A hush had descended throughout the vast space as all attention had become polarised as the two most powerful men in the USA stood eyeball to eyeball.
"Oh," said the President eventually, a wry smile creeping over his features. "Why didn't you say?"
"Mr. President I.....I apologise for......."
Nelson held up his hand to silence General White. "It's me who should apologise Chuck." He gestured gripping the taller man’s shoulder. "I know you've moved heaven and earth to make this happen I.....I'm just feeling the pressure of the enormity of the responsibility we have found thrust upon us. Look....enough of the apologies," he chuckled. "Bottom line...what options do we have?”
White shrugged. "Pretty much black or white Sir. We either check every aircraft, every fuel line, every filter, every tank to look for contamination which will hold up take off by twenty four hours...”
"Or?” said the President, helping out his General in Chief.
White spread his arms wide. “We give the order to go, and we gamble that the contamination has been diluted sufficiently to not create a problem.”
The President's gaze slid across to the assembled pilots standing near the Galaxys, how could he risk more American lives on such thin odds? Turning, he walked to stare out of the open hangar doors. It was a beautifully clear night, a night that could easily seduce one into believing that the plague didn't exist, that there weren’t soulless creatures roaming the entire planet, that the world that he knew and loved was as it should be. But it wasn't, and the only thin thread of hope that existed was within a small child called Hope, a child who was waiting on the far side of the Atlantic. Turning, he looked back to his General and the assembled waiting ground staff and last, but by no means least, the nervous looking pilots whose lives he held in his hands. Leaving the clear night behind, he strode back into the hangar and approached his team. "General, I have made my decision.”
#
Time 9am GMT 4am New York Time.
Bruger sniffed hard and then threw his head back as the fire roared through his brain, the white lightning coursing through his blood and nervous system. Today was going to be a glorious day, the day that all would recognise his dominance, would recognise the awesome power of the army he had moulded by his sheer will. Climbing into the Beast sat at the front of the column, he turned to look back over the vast line of revving vehicles enjoying the surging adrenaline, riding along on the wave of white lightning flushing through him.
"Give the order Blade," he instructed, taking his seat next to his enforcer. The column rolled south towards Fort London, the crazed leader feeling supremely confident that the stronghold, Anderson and the child, Hope, would all be destroyed before this day was out. Wrapping a large hand around the two vials hung on a cord around his neck he was already planning in his corrupted mind the next phase of ‘Vanquish’, Europe. His confidence might have stalled had he realised the danger close at hand, for sat behind them in the Beast were Bruger’s four shadows, four shadows who carried within their ear implants enough plastic explosive to rip open the armoured vehicle and blow the occupants into a thousand pieces. Problem was the fob that could activate that was miles away, trapped with The Preacher inside the Armoury of the Destroyer anchored at Shoeburyness Beach near the mouth of the Thames. So Bruger was safe. Or was he?
#
Time 10.50am GMT 5.50am New York Time.
"Stay tight," ordered Tom as the group from Zone 12 exited the safe stronghold and ran down Leadenhall Street. Bull, as instructed, was at the lead with Hope. Andrew, Saphire and the Angels were riding shotgun knowing how vital it was that the child got through. Tom became more and more concerned as the crocodile line grew longer and longer, his twelve troops struggling to keep the band of aged and unfit populace together as legs quickly grew tired and lungs began to burn.
Tom checked his watch. They had only gone a third of the way, five hundred metres, yet it had taken them nearly five minutes, this was taking far too long.
"Incoming," shouted one of the troops through his throat mic as a small group of WDs lumbered out of a side street.
"You want me to drop back?" checked Bull.
"Negative, you keep going and get to Bank.” Switching his setting on his radio, Tom called Roland. “Roland come in."
Roland answered immediately, "Go ahead Tom.”
"Hold," instructed Tom, lifting his MP5 and sending a swathe of bullets across the closing group of WDs. "Get someone on the gate ready Roland, Bull is way ahead of me and should be with you in under five minutes.”
"Got it, sounds like you got company?" questioned the TR leader.
"They won't be travelling," shot back Tom, spotting groups starting to come out from both sides. "Gotta go," barked Tom flipping channels again. "Bull, where are you?”
"We're halfway down Cornhill Street, ETA at Bank, four minutes."
"Roland has a man waiting at the gate. Soon as you have got Hope, Andrew and Saphire inside, drop back and help the Angels with the back runners, we got WDs coming in from every quarter and we are close to losing control.”
"Got it,” replied Bull
"Mutants," yelled a distraught woman struggling to keep up with the group.
Tom ran towards her but came to an abrupt halt as she was suddenly swamped by three male Mutants who came screaming from an office doorway. "Shit," hissed Tom looking up and down the line. The group of just over two thousand Pure had elongated to over a hundred metres. His dozen men were fighting a losing battle in keeping back the ever growing WDs and Mutants streaming in from all sides. He had to make a decision.
"Hope and Andrew are safe Tom and I have you in sight," Bull’s voice sounded through his earpiece.
Tom made his decision. “All troops, including Bull and the Angels close up on the main front group." Tom had taken in that a group of about two hundred were falling behind by over a hundred metres, he had to get the main group to Bank.
"We can't leave the stragglers," challenged one of his men.
"We can't not leave them," snapped Tom. "Do as I damn well tell you.”
Bull and his Angels got around the front main group and the troops who had been fighting a losing battle around the stragglers sprinted forward to join them.
Tom had to ignore the pleading screams of the stragglers as WDs closed on them and a group of around fifteen Mutants sliced into them, creating a feeding frenzy.
"Help us...Don't leave us...Please come back…" the cries grew as the WDs and Mutants carved into them.
"Two hundred metres to go," yelled Bull, pulling out his baseball bat and swinging at the head of a youth that at some time had been someone's loving son.
“Keep tight," yelled Tom once again, as the frightened Pure screamed in terror and began to fragment.
"A hundred metres," panted Bull.
Tom could see the entrance at Bank but it might as well have been a hundred miles, they weren’t going to make it. Despite heroic efforts by Bull and his troopers supported by the Angels they were being overrun as Pure were being plucked and snatched from all around the group he was trying desperately to keep together. A bellowing Mutant came ripping in amongst them dragging down a middle aged woman right next to him. Tom pulled out his side arm and shot the creature through the back of its head but not before it had torn a section of flesh from the woman’s neck. She sat up as the carcass fell away to the side of her, her hand coming away from her neck covered in blood, her eyes wide with horror. Tom pointed the magnum at her, the barrel quivering as he wrestled with his conscience.
"Do it," pleaded the woman but Bull saved him the decision as he came swinging in with the baseball bat, hitting her a solid blow to the back of her head that saved her from the curse.
"Tom," yelled the giant trooper,” We have to make a run for it. We can't save these people."
Tom looked around him at the chaotic scene, the entire team were down to hand guns and bats as the WDs and Mutants attacked from all sides zig-zagging amongst them, th
eir high pitched screams mixed with the wailing of the Pure. The sounds of gunfire disappeared as the last rounds were used. Their path to the Bank underground was completely blocked. No one was going anywhere, their journey ended here, it had all been for nothing.
Chapter 33
"We got a Mutant hanging from the bottom of the Apache”
Time11.20am GMT 6.20am New York Time.
"Why don't the Americans call?" asked Pump in frustration.
"I've already explained that," calmed Anderson. "President Nelson told me they would not be able to use their satellite till near noon.” The small team of troops had made a Herculean effort working through the night to clear the runway. Damaged aircraft had been dragged clear, countless lumps of concrete had been rolled to the side of the tarmac strip and thousands of pieces of building debris had been picked up and thrown to the verges. Each man pushed passed exhaustion, the pain of torn finger nails ignored. All the while the swarms were gathering at the boundary fences now rocking and swayed in numerous places under the building pressure of the creatures pressing against them. Wild bloodied faces pressed to the wire, many tore at it with their teeth causing them to be ripped out at the roots. Yet still they tried, driven mad by the aroma of the Pure flesh beyond.
"To the fences," ordered Anderson picking up a length of pipe. All ammunition, apart from Spider’s sniper cartridges, had been spent earlier and now with the runway clear they had to turn their attention to the boundary fences that creaked back and forth as the Mutants amongst the swarm worked at loosening the posts. The thin line of troops ran from spot to spot as the most imminent danger was spotted, Anderson’s men frantically swinging baseball bats, lengths of timber and iron bars.
"They're in," warned Spider. At a point twenty metres away a dozen Mutants had pushed over a section of the fencing into the airport where it stuck at a forty five degree angle. Running up it like a ramp, they landed on the airport side in a heap before jumping to their feet and exploding towards the group of men defending the airstrip.
Anderson reached over his shoulders in the cross handed position his team knew well and pulled free his two Kukris he was saving for the final defence. That time had come. As he took position in front of the screaming band of Mutants, his men formed each side of the man they had followed so many times into battle. Now it was the final one. With one last look at the crystal clear blue skies hoping for a miracle he shouted the order, "On me.” As he raced towards the Mutants he came to a sudden skidding halt as directly behind, and above him, an eight carriage tube train came roaring into the London City Airport tube station.
#
11.30am GMT 6.30am New York Time.
The staccato beating on the walls of the hangar was deafening.
"We're done," shouted Hog, sliding out his pump action shotgun from the sleeve holder on his Harley. "But if we're going down," he hissed, jacking a round into the chamber and turning to face the massive 6 metre high by 16 metre wide sliding doors, "then I ain't going down like a pussy.”
Bryan grabbed a fully loaded MP5 and stood to the side of the huge Angel who had made him one of their own, made him an Angel. “Felt sure you would find it was that bloody cable again," yelled Bryan at his friend.
Hog frowned and looked down at his friend just as an iron bar pierced an area to the side of one of the enormous doors. “What do you mean that I checked...you said you were going to check it?”
Bryan's study of the doors ceased, his head snapping round, his eyes looking up at the confused expression on Hog’s weathered features. "I didn't check."
The two men acted as one, both threw down their weapons and ran to the Apache. The section of motor that needed to be lifted had taken them an hour the last time they had gone through this process, this time it took them fifteen minutes as they moved in tandem and speed. As it was raised by six inches Hog ran to the work bench, snatched up a large flashlight and sent the powerful beam into the dark recess under the section of motor. "It's broken...damn thing is broken," yelled the Angel in jubilation.
Bryan immediately set to work on the repair.
"Keep working," bellowed Hog as a flap of the corrugated walling folded in allowing the upper body of a Mutant to lean into the hangar, its chilling scream of triumph a final warning, the Mutants were coming in. Snatching up his pump action, Hog ran to the wall and fired point blank at the youth sending it flying backwards through the two feet square hole. Immediately another lost creature, a female Mutant who clearly had once been a police officer dived through the ragged hole tearing lumps of flesh from her arms and legs. Hog gave her the second barrel as she leapt towards him, severing her head from her body that slumped to the floor. Luckily for him the next Mutant to tackle the hole had clearly enjoyed too many pies in a previous life and jammed the hole with its considerable bulk.
"Motor’s back down," yelled Bryan, quickly bolting it into position.
Both turned as a second section of wall caved in and two Mutants got jammed in the opening, both snarling and screaming at the two men. The men ran for the open side door of the Apache and scrambled in, sliding it closed behind them, as a complete panel of walling keeled over allowing a surge of creatures to dash into the hangar.
"Batteries are still connected," snapped Bryan, strapping himself into the seat behind Hog.
"This don't work," shouted Hog as he worked through a bank of switches and controls, "Then I got to tell you my friend…" he grinned, turning to face his friend and winking, "…it's been a rush.”
"Likewise," grinned Bryan. "Just one question, how the hell are we going to get out of this hangar if this baby fires up?”
As the huge rotors began to spin, Hog replied, "Been thinking about that and............." Hog fell quiet, holding his breath as the engine began to splutter and cough. They had only a minute or two window of power before the batteries gave up and their fate would be sealed.
"And what?" asked Bryan in a squeak of a voice, his knuckles white as he gripped the side of his seat, waiting to hear the motor catch.
Before Hog could answer, two Mutants slammed onto the cockpit Plexiglas butting the thick section and attempting to bite their way through to the food they needed within causing slime trails of bloodied saliva to run down the smooth surface.
"There it is," hollered Hog as the motor gave one huge splutter, then another, the powerful motor winding slowly up into a rhythmic spin, sending the rotors into a roaring blur of movement.
The Apache rotors had a spin diameter of just under 15 metres, the length of the craft was just over 18 metres and its height was just under 4.5metres. The space that Hog lifted the craft into was cavernous, the hangar measuring some 40 metres by 40 metres by a shade over 18 metres in height but still it required skilful flying to maintain a safe position within the void.
"So what’s the plan?” asked Bryan, slipping on a headset.
"Simple," grinned Hog revelling in the power of the awesome craft. "We use the chain gun to slice through the top runners of those doors, the WDs and Mutants pressing up against the outside will push it over and we fly right out," he chuckled.
Bryan looked wide eyed at the doors, looked at the smiling Angel looking back at him and then back to the doors. “How big is this beast?" he whispered, his eyes fixed on the doors.
"18 metres long, 4.5 metres high and the rotor span is 15 metres," replied Hog without hesitation.
Bryan swallowed deeply. "How big are those doors?” he squeaked.
The Angel leader squinted, tilting his head to one side. "Roughly.......6 metres high and 16 metres wide, I think.”
"Think?" spluttered Bryan. "Bloody well think, you wanna fly through a door that you think...... is big enough?"
Hog shrugged. "Could always park and walk?" he suggested, nonchalantly working the controls deftly to keep the roaring craft safely within the space.
Bryan turned as a Mutant tapped on the window at his side, its bloodshot eyes inches from his own. "Do it," he hissed.
&nbs
p; Hog dropped the craft with a deft precision to within inches of the floor and opened up with the 30 mm M230 Chain Gun, the shells ripping into the top runners of the doors severing them easily from the doors beneath. Within seconds the two huge sections began to tilt inwards crashing to the floor under the weight of the swarm behind it, the draft it created causing Hog to have to fight for control of the Apache as it was buffeted around. "OK.......breathe in," warned the Angel, gliding the Apache forward barely eighteen inches off the floor. The swarm lumbered through the gap as soon as the massive doors hit the floor. Mutants amongst them dashed through the gap forcing Hog to open up with the M230 as he floated the Apache forward. The 30mm shells tore into the packed WDs dropping wave upon wave to their knees as leg bones were shattered, spines were severed and ribs splintered yet still they came.
As it slid through the opening, Mutants were leaping onto the front of the craft and slamming into the side causing it to wobble, this resulted in the rotors clipping first the left hand side of the opening and then the right before the roaring craft slipped through into the outside space. Hog immediately lifted the Apache high into the blue skies above the hangar sending the two men into rapturous whoops and hollers of relief.
"Hog?” spoke Bryan suddenly as he looked out of the side window, seeing a pair of legs appear as the helicopter banked around.
"Speak to me," grinned his friend in a buoyant mood.
"We got a Mutant hanging from the bottom of the Apache.”
Hog immediately dropped the craft in a stomach churning manoeuvre, sweeping down to roof level and powering forward just a meter above the top of the hangar. There followed a thump from below the Apache and a slight vibration.
Bravo Two Zombie (Book 3): The Final Solution Page 27
