by Mark Rounds
Nergüi punched the number of his control on the phone.
“Sir, Antonopoulos is away from the plane and on the run,” said Nergüi quickly. “Engage the comm jamming so he can't use his helicopters to get away!”
“What else do you need?” asked the voice on the phone. “This is not resolving as we had planned.”
“Sir, he is separated from the bulk of his forces,” said Nergüi. “He and a few troops, some of them wounded, are riding away in a lime green fire engine which shouldn't be too hard to track. But if his helicopters get involved, we will lose him. We still have the initiative if we seize it!”
“Continue then,” said the voice on the phone followed by the end of the connection.
Nergüi was still a little rattled but he punched up Macklin's code next.
“Macklin.”
“What motor transport to you still have available that can go cross-country?” asked Nergüi.
“Sir, we have the four MRAPs that we held back for extraction,” said Macklin thinking fast, “plus a couple of four-wheel drive pickups.”
“Send them to me on the perimeter road,” said Nergüi. “You secure what's left of the battalion in Spokane and then follow with as much force as you can.”
“How will I know where you are?” asked Macklin who was somewhat alarmed. If he got too far away from Nergüi, the Plague would come back with a vengeance.
“Close your eyes,” said Nergüi. “What direction am I?”
“South, and a couple points to the east,” said Macklin. “How did you do that?”
“As long as I am supporting you,” said Nergüi, “you will know what direction to find me. The further out you are, the harder it is for me so follow up as soon you can.”
As soon as Nergüi broke the connection, Macklin punched up Sven's number.
“Extract your company,” said Macklin when Sven answered. “Gather at the jump-off point. We will make a plan from there.”
Macklin made another call, this to the mercenary in charge of the MRAP patrol.
“Gather up your troops and those two Toyota pickups,” said Macklin, “and follow Perimeter Road to the end. Nergüi will be waiting. He won't like it if you are late.”
“I am rolling,” said the mercenary worriedly on the other end of the phone.
Macklin broke the connection and began looking around. It was clear to him that the chance of going back empty-handed appeared to be quite high. He looked over at Ngengi and nodded. The troops were keeping a lot of pressure on Base Ops but their ammunition was running low. They would have to extract soon in any event.
Macklin swept the area in front of them with his binoculars and saw movement behind Base Ops. Someone was driving up to the backside of the building. Realizing that time was running out, Macklin got up and began running toward the moving vehicle. Along the way he grabbed Ngengi. The troops defending Base Ops increased their fire and shifted targets to Macklin and Ngengi who dove for the ground. Carlos saw their play and waved the remains of their company forward. Several soldiers were killed. But Macklin and Ngengi were able to use the distraction to close on the moving Humvee. The driver halted the vehicle and then, too late, saw Macklin and Ngengi almost on his fender. He tried to restart the engine but he stalled it in the excitement, then Ngengi snapped the handle, breaking the lock, and threw the door open.
Macklin looked at him and saw captain's insignia on his collar and the name Twitchell on his name tag. He had hoped for a more senior officer, but he had only a few minutes.
“Take him,” said Macklin.
Twitchell reached for the M-9 he carried in a shoulder holster but Ngengi opted for the simple approach, he punched him, hard on the side of his head, before he could finish the draw. The blow dazed him long enough for Ngengi to disarm him. Then Ngengi grabbed the young man and hoisted him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
Macklin quickly scanned the contents of the Humvee. There was a briefcase and a file on top. Macklin grabbed the briefcase and as an afterthought skimmed the file. What he saw stopped him for a moment.
The damned Stricklands were plaguing him apparently. The file contained a report written by Dr. Robert Strickland that described a palliative treatment for the Plague other than Slash. This treatment was complex, but did not have all the side effects that went with Slash, specifically including the torpor and drug addiction. If it was real, it could mean a way out of this mess.
Macklin stuffed the file into the briefcase and looked around to see Ngengi holding Twitchell and waiting patiently, almost deferentially. Things were definitely changing.
“Let's go,” said Macklin.
July 10th, Friday, 12:54 pm PDT
Joint Base Lewis-McChord, Tacoma WA
CAPT Lassiter was standing in the Command Post when the static over took the radio.
“What’s going on with the radio?” asked Lassiter impatiently.
“We have a jamming source near here,” said the communications technician. “We are working to get around it now.”
“Right, let me know if we get in contact,” said Lassiter as he headed out the door and down the corridor. He would like to have done over the phone what came next but he had reason to believe that their phone communications were compromised so he headed back to his new office and knocked on the first door on the left.
“Whipkey!” said Lassiter.
“Yes sir!” said Capt Whipkey opening the door. Now that his role was out in the open, his office had been moved over to the headquarters building.
“Get over to Navy Ops now,” said Lassiter, “and have them get the drones in the air. The General will need a dust-off and radio communications are out. I suspect we will have to find him. If you have a map, I can outline their route.”
Lassiter sketched out the route to Whipkey and they sorted out a couple of possible LZ’s.
“Let me know when they are airborne,” said Lassiter and he walked out the door. As time was of the essence, he called for a staff car and headed over to Major General Bossell’s headquarters near the runway. He called ahead, figuring asking for an appointment would be politically correct as the relations right now between the Army and the Navy were still strained.
“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice,” said CAPT Lassiter. “Maj Gen Antonopoulos has requested a dust-off in the Spokane area.”
“I see,” said Bossell. “Is there a written order confirming this?”
“Our radio traffic was interrupted but this came straight from the General,” said Lassiter with a sinking feeling in his gut.
“Don’t take this wrong,” said Bossell, “but I am sure you can appreciate our position. I can’t launch Army assets on just the say-so of a junior Navy officer.”
Lassiter struggled to maintain his control. The words were very similar to the ones he had used, at the late ADM Turner’s suggestion, when he fought the use of his drones by then Col Antonopoulos.
“Sir,” said Lassiter trying to control his temper, “if needed, I can produce all of the Command Post staff that heard the order. This, as you know is a mix of Air, Army and Navy personnel, commanded, at this moment by LTC Ingersoll of the U.S. Army.”
“Get it under control, Captain,” said Bossell firmly. “I am not calling you a liar, but the two senior Army officers on base are in custody; one as a result of being assaulted by a Navy officer, and one because there is an allegation of collusion with the enemy made by an Air Force officer.
“The Army chain-of-command is tattered to say the least, and the morale of the Army rank and file is very low. We are going to have a meeting, just as soon as you can pull it together, of all of the remaining senior Army Officers and such other senior officers as are available. At this meeting, you can make your case for the use of Army assets. I suspect that I will accede to your request. But if I don't go through this dog-and-pony show, the rest of the Army personnel on base will think I rolled over and wasn't watching out for them. Is that clear?”
&nbs
p; “Sir, with respect,” said CAPT Lassiter quietly, “this is not a request, but an order from a superior officer. I will add, that time is of the essence as that same superior officer is in jeopardy.”
“Then you had better get this meeting together quickly,” said Bossell. “We will hammer this out when Gen Antonopoulos gets back, but right now, I am doing the best that I can to keep a lid on this. And don't think you can appeal to LTG Buckley. I have just been on the phone with him. He feels that if he steps in before he is cleared, it will be viewed that he rolled over so, as much as he personally wants to do something, he will not!”
“It's not when Antonopoulos gets back, but if,” said Lassiter pointedly who then saluted and walked out the door.
After about fifteen steps, Lassiter calmed down. Anger wouldn't help save Antonopoulos. He stuck his head into the duty officer's door. There was a harried looking Army major on two phones responding to requests from some troops in the field. Lassiter waited quietly until the major was done.
“Major,” said Lassiter, “could you please call all the officers on the A-1 list and have them report to the conference room at the main headquarters building ASAP? This is a flash priority and needs to happen right now.”
“Captain,” said the Major looking tired, “I mean no disrespect, but why should I call all the flag officers and an even dozen 0-6's just on your say-so?”
“Major,” said Lassiter who had finally blown his top, “your commanding officer, Maj Gen Antonopoulos is in the field, in danger of being captured. I have three things to do that just might save him. One of them is not debating with you over whether or not you should follow a direct order from a senior officer. I am leaving to do those action items. I will be driving directly to the conference room after they are complete. If the meeting isn't happening when I get there, I will personally come back here, rip off your head, and shit down the bloody hole!”
Lassiter stalked out of the office and to his staff car. A four minute drive took him to his office and the satellite communication station that had set up there. Capt Nixon was there, trying to get some sort of communications with Gen Antonopoulos party.
“Nixon,” said Lassiter when he was sure the door was closed and the room was secure, “You are aware that Maj Gen Antonopoulos is in the field and out of communication?”
“Yes, sir,” said Nixon who could see the fire in Lassiter's eye.
“Call in all the favors,” said Lassiter. “I need our intelligence assets armed for bear and headed to his projected location. Get with Whipkey for route data. He is over at Navy Ops. In the next ten minutes, at a minimum, I want assets rolling from the detachment in Moscow and the bikers in Royal City. If we can get anyone else on the horn, use your discretion. I have to get a change of personnel going at the Command Post and hold a god-damned meeting to justify a dust-off for the general.”
Chapter 26
July 10th, Friday, 1:02 pm PDT
Royal City, WA
The Grease Monkey leaned out from the office of the abandoned gas station that had become the new headquarters of the Royal City Chapter of BACA and looked to see who was in the garage.
“Hey Slider!” said the Grease Monkey as he spied the tall muscular man who was stripped to the waist working on the engine of his Harley. “Nixon back at Fort Lewis said there is problem out towards Fairchild. The General is in trouble. He wants us to go find them and report back via satellite comm. Who's out there that can go?”
“I could,” said Slider, “but my ride is all in pieces across the floor. Sparky is helping, he could go. Voodoo and Viking Dan are working the pump, trying to get more gas out of the tank, though they could go. Couple of others, why?”
“OK,” said the Grease Monkey. “Take my ride, I'll get yours put back together. Get the artillery out of the locker too. Nixon said it was going to be hairy.”
“We get to take the AT-4?” asked Sparky gleefully.
“Yep, Nixon was adamant about that,” said the Grease Monkey. “They might need it.”
“No shit?” said Sparky.
“When do we leave?” asked Slider.
“Ten minutes ago,” said the Grease Monkey. “Get on the road and head for Cheney. Take the back roads. I'll be in touch via the sat phone if they have any more information. They are scrambling a couple of drones to look for him.”
“Mount up, guys,” said Slider. “We are going for a ride!”
July 10th, Friday, 1:05 pm PDT
University of Idaho Campus Commons, Moscow ID
“Chad, come in here, please?” said Dave Tippet.
“What's up?” asked Chad as he entered the old catering office in the Commons. The caterer was long gone and it being a first floor office, it was easy on Dave's hip. In the room was LTC Amos, ranking officer in Moscow.
“Capt Nixon just called on the sat phone,” said Dave. “Your friend, Maj Gen Antonopoulos, was shot down on the end of the runway at Fairchild. His team and the aircraft's crew blitzed out on a fire truck. They are out of radio communications, have at least one wounded airman, and oh yeah, Nergüi’s after him with a bunch of Infected on some MRAPS.”
“What's the mission?” asked Chad who was now alert.
“They can't find him and there is another power play at Fort Lewis,” said Dave. “Nixon wasn't giving out details but it seemed like the Army and the Navy are squabbling again and Gen Antonopoulos isn't there to referee. They have asked us to send out patrols, horseback or vehicle mounted and see if we can find them.”
“The horses, we can do immediately,” said Amos, “but we have damn-all fuel. What little we do have is primarily diesel, and we need it to pump water. Can Nixon promise POL in the next two weeks, when our water runs out?”
“He can't promise anything,” said Dave. “Lassiter is calling in all favors while he goes and pleads with the Army.”
“That doesn't sound like the Army I joined,” said Amos, shaking his head.
“I am not thrilled with this turn of events,” said Chad. “But we don't have all the facts. We need to do the best we can do and let the folks in Tacoma sort their issues out. The best thing we can do to help them is find Antonopoulos. The best way to do that is to get some of Pullman's stash of fuel.”
“We have a plan for bringing down Henderson, remember?” said Dave, “He needs to get a little more desperate, then we will catch him red-handed, soliciting Slash. Sayla is watching him now.”
“I know the plan,” said Chad, “but if we wait, even until tonight, Antonopoulos could be put in the bag by Nergüi. This is actually an opportunity if we look at it right. We know Nergüi is on the ground chasing our boss. Things are fluid and while Nergüi is a deep thinker and a long-range planner, he is not that good thinking on his feet. The last time we almost caught him, he was supervising our friend Macklin in an ad-hoc operation to capture Amber. He is doing the same here and has just lost a battle. His forces are disorganized, probably demoralized, and he is on the move. We can bag him if we hustle. That means we deal with Henderson, now, and get the gas getting out there [???] with enough eyes and weapons to find and protect Antonopoulos. Remember, wherever Antonopoulos is, Nergüi will be close.”
“There wouldn't be any attempt here to get even with Antonopoulos for using your family as bait?” said Amos.
“No,” said Chad calmly. “He was left with a bunch of bad choices and he worked the best one. Right now, I would love to see Henderson go to prison. But the chance to get at the leadership of our adversary is too good to pass up.”
“I’m with you,” said Dave, “but I also have an idea for negotiating with Henderson. Colonel, I will need your help on this one but I think it can turn out pretty well if we move fast.”
July 10th, Friday, 1:31 pm PDT
College Hill, Pullman, WA
Pulling off Dave's plan required a vehicle which bit into their already tiny fuel reserve. It was the Hammer and Ace who provided the answer. Their Harleys had almost a half tank of gasoline, more th
an enough for a fast run into Pullman. Dave rode two-up with Ace and James, the young man who had made the attempt on Chief Yates’ life, but was now part of Chad and Dave's small but growing intelligence organization.
They had secreted a radio with Chief Yates and had brought him up to speed even as they closed on Pullman. As a result, the police at roadblock on the Pullman-Moscow Highway were delightedly inept in stopping their progress when they came by. The rest of the plan revolved around getting past the monitors to Henderson before they could react. Any plans that required stealth were disregarded as too slow for Antonopoulos's rescue, so they settled on knocking down the front door.
They rode as fast as they dared through the streets of Pullman. People who hadn't seen a moving vehicle in weeks, were mesmerized by the sight and the sound of the motorcycles roaring by at speed.
Sayla had been watching the Mayor's house and was aware of the plan via radio, so when the Harleys came and all eyes were fixed on them, Sayla rose from the brush near the house and cold-cocked the first of Henderson's monitors with a sap. The second one attempted to draw a pistol, but Sayla intercepted the man's hand before it could reach his holster and covered the man’s mouth before he could give warning and slammed him hard into the side of the house.
“What the hell was that?” bellowed Henderson.
Meanwhile, James, who had been a defensive end for WSU was at 6’ 6” and 292 pounds more than a match for the locked door. He crashed into it at a full run and it splintered as he went through. There was a third monitor just inside the door and with the reflexes that had made him an All American candidate, James shifted slightly left and tackled him with no more effort that he would have given a hundred-and-fifty pound wide receiver. The monitor went down and with James on top, stayed down.
