by Dirk Patton
That wasn’t much time, but it was enough for me to tell this wasn’t an American helo. Something about the sound, something that I’ve never been able to put into words, was different. I wasn’t sure the rotor I was hearing was Russian, but I didn’t want to find out the hard way. Deciding to shut off the beacon that would draw them directly to me, I surged forward in a stiff legged sprint.
7
Alarms were blaring in the CIC as Admiral Packard rushed in. He barked an order to have them silenced, a moment later the room going quiet other than the calm, professional voices of the men and women speaking on various comm circuits.
“Admiral,” the Captain in charge of the CIC stepped forward to meet him. “We have multiple anti-satellite missile launches from a Russian cruiser in the North Sea. A pair of Akula attack subs have also engaged the Lincoln CSG, and there are multiple inbound missiles.”
“Casualties?”
“We’re receiving an emergency beacon from the Seawolf, but other than that, none so far, sir. The Lincoln has had to scrap the rescue flight. They have a flight of Bear bombers inbound and defensive flight operations are taking priority.”
“The anti-sat missiles. What are they targeting?”
“They’ve tracked six of the Thor satellites, sir,” the Captain said. “Seaman Simmons is trying to move them now, but they apparently aren’t designed for anything other than minor orbital adjustments.”
Packard nodded and strode across the room to Jessica’s station. The Captain followed in his wake.
“Seaman, are you going to be able to move those platforms to safety?” He asked.
“No sir,” Jessica answered without hesitation. “If the Russian missiles function properly, we’re going to lose the assets.”
“More anti-sat launches, sir!” A Senior Chief Petty Officer called from an adjacent station. “Sending data to Thor station now.”
Jessica’s fingers were flying as she accepted the information and loaded it into her system.
“Talk to me, Ms. Simmons,” Packard said, impatient.
“Eight more missiles, sir,” she said, then pointed at one of her monitors. “Total of 14 Thor birds in geosynchronous orbit are now targeted. They are trying to take out all of the ones that are capable of striking Russia directly.”
“How long before the missiles arrive on target?” The Captain asked.
“Less than five minutes for the first wave of six. Just over ten for the second launch, sir.”
“You have all of the ground targets I gave you still locked in?” Packard asked.
“Yes, sir,” Jessica said, swiveling around to meet his eyes.
Packard hesitated for a moment. Which was completely out of character for him. He had always been decisive, not wasting time second guessing himself. This trait had served him well in his military career, but this was a whole new scenario he’d never imagined he would have to deal with.
He had weapons that were in danger of being destroyed by the enemy. Weapons that were the only thing deterring the Russians from launching nuclear missiles and utterly destroying the final vestiges of the United States. Nearly two million American lives hung in the balance, awaiting his decision.
If he did nothing, they’d lose their ability to checkmate the Russians. All that would be left would be complete and unconditional surrender to avoid total devastation. But the civilians who were depending on him would survive. Maybe.
Unless this was an opening gambit by the Russians. Maybe they were so pissed off by the rods he’d dropped on the Kremlin, the naval base and the nuclear power plant, that once the Thor system was neutralized they’d launch nukes to finish what they started.
“Three and a half minutes, sir,” Jessica gently prompted.
Packard took a deep breath and made his decision.
“Release on all targets designated in those fourteen satellites,” he ordered. “And put a list of the targets up on the screen.”
Jessica spun and reached for her keyboard, her rapid typing sounding not unlike a machine gun. Messages flashed onto her screen, then were dismissed so quickly that the Admiral and Captain were unable to read what they said. As she worked, multiple lines of coordinates on another monitor began turning red. In less than a minute, all of them had changed color.
“Captain,” Packard said without turning his attention away from Jessica’s monitor. “Issue orders to the fleet. Commence Operation Merciless.”
“Yes, sir,” the man snapped, turning on his heel and rushing to his command console.
Clicking her mouse and typing a few commands, Jessica took control of one of the massive monitors on the wall at the front of the room. It now displayed the same list of target coordinates. As she continued to work, the name of the location appeared next to the string of numbers that were used by the computer to identify the target. Finally, to the far right on each line, a countdown to impact timer came to life.
“All rods away, sir,” Jessica breathed.
Packard nodded, looking over the list with a lump in his stomach. One hundred and forty seven targets within Russia were about to be destroyed. The death toll from the initial strike would be in the tens of thousands. But the resulting deaths of Russian civilians would be much higher. Within a few minutes, the majority of the Russian people would no longer have fuel to heat their homes, food to feed their families or clean water to drink.
Taking a deep breath, Packard scanned the list again. All 27 of the Russian ICBM sites. The nine remaining nuclear power reactors. Air Force, Army and Naval bases. Oil depots. Refineries. Natural gas pipeline pumping stations. Agricultural distribution centers. Food processing centers. Communication hubs. Heavy manufacturing facilities. Strategic targets such as bridges and hydroelectric dams. All would be either destroyed or damaged so heavily as to be unusable.
But the attack didn’t stop there. Now came Operation Merciless. Every American military asset still functioning was launching an attack on pre-designated enemy targets. Russian surface and sub-surface vessels that had been shadowed by American attack submarines were sunk. Thousands of cruise missiles that were still in inventory were launched from around the globe.
And the final wave. The one that gave the Admiral nightmares. Hundreds of ICBMs roaring out of the ocean, launched by American ballistic missile submarines. Only these weren’t tipped with a nuclear bomb. For weeks, the Navy had scrambled to replace the warheads with chemical weapon dispersion canisters. Each of these was filled with MX-489 nerve agent.
This was the same chemical compound that had been used in the opening attack against America. The Chinese had paired it with the virus that had spread across the world like wildfire after the initial release. Russia had survived because of widespread vaccinations. But you can’t immunize against the chemical nerve agent.
As the ICBMs arrived over their targets, every Russian city with a population greater than 100,000, the agent would be dispersed into the atmosphere by a small, conventional explosion. It would be atomized by the blast and slowly drift down to blanket every street and building, and any person who was not indoors. Less than a drop was all it would take to turn someone into a raging horror, intent on killing anyone they encountered.
In total, 164 cities were targeted. Some would only receive a visit from a single missile. Others, like Moscow with nearly twelve million residents, had dozens of ICBMs racing towards them. Within a few hours, Russia would be as dead as the United States.
8
Rachel and Irina stood watching the Gulf of Mexico’s gentle waves lap against a white, sand beach. They were in Florida at Pensacola Naval Air Station. The C-130 transporting them from Idaho to the Bahamas had developed engine problems and the pilot had decided to set down and try to effect repairs.
A couple of squads of Rangers had been on the flight with them and had quickly dispatched several small groups of infected that had attacked as soon as they landed. That had been several hours ago. Now, they were in a loose perimeter around the big aircraft as the pilot and
a mechanic struggled with the stubborn engine.
The area was mostly clear of infected, only the occasional male wandering onto the tarmac, drawn by the sounds of the working men. The ones that stumbled into sight were in horrific condition. Emaciated, severely dehydrated and barely able to move. The Rangers, conserving their ammunition, would walk out and put them down with their knives.
Growing bored, the two women had taken extra rifles and ammo and gone exploring. At the southern end of the main runway, a small track led through a narrow strip of trees before emerging onto a glistening beach.
“It is beautiful,” Irina said, staring at the blue-green water.
Rachel didn’t say anything, just slowly turned a complete circle to make sure there weren’t any infected who had spotted them. Seeing nothing, she shielded her eyes and looked at the sea.
“Are you alright?” Irina asked, picking up on her companion’s mood.
“Where do you think he is by now?”
Irina didn’t have to ask who she was talking about. Rachel had boarded the plane at Mountain Home Air Force Base after saying goodbye to John, tears running down her face. When the big loading ramp had closed, she’d completely broken down, curling into a ball and sobbing until well after takeoff. She’d finally gotten her emotions under control, but had remained quiet for the entire flight.
“Probably somewhere over the Arctic Ocean,” Irina answered.
Rachel nodded and walked a few steps closer to the edge of the gently lapping water.
“Why are there not big waves?” Irina asked, looking for a topic to distract Rachel from her thoughts.
“I don’t know,” Rachel said in a far off voice.
After a few more minutes of silence, Irina sat down on the sand and began unlacing her boots. Removing them, she rolled her pants legs up to her knees and waded into the water.
“It is warm!” She smiled. “We should swim while they are fixing the plane.”
Rachel nodded, but didn’t answer. Slowly, Irina walked out of the water and came to stand in front of her.
“When I was seventeen, I was in love,” she began, waiting until Rachel shifted her attention and looked at her. “I was in a special program in Russia, run by the GRU. Children with higher than average intelligence and certain aptitudes were identified and taken from their parents. We were sent to a very special school. I was only six when I was taken.”
Moving next to Rachel, Irina sat on the warm sand and rested the rifle across her knees.
“From the very first day, we were only ever allowed to speak English. American English. The use of slang and idioms was encouraged, and we were required to watch several hours of popular American television shows each day. An entire town had been constructed, an exact copy of a small town in the Midwest, and this is where we lived.
“We were made into Americans. Each of us had a surrogate mother and father that were former KGB agents who had lived among the Americans. They taught us too, as well as ensuring we had the proper attitude about our education.
“There was this boy who was two years older than me. He was the smartest. The best athlete. The best looking boy at the school. His school name was Tom, but his real name was Vasilly. All of the girls dreamed of being his girlfriend, but he kept to himself. Completely dedicated to his training.
“But as I got older and began to look more like a woman than a child, he noticed me. Out of all the other girls, he noticed me! We began to talk. Then go to movies together. And we fell in love. Perhaps it was only teenage infatuation, but it still feels as real as anything I have ever experienced.
“Then one night, I met him in the park and he was so upset. He was leaving the next morning for his first assignment. He did not know where he would be going. We held each other and cried, wanting to stay together even though we both knew that someday we would be called on to fulfill the mission we had been trained for since we were small children.
“We made love. It was the first time for both of us. When it was over, he asked me to leave with him. At first, I thought he meant to go on his mission with him. But he meant for us to run away. To sneak out of town and leave Russia so we could be together.”
“What did you do?” Rachel asked, taking a seat next to Irina.
“I said yes. I loved him. I could not imagine living without him. So we made plans, sitting there on the grass in the dark. We would each go back to our homes and pack some clothes. Half an hour later, we would meet near the north fence and slip out into the night.
“I went home and gathered my belongings, then snuck out of my bedroom window. He was waiting for me, and together we left the town. I still do not know where it was, and we were soon lost in a forest. Once the sun came up and we knew directions, we headed west. Eventually, we believed, we would reach some part of Europe, where we could disappear into the population.
“We walked much of the morning, never finding an end to the forest. Neither of us had thought to bring food or water and we were hungry and thirsty. By night, I was frightened that we would die in the forest. We fell asleep holding each other after making love again.
“During the night, soldiers dispatched by the school found us. We were handcuffed and put on a helicopter and flown back to the town. We had not gone very far, so it was a short flight. When we arrived, the large park where we had first made love was brightly lit. All of the students and their parents were standing in a circle around a large bandstand.
“A General was standing on the platform, waiting for us. We were made to stand in front of the whole town while the headmaster of the school explained the crimes we had committed. Then he said that the punishment for crimes against the state was death.
“Vasilly cried out. Said he had forced me to go with him. Begged for mercy for me in exchange for his confession of guilt. I screamed that he was lying, that we had done it together. He shouted me down, raging at the headmaster that he was the only one to blame.”
Irina stopped speaking, staring across the water as she remembered. Rachel reached out and took her hand.
“What happened to Vasilly?”
“The headmaster shot him in the head,” Irina said, tears rolling down her face. “Then he shouted at all of the assembled people that this was the punishment for betrayal.”
“I’m sorry,” Rachel said, squeezing Irina’s hand.
“You see,” Irina said after a long stretch of silence. “Vasilly would not have it any other way. He was a man, just like Major Chase. They will sacrifice anything to protect those they love. He did not surrender to only save Hawaii. Or his wife. He was thinking of you, too.”
Rachel was crying now, both of them staring at the ocean through glistening tears.
“He was satisfied with only punishing Vasilly?” Rachel asked, sniffing.
“No. He was going to shoot me, too. The general intervened. Saved me. Took me with him when he left. Back to Moscow where I was sworn in to the army and assigned to the GRU.”
“Why?” Rachel asked.
“He was my uncle. My real uncle. My mother’s brother. He was the one responsible for my having been sent to the school. My parents were alcoholics. Bad. It was his way of making sure I had an opportunity at life.”
They sat for a long time, holding hands and thinking about the men they’d loved and lost.
“I’m sorry for asking,” Rachel finally broke the silence. “But I thought you were… um, well… preferred girls.”
“I do,” Irina answered, releasing Rachel’s hand and wiping her eyes. “For several years after Vasilly was killed, I was alone. Finally, at my uncle’s urging, I began to date. But it never felt right. Not like it did with Vasilly. Every man I spent time with was either intimidated by my position in the GRU, or using me in an attempt to curry favor with my uncle.”
“So you gave up?”
“I do not know if that is the right way to say it. I lost interest. Then, while on assignment in the UK, I met a British journalist. A woman. She awakened feelings
in me that I had not had since Vasilly. Our affair was intense, but brief. Unfortunately, it came to the attention of the embassy in London because of a stupid social media post with a picture of her and I kissing. I was recalled to Moscow, and once again, my uncle’s intervention saved me.”
“Saved you?” Rachel asked.
“Homosexuality in Russia is a crime,” Irina said with a sad smile. “Prison.”
“Are you serious?”
“Very,” Irina nodded. “By this time, my uncle was a very powerful man. He was able to stop the investigation and have me assigned as a sleeper agent in America. He saved my life. Again.”
Rachel was looking at Irina, shifting her eyes when movement on the sand caught her attention. A single infected male, a hundred yards away, stumbled towards them. She raised the suppressed rifle and shot him.
“Nice shot,” Irina said, standing and pulling her shirt over her head. “Now, I am going to go for a swim in this wonderful water. If you want to join me, no need to worry. I am not attracted to you.”
She smiled and peeled her clothes off before turning and running into the sea. Rachel laughed in surprise, a moment later shedding hers and following Irina.
They splashed and swam for twenty minutes. Refreshed, they returned to the beach and flopped onto the sand to dry in the sun. Rachel’s heart still ached, but the sharing of Irina’s pain had reminded her of why John had sacrificed himself. Part of her healed as she lay there, soaking up the late afternoon rays.
“Ma’am?” Rachel started when a male voice spoke from behind her.
She sat up quickly, crossing her arms across her bare breasts and pulling her knees close to her body. Irina reacted in the same way, the two of them looking over their shoulders at the intruder. It was one of the Rangers who had been on the plane with them. He had come to a stop several yards away and was studiously looking at the top of a tall palm tree.
“What’s wrong?” Rachel asked.
“There’s some news, ma’am. And we’re getting ready to leave.”
