Some Tactical Deployment

Michael Banner's (the MC's) POV

The social area hummed with a low, purposeful energy. The rising sun illuminated the rearranged furniture from the horizon as you looked at the walls and tables covered in maps, lists, notebooks, and a tablet screen displaying footage taken from one of their solar-powered drones. The scent of strong coffee and gun oil cut through the stale carpet smell as you stood at the center of it, your finger tracing the photographed shots of the nearby building from close-up angles at different floors that had zoomed in beyond the exterior windows, in an intelligence gathering mission to search for trapped but still definitely active zombies.

Lieutenant Mills stood at your right elbow, her presence both solid and silent. Her brown hair was pulled back in a severe bun, her West Point posture unwavering. You could feel the weight of her attention on the map, on you, analyzing every variable.

“Foreman’s latest drone pass shows the highest concentration here,” Mills said, her voice clipped. She tapped a spot on the third-floor layout, which was their old community lounge in their respective social area beyond their own swimming pool. “A shambling nest. Maybe twelve, maybe fifteen of them packed tight. They’re dormant. No visible egress on that floor besides the main hallway and the fire stairs at the east end.”

You nodded, your mind layering the information. “Dormant is good. We hit fast, we hit loud, we funnel them.” Your eyes scanned the faces gathered around. Allen Jones loomed on the other side of the table, his arms crossed over his broad chest. He’d been quiet, absorbing the details with a construction foreman’s eye for structure and weak points.

“Main entry is compromised,” Allen rumbled, pointing a thick finger at the ground-floor lobby on the map. “We may have locked the exterior gates and barricaded them up a few days ago, but the internal glass doors were shattered in the struggle. The interior will become a funnel of walking **** the second we make a noisy entrance through the front door, and drone cameras can't tell from the outside angles how many there could be inside the lobby. We go in there with anything less than absolute silence, and we are going to get swarmed by a wave of crawlers eager to feast. And with all that broken glass, we could get really hurt easily if we lose our balance in the middle of a fight.”

“So we don’t use the front door,” came a clear, cool voice.

Amelia Barnes leaned against a support column, a suppressed rifle cradled in her arms like a lover. Her petite frame seemed at odds with the weapon, but her green eyes were steady, sharp. “Fire escape on the north face. Leads to a utility landing on the second floor. It's rusted, but the drone weight-test confirmed it’ll hold. It bypasses the ground floor entirely.”

“It’s also a bottleneck,” Mills countered, but there was no disapproval in her tone, only professional calculus. “Only two at a time can ascend. It would be risky..”

“Which is why I’ll be here.” Amelia shifted her weight, nodding toward the bank of windows overlooking the narrow gap between the buildings. “Overwatch. I can cover the approach, clear the landing, and pick off any undead that may be near the windows. My dad didn’t just teach me to shoot motionless paper targets.”

You looked at her, this woman who’d married for money and was now finding purpose and strength in a rifle’s scope. The claim on her wrist was just another piece of her kit now. “I appreciate the initiative, Amelia, and it's definitely a promising idea, but I would be more comfortable if we had two people on overwatch instead of just one, just in case those on the stairs are eventually caught off guard at some point by more than one walker at a time," You explained. "One of the soldiers in the team can probably do it, given they are all quite skilled with sniper rifles. But sure, since you told me you wanted to volunteer for our militia, consider this your first mission as a new recruit. Just remember that whoever we end up selecting to help you with overwatch has seniority, so if she gives you guidance or some orders when the fighting begins, trust that she has more experience on the matter and remember to follow the chain of command.

The pretty housewife nodded, and a proud smile touched her lips. “Sir, yes, sir.”

“Alright. Speaking of new recruits, let's talk about those of you who will assist Lieutenant Mills, Sergeant Zhang, and Sergeant Garcia on the breaching team.” You said before your gaze focused on Allen and then looked to Emily Karlsson, who was quietly checking the action on one of the compact submachine guns they got the day before. Her blonde hair was braided tightly against her scalp. “Allen, you’re on point providing support from the rear. You know how things come apart and have proven yourself quite handy with an axe so assist when needed but don't break formation needlessly or unless the soldiers ask due to changing situation in the ground. Emily, you’re with our veteran soldiers supporting them near the frontlines. I understand that your Swedish Army training may come in handy in close quarters.”

Emily snapped the weapon’s magazine free and reseated it with a definitive click. “Ja. Room clearing, flow drills. We practiced this before I finished with my draft period in the army.”

“Good. Jonathan?” you called.

The robust teenager quickly snapped to attention, his athletic frame tense with eager energy. He’d been hovering near the makeshift armory table, listening to everything. “Yes, boss?”

“You and Allen are our mobile reserve to strengthen their rear. You follow Emily and our more experienced soldiers from the vanguard once the landing is secure. Your job is not to be a hero. Your job is to be on alert as you watch the flanks, carry extra ammo for the team, and drag anyone who gets hurt back to the fallback point. You may use whatever weapon you are comfortable using to defend yourself if need be, but the top priority is to be so alert that this will ideally become unnecessary. If things go wrong or circumstances demand more adaptability, however, I have granted Lieutenant Mills command authority on the field, so while this operation lasts and you are supporting her, an order from her is an order from me as far as I am concerned. Is that understood?” You asked firmly.

Allen simply nodded in acceptance, but a flicker of mild disappointment actually crossed Jonathan's face, making you consider that the old high school star athlete may have been looking forward to the action this time, given that he had actual veterans on his team to learn from on the field, but if that was it, it was quickly subsumed by dutiful resolve. “Yes, sir. Watch the flanks. Ammo mule. Extract any injured from danger. Obey your second in command, especially if things get hairy.”

To the side, his mother and father, Melissa and Jeremy Carter looked more visibly relaxed than before, making you purse your lips. You had had a talk with them earlier, explaining that, given the fact they had a limited amount of fit, fast, and strong able-bodied civilians as new recruits to expand their new militia, you really couldn't afford to completely sideline their young, athletic son for this mission. However, you still made it clear that you didn't intend to put him on the frontlines or anything like that, since part of the idea was for Johnathan to gain some experience in more controlled circumstances while supporting and learning from more experienced fighters and see how they kept their wits about them in the face of danger, which they had to admit would be valuable experience for their boy to learn given the circumstances, even if they naturally worried for him. Hearing it reiterated directly from you, as they discussed mission parameters in public, however, seemed to have reassured them a bit more, it seemed, especially given that you technically could have ordered that as such, and it's not like they could have really opposed your order on the matter. So, you nodded back at them before turning your head around.

“Zachary?” you called, raising your voice slightly.

From a cluttered table in the corner, the computer science student who had controlled one of the drones the day before looked up from another tablet from his position beside Staff Sergeant Elizabeth Foreman, his fingers pausing over the screen as he stopped whispering some suggestions to the woman you had made love to last night. A live drone feed showed a grainy, green-tinted image of the opposing building’s north face. “Sir.”

“You are mission control. You stay on that drone. You watch for movement signatures spilling out of unseen exits and angles from the outer windows. You talk to Amelia on overwatch, give her targeting priorities. You talk to Mills on the radio, and you give us real-time intel. You are officially our paranoid eyes in the sky while this mission lasts. Nothing happens on that block you don’t know about.”

He nodded, his shoulders squaring slightly at the direct responsibility. “Yes, sir. Feed is stable. I’ve marked the nest cluster, potential secondary concentrations in the east stairwell, and all visible entry points.”

"Excellent. As for you, Foreman, much as I would feel more confident in the mission's success if you were aiding your teammates on the front lines, I am concerned about leaving our patrols around our actual main building too undermanned with people with actual military experience. The last thing we need is for an unexpected horde to start ambushing us from the street down the cliff while almost all of our most capable fighters are busy clearing the Vista Nova tower. They might be able to overwhelm our barricades designed to slow them down while we are focusing on that front. So, I need you outside the lobby armed and ready, in case something happens."

The good sergeant who had shared your bed frowned a bit at that order but ultimately nodded in understanding. Still, she gave you a fleeting yet clearly questioning look for a moment. You smiled sadly at her but shook your head, trying to convey that you weren't trying to sideline her because you feared for her life more after they spent such a memorable night together. Which, if you were honest with yourself, you were, and the thought had in fact crossed your mind as you were starting to catch feelings for Elizabeth, but the point still stood that you needed a capable protector defending the only road that lead to the top of their little hill, and with just five actual veteran soldiers, those slots were limited. And the fact was that you still had to look out for the group as a whole as a higher priority if it came to it, much as it pained you to admit. But in this case, the mutual needs and priorities aligned, so it sounded good enough for you.

Then you took a deep breath. The plan was crystallizing, an organized structure of roles and risks. You felt it in the room, the focus tightening, the individual anxieties knitting into a collective purpose. Mills leaned in, her voice dropping for your ears only.

“It’s a good plan. Simple but effective, especially if we remain in formation and watch each other's backs. But we’re missing a close-quarters medic. Zhang is still running inventory in the clinic. Do we delay?”

You considered it. Dr. Emma and her daughters were here, but they were civilian doctors, not battlefield medics. Serena Zhang, however, had the training and the morbid temperament for it. “Yes, but not a long delay. The nest is dormant now, but that may change at a moment's notice. We'll go in an hour. Have Zhang gear up and link up with the reserve team. And tell her if she makes one inappropriate joke about someone’s entrails, I’ll have her cleaning toilets with a toothbrush,” You said, not really meaning it but giving it your best deadpan look to convey seriousness.

An amused, brief smirk touched Mills’ lips. “She’ll consider that a challenge, sir.”

“I know.”

The buzz of conversation resumed, a low murmur of weapon checks, gear adjustments, and final queries. Allen and Emily were already discussing the breaching sequence, using hand gestures to illustrate angles of fire. Jonathan was loading magazines, his movements efficient. The pool table was a nexus of controlled chaos.

Soon, you stepped back, letting the machine you’d cobbled together with that unbelievable marker begin to turn over. You suppressed a sigh as your eyes scanned the sight. Your will was on every one of them, a silent underpinning to all of this. The weight of it was like a physical sensation, a constant pressure on your sternum. These people, their skills, their lives...they were yours to direct...and yours to lose if things went wrong.

"Well, they are counting on you regardless," You reminded yourself silently. "Best to do your best to minimize the chances of things going wrong, then."

And with that in mind, you decided that you had delayed long enough. “The **** timetable remains," You said. "One hour. Those directly involved in the **** or in support roles are allowed to take another ration of coffee to remain more alert when they see fit. In the meantime, I will go introduce myself to Sergeant Vanders now that she is awake. I need to find out if she will feel up for some action in a support role now that she is up, and if her injuries are manageable even if she is. We regroup in the lobby when the time comes. Prep your gear and radios in the meantime. See you soon.”

Their voices faded behind you as you pushed through the doors into the dimmer hallway, the weight of the impending **** outside temporarily replaced by a different, more intimate tension within. The battle plan was set. The **** would happen. The nest would be cleared.

But first, you had to meet your newest soldier...your newest blonde, lesbian soldier tall and built like an Amazon...