When her basic training began, June Darby had found herself dropped into the middle of nowhere with little more than a compass heading. That had been the first test, to make it to the Slaughter House. She and a few other new recruits had done so.
Several times over the next few weeks she was certain that she was about to die. There had been days she might even have preferred it. That was what it was like to train under Sgt. Slaughter.
She ran, pushups, pull ups, climbed walls, weapons training, more running, more weapons training. Further than she would have thought possible to run. Then the obstacle courses… the ones that seemed more like death traps. Life fire exercises, more running, and yet more weapons training on guns and weapons she didn't even know existed.
She wondered if it was even worth it, accepting Doc's offer to enlist, and then receive special training to speed her acceptance into the GI Joe team. But then she would think of Jack and the life she wanted him to have with his new girlfriend. She thought of Raf and the dreadful things that had happened to him and the rest of the citizens of Jasper. Those things must never be allowed to happen again, and that made all the pain and hardships Sgt. Slaughter inflicted upon her and the others a small price to pay.
June came back into the small dorm from her morning run, and collapsed onto her cot. It wasn't her turn to cook this morning, fortunately, so she planned to take a short nap. The beds were deliberately uncomfortable. She knew, because she found that the Sarge regularly hid rocks under their mattresses.
"On your feet, Maggots!" Sgt. Slaughter shouted.
June and the other cadets instantly forgot their fatigue and snapped to attention.
"Today's meal will have to wait. You've got scouting to do!"
Crap. It was going to be another one meal day. At least that meal wasn't going to be wasted on watered down eggs and tofu sausage.
The Sarge paced up and down the barracks. "The ground sensors have picked up something near our little summer camp here. I need you little girls to go out and see what it is, without it seeing you. It could be nothing more than a ground hog, it could be a cobra, or maybe even a Cobra Trooper! Find out, and report back to me! Grab your gear, and don't get killed! Dismissed!"
"Sir! Yes, Sir!" she shouted with her fellow recruits.
It was June and three others training in the Slaughter House. There were more originally, but most of them had washed out, to put it politely. June had not yet received a code name, but the others had. There was the new Shooter; Sgt Slaughter continually told him he had big shoes to fill. There was Bay, who loved making explosions. The third member was called Sparta, she really didn't share much about herself. Sometimes the others called June Mom… and Bay wanted her to get the codename "Hello Nurse," she really hoped neither of those would find its way into her official file.
She grabbed her pack, medical kit, pistol and rifle. She took a slight detour to check which of the sensors had been tripped, then waited for the others.
Sparta was already waiting for her, then Shooter caught up, and finally, Bay.
"So, where we going?" Bay asked.
"Didn't you check?" June asked.
"Of course, didn't you check, Shooter?" Bay asked.
"Sure I did," Shooter nodded, "Lead the way ladies."
Sparta sighed.
"Northeast," June said.
"Yep, just what I said," Shooter took point.
"You guys are lucky our nurse is here," Sparta said, "I'm not as polite as she is."
"Just remember we don't want to be seen," Bay said.
"I know that," Shooter said.
"I was telling myself."
They walked… and they walked, trying not to notice the blistering heat, which contrasted with the nighttimes blistering cold. Finally, Shooter signaled them to stop, and hit the dirt.
"It ain't a prairie dog," Shooter said.
"Nope. Looks more like a man," Sparta said.
June pulled out her binoculars and studied the figure in the distance. It was definitely a person.
Bay crawled up from his spot in the back so that he was between the two women. "What say we go and introduce ourselves?"
"That's not our orders."
"Someone needs to get close enough to see what he's wearing," Shooter studied the figure through his targeting scope.
"What for?" Bay asked.
"To see if he is Cobra, hiker or hunter," Shooter said.
"His gait is off," June said, "he may be hurt."
"Ill do it," Bay said.
"Don't do anything stupid," Sparta said.
"Hey, it's me!" Bay said.
Nobody said anything.
"Come on, isn't somebody going to say, 'That's what I'm talking about?' Classic Independence Day line! You guys need more culture."
"I remember that line," June said, "Didn't work out too well for the character, did it?"
"Point taken." Bay got up to a crouch and ran around and behind the intruder.
Amazingly, Bay remained unseen, and didn't do anything stupid. He was much slower and more cautious while he made his way back to the group.
June continued to scan the horizon with her binoculars while they waited for his return.
"You were right," Bay said when he returned. "He is injured. Looks like something took a big bite out of him, but he's not a Cobra. Looks more like a camper who got lost or something."
"Okay," Sparta said, "now we tell the Sarge, and he can arrange for someone to find this guy in a way that doesn't betray our secret training ground."
"Guys," June's gaze was fixed on a different part of the horizon. "He may not of been a Cobra, but I think that one is."
The others turned to look where June was looking. They saw another sick looking man, but this one was wearing a green uniform with a Cobra symbol proudly displayed on the chest.
"Sorry guys," Shooter studied the new target, "I cant believe I missed that one. Worse, if this one keeps on that heading, he will find the Slaughter House."
"Lets get back. Unseen but quick," Sparta advised, leading their hasty retreat along the ground. Once the Cobra was out of view, they stood up and ran.
"Sgt Slaughter!" Bay called once the barracks and Slaughter House were in view.
"What is it?" He shouted back at them. "How many did you see?"
The four man squad ran up and came to attention in front of Slaughter. "Two, sir. One wounded hiker, and one Cobra wearing a green uniform."
"Green?" Slaughter said, "That isn't one of their usual colors."
"He definitely had the Cobra logo on his chest, Sir," Sparta confirmed.
"That's good, but it also means there were two other targets you missed. The sensors showed four intruders," Sgt Slaughter said.
"Sorry sir, I'll go back out and find them."
"Never mind, Shooter, if one was Cobra, chances are good they are all Cobra." Slaughter glared at them, although all they could see was their own reflections in his sunglasses. "Still, who wants some sniper practice, Shooter?"
"Yes, sir!" Shooter smiled.
"Grab that rifle," he pointed to a new case sitting on the porch of the Slaughter House, "and follow me. All of you."
-o-
They set up position not far from the Slaughter House. For a Cobra agent moving as slowly as he was, he was making pretty good time. They remained hidden behind a large rock, while Shooter took up his firing position behind the rifle.
"Line up your shot, Shooter. Aim carefully… in war, you don't get do-over's." Sgt. Slaughter was crouched behind them; out of sight, but a constant presence and guiding force.
"I'm not going to miss." Shooter fired. The shot echoed across the desert plains.
The target staggered back, but definitely seemed aware of their presence as he picked up his pace.
"I told ya not to miss!" Sgt. Slaughter softly grumbled, his anger obvious.
"No way I missed. Dead center of his chest, for certain," Shooter protested.
"Looked like a clean hit to me too," Sparta said, but he is still moving.
"Give me your binoculars," June demanded. She focused them and studied the approaching Cobra. She recognized the gait, the signs of dehydration, the whiteness of the eyes. "Shit. Shoot him in the head."
"Harder, but I can do it," Shooter said.
"He missed his entire body, you really think Shooter can hit a small target like a head? Im beginning to doubt he can hit the broad side of a barn," Sgt. Slaughter continued to motivate the sniper in training.
The Cobra dropped like a sack of potatoes.
"Well, I don't know if you got the head, but you certainly got him that time." That was the closest thing to a compliment Sgt Slaughter ever gave.
"Fuck; that was so stupid!" June said to herself.
"What's wrong? What did we miss?" here was a fresh air of seriousness to Slaughter's question, like he was talking to her as an equal. He was taking her concern seriously.
"Good news: Shooter just killed his first zombie." June announced. "Bad news: those gunshots just summoned every zombie in the area to our position. That includes any zombies within earshot that cobra released, and the zombies they happened to make along the way, like that wounded camper we saw earlier."
"Okay, good to know," Slaughter said. "I bet Cobra deployed those Zombie Vipers in this area to try and sniff out the GI Joe training ground. Unfortunately for them, they found it. Lets fall back and arm ourselves properly. With luck, Cobra didn't release very many zombies in this area."
"Do you believe in that kind of luck, Sergeant?" Bay asked.
"Hell no. I hope you are up on your zombie movies, 'cause it sounds like these things play by the movie zombie rules."
"Do you think they would leave us alone if we got ourselves sick?"
"I don't believe in stupid plot twists either. Forget World War Z and think more Shaun of the Dead."
"Or the Walking Dead," Shooter suggested.
"Never seen it," Slaughter answered.
-o-
Back at the Slaughter House, Sgt. Slaughter passed out pistols, rifles and extra clips to everyone. "We were staked out right over there," he pointed to a distant rock, "So that is where they will be going to. Wait until they get there, then take 'em out with head shots."
"Sarge, behind you!" Sparta shouted. She raised her pistol and took down a zombie that was approaching from the wrong side of the camp.
"Okay, new plan," Sgt Slaughter took it in stride. "Kill them on sight, but don't let them gang up on you."
The injured camper was the next to appear, he was taken out by Shooter, as were the next two who came from the same direction. One was another Zombie Viper, the other was a woman who was dressed for jogging.
Another group came from the east. This group had apparently been at a family picnic before being attacked.
"Damn, kids too?" Bay emptied his pistol into the family. It took him two clips to kill the entire group. "It's harder when they are all different heights."
"It would also help if you bothered to aim!" Sgt. Slaughter said.
"Right, sorry."
"Don't be sorry! Just do it."
"More incoming," Sparta said. Groups were approaching from all sides.
"Where are they all coming from?" Shooter asked.
"I know, it was such an empty and peaceful desert yesterday," Bay said.
"Two camping grounds to the east and south of us," Slaughter said.
"And the ones coming from the north?" June asked.
"No idea."
June didn't trust her aim. She moved closer to one of the zombies, this one was dressed in a military uniform. Her pistol shot scattered his brains across the landscape.
The battle continued in that fashion for a few hours. There would be periods of blissful peace followed by the sudden fury of zombie attacks as every zombie within earshot reached them. Not a lot at any one time, but the Zombie Vipers had been busy and infected a large number of people over a very wide area. If it had not been in the middle of nowhere…
"Here comes another wave. It's a good thing they have no sense of strategy," Slaughter said, "but each wave is larger than the one before."
"Each wave is made up of zombies who started further away than the wave before… which covers a larger area. The end result is more zombies." Sparta had an incredibly cold way of looking at things when she was focused on something else.
"How many waves do you think we are going to have to deal with?" June asked.
"We should call for help," Bay said.
"We will call for help, the moment the situation becomes too bad for us to deal with ourselves!" Sgt. Slaughter said. "We are just reaching the point of slightly challenging."
"I don't see any beyond this wave," Shooter said. He was already focused on the new wave of zombies, since his weapon had the longest range.
"I don't mind telling ya," Sgt. Slaughter said, "Having to wait on slow moving zombies to get close enough to kill is really getting on my nerves."
June, Sparta, Bay and their Sergeant shouldered their rifles. The guns were set to single fire. Each of them lined up a target, and with a loud pop, fired. There was an occasional miss, but one by one, or by two, the zombies fell. Unfortunately, it took precious time to line up each shot, time that the zombies used to continue their single minded advance.
"They are starting to get awfully close," June switched from her rifle to the pistol she felt more comfortable with.
"We need to push them back," Slaughter said.
"Yeah, but these guys don't seem to be afraid of anything." Bay started firing more rapidly as they grew increasingly closer, but in his haste he wound up missing more often.
"New plan. The three of you keep them off our flanks. Shooter thinned his area out; Ill break through, and then you follow me out. We will keep whittling them down with a running gun battle. Lead them through the obstacle course. Yo Joe!" Sgt. Slaughter took of at a run towards the thinnest point of the mass of zombies, while June, Sparta, Bay and the others continued firing on all the other sides.
The Sarge picked up the nearest zombie, and threw it into the one behind it. He grabbed another two by the neck, one in each hand, bashed their heads together before slamming them down into the ground.
He cried out from exertion and again in pain. Looking down, he saw a young girl with her arms wrapped around his leg, drawing blood. Grabbing a knife from his belt, he planted it in the little zombie's head. "Damn… that was stupid of me."
For the sake of his team, he couldn't stop. He continued to lay into them, forcibly clearing a path, by killing the zombies or simply by throwing them out of the way. A few of them managed to take bites out of his arms, but he didn't worry about that. Because of his oversight, it was already too late. Before he knew it, he had run out of zombies, so he kept running.
Slaughter didn't take the time to look back. He could still hear the retorts of his trainee's gunfire which told him they were right behind him. "To the obstacle course!"
Shooter made for the wall. He climbed quickly to the top, then perched himself at the top. From that vantage point, he could safely pick off zombies anywhere else on the course.
Bay and June Darby ran through the tires, and ropes that gradually increased in height. They stopped at the end, to pick off the zombies who tripped while attempting to follow.
Sparta followed Sgt. Slaughter to the obstacle course's control booth. From there they would be able to activate the automated mines, lasers, and machine guns the trainees had come to hate during their training exercises. "Can we switch them over to live ammo from here?" Sparta asked.
"What d'ya mean? I always use live ammo." Slaughter turned on the course's "harassments" and directed their fire at the zombie advance. The automated systems couldn't manage headshots, but it was more than adequate for removing legs, or simply cutting them in half.
"You're a scary guy, Sarge," Sparta said.
"That's the nicest thing anyone has said to me in years."
As quickly as the carnage had begun, it was over. An eerie silence settled across the battlefield.
"These zombies may be immobilized, but some of them could still be active," Sgt. Slaughter looked around at the carnage. "You guys make sure every corpse here has a hole in it's head. Nurse D… I'm going to need your assistance administering my own treatment."
She followed him, not to the barracks, but to the small house next to them. Through his mess hall style kitchen and into a bedroom that was even more starkly decorated than the barracks had been.
He collapsed onto his bed, and then struggled to turn over onto his back.
"About the treatment," June Darby started, but she didn't have to.
"I read the files. I know the situation," he said. "Damn it, I didn't want to go out like this. I wanted an ambiguous death in a large explosion. Cobra would cheer that they finally got me, but there would always be this doubt in the back of their heads… would this be the battle when Sgt Slaughter revealed he wasn't really dead, and joins the battle to kick their keisters." He managed a weak laugh. "It comes on quick doesn't it?"
"It depends on the level of infection," June readied her gun, but kept it out of sight. "You know what has to happen, I wish I could administer an injection, but…"
"I know, and I can't do that on my own. It just doesn't seem right, but I've been training you to make the hard choices. This is one of those choices." He glared at her through his mirrored sunglasses. "Well, what are you wa—"
The gunshot was much louder indoors… or maybe it was because it was a single shot, not drowned out by others. June wiped away the tear that reached her cheek, and covered Sgt. Slaughter's body with his army blanket.
Sparta and Bay met her at the door to the house when she opened it.
"What was that? Did the treatment not work?"
June let all the fatigue she had been experiencing from the entire weeks she spent training enter her voice. "There is only one treatment for the zombie treatment and it was administered successfully. Unfortunately, the treatment is terminal."
Sparta put a reassuring hand on the nurse's shoulder. "You did good. We all did. Lets find the Sarge's radio and call for extraction."
[Author's note: I own nothing… yadda yadda… if I haven't included that already. Im sort of surprised that this story hasn't gotten any reviews yet. Oh well. The motivation for this chapter wasn't that I don't like wrestling (although I have come to appreciate it) or that I didn't like the character of Sgt. Slaughter… even if a certain Sgt. Slaughter was the name of the cop who wrote me my first few speeding or parking tickets. The motivation for this chapter came from the fact that I rather like the WW Zombies action figures. It just goes to show: Never fight zombies hand to hand, especially if your fighting style is wrestling.]
