"Who?" demanded Anderson.
"Tom."
"What’s he done?”
"You can ask him yourself Cap, he's running like a train towards your position.”
#
"This is Galaxy Rescue. Sorry we're a little late base but we experienced some problems on the flight over." His problem now was how to get the four gigantic crafts safely down through the clouds of black smoke that was drifting across the runway.
"Galaxy rescue, we...we had given up on you. Why haven't you kept in contact?" flustered Nelson.
"This is group leader Sir, I made the decision to go dark after take-off so as not to potentially alert Bruger’s forces.”
"Accepted Group Leader," responded Nelson.
"I also have to inform you Mr President that we lost two aircraft with engine failure, I believe it to be the fuel sir."
"Did the crews escape?" enquired Nelson quietly.
"Negative sir.”
For a beat there was silence. “Their sacrifice will be remembered by us all," assured Nelson. "What is your position leader?”
“We have City Airport in sight and will be on the ground in less than four minutes. We are aiming for a loading time frame of around fifteen minutes and be back in the air five minutes later.”
Nelson quickly did his sums, around twenty four minutes. Stealth Three would drop the cargo in twenty, none of his scientists could predict the speed of the tidal wave of devastation that would emanate from the epicentre of what would be the first ever anti-matter bomb, but if the Galaxys were caught on the ground all of their efforts, all of the lost lives, would have been for nothing and the potential cure to the plague would have been lost. "Stay on the line Group leader," snapped Nelson. He had to delay Stealth Three. "Stealth Three come in.” Silence......"Come in Stealth Three.” Nelson’s voice was desperate, his tone pleading. He knew Stealth Three had said he was going dark but he hoped beyond hope that he would hear.
"Is there a problem Sir?” asked the Galaxy leader, hearing the transmission.
Nelson considered lying. “Your delay has caused the time frames to overlap Group Leader, landing with the time frame you have indicated places you and your group in high risk of the fallout from Stealth Three's cargo. I cannot order you to take such a risk, you are at liberty to abort and return to base.”
There followed a charged silence, a silence during which President Nelson closed his eyes, closed his eyes and held his breath.
"We land in two minutes Mr President," confirmed the Group Leader.
The President opened his eyes.
Chapter 37
"Why aren't you with Hope?”
The C-5M Super Galaxy is a spectacular aircraft, four are majestic. With a wingspan of 222.8 feet, a length of 247 feet and a standing height of 65.1 feet, it is a Goliath of the skies, so the four making their final approach to the City Airport runway were an awesome sight that put new fight into the Pure protecting the southern fence line. The General Electric engines, that could provide over fifty thousand pounds of thrust, were the sweetest sound Anderson had ever heard in his life. His problem now was how to get everyone loaded for as soon as the populace turned from defending the fence line, the biggest swarm he had ever seen would be coming through. As one after another the roaring crafts kissed the tarmac, sending up white puffs of smoke, he ran towards them. Thirty metres into his run, Tom cut across his path.
#
Bruger kept his finger on the trigger of the Bulldog’s machine gun, swinging it left and right the guttural roar coming from him one of rage, out of control rage, the 7.62mm shells streaming out through the flames of the propane explosion. Even after the ammunition ran out, the crazed Warwick leader kept swinging the gun and roaring like a man possessed and in truth he was, he was possessed by the insanity that comes when you keep infecting your blood stream and every cell in your body with a deadly cocktail of white lightning and steroids. Add to this the hatred he felt for Craig Anderson, and the child Hope, and you had a time bomb on your hands.
"Karl," screamed Blade for the fourth time, unable to penetrate the red mist that enshrouded his leader. "We're out of ammo.”
Bruger suddenly stopped, his hands still gripping the machine gun, his heavy breathing coming in noisy rasps sending out a spray of spittle over the weapon. His head twitched as above the roar of the flames that had just destroyed his prized army, came the sound of the incoming Galaxys.
Blade flipped the hatch above him and stood having heard the same sound. "They're gonna airlift them," he yelled to Bruger at the front hatch.
Both heads followed their approach from their right, saw the puffs of smoke as the tyres hit the tarmac, heard clearly the awesome whistling roar of the thrust reversers as each of the four flying monsters met the tarmac.
"Get us in there," bellowed Bruger.
"But......Karl, the flames and we.......we have so few men," he indicated, waving an arm behind him at the depleted troops.
Bruger pulled out his side arm and twisted to face his enforcer, pointing the gun directly at him. “Get.....us......in," he hissed.
Blade dropped back inside, shifted the monster into gear and sent the massive tracked vehicle thundering into the wall of flame.
#
The four Galaxys came to a screaming halt 500 feet from the end of the runway. To their left was a feeder crescent of tarmac that allowed them to loop around and file back onto the runway pointing the way they had landed, each of the Galaxy’s four roaring engines dropping to a slumbering idle. Immediately as they lined up, they dropped the back doors of the crafts, the hinged ramps folding out to create access into the cavernous aircraft. As they locked into position two air load masters per aircraft, ran down the ramps and began shouting at the Pure to run and board.
Anderson sent out the order, drop your weapons, your iron bars, your clubs and run, run for your lives to the waiting crafts. The remaining exhausted populace did not require Anderson to speak a second time, they ran, hobbled and scampered to the four colossal aircraft that represented a new life, a life with potentially no plague. Anderson, Bull, Pump and Spider spread along the line with the rest of the SAS leader’s regular troops beefed up by Hog and his Angels along with Roland and the Tunnel Rat’s fighting men, each suddenly feeling vulnerable and alone as the four metre high fences that had been kept upright with poles and bare hands, began to sag over into the airport. The gap between each man was around two metres, it allowed them to cover around 150 metres of the fence line where the bulk of the swarm had gathered. As the populace evacuated, their thin protecting line began to slowly back up towards the throbbing Galaxys waiting to load the remaining Pure.
"Get ready,” yelled Anderson as the WDs flattened the fence in a number of places and started to lumber forward towards them.
"Mutants," warned Bull to his right as three males burst from the mass to come streaking towards them. Bull took two steps forward then a quick one to his left, his baseball bat swinging in to his right at neck height, the crunch as it hit the suited man left him in no doubt he needed no further attention. The second was on him before he could adjust, a man who had once been a traffic warden was now a snarling, baying beast. It leapt, hands extended like claws, lips curled back. Bull managed to fall backwards, his baseball bat dropped, his two powerful hands gripping the shirt front of the beast easily holding the snapping jaws away from his face.
Anderson reacted a second after Bull had dispatched the first Mutant, already armed with his two Kukris. He dropped to his right knee and welcomed the third Mutant, a youth of no more than eighteen or nineteen, with an upward thrust of one of his Kukris, the point of the razor sharp blade slicing up through the abdomen below the ribs directly into its heart. It dropped like a stone to the ground, where the Fort London security man left it with the blade still buried deep within it, leaving him free to spring to his feet and jink to his right bringing the second blade scything through the air into the neck of the Mutant snapping at Bull. The
blow cut deep into its Tainted flesh, partially severing the top of the spinal column. Bull threw the limp corpse to one side and took the offered hand of The Preacher who had joined their ranks.
Mutants were now running at the line along its entire length their shrieking howls filling the air. The hand to hand fighting was fierce with Hog and his Angels bonding into an effective fighting team with Roland and his Tunnel Rats.
"Why aren't you with Hope?” demanded Anderson, staring back towards the Galaxys where Pure were streaming up into the vast bellies shepherded by the arm waving air load marshals.
"She refuses to board without you Craig Anderson," he shouted, struggling to be heard above the sixteen jet engines and the screaming Mutants.
"She's a child," snapped Anderson, back pedalling once more with the rest of the line. "Just pick her up and carry her.”
"I would rather take on a Mutant," informed the giant. "Even Andrew could not persuade her.”
Anderson shot a desperate look over his shoulder, the last of the Pure were scrambling up the ramps into the Galaxys. “Get ready to load," he bellowed. “Spread it along the line, turn and run like hell on the signal flare."
Blade and Bruger dropped back into the Bulldog and swiftly closed the hatch covers. The enforcer slammed it into first gear and sent the massive armoured vehicle lurching forward into the wall of flames. None of the Fort Warwick’s other troops followed him into the fire, their loyalty, like his Mutant army, reduced to ash. For just a few seconds the smell of burning flesh filled the small space within and the viewing slits showed nothing but the inferno, then they were through. The scene changed to the Galaxys loading with the Pure and the swarm, made up of hundreds of thousands of poor souls, rolling towards them like a demonic wave of rotting flesh.
"There," yelled Bruger in jubilation, "it’s Anderson and the child." He pointed towards the last Galaxy in the line.
"He's loading Karl, we're not going to make it," warned Blade.
"Get me down there," screamed the crazed ex-drug baron, slamming a clenched fist down onto the hot armour plating.
Blade tried again, he wasn't sure how much fire power they had amongst the Galaxys and he would rather not find out for they had none apart from the bullets his leader had in the pistol gripped in his hand. "The first two planes are already taxiing Karl. It's over.”
Bruger dropped back inside the Bulldog and pointed the gun directly at his enforcer. "It's not over," he yelled sending spittle flying over Blade. "Anderson will not escape me. Now get me down there."
Blade took in the crazed wide-eyed expression and knew in an instant that if he did not do as he was told that he would be shot. "You want this," he yelled beyond caring, "you got it.” The Bulldog shot forward heading straight for the last Galaxy in line where Anderson carried the child, Hope, up the ramp into its crowded belly.
#
Stealth Three checked his reading. "Five minutes to target," he whispered. The implications of his mission weighed heavily on his conscience, for he knew that the fury he was about to unleash would be like nothing the world had ever witnessed and that death toll would be on a biblical scale. He repeated in his head, as he had done throughout the flight, the mantra that was like a salve on that conscience, "This was Armageddon. This was the battle to wipe out evil," but the closer he got to the drop zone the harder it got to balance the protection of his fellow Americans from potential danger at the cost of so many innocent lives who would be caught up within the blast that would be straight from the very fires of hell. The pilot flicked a switch and opened the bomb doors.
#
"Group leader are you all airborne?” fame President Nelson’s troubled voice.
"Negative Sir," responded the team leader after a short delay. "Galaxy One and Two have just got airborne and Three is about to taxi off. I will be lifting off in around two to three minutes.”
Nelson checked the clock in the operations room and looked into the worried features of General White. "Get off the ground Group leader, get off now.”
Chapter 38
"We have twenty seconds to lift off or abort"
Anderson pulled the flare gun he had been saving from his side holster and pointed it skyward. Pulling the trigger he watched it streak into the sky bursting into a red cloud of smoke that looked like a living Picasso in the summer bright sky. The protection line turned as one and ran for the last Galaxy, Anderson sprinted to where Hope was standing with Saphire and Andrew barely slowing as he swept her up into his arms and raced to the last Galaxy on the tarmac. Kissing Hope on the forehead he passed her into the safe arms of Andrew and jogged back to the loading ramp to encourage and shepherd in the brave men who had held the last defence line, the Tunnel Rats, the Angels and his own SAS men. It was as the last man boarded and the Galaxy began to close its doors and roll forward that he noticed it, a Bulldog FV roaring across the concourse set on a collision course with the aircraft.
"Faster," snapped Bruger, as the Bulldog closed up behind the Galaxy, its heavy wings drooped under the weight of the four Rolls Royce engines that were whistling up towards full power. Bruger climbed out onto the bonnet of the Bulldog, on the front of the armoured vehicle there had been fitted a heavy winch with fifty metres of cable. Clinging to a cleat on the front with one hand he leaned down and unhitched the cable end with a snap hook attached to it. "Get me under the side of the plane," yelled the Fort Warwick leader, urging Blade forward with the hand holding the cable end.
Blade had raw adrenaline flowing through his veins, he was now completely sucked into Bruger’s craziness, infected with the bloodlust that had ruled much of his life. He put the Bulldog at full throttle aiming at the thin corridor of safety at the side of the plane, where a set of the twenty eight wheels that supported the aircraft projected out from the die body, and the down draft from the Rolls Royce engine. His time frame was narrowing as the plane gathered momentum and the Bulldog drew level with the wheels. Suddenly Bruger leapt off the Bulldog, the cable end clutched in his hand landing heavily onto the tubular frame supporting the spinning wheels of the rumbling aircraft.
Anderson had watched the Bulldog through a back window, watched Bruger climb onto the bonnet and extract the cable from the front winch and immediately he knew what he was planning. The aircraft was nearing the speed where the front end would lift off the ground and point skyward ready for lift off but suddenly the Bulldog reappeared at the back of the Galaxy, only now it was minus Bruger and the cable at the front was stretched taught. Then it happened, the racing craft lurched its speed dropping off as the full sixteen tonnes of the Bulldog dragged on the monster plane which was already at its fully loaded weight of over 840,000 pounds. Anderson felt his chest tighten as realisation set in, the plane was never going to get off the ground.
Bruger hit the top of the rack of wheels and quickly wrapped the cable around the thick tubular frame and snapped the slip hook back over the cable. Now the Bulldog was linked to the Galaxy with the umbilical steel cord. He knew he had mere seconds to get off the rack and clamber back onto the Bulldog but as he turned ready to make the jump he was in for a surprise, it wasn't there. The speeding craft had outstripped the top speed of the Bulldog and Blade had dropped back by at least thirty metres behind the plane, suddenly the cable drew taught, singing like a guitar string, the aircraft juddering as the full weight of the Bulldog dragged on the aircraft.
Anderson ran to one of the air-load marshals. "Get the rear doors open."
"We do that," yelled the marshal to be heard, "and we might not get off the ground," he warned in a heavy Texan drawl.
"We don't," snapped back Anderson, “and we will never get off the ground ....now get it open.” Running back, Anderson got Bull, Pump and Hog to move the Pure who were near the rear forward as the massive back door opened giving Anderson a clear view of the Bulldog that was now forty metres back, its tracks locked, being virtually dragged by the Galaxy. He had seconds to make a decision before they ran out of runway, sec
onds to free the plane from the sixteen ton anchor that was pinning them down.
The Preacher came up to the side of the Fort London SAS man. "We must cut him away Craig Anderson,” he yelled close to his friend’s ear.
"We have no weapons, no tools. We can't even get out to the cable on the side wheels," shouted Anderson.
"I have these," responded the giant man, pulling the two grenades he had taken from the Destroyer.
Anderson shook his head. "They would need to be tight up against the winch to ensure it was blown clear. We throw from here we would never make contact or even time it right.”
As the two men had been shouting, staring out through the open rear door, Andrew had come up behind them leaving Hope with Saphire.
"We have twenty seconds to lift off or abort," warned one of the air-load marshals, swaying across to the pair.
The Preacher ducked to look through one of the side windows, the swarm of WDs was spreading across the airport in an ever moving wave while dozens of Mutants were chasing towards the lumbering Galaxy. "Aborting would not be my first choice.”
Anderson watched Andrew move towards the open rear door and pick up the two grenades that The Preacher had placed onto a shelf below one of the small windows. "Andrew....you need to put those down," shouted the SAS man.
"Fifteen seconds," came the pilot’s voice over the on-board tannoy.
The Preacher and Anderson moved slowly towards Andrew who stepped backwards, a grenade in each hand, towards the opening, matching them step for step. As all three came to a halt, Andrew pulled the pin from each grenade letting them drop to the floor, the release catches held closed in his tight grip.
"Ten seconds," boomed the tannoy.
"You have to get Hope to America," shouted Andrew, his voice free of corruption.
"Andrew!" cried Hope running towards him.
Anderson swept her up, holding her tightly as she struggled to get down. "You don't have to do this Andrew," she pleaded.
Bravo Two Zombie (Book 3): The Final Solution Page 31
