afmbe - bozwatermark.drivethrustuff.com/pdf_previews/118756-sample.pdf · chapter one 4 two minutes...
TRANSCRIPT
E D E N S T U D I O S P R E S E N T S A S H Y / V A S I L A K O S P R O D U C T I O N
B a n d o f Z o m b i e s TM
Produced by E D E N S T U D I O S Directed by G E O R G E V A S I L A K O S
Written by J A S O N V E Y
Additional Rules Content S T E V E T R U S T R U M
Edited by T H O M A S M A R R I O N
Proofing and Indexing by J A N I C E M . S E L L E R S
Director of Photography G E O R G E V A S I L A K O S
Visual Effects by J O E L B I S K E T R A V I S I N G R A M
B R A D L E Y K . M c D E V I T T M A T T M O R R O W C A R Y P O L K A V I T Z
Cover Art by J O N H O D G S O N
Playtested by Ian Fielder, Sara Fielder, Matt George, Julie Gouirand, Jeff Hopkins, Eric Kiefer, Kalie Ofciarcik, Bob Russell,
Derek Stoelting, Don Vey, Mike Vogel, Mike Wallace, Robert Warren
Special thanks to Mike Vogel, Ian Fielder, and Juliette Gouirand, without whom this could not have been done.
And to every soldier putting his life on the line for his country, this is for you.
Based on the Original Concept by
C H R I S T O P H E R S H Y a n d G E O R G E V A S I L A K O S
W W W . E D E N S T U D I O S . N E T
Eden Studios 6 Dogwood Lane, Loudonville, NY 12211
All Flesh Must Be Eaten™ and Band of Zombies™ , icons and personalities are © 1999-2013 Eden Studios
The Unisystem™ Game System © 1999-2013 CJ Carella. All graphics © 1999-2013 Eden Studios.All rights reserved.
Produced and published by Eden Studios, Inc. The Unisystem™ is used under exclusive license.
No part of this book may be reproduced without written permission from the publisher, except for reviewpurposes. Any similarity to characters, situations, institutions, corporations, etc. (without satirical intent)
is strictly fictional or coincidental. This book uses settings, characters and themes of a supernatural nature.All elements, mystical and supernatural are fiction and intended for entertainment purposes only.
Reader discretion is advised.
Comments and questions can be directed via the Internet at www.edenstudios.net, via e-mail at [email protected] or via letter with a self-addressed stamped envelope.
First Printing - August 2013 Stock EDN8016 ISBN 1-933105-06-2Printed in the U.S.
AFMBE BoZ_AFMBE - BoZ 8/5/13 11:30 AM Page 2
Sam
ple
file
contentsZOMBIES
C O N T E N T SOF
t a b l e
T A B L E
C h a p t e r O n e : I n t r o d u c t i o n 4
C h a p t e r T w o : W a r I s H e l l ! 2 2
C h a p t e r T h r e e : A c e s H i g h 5 4
C h a p t e r F o u r : A l t e r e d H i s t o r y 8 6
C h a p t e r F i v e : F o r t r e s s E u r o p e 1 0 2
C h a p t e r S i x : T h e E a s t e r n F r o n t 1 1 8
C h a p t e r S e v e n : D e c a y i n g o f a n E m p i r e 1 3 6
C h a p t e r E i g h t : T h e H e a r t o f D a r k n e s s 1 5 0
S h a m b l i n g C o m m a n d o s 1 6 8
I n d e x 1 7 2
AFMBE�BoZ_AFMBE�-�BoZ��8/5/13��11:18�AM��Page�3
Sam
ple
file
Chapter One 4
T W O M I N U T E STO MIDNITETWO M INUT E S T O M I DN I T E
The sounds of war are the sounds of death. That
might sound a little clichéd to
someone who’s never been there, but I’m here to tell you that once you’ve seen combat,
every sound you hear for the rest of the war sounds like a man dying. There are quiet
times, when your unit comes off the line to get a hot shower, a hot meal, maybe even a
weekend pass to a non-com area so’s you can get reacquainted with what it’s like to not
have to carry a gun and keep your head moving at all times.
Generally, it doesn’t help much. Keeps your head together, I guess, and that’s something
at least. But even in those quiet times, when you’re playing cards with your buddies or
you get time for a Thanksgiving or Christmas football game with the boys in a rival com-
pany, every grunt is the grunt of a soldier hit by a hail of gunfire. Every guffaw of laugh-
ter comes from a guy who might never laugh again. These are sounds that will stay with
you the rest of your life.
And don’t even get me started on the things you see, and the things that no man, even
one in the middle of a war, should ever have to see.
Sure, we’d all heard rumors about the unnatural weapons and experiments the Krauts
had been using on the European front, of soldiers that just wouldn’t die, of cannibalism
and mutilation and the kinds of crimes against humanity that we didn’t think even Hitler
would be capable of. ‘Course, that was before they found the concentration camps, too.
Then the stories spread; we heard about mummies walking around in Egypt, vampires in
the Balkans, Viking ghost ships plundering the North Atlantic, Sumerian demons in the
Middle East, even rumors that the Red Baron had reappeared and was shooting down
Allied planes.
Anyway, most of us launching from Hawaii assumed the stories to be tall tales, blown
out of proportion by the reps of the lunatics running the Axis. Guess I don’t need to tell
you, that all changed once we made our first landing.
C H APTER�ONE
AFMBE�BoZ_AFMBE�-�BoZ��8/5/13��11:18�AM��Page�4
Sam
ple
file
5 Introduction
The first thing I saw when the doors to
LSI opened was Michaelson’s head
explode. Then everything erupted into
chaos, a mixture of blood, brains, bone, and
a cacophony of deadly, rapid-fire thunder
from the Nip machineguns. There was a lot
of screaming; the NCOs made desperate
efforts to get everyone under control, in a
situation where control was not an option.
In seconds, I was face down on the deck,
covering my head. One hand wildly groped
around for an M1 or Tommy gun. It would-
n’t do me any good in this mess, but having
a firearm sure would’ve made me feel a lot
better in those moments. There’s no securi-
ty blanket that’s quite as comforting as a
big-ass gun.
Someone grabbed me by the collar and
dragged me off the ship; the cold, salty
water of the Pacific closed in around me. I
opened my eyes and found my current situ-
ation even more horrific than the one on the
boat. The water was stained dark red with
the blood of dozens—possibly hundreds—
of American soldiers. Worse still, underwa-
ter I could see the bullets whizzing through.
They teach you in basic to keep your wits
about you, no matter what happens. It’s not
easy when people are dying in droves
around you, but believe it or not, for most
people the training kicks in and you do
manage to get your head straight pretty
damn quick. Somehow, I managed to swim
toward shore. I caught a random gear pack
sinking past, the M1 carbine covered in a
waterproof plastic bag; at least I’d have a
weapon and some supplies.
The water vibrated around me as an
explosion rocked one of the transport ships;
the Japs had fired a mortar shell or thrown
a grenade into it or something. Debris
rained into the water around me; I could
see the ship listing to my left, nearly
grounded. I made for it and came up behind
the wreck.
We’d heard stories of shit like this hap-
pening in Normandy, but here in the
Pacific, the reality of the situation was
entirely different than the stories. There
were dead bodies littering the beach and
surf. I could hear my comrades-in-arms
screaming obscenities at the enemy; gun-
fire peppered the air. The Jap with the
machinegun was down; he’d served his
purpose, to cause as many casualties as
possible before dying. The Japs, you’ve
gotta understand, they were suicidal in
their cause. So yeah, they’d put one man
alone with a machinegun on the shore. The
rest of the Japanese army was in the tree
line, firing from cover.
For a few, eternal seconds, everything
moved in slow motion for me while I tried
to get a handle on exactly what our situa-
tion was. The captain’s voice, screaming
into an SP phone for artillery, snapped me
out of my brief dementia. I looked to my
left and there he was, hunkered down
behind the wreck of a jeep that had been
somehow blown far off the transport it’d
come in on. The com officer who original-
ly had the phone was dead, nearly blown in
half by Japanese fire. Mortars and artillery
shells rained down on the beach in an
explosive firestorm.
The captain slammed the SP back into its
cradle and looked up, his eyes meeting
mine.
AFMBE�BoZ_AFMBE�-�BoZ��8/5/13��11:18�AM��Page�5
Sam
ple
file
Chapter One 6
“Heavy fire!” he screamed, as though
telling me something I didn’t already know.
“Think you can make it over here?”
I ran for him, dodged and weaved
through the shit storm, and by some mira-
cle made it to his side. “Captain,” I said.
“What’s the scoop?”
“Good to see you made it, Lieutenant,”
he said. “Sit tight; they’re going to shell
those fucking trees. Hopefully that’ll buy
us some time.”
“What about the other men? It’s
Armageddon out there.”
“No way for us to pass the word; I have
no idea who else has an SP active, if any-
one does. Running through this mess to get
the message out is suicide and we’ve
already lost enough men.”
Then a hail of machinegun fire cut
through the din. The captain and I peeked
over the wreck to see what was going on;
surely none of our guys had time to gather
and set up a tripod.
We were right; Jacobs, it looked like, had
snapped. He’d made his way to the Jap gun
and was firing wildly into the trees,
screaming, “You yellow Japanese sons of
bitches! I’ll kill every last one of you!”
Amazingly, for a few seconds the hail of
fire from the tree line stopped. Then
Jacob’s head snapped backward, and blood
sprayed everywhere. He hit the ground, a
tiny hole right between his eyes.
“Sniper,” the captain said, grim.
I nodded. “So much for Jacobs.”
Then, like a thunderclap, the guns from
our destroyer boomed, followed by a con-
stant roar that lasted only a few long sec-
onds, before a section of trees exploded
into dust and splinters. We ducked and cov-
ered, but I had time to see a few bodies go
airborne with the remains of the trees.
There were three more boom-and-roar
combos, followed by three more sections
of trees.
Then we heard the buzz of aircraft.
“Zeroes!” someone screamed. Sure
enough, a whole squadron of the flimsy,
but lightning-fast, Japanese fighters bore
down on us. A few strafing runs and we’d
all be done for. A couple guys took pot
shots at the planes, but they weren’t hitting
anything at that range. Even if they had, no
way an M1 was taking out a Nip fighter.
“Damn,” the captain said. “They must
have an airfield cleared somewhere in the
jungle, something we don’t have intel on.”
“No problem.” I said, pointing. “Our
boys have picked ‘em up.”
A squadron of Hellcats made for the
Zeroes. Within minutes, the sky was full of
machinegun fire as the skies became their
own battle zone.
“Cover me,” the captain said, and stood.
I stood as well, bracing my gun on the
jeep’s wreckage, to scan what was left of
the tree line for any sign of movement.
Hazily, dreamlike, I realized that even
though mere minutes had passed, I was
already dry, the water from my little swim
evaporated off of me completely. I could
feel the first beads of thick sweat on my
brow taking its place.
The captain waved his arms to get the
attention of some nearby officers and
AFMBE�BoZ_AFMBE�-�BoZ��8/5/13��11:18�AM��Page�6
Sam
ple
file
7 Introduction
enlisted men. “Make for the trees!” he
shouted. “We’ve got to get some cover.
Pass the word. Grab whatever gear you can
and make for the trees.”
The men nodded their acknowledgment
and the captain dropped down next to me.
“You ready?” He asked. I nodded in
response, and we were off. The shelling
seemed to have done its job; we took very
little fire as we made for the jungle. The
captain grabbed a rucksack as we ran; it
had a Tommy gun strapped to it.
Overhead, the Hellcats were holding
their own, taking down Zeroes with incred-
ible precision. The Zeroes weren’t without
their terror tactics, though; I looked up at
one point and could only gape in horror as
a Zero bore down on a Grumman and flew
right into it. The explosion was spectacular,
debris rained down upon the battlefield,
and I could’ve sworn I saw body parts fall
with the metal and wood. My heart stopped
for a second even as it sank to my feet.
How could we even hope to beat an enemy
this crazed?
The captain and I made the trees and
stopped for a breather. Aside from the
sounds of the air battle overhead, the chaos
of gunfire and death had stopped. Now we
heard occasional stage whispers of “Babe
Ruth” answered by cries of “Yankee,” a
sign-countersign pair to identify American
troops.
After a minute to get our bearings, the
captain clapped me on the shoulder and
nodded into the jungle. “Well, Lieutenant,”
he said, “welcome to Indonesia. Let’s see if
we can’t get some semblance of organiza-
tion out of this cluster fuck.”
We crept through the jungle, swimming
through air so thick it may as well have
been just more ocean, and stepping over
more Japanese bodies than I ever thought
I’d see, many of them not quite complete
from the shelling we’d given them. I swat-
ted in vain at countless mosquitoes out to
feed on, it seemed, every last drop of my
blood, the little vampires. My only comfort
was that at least a few were bound to drown
in the sweat pouring off me. Welcome to
Indonesia, indeed.
Eventually, we hooked up with a small
squad of PFCs tramping through the brush.
The one up front stood up straight and
offered a salute to the captain when he saw
us. I quickly slapped his hand down.
“What the hell are you thinking, Private?
You don’t salute an officer in the middle of
a battlefield. What are you trying to do,
paint a bull’s-eye on our heads?”
“Yes, Sir,” the Private stammered, “I
mean, no, Sir. Sorry, Sir.”
“Don’t call me ‘sir,’ either,” the captain
muttered. “You can address me by rank,
quietly, but don’t give any indication I’m
your superior.”
“Understood, Captain.”
“Good man. Now what’s your name,
son?”
“Abrams, Sir—I mean, Captain.”
“Abrams, form up your squad behind us.
Let’s see if we can’t work out our situa-
tion.”
“All due respect, Captain,” Abrams said,
“our situation is FUBAR.”
“I don’t disagree with the private,” I said.
AFMBE�BoZ_AFMBE�-�BoZ��8/5/13��11:18�AM��Page�7
Sam
ple
file