Silence descends on the meeting as Gettins ponders the situation. He’s not really comfortable with giving the colonel a break. If any of the sailors or Marines remaining decided that they wanted to head off to find family, the forces under his command would quickly disintegrate. Humankind would most likely vanish. On one hand, he needs that expertise, but on the other, he couldn’t let it be known that he could forgive such a thing as abandoning one’s post. There isn’t really a right answer, except to keep the man permanently locked up.
“Who else knows about this?” Gettins asks.
“As far as I know, just us two…well, and him of course,” Stevens answers.
“Stevens, it never happened…his going AWOL. That’s between you, me, and this Colonel Koenig. Are you OK with that?” Gettins breaks the silence.
“I’m fine with it. I really can’t say that I blame him, but I see why this can’t be known.”
“We’ll deal with him and what he did when all of this settles down. For now, keep him in quarantine and we’ll use his expertise any way we can.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“And, set up a conference call with you, me, and Koenig. Now, what was the second thing?” Gettins queries.
“Well, this day has been full of interesting people. I just got off the radio with a major whom the op-conned Marine companies picked up from one of the silos. Somehow, he heard about our predicament and offered a solution…or at least, information that we weren’t aware of,” Stevens says, again pausing.
“More guessing games?”
“I just don’t know what to make of it, that’s all. He informed me that one of the nuclear wings has a flight of ten missiles loaded with neutron bombs. This wasn’t supposed to be known, except by a very few. I guess he figured that there weren’t many of those ‘very few’ left. That’s ten missiles, each with three warheads,” Stevens states, then pauses for the inevitable reaction.
“Fuuuck me!” Gettins states, incredulous.
“I think I said the exact same thing. Now, I know about the theories surrounding neutron weapons, but he had some up-to-date knowledge to impart. The basic concept is that neutron bombs are able to spread lethal ionizing radiation, but without the blast radius of thermo-nuclear weapons. According to the major, the warheads paired with the missiles will give a small blast radius out to six hundred meters, with a lethal dose of radiation sweeping out to nearly three-quarters of a mile. He specifically stated that for a lethal dose to be effective at that distance, anyone exposed would have to be in the open. If there was any shielding, such as buildings or some other obstruction, the effect would be mitigated by a substantial amount. The residual radiation from the blast clears out within hours, but if there’s any metal involved—which there certainly will be within a city—then after forty-eight hours. The destruction caused by the blast would depend upon the structure type of any building, but is generally limited to the distance mentioned. They were meant for concentration points of military forces,” Stevens says.
“So, these are available…just sitting in the silos?” Gettins comments.
“Apparently so. We’d need to reprogram target points, but that can’t be done within any of the launch control facilities. We’d have to go to Offutt Air Force Base to do that…if we intend to go down that path. As you know, we don’t need authorization codes, as those are only meant, well, to authorize the order to fire. We reprogram them, send the code from Offutt to the launch facilities, and fire.”
Gettins thinks over the possibilities. There seems to be little downside if the radiation clears out so quickly, and it would be a possible solution for the areas surrounding the Kitsap naval facilities.
“So, we could gather the millions in the area up and down Puget Sound and drop these on them without any long-term effects?”
“Presumably.”
“Getting into Strategic Command won’t be easy. Aside from being smack dab in the middle of a huge city, it’s a long ways away. We’d have to set up staging points,” Gettins muses, the semblance of a plan forming.
“It sounds like we’ve decided to step in that direction,” Stevens says.
“Possibly…just possibly. It would take care of an immediate problem and could lead to a longer-term solution for us. Of course, if we can reprogram the missiles, then there’s the problem of gathering that many infected in set locations. But, that will be simple enough to figure out. Can the op-conned forces be held in place? That will save us a little,” Gettins questions.
“Possibly. I could open up a supply route to them. It will add to our expenditure of fuel and other supplies, and I’d like to have some maintenance downtime so our aircraft don’t begin falling out of the skies, but we can do it,” Stevens replies.
“Okay, do it. And let’s get our planning teams on this pronto. I should have sent more to you before we bugged out. Sorry about that. Oh, what’s the status on the power plants? Were we able to isolate the western grid?” Gettins asks.
“I don’t know where we would have put them if you did send ’em. And yes, the teams were able to shut down the incoming and outgoing flows, so we’re good there. Let’s just hope the grid here maintains. We’ll need to do something about that soon, unless we want Hanford adding to our list of disasters. I have a team studying whether we can route power directly from the Bonneville Dam to the site, or those huge wind farms in eastern Washington. I’ll get back to you when I know something more,” Stevens answers.
“Very well. Set that route up and let’s strategize this thing. I want a feasible end goal for us. The men and women with us need that.”
Chapter Eleven
Plains of Central Montana
October 23
Jennings stabs the entrenchment tool into the soil, surveying the freshly dug fire pit. The rest of the platoon is scattered across the immediate area, setting up temporary shelters for the evening. Behind, the two Air Force officers and the Marine lieutenant sit next to the pile of gear unloaded from the chopper, doing officer stuff, which mostly amounts to sitting around telling lies and watching the enlisted work.
Satisfied that the pit is deep enough that the fire will be mostly hidden, and that a sloping ramp was built into the pit to provide enough air flow, Jennings gazes across the flat plains toward the tall mountains to the west. Tomorrow, they’ll transit those snow-capped peaks on their way toward the boats sitting off the western shores of Washington State. The sun dipping behind the tall summits, giving the snowfields a decidedly bluish tint, does little to alleviate the chill sweeping off the crests and onto the high mountain plains.
The company is spread across the fenced-in fields, close enough to provide for mutual protection but far enough away that the rotor wash and the associated dust storms from the choppers won’t obscure everything. Having already taken on fresh loads of fuel, teams of gunships circle the perimeter. Kneading the muscles of his lower back, Jennings watches as the captain strolls over to their position.
“Well, sir,” the company commander addresses the Air Force major, “it looks like whatever you had to say to the higher ups had an impact. Our orders have changed and we’re to turn around and head back to the launch control facilities. They said that you’d know which one, or ones, we’re to bring back online. My question is, is each facility able to hold an entire platoon-plus underground?”
“Oh, that was quick. I didn’t expect for them to act so fast, or to really act at all. With regards to your question, Captain, no, they aren’t that large. They can hold some, but not an entire platoon. We’ll need to use the ground level facilities if the plan is to house your company. I’m assuming that you’ll split your forces up among the three locations,” the major answers.
“That’s my thinking. Can you tell me exactly what we’re going back for? Are they planning to actually nuke the infected?” the captain queries.
“I have an idea of what they may be planning, but I’m not sure that I’m at liberty to say,” the major replies.
> “Fair enough. Whatever it is, it sounds like we may be in it for the long run. They plan to implement an extended supply route from the western shores to the installations. We’ll use the above-ground facilities and rotate crews underground for a respite from having to wear the MOPP gear. Lieutenant, your platoon will remain with the major in this area. The other platoons will escort the other crews to the other two launch sites. I haven’t received any orders as to the length of our stays, so be prepared for an extended duration. We’ll be splitting the airborne assets evenly among us. I don’t need to remind you not to take any risks. This is a direct quote: ‘We can’t afford to have the virus introduced to those facilities. You’re to keep those sites secure at any cost. Don’t fuck this up, Captain.’ Shit rolls downhill, Lieutenant, so I’m passing this on. Don’t fuck this up,” the captain sternly states.
“Aye, aye, sir,” the lieutenant responds.
“Sir,” Jennings intrudes. “What about the quarantines? Are we bringing those with us? Because that will make it immensely more difficult.”
“No, Sergeant. They’ll be heading west at first light to meet up with the supply forces and then transferred.”
Long shadows stretch across the plains, the pinpoints of lights dotting the area from the fire pits meant to stave off the cold. Breath plumes form from each soldier as they finish tasks to set up the temporary camp. As the sun dips below the tall peaks, squads huddle around the small fires, any warmth felt more mental than physical. In the distance, the faint beating of rotors drifts through the night air.
* * * * * * *
USS Mount Whitney, Atlantic Ocean
October 24
“The first supply depot has been set up. The second one will be completed tomorrow, with the third connecting the two more distant locations the day following. Our supply superhighway will be finished by the end of the day on the 26th. That will give us the ability to strike at Offutt with a two-day notice, once we come up with a plan for the facility. The order has been given to the three op-conned companies. Two of them will be laagering up in hotels near remote truck stops with the third split between the three launch sites,” Admiral Stevens briefs.
Gettins looks at the lines stretching across the other admiral’s face, and wonders if he looks as tired.
“With Offutt Air Force Base sitting right in the middle of the huge population center of Omaha, Nebraska, we can’t afford to remain there for too long. We’ll have to have units set up to draw infected away from the base and then quickly strike. This won’t be like Schriever or any of the other remote bases we’ve secured in the past. Considering the density of infected, any strike team we land will quickly draw their attention, even if we use diversionary forces. We may be able to land forces on the facility roof and penetrate the facility from above, the airborne forces rapidly withdrawing out of range once they drop off the troops. As long as there’s power to the facility, we won’t be required to have forces outside on the ground to fire up the generators. I see that as our only viable option,” Gettins says.
“We’ll work along those lines, then. The high-resolution photos of the command building should be here soon. After gaining control of the missile reprogramming, we’ll have to gather the infected around Whidbey into designated locations. That will take time, I’m not exactly sure how much, but we can begin that process whenever,” Stevens comments.
“Let’s look at the best locations to target so the forces can go in with the coordinates in hand. With thirty warheads available, we can target a total area of nearly thirty square miles. That’s not much, considering there are over three and a half million infected surrounding the Sound. However, it will put a major dent in their numbers, hopefully down to a manageable level such that our conventional firepower can deal with the remainder,” Gettins states.
“Are we planning to use the entire contingent?” Stevens queries.
“The way I see it, and correct me if I’m wrong, we can gather as many as we feasibly can into separate large pockets in predefined locations. We hit those with enough missiles to provide sufficient coverage and then play the wait-and-see game,” Gettins replies.
“Well, the greatest concentration is on the eastern side of the Sound, from Everett down to Olympia. That entire area is basically one vast population zone covering nearly one hundred fifty miles. My idea is to form pockets in Olympia, Tacoma, to the south of Seattle, and Everett to the north. Then, across the waters in Bremerton—avoiding the supply depots situated there—and Victoria. If we do this correctly, we can eliminate the vast majority of the infected,” Stevens says. “That, however, will use up most of the warheads at our disposal.”
Gettins is struck by the fact that they’re complacently talking about the destruction of nearly four million beings who were living ordinary lives scant weeks ago. Now, they’re being discussed like a pesky vermin infestation. But, he reminds himself that the infected represent a huge danger to the survival of humanity; that they aren’t really people anymore.
“Yes, but we need to carve out a safe place. And, we don’t really have much choice unless we altogether scrap any hope for the entire continent. Australia, New Zealand, and Alaska remain options, but let us see what we can do here first.
* * * * * * *
Whidbey Island, Quarantine
October 26
Koenig slides off the bed, feeling confined within the enclosed space. Thick plastic sheets hang down, the clear upper portions giving a distorted view beyond the clean room in which he was deposited four days ago. The only entry point is a sterilization chamber, with each of the rooms inside of the larger enclosure that is the quarantine facility. The whirring of the fan pumping clean air into the room is a constant sound, along with the scrubbers removing excess carbon dioxide.
Being confined in the small room with its bed, a stainless steel lavatory, and medical equipment is sending him stir crazy. It has only been a few days and he’s not sure how he’s going to be able to make it through the remaining weeks. His only consolation is that Liz is in the room next to his, where they’re able to talk through the plastic sheeting and to see each other. On the other side is Hayward, one of the cadets he brought out of the mountains. The guards in full MOPP gear posted in the corridors between the rooms are a strong deterrent for anyone who decides that perhaps they’ve had enough and want out. The guards have been more than kind, distributing sanitized magazines and such to the folks under quarantine, but Koenig is fairly certain that they’re under a shoot first, ask questions later order.
With Liz watching from her bed, Koenig paces his quarters. Although he doesn’t regret his decision to leave his post at the beginning of the crisis, he’s nervous about his impending teleconference with the two admirals commanding the remaining forces. In his brief meeting with Admiral Stevens, he wasn’t shown any disrespect, but he’s not sure what to expect from the admiral in charge.
A commotion out in the hallway draws his attention. Overlapping plastic panels are parted, revealing soldiers escorting a diminutive figure. They take her through the sanctum separating one of the rooms from the corridor and remove her protective clothing. As the soldiers withdraw, Koenig sees a young girl staring out through the plastic window.
“Emily?” he hears Hayward say from the neighboring room.
“Do you know her?” Koenig asks, edging toward the cadet.
“I…I think so. That’s Emily…or at least, it sure looks an awful lot like her. Remember that girl we mentioned while talking in the cabin?” Hayward answers.
“Yeah, I think I remember the story,” Koenig responds.
“If that’s her, I wonder how in the hell she got up here. The last I saw of her, she was on the other side of the country heading off with her aunt and uncle. That can’t possibly be her.”
“Isn’t she the one you said was bitten, but didn’t exhibit any symptoms?” Koenig questions, glancing at the girl.
“Yeah. Even though Clarke never really admitted to it, I’m posi
tive that’s what I heard. Emily!” Hayward calls.
The girl turns her head from side to side, peering into the other rooms in an attempt to find the source of the call.
“Over here,” Hayward shouts.
The girl looks toward Hayward and the two lock eyes. A hint of recognition crosses her features.
“It’s me, Hayward…from Pineville.”
The girl gives a big smile and waves.
“You’re positive that’s her?” Koenig questions.
“Yeah, that’s her. I’m positive,” Hayward says. “How in the world…”
Interesting, Koenig thinks, looking over at the young face barely visible above the protective screening.
If what the cadet says is true, then the girl staring out of the window is a carrier and represents one of the greatest dangers to the continued spread of the virus. She also represents a form of hope if they’re to combat the virus in the long term. Koenig looks from Hayward to Emily, one harboring an immunity, the other possibly an asymptomatic carrier. Ideas begin forming, the first steps in a potential pathway taking shape.
The outer plastic sheets again part, a couple of soldiers entering with a laptop and headphones. Entering his room, they set up the computer, instructing Koenig in how to use the program. He’s used the secure conference program extensively, but listens patiently to their instructions.
“It’s running, sir. You’ll hear a chime when they connect you in. Will you require anything else?” the Marine says, his voice only partially muffled by his protective mask.
“No, thank you.”
“Very well. We’ll be just outside if you need anything.”
Koenig moves the laptop to the single table in the room and settles into the only chair. He wonders why there’s a chair in the room when he has zero visitors, but assumes that’s just what the book of logistics says must be in a medical room. The laptop chimes.
Well, here goes nothing, he thinks, selecting the displayed connect button.
* * * * * * *
ARES Virus (Book 3): Phoenix Rising Page 14
