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started running, another no-no, making all that noise without stopping to listen for Zack.
had the brains to snap on my suppressor. I didn’t have to waste a whole clip,
The Skywatch system was this ad hoc network of isolated ham radio operators. They were supposed to report on downed aircrews and do what they could to help with their rescue. It wasn’t the most efficient system, mainly because there were so few,
she’d already reported my position to search and rescue, and the best thing to do was to get to open ground where I could rendezvous for pickup.
She was so sure of me, trying to get me to think instead of just spoon-feeding me the answers.
Mets told me not to blame myself, and no matter what, not to let it distract me from the job I had to do. She said, “Stay alive, stay alive and do your job.” Then she added, “And stop using up your weekend minutes.” She was talking about battery power—she didn’t miss a trick—so
I stepped, I halted, I listened. I stuck to dry ground where I could, and I made sure to pace myself very carefully.
stay off it and every other road that crisscrossed the basin. “Roads mean cars,” she said, “and cars mean Gs.”
trapped G was still able to moan and therefore still able to call for others.
“You’ll be up above the swamp. How are more zombies gonna get to you?” Because it was built several stories above the swamp, this section of the I-10 was the safest place in the whole basin. I confessed I hadn’t thought of that. She laughed and said, “Don’t worry, honey. I have. Stick with me and I’ll get you home.”
stayed away from anything even resembling a road and stuck to as pure a wilderness track
don’t write their eulogy, don’t try to imagine who they used to be, how they came to be here, how they came to be this.
I found myself wondering why it had been the only one I’d seen. That was a practical survival question, not just idle musings,
She asked me, sternly, if there was anything I needed, not wanted. I thought about it, admitted there wasn’t.
She asked, “Then what’s keeping you?” or something like that, pushing me to get a move on.
Mets got on my ass, pushing me. I snapped back for her to shut the fuck up, I just needed a minute, a couple seconds to…I don’t know what.
I gave her a head count and she told me to stay cool, don’t try to run, just stay put and follow what I’d learned at Willow Creek. I started to ask how she knew about Willow Creek when she shouted for me to shut up and fight.
look for the closest physical defense—and started to measure ranges. I lined up my first target, took a deep breath, and dropped him. To be a fighter jock is to be able to make decisions as fast as your electrochemical impulses can carry them.
OODA looping
I was calm, I was focused, all the doubt and weakness were gone.
pick your approximate landing zone, tuck and roll, keep loose, and get up as quick as you can. The goal is to put some serious distance between you and your attackers. You take off running, jogging, or even “speed walking”; yes, they actually told us to consider this as a low-impact alternative. The point is to get far enough way to give you time to plan your next move.
“If you can stand on it, you can run on it! It’s not a weight-bearing bone! You can do this!”
Grabbers?
“Move your ass, you fuckin’ bitch!” She was getting pretty raw by then. “Don’t you dare quit…don’t you DARE crap out on me!” She never let up, never gave me an inch. “What are you, some weak little victim?” At that point I thought I was. I knew I could never make it. The exhaustion, the pain, more than anything, I think, the anger at fucking up so badly. I actually considered turning my pistol around, wanting to punish myself for…you know. And then Mets really hit me. She roared, “What are you, your fucking mother!?!” That did it. I hauled ass right up onto the interstate. I
she was a pilot. Definitely; not air force—I would have known her—but maybe a squid or a jarhead.
eight out of ten were never accounted for. I’m sure that she must have run into a situation like mine, had to ditch, lost her crew, maybe even blamed herself for it like me. Somehow she managed to find that cabin and spent the rest of the war as one kick-ass Skywatcher.
They never found her. No. Or the cabin. No.
Who cares who she was, or is? She was there when I needed her, and for the rest of my life, she’ll always be with me.
PROVINCE OF BOHEMIA, THE EUROPEAN UNION
Battle of Kukulcan,
in Europe’s history, we had almost a millennia of chaos where sometimes the concept of physical safety stopped at the battlements of your lord’s castle.
Castles. Well…I don’t want for a moment to overstate their importance for the general war effort. In fact, when you compare them to any other type of fixed fortification, modern, modified, and so forth, their contribution does seem quite negligible,
the inherent difference between a castle and a palace. A lot of so-called castles were really nothing more than just great impressive homes, or else had been converted to such after their defensive value had become obsolete. These once impregnable bastions now had so many windows cut into the ground floor that it would have taken forever to brick them all up again. You’d be better off in a modern block of flats with the staircase removed. And as far as those palaces that were built as nothing more than status symbols, places like Chateau Ussé or Prague “Castle,” they were little more than
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Just look at Versailles. That was a first-rate cock-up. Small wonder the French government chose to build their national memorial on its ashes.
Not that a high wall was all you needed for long-term survival. Like any static defense, castles had as many internal as external dangers.
fires like the ones at Braubach and Pierrefonds; hundreds trapped with nowhere to run, just waiting to be charred by the flames or asphyxiated by the smoke. There were also accidental explosions, civilians who somehow found themselves in possession of bombs but had no idea how to handle or even store them.
they managed to hold their position for years. They had enough supplies for years? Oh good lord, no. They simply waited for first snowfall, then raided the surrounding countryside. This was, I should imagine, standard procedure for almost anyone under siege, castle or not.
Many of the defenders I’ve spoken to have agreed that the inevitable onset of winter, long and brutal as it was, became a lifesaving reprieve. As long as they didn’t freeze to death, many survivors took the opportunity of frozen Zed Heads to raid the surrounding countryside for everything they’d need for the warmer months.
the Balmoral Decree, turning all her estates into protected zones for any who could reach and defend them?
They must forever be an example to the rest of us, the strongest, and bravest, and absolute best of us. In a sense, it is they who are ruled by us, instead of the other way around, and they must sacrifice everything, everything, to shoulder the weight of this godlike burden. Otherwise what’s the flipping point?
They were viewed very much like castles, I suppose: as crumbling, obsolete relics, with no real modern function other than as tourist attractions. But when the skies darkened and the nation called, both reawoke to the meaning of their existence.
One shielded our bodies, the other, our souls.
Radio Free Earth.
Ignorance was the enemy. Lies and superstition, misinformation, disinformation. Sometimes, no information at all.
It was the first real international venture, barely a few months after the South African Plan, and years before the conference at Honolulu.
Radio Ubunye.
They were the first, at least, to my knowledge, to begin these regular, multilingual broadcasts. Not only did they offer practical survival skills, they went so far as to collect and address each and every falsehood circulating among their citizens.
What kind of misinformation were you combating? Where do you want me to begin? Medical? Scientific? Military? Spiritual? Psychological?
civilian survival guide
You could see it was clearly written by an American, the references to SUVs and personal firearms. There was no taking into account the cultural differences…the various indigenous solutions people believed would save them from the undead.
Varanasi was one of the hottest White Zones, a nexus of living death. This nexus covered almost the entire length of the Ganges. Its
