Sgt. Golem: Royal Mech Hussar - Stubs Soon!

We were met on the road a half a mile away from our parked gunship by members of our crew. Sergeant Wysocki was at the lead. His arm was in a sling and his shoulder was a mass of bloodstained bandages.

"Oh thank God you're back. A patrol found us. We wiped them out, but a few minutes later they got right back up again. I don’t know how, I swear we killed them all. They were in the gunship before we knew it. Sienkiewicz, got bitten and Jerblonski was shot."

"Shot?" I asked. "Was that before or after they rose again?"

"After," Wysocki said. He pointed at his own shoulder. "One shot me too."

"Well, shit, zombies that can shoot rifles? This isn't good."

"I don't know this word, zombie. Is that what these are? I thought they were fext. We shot one full of holes and it still came at us.”

Private Kowski spoke up, “No way. I hit one in the head and it went right down. They are Wiedergänger, not fext.”

These guys were taking it really well. Then again, they’d grown up in this crazy world. I guess after Baba Yaga and Frankenstein, zombies were just part of the scenery. "I don't know what those are, but in America, we call the dead risen from their graves with a hunger for human flesh, zombies."

"I don't know that they were hungering so much as they just attacked us with whatever was at hand. We were dragging the bodies out of the way when Sienkiewicz got bitten. One of them just pulled him down and latched onto his arm. It took a pretty good chunk out of him too. But we got the bleeding stopped eventually."

I looked at Wysocki sharply. "You mean he's still alive?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, it wasn't that bad a bite. Not like the dickens, but we got it stopped. Jerblonski found a medical kit and is putting some stitches in him. They won't be pretty, but they'll have to do."

Shit. Would he die from zombieitis and turn? Or would he wait to turn until something else killed him? Or would he turn at all? If it was evil amulets that would turn these guys into undead, would they even transmit the curse through a bite? I couldn't be sure of what I knew of the supernatural from my former world. This place was different, and even if many of our myths and legends were real here, I couldn't be sure how much of the rules applied.

The ground trembled. Nobody else seemed to notice.

"Did you feel that?" I asked Wysocki.

He frowned at me. "Feel what?"

I shook my head. Perhaps it had been my imagination or perhaps it had been another distant explosion from our diversionary force. They should have been done with their attack by now and on the way back.

"Look Sergeant, I don't want to alarm anyone and I don't want to spread rumors, so keep this to yourself, but you need to post somebody to watch Sienkiewicz. It may be nothing, but if he starts acting peculiar, be ready to act.”

Wysocki's face registered alarm. "You don't think he could catch whatever that was, do you?" That’s werewolves, not undead.”

“Werewolves, yes. Well, it might be undead too. Just keep an eye on him, will ya?”

“Of course, sergeant.” Nobody questioned me. I was wishing the modules the Hungarians had loaded in had been included a rundown on folklore. Werewolves, zombies… it’d be nice to know what other sort of monsters I might meet on a dark night.

We left the car and went forward on foot, keeping the Tsar at the back protected by Anastasia and Piotr. I took the grunts up to the edge of the clearing where we had landed the supergun ship. The reserve generator was running with a dull rumble. Lights shone from the interior. At first, I didn’t see any signs of life, but then something moved inside the cockpit. There was a Russian soldier in there. He held a rifle loosely and staggered as if barely able to control his body. His head swiveled slowly side to side like a hound searching for a scent. With the interior lights on I doubted he could see us out here.

"I could hit him from here," one of the Polish privates who still had his rifle offered.

Colonel Mazur stopped him. "I'd rather you didn't. We don't want to damage the flying machine if we don't have to. Sergeant, these undead creatures don't seem to be in full control of their faculties. Do you think you would be able to go in there and clear them out?"

I stared at the colonel and he looked fixedly back. He wasn't joking.

Well, shit....

“I suppose I could. How many did you say were in there?"

"Not more than a dozen.” Wysocki answered. “They all came swarming in when they woke up. We made a break for it. I bet some of the guys are still alive in there. If they managed to get cabins sealed off in time, maybe all of them."

Mazur nodded. “And if at all possible, please try not to shoot any of them. We wouldn’t want to damage the gunship."

I stared at him. He had to be shitting me.

He stared back. He was not shitting me.

I snuck around to the back of the gunship and came up on it where the cockpit windows couldn’t see me. I stepped up to the craft and banged on the rear access hatch.

“Are there any Russian zombies in there?"

A muffled voice came from inside. "Oh thank God, it's the sergeant."

Metal clanged and squealed, and the hatch swung open. Profski’s head popped out of the opening. "Are they gone, sergeant?"

"None out here. How many are in there?"

"I don't know. We closed up the hatch to the maintenance section and haven't let anything in. There's a lot of banging and scratching going on out there. What the hell are these things?"

"I'll explain later. You men come out of there while I clear it out."

Five men climbed out of the aft compartment, and I realized with relief that accounted for most of the crew. I gave them a quick once-over for bites, but didn’t spot any obvious wounds.

I climbed into the compartment. The insides of the airship had been cramped in my old body, but now they were downright claustrophobic. I moved forward to the hatch that led out of the aft maintenance space. I listened at the door for a moment. At first, there was nothing, and then a low groan and a shuffling. There was something in there, alright.

I positioned myself on the hinge side of the hatch and prepared to ease it open with my left hand. In my right, I held the bigger of my knives. I braced myself behind the door so it wouldn't swing fully open and then cracked the lever.

Something slammed into the hatch from the other side, shoving me back. Knives stabbed around the edge of the door, and a snarling face appeared. I shoved back hard, trying to brace myself. The metal deck was smooth under my feet, and I was pushed back by another shove.

I jabbed with my knife into the snarling face. The blade grated off jawbone and skull. Gore splattered my face and arm. I pulled back and stabbed again. The blade went deep into an eye socket and lodged there, the edge biting into the skull. The pressure on the door lessened, and the snarling face fell back.

There was another snarling growl, and the door slammed into me. I fell back, and it swung completely open. The zombie with the knife lodged in its face was on all fours but still crawling forward. Another zombie lunged over it, hands grasping for me and teeth snapping. It stumbled across the body of its companion, and its fingers clutched air just short of me. I aimed high above the snapping jaws and caught it in the forehead with one clenched fist. Normally, this is a terrible place to punch someone. The brain case is quite thick, and your hand bones are likely to come out short in the match of bone versus bone. But my massive fists were something else entirely. The zombie's skull didn't crack, but its head snapped back as its spine broke. It fell to the floor in front of me, hands still grasping as the whole body spasmed. I kicked it away.

Then I stepped forward and brought my colossal boot down on the zombie whose face still held my knife, its throat and neck crushed under my tread. I reached down to retrieve my blade. I tried to wrench it free but only succeeded in pulling the zombie's entire head off. This left me with a bizarre knife-skull popsicle in my hand. I grimaced at it for a second and then smashed it against the wall. It took two blows, and I was worried my blade would snap, but finally, the skull cracked. Gore splattered everywhere, and my knife came free. I wiped it on one of the re-dead men's uniforms and then stepped into the corridor beyond the door.

Hand-to-hand with zombies on an airship had not been on my bingo card for tonight, that’s for sure.

The corridor ran down the center of the ship, broken in the middle by the central cargo compartment. The stretch in front of me was clear to that compartment, but I caught movement ahead. I stepped over the zombie bodies and treaded lightly down the corridor. The next starboard hatch was closed. The hatch opposite, though slightly offset to the fore, was open and the compartment beyond empty. As far as I could recall, it was a desh engine machinery space and had access to one of the gun turrets. I didn’t want to take the time to check it thoroughly, so I moved forward.

The next pair of hatches led to the aft mech bays. They were both open and empty since all of our mechs were deployed. I wanted to search each compartment for survivors, especially the closed doors. But first, I would sweep all the way to the bridge and then come back. It may not have been the best plan, but personally, I thought going hand-to-hand with zombies in tight spaces would be varying degrees of stupid.

I poked my head in each of the mech bays to make sure they were clear. Then I started forward again. Before I got to the next set of hatches, a zombie in the central cargo compartment spotted me through the open hatch. The monster let out a groaned roar that reminded me of a neighbor I once had who liked to start his work truck warming up at 5:30 in the morning. It had been a trophy truck with a tuned muffler. Starting that up at 5:30 in the morning should be a capital crime in any state.

This zombie had a rifle. It stepped into the corridor, but the rifle caught on the hatch frame. The zombie took two tries to get the weapon turned the right way. I fell back to the mech bay hatches and stepped through into the port one. The zombie kept shuffling toward me down the corridor. Its groans rose and fell, like a pack of cavemen riding Harleys.

It sounded like there were more than one of them. The shuffling got louder as it came closer, punctuated by clangs as the zombie caught its rifle against every bulkhead and hatchway down the oval-shaped corridor. There were several hatches you had to pass through down the length of the corridor. They were regularly latched open for easy passage, but you still had to step through the frame of their door, just like on a submarine.

The zombie's grunts were close now and sounded frustrated. And I could definitely hear another one coming along behind. I stood in the empty mech bay and waited.

A bayonet poked through the hatch opening. I grabbed the barrel with my left hand and swung an overhand knife chop into the elbow of the first arm I saw holding the weapon. The blade bit deep with a satisfying whacking sound, and the zombie growl-roared.

I yanked the knife free and stepped back, hauling the rifle with me. The zombie stumbled towards me. It dropped its weapon and turned the stumble into a lunge. One hand reached for me with grasping fingers, the other dangling absurdly on its destroyed elbow. I swatted the side of the zombie's head with an open hand blow that sent it tumbling across the bay.

Another was coming through the hatch. I spun the rifle around and thrust the bayonet between the second zombie's chomping teeth. I took a shuffle step forward and put my weight behind the thrust. The blade sliced completely through its skull and out the back. The zombie twitched and stumbled but didn't drop.

The one I had knocked across the bay was on its feet now and headed my way. With the rifle as leverage, I swung the impaled zombie around, and got it in the first one's way. It was nice being in the mech bay where I had room to maneuver my massive body. I wrenched my zombie on a stick to one side. And then hit the one with a broken arm. I snapped a kick into the solar plexus of the one with the broken arm. My heavy boot crunched into its rib cage and the monster went tumbling back.

I lined up a blow with my combat knife to try to sever the impaled zombie’s head. It was a tricky angle, and I really needed a bigger knife. Something more like one of those Roman short swords or a kukri. Even just a plain old machete. The combat knife was nice and all, but when it comes to decapitating zombies, you want a decent length of steel with some heft to it.

My first blow tore into its neck. With my second swing, the zombie twitched and went limp. The head wasn't severed, but it seemed to be a good enough job to put it out of action. I let it fall and wrenched the rifle free. From the corner of my eye, I caught movement at the door. I took a quick step back just as a rifle bullet roared through the space where I had been standing. Clearly, the zombies had not gotten the memo about no shooting in the gunship. Colonel Mazur would be pissed. I was not sure what to do. Fortunately, working bolt actions was not in the undead wheelhouse. As the zombie in the doorway struggled with his weapon, I knocked it to one side and stabbed the rifle one-handed through his face. I was aiming for one of his eyes, but the awkward overhand blow was not particularly accurate. The bayonet sliced through the bridge of its nose and buried the full length through its skull. The monstrosity seemed more surprised than inconvenienced by this.

I could hear the remaining zombie behind me groaning and shuffling forward. So I let go of my impaled rifle and snatched the one the zombie wielded from its fumbling grip. I turned just as the zombie with the broken arm lunged for me. Rather than turn completely around, I snapped out a sidekick that caught it in the jaw. Bones crunched, teeth flew, and the zombie went tumbling end over end to slam hard into the over mech-sized hatch. The room boomed like a drum with the impact.