Twelve hours on a plane is utter torture, Luke thought. If he didn't know what he was doing it for, he would've gone crazy long ago. It wasn't just the tight space, or the suddenly increased need for stretching his legs. It wasn't even Miller's dangerous habit of keeping a cigarette in his mouth on a plane oozing gasoline. The cap didn't say anything about it. Let the man have his own sort of sanctum. It was the flying over hostile territory that made his stomach cramp into a right rubber ball.
Down on the ground he would be able to have some form of control over what would happen if an enemy decided to target his team. Up in the air he would A: not see it coming, and B: not be able to do a damn thing before being engulfed by a sudden inferno. He had first-hand experience in suddenly leaving a plane during enemy fire and it was not something he wished to experience again. The feeling of not being able to save his men ate him up on the inside. The good thing about his entangled intestines was that at least he wouldn't have to use the lavatory during their journey.

He felt only relief when it was time to turn the chutes to good use. Though he had no love for parachutes, for they offered no complete control either, he knew that it was the last of the necessary steps to begin their mission.

Once on the ground he made certain his team had all landed safely and none of them was missing. He asked each of them personally if they were alright and if they were armed and ready.
Then, as Corban discovered the tracks and Miller inspected them, he called them all together for a final brief.

"Alright folks," he began. "This is it. If anyone needs to pee, now is the time. Judging from that cloud of smoke we already have trouble on our hands, and we aren't even there yet. There won't be any rest until we know what we're dealing with."

He looked at the sky for a moment, noting how the final remains of twilight were giving in to total darkness.

"We're going to follow these tracks for as long as they lead us towards that pile of smoke over there. Keep an eye out for lights and your ears pricked for anything that could indicate enemy movement. Brannigan, you're in the front with me, following the tracks. Miller in the back. Doc and Miss Thanatos keep your eyes to both sides. McGuinness, you'll be sixty feet behind us, keeping an overview of the situation. Any questions? No? Good, we move out."

Orders given, the team moved out as quickly as they could across the sandy desert. The fading sun meant the temperature got cooler but the pace and struggle to keeping it going helped.

The full moon illuminated the landscape which allowed the team to see anything that might be coming your way, but unfortunately meant that anyone watching would be able to see you as well. You continued the pace for about an hour without seeing any signs of life beyond the tire tracks. But despite the glow of the moon, it was the sound that alerted Captain Edintore that something was heading your way. A moaning noise, almost guttural came to his sharp ears and he quickly signalled for the team to stoop and get down for cover (assumed).

The source of the sound was moving - stumbling and shabbling, towards them aimlessly. At first it looked like four figures in the moonlight, But through the captain's binoculars and McGuiness' scope, they were a group of men that you did not expect to see together. Two were Egyptian, dressed in the style and wrappings of desert dwellers. The other two were german soldiers. All four moved in an awkward fashion but were definitely moving in you direction. It was hard to tell at this range (150-200 feet away) but to the sniper's sharp eyes and amplified lens, the natives were sporting multiple bullets wounds to the chest and the germans had bite wounds on the neck.

Corban peered through his scope at the approaching . . . zombies. No, it didn't surprise him. After his last few trips into the darkness with Ye Olde not much surprised him anymore. He was a bit surprised that they didn't even give him the willies. Getting used to the weirdness. Was that a good thing?

Keeping his vision focused through his scope he spoke, "Captain. The Lieutenant spoke about head trauma being the way to handle zombies. I hate to make noise, but would this be a good time to test out that theory? I'd like to know if one well-placed shot to the noggin' qualifies as enough trauma. From the look of ‘em, I doubt any of them are likely to make use of weapons, but since the Germans are carrying side-arms, I'll target those first. Just give the order."

So saying the sniper calmly kept his focus on the approaching figures. He was ready to fire, but would hold until given orders.

"Captain. The Lieutenant spoke about head trauma being the way to handle zombies. I hate to make noise, but would this be a good time to test out that theory? I'd like to know if one well-placed shot to the noggin' qualifies as enough trauma. From the look of ‘em, I doubt any of them are likely to make use of weapons, but since the Germans are carrying side-arms, I'll target those first. Just give the order."
Doc looked up, "Just hold on a bit... don't let the willies get to you, Quick Shot. They may just be wounded....Cover them Yes, but let's check them out first. They may have good information. Moving like that they won't be able to rush us."

Doc started to get his med kit ready, they would be more help if the knew they were getting help.

Something was off. It might have been the fact that the men approaching didn't seem to fit together at all, if might have been their strange, uncontrolled movement. It might just have been the fact that these people were on foot in the darkness. Their dark silhouettes against the moonlit sky felt like a scene from a horror motion picture, or something from the Terror Tales magazine Luke sometimes read. Or anyway, he had read before he had joined the army to fight for freedom. After that, reading had become a luxury that he didn't permit himself.

Corban was quick on the draw, asking permission to test if these were indeed zombies. There were two reasons Luke didn't want to engage so soon, and Doc voiced one of them. These men looked like something was terribly wrong with them, but they might, if there were still alive, have needful information.

"Get ready to engage them, if they are unwilling to cooperate!" he hissed at his team. "You can test your theory, Private McGuinness, but not with gunfire. We shouldn't give away our presence just yet if we can help it."

He reached for his Carbine, holding the back end forward to bash in any skull that needed bashing. Then he called out to the approaching men: "Hands in the air! If you comply, you will find us merciful"

As the captain shouted a warning to the approaching figures, Corban held his position with his rifle.

He spoke quietly enough for the nearby captain to hear him, but not loudly enough to cover any response from the presumed zombies. "Just holding the scope on them for better vision. No shooting captain."

So saying, he carefully watched the approaching figures through his scope to see if they reacted to the captain's message of peace, love and kindness.

Rat lit up another Camel as the Ye Olde commandos awaited a response from the hulking, shambling figures approaching from the merciless desert sands between themselves and their destination.

Pulling a tent stake from his pocket, his back to the rest of the group as he remained motionless in his assigned rear position, the Corporal quietly, but quickly, surveyed the desert terrain directly behind and to each side of the group, looking for any signs of movement that might indicate a rear or flank attack.

If a bullet would not stop them, then perhaps a wooden stake wielded like a combat knife would, for there was no telling what may emerge from the bowels of the unknown tomb!

Star shifted her feet in agitation digging into the sand slightly with her boots.

"Hands in the air! If you comply, you will find us merciful"
Star hissed under her breath.
"they've probably suffered enough. Would be merciful to put em down."

Shifting her pack higher up her shoulders, Star fidgeted with a small medallion coin. Scanning the darkness for any other signs of movement or life be it undead or other wise.

The captain moved forward and called out, ‘"Hands in the air! If you comply, you will find us merciful."

The men did not raise their hands in the air but moved towards the captain at a slightly faster pace. Sarge, Rat and Doc backed up the Captain while McGuiness kept his sights on the creatures and Star watched for possible others.

As the four unmatched men approached, the smell of gasoline filled your nostrils. You realize the Egyptian men are not only covered in bullet wounds but their clothing is soaked in petrol. The Germans are not gas covered but their necks are ripped wide open from seeming bite marks.

As one of the German soldiers moved close enough to the Captain, he hit him hard with the butt of the rifle, twice with bone crushing solid hits. The soldier mode no move to dodge or defend himself and went down like a rag doll and laid still for a moment, but then moved once more to try to stand.

There was no doubt in your minds anymore - these things were not of the living world.

The man figures drew near enough to see these weren't wounded soldiers, they were now the non living.

Captian had warned agaist gun shot noise so Doc pull out the double barrel and forcefully plants a skull crushing blow with the solid wooden butt to finish off the thing Capt'n had knocked down.

"Don't brawl with them...just smash in their skulls."

As the zombies approached closer the sniper took a quick inventory of his gear. He tried to come up with something useful to bash in a skull - like a good sledge hammer. But his pack was light on hammers at the moment. He hated to use his beautiful rifle's back end as a sledge hammer, but if they were to remain relatively quiet there was little choice.

Seeing them through his scope as they approached, Corban almost felt sorry for them. Yeah, they were Nazis, but this wasn't right. But these Nazis probably were part of a group that was messing around with stuff they shouldn't, so sympathetic thoughts flew out of his head as quickly as they flew in.

Since they didn't respond to his captains message of kindness, he'd give them a rifle butt. "Lets see how accurate I can be with this end of the gun," he thought to himself as he leaped forward to quietly take on a zombie.

***Corban will try to approach one of the zombies from side. The other German (Not the one the captain hit) is the first choice, but if others are closer, he will circle around behind one of the non-Germans. The goal is to hit them in the head with the rifle butt while staying out of their reach.

Sarge listened to the talk of approaching zombies. Egyptians and Nazis; what a weird combination. Almost like something one would put in a low budget movie. "Right then, we should give them a proper thrashing." Sarge pulled out and unfolded his E-tool as it would make a fine zombie basher.

Star shifted her position slightly moving more towards the back of the group.

"be careful, if the petrol ignites we'll loose our location an loose any chance of hiding in the cover of darkness."

Star hissed pulling the rifle to hand, trying to shrugg off how barking her words sounded.

As the captain had anticipated, the approaching bodies no longer inhabited a living soul. Whatever remained inside was driven simply by a desire to consume him and his team. And he was quite sure that though such driven vigor was to be applauded, he was not going to comply.

As the back of his rifle caved in the skull of his aggressor, he felt a twang of guilt. He had come to fight this war to punish the men who started it, not the unwilling victims of their expanding terror. But as the dead man he had bludgeoned to the dirt tried to stand up again, he let go of remorse and bashed his rifle into the man's brain until he stopped moving.

(OOC: He'll help the rest of the team out, if need be. He'll even let one of the zombies alive on the ground if somebody is in dire need of rescuing. When the fight is over he'll scan the surroundings and order Corban to find higher ground (assuming there is any).)

Four slow moving zombies are no match for six trained combat veterans and the team dispatch the creatures with a minimal effort and no risk to themselves. These undead were not the main threat of this outing and probably not even a minor minion. Their tracks are easy to follow and head from the very place you are intending to investigate.

There is no true high ground to seek in a desert but you manage to reach your destination without further incidents. The temple is easily spotted as a structure in the desert and there are four trucks with German markings parked outside (about 20 feet from stairs). The smell of gas is strong again but you don't see any zombies or Nazis in the area of the building.

In the midst of the vast desert sands, the last relic of a dead civilization stands before you. Surrounded by the broken foundations of a once mighty city, a temple looms out of the rubble like a sleeping dragon upon its hoard. It is the only existing building among all the fallen and broken ruins. Circular stairs lead up on either side to a platform in front of the temple's entrance. The temple's stone walls are worn by time and sand, yet still quite solid and sturdy. There are no windows in the temple walls and only one entrance, behind a platform, supported by pillars. The temple's roof is capped by one large and two small domes.

There has been a fight here recently, as there are bodies lying on the upper platform. These ones are not moving and among the smell of gas, there is also gunpowder and the all too familiar smell of death. For the distance though you cannot tell if the dead are Nazis or denizens of this play. However the doorway to the temple is wide open and light can be seen from within (assume you stop about 20-30 feet west from closest vehicle)