Archive for June, 2013

In and out of consciousness…hazy, dreamy and rude the sounds reaching my ears were muffled and mixed. It was hot, smelly and there were church bells in the distance. The smell of smoke, an issued canvas tent and death lingered in my nostrils.

“You’re awake again!” said a man’s voice. It was familiar, yet different. Tired and stressed.

Huh?” I mumbled. “Wha..what? What’s happening? Where am I?”
Clearing my throat, I blinked repeatedly, trying to clear my vision. The face off to the side of me came a bit more into sight.

It was Hoppy! “What the hell Hoppy! What happened to us?” “Good God Sergeant! Where do I start?…hang on a sec…медик! “ Hoppy called the Russian medic, telling him that I had woken up. The sound of Helo’s were mixing with occasional small arms fire in the distance.

“Sergeant, you have been out of it for a while, like three weeks! The medic came in and started and examination of me, all the while Hoppy hovering and yapping in the background. “Our helo was one of three that took a hit. We augered in and you and I are the only ones to survive. I’m so sorry sarge, but Sergeant Miller has not been located. He and many others are listed as MIA.”

It took a minute for all that to soak in. I didn’t seem to be processing as well as usual, but then again, this didn’t seem ‘usual’ in any sense of the word.

The medic was speaking too quickly for me to pick up any of the Russian that he and Hoppy were throwing back and forth. All at once they stopped and looked at me.
“What?” I asked “what is it?”

“Tell him.” said the medic. “Ok, here it is sarge…” Hoppy started. “The revolution was full blown, people were being herded up and killed faster than the Russians could evacuate. The Soli terrorists were releasing the agno3 agent they had stolen. No one believed that they actually had it!”

The agno3 chemical weapon was one of the worse. It was formulated to just stop both upper and lower brain functions. The recipients would simply die standing up. One moment you were awake and alive, and the next thing, dead. Really dead.

Aircraft were air releasing counter agents all over the area, Hoppy told me. The idea was to saturate the country and its people to keep the agno3 from taking hold.

“It was not, um, completely successful” said the Russian. “It had effects that were unexpected.”
“Unexpected? I asked. “How so?”

The Russian reached into his lab coat side pocket and pulled out a small book. He opened to a bookmarked page and said “I will try to read this and translate it into English.”

“ Isaiah 26: 19-20
But your dead will live; their bodies will rise You who dwell in the dust wake up and shout for joy Your dew is like the dew of the morning; the earth will give birth to her dead Go, my people, enter your rooms and shut the doors behind you; hide yourselves for a little while until his wrath has passed by

Zechariah 14:12
Now this will be the plague with which the LORD will strike all the peoples who have gone to war against Jerusalem; their flesh will rot while they stand on their feet, and their eyes will rot in their sockets, and their tongues will rot in their mouth. On that day a large-scale panic from the LORD will spread among them. One person will grab the hand of another, and one will attack the other.” The Russian closed his book and pulled on his cigarette. Clouds of smoke covered his face.


“Look” said Hoppy. “that’s not the worst of it.”
He looked tired. The Russian pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one after offering us a smoke.

“The agno3 killed a bunch. The antidote wasn’t quite what they expected. Some of the scientist were saying that the nukes somehow modded the chemicals, or us, or whatever.”

“Hoppy, if this is another of your bullshit stories…” I started. The Russian opened a bag and threw me the pack and the clothes it contained. “Here is what you had when we found you on the beach” he said.
“Found me on the beach? I was in my BDU’s and full load-out!” I shouted back.

“Sarge, listen. This stuff we have been sprayed with did something to us. The dead here have turned in to fuckin zombies! They walk around in groups and attack anyone they see or hear. They freanin EAT you! And those of us sprayed ARE CHANGED TOO!”

The hairs on my arms bristled and my blood went cold as I shrugged the shirt and pants on. There was a ball cap and a pair of boots too. “Changed how?” I stared at Hoppy. “CHANGED HOW!?” I shouted.

“Most of us can’t die!” He blurted out. “We get shot, fall off buildings or get overrun by the z’s and ‘die’ then we find ourselves healed up, wandering around on the beach!”

“Is this true?” I asked the Russian. He nodded yes while taking a long drag off his smoke. “How?” I asked them, looking from one to the other. “How is this possible?”

Hoppy just stared at the floor, and the Russian medic shrugged and said “The agents did something to our brains. We heal faster and those already dead reanimate” he looked at me sadly and mumbled “God’s will? Mans folly.” And with that he turned and walked out of the tent.

“Come on sarge, let’s get you rigged. Weapons and ammo are rare here. The bandits hoard it and whatever food they find. I don’t know what’s worse…” his voice trailed off as he led the way out of the tent and into a nearby building. My still stiff legs and throbbing head struggling to keep up.

Was this a nightmare?
No, this was DayZ, the first day of my new life, my new world.


The Briefing

Posted: J June, 2013 in Uncategorized
Tags: , ,

My name is Marine Sgt. Ian MacPhail, 2nd Marine Division, 2nd Recon Bn. At least thats what it was back in the real world, before the lunitics decided to turn the Planet to shit.

This is the story of the Apocalypse. The day that the Dead rose from the Earth, and life changed forever for everyone I knew.

“Swift, Silent, Deadly” is our motto. The Mission of 2d Reconnaissance Battalion was to conduct ground and amphibious reconnaissance and surveillance and other operations as directed in support of the 2d Marine Division, and to provide reconnaissance forces to meet II MEF reconnaissance requirements in support of the International Colilition.
“RECON MARINES RECON MARINES! MUSTER ON THE FANTAIL 1800HRS! I REPEAT: MUSTER ON THE FANTAIL 1800HRS! That is all!” the command crackled out of the loud speakers scattered about the ship.
Amidships, my best friend Carl looked at me. “what do you suppose is up? I don’t see land yet!” I shrugged and started to say something when the big ship learched and rolled to one side, making a deep course correction. That kinda rose the hairs on the back of my neck.

I flicked the stub of my cigar over the rail, and into the grey, churning sea below us. “No clue Miller, but we’ll know soon enough.” Snapping to as a Navy Captain strode by at full steam, we locked it up tight till the dower-faced man double timed past us towards the next hatch, leading to the bridge.

Something about that look on his face, the muster order and the ship now steaming ahead full speed made Miller and I look at each other again.

“Cuppa Joe?” He asked?
Miller could drink more coffee than anyone I knew. How he slept was beyond me. Freakin’ caffene junkie…
“Negative…gonna try an get some rack time.” I responded. “Gotta feeling we’re gonna need it!”

Where we had been really doesnt matter at this point. Its where we ended up that things get wierd.

Oh well, Marines just go where we are told.

The post-Soviet state of Chenarus was in termoil. Riots, food shortages and infrastructure failure was raining hell upon the population of that already dying corner of the world. The International Red Cross, the United Nations and oddly, W.H.O , the World Health Organization was there, and country after country watched the daily news with baited breath to see what the war torn and broken population would have to endure next.

Rebels and terrorists were saber-rattling, and Putin was sending what troops he had left to quell the ever present threat of dissent and a coup. Nations were nervous, and warriors were put in motion.

At 1800hrs, we mustered as ordered and with a “ATTENTION ON DECK!” all voices stopped at once.
“At ease. Listen Up!”
“At 1350hrs yesterday, Soli rebels left Soviet President Putin an ultimatum; Pull all troops out of Chernarus, release the Soli terrorists that are imprisoned in the penal Castle Rog and turn over all control of the power plant in Elektrozavodsk, the shipyards of Chernogorsk and all three airfields to them immediently.”
“Failure to do so would show everyone what the Soli Terror Group could be capable of here and elsewhere in the World. They have Nukes, they have chemical weapons and they have an agenda.”
“Putin did not back down” The Captain briefing us continued. “Neither did the rebels and terrorists. They released nukes on the northernmost point of the country, and the far west was laid waste as well.” Weather and terraine have protected most of the mainland from any residual fallout.”
“Chemical weapons have been utilized and the population has been decimated. Soviet Military is on its last legs and fires are being put out in other Nations as well, having been started by sleeper cells located in every country.”
“Marines; your orders are as follows:”
“ONE: assist in securing the harbors of Cherno, the power plants of Elektro and the Airfields. “
“TWO: Recon teams will assist in securing all airfields, starting at Balota, and begin evac of all non military and essentioal personel. ”
“THREE: Combat Engineers will see to basic infrastructure. Keep the water and power on.”
“Supply drops will be communicated to command as they are available” He continued.
“Break into your designated squads for further information and orders.”
“You are United Stated Marines! You are the best the world has seen, and the best the world will ever know! Make us proud!” And with that he turned and left.
We were dismissed, and broke into our component squads, and learned of our individual fates. I studied the packet on intel and the small book of photographs of the area. It lookd for the world like Northern California. Rolling hills and sections of woods. There was also a map.

We were issued our gear, and shuffled out to the waiting MH-60s helos. Miller looked at me and said with a twinkle “How’s the grub there? I really should have stashed a few more MRE’s just in case. Hoppy tells me that the people there are living off wild pigs and IRC beans!”
The IRC, or International Red Cross, was famous for shitty supplies, but even cans of pasta and old beans were better than sawdust bead and rats. During WW2 it was Spam, oily peanut butter and tins of peaches. Dusty old crackers and unknown meat packets gave way to sand-box issued MRE’s…’Meals Rarely Edible’ is what we called them. No one cougld grouse about food better than a Marine.

Marine Cpl Lester “Hoppy” Hopkins was even more famous for the spread of scuttlebut. He could fill in the blanks of a story better than anyone I ever knew. The problem was that it was seldom correct, and often he added wild speculation to an already overblown fish story. It did, however, pass the time.
“Don’t take what Hoppy says to seriously. Last time we were in and out in a few weeks and the guard surrendered in droves. Don’t fret”

Marines eat and sleep when and where we can. We never know how long it will be before we get the chance to again, so I strapped into the plastic and nylon webbing that was less a seat than a medieval ass torture device and closed my eyes. Rotor wash buffetted me and I dozed off quickly.

I awoke with a start! The helo was jinking and lurching like a drunken sailor. I heard the sound of gunfire coming from the helos open doors, and shrill alarms beeping incessantly from the cockpits control panels.
“ What the hell!” “We were briefed that this LZ was secure!” And with the sound of millers voice fading out I saw the flash…