Dead Storm: The Global Zombie Apocalypse

by Nicholas Ryan

  In the background the sound of radio chatter seemed to spike in a rush of frantic voices. The General turned his head to the sounds as if to hear more clearly.

  Nathan Power went on, sensing that he was wasting his time, sensing too that time was up… for all of them.

  “General, you’re fighting an unconventional enemy with conventional tactics. Your howitzers are hull down as if you expect counter-fire. But the enemy has no guns. And your soldiers are out on that plain, dug into fox holes without any prepared defenses ahead of them apart from some barbed wire. Those holes will become their graves. You need to hit this enemy and then fall back quickly before they overwhelm your positions. You need to concede ground to them and bite away at their numbers… because what you’re doing here,” he made an angry gesture with a fling of his arm that encompassed the entirety of the Russian positions, “…is making the exact same mistake the Generals made in South Korea, before they were overwhelmed.”

  COMPREHENSIVE CRISIS OPERATIONS MANAGEMENT CENTER (CCOMC)

  SUPREME HEADQUARTERS ALLIED POWERS EUROPE (SHAPE)

  BELGIUM

  SACEUR was a deeply troubled man. “What’s the latest situation, Tommy? How far has the infection spread?” General Amos Bram, NATO’s Supreme Allied Commander Europe asked the uniformed aide at the far end of the table.

  The conference room was connected to the Comprehensive Planning Space, manned by fatigue-clad NATO staff who were monitoring banks of computer screens. Through the windows, General Bram could sense the staff’s tension. The entire SHAPE Operations Management Center had been on heightened alert since the outbreak of war between North and South Korea.

  Located seventy kilometers southwest of Brussels, outside the town of Mons, SHAPE was the nerve center of NATO’s military operations.

  “The situation is precarious,” the aide told the American four-star General. “And it’s fluid, sir. The infection is spreading rapidly, but its movement is impossible to predict. Unlike a wildfire that is influenced by winds or environmental conditions, the spread of the NK Plague is completely haphazard. That’s why we’re seeing such erratic levels of infection… and that’s why it’s so difficult to predict what will happen next.”

  “What’s the current situation?”

  A map of Europe and Asia had been projected onto the wall behind the table. The aide cleared his throat, checked his notes one last time, and plunged into a summary of the past twenty-four hours.

  “As near as we can tell, mainland China is all but completely overrun. The entire population is either dead or infected. Likewise Burma, Vietnam, Thailand and parts of Cambodia… although those Cambodian reports are unconfirmed. As you know, Japan, Taiwan and the Philippines were overrun by the infection within the first forty-eight hours of the Seoul biological attack. We also have new reports of rioting in Bangladesh. If those incidents are actually fresh outbreaks of infection, it means India is next. We’re looking at almost two billion people already dead or infected. The world has never seen anything like it.”

  “And it’s not over…” General Amos said bleakly. It was an apocalyptic disaster on an unimaginable scale. The combined deaths from both World Wars were estimated at around one hundred million. The NK Plague was an unprecedented global catastrophe.

  “What else, Tommy?”

  “Well, sir,” the aide drew SACEUR’s attention towards Europe. “With China overrun, the plague has spread into Mongolia and reached the border of Russia. Satellite imagery provided by US Intelligence shows reactive Russian troop movements as their forces mass to confront the vast tide of undead spreading out of Asia. If the Russians are unsuccessful, it puts Kazakhstan, Turkmenistan and Afghanistan directly in the firing line. Those countries are the buffer between Asia and key central European countries – most notably Ukraine and Turkey.”

  SACEUR grunted and looked to his Deputy sitting beside him. “Dieter? What are you hearing from Berlin?”

  Dieter Schmitt was a German General and a former Panzerbrigade commander who had spent thirty-five years serving the Bundeswehr. He was a stern-faced man with black bristling eyebrows, and thinning grey hair. He spoke with the rasping voice of a heavy smoker and had a Teutonic commitment to hard work and discipline.

  The German rubbed his eyes, weary with fatigue. The past four weeks had been a time of unrelenting strain.

  “Nothing more than we see on these maps,” he admitted. “But we know the Russians are confident. Perhaps too much so…”

  Amos Bram arched an eyebrow at the news. “They think their military is better equipped to contain the infection than the Chinese?”

  “Ja,” Schmitt said. “But they’ve always been an arrogant race, the Russians. We’ve seen this kind of contempt and disregard from them before a hundred times.”

  Ever since NATO’s inception in the 1950’s, a US military officer, beginning with Dwight D. Eisenhower, had always filled the role of SACEUR while the role of his Deputy Commander had been shared between British and German military officers. Dieter Schmitt was the first German to sit in the Deputy’s seat since 2004.

  “Tommy?” General Bram turned back to the aide who was giving the briefing. “Do the Russians know something we don’t?”

  The aide looked blank. “Er… not that we’re aware of, sir,” he said. “The most recent satellite imagery we have suggests the Russians are planning to fight the undead using conventional military doctrine. We’ve seen nothing that we haven’t seen the Chinese already attempt. If anything…” the aide paused, wondering whether he should go out on a limb. His voice faltered until General Bram gestured for him to continue.

  “Well, if anything, sir, I’d speculate that the Russians are being blasé about their defense. In my opinion, based on the units they are mobilizing, they seem to be culpably underestimating the situation.”

  SACEUR and his German Deputy exchanged glances. Dieter Schmitt made a wry, fearful expression. “See, Amos. They are always the same, these Russians,” the man’s English was guttural and heavily accented. “Their commanders are chest-thumping egotists.”

  “Can we get word to Moscow?” SACEUR asked. “Is there time to warn them?”

  “We can try, sir,” the aide frowned. NATO had been created specifically to protect Western European nations against a possible invasion threat from the Soviet Union and its Warsaw Pact allies. The map of Europe had changed in the subsequent seventy years… but there was still wary mistrust, exacerbated by Russia’s increasing aggressive belligerence during the past decade.

  “Do it,” General Bram decided. “Message Moscow with a warning.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And what about Western Europe?” Dieter Schmitt was a worried man. If Russia fell, his homeland would soon follow. “What is the status of our VJTF?”

  The Very High Readiness Joint Task Force comprised a multinational brigade of five thousand troops, supported by aircraft, naval assets, and Special Forces units drawn from across the twenty-nine NATO member countries. The VJTF was a rapid response force, available to move immediately upon activation to flashpoints of escalating conflict, or to act as a deterrent. The component units that made up the VJTF were on permanent standby and could mobilize within forty-eight hours.

  “The Task Force is on high alert,” the aide said. “They’ve been on standby since the outbreak of war on the Korean Peninsula and are ready to be deployed when ordered.”

  The phone on the desk rang suddenly, interrupting anything else the aide had to say. General Bram growled and snatched up the phone irritably. He had left strict instructions with staff that he was not to be disturbed.

  “SACEUR here.”

  The conversation was brief. When the General hung up, his face was grim with foreboding.

  “We might need the VJTF sooner than we think,” he told his Deputy gravely. “That was the Secretary General on the phone. He’s called an urgent meeting. I need to get to Brussels immediately.”

  Chapter 11:

  OVA
L OFFICE

  THE WHITE HOUSE

  President Austin filled in the minutes before 5 p.m. by flicking through the NSC dossier on his desk while his aides shuffled quietly into the room. The first to arrive was his Press Secretary, Rita May, followed by Vice President Hallmeyer and Walter Ford, who arrived together. Chairs had been arranged on the other side of the Resolute desk. Everyone sat, moving quietly, like late arrivals at a movie cinema who didn’t want to draw attention to themselves. President Austin re-read the cover page of the report.

  “So Paul Redrup only became the Prime Minister of Australia a few months ago?”

  “That’s right, Mr. President,” Walter Ford answered. “The country changed their government at their recent federal election. They went from eight years under a Liberal leadership to a new Labour Government.”

  “Labour? That’s kinda equivalent to our Democrat Party, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  The President grunted. “And this is everything we know about the guy?” he gestured at the NSC dossier.

  Walter Ford nodded. The report on the Australian leader was typical of all such NSC documents; it provided a complete intelligence portrait of the man, including comments about his personality, health, and information about his children and spouses. It also pinpointed Paul Redrup’s idiosyncrasies, and a summary of local Australian political pressures.

  “He’s a good guy,” Vice President Hallmeyer offered. “His statements about America since coming into office have been very positive. He’s publicly supported our alliance.”

  The President nodded. It was 5 p.m. He buzzed through to his secretary in the outer office. “Sonia, can you arrange for that call to be put through to Australia now, please?”

  It was 9 a.m. the following morning in Canberra. When the call to Parliament House was connected, President Austin loosened his tie and picked up the phone.

  “Mr. Prime Minister. Thank you for taking my call.”

  “President Austin. It’s a pleasure to hear from you,” the Australian leader’s voice came through the speaker so everyone assembled in the Oval Office could overhear the exchange. The Australian’s voice was deep and modulated; like the tone of a talk-back radio host, the unique accent less pronounced than Austin had expected.

  “Congratulations on your recent election win. I’m told by my people here that you swept the polls convincingly.”

  “That’s kind of you to note, Mr. President,” Paul Redrup said. “We ran a very strong campaign.”

  Austin was uncomfortable on a phone. He preferred meeting face to face where he could read a man’s facial expression and body language. He glanced at a list of talking points the NSC had listed on the final page of the dossier and tried to put some warmth into his voice. Relationships with world leaders were challenging until a relationship had been established. The conversation felt stilted and forced.

  “And how are your wife and two sons coping with the adjustment? I understand your wife is a celebrated artist.”

  The Australian Prime Minister laughed politely. “Mr. President, the family is fine. My wife, Letitia, is represented by a Sydney art gallery, but I think she’s going to put the brushes away for a few years while we set about sorting out the country’s problems.”

  “Good,” Patrick Austin said awkwardly, then lapsed into silence. He glanced up at the faces watching him. The conversation had veered down a cul-de-sac and was in danger of becoming farcical. He pressed his lips into a thin line of resolve and closed the cover page of the dossier.

  “Paul, I’d love to have you visit the White House sometime, but first we need to sort out the NK Plague crisis sweeping the world… and to do that I need your help.”

  “You want a warship?”

  “Yeah,” President Austin said bluntly. “The Chinese have launched an armada of ships into the South China Sea; we’re talking literally hundreds of warships and hundreds of commercial vessels. Those commercial ships have been converted into floating accommodations. We don’t know who is aboard, but we estimate the vast fleet might carry as many as five million Chinese. We don’t know where they’re heading yet, and we don’t know the makeup of the people they have boarded. It could be an army, Mr. Prime Minister. It could be an invasion army, moving towards you.”

  “I’ve seen the intelligence,” Paul Redrup admitted. Australia’s geographic isolation made it one of the few countries in the world naturally immune to the spread of the contagion. If Australia could keep its borders closed, it stood a chance of surviving the world-wide holocaust. That made the island nation a prime target for the Chinese… if they were planning to establish a new homeland for their people.

  “We have the Seventh Fleet in the South China Sea. Currently they’re operating in the waters off Riau Island. We want to put together an international task force as a show of strength against a Chinese move south. We need Australia to be part of that operation.”

  “Of course,” Prime Minister Redrup did not hesitate. Like most calls between international leaders, this one had been pre-arranged by staffers and the reason for the conversation already discussed at lower government levels. “Australia has been a long-standing and loyal ally. We have a Hobart Class destroyer on a good-will visit to Subic Bay. We would be happy to have her join an international force.”

  There was a relaxing of tensions in the Oval Office. Walter Ford sat back in his chair and let out a long breath. The Vice President nodded his agreement. It was only one ship, but the gesture was significant. Most of Australia’s Navy was based on the east coast – too many days away to be immediately useful to the President’s needs.

  “Very good,” Patrick Austin said around a small smile. “As always, you Aussies continue to prove your friendship. Thank you, Mr. Prime Minister.”

  The co-operative alliance between America and Australia dated back to the Second World War, and since that time Australian troops had fought side-by-side with their American counterparts in global hot-spots around the world. The US alliance had been at the core of Australia’s own defense strategy for over seventy years.

  President Austin hung up the phone and sat back with a sigh. Rita May began frantically scribbling notes, preparing a ‘readout’ of the exchange for immediate release to the media.

  “That was the easy one,” Walter Ford said. “I suspect the next one will be a little less pleasant…”

  *

  “Good morning, Prime Minister Cowlishaw,” the President made allowances for another time zone discrepancy. “This is Patrick Austin.”

  “Good evening, Mr. President,” Aiden Cowlishaw, Prime Minister of New Zealand, said politely, his voice sterile and formal. The stiff greeting between the two leaders was an ominous harbinger. President Austin leaned forward in his chair and held the phone’s receiver closer to his ear. He could hear someone shuffling papers in the background.

  “Mr. Prime Minister a grave international crisis is developing in the South China Sea. I’ve called to seek the cooperation of your government.”

  “Mr. President, there is a worldwide crisis. The NK Plague has swept through all of Asia and into Europe.”

  “Yes,” Austin said around a grimace. “And as a consequence of the plague, the Chinese have launched a massive flotilla of warships and people-carrying commercial vessels. They are in the South China Sea as we speak, and their intentions are unclear.”

  “Perhaps they’re simply trying to save as many of their people as they can from the ravages of this infection,” the New Zealand Prime Minister offered, polite but prickly. “Just as every other nation is doing.”

  “Perhaps,” President Austin conceded. “But my government cannot ignore the possibility that the Chinese are not merely acting in a humanitarian manner, and have, instead, launched a potential invasion force.”

  “Is that so?” the New Zealand Prime Minister sounded unconvinced. “Do you have intelligence that confirms your claims?”

  “No,” President Austin said. “But prudence dictate
s that we must take measures to ensure – ”

  “Mr. President, I am aware of the nature of your call, and I understand your instinct for concern; however, New Zealand is dealing with its own serious domestic issues at the moment and preparing ourselves as best we can to keep the infection from our coastline. I note your request that we contribute a warship to your international force monitoring the movements of the Chinese fleet… but sadly, we are committed to a plan of action that prohibits the allocation of any of our Navy vessels to anything other than defense of our immediate coastline.” It sounded to the President’s advisors that the New Zealand Prime Minister had read from a prepared script. Vice President Hallmeyer and Walter Ford exchanged gloomy, ominous glances.

  For years the relationship between New Zealand and America had been strained. The two countries were part of the ANZUS Treaty; a three-way defense agreement that included Australia. But the nature of the agreement changed in the mid 1980’s when New Zealand barred all nuclear-powered and nuclear-armed ships from using New Zealand ports or entering the nation’s waters – essentially refusing access to US Navy warships. As a result, America had suspended its ANZUS treaty obligations to New Zealand, and in the subsequent years the relationship had cooled. The Cowlishaw government seemed to be fixed on a policy course of stubborn isolation.

  A note passed across the table from Walter Ford. President Austin snatched it up.

  ‘Tell him the Aussies are with us.’

  “We have already secured Australia’s participation, Mr. Prime Minister. I just got off the phone with Paul Redrup.”

  “That’s very interesting, Mr. President,” John Cowlishaw’s tone became icy and condescending. “But Australia does not dictate or influence New Zealand policy. Neither does the United States…”

  “Very well,” President Austin said tightly. Inwardly he was seething. He kept his voice under control, but laced each word with acid. “Then you have made your decision and chosen to separate your country from the efforts of the international community to maintain peace in a world that’s very existence is under threat. Good day, Mr. Prime Minister.”