"Seems he decided to walk," smirked Bryan, checking through the window.
"Now what do you say we go get The Preacher?" suggested Hog.
"Works for me," replied Bryan.
#
Time 11.35am GMT 6.35am New York Time.
As soon as the tube train doors slid open, Bull and Tom led the charge down the steps to join Craig Anderson and the beleaguered troops. Close behind came the Angels and the Tunnel Rats, all heavily armed, all ready to defend the Airport. Following the troops came every able-bodied man, woman and child from the Fort London Pure grabbing sticks, poles and bricks to fight back the Mutants and WDs who just moments before were about to overrun the airport.
"Spread along the fence line," barked Anderson. "Shore up the weak spots."
The tide was stemmed, fences were pushed back up-right. Mutants that had breached the fence were dragged down and bludgeoned or shot and for a short space of time a brief respite was enjoyed by Anderson’s original airport team. The danger however was far from over as mini battles formed all along the west boundary fence where, for whatever reason, most of the Mutants and WDs had congregated.
Anderson strode up to his long-time friend Tom and clapped a giant hand onto his shoulder. "Thought you were dead?”
"Would have been if Roland and the Tunnel Rats hadn’t come out of the tube station and saved our asses," grinned his friend.
Anderson's focus left his friend’s tired features and swept the area.
"She's safe Craig," he assured him, reading his mind. Turning towards the train he called out, "Ok Saphire, bring her down.”
After a few seconds the one armed Angel exited the train with Hope close behind her, holding tightly onto Andrews’s hand. As soon as the child saw Anderson she broke free and ran down to him leaping up into his open arms.
"Miss me?" he whispered, kissing the top of her head.
"You mustn't leave me again," she warned sternly.
Anderson held her close and smiled. "I won't."
"Breach," came a shout fifty metres down the line. Immediately a mix of Pure, and Tunnel Rats raced to plug it.
Numerous battles raged as the doors on the tube train behind them suddenly closed and the carriages slid away, back in the direction it had arrived from.
"We still got half of our people to come," spoke Tom, seeing the question on his friend’s face, "Steve Knight is with the other half of our people waiting at Bank with another seven hundred."
Anderson did a quick calculation. “We lost nearly a thousand?”
"Would have been many more if not for the Tunnel Rats, Craig."
"Breach," came another shout, drawing their attention back to the fragile fence line.
"Take care of Hope," snapped Anderson, running after Tom. Seeing the panic in Hope's face he returned and knelt down in front of her. "I won't leave you, I promise. I just need to help Tom, OK?”
Hope nodded and gripped Andrew’s hand.
"When are the planes due?” asked Tom as the SAS leader joined him.
"ETA is noon," he responded, casting his eyes around the skyline and mouthing a silent prayer.
"Not sure we'll make noon," warned Tom, scanning the boundary fences that were bending and flexing under the weight of what he estimated were now tens of thousands of WDs and Mutants.
Anderson pulled his eyes reluctantly from the clear blue, but empty skies, to follow Tom's gaze. The cries from the creatures at the fence was deafening, the mix of screams from the Mutants and the WDs a spine chilling wave of relentless white noise that rolled across the airport. Tom was right, they would be lucky to make noon.
"Breach," came another shout. Both men ran to the bleed, Anderson crossed his arms and reached over his shoulders as he was confronted by four screaming Mutants.
#
Time11.40am GMT 6.40am New York Time.
Bruger’s hordes had reached the outer fringes of West Ham. Intelligence had informed him that the populace of Fort London had been decimated by internal revolt and had scattered in all directions. Many had marched north and come across the massed armies of the Fort Warwick leader as he rolled south, many joined him believing he was unstoppable. Rolling on through Zone 12, left with all of its entry doors open, they headed for City Airport where the FL deserters had indicated Anderson was rumoured to have fled to. This confused Bruger. Anderson was no fool yet by moving into the airport he had trapped himself, and the remnants of his people, against the Thames. There were no bridges to flee across and nothing of any consequence had flown for years so escape by flight was not an option. This was a defining moment in the ex-drug baron’s crusade. The final conflict between himself and Anderson and Bruger wanted to savour it, to enjoy every second of Anderson’s fall as his army smashed through their lines and filled their freezer wagons with flesh from the Fort London populace.
"There," pointed Blade triumphantly. "City airport Karl.”
The Beast rode at the head of the massed army on the B116. Other columns came down the A112, the A1011, the A1020 and the B1067, in-between every side street and rat way through was filled with Bruger’s rolling killers.
"Halt the column," shouted Bruger.
Blade pulled up the Beast. The Order was sent out over their shortwave radio eventually bringing the goliath of an army to a halt. Three kilometres away sat City Airport. From his slightly raised vantage point with his Swarovski CL Companion binoculars, Bruger could see that hand to hand fighting was taking place on the fence line to the west, this was going to be a duck shoot. "We move in twenty minutes Blade," snapped Bruger. "Send out the order to take on water and food, make sure they don't feed the Mutants Blade, I want them hungry.”
Blade nodded. "On it Karl." As he exited the Beast and strode away he muttered under his breath, “I wouldn't have fed those damn Mutants anyway."
Bruger stepped out of the armoured brute and climbed up onto its roof. His Swarovskis gave him a near perfect view down into the airport. His four Mutant bodyguards stood around the Beast looking up at their master, fulfilling their duty by staying close to Bruger not really taking in the crooked smile that spread across his face.
#
Time11.43 GMT 6.43 New York Time
"Twenty minutes to launch," boomed the tannoy within the armoury.
The Preacher unpacked the two crates of plastic explosives and began to mould it around the armoured shells stored on racks all around the room. He would wait until the final possible moment but he would not allow that missile to be launched, would not allow tens of thousands of innocent people to be slaughtered. He would give his God the opportunity to prevent this blasphemous act but if he failed then The Preacher would do what was required and take matters into his own hands for at that stage all faith within him would have been extinguished.
There followed a flurry of activity as the armoury was turned into an enormous bomb, his final act was the linking detonator wire that he threaded around the room and connected to the detonator sat on the top of the now empty explosives case. Sitting on the floor with his back to the door, the tired man closed his eyes. For not the first time he questioned the new life of servitude he had given to God, the God who had tested him so many times and each and every time he had proved his faith but this was too much. What purpose, what message could there be in allowing this atrocity when he and mankind had already suffered so much? Bruger was evil personified and he would not allow this to take place and if his God was the caring God he had bought into then he would not allow evil to triumph over innocent people. Maybe giving his own life to stop this was his test, his mission. Then so be it, yet even now he hoped beyond hope for a sign, anything that would let him know that his God had not forsaken him.
Chapter 34
"Where the hell are you Preacher?"
Time 11.45 GMT 6.45 New York Time.
"Do we have contact?" asked President Nelson for the tenth time in the last five minutes.
"We should be coming onto the edge of the satellite footprint at any moment Si
r," responded the General in Chief.
The President snatched up the hand-set and made a plea, "Please, please can any pilot on operation rescue hear me?”
Silence followed, and continued and continued. The weary leader dropped the handset onto the table top and paced away, stopping suddenly in his tracks and racing back to the handset.
"This is Stealth One, I am nineteen minutes out from target Sir."
"Have you contact with the rest of the team?” Nelson asked urgently.
"Negative Sir. My comms have been all over the place until now."
Nelson felt his chest tighten. It was happening again. More lives being lost because of his actions. “God speed you on your mission Stealth One, come home safe to us,” he ordered, finding his voice.
"My full intention Sir, Stealth One out.”
Time11.48am GMT 6.58am New York Time.
"Five minutes to launch," came the mechanical voice over the tannoy.
The Preacher's eyelids lifted. "Time's up,” he whispered, sliding the cover strip off the detonator button. As his finger hovered over the button he looked skyward and gave an ironic smile. "So no sign.” His finger lowered and rested on the large red button, his eyes closing once again. Pressing down he suddenly stopped, his eyes snapping open as a strange sound bled in from beyond the armoury door.
Hog dropped the craft down to the Destroyer. "How the hell we supposed to find him?” asked Bryan. “Land on the helipad and knock on the bridge door?”
"Got that covered," grinned the Hells Angel leader, flicking a switch on the on-board comms system. Immediately the opening bars of Meatloaf’s "Bat out of Hell" pounded out from the loudspeakers housed on the outside of the Apache.
"The sirens are screaming, and the fires are howling
Way down in the valley tonight
There's a man in the shadows with a gun in his eye
And a blade shining oh so bright
There's evil in the air and there's thunder in the sky,
And a killer's on the bloodshot streets..."
The grinning Preacher slid the cover back over the button and ran to the door. Opening it just a crack he saw the two guards ten feet away, weapons raised, firing at an Apache helicopter swooping past the Destroyer. "Hog you crazy mother," he chuckled. He knew the Hells Angel had come for him. This was the sign he had been waiting for. Least he could do was answer him. Pulling the pin on the grenade he rolled it out on the deck at the feet of the two guards who were preoccupied sawing their Heckler & Koch MP5s back and forth at the swooping helicopter.
"We're drawing a lot of attention," warned Bryan, tightening his seat straps as Hog threw the Apache into a tight turn. "Once they get the big guns on us we're toast."
"Where the hell are you Preacher?" hissed the Angel leader as a shell ricocheted off the side panel of the Apache.
A sudden blast just below them erupted from the deck where the two guards had been standing just seconds before, only now they were gone, or at least parts of them had gone.
"I think we found The Preacher," grinned Bryan.
"There," snapped Hog, pointing to the giant black man appearing from the clearing smoke on the deck. Hog dropped the craft down so it hovered immediately in front of the man he had come for, literally metres from him. Flipping a switch he spoke quickly through the tannoy system, "You order a taxi?”
The grinning man raised a thumb as the draft from the chopper buffeted him.
"Get up to the helipad, man, and I mean now," ordered Hog.
The Preacher shook his head and pointed back towards the armoury, he needed to set the detonator to timer first. Turning, he started back towards the still open door.
"Where the hell is he going?" yelled Bryan.
Before Hog could surmise, the black man came to a halt as a group of guards appeared from the far end of the deck pouring fire towards The Preacher who stopped, turned and dived along the deck, sliding down a stair opening leading down to the deck below. The Angel swung the Apache and opened up with the chain gun sending fire slicing through the tight group, the 30mm shells punching dozens of holes clean through the guards who performed the death dance as arms and legs jerked around as they slammed up against the side of the ship.
"Over there," pointed Bryan, slapping Hog on the shoulder.
Hog could see The Preacher climbing frantically up a stairway that would take him up to the helipad. Lifting the craft, he swept towards the running man as he ran out onto the pad deck but banked away with a gut churning upward swoop as a rocket from a shoulder mounted launcher came whistling towards him from the far end of the ship.
"You need to jump" yelled Hog through the tannoy. Even at the distance they were at, Bryan could see the horrified look on The Preacher’s face.
"Start running," ordered Hog, sliding the Apache alongside the helipad.
The Preacher took off at a sprint, glancing sideways as the two men peered at him through the Apache windows just metres away and parallel with their eyeline. The Preacher had started sprinting even before he had worked out what the crazy Angel had planned but he would need to work it out pretty quickly because in around five seconds he would be leaping out into thin air but as that thought was going through his mind the Apache leapt forward, coming to a rock steady hover at the end of the deck, it's side wing giving The Preacher a landing platform to aim at as he took off from the deck. As he reached the last metre, shells skipped and skidded along the deck around him as a fresh group of troops poured out from the far end of the Heli-deck, their MP5s spraying death all around him.
"Shiiiiiit," hollered the huge man as he sailed through the air, his size 14 boots landing with a thump onto the small wing causing the Angel to have to fight the controls as the Apache took up the extra two hundred and thirty pounds of cargo.
Lifting the craft carefully, so as to not dislodge The Preacher, Hog opened up with the chain gun into the group at the far end of the deck scattering them in every direction.
"Hold tight," yelled Hog through the open window as he banked the craft away from the Destroyer.
"Thought I might," yelled The Preacher, fighting to keep from being dislodged by the ferocious down draft.
Once they had moved far enough away from the Destroyer, Bryan flipped open the door on the upper seating area and helped The Preacher into the tight space designed for only one man.
"Cosy," grinned the huge passenger as he jockeyed with Bryan to find the best position.
Hog continued to lift the craft vertically through the crystal clear blue sky, wanting to get as much distance between the Apache and the Destroyer as possible. All the while he was chuckling as he listened to the pair behind him wrestling for space. Eventually the manoeuvring stopped and all three faced forward looking through the small windscreen as they stopped climbing and banked slightly, tilting down as they moved, bringing the Destroyer back into their vision, only now it was two thousand feet below them.
"Time we unloaded some of our hardware," suggested Hog sending the Apache into a steep dive that he terminated almost immediately in a stomach churning manoeuvre as an ear splitting roaring from their left preceded the vision of a terrifying black angel of death that filled the sky in front of them as an iconic black Stealth Bomber powered past them. The bat wing banked, swooping down towards the Destroyer, the ear-splitting twin engines buffeting the Apache as it dropped like a hawk closing on its prey.
#
Time 12.02 GMT 7.02 New York Time.
Captain Bower made it to the rail on the helipad deck just in time to see a black nemesis carve across a diamond blue sky, a sight he had not seen since before the plague and one he would rather have not seen this day. The flying wing could only be here for one reason, one reason only.
"Do we stop the countdown?" came a shout from behind him as the tannoy informed twenty seconds to launch.
Bower never turned from his gaze locked onto the Stealth Bomber as it became a thin black blade in the distance, a blade that banked round in
a wide loop before dropping down to a height of around 500 feet and closed at an alarming rate on a bombing run.
"Sir, do we launch?” came the urgent request.
Bower knew they had no way of bringing down the Stealth before whatever it had on board was unleashed onto them. If this was to be his final moment on this earth he was going to leave a legacy behind him. "Continue with the launch," hissed the man.
"Where the hell did that Stealth come from?” asked The Preacher.
"Long story my friend," snapped Hog, glued to the Stealth's manoeuvres. “But right now we need to move, it’s just started a bombing run." He pointed.
"We have bigger problems than that," warned Bryan. "Look at the missile deck.”
Even from the height they were at it was clear a pod cover was opening.
"They're launching," whispered The Preacher. "I should have blown the armoury. If that Stealth sets it off we'll be caught in the blast. We need to move Hog, we need to move now," warned The Preacher.
"Stay calm Preacher, we are well clear at this distance," assured Hog.
"It’s nuclear," snapped the frantic black giant. "The missile’s nuclear.”
Even as the words left The Preacher’s mouth, Hog whipped the Apache around and opened the throttles full reaching its maximum speed, close to 230 miles per hour, in less than thirty seconds as he guided the complaining craft west along the Thames.
"How far will it reach?" shouted Bryan as the Apache sped away from the Destroyer.
"You don't wanna know," replied Hog.
"Tell me," demanded Bryan.
The Preacher took a deep breath. "The temperature inside the warhead will reach up to a million degrees before it splits it open, the moment the shell disintegrates. Due to the enormous pressure building up inside, the majority of the gamma radiation produced by the detonation will be released. This is followed immediately afterwards by the thermal energy in the form of plasma which rapidly expands due to the pressure difference. This gamma radiation will the first to hit you, every cell in your body will be damaged, and it will even break down your DNA molecules. At this moment the cognitive functions of your brain will have been destroyed. Next comes a fireball that will spread up to 1.5 kilometres across at the epicentre of the blast, this fireball will set your clothes and your body hair on fire, even your eyeballs will melt. The heat will strip layer after layer of your skin and flesh and the pressure will rupture your eardrums and lungs. The water in your body will begin to boil and evaporate, other bodily fluids will follow suit and your brain will be boiled. As your bodily fluids evaporate, your body fat will begin to melt and then catch fire. Once you have been stripped to the bare skeleton, that too will begin to decay and the oncoming shock wave that follows will scatter it for miles. Deadly levels of radiation will spread on the winds of the blast for more than 2 kilometres in every direction, 90% of the people caught in that wave will die. Buildings within a 10mile radius will collapse, the thermal radiation will cause third degree burns, severe scarring and even amputation to those farther out. In short Bryan, it will be as the fires of hell.”
Bravo Two Zombie (Book 3): The Final Solution Page 28
