by S. Ganley
The Dead Don’t Bleed:
Part 2: The Aftermath
By S. Ganley
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The Dead Don’t Bleed Series:
Part 1: The Outbreak
The Infected Series
Part 1: The Infected
Part 2: Gerald’s War
Part 3: Rise of the Zombies
S. Ganley
The Dead Don’t Bleed Series
© 2013, S.Ganley
[email protected]
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 1
"Attention unidentified aircraft. This is US Navy Hornet flight of two, Lieutenant Chapman commanding. You are entering a quarantine restricted zone and are instructed to turn back immediately." Lt. Alan "Crusher" Chapman forcefully called out over the aviation guard frequency monitored by all aircraft.
Lt. Chapman's squadron had been on maneuvers aboard the USS Abraham Lincoln a hundred miles off the coast of Virginia, out from their home port of Norfolk, when the world had suddenly went to shit in the face of a zombie holocaust. Their workups were in preparation for immediate deployment off the coast of Syria to support military action against government forces in that country suspected of using chemical weapons on civilians. They had been due to set sail for the region at the end of the week, following three days of drills and another two in port for resupply. Unfortunately only a little over half of his squadron had been aboard ship when the outbreak started, the rest, including the squadron commander, had been on shore leave or temporarily assigned administrative duties in port preparing for their deployment. It was unfortunate that they were shorthanded but on the bright side, being a hundred miles out to sea at the time of the outbreak kept the rest of the crew free from contact with the virus. Their task force consisted of the Abraham Lincoln aircraft carrier, the USS Seawolf, a nuclear powered hunter killer submarine, one destroyer and two frigates. Not exactly a full complement for a carrier task force, but for the training they had been doing it was sufficient. The entire task force had been directed to steam at best possible speed to a location just off the coast of Cuba and begin providing immediate blockade support for the quarantine zone around the island nation. Upon arrival they had immediately been reassigned under the command of Naval Station Guantanamo Bay and tasked with enforcing the outer perimeter around the island and its territories. They had been briefed that the overall worldwide situation was desperate and that Cuba was the last known virus free chunk of land. There orders were to ensure that it stayed that way using any and all means at their disposal.
This was Crusher's second turn at combat air patrol along the outer edges of the fifty mile exclusion zone surrounding Cuba. He was flying one of the Navy's best carrier launched aircraft, the super modern F/A 18E Super Hornet. He had been excited about their upcoming deployment to Syria because the entire squadron had been upgraded from their F/A 18C model of aircraft. It was to be the first time he would have the chance to fly one of the most advanced carrier based aircraft in the world in a combat situation. However, instead of legitimate combat against possible Migs and ground based SAM's, him and his wingman were now staring down their sights at an unarmed civilian Boeing 727.
Flying on his wing for her first actual deployment was one of only three female naval aviators rated to pilot the F/A 18, Ltjg. Olivia "Huntress" Frostburg. An intense and all business pilot she had joined the squadron only a couple weeks prior to their planned deployment and this would have been her first combat cruise. Crusher liked the young pilot as a person, she had already proved herself in his eyes by standing up to some of the other pilots when they started cracking jokes about her real assets within the squadron to be in a recreational sense. While sexual harassment was strictly forbidden in all branches of the armed forces, at least on paper, there was not a single female soldier, sailor or airman who was still not subjected to some form of it. In the male dominated business of warfare, it was more of a rite of passage than anything else. If you couldn't take the heat, you didn't belong in the kitchen was the unofficial doctrine that commanders were known to pass down to their subordinates during off the record discussions of the subject. Short as they were on pilots, Crusher had assigned her to fly as his wingman to start getting her as comfortable with their mission as possible. The constant rotation of combat air patrol on a round the clock basis did not afford him the luxury of picking and choosing only the most experienced pilots. He needed every single pilot ready and able to fly at all times.
This was going to make the third encounter that any of their flights had with aircraft attempting to enter the exclusion zone. One of those had been a civilian airliner out of the Bahama's who chose to follow the warnings to stay clear and turned back towards the Florida coastline. The other flight had been intercepted early that same morning by the patrol they had relieved. A privately owned Gulfstream originating out of Georgia had attempted to makes it way to the International Airport in the capital city of Havana. The plane had been intercepted well before it crossed the fifty mile mark and ordered to turn away. The pilot had begged and pleaded with the patrol. He informed them that he had a full load of 14 passengers, some of whom were sick and in need of medical attention including five children. When his request to enter the zone was repeatedly denied he tried a more aggressive tactic. Diving low, he put his plane at a dangerously low altitude just over the waves below. It was a gutsy move but one that ultimately proved useless in defeating the advanced sensors aboard the Hornet’s pursuing him. When he reached a point ten miles shy of breaching the fifty mile mark, the lead Hornet gave him one final warning and then moved into firing position directly behind and a little above his plane. The pilot realized that the fighters were not going to relent to his continuing pleas and in a final act of desperation tried to ditch the plane in the ocean before the Hornet could fire. Anticipating that move the lead Hornet had blown the jet out of the sky as soon as it started dropping speed and altitude for a water landing. Their orders had covered just such a scenario. Attempts by aircraft to ditch within or close to the exclusion zone were to be seen as a hostile act and dealt with accordingly. This was to prevent any survivors of a water landing from possibly reaching shore somewhere along the coastline of Cuba. It would take only a single infected straggler making it to land anywhere on the island to doom the entire population, no chances were being taken of that happening.
They had been tracking this particular aircraft for the last forty minutes. Land based long range radar had picked the plane up moments after it lifted off from an air field near the capital city of Mexico. Crusher's patrol had been vectored to a point twenty five miles past the edge of the exclusion zone on an intercept course when radar confirmed the flight path of the aircraft was in lin
e with a possible attempt to reach the airport in Havana. When the aircraft came into visual range he had directed his wingman to take a path off to the right of the intruder while he passed close to its left. A close flyby from two armed fighter jets was one of the best methods of ensuring they had the pilots’ complete and undivided attention. Completing their pass and announcing their presence, Crusher pulled up alongside the cockpit on one side while instructing Huntress to hang back and monitor their flight from behind in case the plane decided to try ramming him or taking other aggressive action.
"I repeat. Unidentified Boeing 727, this is US Navy Falcon flight off your port side. You are ordered to turn back immediately, do you copy?"
He could see motion in the cockpit of the airplane and there was no doubt that the pilot could see him, they were probably discussing just how they wanted to reply. The only reason for a discussion like that would be that they were probably not intending on turning back and would try and argue their way past him. An aircraft of that size could be carrying up to 180 passengers, or even more if they squeezed them into the aisles and doubled up on seats. The thought of being responsible for so many deaths was not a proposition he relished, but the alternative of allowing them to get through to Cuba was even worse. Close to eleven million Cubans along with 45,000 American service members now resided on that tiny island. Not to mention the handful of scientific staff evacuated from the United States that represented the last hope of finding some way of beating the infection. If it took sacrificing this small number of helpless souls in order to ensure the continued survival of the human race, then so be it.
A crackle of static was followed by a reply in heavily accented English, "American Navy fighter plane. This is Mexican Zulu Tango one carrying the President of Mexico, his family and assorted cabinet members. We are a diplomatic flight and request immediate clearance for landing in Havana."
The voice was calm but terse, clearly someone who thought they would be able to use the diplomatic card and presence of high level officials to get their way. But, he did have a point, if a head of state such as the Mexican President was on board, it might be a good idea to get further instructions from his own chain of command.
"Mexican Zulu Tango one this is Navy Flight lead, stand by."
Crusher switched to the dedicated frequency for the carrier's control room, "Guntrain this is Champion 56."
"Champion 56 this is Guntrain, stand by for actual." Came the reply. Guntrain was the call sign assigned to the Abraham Lincoln for this mission. It had actually been the original call sign for the USS Independence during World War II. The skipper was a big history buff and it was not unheard of for him to pluck such historic talisman for use by his own task force. Since the radio operator told him to stand by for actual, what he meant was that the skipper himself was the one who was about to pick up the line. This was something highly unusual, the Captain of an aircraft carrier and in this case an aircraft carrier battle group, would not often bother himself with taking the time to be involved in something as routine as their combat air patrol. The CAG, or commander of the air group, was the man Crusher would have expected to be talking to. He hoped that by deciding to call in on this particular mission he hadn't pushed the wrong buttons and managed to get himself into hot water. His orders had been clear about dealing with any aircraft or vessel attempting to enter the zone, there had been no leeway built into those instructions for contacting the ship for any further clarification. He didn't have long to wait to ponder the possibilities.
"Champion 56, this is Guntrain actual. Crusher, are you there?" He'd had the opportunity to have exactly two conversations with the old man since being assigned to the Lincoln, each time he had been cold and professional. Crusher was now sensing something close to compassion in his voice over the radio.
"Guntrain actual, roger, go ahead sir." He replied.
"Son, listen up. We've been monitoring your situation and the comms between you and the bogey. I want you to know that we have confirmation with the aircraft ID as well as call sign that you more than likely do have the President of Mexico on board that aircraft. But, I want to also make myself perfectly clear on this, I don't give a shit if the Pope himself were on board. That aircraft is to be ordered to turn back. If it refuses and continues to approach the line, your orders stand." The skipper paused for a moment there, probably to let that sink in a little. "Crusher, I understand it’s a shit job, none of you guys want to be the ones to put a sidewinder into a civilian aircraft, and it goes against every bit of your training. However, you know the alternative, head of state or not, if they get on the ground in Cuba, its game over for all of us." He had not been expecting a pep talk like this from the man himself. But even with the soft edge to his voice and carefully chosen words, the message was clear, he was to follow his orders as they had been given to him without exception. He knew that there was only a single correct response in this situation.
"Yes sir."
"Good man, we will continue to monitor on this end. God speed. Guntrain actual out."
The click of the radio signaled the end of the conversation and Crusher busied himself for the next few seconds double checking his instrument readouts and ensuring that when he reestablished contact with the airliner that his own voice would be firm and even. He was not about to allow everyone monitoring the airwaves to detect even the slighter waiver in his tone.
"Mexican Zulu Tango on this is Navy Flight lead. You are instructed to alter course immediately. Any further attempt to violate the exclusion zone and you will be fired upon." He didn't feel the need to check for clarification from the pilot. He was not out there to ask them anything, his job was to tell them what to do.
His radar showed that they had less than four minutes before hitting the outer edge of the zone. It would take him about a minute to slip back in line with Huntress and line up for a tandem shot. He checked again that she was in position and was pleased to note that she had maintained the optimum location to keep the civilian plane in her sights just in case they tried something reckless. This would be the time that he would expect just such a maneuver if they had the mind to do so. There was still no reply from the pilot and no indication that they were changing course, he decided to give them thirty more seconds and then ease back on the throttles to slip into position next to his wingman. The maneuver away from the cockpit to a position out of sight behind them would send another clear signal to the flight crew and hopefully one that they paid better attention to.
Twenty seconds later his radio crackled on the guard frequency and the same accented voice replied, "Navy Flight, we understand your position. My orders are to proceed on to Havana." The voice then became quieter as the pilot continued on, this time in Spanish, "En el nombre del Padre, y del Hijo, y del Espíritu Santo."
His language skills were rusty, but he knew a little Spanish and he was pretty sure that the pilot had just recited the sign of the cross. There was nothing left to be said. He glanced over towards the cockpit and saw two anxious looking faces peering back at him through the small side window. Crusher snapped of a crisp salute and nodded towards them as he eased back on his throttle and slipped back behind the fuselage of the plane.
Switching back to his squadron frequency he raised his wingman, "Ok Huntress, two minutes until they hit the red line and they are not willing to turn back. Let’s take this by the numbers. Maintain your current trajectory and spin up training sidewinders. Concentrate on the port engine, I will take out the cockpit."
Their ordinance package had been designed to conserve ammunition. The Lincoln had a supply of training missiles that they were planning to use up while going sparingly on war shots. The logic being that it was anyone’s guess when they would have an opportunity for resupply. Both of them were carrying two training sidewinders as well as two live war shots and a full load of ammunition for their 20mm Vulcan cannons. The parameters for their patrol was that unless met with aggressive aircraft they were to first expend their trainin
g rounds or cannon ammunition before resorting to the live Sidewinders. The patrol earlier that morning that had downed the Gulfstream had done so with only a double burst from his cannon. With such a small aircraft to target the Vulcan had shredded it to pieces in an instant. The much larger 727 would take several bursts of cannon fire to achieve the same results they would be able to reach with just a single practice missile fired from each of their aircraft. Economically it was the better choice and was within the parameters of his position as flight lead to make that call.
The training sidewinders were similar to the real thing in every regard except for the amount of fuel they carried and the size of the warhead that would detonate on impact with a target. In this case, distance was not an issue, they were shooting point blank and the minimal warhead was more than sufficient to bring the aircraft down with hits to one engine as well as the cockpit.
Crusher adjusted his targeting scope and the screen lit up with sidewinders selected, in seconds he was presented with a warbling tone telling him that he had a solid lock on his target. Disengaging the targeting functions he switched to manual fire mode. This would allow him to angle his shot so that the missile passed through the cockpit area instead of the hotter engine return that the computer would automatically select. Huntress would be able to continue using her targeting computer, as long as she stayed off to the rear of the port side wing her missile would impact that engine without even the slightest course correction needed at the distance they were firing. He allowed his own aircraft to drift a little higher and centered himself at a point over the back of the fuselage of his target, it would be a downward shot passing through the cockpit from a center point just behind where the pilot and copilot were sitting. For everyone on the flight deck it would end in an instant with a bright flash. The explosion of the engine would undoubtedly rip shrapnel through the body of the plane and for some passengers inside the fuselage would end their nightmare quickly. Unfortunately there would be survivors who would suffer knowing their fate for the several seconds it took the stricken plane to drop the remaining distance to the ocean below. That was just something that couldn't be helped, even firing the live sidewinders would not completely disintegrate a plane of this size in midair. No matter how they did this there would be survivors who would scream in terror all the way down to the deck.
