Rolling Thunder - 03

by Dirk Patton

  “Search him and restrain him. I don’t care how you tie him up, but you’ll answer to me if he gets away.” One of them quickly bent down and started frisking Roach while the other covered him with his rifle. “And get that goddamn uniform off of him. It’s a fucking disgrace to all the good men and women who have died.”

  Turning, I took a deep breath and met Jackson’s eyes.

  “What are you going to do?” He asked. The look on his face told me he’d be fine with whatever I decided to do to Roach.

  “I’m going to let the Colonel decide. He’s the ranking officer.” Jackson nodded and watched as the soldiers finished searching Roach, removing two pistols and a knife before yanking him to his feet and starting to strip the uniform off of him. When he was stripped to his underwear one of them used the knife they’d taken off him to cut his shirt into strips that were then used to tightly bind his hands behind his back before roughly shoving him into a seat where they used more strips to tie his ankles to the legs of the seat. He wasn’t going anywhere.

  “Can I use your radio to talk to the Colonel?” I asked Jackson. He didn’t hesitate to pull the small unit out of his vest, remove the earpiece and hand all of it to me.

  “The Colonel is Bird Dog,” he said before I could ask.

  Earpiece in place I called for the Colonel and a moment later heard his voice answer. I filled him in on the situation with the infected first, then briefed him on Roach. He remembered Roach from Arnold.

  “You didn’t kill him on sight?”

  “Damn near did, sir. If I was the ranking officer on site I wouldn’t have hesitated.”

  “Not sure I would have shown the same restraint, but I appreciate you not finishing the piece of shit off right then and there. What’s his status?”

  “Restrained with a couple of guards on him. He’s not going anywhere.”

  Crawford was silent for a bit, then asked me to put Jackson on the radio. I handed the equipment over and sat back down while Jackson spoke with the Colonel.

  “What’s going on?” Rachel asked. She was sitting next to me, leaning over to look at where Roach was secured to the seat.

  “I don’t know the Colonel well enough to guess what he’s going to do. What Roach did, first deserting, then impersonating a General so he could get on the train and escape, he’s in deep, deep shit at a minimum. The desertion during time of war is enough under the UCMJ – Uniform Code of Military Justice – to stand him up against a wall and put a bullet in his head. I can’t remember the last time the US executed a deserter, but it’s been a very long time. If it was up to me we’d restart the precedent with this prick.”

  Jackson wrapped up his conversation with Crawford and came over to stand next to me. I looked up and met his eyes. “Would you really have shot me, Master Sergeant?”

  “Let’s just say I wouldn’t have and stay friends.” He answered with a grin. I nodded and grinned back. This guy was OK.

  “What did the Colonel say?”

  “He appointed me his advocate. I hear testimony from you two then from the prisoner and make the decision. If I find him guilty the Colonel has already authorized execution.”

  “You and the Colonel must go back a ways,” I said, not really surprised at the trust and responsibility Crawford was placing in Jackson.

  “Lot of years, sir. We’ve eaten a lot of the same dirt.” I nodded. It’s actually quite common in the Special Forces community, where differences between officer and enlisted are much less strictly adhered to than in the rest of the military, for officers and NCOs that have worked together for years to become friends and even trusted confidants.

  “I’m not going to drag this out, and I don’t think we have time to worry about niceties. Hell, he doesn’t even have legal counsel. So, I’ve already heard Rachel. Tell me.”

  I did. Starting with when I arrived back at Arnold from rescuing Gwen in Atlanta and encountering Roach as he fought with an infected. I detailed how we had gone into flight ops and brought the people out. The fight across the tarmac to the ill-fated Globemaster flight and how Roach who was in the rear had disappeared as we started pressing into the herd of infected between us and the plane. We had all thought he’d been taken down and killed, in fact had never had a reason to suspect otherwise until now.

  Jackson listened intently and when I was finished asked a couple of questions, then nodded and went over to stand in front of Roach. I was too far away to hear what he was asking and what answers Roach was giving, but I could see Roach’s body language and could tell he knew he was arguing for his life. The conversation lasted five minutes then Jackson walked back over to me.

  “He tells the same story you do, then says when you were on the tarmac that he was attacked by a female and knocked unconscious. When he came around the plane was burning and all the infected were at the far end of the runway, so he got the hell out of there. Swears he didn’t run off. Any chance he’s telling the truth?”

  Shit. Anything is possible, but I didn’t believe Roach’s story for a second. “If he’s telling the truth, what’s with the uniform? I might be willing to give him the benefit of the doubt if it wasn’t for him showing up impersonating a General.”

  “Yeah, that’s where I have a problem too.” Jackson nodded. “He says he had to hide in the General’s office during his escape from the base and needed to change clothes because his were covered with blood.”

  “Not the last time I saw him, they weren’t.” Rachel said. “And that was after we had made it onto the tarmac. He was dirty from a scuffle, but there wasn’t blood on him then.”

  “And neither of you saw anything? He was there when you started out onto the flight line then he was just gone?” Both of us nodded.

  Jackson stared out the windows at the darkness, thinking. He stood like that for a long time before turning back to me. “I don’t believe him, sir. But I also don’t like not having any hard evidence. He could be telling the truth, regardless of what I think. I can’t put a bullet in a man’s head just because his story sounds like bullshit.”

  “So what do we do with him?” I asked, a sour taste in my mouth.

  “That’s why officers make the big bucks. Sir.”

  I would have been more than happy to pull the trigger based on what I knew about Roach. As I thought about it, what the hell had he been doing on the first floor close enough to an exit for me to rescue him from an infected outside the building? Flight operations had been on the opposite end of the building and on the second floor. That’s where he should have been, along with his Security Forces airmen. The son of a bitch had been running then, trying to sneak away while people were dying. With everything that had been happening at the time I just hadn’t put it all together in my head.

  29

  Air Force Security Forces Captain Lee Roach slowly replaced the handset on the duty officer’s desk. It was early evening and he was the duty officer for the day, responsible for all Security Forces activities on Arnold Air Force Base. He had just received a call from the prissy little Major running flight operations. She was requesting armed Security Forces be stationed inside flight ops, claiming that an Army Major had just informed her that more people were becoming infected and she was concerned for her staff’s safety.

  He knew Major Masuka well, having pursued her romantically despite their difference in rank. It had taken him weeks but he’d finally convinced her to have dinner with him, and the date had seemed to go well. Dinner had been pleasant and he was sure he had charmed her with his stories of rousting drunk airmen out of local bars and brothels. Driving to her quarters he thought he’d picked up signals that he would be spending the night, but had been firmly rebuffed when he put his hand on her shoulder and tried to kiss her outside her door. Not just rebuffed. Humiliated. The bitch!

  Roach had not been a popular kid growing up in rural Washington State. He wasn’t good at sports, didn’t have a quick wit and wasn’t anything special to look at, but he was very smart. He usually
blended into the background unless being singled out by bullies for humiliation. Raised by a single mother who only had time for herself and her parade of boyfriends he hadn’t had a nurturing family life to fall back on. Roach was not smart like the kids who scored high on their SATs and were destined for great lives, but smart like a predator. By the time he was a junior in high school he realized that he fit the classic definition of a psychopath. And that thrilled him.

  He fantasized regularly about raping and killing the popular, pretty girls that laughed at him when it was his turn to be publicly humiliated by the bullies. His favorite fantasy was to picture himself standing in front of a classroom full of the worst bullies and the girls that laughed the loudest and longest. He wanted to see the fear on their faces as he raised a gun and one by one shot each of them. But despite being a psychopath, Roach was practical and didn’t want to spend his life in a state mental hospital or prison. Instead he started searching for a path that would give him the power and authority to punish those that he felt had wronged him, and get away with it.

  Mid-way through his senior year of high school he was approached by an Air Force recruiter and immediately saw the opportunities the military offered to someone like him. He turned 18 a month before graduation and the day after he didn’t walk across the stage to get his diploma, he boarded a plane to Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio, Texas to start basic military training. The pretty blonde cheerleader that he had raped and strangled the night before was never found in the rugged terrain of the Cascade Mountains.

  Basic had just been more of the same for Roach, who looked on the instructors as bullies and used his well-honed survival skills to stay off their radar as much as possible. He had tested well when he took the ASVAB – Armed Services Vocational Ability Battery – and had been allowed to choose his MOS – Military Occupational Specialty. He hadn’t hesitated to select Security Forces, the Air Force Military Police. What better way to be able to act on his need to punish others than to be one of those who were supposed to protect them.

  He was a good cop as far as having the right instincts about the people he encountered in the line of duty, regularly impressing his commanders with his abilities. He was also a brutal cop. Rarely did a suspect or detainee come in to holding without having been subjected to some strategically placed blows from Roach’s baton or steel toed boots. He always managed to get away with it, twice going before review boards after complaints were filed, but always having a plausible justification for his actions. Roach was happy for a couple of years, but his anti-social behavior and reputation for brutality had estranged him from fellow enlisted who he grew to dislike and eventually despise as beneath him.

  Night school paid for by the Air Force and a new six year commitment and Roach became an officer, elevated above the enlisted personnel to whom he felt superior. No longer able to be the cop breaking up the fight or dragging in the drunks, he refocused his needs on locals, always careful to never kill anyone that was associated with the military. Over the years, bodies of the young, pretty women that Roach preferred were discovered in the Louisiana swamps miles away from Barksdale Air Force Base, two beaches on Okinawa far away from Kadena Air Base, and in Germany’s Black Forest well away from Ramstein Air Base. While the local civilian investigators may have wondered about a connection to the US Military there was never even a hint of a connection to the three sprawling bases that were deemed too far away from the scene of the crimes to have any link.

  He had only been at Arnold for a few months and despite regular trips up to Nashville, which was flush with young, pretty women, he hadn’t found the right one yet. He was considering stepping up his game after having been in a Honky Tonk on Broadway and seeing a couple of up and coming country music stars. They were well known locally but hadn’t made the national scene yet and as a result went out on the town with just a few friends and no security. Roach had no illusions about ever being able to get close to a big, nationally known star, but these young girls were making it on their looks and their voices. They weren’t smart enough to recognize they were already in danger, which made them soft targets for someone like him.

  Hand still on the phone he had just hung up, Roach let himself fantasize about Major Masuka. The pleasure he would feel as his hands wrapped around her small neck. Shaking the thought out of his head he shouted for the Staff Sergeant that sat outside his office, issuing orders to get some men in full gear over to flight operations. With any of the other officers over him the Sergeant would have asked for specifics about why they were needed, but he knew from experience that it would be pointless to ask Captain Roach. He just acknowledged the order and got on the radio to three of his best men who were out on patrol near the flight line.

  It was only a few minutes later when the first emergency calls for help started coming in from all over the base. The Sergeant was doing his best to answer them as quickly as he could, Roach standing in the doorway to his office listening to the growing chaos. There had been several airmen in the office suite working on arrest paperwork, but they had already been sent out by the Sergeant as the number of calls quickly exceeded the number of cops in the field. Roach and the Sergeant were alone.

  The Sergeant was reaching for the radio when he suddenly stopped, grabbed his head in pain and fell out of the chair onto the shiny tile floor. Roach’s only response was to place his hand on his holstered side arm and watch as the man writhed in pain for a few moments before finally going still. The calm only lasted a brief time before the man snarled and sat up, swiveling his head around. Roach calmly drew his pistol, stepped close and shot the Sergeant in the head.

  He had read the reports that had been coming in over the past couple of weeks and knew what was happening in the world. Knew what impact this would have on survivors and now it was happening here. Like the predator he was, Roach saw the golden opportunity he had to satisfy his needs without worry of being discovered. Hell, no one was going to look twice at a body any longer. He wouldn’t even have to worry about disposing of them after he’d had his fun. Smiling, Roach walked out of the offices and climbed into a Security Forces Humvee, starting the engine as he thought about where he should go. He was done with the Air Force.

  But one debt needed to be paid first. Masuka. The bitch had rejected him, acted like he was beneath her. He’d show her the grave mistake she’d made, then be on his way. In the confusion of the outbreak, he’d be able to pull her aside into an office or stairwell where he’d introduce her to the Japanese steel dagger strapped to his forearm underneath his uniform. It wouldn’t be as satisfying as making her submit to him sexually, holding the gleaming blade to her throat while he thrust into her, but it was better than walking away without answering her disrespect.

  Roach pulled out of the parking area and headed for flight operations on the far side of the base. As he drove he started seeing infected males wearing Air Force uniforms shambling about and ran down a couple of females that charged the Hummer. His desire to kill Masuka momentarily wavered as the numbers of infected increased the further he drove, but the need to mete out punishment outweighed the instinct for self-preservation.

  The drive to flight operations took ten minutes, Roach parking in the front parking lot by the main entrance. Stepping out of the Humvee, he trotted up the steps and to the double glass security doors but changed direction at the last minute when he saw infected roaming the hallway inside the building. At the rear, facing the flight line was a single, steel door that the pilots used and Roach ran around the building, keeping a close eye out for any infected. As he pulled the door open he heard the heavy thump of a helicopter coming in for a landing, but instead of turning to see who it was he slipped inside the building and pulled the door shut behind him.

  Moving quietly down the empty hall Roach hadn’t gone far when from deeper in the building a rifle started firing on full auto and moments later was joined by a second. When the rifle had sounded he had paused in front of an open office door and the i
nfected that stumbled into the hallway to investigate the noise ran directly into him and wrapped him up in its arms. Roach started struggling to break the grip of the male, nearly getting his throat torn out when he hesitated upon recognizing Brigadier General Samuels, the base commander.

  The hesitation passed as quickly as it had come and Roach twisted, trying to break the grip of the infected General as he backpedaled towards the exit door to the flight line. Roach was a very physical man when it came to inflicting pain on those he had at a disadvantage, but he wasn’t any good against an opponent that had no fear of him. Still scrambling, they reached the door and it burst open as Roach’s back struck it. They tripped over the threshold and fell to the ground outside the door and started rolling on the ground.

  The General was on top of him and his lips and teeth were pressed to the side of Roach’s neck, just above his carotid artery, when the infected’s head was violently knocked to the side. The body immediately went limp on top of him and a moment later the weight came off his chest as the infected was lifted and tossed aside and Roach found himself looking up at the big fucker that had escaped from Atlanta and flown into Arnold the night before. The same guy that had humiliated him. He reached down, grabbed Roach’s hand and yanked him up onto his feet. Christ, the guy was strong. He was also now in uniform and wearing Major’s oak leaves.

  “You’re on me.” He said, turning and running to the steel door.

  He pulled the door open, raised his rifle to the ready position and entered the building. Not sure why he was following, Roach fell in behind him and softly closed the door. The hallway was still empty and the sound of automatic rifle fire continued from the far end of the building. Drawing his pistol, Roach moved to within a few feet of the man. Looking at the back of his shaved head, Roach raised the pistol as the man paused and peered around a doorway into an office. One round in the back of the head and out the door. Never mind Masuka. Roach just wanted out of there.