Keep Running and Kill Zombies

By Michael Adams

The sequel to Keep Calm and Kill Zombies is now available. Air Force Office of Special Investigations Major Tom Rogers and his ragtag, multi-national team have just escaped zombie-infested and civil war torn Turkey. His companions, three surviving members of a British SAS group, two Australian grad students, and Turkish Army Intelligence Captain Remzi Ozechin, are hoping for several weeks of rest and recuperation aboard the U.S.S. Ronald Reagan in the Eastern Mediterranean Sea. They have successfully fought their way through 1,000 miles of hostile territory in order to bring samples of the binary zombie virus to the CDC. All they want is time to relax and hopefully forget the nightmares they have seen. Those hopes are dashed when the Pentagon determines that Patient Zero and more virus samples must be found. The team are ordered back to Turkey. This time they will be joined by a squad of U.S. Army Rangers, a couple CIA agents, and a bio-warfare expert. They will fly to the target city, Erzurum, in a Navy Chinook helicopter, avoiding the hordes of zombies on the ground. However, the best laid plans often go awry. A zombie outbreak aboard the aircraft carrier results in an emergency liftoff of the chopper with only part of the team and necessary supplies aboard. The on-going civil war in Turkey causes the next catastrophe. The team must now make their way on foot through hundreds of miles of constant danger. Zombies, rogue military units, armed and suspicious civilians are encountered every step of the way. They must penetrate the great cities of eastern Turkey, overrun with zombies, in order to accomplish the mission. Once in Erzurum they will have to fight their way into secure buildings, completely darkened by power outages. In the black stairwells, corridors, and rooms they will face their worst nightmares. Zombies, hungry for the living, have been waiting impatiently for weeks for their next meal. And if they successfully complete the job, there is another nasty surprise waiting. The CIA has another mission for them. One that will take them into the heart of enemy territory. The explosive ending has nukes, zombies, firefights, and one last race to the finish line. Will there be a rescue chopper waiting for them at the extraction point, or only more zombies and more death?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael Adams
• Release date: Sep 21, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311164124

Book preview

Keep Running and Kill Zombies

by

Michael Robert Adams.

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2015 Michael Robert Adams

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

Cover Design Copyright 2015

By (http://DigitalDonna.com)

Acknowledgements

As always, to my wife, Laura. Her love, understanding, and sense of humor are what motivates me.

To my mom, Dorene Adams, who also encouraged me and is the best unpaid editor in the world.

To Nan Jolly, my sister-in-law, who keeps me amused with a constant stream of zombie-related gifts.

To the Very Special Agents I worked with in the Air Force Office of Special Investigations (AFOSI): Special Agent Leon J. Banker Jr., Special Agent Paul Copher, Special Agent Bo Miller, Special Agent Clete Ramsey, and many more too numerous to mention. And two very important members of AFOSI support staff at Headquarters AFOSI-Counterintelligence in Washington DC: Mary Coleman and May Ideta.

Forward

I had the privilege to serve as the commander of TUSLOG Detachment 26-2, Diogenes Station, Sinop, Turkey for two years in the late 1970s and early 1980s. This Air Force Office of Special Investigations unit had precisely one Special Agent assigned. Me. I was responsible for counter intelligence, counter terrorism, counter espionage (pretty much counter everything) and major crime investigations not only at Diogenes Station, but Samsun, Erzurum and just about everywhere else on the Turkish Black Sea coast and the Eastern provinces.

I traveled a lot. At the time there were American military stationed in over a dozen locations in Turkey. I visited them all at one time or another. I also spent time in Germany, Greece, Cyprus, Crete and Israel. I lived out of a suitcase a great deal of the time. Now almost all of those bases and installations are gone. Shut down after we won the Cold War. I have used Author’s prerogative to unilaterally reopen some of them for dramatic purposes in the book that follows.

Part of this book takes place in the Tuz Golu area of Turkey, a vast dry salt lake bed stretching for dozens of miles. I drove through this wasteland in the middle of summer and was very happy that I was in an air-conditioned car and not on foot.

I would also like to say that during my tour of duty, I met hundreds of Turks. The civilians, military, Jandarma, and National Police were almost uniformly friendly, helpful, warm and generous to me. Very rarely did I meet someone, whose Anti-American outlook on life, caused them to treat me with less than complete respect and professionalism. For the most part, I truly enjoyed my time in country. Even the pre-military coup days when rightists were shooting leftists, and leftists were bombing rightists, and both extremes were targeting American military personnel. The sounds of gunfire and bombs going off were a daily occurrence.

One particular occurrence in Sinop is still fresh in my memory. I had the habit of walking through the small town of about 20,000 people every few days to get a feel for the environment. Sinop is considered a ‘Leftist’ town, even though the joint Turkish-U.S. base provided a boost to its economy only matched by the fishing industry. Bafra, just down the Black Sea coast to the East, was considered a ‘Rightist’ town. The political extremists from both towns frequently made the hour drive to the hated rival town to shoot up or blow up targets of opportunity.

One cold, drizzly day I dropped in at the local souvenir shop. Ayhan’s was a favorite stop. He always had a wide variety of handmade Sinop sail boats, fishing boats, etched brass plates, carved onyx, and hunting knives. As usual, he stopped his work to invite me to a chair by the wood burning stove, handed me a cup of hot chai, and we exchanged as many pleasantries as we could with my limited Turkish and his limited English. After several minutes, I thanked him for his hospitality and started to leave the shop. He looked at the clock on his wall and held up a hand. Unusually, he insisted I stay for another chai. Reluctantly, as I really did not like the drink, I sat back down while he brought over a large fishing boat model he was working on, to show me some of the intricate details.

Several minutes later, we heard multiple gunshots a few blocks down the street. A Leftist-owned restaurant had been hit by Rightists from Bafra. Ayhan smiled at me, shrugged, and bowed me out his door. Needless to say, he had saved me from possibly being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Also, needless to say, my home has many brass plates, a seven-sail wooden boat, a large model fishing boat, and a very sharp handmade knife. They bring back fond memories of Ayhan.

Today, anti-American attitudes are more pervasive and evident in Turkey. The government has shifted from a purely secular to a more Islamist outlook. In the past, the Turkish military was able to keep the country moderate and Western leaning. Three successful coups, one of which occurred while I was stationed in Turkey, kept the government honest and true to the values of the Republic’s founder, Kemal Ataturk. The most recent coup failed and the country is now less an ally of America and more friendly to our enemies. Although, the Turks continue to hate the Russians, Syrians, Greeks and to a certain extent, the Iranians.

I am a self-confessed zombiephile. I am more a reader than movie watcher. I have easily read more than one hundred zombie books and stories. Most are depressingly fatalistic in their outcomes. Almost all take place in America or Britain. Many now feature non-classic zombies. Zombies that run fast or can still think and plan, or are supernatural in origin.

The books that have germinated in my mind for a few years have classic zombies, manmade, and take place in a part of the world I know well, but few people from America will ever visit. And while zombies can easily be a depressing topic, my story is more focused on the positives of teamwork, friendship, and overcoming great obstacles to accomplish a mission. And yes, there is self-sacrifice. Military service and zombies pretty much call for that.

I have primarily used military time throughout the book. For those who are unfamiliar with it, it is pretty simple. The first twelve hours of the day, 0001 hours to 1200 hours equate to A.M. time. So, 0100 hours is 1:00 A.M. 0845 hours is 8:45 A.M. Everything after 1200 hours up to 2359 hours is P.M. time. So, 1430 hours is 2:30 in the afternoon. 1900 hours is 7:00 P.M. 2250 hours is 10:50 P.M. and so on.

I hope you enjoy reading the books as much as I enjoyed writing them. Funny as it sounds, it brought back some pleasant memories of my former life as a Special Agent.

Dedications

To all Army, Navy and Air Force personnel who served tours of duty in Turkey.

To Air Force Office of Special Investigations Special Agents, past, present and future.

To Robert R. Adams, World War II veteran, member of General Douglas MacArthur’s Honor Guard in post-war Tokyo, Japan. His service to our country inspired my service.

To Laura, with love.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter One--Evacuation

Chapter Two---The Salt Lake

Chapter Three---The Beau Geste Trail

Chapter Four---Leopards, Cobras, and Zombies, oh My!

Chapter Five---Working on the Railroad

Chapter Six---The Eastern Frontier

Chapter Seven---Back to Erzurum

Chapter Eight---The Magnificent Seven Ride Again

Chapter Nine---Enemy Territory

Epilogue

Keep Running and Kill Zombies

By

Michael Robert Adams

What follows are the events that occurred after the end of my first book, Keep Calm and Kill Zombies. This story picks up where it left off. For those who have not read Keep Calm and Kill Zombies, but would like a short summation of the book, here goes, but you will have more fun reading the whole book!

Air Force Office of Special Investigations (AFOSI) Special Agent Tom Rogers is recalled to active duty during a crisis in the Middle East. Rogers leaves his wife, Katie, behind, but figures out a way to keep her informed about what he is doing. He will download verbal messages to her on his IPhone, which she can access and listen to when she can. Kathryn ‘Katie’ Rogers is a U.S. Navy officer assigned to an attack submarine, and is therefore out of communication much of the time.

Special Agent Rogers has experience working Counterintelligence operations in the Middle East, and Turkey in particular. He is assigned to a Mobile Assistance Team, but he is unable to join his team in Afghanistan. Instead, he is given the supposedly routine job of investigating suspected Iranian incursions into Eastern Turkey.

He flies to Erzurum and meets up with Turkish Army Intelligence Captain Remzi Ozechin. Together, they uncover an Iranian deep cover cell and join in the operation to capture the agents at an apartment complex. A gun battle occurs, during which Rogers and Ozechin save each other’s lives, and Rogers sustains a wound that causes a concussion. He also hurts his knee jumping from a balcony in pursuit of an Iranian agent. This earns him the nickname of ‘Spiderman’ from individuals he will meet later.

A few days later, the groggy Rogers is awakened by Ozechin, who informs him that the Iranians have started a viral outbreak in Erzurum. A plague that creates zombies has been developed in secret Iranian labs. Iranian agents have traveled all over the world and the unexpected outbreak in Erzurum has signaled them to release the zombie virus throughout the Western world.

Ozechin has obtained vials of the binary virus that creates zombies, which are needed at the U.S. Center for Disease Control (CDC) for study to try to end the epidemic. Rogers and Ozechin escape Erzurum and make their way to Erzurum airport, hoping to find air transport out of the country.

Instead, they find a wrecked airport overrun by zombies, who are besieging a small group of British SAS commandoes. SAS Captain Ben Jones is the leader of what remains of a team that had been flown in for a ‘snatch’ mission. Sergeant Major Ian Walters, and Corporals Mick Waterman and Sean Reilly are the other survivors. The SAS have a prisoner. Another Iranian agent, who has vials of the zombie plague surgically implanted in his body.

Rogers, Ozechin and the SAS join forces to try to reach the Black Sea coast in hopes of finding a ship or plane to take them away from the rapidly spreading plague and a growing Turkish Civil War. They discover unusual zombie activity along the way. They observe a ‘zombie train’ a few times. Long lines of zombies shambling along, single-file, along roads in a never-ending search for living humans to feed upon.

The group is stopped by a rogue faction of the Turkish Jandarma forces and taken prisoner. The group escapes by stealing the Jandarma commander’s helicopter. Unfortunately, the chopper soon crashes on a highway teeming with zombies. The group escapes, but lose their prisoner. They make their way by rowboat slowly up a river to the seacoast city of Trabzon.

Trabzon has been largely destroyed by the zombie epidemic, as well as Turkish and Russian airstrikes aimed at stopping the outbreak from spreading by sea or air. After a short stay with the Trabzon Harbor Master, possibly the only truly living human left in Trabzon, they make their way on foot toward a Turkish Army post.

At a hotel just outside Trabzon, the group finds two Australian graduate students trapped on the roof of a hotel filled with zombies. The group saves the two young women, Audrey Jolly and Emily Frohning, who decide to join them over the objections of Captain Jones. The mixed assortment of Brits, Australians, a Turk, and an American make their way to an abandoned Turkish Army vehicle depot. There they find, and quickly repair, an Armored Personnel Carrier (APC) called a Cobra. They use the Cobra to rapidly drive along the Black Sea Coast towards Istanbul.

Disaster strikes near the Turkish Army base at Sinop. A zombie bites Captain Jones. He is saved from becoming a zombie by the quick thinking of Corporal Reilly, who immediately cuts Jones’ arm off before the virus can infect the rest of his body. A short time later, the hastily repaired Cobra breaks down and the group is forced to continue on foot, looking for any sort of vehicle to use.

At the Black Sea port of Gerze, zombies in the town chase the group onto a long pier. They are rescued by a boat sent from the base at Sinop. Once at the base, they discover it is surrounded by thousands of zombies. As they try to figure out a way to continue their journey, a traitor on the base informs the Russians that the group has vials of the zombie plague virus with them.

The group determines that a Russian Spesnaz commando force is on the way to Sinop to seize the vials. A short time later, an airborne assault with helicopters hits the base. Jones sacrifices himself, acting as a rear guard for the rest of the group, who board a Turkish fishing boat anchored in the harbor. The boat had been an evacuation vessel for the town, but one or more zombie-infected individuals boarded along with dozens of evacuees. The result was inevitable.

The boat is filled with zombies, who must be killed or contained. The group manages to take control of the boat and begin to sail it west toward Istanbul. The Russian Navy gives chase and the fishing boat is attacked by both missile boats and aircraft. At the last second, aircraft from the U.S.S. Ronald Reagan, sailing in the Mediterranean Sea, drive off the Russians.

The fishing boat anchors in Istanbul and the group is picked up by a helicopter sent by the Reagan. They board the carrier and turn over the vials of zombie virus, which are sent by fast jet to the CDC.

The group settles in for some much needed rest and recuperation. Rogers has his knee operated on for a torn ligament. Reilly and Emily, who have become a couple, disappear into a cabin and are not seen for days. Ozechin and Audrey are also enjoying each other’s company, and are pursuing a more sedate and serious relationship. Corporal Waterman is finding ways to get into trouble on the carrier, with an uncanny ability to find illicit booze and poker games. Sergeant Major Walters spends his time exploring the vast expanse of the carrier.

While recovering from his operation, Rogers and Ozechin are summoned to a debriefing and planning session by the Admiral in command of the Reagan’s Task Force. They find out that Iran has been hit by multiple nuclear weapons. The Russians are suspected since it is believed they were somehow working behind the scenes with the Iranians to start the zombie plague against the Western Nations. However, when the virus was accidently released inside Russia, all bets were off.

Rogers finds out that his job is not done. The CDC wants Patient Zero and more vials of the virus. They are presumably still in Erzurum. A team of U.S. Army Rangers, a pair of CIA agents, and a bio-war doctor will accompany Rogers and Ozechin back to Erzurum. Rogers is field promoted to Lieutenant Colonel and will command the mission.

A helicopter will fly them part way into Turkey, where they will hopefully meet up with friendly Turkish Army units that can help them get the rest of the way to Erzurum. The SAS commandoes refuse to be left behind, and make it known they will be going along for the ride.

Rogers sends one last message to his wife, Katie, letting her know he is going back into zombie-infested Turkey.

Prologue

Soldier, ask not, now or ever, where to war your banners go. Anarch’s legions all surround us. Strike, and do not count the blow. Gordon R. Dickson

July 1st…1800 hours

Well, Katie, as you can tell, if you are hearing this, I have changed technologies to keep in touch with you. Not by choice, mind you. The morning after I finished my last diary entry to you on my IPhone, I was summoned to Flag Country again to meet with the Admiral. After a confusing journey, punctuated by my asking for directions at least ten times, I found his conference room again.

I nodded to the Marine sentry at the door and he opened it after carefully looking at my nametag and photo ID hung around my neck. Inside, the Admiral was deep in discussion with a Navy Commander, a thin nerdy-looking Army Ranger, and a couple enlisted Navy ratings. They were huddled over a camouflage-patterned box about the size of a paperback book. They all looked up as I entered. I came to attention to salute the Admiral.

The Admiral returned the salute promptly and smartly while the others stared at me as if I was a zoo animal who had dressed in human clothes and was running around loose on the Carrier. At ease, Colonel, the Admiral grunted and gestured to a chair next to him.

I quickly sidled along the table and gingerly sat on the edge of the chair. Flag officers make me nervous. They have absolute power and authority over their domain, and I was presently in his. At a wave of the Admiral’s hand toward the small box, the Commander cleared his throat and picked it up.

Good morning, Colonel, he began briskly. We have one additional piece of equipment we would like you to take with you, when you reinsert into Turkey. He handed the box to me. It was surprisingly heavy. I examined it, turning it over in my hands. Black buttons were lined up on two narrow sides. There was an obvious speaker grill on the lower face of one of the broad sides. At the top was a cleverly folded wire antenna, about a quarter inch thick. It looked like it would unfold to at least a three-foot length.

Okay, I said slowly, looking up at the Commander. What is it?

Latest technology secure satellite phone, the Commander replied and extended his hand to retrieve his toy. "This will keep you in constant contact with the Ronald Reagan, and higher headquarters, while you are in the field."

Normal radios not working? I asked, a little surprised.

Working, but this device has some advantages as well as an additional benefit for the Admiral, the Commander stated. For one thing, you can record a message of up to one hour in length and the device can then burst transmit the message up to a satellite, where it will bounce back down to us in less than a second. We can then expand the message to normal length to listen to it. He paused, waiting for questions. I had none at that moment. That prevents anyone from homing in on your signal or intercepting it.

And the benefit to me, the Admiral interrupted, is that I can listen to your entertaining travelogues at my leisure.

I must have looked blank.

I have listened to all of the uploads you made from your I-Phone over the last six weeks, the Admiral continued with a wintery smile. I found them quite as useful as the formal military reports and intelligence data I have been reading concerning the zombie outbreak.

I started to turn a deep shade of red at that point, as I began to remember all the things I said to you, when I thought you were the only one who would be listening to me. Not just the mushy stuff. I was remembering that I was not overly complimentary toward some superior officers. And, of course, I now knew every decision I made on our 1000-mile dash from Erzurum to Istanbul through the zombie-infested country was now being second-guessed. By an Admiral. And probably a lot of other flag officers.

Relax, the Admiral chuckled. You did a great job getting your team and the binary virus vials to us. I would not have promoted you to Lieutenant Colonel, or chosen you to lead this mission, if I thought otherwise. He paused and smiled a wicked grin. And, I just fast forwarded through your more intimate pronouncements to your wife. She sounds like quite a wonderful lady and officer, he concluded.

She is, I admitted readily and forcefully. That should get me some brownie points from you, right?

Excellent, he concluded, nodding his head. I look forward to meeting her someday. In the meantime, as I said, I found your thoughts, observations, and conclusions very helpful. I want you to continue to provide them to me as you go back to Erzurum. We have decided, he gestured toward the Commander, that having you do those reports on your IPhone is not the most efficient way to do so, or the most secure.

The purpose of my little audio diary was to keep my wife informed of what I was doing, I responded slowly. The unclassified parts. I still want to keep in touch with her. Keep her informed, let her know I am okay.

We will make sure your wife has access to any messages you send via the sat-phone when her boat makes contact with us, the Admiral assured me. Again the wintery smile. Of course, you may want to tone down the expressions of undying love and any other personal thoughts and messages. I am sure she will understand the professional nature of these new messages when we explain the situation to her.

I don’t know, I returned the smile. She is a very strong willed person and not someone you want to tick off.

The Admiral, in a nonchalant manner, brushed his fingers along his collar where three brightly shining silver stars were pinned. I think she may agree that this way is better, he said with finality.

Just to be clear, the Admiral continued, completely serious now, As you have been previously briefed, your mission to Erzurum has multiple objectives. First, find the body of the first Iranian to die when the vials of zombie plague he was carrying were broken in his body. I quickly flashed to the memory of chasing the Iranian agent through the alleys of Erzurum, the subsequent gunfight, wrecking my knee when I jumped from a third floor balcony into a trash container, the concussion I got from a ricocheting round fired by the Iranian, and Remzi and I taking out the agent.

We, meaning the CDC, the Admiral broke into my very vivid recollections, want Patient Zero. Something to do with tracking the plague effects over time. You will have to secure him, when you find him, and bring him back with you.

I remained silent, though I was thinking of the myriad reasons why trying to bring back Patient Zero was a bad idea. I rubbed my forehead, unconsciously fingering the ragged scar left by Patient Zero’s bullet.

Second, the Admiral continued in his ‘command voice’, the two additional Iranian agents who were captured at the safe house in Erzurum should still be in custody somewhere, probably at the Erzurum Turkish National Police headquarters. If they are still alive, we want them for additional questioning, and to at least retrieve the vials still in their bodies if they are dead.

I nodded noncommittally. It was doubtful anyone was still alive at TNP headquarters as it had been the center of the zombie outbreak in Erzurum. Even if they had been locked into secure cells, safe from zombies infesting the building, they had almost certainly perished from lack of food and water by now.

Third, we believe the Iranian control agent who was captured by the Turks prior to your gun battle at the safe house, may have been held by TNP, Jandarma, or Turkish Army Intelligence in Erzurum. Your friend, Captain Ozechin, can help you figure out possible locations where he is being held, the Admiral shook his head angrily. We believe he is a high ranking member of the Revolutionary Guard. We really, really want to question him about Iranian plans and intentions following the zombie plague outbreak.

I nodded again, carefully keeping my facial muscles in check. This one was an even bigger wild goose chase than the second objective. The last thing I wanted to do was poke my nose into multiple buildings in zombie-overrun Erzurum, looking for someone who was quite probably dead by now.

I stood up, thinking the Admiral was done giving me good news. He motioned me back down with a preemptory hand. And we have just been tasked by the Pentagon for an additional objective, he advised with a grim smile.

This time I could not keep the frown from my face, or the slight groan that sounded unnaturally loud in the small room. The Admiral ignored both.

So, number four, he continued, is to check on the security of the ‘special munitions’ housed at the joint Turkish-American artillery base in Erzurum. Higher command, for both the Turkish army and ours, have heard nothing from the base since the second day of the outbreak.

And if they are not secure? I asked with a grimace. The base is probably crawling with zombies in uniforms, sir.

Just report on the status of the munitions, he answered with a matching grimace of his own. This was a problem he did not want either while dealing with a zombie epidemic. And only report to us. Do not pass any information on to our Turkish allies. We will handle that.

Speaking of special munitions, I brought up a nagging worry I was nursing, what about radiation and fallout from the nukes that hit Iran? And can we expect anymore big bangs?

Commander Chase, in addition to his bio-warfare expertise, is current on radiation exposure mitigation measures, the Admiral tried to reassure me. He will be carrying a dosimeter and iodine tablets for the team. If necessary. I do not think it will be a problem.

I raised an eyebrow in question. The fallout drifted to the East, the Admiral continued. There might be higher than normal levels near the Turkey-Iran border, but not significantly higher than background radiation produces. You will not be going near the border.

Erzurum was about 150 miles from the border, but I was not going to argue the point of what constituted ‘near the border’ with an Admiral.

And it is highly unlikely any further nuclear attacks will happen, he answered the second part of my question. Now that nukes have gone off in the region, all nations have their satellites pointed in this direction. It would be impossible to launch an attack, by either missile or aircraft, without every nation knowing who was responsible. And taking appropriate retaliatory measures.

Personally, I continue to be confident that it was the Russians who hit Iran, the Admiral advised. Payback for the zombie outbreak at Sochi, which quickly spread to Moscow, St. Petersberg, and other major cities. He shrugged. I am sure, knowing those crazy bastards, that the Russians and Iranians were working together on this virus and the Iranians screwed up. They paid the price when the Russians thought they had been double-crossed.

Oh, and one last thing, he concluded with a negative shake of his head. This was going to be good. The two CIA agents are on a mission of their own. Some kind of top secret spook op. ‘Need to know’ crap. And neither you or I need to know what it is. Evidently. You are to assist them as long as it does not impact your primary mission. That last part is my personal order to you. The Agency can kiss my star spangled butt if they want to complain later.

He stood up, nodded to the Commander, and left the room. I guess he was done with me. The Commander sighed and sat down opposite me. The two enlisted men let out puffs of air as if they had been holding their breath the entire meeting. Maybe they had. Bad enough for a field grade officer to deal with the big brass. It is ten times worse, and more dangerous, if you are enlisted rank.

The Army Ranger stood up, stretched, and yawned. At least one person in the room had been bored by the proceedings. I looked more closely at him. He was young-looking, probably still in his teens. About six-foot even and if he weighed as much as 140 pounds I would be surprised. He had on those huge, black-framed eye glasses that the Army issues because no one in their right mind would actually buy the ugly things to wear. He looked like the prototypical high school chess club geek. But he did have Ranger tabs on his uniform, and jump wings. His name tag read ‘Morgan’.

Sorry, sir, Morgan mumbled quietly when he noticed me staring at him. Been up a long time preparing for the mission. Making sure the equipment works, you know.

Not really, I admitted, who are you?

Private Jeremiah Roman Morgan, sir, he replied in a louder voice. The guys call me J.R. or Junior.

What guys? I asked, slowly losing patience.

Oh, I am with the Ranger unit you will be going with, sir, Morgan replied after thinking through his answer. I am Colonel Pierce’s communications specialist. He sent me down to get the briefing on the SatCom unit. Not that I needed it. I could take the unit apart and put it back together blindfolded. The guys here, he pointed at the two Navy ratings, already brought me up to speed on frequencies and some other technical stuff I needed to know.

He smiled tentatively at me. I am your backup for the SatCom. But I will generally just be lugging the usual commo gear around and using it to keep in contact with whoever Colonel Pierce wants to talk to. He paused, thinking again. And anyone you want to talk to, as well, I guess, when you don’t want to use the SatCom.

Good to know, I said.

With your permission, sir, I would like to be excused, he said, a little tentatively. I want to do some more checks on my radios before we leave, and like I said, I am up to speed on the SatCom.

I nodded and waved my hand at the door. Go ahead and take off, I said. Nice meeting you Morgan.

And with that, the grateful Morgan practically ran from the room. Maybe I made him nervous. The Admiral certainly had not.

The Commander and two technicians then spent the next two hours explaining the operation of the sat-phone. At the end, I could field strip it, put it back together, troubleshoot almost any problem, and knew how to operate it in my sleep. So, time not wasted.

A short time later, a Navy Petty Officer entered the compartment with a locked leather satchel. He set it down on the table in front of me and proceeded to unlock it.

You will be signing for a great deal of money, sir, he said as he pulled out bundles of paper currency. The Admiral wanted me to pass along to you, that you should spend it in preference to using force when dealing with our allied military units and civilians. And, we will be expecting receipts and an accounting of all funds expended on your mission, he continued.

I looked at the three stacks of cash. You have 50,000 Euros in denominations of hundreds and fifties; 50,000 U.S. dollars in hundreds; and 500,000 Turkish Lira in thousand Lira notes, he concluded and passed me a document to sign in acknowledgement of the transaction.

I signed the receipt, which the Petty Officer pocketed. He smiled briefly at me and took one last long look at the piles of money. He shook his head and left the compartment. The Commander and his two techs also looked in barely contained astonishment at the money. To get them back on track, I slid the bundled cash back into the satchel bag and placed it on the floor at my feet. We got back to work on frequencies and check-in times.

It took awhile, but they are now looking at me in satisfaction as I complete my first ever sat-phone message. I will practice burst transmitting it and when it is received in the Comm section of the Carrier, this practice run will be deemed a success. And they even smiled a couple times as I talked about the Admiral.

Now they are all nodding in agreement. Great. I am now imagining every time I do a report that there will be a huge audience of critics dissecting every word I utter. The hazards of being in the military. So, I guess someone will forward this message and all subsequent ones to you, Katie.

In defiance of all those now listening in to my message to my wife…Love you Katie bear, stay safe.

July 1st…2300 hours

Admiral, if you or your men are listening in to this message, don’t bother. Just another pre-mission message to my wife. No operational stuff you would be interested in, I am sure.

One last post before I turn in Katie. I am back in my temporary quarters on the USS Ronald Reagan, and for a change, none of my three roommates are present. No idea where they are, but enjoying the rare moments of solitude on board a ship with close to 10,000 people scrambling for space.

After I was done with the Navy Communications people, I was headed to the mess hall for dinner when I was intercepted by Lt. Colonel Tony Pierce of the US Army Rangers. He still looks as distressingly fit as a Tri-athlete. I feel like an overweight slug next to him. But, as he and his squad are going to be my security on our mission into Turkey, I had to be polite and not blow him off.

We should get together, he stated with a friendly smile that did not quite extend to his eyes. All of the military personnel going into Turkey.

Right now? I asked, puzzled. "I understood from the Admiral that we have all day tomorrow to go over planning since we are not flying off the Reagan until dawn on the 3rd."

Correct, Pierce agreed. However, the more time we get to know each other the better we will operate as a team when we need to. Nothing formal, just a get to know you kind of thing tonight, say around 2000 hours on the ready deck by the Chinook we will be taking.

Fine, I nodded. I will round up the SAS guys and Captain Ozechin. See you there in an hour."

We parted company. I was close enough to the mess hall to smell food cooking and my mouth watered, but I knew I could not take the time if I had to round up the children. No telling where they were and what they were up to. I hoped there would be sandwiches at the chopper.

Finding Remzi was relatively easy. I simply went to the quarters he was unofficially sharing with our Aussie grad student Audrey. I waited patiently after knocking, and announcing who I was, for him to emerge. When the hatch opened, Remzi was immaculate in sharply creased camouflage and spotless boots, as usual. He was also freshly shaved, his short hair and pencil thin mustache looking professionally groomed.

Sorry to interrupt, Captain Ozechin, I said, not too insincerely. The Rangers want to bond with us.

Remzi glanced back into the compartment with obvious regret, but nodded understanding. I heard a very feminine humph of disgust and frustration, but no words. He shut the hatch as softly as you can shut a metal door and followed me down the corridor.

Any idea where the Brits are? I asked as we made our way through the maze of corridors and ladders, passing many people along the way, all on various personal and professional errands of great importance, I am sure. Most were American Navy personnel in uniform, but we passed civilian men and women, even a handful of small children being escorted by a harassed looking Navy Ensign, whose voice was already hoarse from shouting at his charges.

We passed a smattering of foreign Army, Air Force, Navy and Marine personnel. So no one gave Remzi, in his Turkish Army uniform, a second glance. The Navy had also acquired, from where I don’t know, a set of USAF camouflage for me, which fit surprisingly well. No one paid any attention to me either.

Remzi led me down a few flights of ladders to an area of billets. After a bit of searching, he found what he was looking for and halted in front of one of the closed hatches, indistinguishable from dozens of others except for the cryptic Navy gumbo of letters and numbers they use to designate each compartment on the ship.

With a preemptory knock, Remzi announced us and stepped back to wait patiently with his hands clasped behind in back in a rigid parade rest position. I honestly think that he is very comfortable physically even in a strict brace of attention. Have I mentioned before that Remzi is very, very military in composure and attitude? I feel like such a civilian slob when I am around him.

The hatch opened a crack and a suspicious set of eyes peered out at us for a moment. There was a huge sigh and the hatch opened all the way. The enormous bulk of Corporal Sean Riley of the SAS filled the opening almost completely. He was in khaki boxers and nothing else. He looked even more impressive half naked than when he is in uniform. His muscles had muscles. His forearms were as thick as my thighs for crying out-loud. He looked at us expectantly, but without a great deal of curiosity. Riley is a mountain of a man, but not the sharpest knife in the drawer, as his Sergeant Major frequently lamented.

Corporal Riley, we need to attend a briefing with the Army Rangers, I explained when he did not ask any questions. He shrugged and disappeared back into the compartment. We heard Riley’s deep voice muttering something, then the high-pitched gabble of a young lady, who was clearly not amused. Our other Aussie grad student was as upset as her friend that their R&R was being interrupted by foolish military stuff.

Special Agent Rogers, her heavily Aussie accented voice carried well beyond the confines of the corridor we were currently in. People on decks above and below us could clearly hear her over the ever-present high decibel noise of a working aircraft carrier. This better be bloody important or I will hunt you down and hurt you.

Riley emerged with an embarrassed expression and quickly shut the hatch, drowning out a second set of threats.

Corporal Riley, do you know where Corporal Waterman and Sergeant Major Walters are? I asked politely. Did I mention he towers above me and probably outweighs me by a hundred pounds?

Mick was looking for a card game he heard was going on near the engine room, Riley said slowly, trying to remember. The Sergeant Major was in the Marine armory last I heard.

Of course they would be. The SAS personnel were surprisingly predictable. Mick Waterman was inevitably on the razor’s edge of getting in trouble, and Ian Walters could always be found wherever sharp objects or things that went ‘bang’ were found.

Corporal Riley, please fetch Corporal Waterman and bring yourselves to the ready deck, I ordered. We will be by the Chinook we are taking day after tomorrow.

Yes, boss, Riley said in his booming voice and trotted away. I still have difficulty accepting that the SAS guys considered me to be their ‘boss’. They were incredibly big shoes to fill. Captain Ben Jones had been the leader of their group going into Turkey a couple months before, and had sacrificed himself to save the rest of us on a lonely hilltop on the Black Sea coast. But he had, I am sure, taken out a large number of Russian Spesnaz commandoes before he had gone down. Since then, the SAS troopers had sort of adopted me as their leader and had determined that I was not going back into zombie-infested Turkey without them. I don’t think they entirely trusted the highly trained and deadly US Army Rangers who were going with us to be entirely adequate to the task of keeping me alive during the mission.

I let Remzi take the lead again. He had been to the armory a couple times already while I was laid up in sickbay with my knee healing from surgery to fix the torn meniscus that was happily the worst injury I received while fighting zombies, Russians, renegade Turkish militia units, and Iranian terrorists through 1000 miles of Turkish badlands.

We arrived after ten minutes of more corridors and ladders up and down. My newly fixed knee was starting to protest a bit. I was supposed to have a couple weeks rehab, but the mission took priority and the surgeon had reluctantly cleared me for duty with the advice that I would only have about 80 percent mobility for a time and overuse would be increasingly painful. I had pain pills for that, but was intentionally not taking them at this point. I can live with the dull ache and even the occasional sharp stab of pain. You know me. High tolerance for pain. Good thing, as clumsy as I am.

As advertised, we found Sergeant Major Walters deep in discussion with a Marine Gunnery Sergeant. They were huddled over a workbench in the far corner of the armory, busily field stripping a very large rifle. They looked up as we approached.

Ian smiled. Short, squat, completely bald and deeply tanned, the SAS man turned to the Marine and introduced us. Jimmy, these are the officers I was telling you about. Captain Ozechin of the Turkish Army and newly promoted Lt. Colonel Tom Rogers of your Air Force. Of course, he prefers being addressed by his call sign, Spiderman. Everyone laughed except me.

Clearly, the story of the cause of my knee injury, was making the rounds. Thanks mostly to Remzi’s insatiable desire to embarrass me. Some thanks for saving the little weasel’s life. As you know he is clearly embellishing the story of me jumping off a three story building into a large trash container to catch an Iranian terrorist in the middle of a snowstorm. Okay, even I can see the humor in it at this point. I was clearly not thinking things through that frigid night in Erzurum and again, you know how clumsy and injury prone I can be.

We shook hands with the gunny and gave our apologies for stealing Walters away from the much more fun task of playing with lethal weapons. The three of us then trooped out and made our way to the ready deck.

We crossed the very busy deck with care. Choppers were being moved about and Navy personnel were dashing here and there in carts and on foot, carrying everything from ammunition to spare parts.

I looked a question to Remzi and Walters. Remzi shrugged, but Walters nodded and gestured to the flight deck above us. Jimmy was telling me that there is a major op under way to evacuate the Brit base on Cyprus. Akrotiri. Word is that it is about to be overrun by the zombie infestation there.

How many need to be picked up? Remzi asked over the booming noise of the ready deck operations.

They think at least five or six thousand, Walters answered with a shake of his head.

There is no way they can fit another six thousand people on this ship, I protested. We are already stacked in like sardines.

From what I was told, I think they will be lucky to pick up a couple thousand before it is too late, Walters replied sadly.

The noise over our heads on the flight deck started to get much louder and more chaotic. Loud thumps of helicopters coming in for landings, and the roar of turbine engines and rotor blades slashing the air were my best guess as the cause.

First of the evacuees coming aboard, Walters followed my gaze to the overhead steel. I imagine when they have time they will farm most of them out to other ships in the task force.

I shook my head. My intelligence briefing had given me info on the makeup of the small refugee fleet surrounding the USS Ronald Reagan. A couple cruisers, six smaller ships, an oiler, and a troop transport that is already full to the gunwales with NATO troops, I related, ticking them off in my head and estimating how many more survivors of the zombie plague could be taken aboard without swamping or capsizing the ships.

Not our problem, boss, Walters said just loud enough to be overheard through the metal on metal din. Let’s go see what the Rangers want. And with that, he led us to a distant corner of the ready deck where a Chinook with drooping rotor blades played host to an assortment of very professional looking soldiers.

Lt. Colonel Pierce caught sight of us heading toward the group and raised his hands to stop whatever discussion had been going on. It appeared it might have been a heated one as a few of the faces that turned toward us were red with emotion and the looks we got were not friendly.

Gentlemen, he greeted us with a forced grin. He looked around behind us and evidently saw something he was looking for. I turned to look back and saw the distinctively different figures of Corporals Riley and Waterman jogging up to us. Waterman’s tall, thin frame in marked contrast to the hulking Riley. Waterman, if anything, looked even paler than normal. His shock of unruly red hair seemed to make his freckled white face even whiter.

Even though they had probably come at a dead run from one end of the huge ship to the other and traversed several changes in elevation, neither of them was even out of breath as they skidded to a stop behind us.

Introductions all around, he continued when we had all merged into