Dead Storm: The Global Zombie Apocalypse

by Nicholas Ryan

  It was a universally understood doctrine of war that no battle plan ever survived beyond the first few seconds of contact. The unpredictable chaos of combat made subsequent planning a folly. Once again, Stovsky saw that cruel reality of conflict verified. He growled bitterly.

  He had dashed across the North Korean border expecting a firefight against a scattered enemy of wandering undead. Instead he had flown into a hornet’s nest of American soldiers who were already in position and well prepared to defend the plant. He cursed the Russian Defense Minister who had ordered him on this desperate mission, and realized intuitively that it was a battle he could not win. He had thirty men. He had seen about the same number of Americans inside the perimeter of the plant. His orders had been specific; he could cause no collateral damage to any of the plant’s buildings, lest he inadvertently destroy the evidence and documents they had been sent to procure. That ruled out mortar fire on the Americans, and an air attack by the Hips. Now he had also forfeited any element of surprise. All that remained was a frontal assault against a prepared enemy without any numerical advantage.

  For long seconds he considered abandoning the operation and turning the helicopters back towards Russia. Then arrogant pride overruled common sense. His men were elite soldiers of the 45th Guards Independent Special Purposes Regiment; they were Spetsnaz – and that made them better fighters and better soldiers than almost any other troops in the world.

  Stovsky was a hard man, his illustrious career forged in the fires and the heat-seared deserts of Afghanistan. The Americans on the ground were about to learn a deadly lesson.

  “We’re attacking from the east,” the Colonel spoke to the troops in the lead helicopter through the comms network. His voice was a snarl of grim resolve as a new plan began to take shape in his head. His only chance to regain the initiative was a feint. By landing to the south of the plant he hoped the Americans could be lured into concentrating their defense. Then the real attack would be sprung from the trees to the east. Surprise could still win the day, but his men would need to be ruthless and committed to victory.

  “Everyone will assemble on the fringe of the woods. Get ready, all of you! We’re going to war against the Americans.”

  SITUATION ROOM

  THE WHITE HOUSE

  “General Knight?” the President’s voice shot up an octave in sudden alarm as he stared at the monitor. “Are they our helicopters?”

  The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs got out of his chair and studied the video feed on the screen closely. A cold chill of ominous dread turned the blood in the General’s veins to ice. The room turned suddenly quiet and tense. Everyone sat on the edge of their seats, their faces tight with strain.

  “No, sir,” General Knight said in shock. “They’re Russian.”

  “Holy shit,” President Austin gasped.

  Chapter 18:

  DEFENSE HEADQUARTERS

  CANBERRA, AUSTRALIA

  From a window in the Australian Defense Headquarters building, the Chief of Defense Force, General Walter ‘Wally’ Whitford, watched a procession of Commonwealth cars and motorcycle outriders pass through Blamey Square on their way to his offices. He straightened his back, tugged at his uniform and set his face into a stern, military expression.

  The Prime Minister’s car was the last to arrive. General Whitford met the PM inside the foyer.

  “Good to see you again, Prime Minister Redrup.”

  “Good to see you, Wally. Thanks for letting us use your building for this meeting. Hopefully we’ve done enough to throw the press off the trail. There’s enough drama in the world for them to focus on without news of an emergency National Security Meeting.”

  The Chief of Defense Force said nothing. In the background the other members of the Security Committee had assembled. General Whitford led the group up the stairs to a conference room.

  Outside the conference room doors, the General stopped suddenly. “The American Ambassador sends his apologies. He’s caught in traffic. He should be arriving at any minute.”

  Prime Minister Redrup nodded. He led the members of the committee into an unremarkable room with grey carpeting and wood paneled walls. In the center of the space was a long table, with chairs on both sides. A uniformed aide to the General stood in one corner filling glasses from a frosted pitcher of water.

  The Prime Minister took his seat at the head of the table, and the rest of the committee sat facing across from each other. Apart from the Prime Minister and the General, there were six other people in the room: The Deputy Prime Minister, the Foreign Minister, the Treasurer, Minister for Defense, the Home Affairs Minister, and the Attorney General. They were all middle-aged men dressed in somber suits and ties. A pall of uncertainty hung in the air.

  “Do we know the reason for this emergency meeting?” the Deputy Prime Minister asked.

  Redrup shook his head. “You all know as much as I do; the President of America requested the NSC meet with his Ambassador to discuss the NK Plague and the crisis in the South China Sea. I have no idea of the agenda, or what news the Ambassador brings.”

  A murmur of private discussions broke out around the table until General Whitford suddenly came back into the conference room beside a tall broad-shouldered man, immaculately dressed and groomed. The man flashed a dazzling smile at the Australians.

  “Mr. Prime Minister, please forgive me for the late arrival,” America’s Ambassador to Australia apologized.

  Neil Strongman was a career diplomat aged in his fifties. He had robust chiseled features and intense eyes. He held his smile as he nodded to acknowledge the assembled ministers.

  “Welcome, Mr. Ambassador,” Redrup got to his feet and shook Strongman’s hand. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “I wish the circumstances were less dire, Mr. Prime Minister,” the Ambassador said. The smile disappeared from his face as the real work began. “But President Austin insisted I speak with your NSC urgently. Thank you for making time in your busy schedule.”

  With the pleasantries and formalities completed, Redrup returned to his seat and the Ambassador went to the far end of the table to begin his address. He carried no notes. He had no briefcase. Everything he had to say had been memorized.

  The members of the NSC watched him with a rising sense of foreboding.

  Neil Strongman gave the performance of his life.

  “Mr. Prime Minister and assembled members of the National Security Committee. America has learned that the vast Chinese armada now assembled in the South China Sea has direct intention to launch an armed invasion of Australia – specifically, the top end of the country around Darwin.”

  There were gasps of horror and expressions of outrage. Strongman let the Australians vent their shock for a long moment before he continued. “President Austin learned this directly from the President of China during a recent phone call. The Chinese have some five million people aboard hundreds of freighters, escorted by the entire Chinese Navy. As a sea force, it is the largest ever assembled in the history of mankind.”

  “Christ!” the Defense Minister’s face turned red with outrage and alarm. There was no way Australia’s meager Navy or Army could repel such an attack. Strongman held up his hands like a teacher appealing to a disruptive classroom for silence.

  “The American Seventh Fleet stands in their way. But it is unlikely that we can defeat such a vast naval force, even with the help of your own navy. The Chinese have spent the last twenty years determinedly building up the size and quality of their fleets. They have advanced weaponry, advanced technology and well-trained crews. The Seventh Fleet may not be able to turn the Chinese back – and the conflict could potentially escalate into a nuclear exchange.”

  “Mr. Ambassador, are you telling us that America has chosen – instead of challenging the Chinese – to abandon its alliance with Australia?” Paul Redrup’s voice shook as he uttered the words. He felt flushed. Impotent temper burned on his cheeks.

  “No,” Ambassador Strongman s
miled reassuringly. “America values its alliance with Australia more than any other. Together we have fought side-by-side in every conflict since the dawn of modern warfare. We share a friendship that could never be abandoned. America will always stand by your side, just as Australia has always stood with the United States.”

  “But China...?” the Attorney General asked. He was a small man with narrow shoulders and a mousy face.

  “China cannot be stopped,” the Ambassador admitted. “But they can be deflected.”

  “Deflected?”

  For the Australians, the meeting had turned into a giddy rollercoaster of plunging emotions. Strongman rearranged his expression into a look of anguish.

  “The Chinese can’t and won’t stay aboard their ships forever. The NK Plague isn’t burning itself out. China’s plan was to evacuate their population to ships until the plague had run its course. Then they were going to return to the Chinese mainland. That plan has been scrapped. The infection could continue to ravage the world for months, or even years. The Chinese can’t keep their people aboard ships for that long. They’ll run out of food and fuel. They’re getting desperate. They must find somewhere to resettle.”

  The Prime Minister’s eyes swept the assembled faces around the conference table. The members of the Committee looked grave and deeply troubled. He felt exactly the same.

  “Mr. Ambassador, perhaps you could tell us what your President has in mind, then.”

  Strongman smiled thinly. “New Zealand,” he said.

  For a numb moment of incomprehension the room remained utterly silent. Then slow-dawning realization struck the Committee members. Looks of fear and panic became expressions of alarm.

  “America wants to allow the Chinese to invade New Zealand?” Redrup exclaimed.

  “Yes,” Ambassador Strongman said. “Because that’s the only palatable option. The only other choice is Australia – and we value our alliance with you Aussies more than we do with New Zealand. Their government has, for many years, acted belligerently towards our alliance. Given the choice, it’s the only alternative short of all-out war.”

  “Jesus Christ!” General Whitford swore. He was a man of honor, and not subject to the same political pressures as the rest of the committee. His military background allowed him to see issues only in terms of black or white. The shades of grey that dominated the world of politics were foreign to him.

  “The Kiwis are our closest neighbors – not just geographically, but in terms of mateship and shared ideologies. They’re like a state of Australia; a little brother.”

  Strongman said nothing. He kept his expression fixed, his eyes focused on the face of the Australian Prime Minister like a hypnotist trying to exert his will.

  Angry outbursts swirled around the room. To the members of the Committee the notion of abandoning New Zealand was instinctively abhorrent. Gradually the voices of protest spent their force. The room became unruly and unsettled.

  “What is President Austin proposing?” Paul Redrup asked. His voice sounded flat, wrung of all emotion. The words fell dead from his lips.

  “The President proposes that Australia do absolutely nothing,” Ambassador Strongman said. “The Chinese armada will be escorted into the Coral Sea by the Seventh Fleet and a guard of Australian warships. After that, our Fleet will sail to Sydney. China will be free to do as it pleases – which means it will attack and invade New Zealand. That has already been agreed to at the highest possible level,” he admitted tellingly. “In return for Australia’s inaction, you will get several new Naval bases along your eastern coastline which will become the Seventh Fleet’s new home. Our strong presence will deter any future ambitions the Chinese might have in your direction. You will also get the American Navy’s awesome presence along your northern coastline. We are already aware that your navy is taxed defending the Western Australian coast from ‘boat people’ trying to escape from Asia. Our maritime presence can ensure your continued protection from the spread of the plague. In short, Australia will remain free of invasion, free of NK Plague infection, and will have acquired into the bargain a vast American naval presence for your future ongoing protection.”

  “And in exchange for everything you’re offering, we must stand by and watch New Zealand be stormed by a Chinese army and bombarded into submission by Chinese missiles?”

  “Yes,” Strongman said. “We ask only that you do nothing. Ignore the New Zealand pleas for military assistance.”

  Redrup could see the tortured anguish on the faces of the Ministers around him. He drew himself upright and said thickly, “We need some time to discuss this development, Mr. Ambassador.”

  “Of course, Mr. Prime Minister,” Strongman said. “But the President wants me to report back to him with a reply. I’ll wait outside while the NSC discusses the issue.”

  Redrup nodded unhappily. The political arena was not the natural environment of quick decisions, and politicians were loath to draw decisive conclusions in a hurry. The Ambassador left the room, pulling the door quietly closed behind him.

  Paul Redrup got to his feet and went to the corner of the room where glasses of water were waiting. He wished there was something stiffer to drink. He looked at the shocked pale men surrounding him. The Attorney General stood shaking his head in despair.

  “We’re fucked,” the Deputy Prime Minister stated the case with typical eloquence. “Either way, we’re fucked.”

  “It’s un-Australian,” the Treasurer opined. “We don’t do this kind of thing to our friends. The Kiwis are our closest allies.”

  “America holds all the cards,” the Foreign Minister said. He had spent his childhood living in the United States. “They’re holding a gun to our head, and it’s a bloody big gun.”

  Redrup grunted. He was facing the crushing end of his political career. If Australia abandoned New Zealand and left the Kiwis to fight a hopelessly one-sided war against the Chinese armada, he would be crucified in the press. The scandalous outrage might even bring down his government. On the other hand, he would ensure Australia’s survival. He had no doubt the threat of invasion from the Chinese was very real and imminent.

  On the surface, the choice appeared clear-cut, but there were undercurrents of loyalty, political survival, diplomacy and mateship to be weighed – all set against the backdrop of a horror-stricken world teetering on the brink of annihilation.

  “We have to do what the Americans want,” Prime Minister Redrup decided firmly. He saw the outrage in the face of General Whitford but held his ground. “If Australia is to have a future, it has to be as an ally of America. She’s the only superpower still untouched by the plague. When this apocalypse ends, America will dominate the new world. Australia can hold its place and become the new power in the Southern hemisphere with the USA’s military support. Without their backing, we are an easy target for the Chinese. Even if the Americans decided to fight an invasion of Australia alongside our army and navy, we risk turning the top-end of the country into a war zone.”

  Redrup looked around the small room for signs of clear dissent. No one was happy with the decision, but no one objected. General Whitford stormed from the room in protest, leaving the politicians alone.

  “Mike,” Redrup smiled bleakly at his Deputy Prime Minister. “Can you go and find the American Ambassador, please? We might as well get this dreadful moment of history over and done with.”

  *

  Standing alone in the hallways of the Defense Headquarters building long after the meeting had been adjourned, Prime Minister Paul Redrup and his Foreign Minister continued talking quietly.

  Outside, the two men’s Commonwealth cars were parked and waiting, their drivers pacing the pavement, bored and sullen.

  “Have we done the right thing?” Redrup still felt tortured with doubt and anguish.

  The Foreign Minister shook his head gloomily. “Paul, I think we did what’s in Australia’s best interests,” he hedged his comment. “But something worries me – something my father
told me as a child. I can’t get the saying out of my head.”

  “What was it?”

  The Foreign Minister smiled but it was a cold, brittle expression without humor that drew his lips tight. “He told me that if you lie down with dogs every night, then one morning you have to expect to wake up with fleas.”

  KÖNIGSTÄDTEN

  GERMANY

  “Faster!” Thurlow barked over the tank’s comms, fuming with frustration as the huge Abrams raced towards the highway. The bedraggled caravan of refugees had broken apart in terror. Some ran screaming with fear into the ploughed field where they were hunted down by the undead. Others simply dropped to their knees on the muddy blacktop, too beaten down by tragedy and despair to fight any longer for life. The infected set upon them like a pack of wild ravenous animals. The tarmac ran red with blood.

  The rest of the refugees ran for their lives, their mouths hung open in horror, their voices hysterical with fear. They threw down their bundled possessions and fled for their lives. Some abandoned their children. The stronger pushed the weak and infirm aside to save themselves. The sound of their voices on the air was an undulating wail of mankind’s misery.

  Julian Nelson steered the tank to put the Abrams between the stragglers at the tail of the column and the horde of undead that had paused in their attack to feast on the blood and bodies of those who had surrendered meekly.

  The tank’s throttle and steering were controlled through a motorbike-style handlebar. Nelson had the right handle grip twisted all the way towards him; the Abrams was at full power, and riding over the uneven ground as smoothly as an SUV on a suburban road.

  His view of the horrific scene was through a series of prismatic viewing blocks built into the top of the hatch. He gaped, aghast at the gruesome horror. He could see people laying on their backs, their legs thrashing weakly as the infected ghouls clawed them to pieces. One woman lay quiescent in a spreading pool of her own blood while three of the infected dismembered her with their gnashing jaws. The woman’s eyes were wide open and unblinking.