The Marine Corp CH-53K Super Stallion banked low over the Arkansas River, dodging trees and telephone poles as the thirty members of Lt. Rhine’s platoon sat in the back holding on for dear life. Rhine pulled himself to his feet and made his way up to where the pilot and copilot were weaving the massive helicopter at tree top level.

“We are five minutes out, better get your boys up and ready! We won’t be touching down, the refugees will swarm us if we do.” the pilot yelled.

Rhine slapped his shoulder and attempted to walk to the back of the helicopter without falling on his face as the CH-53 took another hard turn. The thirty Army Rangers under his command had been tasked as the sector’s quick reaction force, or “QRF”. They were the stop gap force for the defensive line along the Arkansas River; being deployed and re deployed to fill gaps all along the line. They had received a replacement Lieutenant to take Rick’s spot after evacuating Dallas, but he had not lasted long. He had been fresh out of West Point and full of piss and vinegar when he showed up to take command while the platoon was holding a blocking position North of Oklahoma City. It was too bad he didn’t have the common sense to go with the book smarts that had got him through “The Point.” As his second in command, Rhine had warned him not to venture off on his own for any reason. While Rhine was away assessing their squads positioned along the defensive line, the Lieutenant had gone off on his own to take a dump in private. He never saw the Z that came stumbling out of the bushes right into him until its teeth sank in to his shoulder. When Rhine reached his position, he found the ghoul dead and the Lieutenant bleeding heavily from a gaping hole in his shoulder. He was sobbing but it took a lot less for Rhine to put a bullet in his head then it had the lady at the bank. He had felt no sympathy for the man. His stupidity has cost him his life and even worse, all the gear and ammo that he had been carrying was now infected and useless. Even still, Rhine felt like every time he had to put someone down he lost a little bit more of himself. With the Army now running dangerously low on officers,  Rhine had gone from being a 26 year old Sergeant First Class to a twenty six year old 2^nd Lieutenant via battlefield promotion. It was not exactly how Rhine had hoped to earn his Lieutenants bars but then again, nothing these days was anything close to ideal.

They arrived on the West bank of the Arkansas River as the Super Stallion pulled into a hover above a clearance along the river bank. Rhine was too young to have fought at the battles of Stalingrad or Dunkirk, but from what he had gathered from  studying  those battles, this resembled a combination of both if they had taken place in Hell. The Eastern skyline burned in a red orange hue that lit up the night and deep rumbling explosions could be heard as artillery rounds landed in the distance . The refugees bottled up on the eastern side of the river resembled an hour glass, a huge bowl of humanity trying to filter across the West Madison Ave/U.S. 166^th Bridge. They then poured off of the bridge, flowing through the trees like a tidal wave. The horizon light up with brilliant flashes as U.S. Air Force F-35 Lighting II Joint Strike Fighters bombed the two bridges to their south, dropping them into the river in a concoction of flame, boiling water, and twisted metal. The only way West now was across this bridge and they were here to help control the flow.

The CH-53K came to a hover a couple feet above the ground and Rhine led his men out of the tail ramp of the Super Stallion. They hit the ground and came to their feet; rifles up and ready for trouble. The situation looked even worse on the ground then it had in the air. A chaotic sea of humanity was spilling across the bridge, fleeing any which way as long as it was westward.

The platoon made its way towards the shore and Rhine stopped a young Marine who was carrying cases of ammunition to the scattering of Army and Marine Corp infantry positions along the shoreline.

“Marine, where is your C.O? “ Rhine barked.

“Major Thomas is up there by that Bradley!” He yelled as he continued running towards a shoreline machine gun position.

Rhine looked over to see a M2A3 Bradley infantry fighting vehicle, its commander standing in the open turret hatch yelling instructions to the refugees through a loud speaker. They moved towards a hilltop along the river with a collection of U.S. Marine Corp and U.S. Army Officers gathered around the hood of a Humvee.

“Hey Major, Lt. Rhine here, I’ve got 30 Rangers with me!  We are your QRF! Where do you want us?”  he yelled  while running up to the gathering.

The Army major looked around at his collected officers and turned to Rhine.  “Sorry to waste your time Lieutenant, but it looks like someone forgot to pass along the message. We aren’t forming a defensive line here. As soon as Zack crests that hilltop we are blowing the bridge and falling back.”

“What about the refugees on the Eastern bank when that happens?”

The Major looked him in the eye, shook his head, and went back to his charts splayed out over the hood of the Humvee without saying another word.

“God dammit if we don’t stop running and start fighting these motherfuckers we are going to be defending the California coastline.” Rhine pleaded as his frustrating grew.

“Then you better start taking swimming lessons Lieutenant” the Major fired back.

Rhine stepped away and was about to call for Sgt. Rhodes, the new platoon 1^st Sergeant, but he was already at the Lieutenant’s side asking “What is the word sir?”

“Command is blowing the bridge as soon as Zack shows his face. Keep our boys nearby and keep them off that bridge! As soon as Zack shows up this entire place is going to collectively shit bricks. I don’t want us losing anyone in the stampede. Call our bird back, lets put some distance between us and this place. Get Riley and some back up on the top of that hill by that other Bradley, I want to the second Zack shows up.”

Specialist Andrew Riley, the platoon’s designated marksmen, took his M110 sniper rifle and made off for the hilltop with another soldier to watch his back while the remainder of the platoon threw itself against the sand berm at the edge of the tree line.

The screech of metal on metal came from the bridge as the sea of people pushed a stalled box truck over the side, the vehicle and its occupants plummeting into the rapidly flowing river waters.

Rhine wanted to get his men out of this disaster. The longer they sat there the more sure he was that they going to end up swallowed by the chaos. If they weren’t allowed to fight then they weren’t going to stay. His men were United States Army Rangers, highly trained members of America’s special forces community. They were not trained to play traffic cops and he sure as hell wasn’t going to ask them to be speed bumps to be rolled over by Zack.

The radio sprang to life with Riley’s voice but before anyone could understand what he was trying to say, his voice was drowned out as the two nearby Bradley’s opened up with their 25mm rapid fire cannons.  The tracer rounds intermixed with their high explosive shells guided Rhine right to where Zack’s first wave was beginning to crest the hills on the Eastern side. The dug in infantry positions joined in and began engaging Zack with machine gun fire. Refugees on the Eastern shore went in to full panic mode and attempted to cram even more bodies onto the already overcrowded bridge, pushing those too close to the side over and to their deaths like an overflowing water trough.

Just then, the bridge disappeared in a blinding flash. An Earth shattering explosion ripped through the support braces underneath it and shook the ground beneath the platoon. Torrents of water erupted high in to the air as pieces of steel, concrete, and human bodies were throw in every directions. The roadway buckled and collapsed into the river like an exhausted animal, the flames sizzling out as they sank beneath. The river carried away any trace that there had been people on that bridge.  Those that were lucky enough not to be caught on the bridge but were still too close to the explosion lay dead, their bodies shattered and broken. Others ran around panicked and on fire, some throwing themselves on the ground in agony, others burned as they threw themselves into the river’s waters, extinguishing the flames only to be swept away by the current. Rhine’s fears became a reality as the area descended into absolute anarchy. Soldiers and refugees were running everywhere trying to help the wounded. A few corpses of dead refugees pulled themselves to their feet and began to seek out victims. Rifle and machine gun fire cut them down but also helped enflame the panic.

A few of the Rangers began to rise to their feet to help but were quickly grabbed and pulled back down by Rhine, Rhodes, and Moreno.

Rhine pulled a young Ranger down by kevlar vest as he yelled out to his platoon.

“Get down, stay the fuck down dammit! You go out there you are gonna get lost in that shit storm. Rhodes, where is that CH-53?”

“They have turned around and are hauling ass back our way sir.”

Riley and his fellow soldier came running down from the hill and flopped down beside Rhine, “Lt., the Eastern shore! The civilians are trapped!”

He looked across the river and felt the hand around the grip of his SCAR tighten, the knuckles of his gloves hand turning white. The horde was pouring down the Eastern hill, pinning the trapped refugees between Zack and the River bank. What was to come rivaled some of history’s most horrific massacres. The thousands of refugees cowered against the River bank, trying to put every inch of space in between them and the horde until they could go no further. Flashes of gunfire erupted from the refugee’s front ranks, but did little to stall Zack’s steady advance. Small groups of men moved forward and engaged the horde in close combat. Some used crowbars, tools, bats, and even thick tree branches as weapons. Though valiant, this effort was useless as these men were quickly swallowed up and devoured. All the sounds seemed to disappear from around Rhine as Zack closed in within a couple yards of the refugees just before it happened. The two formations collided, Zack smashing into the refugees, dragging them down as their fellow undead swarmed around and past them to carry on the attack. Faced with certain death at the hands of the horde or braving the rapid river waters, the refugees chose the latter. Countless families threw themselves into the cold waters, abandoning any baggage they had in order to help carry children, babies, and others who could not swim. They were no match for nature though and they were swiftly carried away, downing under the force of billions of gallons of rushing water. Rhine watched a woman wade into knee deep water, throwing her child as far as she could into the deeper water as two Z’s dragged her down. He lost sight of the child in the foamy white spray as the water splashed over rocks and bridge debris. Refugees on the Western shore attempted to wade in the water and help rescue those trying to make it across but were swept sway themselves or dragged in by panicked swimmers.

They heard the order to fall back resound over the radio and watched soldiers and Marines jump into any available, Humvee, truck, or Bradley. Behind them the rhythmic beat of the CH-53’s rotors announced that it was time to make their own escape.

“Everyone up, lets secure that LZ and get out of here. Use force if you have to but keep the refugees away from that bird” Rhine ordered.

They made it back to their original landing zone as the massive helicopter touched down. The Rangers ran up the rear tail ramp, the area security team falling back and boarding themselves as Rhine took a head count of his troops.

“31 off, 31 on! Lets go!”

The Ch-53 pulled up and away as Rhine took a seat towards the rear of the aircraft. He looked at the faces of the men around him and saw the strain in their eyes. Turning away from them, he watched what would become known as the Arkansas City Massacre fade into the distance. In his head the same thought pounded over and over.

“We can’t win this war.”