The White Death

by Rafferty, Daniel

  “We could contact the news network, get the broadcast cut,” said Gail.

  “No,” replied Thomas. “You don’t become president without developing dragon’s skin.” He looked back to the television, and now Bloodworth was just handed a note from the same guy as before. She began to laugh, sarcastically nodding her head, before looking at Hashcroft like a fox who had just cornered her evening feast.

  “Mr. Hashcroft. Is this you?” The studio flashed a large image of Hashcroft as a child, wearing thick, round black glasses.

  “I beg your pardon,” he said, his face turning a bright red.

  Bloodworth took her purse out and held it up for Hashcroft to see.

  “What color is my purse?”

  “What?” laughed Hashcroft. Thomas walked closer to the television.

  “What color is my purse?” she repeated, warning his advisors not to utter a word.

  Hashcroft remained silent, his lips tense and his breathing rapid.

  “Are you color blind, Mr. Hashcroft?” She smiled, having scored a deadly blow.

  “How dare you discuss personal matters?”

  “This is a country in which freedom of speech is practiced and protected,” said Bloodworth. “Now, answer my question. Are you color blind?” She stood up.

  “It hasn’t stopped me turning into a productive member of society,” he said finally.

  “A productive member of society?” said Bloodworth. “But there are so many jobs you can’t do. Why have you never admitted this before? How many unborn babies would you have terminated who have this disease? Would it be included on your grand list of unacceptable defects?”

  “I’m talking about severe illness,” said Hashcroft. “Mental retardation, missing limbs, a higher chance of developing deadly diseases.”

  “You’re now cherry picking,” she said. “You can’t have it both ways. Do either of your children have this disability? Should they have been born?”

  “Network’s getting cold feet,” said Gail. A notice flew across the screen, saying a break was imminent. Hashcroft was lost for words but looked dangerously toward her.

  “I’ll only say this in the company of you two,” said Richards, looking at Gail and Thomas. “Hashcroft made a pretty convincing argument until the end there.”

  “Is it wrong I was thinking the same?” asked Thomas. “We aren’t hardwired, as a race, to care for those less fortunate. That’s a societal development. Our conscience may very well be our downfall someday.”

  “I’m surprised at you saying that, sir,” said Gail. He knew she was an ardent pro-life supporter.

  He brushed her comment off—he didn’t have time to debate policy at the moment, and with the events of the last few days, he wasn’t even sure what his positions were anymore. “We can’t have live debates like that happening anymore, not until this is all settled. Those two will end up indirectly costing lives. I’ll get Kim to ring the major news broadcasters.” Thomas was turning into the kind of president he loathed. He had wanted to come to power and bring true transparency to the White House. He saw the American government as huge, cumbersome, and wholly inefficient. Now he was ordering his media advisor to ring news agencies and unofficially warn them of consequences should these types of live debates continue.

  “Mr. President,” said an assistant, coming in, “we’ve just been informed that the second batch of sarin will be ready within an hour.”

  “And I just got an update from Section 51,” said Richards, reading the email. “Progress is slow, but they have found a carrier.”

  Thomas looked at this watch. “Timeframe?”

  “Days, maybe weeks.”

  “And there’s still no word from the alien Council. Every minute that passes means the window for infection remains open. We need to close it,” said Gail.

  “Is there no way we can save them?” asked Thomas.

  “According to Section 51, no,” said Richards. “Our own doctors are in agreement.”

  “But it’s condemning billions of people to death,” said Gail. “Surely, we could find some kind of way…”

  Thomas looked at Richards, who had a serious, war-torn look on his face. He knew it was decision time. The alien Council may very well come through with a vaccine at some point, but they needed to act now. They couldn’t rely on anyone anymore.

  “General, inform your bombers to begin extermination of all infected populations.”

  “Yes, Mr. President,” he replied, leaving to prepare.

  Chapter 44

  In Downing Street, Prime Minister William Stone arrived in the underground operations room to a fully convened cabinet. Stone was tired, much like his American counterpart, but the business of government waited for no one. He was convinced his hair had turned completely white now.

  “Prime Minister,” said Admiral Bellamy.

  “Admiral, give me an update,” said Stone, unbuttoning his suit jacket. “I’m due in Buckingham Palace in half a hour.”

  “His Majesty may have to wait,” said Bellamy. “We’ve detected a Russian battle fleet heading toward British waters.”

  Stone stopped breathing for a few seconds, giving a quick look to the cabinet secretary, who had just taken a seat beside him.

  “Time to arrival?” said Stone.

  “Less than two hours at their current speed,” said Bellamy. The admiral showed those assembled a live feed, with red dots moving across the North Sea toward Britain.

  “Why are we only discovering this now?” said Stone, shouting louder than he’d intended.

  “Prime Minister…” said Bellamy.

  “Why?” he asked again, not able to control his anger. “A Russian battle fleet is steaming towards the British coast, and we’re only finding out now? We’re not exactly talking about a dinghy here, Admiral.”

  “Our military forces are stretched,” said Bellamy, his voice cracking with anger.

  “Disaster after disaster,” said Stone.

  “Prime Minister, our satellites were focused on the European mainland, tracking infected population movements,” said Bellamy. “We can’t do everything. We’re not America, and our own carriers are not in home waters. I wish we could perform miracles, but we can’t, so don’t expect them.”

  Stone, despite being prime minister, felt uncomfortable. He wasn’t a man who liked conflict. The admiral was right; this situation was unprecedented.

  “Prime Minister,” said Paul McAddle. Stone was thankful for his cabinet secretary to break the tension. “We refused aid to the Russian government, when the virus penetrated their borders. Moscow’s ambassador had to be forcibly removed from our foreign office after he became violent.”

  “Government evacuation and military strikes—wasn’t that it?” said Stone.

  “Yes, sir,” said McAddle. “It’s my worry that the Russian fleet may not be open to negotiation.”

  “They may even be hostile,” said Bellamy.

  “Well, we need to find out either way,” said Stone.

  “We’ll know any minute now,” said Bellamy. “HMS Defiant is attempting to communicate with them. What we do know is they are not carrying the Russian president. We have confirmed reports that his convoy was attacked as he traveled back to Moscow.”

  “Paul, get the Americans on the line,” said Stone. “Keep them updated.” If this did turn hostile, it would be useful to have the Americans on their side.

  “Right away,” said McAddle, lifting the phone.

  “We also have reports that France has now been totally overrun,” said the foreign secretary. “Satellite imagery, along with reconnaissance flights, confirmed as much.”

  “What’s the status of SAS deployment?”

  “They are preparing to enter French airspace in fifteen minutes,”
said McAddle. Britain’s entire special operations force was in rapid preparation mode. “Will I tell them to hold off?”

  “No. Press on with that.” He had authorized a mission into France to disable their nuclear power plants. There were fears that a meltdown could send nuclear fallout their way. Nuclear power plants across Europe would need to be shut down. He watched Bellamy listen to the captain of the HMS Defiant, attempting to negotiate with the Russian battle fleet.

  “They claim to be seeking asylum,” said Bellamy.

  “How many?” asked Stone.

  “Fifteen ships. Eleven thousand men and women,” said Bellamy. “Estimates, of course.”

  “But are they virus-free?” asked McAddle, speaking very clearly to emphasize his question.

  “We’re trying to figure that out now,” said Bellamy.

  “Another 11,000 to support,” said McAddle. “Sir, we’re already stretched with everyone we rescued from France. We’ll run out of food. We’re a food-importing nation, and we can’t change that overnight.”

  “If there’s no risk of infection, we can’t abandon those people,” said Stone. He wasn’t prepared to turn his back on anyone if it was at all possible to save them. “Now is the time to pull together, not tear each other apart. Americans?”

  “General Richards is monitoring,” said McAddle. The admiral’s face contorted, hearing some bitter news.

  “Prime Minister, they claim to have some infected personnel in sealed containment rooms on their ships. But they stress they are contained and not a risk.”

  “We can’t let them enter British waters,” said McAddle like a hawk.

  “Admiral, inform the Defiant to order the Russians not to enter our waters. We will fly out supplies to them, but they cannot enter.”

  “Yes sir,” said Bellamy.

  Chapter 45

  Onboard the HMS Defiant, Captain Stewart issued orders to his Russian translator, who had been relaying the message to the Russian aircraft carrier.

  “No response, Captain.”

  “Damn,” said Stewart. “What are they playing at out there?”

  “Coming into visual range, Captain,” said the helmsperson.

  Stewart and Benet grabbed binoculars and watched the threatening Russian fleet incoming.

  “Hail them again,” ordered Stewart. “They are to come to a full stop, and relief supplies will be provided.”

  “We’re getting a message.”

  “Quiet,” said Stewart across the bridge.

  “They are demanding a safe port to dock in.”

  “Repeat our message,” said Stewart. “Docking is not permitted, and if they attempt to do so, it will be considered a hostile act.”

  Listening to the message being relayed, Stewart knew he would soon be in battle. Having witnessed war firsthand, the feeling never left him.

  “No response,” said Commander Benet.

  “Incoming missile,” shouted Chief Tactical Officer David Laurence.

  “Activate defense systems,” ordered Stewart.

  “All hands, brace for impact,” said Benet over the ship-wide radio.

  Two supersonic rail guns activated, the onboard computer tracing the incoming missile.

  “Three seconds to impact,” said Laurence.

  “Brace,” said Benet.

  Stewart tightened his grip on the rail, ready to be thrown downwards. A stream of super-fast white bullets darted off into the distance ahead of the Defiant, attempting to find their target.

  “Destroyed,” said Laurence as the bridge lit up from the orange explosion. “Just in time.”

  “Hail the carrier,” said Stewart.

  “They’re preparing to launch fighters,” said Laurence.

  “Battle stations,” shouted Stewart, and the alarm bell sounded throughout the ship.

  “We have activity on their aircraft carrier,” said Quinn. “Detecting twelve readying for launch.”

  “Admiral Bellamy reports the Prince Charles and London destroyers are at full impulse to support us,” said Benet. Rain started coming down hard on the Defiant, and Stewart lost sight of the Russian fleet behind tall black waves. The Defiant engaged full impulse and swung hard to port.

  “We can’t let them just sail into the British capital,” said Stewart. “Bring all weapons to bear. Continue to repeat our warnings that we will retaliate in full force.”

  Across the ship, the highly trained crew manned their posts and prepared the Defiant’s bristling array of deadly weapons.

  “No response to our hails,” said Benet.

  “Inform Admiral Bellamy,” said Stewart. He delegated that task now to his commander, wanting to be in full control of the bridge during battle.

  “Those fighters are heading towards the mainland,” said Laurence.

  “Lock targets and prepare to fire,” commanded Stewart, peering through his binoculars again.

  “Twelve targets locked,” said Laurence. The Defiant could target over 100 enemy planes at once and had a world-class missile firing system.

  “The Royal Air Force is in rapid launch mode,” said Benet. “Admiral Bellamy has authorized us to use all necessary force. They are not to dock, and you are fleet commander.”

  “Understood,” said Stewart. He felt no constraints now, with diplomatic protocol sidelined. “Tactical, fire!”

  The sea was stormy, and the Defiant lunged from port to starboard and back again. Missiles were launched from the ship’s main battery, filling the deck with white smoke.

  “All targets destroyed,” said Laurence after a few moments.

  “Begin evasive maneuvers,” ordered Benet to the helm.

  “Incoming missiles,” shouted Quinn. Her flashing radar screen showed two dots quickly approaching the Defiant.

  “Engage them,” ordered Stewart. The supersonic guns again sprayed bullets in the intended path of the missiles. Two bright explosions took over the stormy night sky, with British jets swishing past the Defiant and engaging their Russian counterparts in a ferocious air battle.

  “Russian Frigate Minsk has entered weapons range,” said Laurence. “And our air support has arrived.”

  “Let’s give our boys up there some help,” said Stewart. “Commander!”

  “Tactical, target the Minsk and fire two Trison missiles,” ordered Benet.

  “Target locked and confirmed.”

  “Fire,” ordered Stewart.

  The Minsk was hit, and her emergency siren started. She sank quickly, and little lifeboat launches were detected.

  “HMS Prince Charles and London are entering combat range,” said Benet.

  “Excellent,” said Stewart, appreciating backup. “Inform the fleet to align in chevron formation.”

  A Russian fighter crashed into the wavy sea just before the Defiant, and the ship steered hard to starboard to avoid a head-on collision. The battle raged for another ten minutes, with the Defiant sustaining a direct but controllable hit. She continued fighting from a distance while the Prince Charles and London went forward and engaged Russian destroyers on both port and starboard.

  “We’ve detected a submarine,” said Quinn, radar officer. She uploaded the radar display to the main screens.

  “Get the Prince Charles to attack that sub, now,” ordered Stewart. The order had no quicker left his mouth than he was thrown, along with the bridge crew, from his seat and into the air.

  “Report,” he shouted, blood gashing from his forehead. It was warm and kept bleeding.

  “Direct hit,” said Benet. “Sections three to seven are flooding. Initiating emergency containment.”

  The Prince Charles and London came in at each side, flanking the damaged Defiant. Prince Charles proceeded to drop depth charges against the sub
marine.

  “Captain, we have to abandon ship,” said Benet.

  “Laurence,” said Stewart, wiping the blood from his eyes. “Tactical status?”

  “We still have weapon power,” said Laurence, on his knees. “One of our own subs is moving in to attack range.”

  “Then we can’t leave,” said Stewart. “The Russians cannot be allowed to reach the mainland. Back to stations. All weapons, fire at will!”

  Chapter 46

  Stone hadn’t moved in the last half-hour as his cabinet listened in on the battle raging along Britain’s east coast. Explosions, orders, and screams came across the sound system. To him, war was a truly horrifying thing.

  “We shouldn’t be fighting each other, now of all times.”

  “Leave it to the Russians,” said McAddle.

  “Any news?” said Stone as Bellamy reentered.

  “We’ve disabled two destroyers and destroyed five more,” said Bellamy. The old admiral, dressed in full uniform, was still top of his game. “The Russian Navy is antiquated, Prime Minister. What they possess in numerical advantage doesn’t make up for old technology and inferior weapons systems. My men out there are the best.”

  “Casualties?”

  “The Defiant has been hit by a submarine, which we later destroyed,” said Bellamy. “But most of their air force has been neutralized, and none of our own planes were downed in the fighting.”

  “Can we save the Defiant?” said Stone. He was worried about the crew, but they needed the ship as well.

  “Adrift but salvageable. She is continuing to fight on.”

  “It’s the nuclear weapons I’m concerned about,” said McAddle.

  “Our intelligence reports have long indicated the Russian nuclear arsenal was reduced to bare minimum operating capacity,” said General Davies. “As their economy continued to collapse, the CIA and MI6 believed they had less than 150 nuclear missiles that could be launched in retaliation.”

  “Just enough to keep them in the game,” said McAddle.