by Mark Rounds
Johnson's house and office?”
“My troops did, sir,” said Whipkey. “I also put sensors around CAPT Lassiter’s house as well as Maj Gen Johnson's aide Lt Hanson’s.”
“That was good thinking,” said Antonopoulos, “So why aren't we getting any intercepts?”
“If I had to guess, sir,” said Whipkey, “I'd say we are very close to our man and he knows it. I think he is keeping his mouth shut for a while.”
“That doesn't fit his profile,” said Antonopoulos. “Given his previous pattern, he was always calling. We figured the opposition had something on him.”
“Maybe they value his data,” said Whipkey. “We have dropped all the intel we could without looking too much like goofs. I think our next move is to declare a date for your mission to Fairchild sir. Hold off telling anyone, have the planes prepped and standing by. Tell no one until it's literally time to go wheels up. Maybe that will shift him.”
“OK, put some of your special platoon on alert,” said Maj Gen Antonopoulos. “Cycle them through reasonably so they can still keep training. I am not telling even you when I will launch until the last moment, but when I do, I want them to be ready to roll. Take into custody whomever sends the message, and guard him or them zealously. The bad guys will want to put him down. We will need what is in his head.”
June 29th, Friday, 11:19 pm PDT
South Hill, Spokane, WA
Little Bear had spent most of the evening slowly working his way up to Macklin's residence. The security was amateurish but deep. There were at least three levels of patrols outside the house and of course Macklin's 'colleagues' were very likely to be in the house as well.
The basic intelligence he was gathering disturbed him. Little Bear counted at least fifteen people patrolling around the dwelling. There were likely more covering avenues of approach he couldn't see. That meant that for each guy on patrol, there were two more waiting for their shift. There was something short of an infantry company watching this one cluster of houses.
“If they have that many for just security,” thought Little Bear, “how many others are training?”
But while there was a large number of boots on the ground watching Macklin's house, they were all amateurs, drug addicts, or worse, so all it took was patience until he was able to work through the outer security. The inner ring was the most difficult. Little Bear knew that infected followers needed much less sleep than uninfected humans, so the odds were he would only catch one of the trio sleeping. But one was better than nothing so he held in position until they settled down.
Little Bear climbed the rain gutter alongside the garage, the small day pack he wore slowing him not at all. When he got to the garage roof, he went prone. Guards from the ground couldn't see him and he was strategically placed to be out of the direct line of sight from the two windows overlooking the garage. He moved up to the first window and using a dentist's mirror, taking care not to flash anyone with the reflection, he looked in the window. Inside were three guards, apparently off-duty, sleeping. The next window showed Carlos, who was not sleeping, but doing kata, from Jiao li, one of the most ancient of Chinese martial arts.
Little Bear quietly moved to the roof of the main part of the house and againusing his mirror checked the remaining upstairs windows. In the far corner, he discovered his prize, Macklin, sleeping fitfully. The room had two windows; one on the east wall facing the street, and one on the south facing a large open garden. Both had slider style windows and both were jammed shut with a stick from within. There was no way to finesse this sort of primitive lock, so Little Bear went for a diversion.
In times past, he had access to more sophisticated tools but here he had to make do. From his day back, he withdrew a mason jar filled with homemade napalm. The lid was modified to include a spring loaded flat plate of metal that smacked down hard on a large pistol primer whose base was exposed to the napalm. The jar lid was encrusted with flash powder to ensure ignition. Little Bear carefully cocked the spring and threw it hard at an Audi S8 in the driveway that looked like it hadn't been driven in a month. He carefully shielded his eyes to preserve his night vision.
The device hit the car, splattered it with napalm and then the igniter fired. The sedan was quickly covered immolated. Guards started running around looking into the flames, effectively ruining their night vision. There must have been some fuel vapors in the tank because suddenly the back portion of the vehicle exploded, flinging burning debris all over the street.
Little Bear figured that was about as good as it was going to get, so he swung off the roof, holding on to the edge and pivoting boots first into the south facing window. The muffled crash was effectively covered by the roar of the fire and secondary explosions of the car's final moments.
Macklin was staring out the east window at the burning car so Little Bear's entry took him completely by surprise. Little Bear knocked him to the ground and then was on him, knife drawn, his knife half an inch from Macklin's eye.
“Are you going to going to be quiet, white boy?” asked Little Bear in a menacing tone, “or do I cut out your eye?”
“I'm good,” said Macklin shakily. “What do you want this time?”
“Why so many soldiers?” said Little Bear, indicating the chaos outside. “Are you that afraid of me?”
“I'd be lying if I said I wasn't,” said Macklin, “but its Nergüi who wants this army.”
“Why?” asked Little Bear, tapping the side of Macklin's nose with the edge of his knife, just hard enough to draw blood.
“Nergüi won't tell me,” said Macklin.
“How attached are you to that eye?” asked Little Bear. “He lets things slip, he brags, what is his obsession?”
“That girl, Amber,” said Macklin. “He wants her bad.”
“Bad enough to raise an army?” asked Little Bear.
“This isn't the first one I have raised for him,” said Macklin, “just the best, but he is always on about her.”
“And you want to kill Strickland, yes?” asked Little Bear.
“That would be a side benefit,” allowed Macklin.
“Tell me about your army,“ said Little Bear derisively. “What’s out there?”
“We have maybe four companies of infantry,” said Macklin, whose eye did not waiver from the knife poised above it, “along with some specialty units.”
“The infantry is cannon fodder,” said Little Bear disdainfully. “Nergüi has done that before. What specialty units? And tell it fast, my diversion won't last long, but if you waste my time, I will cut you.”
“He has mortars,” said Macklin quickly, “and a couple of armored cars, MRAPS from police organizations, and some real mercenaries, Blackwater folks from West Asia.”
Whatever else he was going to say was interrupted by Ælfheah, one of Nergüi's followers, who appeared at the door and threw his seax at Little Bear's head. Little Bear, with almost superhuman reflexes, caught the weapon by its handle and in the same motion, threw it back at Ælfheah who ducked behind the door. The seax buried itself to the hilt in the hollow core door.
“Getting slow, old man?” shouted Little Bear as he vaulted to his feet.
Macklin, as soon as the pressure was released from his chest, rolled and pulled his back-up piece, a Walther PPK. Even though his angle was bad, he tried to aim it at Little Bear who spotted the motion out of the corner of his eye. Little Bear whipped his big knife in an over hand throw that caught Macklin's gun hand and pinned it and Macklin's arm to the headboard. Shock froze Macklin like a statue.
“Don't mess with me, Redneck,” shouted Little Bear as he vaulted out the window.
Ælfheah burst into the room and this time drew his Les Baer .45 and raced to the window, firing rapidly. Right behind him was Ngengi carrying a Desert Eagle .50. Seeing the window more than filled with Ælfheah, he went to Macklin who was squirming with pain and ineffectually trying to pull out the knife in his arm.
“You must have really pissed him off this time, Fresh Meat,
” said Ngengi as he removed the knife and tried to staunch the bleeding.
Macklin gasped and then through clenched teeth said, “I tried to shoot him.”
“You must have rushed him at least a little,” said Ngengi. “He has a thing for knives and doesn't usually leave them as calling cards.”
June 30th, Friday, 11:44 pm PDT
College Hill, Pullman WA
James was a city kid from LA. He had been recruited to play football for Washington State University three years ago. As a senior his big worry should have been whether or not he was going to get scouted for the pros. Instead, he was shaking down college kids for money, food, information, and sometimes, just because that sadist Phil Masterson like to see them squirm.
This time was different though. James sensed something in his bones. Having to kill the Chief of Police was bad enough, but he felt deep down in his soul that his time had run out. He had decided not to bring anyone else along. The extra Slash would give him a chance to get Emily away from Phil, away from Pullman, some place safe. Where he would go, he wasn't sure, but this wasn't working.
Chief Yates’ house was just like any of the others. It was a residential block just west of campus, in the old part of town. At this time of night, with no streetlights, the street was almost Stygian in its darkness, and the only thing moving was James. He found the chief's house quickly enough, but he found that all the doors were locked. He went to the window near the back of the house where few people could see him and tried it. It was loose so he pushed harder and it came open with a shriek. Inside the house, a dog started barking. James panicked and began busting through the lilac hedge to get to the street and away.
Meanwhile, Chief Yates, who had been asleep, bounded out of bed, stopping only long enough to grab a robe and his utility belt from which he pulled his Glock 17 9mm pistol and his Taser. He burst out the door just as James crashed through the last of the lilac hedge.
“Hold it right there, son,” said Yates with the gun held on the young man.
James took one look at the chief and charged. Yates triggered the Taser and him in the chest. The shock staggered him and he fell to the ground.
“Freeze right there!” shouted Yates. James attempted to rise, but Yates triggered the Taser again and James fell limply back to the ground.
“You are under arrest,” said Chief Yates. “Stay on the ground!”
Yates' wife Clara came out, having spent only a little more time getting dressed. She had been a policeman's wife for over twenty years, and she had her Remington 870 with her.
“Can I help, dear?” asked Clara innocently.
“Wake up the neighbors,” said Yates, “and get Gavin, the Gilchrist's son, to run down to the station and fetch the duty sergeant and whoever else is there. We are going to want to get this guy in custody before the monitors get here.”
July 1st, Saturday, 11:44 pm PDT
Joint Base Fort Lewis-McChord, Tacoma, WA
“General! We have an intercept,” said Capt Whipkey bursting into Gen Antonopoulos's office.
“What do you have?” said the General, who was going over force readiness reports for new formations on base.
“There was a very short burst transmission from somewhere around the Gym,” said Whipkey. “We were able to decipher the code groups 'Spokane' and 'Macklin' from the message. You spooked them out, sir.”
“Do we know who sent it?” asked Gen Antonopoulos.
“No sir,” said Whipkey. “Both suspects were on the move when it happened. It could have been either one.”
“Damn!” said Gen Antonopoulos. “Ok, they both know we are watching so either one could ditch the low level surveillance we have on them. Take more of your company off infantry training if you have to, but I want them under physical surveillance 24/7 now. As soon as it is in-place and reliable, let me know. I need to give them some information that they have to call in!”
July 2nd, Sunday, 10:17 am PDT
South Hill, Spokane, WA
“What is the status of the mission?” asked Nergüi.
Macklin was startled and hadn't seen Nergüi coming. He had been feeling the wound in his arm and even though this wasn't the first time he had been injured since he had become infected, the speed at which his body healed wounds still impressed him. Little Bear's knife had caught him right in the palm of his hand. Several of the little bones in there were cracked or shattered. If something like that had happened before the Plague, he would have been in rehab for months and probably never regained full use of the hand, but now, while it still hurt, the wound had healed leaving almost no scar, and he had most of the range of motion he had before Little Bear had cut him.
“Wallace has done better than I hoped,” said Macklin after he had regained his composure. “He has gathered over nine hundred addicts, petty criminals, and a few veterans who can possibly be NCOs.”
“I said we only needed six hundred,” said Nergüi. “Enough for four companies, one being heavy weapons, Why feed the extra mouths?”
“For training, we have six companies right now,” said Macklin diffidently, “but my 'peers' are quite aggressive in their training regime. Even if this is only the second week and the first day they are all together, there have already been some training accidents. I have asked them to lighten up, but they know only one way.”
“It has worked for thousands of years,” said Nergüi.
“It works when time is not a serious issue and human capital is plentiful,” said Macklin. “We have neither the time to recruit more if we lose too many nor the time to begin training a new cohort of soldiers to replace them. If you could ask them to be lenient, for a while, until we have completed the initial mission, we can train harder, and develop a constant stream of recruits.”
“I will speak with them,” said Nergüi. “When will we be ready for combat?”
“Wallace says that in a couple of weeks the whole battalion, or what is left of it, can be involved in simple actions,” said Macklin. “However the first company raised has a higher proportion of veterans. They have been together for several more training days and natural leaders have already emerged.”
“Could the rest of the battalion be used as a diversion while the best troops do something else?” asked Nergüi.
“They won't be very effective at anything other than getting killed,” said Macklin. “Many will run and anyone controlling them will likely be caught in the stampede and may die also.”
“That might do,” said Nergüi. “I suspect if you were in charge of the larger force with your personal group of followers, you could extract at the right time. Come up with a plan to attack Fairchild Air Force Base.”
“I thought ...” stammered Macklin who was stunned for a moment and then continued, “what I mean to say is, I thought you were focused on the Stricklands and the Chosen woman.”
“You were focused on them,” said Nergüi. “We have an opportunity here. Our source indicates that Gen Antonopoulos will be visiting Fairchild. We have the opportunity to decapitate our enemy. If Antonopoulos dies, then Buckley will either have to take over under a cloud or they will have to ship in someone else. Either of which is to our definite advantage.”
“We'll never take it all,” said Macklin, “At best we can get in the gates and then they will rally. They have air support and ...”
“These are problems for you to handle,” said Nergüi, lifting his hand to stop Macklin's torrent of words. “I and my group of followers plus your best troops will be involved in an important mission: to capture, or if necessary kill, Gen Antonopoulos.
“Your job will be to draw the bulk of the defenders away. When the mission is complete, you will extract. It would be a bonus if you brought some of your troops with you to be the nucleus of a new force. You will have help. The Call will be used to bring to the base perimeter as many Infected as are in range.”
“Will they know who we are?” asked Macklin cautiously, “I mean, will they be on our side?”<
br />
“The 'Call' can't impart much information, only a desire to do something,” said Nergüi. “They shouldn't be too much of a threat as you will be forewarned."
“So we could be attacked from in front as well as behind?” stammered Macklin. “I’m not sure that is a sound tactical situation.”
“The alternative would be for me to wander around in your brain,” said Nergüi, “and see how much pain you can take before you pass out. Ngengi was truly impressive in this regard; I suspect you will have significantly less stamina.”
“I'll have a plan by tomorrow, sir,” said Macklin.
July 3rd, Sunday, 1:22 pm PDT
University of Idaho Campus, Moscow, ID
“Dad, can we talk?” asked Connor.
Chad looked up and was startled. He was up to his eyes in paperwork. You would think that a crisis that could end civilization would end paperwork and forms in triplicate, but he forgot that he was dealing with a university. If he was going to continue to use University assets for U.S. Government purposes, even in the face of an extinction level event, he had to fill out the paperwork. Since he was the junior officer in the detachment, it fell to him to take care of the staff work. To add insult to injury, they were conserving power now to save resources for pumping water, so none of the paperwork was on-line; it was all dead trees.
“Sure,” said Chad setting aside the form he was working on. “What do you need, son?”
“I have two questions really,” said Connor haltingly. “I am not sure where to start.”
“I'd start with the hardest one,” said Chad, “You know, eat your broccoli first?”
“OK,” said Connor with a smile, “how did you know mom was the one?”
“This is about you and Amy?” asked Chad.
“Yeah, we have been friends forever, but there is something else these days,” said Connor as he paced the office. “There is a … I’m not sure, but something romantic. I’m not doing this very well.”
“You are doing fine, son,” said Chad. “You used to go out with Rachel Porret as I recall. You thought that was pretty serious at the time.”
