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 edenstudios@gmail.com 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