He sensed more than heard someone coming and melted into the jagged shadows of the rubble. Two patrolling American infantrymen passed little more than three meters away, their weapons at the ready. They were followed by three more, and he heard one of their helicopters hovering overhead. His head ached even more at its noise.
He waited until they were well past, then he again stood. As he did so, all became clear. He sat heavily, dropped his head into his hands, and wept. But he was a soldier and his enemies were near, so his sobs were silent.
Then his head pounded, not from the wound outside, but from the wound within. He remembered that there had been soldiers of his in the building, and that those soldiers had weapons. He turned and dug away at the smashed building. His rage fueled him, and he heaved bricks and boards and plaster aside in his search. His hands bled, and he knew these new wounds meant new infections. But it did not matter.
He first found an arm, disconnected from its owner. The scientist in him noted that the bacteria had spread from the severed shoulder joint all the way to the shredded fingertips on a thumbless hand. He tossed it aside, then pulled out the AK-104 the arm had once carried. There was a gouge out of the buttstock, and the chamber was dented, meaning the rifle would not fire. At first he felt a deep disappointment, but then he brightened. A few more minutes of digging yielded the owner of both the rifle and the arm, and from the corpse’s equipment belt he pulled the weapon’s bayonet.
He was panting as he locked the knife over the rifle’s barrel. Then he stood, and through the chiseling pain in his head and the throb of his other wounds, he got his bearings. He knew where the entrance to the tunnels was, and he knew that near there he could find an American. If he could kill one, he told himself, just one, then all of his efforts would be justified. He would use the knife on himself then, and die with his honor restored.
Tactical Operations Center
A battered Christine wrestled her way through a TOC tent extension’s awkward canvas door flaps and made her way through the nerve center’s organized chaos.
She looks like hell, thought Val, and she has every right to.
“That’s it, Ma’am,” Christine said, breathing out exhaustion. Even the dirt and dried blood covering her looked weary. “The last of our people are back in our assembly area in Building 14C. We have three security positions—they’re good ones, too. The engineers got the power on and some of the security lamps working again, so it’s easier to keep tabs on any hostile movement.”
“Good plan,” Val said. “Make sure you rotate two-person security teams until the infantry tells us the entire depot is clear.”
“That may be a while, Ma’am,” Christine said with tired grin. “There are still a few Russians running around loose. On our way here Sergeant Ricci found a wounded one staggering around. He didn’t have a weapon, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t others that do. Anyway, Ma’am, we grabbed him, and Sergeant Ricci’s outside handing him off to the Rangers now. But everyone’s finally out, above ground, and accounted for.”
“Including KIAs?”
“Yes, Ma’am. We’ve also recovered the bodies we couldn’t during the initial attack. We put them all in the collection point—right alongside the men the Ranger batallion lost getting here.” Christine swayed gently, but caught herself. “So when do we start hauling the munitions out, Ma’am?”
She’s thinking ahead, thought Val. A good officer always thinks ahead. Denight would be proud of her.
“We don’t, Lieutenant,” Val said. “We’ve lost too many people, especially the technical experts we need. The Rangers don’t have anyone qualified. And we’d need some of that specialized transport equipment Sergeant Stoinevy had on back order. Between the rounds that took hits, our old stuff, and especially the old Russian stuff, I bet half the inventory is unstable. So we’ll leave them alone. After the dust settles they’ll probably bring in a specialized processing unit from the States. There are a bunch in the National Guard and Reserves.”
“So it’s over, Ma’am?” Christine said.
Wolfe ended his meeting and walked up beside them.
“Just about,” said Val. “Just about. We can’t let our guard down, though.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” said Christine. “I didn’t think it was.” Christine rubbed the bridge of her nose. Val noticed that Christine was swaying again. “If there’s nothing further, then, Ma’am, I’m going to get Sergeant Ricci—it’s still not safe to move around out there alone—and get back to my people.”
“Lieutenant,” Wolfe said, looking her over, “what did our Doc say about you?”
“He didn’t say anything, Sir.” Christine answered, turning her face away.
“Because you didn’t let him check you out, did you?” Val scolded.
“Aw, Ma’am, I’m okay. I…” Her eyes rolled back in her head and she crumpled towards the floor. Wolfe caught her before she hit and gently laid her down. Minutes later a medic supervised as she was loaded onto a stretcher.
“Exhaustion, dehydration, loss of blood from several small wounds.” The Ranger brigade’s medical officer, Major ‘Bones’ Billington, ticked off Christine’s condition as his medics carried her away. “Three bruised and probably two broken ribs. First, second, and one nasty third degree burn that she bandaged herself. There are some grenade fragments in her I need to dig out. On top of the run-of-the-mill hearing loss from the tunnel fighting, minor lung scarring from hazardous chemicals, over-exposure to radiation, and probable post-traumatic stress syndrome that everyone else who was down there has. Other than that, she’ll be fine, after she spends some time in a hospital.”
“I’m going with her,” said Val.
“Give me a minute to wrap some business up,” Wolfe said, “and I’ll walk you over to the aid station.”
While she sipped cold coffee as she waited for him to finish, Val thought that they’d both been all business since she’d first come up out of the tunnels. Their heavy weights of leadership had allowed them only enough time and space for a brief hug. A few minutes alone with him, even on the way to visit the wounded, would be a few minutes of safety, a few minutes away from the pressures of command.
Wolfe buckled his helmet’s chinstrap. “Going my way, GI?”
“Sure, soldier,” Val replied, slinging her rifle over her shoulder. “Say, you’re new around here, aren’t you?”
~*~
They made their way out of the TOC, then past the security checkpoint and the protective ring of laced concertina barbed wire. The whine of the TOC’s generators was quickly behind them, and soon the only sound was the crunch of gravel beneath their boots. Some security lamps had survived the Russian assaults, and at irregular intervals they cast their lights on rubble-strewn streets and ruined buildings. The alternating pools of light and dark reminded Val of the tunnels below, and she shivered.
Wolfe stopped just outside security lamp’s glow and turned to her.
“Cold?”
“A little.”
“Scared?”
“I was.”
“Of?
“Of not being able to handle it. Of making mistakes. Of that Dimonokov jerk—for a while. Of not getting to see you again.”
He reached up and gently stroked her face. Her helmet’s chinstrap got in the way. Grinning, he popped the buckle on it, gently lifted her helmet from her head, and unceremoniously dropped it to the ground. He repeated the routine with his own. Then he pulled her to him.
In his arms her walls came down. Val cried.
~*~
His hate and rage rose when he saw them spotlighted near the lamp’s glow. After his dream had been destroyed, after his father’s legacy had drained away in the tunnels below, the two Americans were embracing! Although one of his eyes was swollen almost shut, he believed at least one was a woman. That would make it that much easier, and that much more rewarding. He quickened his stride, and though his wounds screamed with pain he picked up speed, finally leveling the rifl
e and bayonet at the pair and breaking into a dead run. His throat was so parched it had almost closed, but with first a cough, then a hoarse whisper, Viktor Dimonokov finally let loose the “One Will!” roar of the Special Security.
~*~
Val saw him as the guttural yell came out and spun Wolfe around. She wrestled her rifle off her shoulder, and having seen the bayonet on Dimonokov’s weapon she reached—almost by instinct—to pull her own from its scabbard.
Wolfe didn’t bother. Dimonokov was less than five yards away when Wolfe yanked his 9mm pistol from its holster and leveled it at the charging Russian. The handgun barked once, Val’s rifle twice, the bullets sinking into Dimonokov’s chest. Momentum carried him forward, his bayonet ripping Wolfe’s jacket as the blade passed. Dimonokov collapsed into the dirt. Like a machine, Wolfe whirled and put one round into the back of Dimonokov’s head. Then he squatted by the corpse and rolled him over.
“It’s Dimonokov,” Val said. “Sweet Jesus. I thought he was already dead. I thought it was over.”
Wolfe stood and moved close to her.
“It is now.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Level 2, “The basement”
Infernesk Munitions Depot
“Back it up,” the sergeant yelled over the forklift’s noise. “Back it up, a little more—good. Hold it there. Okay, good. Now let’s get this conveyer going again.”
“You sure, sergeant? This thing looks pretty ragged.”
Activated from the Kentucky Army National Guard and flown to Russia, the 2334th Ordnance Maintenance Company (Nuclear/Chemical) replaced en masse the exhausted Infernesk garrison. The work was hot, dirty, and dangerous. But Russia was certainly a long way from the Blue Grass Army Depot in Kentucky, and there was more than enough local beer to make the trip worthwhile. There even might be extra time to drink it, if they pressed this equipment just a little harder. The forklift’s engine noise, amplified in the tunnels’ close quarters, did little to help the sergeant’s hangover.
“Just crank it up and let’s go. Using that old Russian equipment will get us out of here that much quicker.”
“But the Cap’n said not to...”
“It’s all loaded up, now get these silver bullets moving topside! This place gives me the creeps!”
The private first class shrugged and threw a switch. The aging Russian conveyor, loaded with a mix of the most unstable nuclear and chemical rounds—for those were to be evacuated first—groaned under the weight. Then it screeched as gearing stripped and sheared. The long line of munitions lurched backwards. Rusted, overloaded steel supports failed and snapped, sending the load tumbling in an avalanche of breaking containers. The sergeant was crushed by a stack of two dozen eight-inch nuclear artillery shells. The private first class died when he inhaled mustard gas spewing from five twenty-year-old rounds that cracked open.
In the ensuing panic, no one thought to stop the lower level conveyors from sending the rounds up. On levels above and below, equipment ran until it, too, collapsed, sending crates and containers tumbling. Sparks turned to flames as enriched uranium, blood agent, plutonium, sarin, nerve gas, and an unfought war’s worth of explosives blended into a roaring hell’s brew. Chemical Agent alarms sounded. Radiation exposure badges turned from green to red.
In nearby Infernesk village, the townspeople were surprised to hear the depot’s sirens wail.
Chapter Twenty-Two
TOP SECRET
NOFORN—NO FOREIGN RELEASE—NOFORN
MEMORANDUM FOR: CDR, US Army Central Command (CENTCOM)
FROM: CoS (Chief of Staff) CENTCOM
SUBJECT: Summarization of special investigation findings, Infernesk Munitions Depot Nuclear/Chemical Incident investigation.
1. The purpose of this memorandum is to summarize the key points of the attached report of investigation findings concerning the accident and subsequent nuclear/chemical contamination of the underground storage area vicinity Infernesk Munitions Depot, Infernesk, Russia.
2. Civilian engineers contracted to assess the damage have determined that the depot, subterranean storage area, and surrounding villages’ farmland in an area commonly described as the Infernesk forest will be uninhabitable until radiation and chemical contamination levels subside. US Government property within the depot is considered a total loss. Given the extremely long half-life of the released fissionable materials and their dispersal over the area, civilian equipment and property within the area bordered by the circular mountain range (the Infernesk Heights) is also considered unusable. There is no indication of groundwater or aerial contamination beyond or outside the borders of the mountain range itself. Since there was no surface detonation, there is no danger of fallout contamination.
2. Radiation levels have prohibited close-in monitoring of chemical contamination. However, no significant levels of chemical agents have been detected in surrounding areas. The most likely circumstance is that the agents, being heavier than air, have sunk to pockets within the underground storage area.
3. Twenty-seven (27) soldiers from the 2334th Ordnance company suffered fatal doses of radiation, chemical agents, or both. Sixty-two (62) others received smaller doses and are long-term hospital cases. Nineteen (19) soldiers remain missing and are presumed dead. Tests of nearby civilians indicate above-normal radiation in eighty-two (82) cases, but no ill effects are anticipated.
4. Discussions with CENTCOM Staff Judge Advocate (SJA) indicate that pecuniary liability for the loss of equipment, personnel, and facilities—to include payments to individuals—will be nearly impossible to fix. SJA CENTCOM has recommended that Department of State coordinate with the host nation equivalent of the Department of the Interior for equal division of such payments. This coordination is underway, and is no longer a VII Corps or CENTCOM action. Extended civilian litigation with the governments and armed forces of the United States, Russia, the members of the Commonwealth of Independent States, and a variety of US and Russian civilian firms and defendants is anticipated. SJA believes, however, that this litigation will not compromise the CENTCOM mission.
5. CENTCOM can anticipate short-term requirements to maintain the cordon around the area to prevent accidental trespass. Hand-off of this responsibility to Russian forces is anticipated within 180 days. A universally recognizable permanent marker system, one that will remain viable for the several generations it will take the radioactive materials to decay to safe thresholds, is under development…
TOP SECRET
Chapter Twenty-Three
US Army Hospital Facility
Frankfurt
Federal Republic of Germany
Overhead the ceiling fan let out a rhythmic, sleep-inducing hum. Christine put down her Army Times.
Not a single line, not a word, about what went on at the depot. Nothing. What did it take to get people to learn and remember?
Oh well. What the hell.
She looked around the room.
Forget this place, I’ve got work to do.
She got up and pulled her battle dress uniform from the closet, shedding her hospital pajamas and leaving them in a pile on the floor. Christine dressed quickly, then washed her face and brushed her hair, carefully pinning it back so it conformed to regulations. As she threw her belongings into her rucksack, inspiration hit her. Quickly she made the bed and straightened the room. As she left, she pulled the small card with her name on it out of its bracket on the door. She wadded the card and stuffed it into a pocket in her battledress trousers. The medical chart she’d taken from the end of her bed found its way beneath a foot-high stack of patient files at an empty nurse’s station. Christine figured it would be at least three or four days before they knew she was missing.
Back to work.
Christine threaded her way through the hospital’s corridors, wondering what the major would say when she got back and found that Christine had left the hospital without authorization. She pushed her way out the exit doors and into the German sun.
Most likely there’ll be something of an ass-chewing coming, but it won’t be my first.
Christine grinned
And probably not my last.
~*~
A cobalt blue Mediterranean sky ran out to a horizon where cotton ball clouds bent down and touched the sea. Alone on the bright stretch of beach, Val Macintyre and Marshall Wolfe stretched back in their beach chairs. Their feet played tag with the ocean’s foam as the waves spent themselves on the shore.
The sun feels good, thought Val. She took her drink from the plastic table between them and sipped. The heat cauterizes a lot of wounds. Inside and out. She shifted in her chair.
“I can’t believe you can just sit there.”
“What else is there to say?” Wolfe lowered his sunglasses back onto the bridge of his nose.
“‘What else is there to say?’” demanded Val, sitting up in frustration. “You fight your way into a snake’s next of supergoons, sit on top of enough ticking plutonium to blow us to Jersey City and back, and there’s nothing else to say? It doesn’t matter? You don’t feel anything?”
He shrugged again. “No.”
“Men. Harumph.”
Only the gentle wash of the waves cut the silence. Wolfe waited for her to settle back into her chair.
“Val, have you thought about what you want to do with the rest of our honeymoon? Maybe we could go on a tour or something.”
Something in his tone put her on her guard.
“What did you have in mind?”
The Best Defense Page 31
