In Russia, the leaders were separated according to historical roles and then transported to Mount Yamantau in the Ural Mountains of Bashkortostan.
However, certain key military and a select few wealthy individuals, along with parts of their families, were being moved to other facilities deep underground. There were a number of pre-defined shelters in strategic locations, and the people were being moved primarily according to which facility they would be able to reach within nine hours, which was the expected amount of time it was going to take The Wave to hit Earth.
In other countries, where such complex relationships were present at these highest of levels, the Elite began to move to pre-determined bunkers or arks. That these were sometimes oddly placed, and even blatant, was not a concern to the scores of these fortunate people. Their birthright gave them the privilege to survive, in the most comfortable fashion possible, and to emerge from catastrophe as rulers. This was how it had been for centuries, and there was no cause for them to think that this would be any different a situation.
Of course, they were completely wrong about that supposition.
*****
BUCKSPORT, MAINE
The General was being chased by Satan, and … Jesus? How was this possible? He ran, but his legs felt encased in lead, his arms in concrete, his breathing ragged and gasped. His heart palpated, sweat and blood were pouring from his eyes, nose, mouth, and ears. He yelled and pleaded, but Satan and Jesus were each holding one of his legs, and lowering him into molten lava. The heat burned off his stringy white hair and blistered his scalp. The skin began to turn red and then peeled off in blackened strips that burned as they fell into the lava.
He was screaming as they lowered him into the fiery pit, knowing there would be no mercy for all of the deeds he had committed during his life. He begged, and pleaded, to no avail.
His tongue burned off and he felt his lips char off his face, his eyes popping from the heat, as his teeth exploded like popcorn in his gaping mouth. The flesh burned off, all that was left of him was a skull. His head burst as his brains were incinerated by the heat. Satan and Jesus were laughing at him, together. They pointed and hugged each other, tears of laughter running down their faces. Jesus gave Satan a high-five, the blood from the nail wounds in his hands staining Satan’s palm. Jesus’ hands smoldered with brimstone and fire.
The General’s final sight was of Satan’s red eyes, blinking at him.
He awoke to the sight and sound of his blood pressure monitor alarms. The dual red lights flashed on and off, rhythmically imitating the satanic eyes from his dreams. He had dislodged the sphygmomanometer cuff as he tossed and turned from his nightmare.
His daughter stood watching him in the corner. Her manner was distant and cool, but she felt obligated to attend his death. He would not have understood her reasoning, but she had not offered any explanation in any event.
He lay there, sweating, his heart pounding and his head hurting from a constant throbbing ache between his eyes. The General knew he did not have much longer to live.
*****
SOMALIA, AFRICA –
N’yala and Amadu were eating some wildebeest steaks.
He was enjoying the taste, in spite of the awkward revelation from his daughter.
Amadu had been sure she had been killed during the Rwanda Genocide. He had been separated from his family, and as he was being taken away, he heard the screams from his wife and oldest daughter. He had taken a chance to break free, and ran to help them, but was clubbed to the ground. He saw a woman hack off his wife’s head before he was beaten unconscious. When he came to, it was several days later, and he was in a United Nations field hospital.
Amadu then was transported to Johannesburg, South Africa. From there he was flown to London. Eventually he returned to the United States and settled in Norfolk.
Amadu had no reason to doubt all his family had been slaughtered. No one had ever heard from any one of them again, until now. He wept silently, remembering the feeling of helplessness and shame. He had wanted to kill himself at the time but found strength in aiding the sick and infirm.
Now, Amadu looked at his daughter. She was almost forty-two or three years old, as near as he could calculate. N’yala was beautiful, in the way that a diamond or bar of gold is. But there was an icy cold to her demeanor. She constantly watched with wary eyes, and her movements were measured and never rushed. N’yala seemed very poised, but there was a definite energy about her. The other men in the room had immediately jumped to her commands, and Amadu had been given clean clothes and accompanied to a bathroom by a man with a gun. The man left him alone in the bathroom. He inspected it casually and noted that there was a toilet, a lavatory, and a bucket of water on the floor with towels and a wash rag next to a small enclosed shower stall. There was a little container of soap. Amadu disrobed, and took off his shoes. He used the toilet and then showered. When he emerged, he found a man with a gun and some toiletries. Amadu walked over to look into a broken mirror that had blood stains on it. He shaved under the watchful eye of the guard.
He opened a small tin of cleansing powder and brushed his teeth. He dried his hair with a towel and got dressed. Small sandals were put out for his use, but he found they did not fit correctly, and donned his shoes, sans socks. “You eat now,” the man with the gun had told him. “Come.” The man gestured, not exactly in a threatening manner, but certainly vividly enough with the gun barrel to indicate that Amadu should not loiter overly long.
Amadu sat down to a table that was laden with ripe fruits and had a haunch of roasted meat on it. N’yala entered from an adjacent space and sat down. A pitcher of some sweetish juice was brought, and glasses filled. There was a full set of ornate utensils carved from wood and wooden plates. The meat smelled fantastic. On the platter next to it was a very large, sharp knife with the handle carved into the shape of a snake’s head. They had begun to eat, and he was astonished to find out he had an enormous appetite. They ate in silence for almost thirty minutes.
“Sophia,” he began, but she interrupted him. “My name is N’yala, Father,” she said in a voice that dripped with her scorn for him. “Remember it well.” “You are my daughter, no? “ he started. “Shall I call you only by the name you have chosen for yourself, I will remember nothing.” “I am N’yala,” she repeated. “You must know that I did not know you were still alive,” he said. “You never tried to find us,” said N’yala. “That is not the truth. You know that,” he said.
“Why are you here?” she asked him. “I am part of a mission to save the children of nearby villages,” he told her. “I was with a group of doctors who have come to share their expertise and skills to make the lives of these children bearable,” he said. He took a sip of the sweetish drink and swallowed it. He was trying to decide what he needed to tell her to get her to remember how he was. He had always been a devoted father to his children.
“Lies!” she suddenly screamed. She moved swiftly, and the movement startled Amadu so that, as he set the glass down, it fell from the table.
Before it could hit the floor, N’yala had snatched it from mid-air. Not a drop had been spilled. She set the glass on the table in front of him.
“Know this, Father,” she spat at him. “I am queen of this region, and my men will do anything I ask. You abandoned me as a child. I watched men rape my mother and sisters and kill them. Why I was spared was something that tormented me for many years until I found my purpose. And my purpose was revenge!” She was snarling like a jungle cat, and her anger was palpable. She did not lose her composure, however. N’yala was angry, but in her rage she exhibited such disdain for him he was repulsed.
Amadu was wondering what he should do next when she abruptly left the dining area. He heard her tell three of the men that he was to be fed and then taken to a sleeping tent. Amadu finished his dinner alone. When he was done, he got up and walked out to the waiting men. They escorted him to the tent, and he lay down on a cot. He fell instantly asleep.
****
*
NEAR THE 6950TH GUARDS AIR BASE (FORMERLY 22ND GUARDS HEAVY-BOMBER DIVISION) IN ENGELS (SARATOV OBLAST) – TWELVE HOURS BEFORE WAVE IMPACT
Major Anton Golovonov was orbiting Karaginsky Island at an altitude of 8,000 meters. His Blackjack bomber was configured for slow flight, and he was waiting to rendezvous with an IL-78M Midas. He was going to take on almost 225,000 pounds of fuel and then head across the Bering Straits with the rest of the attack force.
His radar officer reported contact with the tanker, and Golovonov ordered his co-pilot to attain FL350 in preparation for the refueling operation. As the Tu-160 climbed to 35,000 feet, the Major reviewed the current orders. He was puzzled by the tactical need to position his attack group so close to the North Early Warning radars in the Alaskan peninsula and specifically Elmendorf AFB, where there two squadrons of F-22 interceptors.
He knew that the 525th and 90th Fighter squadrons comprised over 60 aircraft at Elmendorf. He thought that were most likely on full alert and loaded for bear.
Golovonov smiled inwardly at his little joke. As his bomber rose to meet the tanker, he considered that he would not be happy at all to meet even one of those planes in a combat situation. Although his particular squadron was equipped with a novel set of electronic jammers, nicknamed “Romulan Cloaking Device” by the US pilots, he harbored no illusions as to their chances once they entered hostile air space and commenced their attack. Even using the stand-off capability of the Kh-102’s he carried, they might not be able to escape.
Four other bombers in the squadron accompanied him as he took command of his aircraft at 35,000 feet and entered the refueling pattern below and behind the tanker. Two of the bombers flanked his left wing, and two flew off his right wing. They kept a precision alignment as they followed alongside. It was a matter of pride that his pilots were always on time, and only stayed in the pattern the minimum amount of time possible.
He contacted the pilot and technician on the tanker, which floated like a huge silver whale above him. The four D-30 KP dual-turbofan engines produced no contrail exhausts, and he had a clear view of the drogue target as the hose snaked down from above his flight line. He carefully guided the mating probe into the basket, where it was clamped down. The fuel lines were opened, and the transfer of fuel began. The co-pilot intoned the amount loaded onto the bomber in 500-kilo increments. When they had reached 100,000 kilos, the transfer was halted, and the drogue detached. The probe retracted into the bomber, and the tanker banked South.
Major Golovonov and his squadron continued to head East, on a Great Circle route that would end up positioning them just outside of the ADIZ in Northern Alaska. The bombers were fully fueled, fully armed, and ready to destroy.
The Major thought absently that he was flying in an anachronism. Ballistic missiles had ostensibly made nuclear bombers obsolete, but the advent of stealth technologies had breathed new life into the concept of manned attacks aircraft. The supersonic nature of the Blackjack made it very thirsty with regards for fuel. But it had the advantage of an attack profile that was almost impossible to detect or defend against. A slow flight along the attack vector, a sudden descent for a nap-of-the-earth approach and the ability to pop-up and fire their payload, going supersonic for their escape or to attack another target of opportunity provided a tremendous advantage tactically. Additionally, this particular Tu-160 could defend itself, using an internal weapons bay stocked with six R-77/RVV-AE (NATO codenamed the AA-12 Adder) air-to-air missiles. It had defensive chaff and flare launchers, and an electronic pinger for disabling incoming radar-guided missiles. And, of course, the Cloak.
The squadron climbed to 45,000 feet and continued to fly East. By maintaining their current airspeed of 490 knots IAS, they would be in attack position in just under three hours.
Golovonov was just acclimating to the voyage when a scrambled message was received.
He began to read the transcribed message and then swore out loud. “All pilots, this is Major Golovonov. Return to base. I repeat, return to base. Mission aborted. I say again, mission aborted.”
The Major looked at his co-pilot, who merely shrugged. Now, they had a full load of fuel with which to contend. They could dump it or fly around for several hours around the base until it was used up. They could not land with the current load, as they were configured for flight parameters.
“Sergei,” asked the Major with an evil smile, “how would you like to buzz North Korea?”
*****
SOMEWHERE UNDER THE PACIFIC OCEAN – NEAR BEIJING, CHINA
“Skipper, you care to let me know what we are doing off the coast of China?” his Executive Officer whispered. Jonesy was looking at him through his tinted glasses, and his brown eyes were wide with expectation. “You saw the message. This is the place. Right?” said the Captain, quietly. They both burst out laughing, and the Captain said, in a normal tone of voice, “What’s bothering you?” “It’s a bit out of our bailiwick to just sit and wait. I don’t think it’s sitting well with the crew, you know?” said the XO. The Captain just shrugged and looked at a monitor that showed depth, ocean temperature, and pressure readings.
The XO sipped carefully at his coffee mug. It had a picture of a submarine with empty missile bays on the surface of the ocean. Underneath it were the words “24 Empty Missile Tubes, and Mushroom Cloud. Now it’s Miller time!” It was definitely black humor at its finest.
Jonesy would never understand why most of his crew mates thought he was a little crazy, thought the Captain. The smell of the coffee reminded the Captain he needed to visit the head, and he excused himself before he needed to explain his answer to the XO. The XO followed him with his eyes and watched as the Captain ducked into the hallway.
“Jonesy, you should know better than to ask the Captain a loaded question like that, “ said the Navigator. Specks was a thin, pale man, about thirty-four years old. He had joined the Navy and gotten bitten by the bug, and qualified to be a navigator on a boomer. “There is something fishy going on here, though” he continued. “Normally, we would be just cruising on by here, and not parked.” “I am not overly fond of being a parked submarine,” said the XO. “You rather want we should be in a race or something?” asked Specks. It was an old joke, and Jonesy rolled his eyes. “Oh, brother,” he said. “Where art thou?” finished Specks. They chuckled at their shared wit, but the tension they felt really was not relieved.
That they were in this part of their cruising pattern was not unusual for them. But, the fact that they had been here for over three days was becoming a bit disconcerting. There was very little chance they would be discovered. The sub could sit there until they needed air, which was not likely for several weeks. It would get nasty and stinky inside, but they had done it before. The experience really was very boring, and the crew was not enjoying it. They were locked down for silent running, but the acoustic dampening for the launch tubes and electronic white noise generators eliminated any need to be very quiet. True, machine sounds or loud noise was to be avoided, but the insulative properties of the anti-sonar coatings on the sub’s outer and inner hulls mitigated most transient noises.
A few of the men played cards or video games. Some slept, which was an unexpected luxury when their shift was ended, as the sub being parked allowed time for several of the crew to be off-duty.
He Captain returned, and informed the XO and Navigator that they would need to raise the sub to just below the surface to receive an ELF transmission, and also a blue-laser transmission shortly thereafter.
When he heard that, the XO gulped. The Navigator looked at him, and all sense of humor had left his face.
*****
THE FIRST ARK
For much of human history, the primary method for maintaining control of the populace was through the use of designed warfare, planned famine and disease epidemics, and the profiting from providing both the causes and cures of such ills of the human race. A select group of individuals and their families combined their resources and used
this strategic advantage to engineer methods of assuring their supremacy.
As the years passed, these individuals colluded and schemed to amass the production centers, transportation mechanisms, and bureaucratic organizations necessary to dominate world economic activity.
Wherever profit could be made, these Elite were the ones who made the rules. Their iron-fisted command of their environment allowed them to create a series of structures that appeared to be at odds, but in reality were all part of a vastly larger mechanism to use the talents and labor of the planet’s inhabitants to meet their own ends.
Missions, crusades, wars, pogroms, campaigns and many other ‘reasons’ to create conflict were seeded over the centuries and finally began to bear very abundant fruit. With the advent of the Industrial Age, not only were the weapons of war able to be created with devastatingly more efficiency, but they could be deployed faster and more decisively.
The Royal conflicts of Europe, the feudal realms in Japan, and the Empires in China all yielded but one ultimate result – consolidation of the resources of the planet into the hands of a very few select. More creative methods of distraction were invented to assure the secrecy of their plans. Organizations were given pseudo-secret rituals and encouraged to invite the professional and socially connected members to their ranks. Religious orders were conceived whereby the compassion of ordinary people could be developed and utilized against them. The masses were trained to obey, to not think, and to follow orders as given by their ‘betters’. This was inculcated into their children, almost from birth. The advent of public education served to indoctrinate the children with the belief system convenient to geographic location, which also provided the mechanism to breed nationalistic influences into the societies.
As war followed war, more of the resources were annexed, catalogued, and made ready for use in novel ways. Technology soon became the next phase of Industrialization, and the use of automated processes for increased efficiency in production was a direct result.
Terminal Reset Omnibus: The Coming of The Wave Page 9
