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or
fifteen of them in quick succession, but the bodies formed horrible
stepping stones for the remainder to use like a ramp. Three of them
launched over the breastwork before we could reform our ranks, a
heavy push forcing us back and apart.

Those New Breed tried to
tear into the people they found standing in the middle of the
semicircle of dirt. Tried and failed.

As the defenders at the
breastworks slashed and stabbed with renewed vigor, fueled by rage
and self-preservation, as the shooters cleared more and more undead
from the field, those three zombies got the worst of it. Our reserve,
a unit of eight people held back to plug any holes in the defenses,
hit them all at once. Two held long spears, two held short ones, two
held large shields, and two had guns. I'd stepped back from the line
for a few seconds, a nasty set of claw wounds across my forearm where
a zombie struck out even as I put my hatchet into her face. As I
turned, I saw two long spears transfix undead through the chest, the
two shorter spears hit the third zombie, who was in the middle, in
the same leg. The gunmen stepped forward behind the guys with
shields, carefully firing into the heads of the undead. Three shots,
three kills.

It was so smooth I was almost embarrassed for the
enemy. Almost.

The remaining undead eventually had the idea
that backing off might do them some good. The other half of the
secondary force never did attack, just watched us from the sidelines.
I'm sure they've got a good amount of information on us, but we can't
do a thing about it. We'll just have to evolve our tactics to
match.

Of the original force that hit us, only forty or so
managed to get away. Once the retreat began our people stopped
firing. Waste not, want not and all that folksy wisdom.

We
lost no lives. Plenty of us took wounds, but quick action to clean
them and sterilize them as best we could should hopefully prevent any
serious infections. My own injury doesn't look terrible. Well, it
looks terrible because it's a set of bloody gouges, but it doesn't
look infected.

I'll be honest, I'm surprised we didn't have
any fatalities. You kind of expect them, but our people were
meticulous and steadfast, had the high ground, and fought
brilliantly. Keeping the enemy off balance was a key to our success,
and nothing throws you for a loop like having a shield bashed into
your face. We did good.

Friday,
March 16, 2012
Neighbors
    Posted
by  Josh
Guess We're
experiencing one of those rare calm periods at the moment. Since our
fight at the silo, not a lot has been going on around here. We've had
a trade caravan come in, that was fun. Becky and Will have been
working on ways to take advantage of the New Breed weakness to heat.
I've been basically working as Will's assistant full time since I got
back. I still manage our experiments with the captive zombies (no new
findings there) and deal with the errata that the other community
managers need help dealing with. Mostly coordination stuff.

But
yeah, mostly helping Will do his job, which is to run this
place.

When we came back the other day, exhausted and injured
but with our spirits high at not losing anyone, Will made an
interesting observation: at least in New Haven, no one seems to take
any joy in fighting. Or even in winning against an enemy.

That's
kind of big. I mean, you'd think at least the feeling of victory
would bring out an uncontrolled reaction. Whooping, high fives, the
occasional slap on the ass. I'm probably too much of a nerd, but my
thoughts go to  Star
Wars  here.
Think about the reaction the Rebels had when they achieved a victory
over the empire. God help me, I can't believe I'm using this as an
example, but remember the final scenes in  Return
of the Jedi.  Ewoks
and our heroes, feasting it up on the forest moon of Endor. Dancing
and singing.

Yeah, we don't do that. It's not like anyone is
unhappy about winning a battle so much as people around here seem to
have a different viewpoint on fighting.