ARES Virus (Book 3): Phoenix Rising

by O'Brien, John

  “With your order to minimize the use of neutron warheads, we’ve run through several scenarios to lower the numbers of infected. We don’t have sufficient firepower to limit them to any great degree unless we use a significant percentage of the ordinance we have on hand,” begins one captain’s brief. “The additional caveat is that we need to preserve the naval and Marine shore-side installations to the greatest extent possible.

  “With the dry conditions and forecast to remain the same, we’ve come up with creating firestorms to the north and south of the city. The westerly winds will drive the fires inland.”

  An overlay is presented on a screen, showing a line across the western section of Tijuana and another north spanning Oceanside, Carlsbad, and Encinitas. Another overlay is placed over the top.

  “This shows the anticipated degree and speed of the spread. In the north, we can expect the fire line to travel inland through San Marcos and Escondido. Most of the computer models we’ve run also show the fires reaching Poway. If the conditions remain as they are, and they’re forecast to do so, the fire line will travel through the rough terrain to the east, eventually reaching Ramona. From there, they will continue eastward until they run out of steam.

  “South, the fires will travel east, southeast through most of Tijuana. This will eliminate the larger towns and isolate the San Diego community. I want to remind everyone here that this is based on computer simulation, and as we all know, reality often takes a different track,” the captain concludes.

  “Thank you, Captain. My question is, how will the infected react? Won’t they flee ahead of the flames and still be around for us to deal with? After all, they’ve shown that they retain some self-preservation capability. This isn’t so much a clearing of the area as it is a reduction of numbers,” Gettins inquires.

  “That’s a possibility. Once the fires take hold, the models indicate that the average spread rate will progress at just over ten miles per hour. While the infected may be able to run faster than that, they won’t be able to sustain that speed for long. There are very few that can sustain a six minute mile pace for any great distance. So, barring them having the knowledge to escape to the sides, the flames will eventually catch them,” the captain answers.

  “Will we be able to affect the flames once they take hold? Large firestorms create their own wind patterns, which can drive them from their intended path,” Gettins says.

  “That’s true. The flames will draw in winds from all directions, but the predominant onshore flow will keep the spread as indicated. Again, this is all via computer simulation and actual results may vary.”

  “How long will it take for the fires to do their job? Meaning, how long until we can proceed with other operations?”

  “At ten miles per hour, the fires will clear the areas indicated inside of a day. I’m not saying that they’ll be two hundred plus miles inland, as the terrain will dictate the spread rate—several of the models showed the fires being slowed by the steep terrain. So, once the flames get going, we should be able to run further operations within twenty-four hours,” the captain replies.

  “Very well. How will this affect the power transmission lines coming in from the grid?”

  “That’s a crap shoot, but I would plan on them going down, sir.”

  “And the water supply into the city?”

  “The surrounding reservoirs should be OK; this plan should preserve the treatment plants serving the central cities. But, if the winds change…” the captain ends, shrugging.

  “How many infected does the simulation indicate will be caught up in the fires?” Gettins asks.

  “Just over two million, assuming their behavior mimics the models. If the ones south merely turn north into San Diego, the fences won’t hold them for long and their numbers will be added to those already in the city and surrounding areas. To prevent that, we will be putting an additional fire line along the border.”

  “How sure are you that the operation will go as planned?”

  The captain again shrugs; “We’ve run the simulation a number of times and each one is within manageable outcomes. So, ninety percent, sir.”

  “And this will maintain the various services, barring the transmission lines.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Even with that assurance, I’m not getting the warm fuzzies that I should be having. If any of those fires turn, we’ll lose the port,” Gettins says. “Can we establish fire breaks?”

  “Not easily, sir. Without being able to go ashore and bulldoze long lines, we will use up a large percentage of our ordinance laying wide and long enough breaks,” the captain answers.

  “How long to set up the fires?”

  “We can begin bombing and shelling facilities at any time. Then we lay lines of incendiary ordinance along the ruins. We have a few gas stations near the start lines that we’ll target. Those should add impetus.”

  “Very well, Captain. Pull in the commanders this afternoon and brief them. I want to run the operation to the south first and have it checked against the computer simulations. Although it’s closer to the port, there is a slim chance of the fires turning north. If the reality matches the models, we’ll run the northern operation the following day. You have my OK to begin southern operations tomorrow morning,” Gettins says.

  * * * * * * *

  San Diego, California

  November 9

  Lieutenant Jill Pritchard orbits with her flight high overhead and to the south of the fleet. The morning sun glimmers across the deep blue of the Pacific, the cities of San Diego and Tijuana visible in the distance. The ships of the fleet are spread across the ocean, each trailing a wake of white. A line of destroyers and cruisers that aren’t providing outer screen lie off the shores of Tijuana.

  The long passage around the cape had turned the exhaustion and endless sorties of establishing the eastern forward bases into boredom with plenty of downtime. The constant operations had delayed much of the worry people felt regarding their loved ones, but that anxiety returned during the long voyage. Duties were still performed, but with a lackluster commitment. Off-duty crewmembers remained in or near their bunks, some staring at pictures for hours. Activities were introduced in attempts to bring them out of their funks, but in reality, there was nothing that could be done. The grieving process needed its own schedule. By the time they arrived off the Southern Californian shores, they were eager to do anything other than worry. In a way, they were luckier than those off the coast of Washington, who have been busy since they arrived and haven’t had the time to grieve. They will still have to go through that process once they secure their haven.

  Bringing the Super Hornet out of a bank, Pritchard looks down at the line of escort vessels. All along the line, whitish streams issue from each of the big five-inch guns. Moments later, explosions erupt in a long line among densely packed housing developments near the coast. Dark smoke plumes rise into the sky as the blast lifts large chunks of housing and vehicles skyward. More follow in short order, a line marching south and inland. After fifteen minutes of bombardment from the large-caliber guns, the western section of Tijuana is left in ruins, billowing smoke pushed eastward by the winds.

  “Gypsy zero three, you are cleared to descend to angles minus six and proceed to route Alpha,” command calls.

  “Gypsy descending to angles minus six, proceeding to route Alpha,” Pritchard radios.

  With her wingman in a trail position and the other element spread a mile away in a tactical formation, she reduces her throttles to idle and noses the aircraft down in a steep descent. Behind her, the weapons officer ensures that the six MK-77s are ready. The bombs each carry seventy-five gallons of JP-5 aviation fuel along with a thickener that makes the fuel jelly-like. It’s a newer version of the napalm that was used in Vietnam. While the rest of the world condemned and banned the use of napalm, the US retained the right to use it against military targets.

  Wheeling south of the Mexican city, Pritchard and her flight recei
ve additional clearance to descend at their discretion and enter the planned bombing route. Their target is the smoldering line of devastation created by the escort ships. She directs the others of her flight to take their separation, and then brings her screaming attack fighter down to five hundred feet. Waves crash into the line of cliffs off her wing. Ahead, the outskirts of the city perch along the rise; a long beach, beginning just past the cliffs, extends all the way north to the breakwaters surrounding the harbor of San Diego.

  All of this is only witnessed on a subconscious level as Pritchard is concentrating on the target quickly approaching. Smoke rises from a line of smoldering ruins, debris from houses blown into the streets. Darker smoke billows from burning vehicles.

  “Weapons green,” the weapons officer states.

  The pipper on her heads up display draws closer to the target diamond. The two intersect and the aircraft rocks as six bombs fall from their pylons in sequence. They strike the ground, spilling walls of flame outward as they tumble. Black smoke rises from six lines, the jellied fuel clinging to the debris from the houses. In the dry climate, the fires catch, houses still upright quickly becoming pillars of flames. In a space of forty minutes from the first shot fired, eight flights of four aircraft empty their loads of incendiary bombs into the targeted neighborhoods. Fifty minutes afterward, the flames catch hold in earnest and begin an eastward march across the once popular city.

  * * * * * * *

  San Diego, California

  November 10

  Gettins stares at the satellite photos, comparing them to the wall of smoke he sees in the distance. Where Tijuana and Camino Verde once occupied the entirety of the southern basin, there is only blackened and charred remains. Flames still billow from places within the cities, but for the most part, the leading edge of the fires are in the higher elevations of the surrounding peaks. The fires raced up the slopes, but appear to have stalled and died down once they reached the peaks. Video footage showed the infected fleeing ahead of the raging inferno, but most were caught once the fire line gained steam. The wall of flames set at the border prevented many of the infected from running north, that fire line continuing south and eventually joining with the larger one.

  “How many?” Gettins asks without turning around from the railing.

  “We can’t put an exact number on it, but we estimate a million and a half plus,” the captain standing behind answers.

  “Are the fires dying out or will they gain momentum and continue?”

  “All indications are that they’ll die out. However, the fires in the valley will probably continue through Tecate. We’re not sure how far those will extend,” the captain replies.

  “So, how close to the simulations did this follow?” Gettins inquires.

  “Close to ninety-seven percent. Some models had the flame continuing onward, but for our purposes, nearly perfect. However, some of the models showed that they wouldn’t push up the valley as far as they have.”

  “If we go with the northern operation, can we expect a similar outcome with respect to the modeling?” Gettins asks.

  “There’s no reason we shouldn’t, sir. With the extent of the flames’ spread, I will caution that we can’t expect the transmission lines to survive. The grid backbone into the city passes very close. Some simulations show the fires destroying them, others stopping short.”

  “If we proceed, how many infected will we likely catch?”

  “Our estimates indicate more than half a million in and around the northern cities.”

  “Leaving us with around two to two-and-a-half million remaining around San Diego?”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “So, the question remains whether those power lines are worth the time and effort required to round up a half million infected and saving the warheads.”

  The captain remains silent, knowing that Gettins is having the conversation with himself.

  “Captain, what are the chances that the fire will hit the hills and spread south into the city?”

  “Just over ten percent, sir. The onshore flow can swirl around the steep terrain and turn the firewall south.”

  “OK, Captain. That’s the part that’s leaving me with a bad feeling, and I’ve learned to trust that instinct. Cancel that phase of the operation. Starting immediately, we begin rounding up the infected. I want collection zones established in the north and south. Make sure they’re in the open, but away from the port facilities. If any fires are started, I don’t want them anywhere near. Twelve warheads, Captain. I’m giving you twelve warheads to do the job,” Gettins states.

  “Aye, sir.”

  * * * * * * *

  San Diego, California

  November 13

  Having drawn the ships of the fleet further offshore, Gettins looks at the satellite video playing in the CIC. For the past three days, the flight decks have been busy launching and recovering aircraft, with helicopters flying over Southern California like a swarm of gnats. With the terrain, there aren’t many open areas in which to gather the infected. Unlike the mass gatherings that were conducted in Washington, they opted to gather the infected into several areas spread apart.

  Within the San Diego metropolis, the helicopters gathered and held the infected at Gillespie Airfield and other separate open area locations throughout the city and on the eastern fringes against the surrounding hills. In addition, there’s another large gathering in the valley holding the cities of Blossom Valley and Flinn Springs. Further north, the infected are gathered within the San Pasqual Valley.

  “Signal the control facilities to launch,” Gettins orders.

  Five minutes later, the helicopters holding the infected in place are ordered to race west. High overhead, the warheads separate from their missiles, each heading toward their programmed targets. Twelve neutron warheads reenter the atmosphere and begin their descent.

  The satellite video pulls back to show a larger picture of the Southern California area. Tiny dots of the choppers race over the shorelines and head further offshore. The screen lights up with twelve nearly simultaneous flashes of light that quickly dissipate. In their wake, trees that were once the frustration of many a golfer erupt into flames, the fairways burned for several hundred meters. Tombstones disintegrate, those on the outer edges toppling over from the force of the blasts. The buildings around the epicenters are obliterated by fire. The infected at ground zero vanish in a wall of flame. As the wall of radiation sweeps invisibly outward, the infected within a half mile simply fall over in response. For those within a mile, it will be days of bleeding and pain before they succumb to the effects.

  “Recover the helicopters and stand down for the next forty-eight hours. Continue to monitor the infected and radiation levels,” Gettins orders. “And keep an eye on the power to the city. We placed those far enough away that the EMP blast was minimal, but I want to make sure.”

  * * * * * * *

  San Diego, California

  November 15

  Captain Dean Suthron pilots his Viper attack helicopter over the multi-lane interstate that rolls through the city of El Cajon. To his left, a circular blast pattern several hundred meters wide scorches the ground, centered on the Gillespie Airport. Only the pavement of the crossing runways can be seen amid smoldering ruins of hangars and airfield operations’ buildings. Smoke rises from where other warheads impacted near the southeast hills and in a valley to the east. In the distance to the southeast, a large line of brown smoke obscures the horizon, the sunlight passing through the smoldering wildfires casting a dirty haze upon the ground. The most prominent aspect is the sprawl of dead infected lying in the streets. Everywhere he looks, bodies lay spread across pavement and concrete, some curled up in fetal positions.

  “We have heat sources at two o’clock, in the parking lot of that mall,” his gunner calls.

  Suthron slows and angles the nose of the gunship to the right, his wingman stationed behind and to the side following his action. Several blips show on the scre
en, highlighted against the colder signatures of vehicles and bodies. Staring into the lot, he sees several infected slowly crawling across the pavement, inching their way toward a sporting goods store. The chin-mounted turret follows the movement of his eyes, the barrels of the Gatling gun pointing directly toward the crawlers.

  For a moment, Suthron watches the infected as they reach out with weak arms and pull their bodies forward another foot. He wonders if there is any goal they have in mind or whether it’s an automatic reaction; that moving means life. Even though slow, their movement is steady, one motion after another. The dead aren’t an obstacle, they simply move up and over those that have already succumbed.

  Under the morning sun, red tracers streak earthward. The stream of 20mm shells cause sparks to fly from the pavement and already dead bodies to jump from the impacts. With subtle eye movements, the heavy caliber rounds are walked across the crawling infected. While the burst lasts only a couple of seconds, the results are devastating. Bodies lay chewed up by the forceful impacts, bones shattered and internal organs smashed. Blood seeps out of grievous wounds, soaking the already grimy clothing.

  Remaining only long enough to ensure that no further heat sources are in the lot, Suthron lowers the nose to move along their designated route, looking for more infected. Other gunship pairs prowl nearby, combing the city. At first, they sweep the areas looking for any remnants in the open, and then they begin the gathering process that they’ve become so accustomed to. Once groups are assembled, attack fighters will swoop in and deliver their ordinance. All across the city, sporadic lines of red streak downward, accompanied by the sound of buzz saws. Lines of gunships march along, finding and terminating any infected they run across.

  * * * * * * *

  San Diego, California

  November 20

  Admiral Gettins relishes the feeling of the breeze as it flows across his face. Leaning against the metal railing surrounding the bridge wing, he watches as they slowly pass by the hilly terrain of Point Loma. With the large, open airfield of the naval supply center on the other side, the USS Mount Whitney enters the channel leading into the port. Columns of smoke rise lazily in parts of the city, blown sideways in the light wind. A brown smudge of smoke covers the southeastern skyline, the remnants of the wildfires continuing to burn.