Tanus sighed as he walked back from the cockpit. Really? It has to start like this? Really? Is this what I get for being a bad person? I suppose this’ll make up for the damn town though. The others were sitting down, talking about various things: their past, stories, jokes and the like. The notable exception was Jager, who as always, was sitting to himself, silently brooding over something. Garryll was watching the others from his seat and then looked up as Tanus entered the compartment. Tanus raised his hand for silence and the noise ended abruptly.

“Okay, so it looks like we got detoured. For whatever reason, we were pulled out of hyperspace. There are absolutely no mass shadow generators here, nor any black holes. Also, communications are down and we can’t hail the Dominion to get any support.”

There was a moment of silence as Garryll cracked his neck and spoke up.

“So what’s the good news?”

“Thaw was the good news. The bad news is that we’re headed for one of the moons of Bogden, and based on where we are, that looks like the moon is Kolhma.”

There was a murmur among the squad now; Jager even turned his head to stare at the squad leader.

“Kolhma? Wasn’t there some cult there back in the day?”

“Yeah, way back, and it died back in the day too. Best I can say is that we land, wait for pick up from the Dominion. Just don’t tell any ghost stories and we should be okay.”

The squad chuckled as Tanus took a seat in front of Garryll. The man peered his head over the seat and brought his head next to Tanus’.

“So is that really all you know?”

Tanus looked up at his assistant and smiled; it was good to have a skeptical streak in a soldier, even one so experienced as Garryll.

“Hand on my heart, as cold and black as it is, that is all I know. Besides, all Kolhma is is a moon with dark clouds and breathable atmosphere. Aside from it being one of the 10 scariest bloody places in the galaxy, that’s all I know.”

Garryll jumped over the seat and sat down next to Tanus, a sly grin on his face. Tanus looked at the man strangely before Garryll continued.

“You’re not scared, are you?”

Tanus could only laugh. Really Garryll? Is that what you really wanted to know.

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous. We got pulled out of hyperspace for no apparent reason, comms are down AND we’re headed for one of the creepiest places between Tadath and the Spindle Arm. What about you, fire boy?”

“Pfft. I’m excited if anything. This could be fun.”

“Then, you and I have very different definitions of fun.”

As Tanus was about to answer, the pilot called up to him, his voice sounding strained and slightly frantic.

“Sir, you may want to come up here.”

Oh great.

Tanus was out of his seat and next to the pilot in two breaths. When he got there, the pilot was staring frantically at his instruments, as if at any moment they would suddenly explode. Tanus looked back at his assistant and shrugged.

“What’s wrong, pilot?”

“Well, sir, we’ll be breaking atmo in a bit, but it seems the fun won’t stop there. It looks like there is a storm brewing up, and from the readouts, I’d say it’ll be a big one.”

“Well, do we know what kind of storm?”

“Well, it won’t be rain, mostly just thunder and lightning, but that could jostle us a bit or even take us down. This could end badly if we don’t time it right.”

“Then make sure you do, fly boy. There are a lot of lives resting on your crack pilot skills. Now how long till we break atmo?”

“Another two minutes, and then if I can hit it right, we’ll miss the storm completely, but I can’t guarantee anything.”

“Then just do what you can – but make sure we live through it.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tanus turned back and looked around at the squad.

“Strap in folks. It looks like we have one hell of a ride waiting for us.”

The snapping of harnesses and belts could be heard across the shuttle as all conversation stopped. Tanus took his seat next to Garryll and started to strap in.

“So what’s the story?”

“Atmo in two minutes and then it looks like there’s a storm brewing. The pilot’s nervous, but even I know most pilots who can maneuver in and out of storm likes its nothing, even in this flying death trap.”

“True enough. But he must have been nervous for a reason.”

“Of course he was. Pulled out of hyperspace, comms are down and we’re headed towards Kolhma? No anomalies were picked up in the slightest. It just has an eerie feel to it.”

“I hope that’s the only feel it has to it,” Garryll muttered.

Tanus looked at him and smiled. In truth, the entire squad had been on edge for the past few hours when they heard they were on their way to Arkania. The thought of dealing with Thrawn or the New Republic again was tantalizing for the troopers weary of fighting angry mercs. Tanus’ mind drifted off to the snow covered hills of Arkania, then quickly came back as the ship shuddered while it broke atmosphere. That’s one obstacle down and one more to go.  The ship shook slightly as the pilot brought the ship into a comfortable alignment and speed. Tanus closed his eyes as the shaking came to a near stop while the shuttle continued on its merry way. Then the ship started to shake again. Tanus opened his eyes as a large crack of thunder rolled through the ship.

“So much for avoiding the storm,” Garryll said dryly as he hugged his straps tighter.

Tanus shrugged his shoulders as the ship rocked a bit from a large gust of wind being brought down by the storm. Tanus glanced out of one of the viewports and saw a crack of lightning streak across the sky. A small feeling of cold dread began to leach through his body. Something doesn’t feel right here. Something feels… wrong. Tanus felt the ship dip as the pilot brought the ship down for a descent. The ship lurched a bit as it started to make its way through the clouds. As it broke through them, Tanus let out a small sigh of relief. As the dark clouds began to settle back behind them, the pilot made an announcement.

“Another 1000 meters until we make it groundside, sir.”

Tanus nodded and looked over at Garryll.

“And here I thought he’d kill us all.”

As the words left his lips, something hit the ship – hard. Klaxons started to go off as the lights died. Tanus looked up at the pilot, who was frantically hitting buttons on his control panel. Oh, this is not good. Tanus unstrapped his harness and got up towards the cockpit.

“What’s wrong?”

“That was an ion storm! We got hit by an ion bolt! All of our systems are fried.”

“What about auxiliary power?”

“I tried that. Nothing’s working. Sir, I think we’re dead.”

“Like hell we are.”

Tanus turned back into the main compartment.

“Everyone, the systems are down and we’re plummeting towards the ground at a rather fast rate. Brace for impact and pray to whichever deity you wish.”

Tanus strapped himself in and closed his eyes, waiting for the whole thing to be over, for Death to finally claim his prize. As his mind raced before him, he heard the pilot say “5 seconds to impact.” After that, all faded away. And then there was a horrible crash, and darkness took him.



His eyes were slow to open, and his head, neck and back ached. Even though he was convinced his neck was broken, that he was finally dead, he turned his head to the left of him to see the others slowly rousing themselves awake from the nightmare they had just endured. Tanus looked to his left, a little quicker than before, his wits returning to him as he looked at Garryll: his lip was split open and had a large lump near his temple. His eye was bruised and looked like he had just been beaten with a pipe, but he seemed to be all right.

“So,” he said, “how was your nap?”

“Bloody painful. You all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, although that was most assuredly the most painful thing I’ve ever gone through.”

“Aye, that goes double for me. Think you can get up?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“All right. Let’s get the others up and moving, get the supplies out and get Abs to tend to the wounded.”

Garryll nodded as he gingerly unstrapped his harness. Tanus followed suit and slowly reached for the buckles and snaps, letting out a scathing breath every time he moved his arms. Whiplash had most definitely set in, and it was going to hit him hard, he knew. He took a step and faltered slightly, using the seat to brace himself; another two steps and he was walking well enough. He helped the others up, making sure no one was hurt outwardly. When they had all gotten assembled, Tanus looked over at Garryll, who was standing with Jager and Hassar.

“Where’s Abs?”

“Uh, about that…”

“Is she dead?”

“No.”

“Then where the hell is she?”

“She’s back there, but she won’t move.”

Tanus grimaced as he walked over to Abalar, who was sitting down, curled up in ball, head buried in her arms. She wasn’t shaking, so she wasn’t crying. Tanus heard breathing, albeit shallow, so he knew that she was still all right.

“Abs? What’s wrong?”

No response was given; Abalar continued to sit there, head in her arms, silent as stone. Tanus shook her once, then twice; no response. He snapped his fingers close to both her ears, but still she said nothing. As he was about to move in for a third attempt, Jager stepped up.

“I’ll take care of her. You guys take care of the others. She’s done this before.”

“What exactly is… this?”

“This is a catatonic state that she goes into. I’ve only seen her do it once before, and it wasn’t a good thing then, and I can you it won’t be a good thing now.”

“All right. You take care of her. Come back when she’s right again.”

Jager grunted as the Tanus and Garryll went off to the others, gathering their gear and equipment and getting ready to move. Nothing was said; no mention of injuries was made. Now was the time to keep Blackjack together.

Blackjack squad gathered around the crashed shuttle. “This sucks,” Orobos said, trying to cut the tension.

“The pilot’s dead as dead,” Gates replied, adjusting his trusty flamethrower’s shoulder strap – “But at least it’s not that cold.”

The jibe served its intended purpose and drew a couple weak chuckles. Gates raised his primary weapon, a StA-52 LAR, and waved it. Blackjack broke into its three fireteams  - Tanus leading Orobos and Farindoon, Gates followed by Hassar and Loran, and Jager with Abalar and Corvin in tow – and began to advance.

“Where are we going, anyway?” asked Corvin, gently tossing a shotgun’s barrel in his palm. “What’s on this rock apart from bad horror flicks?”

“Orbital pictures taken by the mapping software on the shuttle showed some strange structures a few miles east of here,” Tanus said, pointing into the pathetic forest. “I downloaded them to my HUD and now we’re headed there.”

Corvin nodded absentmindedly and moved up to Jager’s point spot as the ex-Jester’s team moved up in the line. The crimson red armor of the elite shone dully in the limited light. In the sky, bolts of lightning silently traced through clouds, leaving flashing neon and yellow lights on Gates’ vision where they passed.

“Damn storm,” Gates said. “I was looking forward to some mayhem. Now we’re marching around some insignificant rock orbiting some equally worthless ball of rock.”

“Amen, sir,” Hassar said quietly.

“Wonder where the rest of the offensive is,” remarked Tanus. “Did they get to Arkania like the plan went?”

“I dunno,” Gates said, tapping his helmet around where his ear would be. “Comms are down and out. Only our short-range comlinks are working at all. Don’t get to far separated or we might never find one another.”

“Small chance of getting lost in this forest,” Orobos replied, gesturing around. “I’ve seen better ones on urban worlds.”

Gates grinned and the fireteams switched positions again, rotating so as to create some interest and get a fresh pair of eyes to the rear and front. Gates, as was his custom, took point. He stepped over a fallen log and his boot crunched on something.

He held up a fist and moved his foot. Underneath it was the powdered remains of a half-gnawed bone of some sort. He nudged it with his foot and shrugged. “False alarm, it’s just what looks like a tibia.”

“Ew,” said someone. “That’s it?”

“Oh wait, also a blaster pistol,” Gates said, kicking some dust out of the way. “And a skull. Definitely human. But what the hell is this hole in the back?”

Gates held up the skull, and pointed out a large hole in the temple. “It looks like teeth marks,” someone remarked. “But not a very big predator.”

“Sir, we’ve got contacts,” Loran said over the comlink, rifle at his side, pointing deeper into the dejected forest. “What the heck are they, sir?”

Several hundred meters away, a group of twenty or so humanoid figures shuffled around. They were distant, but it didn’t look as though they were talking or even moving with much coordination. Gates hit his HUD’s zoom and the figures appeared much closer. Gates cocked his head and swore softly.

“Hell, from what I’m seeing, it looks like they’re…corpses. Dead bodies someone dug up. See, there’s some guy’s rib cage poking out.”

“Nasty,” remarked Tanus, also looking at the shuffling forms. He was about to say something else when one of the creatures looked right at them. It raised a rotting arm and pointed, and an inhuman shriek burst from its lungs. The others in the pack stared vacantly at the crimson-clad Blackjacks with dead eyes. And then they began to run at them.

“Oh shit,” Gates breathed as a score of the undead things began a stumbling sprint right at them, faster than the average man could at a dead run.

“Fire, fire, fire!” Tanus yelled, breaking the Blackjack’s indecision with action, and raised his rifle and let loose a three-shot burst. The rest of the Blackjacks leapt into action, raising weapons and letting a flurry of shots loose.

Gates started into his scope, breathed shallowly, and let loose a shot, taking one of the sprinting monstrosities in the chest. It got back to its feet and resumed its charge until he shot it in the face. It fell into the dirt and didn’t stir again. He aimed again, but the ten things still running were too close and moving too quickly for him to get a good bead on. He dropped the rifle to the dust beneath his feet and ripped his warknife from its sheath and his M4 pistol from his holster.

Two corpses made it through the barrage, holes smoking where laser bolts had hit them and done minimal damage. Tanus stepped forward, warhammer in hand and swung it in a short arc. The lead monster collapsed as the heavy-metal hammer flattened it into a flesh pancake.

The last thing, a step slow, bounced into the Tanus’ backswing, and fell to the ground. Gates stepped on its chest and shot the degraded body in the head. It shook under the powerful shell and lay still. Gates looked around, and saw that the rest of the bodies weren’t moving either.

“Good job,” Gates said, leaning down to pick up his rifle. “What were they?”

Kyrus held his blaster up, still trying to track the dancing shapes that eluded him in the dark forest, as he followed closely behind Gates. His breathing sounded loud and shaky from behind his helmet. The images of the undead corpses were still fresh in his mind, and the creepy atmosphere that surrounded the forest, didn't help with his mood.

The sky was still rumbling above their heads and every now and again, the forest would contrast sharply as a streak of lightning flashed across the sky. Each time, Kyrus would imagine seeing some vague shape hidden in the shadows of each lightning bolt, and each time he would be relieved to find nothing there.

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. Come on, Hassar, he mentally admonished. Keep it together.

Gates, Loran, and Hassar walked in silence, carefully picking their ways through the trees.

"How much further is the citadel?" Loran asked.

"It's not to far away. Keep your eyes peeled. And let's not run into any more of those dead things before we reach citadel."

"I second that motion," he agreed silently. Kyrus perked suddenly as he heard a terrible shriek coming from a distant part of the forest.

"Come on. Let's move faster."

They had gone about a hundred meters out, when Loran called out from behind.

"Hold on."

Gates stopped and looked back at him. "What is it?"

"I'm picking up something. Shh" He looked up and cocked his head giving them an odd look. "Do you hear that?"

Gates and Hassar listened intently. It was a faint rustle coming from behind them. Focusing, he made out what sounded like footsteps falling heavily—

A viscous snarl unleashed from the undead's gaping maw as it tackled Loran. They both landed with a thud. He wrestled to keep his blaster between him and the undead, as it tried to tear at his helmet.

"Help!" Loran grunted.

Gates and Hassar quickly fired into the corpse's body and finally got it down after a shot to it's skull. Loran scrambled to his feet before the rest of the pack reached them. Grimacing, Kyrus held down his fire, taking out as many as he could before he had to reload. He pulled out another clip and was attacked before he could load it in.

Dropping his gun, Kyrus staggered back, but kept his footing as the undead grabbed his helmet. he tried to punch and push back the monstrosity, but it seemed to posses an unreal strength which allowed it to hold fast. It continued to bite and scratch it's long nails against his helmet. 

When he heard the plastoid of his helmet start to peel away, terror gripped him. Kyrus spun around frantically, blinded by the undead's wild battery. He could feel his helmet slowly giving in. He was losing his strength the closer the monster became, and it seemed that it's own strength was fueled the closer it came to it's goal.

This is it, he thought. This is how I'm going to go. Having my head eaten by this savage, on this desolate moon.

He felt himself slipping out of consciousness, and he didn't try to fight it. Then, slowly at first, he began to be pulled back, away from the light...

Kyrus blinked and saw Gates standing over him, with Loran right next to him, systematically shooting at the undead's legs.

"...Get UP, Hassar! Move!"

Kyrus snapped back and stood up. Gates pulled him up straight and shoved him in the direction of the citadel.

"Go!"

Kyrus ran through the forest, hoping that he would not trip. Gates and Loran followed closely behind him. The undead that were left had their legs damaged effectively so they could not run so easily, and they quickly lost them.

They didn't stop running until they reached the citadel. There was a clearing in the forest around it and the dark clouds added to the sense of desolation that surrounded the architect. There was no one there yet, at least as far as Kyrus could tell.

All three of them were panting as they stopped and sat on the ground. Kyrus felt dizzy as soon as he was seated. His head was sore and he wanted nothing more than to just take a quick nap.

"Whoa."

Kyrus rolled his head lazily over to his left to see what Loran was talking about. "What?"

"You... Are you OK?" he asked, gingerly pointing his finger at his head.

Before Kyrus could respond, Gates grabbed his jaw and angled his head so he could get a better view of it. "Mm, that looks pretty nasty," he remarked.

Kyrus pulled away and reached up to touch the top of his head. He could feel the gashes his helmet had suffered from, but in particularly, he could feel one that was really deep.

"Oh yes. Of course. I must have sustained this injury from the demon attack."

Gates arched an eyebrow at this. "Oh, so they're demons now?"

Kyrus shrugged. "That's one theory."

"I take it your head isn't that bad?"

Kyrus inspected his wound atop his head once more. It did feel pretty deep. I may have to get it looked at later, but for now it's not really a main concern until we find a way off this rock.

"Don't worry about it. I'm fine. Besides," he smiled. "I hear us Zabraks have a higher tolerance to pain than you humans do."

Gates made a noise, that Kyrus could not distinguish between a laugh or a snort.

“How the hell did we lose Jager’s team?” asked Tanus as they surveyed the clearing. “They were right behind us.”

“Those firefights were pretty crazy,” Gates remarked, staring at the tall, odd structure they’d marched through the forest to. He could see little in it, but odd statues and carvings on the doors and windows made him shiver. “Either way, let’s find ‘em before we take the building.”

Tanus nodded and they backtracked into the forest. Gates waved the squad into a skirmish line and they spread out to cover more ground. They stepped back into the light fog and bedraggled trees, the storm overhead still rumbling ominously and the occasional lightning bolt flashing down.

“Yell if you see anything,” Gates said nonchalantly, trying to keep the somber mood from dipping.

“…or scream,” muttered someone in return. A couple weak chuckles answered the thought on everyone’s mind. A gulp was audible over the comlink.

“What’s that?” Loran from the far end of the skirmish line. “Sounds like gunfire.”

They stopped. The sound of yelling, gunfire and inhuman screeching softly made its way down the line, not masked by the heavy thud of combat boots in eons-hardened dust.

“Move it, Blackjacks!” Tanus barked, and the line sprinted towards the sound of the fighting. Gates raised his rifle to his chest and focused on pumping his arms and legs.

“zzt…EMPIRE!” crackled the comlink as they came back into the limited range of the short-range comlinks. Now they were much nearer, and visible. Three Stormtroopers in the trademark Blood-red armor of the Elite were yelling and shooting.

One was smashing one of the undead in the face with the stock of a shotgun, while a taller one – Jager, Gates assumed – blasted point-blank into the horde with a heavy Tyrant LMG. The slightest form of Abalar was firing her rifle at Jager’s back, trying valiantly to keep the dead from overrunning Corvin’s desperate melee conflict.

Gates fired a trio of rounds, each slapping into a zombie’s chest and knocking it back a pace a bullet, but doing it no real harm. Half the horde, a fifty-strong group that had only been held back by tripping over the dead bodies of many more of their kind turned on the new arrivals. Gates, having run fastest and hardest and easily outstripping the hurting Private, was the first target. A trio of zombies bore down on him like fleshy, decomposing homing missiles.

He blasted the first apart with a full-auto burst from his rifle, taking an arm and leg off of the leader before finally hitting it in the throat and severing the head. The second managed to close to point-blank range, and Gates only had enough time to raise the rifle.

It screamed a war cry and Gates jammed the smoking barrel into the thing’s mouth before pulling the trigger and blowing its skull apart. The last swatted him, and Gates was thrown a half-dozen feet by unexpected strength. He dropped his rifle and grabbed at his trusty flamethrower.

A spear of flame burst from the mouth of the weapon, catching the zombie in the chest and lighting the whole thing up like an Empire Day firework. It howled as its flesh burned but still stumbled at Gates. He fired another torch and it finally burned up and collapsed.

Gunfire came back through adrenaline-soaked senses as the Blackjacks tore into the flanks of the walking dead, ripping them apart with a fusillade of blaster bolts and slugs. Gates got to his feet and blasted another wave of fire into a group of tightly-packed undead, lighting them all up.

The Blackjacks blasted at the front ranks of the horde, taking down a dozen in seconds of full-out combat, letting the stupid things charge them and meet blaster bolts in the face. Corvin dropped to a knee, having finally bludgeoned the zombie to death, and quickly slapped a new clip into his blaster shotgun. The sound of Jager’s heavy weapon thumped in a constant background to the lighter chatter of assault rifles of various makes.

The last body fell to the ground with an audible thump, and the some of the squad sighed a breath of relief. Rifles were lowered to their sides.

Gates picked up his rifle and ejected his spent clip. The empty box slipped out of his rifle and before it even landed softly in the dirt, Gates had fed another clip in from his belt. The rifle clicked, its weight reassuringly fuller with the presence of some more slugs.

“Let’s get to that structure and think out our next move,” Tanus said, rifle at his shoulder. “And this time, don’t get lost.”

“This is unreal. We are not here, and this is not actually happening,” Abalar thought to herself as her blaster fire cut through another dead but not dead thing. She just wanted off this planet, and currently, as she saw it, these undead things were the only thing preventing that.

This mission had not started off well at all. Her panic attack, her jump at Jager, getting separated from the rest of the squad, and now this. Fan-fraking-tastic. To make matters even better, this was her first mission as a corporal. Oh goody. So far, the only real way she saw to kill them was to shoot them. She had already tried a throwing knife, which slowed down the creature, but it did not drop dead, even though she hit it square in the forehead. That was another thing she was going to have to replace. This mission was a personal disaster.

“Could this day get any worse?” Abalar said aloud as she sprayed another undead thing with blaster fire.

She instantly regretted it though as an uneasiness settled in. Something worse was definitely going to happen, and it was going to be bad. Something made her glance at Jager’s right arm, where the cybernetics lay underneath the armour. She stopped moving for only an instant as her attentions focused on his arm, but that instant was too long. An undead creature, and a pretty large one at that, slammed into her, taking her too the ground.

There was no time to get a shot out, no time to even cry out to either Jager or Corvin before she was half buried in the mud and half covered by the undead creature. She heard more blaster fire and the body on the undead thing went limb on top of her. Abalar had no idea if the other two knew where she was, but she guessed no. Several minutes went by without the body being moved and Abalar rescued. She settled into the fact that she could easily die here, and unless Jager or Corvin moved the body, she was going to die. Her arms were pinned, and her EE-3 crushed against her chest. Things definitely had gotten worse, but still that uneasiness remained. There was still a lot of room for things to continue to go wrong.

OOC:

Short, yes, but you'll survive I think. I'm broken, and now my wrist hurts. I did it all for you Blackjack. :P

“How many contacts?” asked Tanus.

“How high can you count?” replied Corvin.

“Move blackjack!” he screamed. “Get to the main hall and secure those doors. Jager, you and your team stay here and cut them down from the windows.”

The rest of the squad scrambled down the stairs. They arrived to find that the creatures were already hammering on the heavy steel doors.

“Shit, we're too late” Tanus said. “All right, take up defensive positions”, and he suited actions with word by wrenching a pew from the floor and tossing it over. He knelt down behind it and took aim at the door.

The rest of the squad followed suit and soon they were all huddled similarly behind other strewn pieces of furniture.

The door shook again, but held firm.

“We hold them off as long as we can with our blasters. Drop them only when you have no other choice but to engage in close combat” Tanus said checking his own blaster.

There were various acknowledgments from the squad.

“I have an idea” Loran spook up.

The door shook.

“What's that” replied Tanus.

“Eventually they're gonna overrun us and then we're pretty much screwed right?”

“The thought did cross my mind” Tanus said.

“Well, why don't a couple of us go out there and take them on hand to hand to begin with? That ought to draw their attention long enough for the other to shred them with blasters.” Loran stated.

Tanus and Garryll exchanged glances. “Kids got a point” Garryll said.

“Yeah but anyone who goes out there isn't coming back”

“It's a calculated risk. Besides, we've been lucky for a while now.” said Garryll.

Tanus seemed to mull it over. The door shook again and snapped him out of his thoughts, “Fine, but I'm going. My hammer'll go a long way towards evening the odds. Plus I can't ask for volunteers to do this.

“I'll go too” Loran said standing up.

“Are you sure Private? You'll most likely end up dead.” asked Tanus.

“It was my idea sir. Besides, I've always been much better at hand to hand then with a blaster.”

“All right, let's get up the stairs and out the second story windows.”

Loran raced after Tanus. By the time they reached Jager's squad, Loran already had his helmet and torso armor off. Twin vibroblades in hand, he deposited the gear near the burnt out comm station.

“You heard?” Tanus asked Jager.

“Lines already secured” replied Jager.

“Good man” Tanus said and took hold of the line. He thumbed on a grenade and dropped it out of the window. “Look out below!” Tanus yelled out the window. He was greeted with a cheerfully  resounding explosion and he grinned.

Abalar looked at him and laughed. “What?” said Tanus sarcastically.

“Nothing sir. Don't know how you do it.” she said.

“It's a rare art” Tanus replied. “Here we go” and he hurled himself out of the window.

Loran stepped up to the window and Jager regarded him quizzically.

“I move better with it off” Loran stated and went after Tanus.

“Eh, it's your funeral” Jager mumbled and moved back to the window. He, Abalar and Corvin then resumed blasting away at the creatures from their higher vantage point.

As soon as Tanus and Loran landed out side, the zombies raced in on them. Lorans martial arts skills were equal to the task and he quickly dispatched zombie after zombie. He moved quickly and time after time evaded vicious claws and mauling mouths. Tanus, to his credit, was cutting wide swaths with his hammer.

Loran dove, parried, smashed, slashed and hacked at the never ending stream of rotting fleshy masses. He unleashed volleys of kicks, countered with his gauntleted fists. Sometimes decapitating creatures, and sending the bodies flying to knock others over. He did not however escape unscathed. He was clawed and bit at but not seriously. It quickly became apparent that a rhythm was developing in their technique. Loran and Tanus would send a few creatures sprawling into their comrades and the squad would open up with their blasters and take out the whole group. Every now and then someone would drop in a grenade just for good measure.

When it was finally over, Tanus and Loran stood amongst a huddled mass of decaying flesh. They breathed heavily. They're adrenaline receded and they began to ache and moan from wounds they had received. His black under tunic bloody and tattered, Loran examined himself. It was hanging loosely and revealed a spate of nasty gashes and bites. None looked very serious and Loran tore the hanging pieces off.

“I'm getting real tired of cleaning blood off my armor” he breathed.

“Get used to it private. It's gonna continue as long as you're with Blackjack” Tanus replied.

“Oh, I'm not complaining sir.”

Tanus clapped Loran on the shoulder, “C'mon. Let's get back inside. Sounds like evac is on the way in.”

Loran strained his ears and heard the incoming shuttle. He could only node his head in response.

The fighting had taken them a short distance from the building and they trudged slowly back to it.

There was a brief lull in the fighting, and the troopers of Blackjack sprang into action. Some moved the dead into a makeshift barricade in front of the door, hoping to keep the things out for just a little longer and keep themselves more or less intact.

“We need a back door if the entire plan goes to hell in a hand basket,” Gates said to Tanus.

“Easy. There’s a stained glass window at the back of the cathedral. It’s glass. A child could break it.”

“Good point, sir,” Gates nodded. “I’ll take a team upstairs to rain some fire down on them.”

“Get to it,” Tanus said. He turned back to the squad going at their grisly work, poking and prodding at the dead into positions to protect their living enemies.

“Hassar, Corvin, on me!” Gates called. The two soldiers rose from the barricading of the door and followed Gates halfway up the stairs. He nodded at two small stained-glass windows and the two soldiers stood next to them, rifles at their sides. Gates smashed the window he was standing next to with his elbow, scattering colored glass out into the dust outside. In a pinch, it made a good murder hole, even if the zombies had no guns.

The three troopers readied their weapons and looked out into the flat, largely empty dust plains. The earlier fog had boiled off by the super-storm brewing in the atmosphere. A thick bright blue bolt of lightning slashed at the ground, striking a tree and exploding dead bark around it. Thunder boomed a second later.

A crowd of the dead shambled towards them, several dozen at the least, at most possibly a hundred. The lead zombie raised its head and seemed to sniff the air. It wasn’t decomposed fully, and it still even looked slightly human. Gates shivered in disgust and fear.

It turned its head towards Blackjack’s structure and raised an arm. Gates sighted on its head and shot it in the eye at one hundred meters, dropping the thing into the dirt. The mob started a shriek and began its charge.

“Fire at will,” Gates ordered crisply, and fitted actions to words by blowing another thing’s head into a bloody mist and spray of skull shrapnel. The irregular single-shots of Corvin and Hassar added to the cacophony, some the low hiss of bullets whizzing through the air, some the sharp crack of a laser bolt flying down range.

Gates fired again, catching one in the throat and pitching it to the ground. It got up a moment later, but he’d already moved on.

“Contacts reaching twenty meters,” Gates said into the comm. “Closing fast. Get tactical, Blackjack.”

The rate of fire increased as the three shooters stopped their single-shot mandate and, with so many targets in sight, opened up on full-auto. Gates’ assault rifle clacked empty and he slung the weapon, sliding his flamethrower around into his murder hole and aiming it carefully.

The zombies had closed to within twenty feet, just scraping the range of his flamer. He let loose a spear of fire anyway, roasting a trio of frontrunners and dropping them to the ground, flesh melting into the dust. Gates grimly smiled as he turned the napalm-fueled weapon on another group. He let loose another wave of roaring fire, killing another but only catching a second’s arm on fire. It ignored the burning limb and began beating at the iron door. Already, as he switched targets again, they had gotten too close for him to hit with fire or bullets accurately.

“Out of the holes, Corvin, Hassar! Get downstairs and prepare for breach!”

“Aye sir! Get downstairs!” Corvin replied, his signature annoying echo of the order bouncing back into the comlink.

Gates pulled his first frag grenade out of his belt and dropped it into the thickest concentration of enemies he could see. He hesitated to use another, as he wanted to save the explosives for when the shit really hit the fan. He turned and jogged down the stairs towards the main foyer.

The shrapnel-filled bomb exploded, concussion lifting some zombies off of their feet and filling the closest with burning pieces of metal. The front doors and their grisly supports shuddered as the zombies literally tried to beat down the door to get at their next meal.

“Come and get some,” Gates murmured, sliding a new clip into his rifle and raising it to his shoulder, chin resting on the stock and scope at his eye. “You’ll find Blackjacks tough to digest.”

“Alright everyone,” Gates said calmly. “No one panic. Just hit the deck and don’t scream too loud if you get some paint burned off your helmet, okay?”

The Blackjack ASL pulled the trigger of his flamethrower and a jet of bright red-and-yellow flame bit into the tightly-packed front rank of zombies fighting for first dibs to get shot up by the Stormtroopers in red. The lucky ones that got to go first also were happily baked into crisp sacks of dirt.

Unperturbed, the rear ranks shoved their barbequed brethren out of the way in their insane effort to get at the Blackjacks. They were met by the Blackjacks, who had managed to recover admirably well and get out of arm’s reach. The fusillade of lead and concentrated light tore right into the jam packed zombies, dropping many, but leaving a dozen more shoving their way in.

“This is ridiculous,” Gates complained, burning another trio down as they tried to shove through the door. “These things don’t know how to die effectively.”

A clump of bodies barricading a window slumped and fell into the room. A zombie clambered over the stacked-tall bodies and lunged at Tanus’ back. Gates whirled the flamethrower around and burned the zombie down, saving his comrade.

Unfortunately, without the discouragement of the flames at the front door, the last of the zombies rushed in, a dozen. They sprinted across the empty room, thoughtfully cleared by the Blackjacks, and went right after the troopers.

One bore down on Gates, screaming inhumanely. It was too close to use the flamethrower on, so he used it like a clumsy club and smashed it to the ground. He kicked it in the chest and flipped it a couple feet, then stomped on its neck until he heard the crack of breaking bone.

Just to be on the safe side, he dug his sidearm out of its holster and put a shot into the back of its skull, scattering brain matter all over. A heavy form tackled him from behind, and a zombie’s rotting hand clawed at his helmet. Gates rolled over, trying to shake the thing off, but still it clawed at his throat, only protected by the bodysuit. He smashed his elbow back behind his head and heard the cracking of bones.

Its grip faltered momentarily and Gates, possessed by maniacal strength, caught one of the hands and broke it at the wrist. It flopped limply for a moment before simply falling off.

He remembered his pistol was in his other hand and poked it behind his head, letting loose a shot that echoed in his ears and shook his teeth in his skull. On the receiving end, though, the zombie came apart, its head now a shattered mess from the powerful hollow point shell.

Gates shook the dead hulk off and got to his feet. Tanus was drawing back his hammer for the grand finale, smashing the skull of a prone zombie like a rotten fruit; Orobos was decapitating another with a powerful swing of the axe. Loran, not wanting to get in the way of either warrior, was cleaning off one of his knives on the flesh of a dead zombie with no head. Corvin also watched the two Blackjack veterans go at it, foot pinning a zombie to the floor while he fed a new clip into his shotgun. A moment later, the weapon boomed and the scrabbling zombie lay still.

“Well,” Tanus said. “That was exciting. Let’s never do it again.”

“How about again in two minutes, sir?” Hassar said from his murder hole. “I got a crap load of contacts headed this way. “Scanners read over 200 life forms, though this thing has been as reliable as a half-baked pie against these things so far. So I’d guess even more, sir.”

“Fan-freaking-tastic,” Gates said, standing next to the broken window. “We’ll be overrun in minutes. How much ammo does everyone have?”

“Plenty for conventional war. We were planning for a raid, but it’ll serve for a pinch in a last stand,” Tanus said, checking his belt.

Gates remembered a quote he’d read somewhere, in some military fiction – he repeated it out loud. “The worst thing about last stands is that you don’t get to practice for them.”

“Amen,” said Corvin. “But I think we’ve lived through several, by now.”

“Who needs practice when you’ve got guns?” joked Orobos. “They fix everything with enough application.”

“Get to positions,” Tanus said. “But we’ll be overrun in minutes. Fall back before engaging in hand-to-hand. There’s so many we’ll just be overrun and slaughtered.”

The Blackjacks moved to the shattered remains of the windows, shoving bodies more fully into the openings. By now, the front door was a lost cause, and only the mounds of corpses were going to keep the undead out.

“Zombies in range, firing,” Corvin said crisply, and soon, his rifle was chattering. The automatic fire of his rifle was soon joined by the other members of the squad, and in under a minute, all of them were firing into the horde.

Zombies dropped by the dozen, but for every one they killed, another would get up or move forwards.

“Reloading!” yelled three voices nearly on top of one another. The dip in firepower was enough to let one past, and soon, the zombies were all over them, trying to reach the crimson-clad Stormtroopers through corpse-filled windows.

“Fall back! Fall back!” Gates yelled, ejecting a spent clip and sliding in a new one. “Get upstairs! Move it now!”

The Blackjacks dropped back professionally, leapfrogging back one team covering another. The front door slammed to the ground, corpses spilling in, some animate, some not. The heavy iron door slammed heavily to the marble floor, cracking it irreparably.

“Run.”

Blackjack turned and ran like their hair was on fire, firing behind them as they scampered up the stars and tossed grenades like they were party favors.

Explosions and gunfire and screaming filled the cathedral’s broad walls, echoing crazily. Zombies that got to close got a mouthful of lead and brass.

“Blow the stairs, blow the stairs!” screamed someone. Already, zombies were speeding up the stairs after them. Gates pumped his arms and reached the upstairs balcony. Jager and Abalar waited at the top of the stairs with the stair’s doors in hand. The rest of the Blackjacks sprinted in and the two ex-Jesters slammed the door shut. Zombies were already knocking at their door again.

Jager stuck a pew underneath the metal handle and the other Blackjacks helped pile stuff up to try to hold the undead at bay. The hammering was a constant reminder of what would happen if they didn’t escape soon.

“Well, this is sucks,” Gates remarked calmly, voice kept tightly under control. “I imagined my last stand would be heroic. Not on some bass-ackwards rock by zombies.”