by Dirk Patton
He nodded and headed out the door to supervise the refueling.
“Captain, I need your comm room again, please.”
Dumas turned and shouted through the open door for Skelling, telling him to take me to the radio. I climbed down, Rachel right behind me. The WO was waiting for us on the ground, holding back a line of scientists who were queued up to board. We battled the wind, Rachel holding tight to my hand, as we headed for the station.
When we walked in, one of Dumas’ men looked up and nodded a greeting. He was the only person I’d seen since we’d entered the station. His job was to wire up the electronics with explosives which would be detonated when everyone was on board the plane. I didn’t really see the point anymore, but protocol is protocol and I wasn’t going to criticize.
“I’ve got it from here, Larsen,” Skelling said.
The man handed a small chunk of what looked like C4 to the WO, turned and hurried out of the room. I sat down in front of a panel that already had a blob of the stuff attached to it, pausing before turning on the power switch. Glancing around I saw three more places where explosive had been placed, each of them with a detonator already inserted.
“Don’t know about you, but I’d feel better if those detonators were pulled while we’re in here,” I said to Skelling.
“You Yanks sure are a nervous lot,” he smiled, stepped forward and removed the detonators from each location.
“At least we know the difference between ham and bacon,” I grinned, turning the power on to the console.
Rachel shook her head as I activated the circuit I’d used to speak with Admiral Packard earlier. A few seconds later it was answered by the same Lieutenant. He sounded more interested in being helpful this time when he heard my voice. A few moments later I was patched in to Pearl’s internal phone system and heard a ring.
“Seaman Simmons speaking,” Jessica answered.
“Seaman? Guess the hammer came down, huh Jessica,” I said, happy to hear her voice.
“Sir! Glad to hear you’re OK. And, yes sir, it did. I’m out of cyber-warfare and got demoted. All things considered, I’m pretty lucky. And, sir? Lieutenant Hunt told me you went to the mat with the Admiral for me. Probably saved my ass. I don’t know how to thank you, sir!”
“You already have, Jessica. But I need another favor.”
“Name it, sir,” she said.
“We’re about to depart Alert station. I’m hoping you’re going to tell me that Colonel Blanchard has secured my wife.”
“Yes, sir. He has! They’re in Boise, waiting for the SEALs and Doctors from Seattle to arrive before they evac.”
“What about Igor? The Russian in the Seattle area they were supposed to take with them?”
“They’ve picked up one surly Russian and one big, equally surly dog, sir. That was the latest message we received from them.”
I leaned back in the chair and blew out a sigh of relief. Rachel placed her hand on my shoulder and I looked up at her. Cupping my hand over the microphone, I gave her a quick synopsis of what Jessica had just told me. She smiled, leaned down and kissed my cheek.
“OK, Jessica,” I said, smiling from ear to ear. “That’s great news. We’re heading to Boise. Please get a message to the Colonel and let him know we’re on the way. If I had to guess, probably close to ten hours before we arrive.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll do that.”
“Thank you, Jessica. Sorry, but I just can’t call you Seaman. I’ll use your rank when you’re a Petty Officer again.”
“Working on it, sir,” she laughed.
I broke the connection and powered the console down. Five minutes later, with my help, Skelling had all of the charges in place and the detonators were once again inserted. Wires from each led to a central trigger that could be activated remotely.
“Are we ready, Warrant Officer?” I asked.
“Yes, sir. Let’s go.”
Taking Rachel’s hand, I followed him out of the room and down the hall to an exterior door. We hurried across the ice to where two men stood waiting by the Hummer.
“Up and in, Major,” Skelling said. “They’ll move the vehicle, spray the deicer and climb up.”
Rachel scampered up and I followed with the WO on my heels. Entering the aircraft cabin, I stuck my head into the cockpit to speak with the pilot.
“Boise, Idaho,” I said.
He reached forward and began working on a small navigation screen built into the control panel. While he did this, the sound of a high pressure sprayer started up from outside as the deicing solution was spread over the plane’s wings and rudder. From just behind me there was a loud report and I jumped several inches off the deck.
Whirling, I saw Dumas standing in the open door. He was holding the Weatherby elephant gun, a wisp of smoke curling out of the muzzle. Moving next to him, I looked in the direction he was facing.
It was hard to spot on the snow and ice, but a spreading red stain drew my eye. A massive polar bear lay dead, no more than thirty or forty yards away from one of the men working the deicing equipment.
“Not the way I wanted to leave,” Dumas said sadly.
“Better than leaving another man down,” I said, clapping him on the shoulder.
He nodded and I turned my attention back to the cockpit. The pilot was leaned over the screen, reading.
“3,100 miles, sir,” he said when he realized I was there. “Eight to nine hours, depending on the weather. And we may have to stop and refuel. That’s the edge of our range.”
“Didn’t you just come here from Florida?”
“Yes, sir. But we had a tailwind much of the way and 56 fewer people weighing us down. And I can’t check with the weatherman anymore. There may be headwinds, or storms we have to go around. No worries. Plenty of places to stop between here and there if we need to.”
I nodded and left him to it, passing into the main cabin as the first of the two men entered after climbing a rope. Quickly, the second arrived and Dumas secured the door. I walked past the seats occupied by the Alert staff and sank into the empty seat next to Rachel. A moment later the engines spooled up and we began moving.
16
Rachel and I talked as we headed south, catching up on what each of us had been through since the last time we’d seen each other. As soon as I’d taken my seat, she looped her arm through mine and grasped my hand tightly. We sat that way as we spoke, Irina on her knees in the seat to my front, looking over the back at me as she listened intently.
A couple of the Rangers who had accompanied them on the flight from Mountain Home took up station in the aisle. When Rachel and I were caught up and the conversation slowed, one of them leaned forward.
“Sir, don’t suppose you’d care to tell us about everything you’ve been through since the attacks?” He asked. “Stories are making their way around about you.”
I turned and looked at him, understanding his curiosity but just too damn tired to tell my story again.
“What’s your name, Sergeant?” I asked.
“Peeping Tom,” Rachel interjected, smiling when the man blushed a bright shade of red.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. Didn’t expect to find you without your clothes on,” he stammered.
I looked back and forth between them, then saw the grin on Irina’s face.
“I don’t want to know,” I said, shaking my head.
“Just a little dip in the Gulf while they were working on the plane,” Rachel said. “It was all Irina’s idea.”
Irina said something in Russian that didn’t sound very flattering. Rachel smiled sweetly and stuck her tongue out. Well, at least these two were getting along. Ignoring them, I turned back to the Ranger.
“John McCrary, sir,” he said. “Creed, to my friends.”
“Well, Sergeant. I’d tell you, but I’m just too fucking tired. Can’t remember the last time I slept.”
“Then how about one question, sir?”
“Don’t take no for an answer, do you?”
I grinned.
“Tell you what, sir. I’ve got something in my pack that I wouldn’t normally tell an officer about. But the way I hear it, you were one of us and just got anointed after the shit hit the fan.”
“You’re brighter than you look, Sergeant. If you’ve got a steak dinner in there, I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
“Better, sir,” he said, grinning from ear to ear.
Shifting around on the deck, he hooked his pack with his foot and dragged it to where he was sitting. Opening the top, he rummaged through and began removing spare clothing, ammunition, magazines, two pistols, a knife and a brick of C4. I liked how he packed for travel.
Reaching deep, he pulled out something swaddled in a thick cloth. Cradling it like a baby in his arms, he carefully removed the wrapping, revealing a bottle of amber liquid with a subtle, black label covering the center.
“My own label, sir,” he said, beaming. “Ridge Runner Whiskey.”
“Sergeant, if you’re sharing, you just earned story time,” I smiled.
He smiled back, cracked the seal open and held the bottle out. I took it, mouth already watering in anticipation. With an encouraging look from him, I held it to my lips and took a small swallow.
I had expected something along the lines of liquid fire, and was pleasantly surprised when it didn’t take multiple layers of my throat’s lining with it. The taste was both smoky and light, with just a hint of hickory. It hit my stomach and immediately a warm, pleasantness spread through me.
“Holy shit, Sergeant. You really made this? You missed your calling,” I said, passing the bottle to Rachel.
“Yes, sir. I did. And didn’t miss it so much as it got interrupted. Two tours in Iraq and one in A-stan. Got out and had been home for three months. I’d put this away before my first tour, so it had plenty of time in the barrel. Had just signed a contract with a distributor when the fuckin’ attacks happened. I’m from Tennessee, so I headed up to Fort Campbell the day after and re-upped.”
“No family?” I asked.
“Just a bitch on wheels, ex-wife, sir.”
Rachel coughed and handed the bottle back to me. I held it up for Irina, but she shook her head. Taking another, larger sip, I regretfully handed it back to the Ranger who sealed the top and re-wrapped it in the towel.
He certainly knew the way to my heart, so I settled back and paid for my drink. I could have told the story in my sleep by now, and I’m not sure I didn’t. I don’t remember finishing it. The next thing I knew, Rachel was shaking me. I looked up, bleary eyed, to see the pilot standing in the aisle.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, sitting up and rubbing my face.
“There was a big storm over northern and central Canada,” he said. “Had to swing around it, so we’re going to have to refuel to make it to Boise.”
“OK. Where are we stopping?” I asked, wide awake at the news.
“We just passed over the Great Lakes. I want to go south some more before turning west to make sure we miss the worst of the weather. So probably somewhere in Missouri.”
“How are you going to pump fuel? There won’t be power wherever we stop.”
“Have to find a field with trucks,” he said. “Most big, commercial airports have put in underground tanks that need grid power for the pumps. So either a smaller field, or ideally an Air Force Base.”
“What do you need from me?”
I appreciated the update, but didn’t understand why it sounded like he wanted me to make the decision for him.
“Well, here’s the thing, sir. I don’t want to put down somewhere that’s overrun with infected. We wouldn’t be able to fuel, and might not be able to get back off the ground if enough of them came onto the runway.”
I nodded, remembering the Globemaster crashing on takeoff at Arnold Air Force Base.
“So call Pearl and ask them to take a look,” I said, still confused by his hesitation to make the call on where to land.
“There’s still Russians operating over North America, sir. We’ve been EM silent up to now, and I really don’t want to start broadcasting and have them find us. This thing is a pig, and they could catch us and shoot us down without hardly any effort if they knew we were here.”
Shit! I’d forgotten that little problem. Now I completely understood his dilemma. But, I didn’t have any suggestions on how to resolve it.
“What Air Force bases are closest to your planned route?”
“Offutt in Nebraska and Whiteman in Missouri, sir,” he answered. “Both would work, but…”
“Yeah, I got it. Don’t want to get swarmed by a herd while we’re trying to fuel or takeoff.”
He nodded.
“Less people in Nebraska,” Creed spoke up from where he was stretched out in the aisle. “Less people, less infected. Between us and the Canucks, we’ve got close to sixty rifles, sir. Should be able to hold them back long enough.”
“Ever fought a herd, Sergeant?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“Let’s hope you never have to, because 600 rifles aren’t enough. Might hold them back with air support, but not just rifles on the ground,” I said, then turned to the pilot. “Offutt it is. Can you make a low pass and get a look before we land?”
“Yes, sir. Can do. But cross your fingers it’s clear. We’re going to be pretty close to on fumes by the time we get there, and a low altitude pass will burn a lot of juice.”
“Understood,” I said. “How long?”
“Maybe an hour, sir.”
I nodded and he turned and retreated to the cockpit. The man was bone tired. That much was obvious. Thinking about it, I realized he had flown from Idaho to Florida, landed and made repairs, then flown nearly to the North Pole before back to where we were. He needed some downtime before he made a mistake behind the stick and killed all of us, but there wasn’t time for a nap.
17
After speaking with the pilot, I’d sat there for a few moments, trying to wake up. There hadn’t been a lot of opportunity for sleep over the past few days, and my body didn’t want to do anything other than slump down in the seat and pass out.
“Here, sir. If you want it.”
I looked down, my eyes not immediately focusing on what Creed was holding in the palm of his hand. When they did, I reached out and took the small, white tablet and held it up for closer inspection. It was a good, old fashioned, US military issue Go Pill. Dextroamphetamine.
Nodding my thanks, I dry-swallowed it and forced myself to stand. It had been a long time since I’d taken a Go Pill, but if I remembered right it would be about half an hour before I started feeling the effects. But things needed to be done now to get ready for landing at Offutt.
“Sergeant,” I said to Creed. “You the senior NCO?”
“Yes, sir,” he said, standing up.
“Good. Get the men up. Hopefully, Offutt is deserted when we get there, but we need to be ready. I’ll go talk to the Canadians and have their WO come see you. I want a fifty-yard perimeter around this aircraft while we’re on the ground, and a squad to watch over the fueling crew.”
“Yes, sir.”
He turned and kicked the boot of the closest Ranger who was snoring almost as loud as Dog. Making my way forward, I found Dumas and Skelling seated together near the front of the plane. I leaned in and briefed them on what was happening and asked the Captain to place his men under my command. He looked at me closely for a minute, then nodded.
“We are on American soil,” he said. “Seems only proper.”
Thanking him, I asked Skelling to go find Creed and coordinate the integration of the troops that would be guarding us while we were fueling. He immediately stood and headed for the back of the aircraft.
“Why are we going to Idaho?” Dumas asked.
“Linking up with my CO, who also happens to have my wife,” I said.
He blinked in surprise.
“I believe I recall you saying that your wife was infected.”
I nodded.
“She is. That’s why he has her. We have a couple of virologists working…”
My voice trailed off when a thought struck me.
“We need to get your people vaccinated,” I said in a quiet voice.
There were scientists seated all around and I didn’t want to create a panic. From the look on Dumas’ face, he understood my concern.
“How much time do we have?” He asked, also being careful to keep his voice down.
“I don’t know. Each outbreak has been days if not weeks apart, so I think there’s a fairly long incubation period. But that’s just a layman’s guess. I do know that the Colonel we’re on our way to see has several hundred doses of vaccine with him in case they encounter any survivors. Hasn’t needed to use it up till now.”
“Are there any precautions we can take?” He asked after a long pause.
“None I know of,” I answered, shaking my head. “Have any of your people seen or dealt with an infected?”
“No. We’ve monitored a lot of radio traffic, and have a good idea how they behave, but we’ve not encountered any.”
Oh boy. These guys were the worst kind of virgins. And they had no idea what they were about to walk into. Straightening, I walked to the cockpit and stuck my head in.
“Everything good for Offutt?” I asked the pilot.
“Yes, sir. Fifty-one minutes out.”
“OK. I need to talk to all of the people on the plane and don’t feel like shouting. You have a PA system I can use?”
“Can’t tell you, sir. I’m not even checked out on flying one of these, and don’t have a clue about that. There’d normally be an aircrew on board that handles that sort of thing. Poke around where the galley would be if this was a civilian airliner. There might be something there.”
I did as he suggested and after opening half a dozen cabinets, found a microphone. It was plugged into a small panel and I turned on the power and pressed the transmit button. Once I had the attention of everyone on the aircraft, I launched into a speech similar to the one I’d given to Martinez, Scott and Yee when I’d first met them in Little Rock. We’d been preparing to go into Los Alamos, and I’d wanted to make sure they knew what we’d be facing.
