V Plague (Book 13): Exodus

by Dirk Patton

  I heard several suppressed shots from the room, then Nitro’s voice softly calling the all clear. A moment later he spoke from around the door, letting me know they were coming out. Still scanning, I headed for the stairs, Dog tucked tight against my leg. We were back in the stairwell in seconds, Nitro maintaining point as we descended another level.

  “This is it,” Johnson said quietly when we reached the landing for D.

  “Which way?” Nitro asked.

  “I’ll take point,” Johnson said, slipping past him and placing his hand on the door.

  Nitro shot me a glance. I nodded, confirming Johnson knew his shit. Shifting around, we followed him through the door. He circled the elevator shaft and quickly scanned each of the corridors before heading down the longest one. Dog and I were still on rear security, moving with the group but making sure we didn’t get surprised from behind.

  Several dozen open doors later, Johnson led us into a room. A large machine rested on a wheeled platform, but what caught my attention was the large blob that covered almost an entire wall. Telling Dog to stay at the door, I walked over and tentatively tapped on the substance with the hilt of my knife. It felt like concrete.

  “This is it?” I asked, even though I didn’t need to.

  “Yep,” Johnson said, bending to release the locks on the platform’s wheels. “That was a one-second blast.”

  I looked up at the machine, shaking my head in amazement. Calling it a machine was perhaps being too optimistic. A six-foot tall tower that encased several pipes was bolted to the center of the platform, a pair of fifty-five-gallon drums strapped to either side of it.

  A large motor was attached at the rear, its shaft connected to a steel encased pump that fed the pipes. At the top of the tower was what looked just like the nozzle on a fire hose, and there was also a wand, similar to what you’d see in a car wash, at the end of a long, braided steel hose. Finally, a large bank of batteries to power the unit was bolted down to the side.

  “You can switch between the tower mount or the handheld, right here,” Johnson said, pointing at a large lever on the front of the pump.

  “Plenty of foam in the barrels?” I asked.

  “Two different substances,” Johnson said, tapping the one closest to him. “They’re mixed together when you fire, as best I can tell. Probably like a two-part epoxy. And yes, both are mostly full.”

  “OK, let’s get…”

  I spun around when Dog emitted a low growl. He was inside the room with us but had his nose extended into the corridor. Rushing to his side, I put my hand on his back and carefully poked my head out for a look.

  34

  Jessica looked up when a shadow fell across her workstation to see Admiral Packard and Captain West standing behind her. Fingers poised over a keyboard, she returned the Admiral’s warm smile. She’d never really figured out why he had taken a liking to her but wasn’t about to question her luck. If it wasn’t for him, she’d most likely be in prison instead of still doing her job.

  “Progress, Chief?” Packard asked.

  Jessica couldn’t help but smile broadly.

  “Yes, sir! I just defeated the last layer of encryption. Well, to be accurate, my team and I did.” She waved at the other people in the room who were staring curiously. “Without their help, I’d never have found the way through.”

  “Excellent work, everyone,” the Admiral said in a loud voice. “Chief, when will you have control?”

  “I can’t say, yet, sir. I quite literally just made it into the control system and haven’t even begun poking around. Once I get a look under the hood, I’ll be able to give you an estimate. Where do you want me to send the infected?”

  “That’s the big question, isn’t it, Chief,” Packard said. “Considering our plans, do you have a suggestion?”

  “As far away as possible,” Jessica said with a shudder.

  “Amen to that,” Captain West muttered, drawing a grin from Packard.

  “Come find me when you know what you’re dealing with,” the Admiral said.

  “Aye, aye sir. Will do.”

  Packard and West quickly exited the room, immediately being surrounded by the Marine protection detail led by Captain Black. They all squeezed into an elevator and rode to the surface, exiting into a beautiful, tropical morning. A rain storm had just passed across the island, washing the air clean and leaving behind a calm sea and a brilliant blue sky.

  “Let’s make a detour to the bench, Captain,” Packard said to Black as he reached into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes.

  “Sir, everyone is assembled for the briefing and waiting for us,” West reminded him.

  “Captain, you’re giving the briefing, and they all work for me. I think they’ll wait.”

  West grinned and shook his head. It was impossible to argue with the old man’s point.

  “What do we know about our wayward Major?” The Admiral asked as they strolled across the lush grass.

  “At last update, he was still unconscious with a head wound, but I don’t have any details on the severity of his injury. However, we’ve lost comms with the facility they’re in, and they have some big problems. There is a large contingent of a local militia that has surrounded them and is attempting to breach the exterior. They acquired some large munitions from Nellis and have employed them in their attempts. That is likely the reason for the loss of comms.”

  “Can we get to them?”

  “Not easy, sir,” West said, shaking his head. “The Russian build up along the California coast is blocking our access, and they are patrolling a large area, including all the way to the tip of Baja in the south. We would have to attempt to fight through, and our losses would be significant whether or not we were successful. The odds of an extraction are very low.”

  The Admiral stared at the harbor below, chewing on his lip in thought.

  “What about the Reagan and its strike group? How are they coming along?”

  “As you know, sir, they were heavily damaged when the Russians struck the Bahamas with nuclear weapons. They’ve put in to Norfolk Navy Yard to effect repairs, but are dealing with residual radiation from the bombing of D.C. as well as a large population of infected. However, Captain Morrow assures me they are making progress, albeit painfully slow.

  “At my request, he dispatched a squadron of F-18s to lend assistance to our people in Nevada, but they were met by a vastly superior enemy force in the southeastern US and turned back with no losses. On my orders, sir. We cannot afford to lose those pilots and aircraft.”

  “Agreed,” Packard grumbled. “But, speaking of pilots, have you been able to debrief Commander Vance?”

  “Yes, sir. I was able to speak with him before comms went down. He confirmed that the Athena Platform is still functional and in control of American personnel.”

  “Have you contacted them?” Packard asked, surprised at the news.

  “No, sir. They communicated with Vance via a low powered transmission on the guard channel and informed him that they are resuming EM silent status. They are mostly unprotected, and if they utilize any of our data links, it will alert the Russians to their presence. I have instructed the Reagan to deploy to the gulf immediately when the strike group is sea and battle ready.”

  “What do you make of that file the Major retrieved from SAC? Pie in the sky, or is there really a time machine sitting off the coast of Texas?” The Admiral asked.

  “Sir, at first I was of the opinion that the project was a false flag, designed to distract and demoralize the enemy. Kind of like Reagan’s Star Wars project in the early 80s. But, the presence of personnel on site isn’t consistent with that theory. Now, I just don’t know what to think.”

  Packard nodded and lit a smoke, settling onto the bench.

  “So, give me a preview, Captain,” he said. “What’s your plan to get us to Arizona?”

  Both men looked up when a Marine Super Cobra roared overhead. It was another layer of the Admiral’s protection, ensu
ring no one and nothing was going to get close enough to harm him again.

  “Well, sir, if you’ll bear with me, I’m going to recite what is almost certainly obvious to you, but I need to set the stage.”

  “Proceed, Captain.”

  “Sir, the Russians have occupied the California coast from San Diego to north of Marin county near San Francisco. Currently, they are conducting surface, subsurface and flight operations out of all of our naval bases on the coast, as well as having moved two divisions of heavy armor into Camp Pendleton, just north of San Diego.

  “They maintain a strong presence in Oregon and Washington state but appear to be slowly drawing down their strength to augment the forces that are already in California. All the Russian civilians who had taken up residence in the Seattle area have evacuated, most likely due to the radiation from the breached reactor aboard Peter the Great. We had hoped they were relocating to Australia to join Barinov, but they have gone south to the LA area. Malibu and Santa Barbara are quite popular.

  “As the enemy strengthens its hold on the region, we are beginning to monitor flights coming out of Russia, bringing more civilians. These are not the business or political elites, who are already in Australia with Barinov, but are well connected nonetheless. Our current estimate is there are roughly fifteen thousand Russian citizens in California. And that number is steadily climbing. The damage to their country’s infrastructure and environment from our attacks is driving a mass exodus.

  “In fact, when we are in the briefing room, I have several intercepts of government officials discussing the situation for you to review. Radiation is still spreading from the nuclear power plants we targeted, and as winter is settling in, people are already suffering from the lack of basic services such as running water and power for heat. Additionally, the Russian authorities are dealing with food riots in every major city. As a result, their consensus, with President Barinov’s blessing, is to relocate a large portion of the civilian population to California where our infrastructure is still intact.”

  “Hold on, Captain,” Packard said, lighting another cigarette. He seemed to show no sign of being interested in heading inside. “You said a large portion of the population will get relocated. What does that mean?”

  “It means, sir, that Barinov has left it up to his cronies and commanders to decide who is worth saving and who isn’t.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Sir, his exact words were, ‘Save the ones worth saving. The rest can freeze or starve. We’ve got too many people that are nothing more than a burden.’”

  Packard sat staring at his aide, shock and horror on his face.

  “How many people is he planning on leaving behind?” He finally asked.

  “Unclear, sir. However, based on intercepts it appears that anyone not of pure Russian heritage will be left to fend for themselves. That’s the first cut. After that, they seem to be prioritizing scientists, engineers and doctors. The result will be a population not unlike what we’ve gamed out in the War College.”

  Packard nodded, slowly smoking his cigarette.

  “Save the people that can perpetuate your society. A spot on the lifeboat is based on your value to the larger group,” the Admiral said, understanding what West was telling him. “What about the service sector? Mechanics, maids, cooks, laborers; that sort of thing?”

  “I had a long conversation with our senior intel people last night, sir. They are of the unanimous opinion that was the purpose behind the attempted land invasion of Hawaii. The Russians intended to capture our civilians and force them to fill these roles. In their eyes, nothing would be more prestigious than having American citizens cooking their food, cleaning their toilets and mowing their lawns.”

  “What’s their plan now that the invasion is defunct? Do they have enough assets to mount another attempt?” Packard asked.

  “No, sir. Not a successful one, at any rate. They would have to be willing to accept heavy losses which would degrade them to the point of no return. Again, after discussing this topic with intel, we are of the consensus that the current plan is to starve us out.

  “We have roughly a million people here in the islands. We’re getting by for the moment, but very soon the cupboard is going to be bare. As you know, we had plans to make supply raids into CONUS as well as restarting much of the agriculture in California’s central valley. That would be more than capable of meeting our needs. In fact, estimates were that we would have plenty of excess to use as a trading commodity with Australia. But, the Russians have successfully cut off our access. That, of course, no longer matters now that we are facing a planetary blight because of the virus, but the Russians don’t know that. Yet. They’re working on the assumption that when we get hungry enough, people will be lining up to come to work for them.”

  “So, if we move all our people to Phoenix, we’ll have most of what’s remaining of the Russian military only a few hundred miles away. We already expected to have to fight another war when they figure out what’s happening to the planet, but this is going to be worse than I thought.”

  “Agreed, sir,” Captain West said. “But, we have time to prepare, if we can get our people moved. There are still significant quantities of materiel within CONUS that we can use. Many of our civilians will volunteer to be trained and fight. And, I do not believe the Russians will bomb the city. They need the infrastructure intact, or there’s not much point in fighting for it. I think we’re going to be looking at a major land battle in the deserts between LA and Phoenix.”

  “Did you put together estimates on what we have available in CONUS, as well as the personnel we’re going to need?” Packard asked, lighting his third cigarette.

  “Yes, sir. It’s in the conference room in my briefing folder. But, I have an alternative suggestion.”

  “Do tell, Captain.”

  “Well, sir. We haven’t met her, but this has to do with the Russian GRU agent that’s with Major Chase. Captain Irina Vostov.”

  “What can she do?” The Admiral asked in surprise. “Her uncle was the power in Russia, and his role was discovered. I’ve no doubt that Barinov had him drawn and quartered.”

  “Not entirely accurate, sir,” West said. “That was our initial belief. Firing squad was our assumption, but we did believe he had been executed. In my discussion with intel, they dropped a little nugget on me. Fleet Admiral Shevchenko, Captain Vostov’s uncle, is still alive and being held in Detention Camp 7 in Siberia.”

  “If we get our hands on him, would the Russian commanders follow his orders?” Packard asked.

  “Not if Barinov is alive, no sir. But, if we can take Barinov out and release Admiral Shevchenko, the odds are good. Especially if he has an offer in hand when he talks to them.”

  “What offer would that be, Captain?”

  “We share with the Russians. Allow them to move into the Phoenix metro area with us. There’s enough land and water to accommodate food production for millions of people. Things will be cramped, but new houses can be built.”

  Packard stared at his aide in silence. His initial reaction was to flatly refuse the suggestion, but he’d been around too long to quickly dismiss any idea, no matter how repulsive it was. West saw his hesitation and continued.

  “Sir, I don’t like the idea, either. And, it’s going to take some convincing to get the people to go along with it. But, we must remember one thing. It was not the Russian people who did this to us. It was a madman, and his sycophants, who were in control of their country. We can dictate who is allowed in, and I believe that Admiral Shevchenko would have a vested interest in excluding anyone who supported Barinov.”

  “You’re trying to tell me we don’t have any other options, aren’t you, Captain?” Packard asked, staring at his hand as he rolled an unlit cigarette between his fingers.

  “Sir, there are options. We can fight. And very likely lose tens, if not hundreds of thousands of people. But, we’re dwindling fast, sir. One of the reports in my briefing folder pro
vides details on the demographics of the surviving population of America. Less than thirty percent are of childbearing age. That’s less than three hundred thousand people, and unfortunately, the numbers are skewed against us. Of that group, sixty-one percent are male.

  “Even without fighting another war, or the effects of the coming blight, we are going to lose a significant portion of our people over the next one to two decades to disease and old age. And, if we were to keep fighting, the majority of those who will die on the battlefield fall within the age group that should be home making babies. We cannot sustain ongoing conflict if the human race, well, the American part of the human race, is to survive, sir.”

  “Make love, not war? Is that it, Captain?” Packard asked with a sardonic grin.

  “Your words, not mine, sir,” West said, chuckling.

  “Taking out Barinov without starting a shooting war with Australia will be very difficult,” Packard said.

  “Perhaps, sir. But, perhaps not. After the incident in Sydney where their PM ordered the military to stand down while Barinov executed our SEALs, there are some fractures appearing. He has lost the confidence of almost all his senior commanders, and as word spread, well over ten thousand troops are refusing to leave their barracks.

  “Barinov is currently the power in that country, and only because he supposedly has his thumb on the trigger to release the nerve agent in all of their major cities. The PM is weak. He wasn’t popular before all of this, and I believe that if we could take Barinov out without the nerve gas being deployed, there is enough anger and disillusionment amongst the Australian senior officers for them to seize power. At the very least, they wouldn’t follow the PM’s orders. Ideally, they take control until elections can be held.”