Heavens Gate: The World Undone




The Military Involement in Heavens Gate

1. Unknown Virus causes recent dead and living people to turn into Zombies. United States Army sends Army units to assist FEMA personnel evacuate the city.

2. National Guard units arrive on the outskirts of Heavens Gate. A quarintine has been set up.

3. Army Rangers from the 75th Ranger Regiment, one platoon is tasked to assist Army and FEMA convoys in trucking the unknown infected citizens. Wide spread panic through the Army base. Heavens Gate citizens panic and Army units open fire on stampeding hordes of a mixture of infected and uninfected citizenry.
4. FEMA claims Heavens Gate a disaster area. No one is allowed in or out. All Army units inside the quarintine zone are ordered to help any non infected survivors, and eradicate the zombie presence in key areas. The Zombie threat is minimal to prepared positions and Army units.
6. US Armored units intervene when Army units are fatigued or overran.

Characters: Ranger soldiers John Ace Hollander, Lieutenant William Bridgebourgh, Corporal Fredrick Bubba Johnson.

FEMA Spokesperson Gregory Vincent Xavier, National Guardsmen Yancey Holt, John Doe, Tier Golt Reginald.

United States Army 3 star General Olds Vincent Callaghan.

FEMA personnel,
Various Army perspectives.

Location: Heavens Gate,

Locations: Heavens Gate Hospital, Heavens Gate Police Department, Heavens Gate Fire Department, Nuclear Power Plant #12, US Army Outpost Bravo.





Rough Draft Version .0

Chapter 1


This is the United States Army! We are here to help you! Please do not panic! We are evacuating you as fast as possible!

The speakers blared from the passing Littlebird helicopter, as hundreds of people, hurt and deranged from the attacks, flocked into the designated rally point. Men, Women and Children gathered together and fled to the protection by the armed Army personnel. Whoever or whatever it was that is making the local populous turn into raging hungry zombies has not been found. The beating of helicopter blades interrupted my train of thought.

Ace! Damn it! Get that group over there into those goddamned trucks! I mean it!

My squad leader screamed over the crowd. Yes sir! I mumbled as I led a group of people toward a MaDeuce parked beside a M2A3 IFV. Ok guys, hop in and wait for us to pull out. We have about 2 more hours left before we get out of here. A young girl, she looked about 7, tugged on my pants leg. Mister soldier? I lost my mommy. When are we getting out of here? Looking down at her, her matted blonde hair and bloodied face startled me. You lost your mom? When did you do that? I asked, perplexed. My daddy killed her. Her eyes started to water, as she buried her face into my leg. Daddy..he ate my momma! I pulled her off my leg and looked her in the eye. Do WHAT? He ate your mom? How the h My damn DOG attacked me, corporal. He bit a chunk right out of me. I had to put him down. A middle-aged man waved a .38 Special revolver at me. That damn dogs blood was coagulated. He was already dead when I killed him. What? He was dead? That means he..

What the fuck is that? A coremen pointed at a mumbling, shuffling mess of individuals making their way toward us. More people. Great. Can we carry all of them out in one trip, Lieutenant? A sergeant asked near me. If we cut and quarter them, yeah. Our L-T joked. I looked closely at the bodies stumbling in our direction. They were at least 200 yards away. Thats odd. Most of the people who saw us ran to us. Not walked. I said, picking the little girl up and putting her in the truck. She was crying a lot more. n..o..NO! she screamed as I turned to walk to the group. Please..stay..stay with me. You have a gun. She spurted. I will darling. I will. I nodded toward a private directing people onto another truck. Just pick a spot and sit down. He told them.

The private sprinted up the road toward the people. He yelled; Im a US Army private, follow me and you will get medical attention and get the hell out of here. As he ran, the group mumbled louder and louder, and sped up. Wow. Ok, everyone keep getting in, Ill be back in a sec. The private was now 50 yards from the shuffling group, and then he stopped in his tracks. I heard a soft whisper over my radio. What in the hell is wrong with this place? I picked up my L-Ts binoculars and glassed the group. What I saw made me freeze. The group was a shuffling mass of dead, decaying once human animals. One such individual had no arm, half of a face and blood red eyes. His chest was gaped open and his tongue was swollen 3 times its normal size. Holtz! Get your ass out of there! I yelled, as the mass shot toward him like fish to bait. Oh FUCK! I screamed as he turned and ran. A tall decaying male swooped on him like a vulture, it..whatever itwas lunged at the private. He missed, as he ran full speed from the mass. Over the yelling and jeering from the other guys, he got to the lawn of the Church. Did you SEE that? Those bastards tried to EAT me!

Our commanding officer picked up his rifle and aimed into the air, and fired. The loud Clackow! of the rifle startled the other people who were ignorant of the situation. Stop! Or I will fire on you! he yelled, as the crowd kept its course. He fired again, as the crowd of people started to murmur. No! Shoot them! SHOOT! the middle aged man yelled at anyone who listened. He pointed and fired his pistol. God damn it SHOOT! the gun jumped as he hopped out of the truck and walked toward the crowd. I picked up my M16 and waited for the command to open fire. As the man walked forward, his gun lurching in his hands, its bullets striking wildly in the group, the L-T aimed at the man. Cease fire! I will shoot you if you do not stop firing! by the time he finished his sentence the group surrounded him. They stopped, as if they were waiting for something. The man looked surreal, as if he was saved. The tall man I saw before, now lunged at the guy. He clung onto him like a tick, biting into his neck. The man screamed in pain, as the others joined in. Oh shit! our L-T jumped off his high horse and aimed at them. Cease and desist your actions, or I will open fire on you! I looked at my squad mates, who were all ready to fire. I say again, cease and desist your actions, or I WILL open fire on you!

The screams were becoming louder and more incoherent. From the distance I could here the flesh being torn from his body, bite after bite. He screamed for help. Open fire! I heard, and I squeezed off a burst. All around me weapons burst to life, spewing a lead storm into the undead mess. The bullets shredded the flesh of the attackers, but yet they still ate. Burst after burst I fired, until I ran dry. Reloading I said, and cleared my magazine. Grabbing my belt, I poked a 20 round magazine out and slammed it into the gun. Im hot! I selected semi-fire mode and squeezed the trigger as fast as I could. Over the scattered gunfire, I heard the L-T yell at the M2A3 IFV. After a few muffled words, the squat mini-tank turned over and its engine purred. I looked over at my partner in arms, Bubba. We have the big shit coming, open your mouth, eh? Bubba winked at me and opened his mouth slightly. The IFV rolled forward and stopped beside the L-Ts Hummvee. The turret swiveled back and forth, as a crewman popped out of the top and manned the .50 caliber machine gun. I watched as he yanked back on the bolt, put a round in the action and squeezed off few into the crowd. The rounds tore into the group, splattering chests and sheering heads off.

The blast from the cannon on the IFV rattled our helmets and jarred our brains. The most terrifying experience at that time was watching the bodies spatter and separate so easily. One fine example of the disgusting scene was when a majority of the wounded people stood, and shuffled toward us, as if being drawn like a moth to light. Faces were bloody messes, flesh hanging by thin muscles, veins spewing dark red blood. Intestines hung out as they groaned our way. The IFV sped toward them, the corporal manning the .50 blasting apart what was left of the hostiles. Clear. I heard over my radio, as the IFV stopped and a squad of Army regulars dismounted and formed up.

At the ready, Corporal George C. Michaels signaled his squad to move forward slowly. Makes sure nothing twitches in your direction. Shoot it if it does. He says, kneeling down and checking for a pulse of the man who was attacked. Hes dead. George mouths, as the body twitched. He jumped back, staring at his peaceful chalk white face. His intestines hung like vines from his mid-section, his fingers were nubs, his chest pour blood. Hes still alive! MEDIC! George yells. A lot of these people are still.. he started; as the body writhed, the face of the man warmed, and his eyes jerked open. Letting out a soft moan, the man reached as if he was going to tell him something. Obliging, George leaned closer to hear what he said. Yes? What do you need? He asked, as the hot, putrid breath blew into his ear.

George waited for the man to say something, but he just sat there, breathing into his ear. Are you going to say anything? he said. The hot wet thing on his ear suddenly became a sharp, sheering pain. George reared from the sudden pain, as the man pushed himself up, legs limp, eyes swiveling slowly in his sockets. The dark black eyes, glazed in blood locked onto his. Felling for his left ear, George felt thick saliva and blood. The man lunged at him, grabbing his neck and tearing into his neck collar, fighting with the Kevlar protector. Holding the spot where his ear once was, screaming in pain and trying to push a man who is...highcrazeddeadoff of him. Get this bastard off of me! he screamed, looking around for any assistance. The pain resonating in his head, caused by his missing ear weakened him. Voices around him sounded of panic and fear, shots were being fired and orders screamed. The IFV fired up and rotated to face the rising threats. The booming report of the 50 dropped him in sudden pain. The loudness assaulted his now vulnerable left eardrum, paralyzing his equilibrium. Falling down, the firefight around him died, as the IFV turned and sped away. The lasting booming report of the .50 echoed in his head. Around him her heard moans, gasp, feet dragging.

He was alone. Afraid. Paralyzed by fear, he struggled with the man weakly. He blacked out in just a few seconds. The last thing Corporal George C. Michaels heard was the tearing of his own flesh.














Chapter 2



I watched the carnage from afar; the zombies arose and attacked so suddenly the squad had no real chance against them. They were so scared; being attacked by things that was only supposed to exist in movies and games! I myself was scared shitless, but from the looks of it all, if we could all just keep our heads on straight, we could beat them.

The tearing of flesh, screams and horror filled gurgles resonated in from the pack of those carnivorous bastards. The Bradley M2A3 barreled down the street back toward Evacuation point, its turret traversed toward the horde of undead. The crack of its 25MM gun erupted the night, sending high explosive destruction down range. The rounds tore into the weak, rotten pus filled bodies, tearing them apart. Bodies exploded in magnificent red. No matter how many of them died, they still continued to munch on that poor Corporal. His squad mates were enraged, as were we all. We were on a shit detail, and the shit was just starting to happen. Obvious to our endangerment at the time, the TOC ordered us to stay an extra 30 minutes, because little bird scouts could see a large crowd of citizenry heading in our direction.

Heavens Gate
2:35 AM Thursday, October 7th, 2004
National Guard Armory # 121

Jack Carter found himself enthralled by the images playing on the Magnavox 25 TV before him. Scenes of mass panic and city wide looting flashed before his eyes, and then Newscenter 10 broke in. The civic center, which was designated the are for which Solanum carriers were to be carried and held in check, was now in an uproar. Shots were heard from inside the building, and for a few hours it was silent. Not a single person entered of exited the building, except for one man in a shredded clean suit exited. When the man fell before the reporter on TV, Jack nearly shoved his head through the TV.

Jesus Christ! Hey, Bob! Comeere and look at this! This guy looks fucked up!

Bob, a pudgy security officer like Jack, waddled toward the security booth that Jack occupied. Inside loose papers and trash lay everywhere. Low budget security officers were not the neatest, especially the Carter brothers.

Whas it Jack? Some more porn or something?

Bob squeezed into the booth, looking at the TV. The man in the white clean suit mumbled and begged, looking over his shoulder toward the Civic Center. His face was plagued with fear, his right arm bleeding profusely.

What the hell happened? Whats this about the Civic Center?


Jack turned the TV up, ignoring his brother. The man on the TV had just died, eyes rolled back into his head, blood still running out of his arm.

Oh my god, hes dead. Oh god. The moaning, its getting louder! Hey! I see someone in the door way! Someones coming out!

Bob and Jack waited silently, as did 50,000 other citizens in Albany Georgia. On numerous TV screens, a crowd of gowned people shot out of the building, half crouching half standing, all heading toward the police and loved ones surrounding the Civic Center. All of the gowned people, every one of them, were the color of chalk white. Some of them were nude, unsightly incisions and IVs pulled behind them.






Sergeant Kelly L. Monfort of the Georgia 3rd Battalion Reserves gathered his gear and kissed his fiancé goodbye. He was one of many other men and women in the nation wide call up to go into service. Kelly, who was only 20, was a tanker for the 3rd Regimental Armored, a Hodge podge unit of old M60A3s and M113 tracks, used mostly during the Cold War and Vietnam. Out of the whole or the 3rd Regiment, 20 tanks were operational on the spot, and 5 were in Heavens Gate.

Although Kelly lived in Heavens Gate, he had to report to Macon, the temporary headquarters for the National Guard units in the area.





I have no fucking clue, Lieutenant. Maybe we should burn the bastards? Are they not afraid of firesomewhat? I know Ive noticed some of them to avoid little piles of fire in the roads. Arent some of the 2nds M48s equipped with flamethrowers?

Lieutenant Michael Fitzgerald smiled at his third tracks tank commander.

Yeah, Ive noticed that myself. I think the 2nd Regiment has some M48s. I didnt know tanks had flamethrowers. Oh well. Good idea soldier. Ill be

Before the LT could finish his sentence, Kelly signaled a shut up sign, looking out into the darkness. Beyond the darkness, a sort of shuffling rumble could be heard. Before the LT could close his mouth, a single lumbering figure emerged in the bright light of the giant flood lights. His face was halfway gone, some of his fingers bent in odd directions. His throat gurgled as blood seeped out onto the flannel shirt it apparently had on.

Michael tilted his head, looking from the lone zombie to the soldiers manning the .50 calibers and M249 SAWS. He noticed no one fired.

Sergeant, why arent they firing yet?

Kelly eyeballed the lone zombie, never looking at his Lieutenant. Respect for officers Kelly had, but that was during war or training. This was neither.

Well, usually if theres one, that means there are more. It makes no sense to waste one bullet on one, when as soon as you fire more will flock to you like metal shavings to a magnet. Its amazing, really. Ive heard that some Rangers up in Fort Benning have cleared half of the base with silenced weapons. Only if we had some of those. But, anyhow. Theyve learned that gunshots mean food. Since these fuckers have no morale, no known fear, they just keep coming and coming. Also, if there are too many of them, the men on the line will withdraw. Or rather, hop into the M113s and let us or other M113 gunners clear their tracks.


The zombie, getting closer and closer to the enclosed positions of the 2nd Regimental Armored and 125th Infantry, gurgled with hunger. Blood began to pour again from its throat, its teeth black and bloody. Its pace was slow.

Lieutenant. Since you dont know a whole hell of a lot about zombies, Ill take the liberty on teaching you. Ok? Kelly kept his eye on the zombie, while pushed himself outside of his tank. Checking his holster for his M92F Berretta sidearm, he motioned for his commander to follow.

I think you may already know, that the undead crave only one thing. Warm human flesh. They dont care who you are, how famous you are, or even your rank.

The Lieutenant frowned at Kelly.

Yes, Sergeant. I already knew that, but what does a reservist Sergeant know about these things? I am sure what you may know, Washington may already know.

Well, Washington already knew about them. Hell, ever since the first Night of the Living dead movie came out, paranoid Generals and Secretary of Defense folks have been planning and waiting for such an event to happen. Bah, anyhow.

Kelly and LT. Fitzgerald stopped at the sandbag positions a few yards ahead of the tanks. Soldiers sat or lay on the ground behind it, looking at the zombie ahead. Still a good bit down the ruined street, it stumbled over other destroyed zombies.

Lieutenant Fitzgerald, I want to point out that if you are bitten, regardless of how minor or major, you WILL turn into one of these things. I dont know WHY FEMA decided to take in bite victims when they already knew how the virus spread. Anyhow, Sir. I want to show you something.

Kelly unholstered his sidearm and aimed downrange. The Lieutenant felt for his pistol, watching the zombie and his Sergeant.

Hey, you! Yeah, Im talking to you, you ugly fucker. Whove you had for breakfast lately?

Kelly fired a round into the zombie, which made it buckle. He stepped toward it, pistol waving back and forth, looking for another target.

See, I just shot him in the heart. Didnt phase him. Hear that?

Fitzgerald tilted his head, trying to listen for whatever he was supposed to hear. He stopped in a cold sweat.

From all directions, from the East and West, all together zombies moaned. It was





Sergeant Monfort looked at his fresh Lieutenant, puzzled as to why he was still on his tank, and not bootlegging it to his own track.

LT, I think you should head for your Command track. This is going to be a real wing-ding of a massacre.

Lieutenant Fitzgerald nodded, looking at the oncoming rush of zombies, the stench of rotting flesh overpowering the acrid vile smell of the diesel smoke from which the tank and track engines produced.

Gunfire erupted to his left, as a wad of clothed and naked ghouls crossed the Dead line, a painted white line now almost red with dried blood. The dead line crossed the road and stopped at the edge of an old package store. The package store was burning, and the gas station opposite it across the street was being used as a supply station.

I'm sorry about the swearing. I am also sorry for those who have a short attention span. When I write, I do it for the long haul.

Please, comment on this for me. It jumps around a bit, and I do apologize about that. Email me, if some of you would.

lastcataclysm@gmail.com

Sounds good.

Damn dude, this is GREAT!

Most sotries here lack puncuation or details, but you write great! Keep it up, I love this stuff.

Great Job!

its freakin awesome man...much more detailed than mine...I'm glad you said I should read it, I really enjoyed it!

good good but what does F-E-M-A stand for?

FEMA stands for Federal Emergency Management Agency.

An agency made to help in disaterous situations, such as Hurricanes, tornados...disease outbreaks and various other bad things. FEMA helps the people affected the most by such events, and tries to ease their pain by helping them with rebuilding, or just trying to get them out of the area safely.

This is absolutely one of the best stories I've read so far and I've read them all.
Excellent work.
I love the attention to detail and the correctness of weapons etc. as some other stories were starting to piss me off, because they were written by people whose grasp of weaponry comes from FPS's, so kudos to you for being a good writer and doing your homework
Please write a continuation of this sory, it's seriously the dog's balls!

Scene 1 - HH-60G Blackhawk flight.


During intro credits, a low thumping resonates. After every third name, a random scene of violence flashes. Preferably military conflicts/riots. Scenes from other zombie movies/games.

After last name rolls, a HH60G BLACKHAWK slowly fades into the screen. The sound of its engine and rotors cancel out any other sound. Camera pan up to the side of the helicopter, looking inside HELICOPTER DOOR WINDOW.

Inside the helicopter sit 7 US ARMY RANGERS wearing NATO standard camo. 4 Caucasian, 1 black and 2 Latino men sit quietly. They cannot be seen because of helmets and face masks. On the right side of the helicopter, the doors open. Mounted to the floor is a GAU-7 5.56 MM GATLING GUN. Manning it is a large African American man wearing a flight suit, VING RHAMES. Hes wearing mirrored sun glasses, and inside his mouth a wad of chew.

Camera pans inside HELICOPTER, between 4 RANGERS on the left and 3 RANGERS on the right. The cameras looking outside of the open door. The sound of the helicopter and the rushing wind can be heard. VING RHAMES works his spit around, and the sound of his spitting is hear. Camera POV of the ejecti.

Camera follows the spit out of the open door, watching it turn into globules and separate. As it falls, the ground can be seen from the low cloud cover. As the camera and ejecti break through the clouds, the scene turns into a small city. As the globules fall, a horde of ZOMBIES can be seen looking up toward the sound of the HELICOPTER. The globules fall into the gaping, moaning mouth of one of the zombies.

RANGER #1: Hey, Sarn. Can you see anything down there? I think were over Newton, arent we? I used to live a few miles away from there. I wonder if its fucked like Albany?

RANGER #2: Well, I cant see anything because of this gawd awful fog, but the grid coordinates say we are around Newton. The 365th Tank Regiments on their way to it. I guess were their seeing bait. Aw, shit.

Camera pans and zooms outside of open door, as they break through the thick fog. Below them, thousands of UNDEAD stumble and lurch about. An overturned BAKER COUNTY police car, one NATIONAL GUARD truck and a burning SHERIFFS DEPARTMENT can be seen. The HELICOPTER has come to a hovering stop, allowing its occupants to observe the area.

RANGER #4: Holy Hell! Look at how many there are down there! Im sure there arent any survivors now...



RANGER #2: Advise ARMY units in the vicinity of NEWTON. Vast amount of the subjects. It seems the local law and some MILITAMEN tried to hold out in the SHERIFFS DEPARTMENT. Its burning right now. Advise 365th; Hope you guys got some canister rounds, or flamethrowers. There are so many of them out here, I cant even see the ground!

RANGER #3: Sarn! Ive got Battalion tubes on the radio. They have some VT 105s and APERS rounds loaded. Where do you want it?

RANGER #2: Tell them to fire around the gas stationuhcoordinates N456Z-7Y54. Fire at will, then walk it every 100 meters south. If they run out of APERS, tell them to VT the SHERIFFS DEPARTMENT area.


RANGER #3: Yes Sir. Echo Justify Range: Grid Coordinates N456Z-7Y54. Fire at will. Upon completionof 4th battery, walk 100 meters south every second battery. Call fire. Now.


Camera pan to NILO PLANTATION NUMBER 5 FIELD. 12 105 MM Artillery ready to fire their rounds. A LT stands behind an M2A2 Bradley, checking his map and coordinates. The soldiers are shirtless and gleaming with sweat in the hot humid air of SOUTH GEORGIA. Around the FIREBASE WW2 era M4A3 SHERMANS sit in revetments, searching the far off wood line for the undead.

Camera follow POV of fired M1988 VT round. Round is lobbed and spins toward the area of impact. Round arrives 20 feet above ground, detonates. Wire, ball bearings and shrapnel tear into the torsos and heads of the numerous zombies below. Some are shredded to pieces, others are knocked to the ground. A few seconds later 14 more round impact in the general area of the GAS STATION, which burns also. The ground becomes covered with shredded zombies and blood.

This is nice to see, I suppose. One of the most well written and most likely the most literate story on this forum has been paid little attention.

Oh well.

I'll need some more time for me to update it. Sorrowfully I won't be like the rest of the dunder heads on this forum, and write correctly.

Sorry for the little kids!

Nice work.
I like the script, its well written, thought out and the story is interesting

Hold on Harrold, Ive got something for you to read. Were you not on the Referral Board for the Sheridan project? Ive got some interesting ideas from a young Lieutenant from the Desert Rogues. Hope you like reading, because its pretty big.

General Hammond tossed a wad of papers and folders across his makeshift desk, dust kicking up from the apparent weight. The Colonel, silent, regarded the papers before him with reverent curiosity, tilting his head to read the title on one of the thesis like folders.

Raising his eyebrows, he whistled, reading aloud the title he eyed:

Underestimated Performance of the M 162 152 MM Weapons System

And

Research of Modified M 162 Weapons System to the M 175 155 MM (S) Weapons System


The whistle stopped abruptly after reading the last title, in which the Colonel furrowed his brow and frowned.

Just read the damn things, I know youve done and cleaned up that giant horsefuck Potter did to your unit. Now I order you find a comfy place to sit and discuss this with the LT, ok?

The Colonel nodded, gathering the pile of reports and files dully assigned to him, along with various other Operational Unit papers. Turning to leave the temporary TOC, he flipped through the Underestimated Performance file, stopping abruptly, tilting his head at the picture attached to the inside page.

Lieutenant Kelly L. Monfort peered across the Desert rogues temporary stomping grounds, noticing a stout Colonel leave the TOC. This was his chance to speak to General Hammond personally about his proposals on the newest iteration of the Abrams Main Battle Tank. Deep dark brown eyes eyeing a load of papers in the Colonels arms, Monfort struck out across the gravel sand floor of the Mojave. The closer he got to the TOC, the quicker his heart beat, and his palms sweated (Its the heat, I aint scared) and he noticed the Colonel had stopped, suddenly enthralled at a report in his arms.


Colonel Harrold Carlton looked up from the file in his hands and spotted the rabbity Lieutenant, the very one who wrote the reports in his hands.



Lieutenant Monfort? Follow me please, I wish to speak with you about somethings youve suggest for our godlike Abrams.

Colonel Harrold Carlton spoke with a low growl, eyes glaring at the skinny tanker before him. Built like a bull and just as mean, Colonel Carlton has served with the 3rd Infantry Divisions Armored Battalions since he was 18. Right now he was 52.

Im sorry to pull you away from your duty, whatever it may be, but I want to discuss some of your suggestions. But before we do the like, it seems you are absurdly obsessed with the M551 Sheridan and M60A2 tanks. Absurdly, I say, because you write as if you actually served in both tracks during their main duty periods.

Bronze skin and salt and pepper hair, Carlton stood 57 with muscles abound. His mouth twitched as he spoke, his posture tight, purely a Military man.

Nowthe Lieutenant on the other hand

Lieutenant Kelly Monfort, a tall lanky baby faced man, followed behind the Colonel, keeping pace with the squat mans giant like footsteps. Kelly Monfort joined the US Army when he was 17, by permission of his parents. After finish the Armored Crewman courses at Fort Irwin, California, Kelly asked his Sergeants to be sent to the 3rd ID, based in Fort Stewart, Georgia. His home state.

Kelly was only 23, a young man with a lust like passion for the M1A1 and M1A2 Abrams tanks. His uncle, a Lieutenant in the Marines during Vietnam, had commanded a M48 tank on the DMV. Sadly, he was killed in action, sniped by a NVA soldier across the line. All personal belongings were sent to his family, and his youngest brother, Kellys father, got all of his personnel equipment, his notes and manuals.

Kelly was a young man when he found the manuals and notes of his late Uncle, and ever since then has had a profound love for the armored behemoths. Kelly looked at the Colonel with utter respect. Kelly knew a lot about both tanks, and plenty about their use and service records, but this officer, this man seems to have an affinity for both tanks mentioned.

Well, yes sir. I suppose I am obsessed with the tanks. Was the way I wrote those reports that convincingsir?

Before the Colonel could answer, Kelly stuttered and kept on speaking, disallowing Colonel Carlton to answer.


But I am impressed with the main gun on both of them. The M162 152 MM gun/missile system. Although the M60A2 was an abysmal failure, and the M551 Sheridan was the same, the M162 was assumed to be apart of the problem.

Colonel Carlton stopped, flipping through a manila folder. His bushy grey eyebrows perked. He gave a slow gruff growl, and looked up at the LT.

May I quote you? Fine. It says here that you, or you wrote thisand I quote, of course.

Lieutenant Monfort blinked, mouth slightly open. The Colonel continued.

It is under the impression of this Lieutenant, Kelly L. Monfort of the 1st Battalion, 64th Regiment, Desert Rogues, that the underwhelming support for the M162 152 MM gun/missile system was due in part to the lack of confidence in its abilities. Although the fellow who decided to use Combustible Casings did not heed hindsight, and pushed his idea upon the R&D guys for the gun. The cartridges themselves did nothing more than to burn away, and leave smoke and corrosive chemicals for the crewman of either the M60A2 or the M551 Sheridan Light Recon Tank, to inhale.

It is of this Lieutenants opinion, the use of alloy alum or other light alloys could have been used to field the 152 MM rounds. They are no larger than the 120 MM rounds, and the range and penetration, when correctly used, are far greater than any other tank gun in this world. Although the gun systems based off of the 155 Paladins, some slight improvements in ballistics and propellants can solve the lobbing problem that decreased the penetration value.

The Missile system can be upgraded to fire the Hellfire or Dragon rockets, and can also be used as an Anti Helicopter weapon. The elongation of the barrel, research into a better cartridge system, supplemental testing of the barrel and actions, turret and revised Clean Air systems should allow an overall impervious, all powerful Armored Fighting Vehicle.

The colonel looked up from the folder and smirked. His glass like brown eyes looked at Lieutenant Monfort with slight appreciation. Closing the folder, he leaned closer to Kelly.

It is of this Colonels opinion that the systems discussed where failures also, since I was on the panel that decided to field them.

Lieutenant Kelly Monfort gulped, silently. He straightened in sudden sweaty fear. Damn it Kelly, what mess have you gotten into now? Yeah. Just suck in your gut and let him scream at you. Then nod, and hopefully hell let you walk away...still a LT.

After a brief few seconds, the colonel leaned back and smiled. His face wrinkled, and his grey mustache bristled.

Its Ok, son. I wont bite your head off. Its Lieutenants like you that get us equipment like that.

Colonel Carlton pointed at a passing M1A2, which zoomed by the Regimental Ready area. The crew were all out of their positions, head poking out of the tank, looking out for fellow soldiers. A sign on the back of the tank read Danger! Makes sudden turns. Stay 100 feet behind vehicle. And in small letters.

If you dont, well have to peel you off the street with a spatula.

Kelly sighed, and laughed to himself. This Colonel seems to like his ideas. From the looks of it, hes only looked over the facts. I guess he hasnt read them all.

Hell, I threatened to blow the lid on the Yellow projects, just to try them to stop them from fielding the damn this. That didnt work, as you can tell. Damn Project was fake, anyhow

The colonel paused, looking at the LT. He smiled, and looked down at the handful of documents and files in his hands.

Monfort, look. I havent looked over all of this shit, pardon my free speech. I have a hell of a time getting your old assholes shit together, and pardon my

Yes sir. Colonel Potter did a poor job. I am sorry to say that his deployment to Sudan had to happen so quickly. We are all saddened(a slight smile creeps upon the LTs face) that he has left us so.

Harrold Lewis Carlton guffawed, turning and walking away from the LT. Kelly stood, smiling, as the Colonel raised his left hand and waved him dismissed.

Ill go over your stuff, and Ill send what I find suitable to the boys at General Dynamics!

Nodding, Lieutenant Monfort turned and made his way to the Regimental Chop Shop, or the Equipment and Vehicle Ready Area. A surly looking black Sergeant stood over a pair of Privates working on an Abrams barrel, which lay on the cement floor. From what Kelly could see, the end of the barrel was peeled back, and the middle was bulged.

What the fuck happen, Sarge-ant? Kelly placed careful tones into that lone sentence, eyeballing the tall black Sergeant. The Sergeant was shaking his head and openly berating one of the soldiers who beat were hunched over the barrel.

You aint supposed to have a fuckin round IN THE FUCKIN BREACH when you are FUCKIN BORE SIGHTIN ONE OF THESE!

Without stopping, and turning to salute Lieutenant Monfort, the Sergeant continued to speak:

Sir. It seems when the crew of the Vickys Nickers tank, Abrams number 12, was bore sighting the main gun. Once sighted in, they were going to fire a round down range, to make sure.

The Sergeant looked over at the sulking Latino, who slammed a sledge hammer onto the bulge in the middle of the barrel.


They had a HEAT round in the breach, and decided to make sure the gun was on sight. Even though the computer and LIEUTENANT said so. This here Private decided to fire the round off. Loan behold, the Sighting device was still in the barrel.

The Latino soldier stopped beating on the barrel, and looked at Kelly.

It was just like in the Cartoons, sir. It split the end of the barrel three different ways. It was funnySir.

The soldier stepped away from the Sergeant, who looked as if to rip the lowly Privates head off and use it as a spittoon. Sarn, this soldiers got a sense of humor. Give him shit detail for two days, and have him report to my tent at 0700 hours.

Sergeant Buckley clapped his large hand around the Privates neck, and pulled him up so Kelly could see him.

This piece of shit will LOVE his detail, LT. You hear the LT, Chavez? You report to his tent at 0700 hours. Ok? If I find out youre late for any reason, youre shit detail AND guard duty.

Private Dingo Jose Juarez stood on his tiptoes, looking at the white LT before him. His neck was being squeezed slightly by Sergeant Buckley, giving the Latino soldier a reddish color in face.

Sir, yes sir! I will report to Lieutenant Monforts tent at 0700 hours. Then I will begin shit detail as soon as IHE is done with me.

Sergeant Buckley shook the Private as he began to say I and stopped as he corrected himself. Buckley released the Private and turned to face the other, who was now trying to slink off into the yard. The lanky soldier stopped as the oversized shop erupted with the booming of his Sergeants voice.

PRIVATE GAINERY! WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU ARE GOING?

The lanky private acted as if to bolt, but decided a bullet in the ass was not something he wished to have. The private stopped in his footsteps, turning to look at his beckoner.

Oh. Heya sarn. Hooah. I was just going touhcheck on our gear. You know, make sure it was secure. And all that.

As the sulking Private blabbered excuses, Sergeant Buckley covered the distance in several large steps. The sound of his boots on the floor was the only sound heard, as the sudden outburst had gained the attention of the men outside. Some had gathered around the shop door, watching the conversation going on inside.

Sergeant Buckley ignored the other soldiers and place his large hand on Gainerys shoulder.

Gainery, I know youre a pretty smart fucker. I know that you are a smart ass, also. But when you are the gunner for Vickys Nickers and know that the sighting gears still inside the barrelits mainly your fault.

Sergeant Buckley smiled and wrapped his muscled arm around the now shrinking Private, and walked him back toward the still smoking barrel on the ground.

Now, Gaineryyou understand that youve never fucked up before, right? And that Ive always given you high praises on Promotion papers, right?

Private Gainery nodded at the words of his Sergeant. From what Kelly could tell, the Private was from the lands of Dixie. The private was tall, of course. But his build was muscle, not abundant, but strong. His hair was dark brown, like his, and eyes just as dark as the night.

Sergeant Buckley, release these men to me as soon as they are finished here. I want to speak to them about somematters that need to be attended. That will be all, Sergeant.

Buckley looked up from quietly speaking with Private Gainery and frowned. His face scrunched in confusion at his Lieutenants request, but then returned to its complacent default expression.

Sir. They cant fix this there selves. So I guess they are at your command, Sir.

Sergeant Buckley released Gainery from his near death grip and saluted Kelly. Gainery stepped quickly away from his burly Sergeant, as if avoiding a criminal on the street.

Juarez, Gainery. Come with me, if you will.

Juarez shrugged and Gainery looked out into maintenance yard. His face was scrunched in agonizing decision. Of course, his mind was changed as a size 14 boot slammed into his ass. Buckley smirked as the quirky Private launched toward the leaving LT and his crewmate.

Juarez, tell me something. You like being a tanker, right?

Dingo Juarez looked at the LT beside him and frowned. His head swam in inquiries and Honorable Discharge cases. Was he going to be kicked out for fucking up an Abrams barrel?

Private? Whats your problem? Did I ask you a question? Do you like to be a tanker?

Juarez blinked and thought for a few seconds.

Yes sir. I enjoy being a tanker, Sir. Its my passion, and if I was to never be one again, I probably would be ruined for life. Sir.

Juarez looked at his LT with is best Please dont kill me! look. His LT stopped at his answer, his face lit up with some sort of sordid happiness.

Kelly looked at Juarez and eyeballed Gainery as he joined them. Gainery stopped short before noticing that Kelly was smiling. His Lieutenant was smiling. Gainery had never seen his LT smile. Gainery looked at Juarez in confusion, but before he could ask why his LT was smiling, Lieutenant Monfort started to laugh.

Gainery and Juarez, perplexed as to why their Lieutenant was laughing, stood stunned. Of course, it was a miracle they werent being buried by the 5th Technical troop. God knows how much they hated working after 5 in the afternoon. Now their silent, strong and intelligent Lieutenant, a type of soldier to spit in his own mothers soup, was laughing.

For no known reason at all.

After a few seconds of muffled laughter and wiping his eyes, Kelly shook his head and inhaled through his nose. He placed his hand on Juarezs shoulder and looked him square in the eye. His face was placid, plain. As if he had never laughed at all.

Kelly squinted, and then raised his right eyebrow.

Juarez, I aint gonna have your ass thrown out. You two fuckers have volunteered for some extra training time.

Juarez dared not to blink. He hadnt been ordered to do so, so he wasnt going to. Of course, the way his LT was looking at himwas unbearably hilarious. His eyes begun to tear up, and he got to a point where he could not hold it in any longer.


Juarez dropped and rolled around on the ground laughing as hard as he could, as Gainery leaned against a HUMMVEE parked alongside the side road. The laughter and sniffles echoed across the vast desert. Kelly stifled a laugh himself, as he grabbed Gainery and hefted Juarez off of the ground.

Now, Now! I know I look stupid when I do thatand I AM serious about the extra training. Of course, your shit details still apply. That and the fact that laughing at me has gained you two hours peeling potatoes.

The laugher died soon after, as the sullen soldiers stomped off toward the mess area, trying not to laugh aloud...to much.