks at me with wide eyes and slowly shakes his head. His expression is grim and he seems a little sorrowful. 「I don't have an answer for that.」
「You mean no intelligence agency has figured it out yet?」I find that a little hard to believe. It has been a week, honestly.
「No. No one. Not the Defense Intelligence Division, the American CIA, the Australian Secret Intelligence Service, British MI6, the Russian FSB... No one knows.」
「Goddamn...」I mutter. 「What about the nuclear missiles launched by the United States? Do you have any idea why they were launched?」
Okumura's expression switches from sorrowful to confused. The somewhat-quiet chatter from the rest of Metal Team isn't really distracting. 「I'm no computer hacker, Collins-san. I can't access the United States Department of Defense's servers and look into their files and such. What I do know...」He beckons for me to walk over to the computer at his desk as he spins to face it. He double-clicks on a folder and then a file, one among many. A window pops up, showing the destruction of the bombs.「...is that the American missiles weren't intended to destroy massive population centers except for Pyongyang.」He pulls up another window that shows the destroyed remains of Pyongyang in the Democratic People's Republic of Korea. The State Building, or whatever the hell it is, is but mere rubble, a torn North Korean flag waving on diagonally. Shown also in the picture are some men in radiation suits, a couple with the American flag on them and a couple with the South Korean flag on them.
Well, the Korean War's officially over, but that doesn't explain what Okumura is trying to say.「But I heard you say that missiles hit Moscow and Shanghai! Those are major population centers!」
He taps a key on his keyboard. An aerial image of Moscow shows up, timestamped at three this morning, Moscow time. The city itself is, oddly, fairly fine. 「The missiles were launched and hit there, but not exactly. They only hit nuclear weapons caches of the other nations, basically crippling them. There is some damage to the cities, but casualties so far are minimal. There's so much panic in China right now, I've gotten reports that the Taiwanese are launching a full-scale invasion to retake the mainland.」
I pace back and forth and raise my hands behind my head, expelling a sigh. The American missiles were intended to cripple the Russian and Chinese in terms of nuclear deterrence and just cripple North Korea in general. Taiwan's going to retake the Chinese mainland and South Korea's going to retake North Korea, but what about Russia? Cold War resentment really runs deep, I guess...
"What the hell is that?" Dom suddenly asks. I guess he saw the pictures, too. There's only one way to describe it, really.
"Welcome to World War Three," I say, pointing to the computer. As if being falsely accused for countless murders — though I did kill a couple people — wasn't enough, World War III has already begun.
I look back at Okumura and shrug. I guess we're done here for now.「We'll keep in touch.」
He holds up a finger and reaches into his desk. I sigh, not wanting to be held up for too long. If we're gonna be this screwed, we need a base of operations. He whistles and I look back at him, only to have something thrown to me. I catch it and look at my hand...「A satellite phone?」
The radio broadcaster nods.「Walkie-talkies have too short of a range and the cell towers are all shot.」
Shrugging, I slide the phone into an empty pouch on my tactical vest. I motion for my friends to vacate the room and I take one last look at Kazuto Okumura, who looks back at me with a ridiculously calm expression.
「I'll call and let you know of any new developments.」He lazily salutes me. 「See you around, Lieutenant.」
「Yeah, later,」I growl. Turning around, I walk out of the door and shut it, just as the song ends.
"Let's get out of here," I quickly say to my squadmates, trying to walk away quickly. I don't know why I want out of here.
Dom grabs my shoulder and spins me around. "Jake, tell us what he said. What the hell do you mean, 'Welcome to World War Three?'"
Sighing, I sit down and motion for them to sit, too. It's gonna be an interesting conversation.
Meanwhile, in the Centre Block building on Parliament Hill, Ottawa, Ontario, Canada...
"I'm out!"
Lieutenant Colonel Phil Collins hit the mag release on the QBZ-97 and Private First Class Emma Subaru pulled out the spent magazine before sliding a fresh one in. She then pulled the charging handle and Collins resumed firing.
"That's the last mag, sir!" Subaru shouted, earning a nod from her superior.
The Marines and Nikolai had whittled their way through the remaining terrorist forces until there were six left, according to Major Clark. Nikolai, Subaru, and Collins were the only ones left to eliminate the hostiles. Collins had ordered the rest of his men to safely escort the hostages out of the building and to a safe location, appointing Woods as the leader of that group.
The recoil from firing the rifle one handed discomforted Collins, but he was fairly accurate. Bullets were spat out of the bullpup assault rifle and he scored a direct hit on his current target, a Chinese man sporting black combat gear typical of a mercenary. The first bullet hit the Chinaman's stomach and he yelled in anguish. The second smacked into a lung while the third demolished his jaw. From behind her senior, Subaru shot at another target, a Caucasian male with a Kevlar vest and tattoos up and down his arms, with her HK416. She took her time and shot at him several times, eventually scoring five hits as bullets ricocheted off of the Lieutenant Colonel's shield. One round went into his right arm and another nestled into his groin while two more tore his abdomen open. The fifth bullet punctured his ear and he fell to the ground, howling in pain. He shot at the two Marines in vain with his AK-47, only for his bullets to ricochet off of the shield and paint the floor with his gray brain matter and some blood.
Collins moved forward, toward the downed Chinaman, and stared into the dying man's eyes. The Chinese had a burning hatred imprinted into his brown orbs of vision. The Lieutenant Colonel rose to full height and snuffed the Chinaman's already dim light, crushing his skull with the massive force of the bomb suit combined with Collins' foot. Subaru made an audible gag and Collins shrugged, having seen and done much worse, especially when he was a Black Operative.
"I haven't seen sight so gruesome since fourth wife," Nikolai commented, having taken care of a third terrorist. He reloaded his AN-94 and took a swig from a vodka bottle he found lying around before sliding it into a pouch on his belt that allowed the bottle to snugly rest.
Ignoring the wife comment, Collins motioned toward another door, where the last two terrorists remained. "Come on, let's finish this."
Collins took point and motioned for the two to stay back as far as they could. He crouched back down and raised the shield, inching toward the door carefully. He pushed it open with his shield and faintly heard something snap.
"Oh, shit!" the Marine exclaimed shortly before he was thrown backward.
Subaru and Nikolai dove out of the way as Collins smacked into the wall and rolled down, both narrowly dodging wooden and metal shrapnel. Nikolai stood up first and aimed his AN-94 into the room, the smoke slowly clearing. Shaken up, Collins got up slowly, Subaru helping him up. Nikolai, with speed and reflexes unlike those that a drunk should have, grabbed the shield and propped it up, crouching behind it and taking potshots into the room. A loud wail emanated out of the smoky room, confirming that Nikolai had a hit.
Collins, now upright, raised his "borrowed" Chinese rifle and squeezed off a couple bursts. No sounds were made except for the thuds the bullets made as they embedded themselves in something.
The smoke finally cleared enough for the trio to see into the room, though rubble was scattered all about. Exposed drywall drooped in the doorway and a light fixture had fallen to the ground, sparking violently. One terrorist was visible in front of the light fixture, the one Nikolai assumed he shot. The terrorist was wearing a burka and a long dress, making them an Arabic female. She was holding her leg, barely visible blood sliding out of it. Nikolai raised his AN-94, aimed at her head, and squeezed the trigger. Nikolai shifted uncomfortably as he squeezed the trigger, causing the bullet to be a little off-target. It met her covered shoulder and sent a minimal amount of blood flying out, most of the red liquid of life being caught by the cloth. The Arabic woman fell to the ground, onto the fallen light fixture, and began violently shaking as she was electrocuted to death. The scent of burning cloth and flesh reached the noses of Nikolai and Subaru. Nikolai shrugged it off with a swig of vodka, but Subaru almost threw up yet again.
"Hostages and captives are secure, sir," Woods informed the trio via radio.
"Excellent work, Sergeant," the Lieutenant Colonel praised. "We should be finished up here real soon." He turned to Nikolai and Subaru. "Let's get that last bastard," Collins commanded, walking forward.
He threw the empty QBZ-97 to the side and grabbed the UMP40 out of the shield's handle. Holding it with two hands, he peered into the room, wary of further traps. Subaru followed behind him, her HK416 raised as she checked the room for threats. Nikolai had slung the AN-94 and held his Tokarev in one hand and the vodka bottle in another.
Phil looked around, wondering where the terrorist was. There weren't many places to hide in the room they were in, but they still couldn't locate the final target. Suddenly, as Phil let his guard down, a gunshot rang out and the sound of shattering glass followed. Phil and Subaru both looked at Nikolai, his eyes wide in shock. He held his Tokarev and a broken bottle of vodka in his hands. He sprang towards the source of the gunshot, a large wooden bench, and vaulted it. A thud followed, as well as yelling from Nikolai.
"YOU DARE TOUCH NIKOLAI'S VODKA?!" the Russian shouted, unnerving the Marines a little.
They moved forward to see what Nikolai was doing, though Subaru quickly regretted it. Nikolai was slashing at the target with his broken bottle, blood spraying all around. Nikolai, breathing heavily, jabbed the bottle into the target's abdomen and got up, furious at the loss of vodka. He walked away, blood covering his torso and face. Subaru began to feel queasy though Collins made a mental note not to piss with the Russian's vodka. The Marines began to walk out as well, but a sudden bout of laughter caused them to turn around.
Miraculously, the savagely stabbed terrorist rose back up, almost like Jesus did on the third day. The man smiled, his teeth stained red with blood, much like the rest of his body. He began to stumble forward and held something out, blood dripping from his arm.
Nikolai immediately spun around, shouting, "granata!" He raised his Tokarev and pulled the trigger, the bullet impacting into the man's hand. An explosion followed, sending blood and gore flying in all directions. A chunk of human meat, which Collins classified as probably a lung, landed in front of Subaru. Almost immediately, she lost control of her stomach and her body rejected her dinner, instead gifting it to the needy lung in front of her.
The Lieutenant Colonel slung his arm around the petite Marine and supported her as the three left the building, Nikolai carrying the shield.
Outside of the building and in front of a mass amount of undead corpses, a Humvee was parked for the trio to use to return to base. Subaru and Nikolai got in the back, after Nikolai set the shield in the trunk, while Collins hopped in the passenger seat. The senior Marine was sweating bullets and he heaved a sigh of relief, having survived the dangers of Canadian lawmaking.
"You know how to party," Nikolai commented, still disappointed by a lack of vodka.
The Lieutenant Colonel nodded. "Yeah... You'll get some vodka when we get back to base. Private, you gonna be alright?"
"Yeah," Subaru muttered, absolutely disgusted by what had flown at her.
"Hey Andy, tell our baguette buddy that the politicians are secure."
"Already done, Phil," the Major replied over the radio. "Real quick, I just saw something on a website that you'll wanna see."
"What is- ah, screw it. Show me when I get back, alright?"
"Sure thing."
Phil nodded and took the helmet off as the Marine who was driving began driving away from the building. Getting out of the suit was his first priority, then he'd take a look at what Clark had to show him.
As he watched the scenery of the Canadian capital pass by, his thoughts wandered. One thought — one person, more accurately — in particular kept popping into his head, one that any father would start to worry about.
His son.
AN: So, I have nothing to say about this chapter besides the obvious. Tensions are brewing within Metal Team in Japan and they definitely have some fun times ahead. As for Phil, we'll be seeing more of him. As well as Nikolai, who is quite obviously based off a certain lovable Soviet. [Note: They aren't exactly the same person, so this will not be classified as a CoD/HotD crossover, for one of many reasons.]
I apologize for the relative lack of zombie action this chapter, but it can't be helped.
As usual, review, fav, follow... whichever tickles your fancy.
P.S.: The part about "excessive exclamation points" would have had three successive exclamation points each, but Fanfiction's formatting wouldn't allow it. Oh, and I have absolutely no clue what Canadian Parliament looks like inside.
「Radio Ga Ga」