Plague Years (Book 2): At This Hour, Lie at My Mercy All Mine Enemies

by Rounds, Mark

  “Implying what?” shouted Turner as he shook off Gen Buckley’s hand and turned to face him, “that I am unfit for command? Is this part of your plot to take over completely, perhaps even stage your own coup.”

  “Admiral, this meeting is now over,” said Gen Buckley. “Please go back to your office to reflect upon what you have said and accused me of. If this were another time and place, I would call you out for a duel. As it is, a full report of this conversation will be submitted to the CNO. Leave my office now, sir.”

  “And just who do you think you are ordering around?” shouted ADM Turner as he pulled an M-9 pistol from under his uniform blouse and began waving it around.

  Unlike Turner, Gen Buckley had several combat commands including an infantry company in Grenada, a mechanized infantry battalion in Desert Storm, and the 10th Mountain Division in Operation Iraqi Freedom. He had also been on the Academy boxing team during his matriculation at that institution, so he didn’t think about what came next, he just acted.

  With his right hand he grabbed the barrel of the pistol in Turner‘s right hand, aiming it towards the floor. Almost of its own volition, his left hand pumped two hard left jabs to ADM Turner’s chin and temple. The admiral lost his footing and stumbled, which allowed Gen Buckley to pull the pistol from his hand. Turner then launched himself at the general’s midsection, attempting to tackle him and take him to the ground. What he met up with was the general’s pistol filled right hand. The combination of the general’s blow and the forward momentum of Turner’s lunge was strong enough that it broke two of the general’s knuckles, the general’s grip on the M-9, which went flying, and unfortunately, it also broke Turner’s neck. He was dead before he hit the ground, shortly followed by the report of the pistol as the Admiral had a round in the chamber and the safety off.

  “Sergeant!” shouted Gen Buckley to his admin specialist in the outer office. “Call an Ambulance and I want a CID team in here now!”

  Sergeant Anderson opened the door, saw who was on the floor, the pistol that the general had dropped in his scuffle with the admiral the general’s bloody hand, and began to shake.

  “Get a hold of yourself, sergeant and get on the phone,” said Gen Buckley. “We have a problem!”

  Chapter 9

  June 6th, Saturday, 7:19 pm PDT

  North of Othello, WA

  Cleanup at the site of the battle with the infected punks from Othello had taken longer than Chad thought it should. The load master of the Chinook had demanded that all his gear be properly palletized and tied down whereas Chad was all for throwing it into the cargo compartment in a heap. In retrospect, the loadmaster was correct as Chad had not accounted for the rough ride and the large amount of turbulent airflow through the cabin. His family’s belongings would have most certainly been spread over various parts of eastern Washington.

  The PJ’s in particular spent a great deal of time with the dead bodyguard’s body. Rather than putting the clearly dead man’s remains in a body bag, they put the corpse on a stretcher with a cover, intubated him, started an IV, and during the flight checked it several times.

  Chad and Mary were both concerned about Connor’s medical condition, but the PJ’s informed them that the leg would heal fine without intervention. The slug that had impacted his lower back had passed completely through him and was imbedded in the soil. The slug had not hit anything vital, but the PJ’s agreed that he probably needed surgery to tie off the injured blood vessels and make sure everything was fine. They had the bleeding stopped and were monitoring his condition carefully.

  There had been a number of wounded among their attackers. The PJ’s were wondrously efficient in running tests to see who was infected. Those that tested positive for the Plague were dragged or hobbled to a central area where the Special Forces troops could keep an eye on them. When the Army left, these unfortunates were left on their own. Since the Infected healed much faster than those without the disease, most would probably be back in Othello before nightfall.

  Four of the attackers were found to be uninfected so they were bound and taken along for questioning.

  In the midst of all this, Ace came racing up to the ambush site and it was only the fact that Dave saw him first that kept him alive, as the Army troops were still jumpy from the firefight.

  The trip to Moscow took less than an hour, even with the rather circuitous route they took, and no one in Moscow knew they were coming. That was in part because they wanted to obscure where Chad and his group settled but also due to the fact that communications between the islands of uninfected humanity was becoming increasingly more difficult. In the end, they set down on one of the playing fields near the University of Idaho.

  The first thing that showed up was a mounted patrol made up of local equestrians, of all things. They had sent a rider back to find Capt Nesmith who was the Commander of the Naval ROTC detachment and senior among the active officers in the area. He arrived on foot a short time later.

  “Colonel Antonopoulos,” said Capt Nesmith after introductions had been made, “are we glad to see you!”

  “Thank you,” said Col Antonopoulos. “But I was led to understand that things were relatively tame here?”

  “Well, we have plenty of food if you don’t mind beans, peas, and lentils,” said Nesmith. “The Palouse area around here is the pea, bean, and lentil capital of the world after all, and we didn’t start getting a significant number of Plague-infected individuals until after the warnings went out so we were able to quarantine what we did have. But there are lots of things we need. We are very short of medical supplies for one. We also don’t have electrical power save a few solar cells. We ran out of most POL a while ago so any diesel backup generators have long since run dry. Spare parts are also a huge issue and … well I could go on, but the bottom line is, we are out here in the boonies and were wondering if there still was a United States.”

  “Like everyone, we had our troubles,” said Col Antonopoulos, “but we are starting to look at the long term. We have recruited Major Tippet here along with his intelligence specialist, Captain Strickland, to begin gathering information about the area and the local Infected populations. They have a base kit of medical supplies with them. We also have a couple of injured members, we were wondering about medical facilities?”

  “Captain Strickland," said Nesmith quizzically, “isn’t he the ‘Dead Head’?”

  “Some folks have called him that,” said Col Antonopoulos hiding a grin, “but he is now a serving Air Force Intelligence officer, specializing in intelligence matters relating to The Plague.”

  “Oh, of course,” said Nesmith. “The hospital in Pullman is set up primarily for Plague sufferers right now. We have a couple hundred there. But here in Moscow, Gritman Memorial Hospital is still up and running for more mundane sorts of injuries. We have medical staff waiting.”

  “Only a couple hundred Plague sufferers,” said Chad with some awe. “How did you manage that?”

  “We had roadblocks up like everybody else,” said Capt Nesmith. “But the local National Guard unit is an engineering company. They are mainly local folks with a fair percentage of hunters who know the surrounding area well, to include all the back roads, logging roads, forest trails, and holes in the local fence lines. They were backed up by a bunch of energetic college kids. We were able to seal off the area pretty effectively. It helps that there is no Interstate close by. And when the spring semester ended at both schools, this area was really quiet. Not much traffic at all. But our story is probably common, what’s happening out in the world? With very limited power, we have been unconnected for a couple weeks.”

  “I suspect that a bunch of people will want to hear,” said Col Antonopoulos. “It’s too late tonight to schedule that kind of briefing, but why don’t you schedule a meeting for oh nine hundred tomorrow and we will brief everyone. We will make it unclassified so that the mayor and some of the civilian population can get in on it.”

  “Maybe we better mak
e it two briefings,” said Capt Nesmith warily.

  “OK Captain,” said Col Antonopoulos. “Give.”

  The military and federal employees are functioning well,” said Capt Nesmith, “but the mayor of Pullman is … well … acting weird.”

  “Define weird,” said Col Antonopoulos.

  “He thinks that the U.S. Government has collapsed and he is ruler of his own little … kingdom?” said Capt Nesmith trepidatiously. “He mainly sits in his office and makes proclamations we usually try to ignore. He has some sycophants that feed into it. They have twice tried to appropriate government materiel but we have augmented the National Guard and Reserve with a couple of companies of local militia as well as the cavalry platoon that you ran into. They are mainly self-armed but they are reasonably well trained and since we have a pretty large retiree population around here, they are pretty well led too.

  “We have a platoon on guard at each of the armories 24/7 and we rotate them every two days so they can support their families. There are full timers and ROTC cadre there at all times as well. We have managed to intimidate that raggedy band of drug store cowboys and knuckleheads the mayor has managed to pull together.”

  “No rest for the wicked, I guess,” said Col Antonopoulos. “We will need a place to billet our troops. Then you better gather your staff and find us a conference room. We will need to come up with a plan before the mayor hears about us. I’ll leave an A-Team on as security and we will relieve them as needed.”

  “That’s all well and good,” said Capt Nesmith sheepishly, “but it’ll be dark soon and what little solar power we have, we use at the hospital.”

  “We can manage,” said Col Antonopoulos with a sigh. “Sergeant Rausch, see about building a fire somewhere for a meeting.”

  June 7th, Sunday, 1:37 am PDT

  University of Idaho Campus, Moscow, ID

  They had bedded down the troops in one of the largely-unoccupied dormitories on the U of I campus. The Strickland party actually had an entire floor in the Theophilus Tower. There was no power, of course, so the elevators weren’t running. The stairways and hallways were dark and somewhat spooky, despite the candle lanterns they were given, but the rooms were nicely appointed and the linens were fresh.

  Col Antonopoulos, Major Eveleth, and the remaining troops involved in the operations, save one A team guarding the helicopter and its contents, were on the floor below.

  After everyone had settled, Amber, Chad, Dave, and Col Antonopoulos gathered in one of the rooms set aside for Sayla. The big Native American was still bound but had walked to his room on his own.

  “Sayla,” said Col Antonopoulos, “I am not sure what to do with you. If I take you back to Fort Lewis with me, you say you will relapse and die within a few days unless I can find someone that is in remission and is ‘aware’ as you put it. I’ll be blunt: there is no one like that at Fort Lewis. There are now four people in remission at Fort Lewis, but Miss Hoskins here is the only one we know of who can help you. We have to leave soon. What should we do with you?”

  The only answer was silence. Since he had been picked up, Sayla had only spoken to Amber and then, only a few words. Even when the PJ’s had bound his wounds he had been silent , although the process had obviously been painful. Walking up several flights of stairs with a serious foot injury must also have been excruciatingly painful but he remained silent and spurned all attempts to help him.

  With a look of exasperation, Col Antonopoulos looked over at Amber and nodded.

  “Sayla,” said Amber soothingly, “we need to talk about this. Today you can stay here. You will be bound and there will be a guard with you all night. I can’t imagine it will be a good night. But then we have to do something. We don’t have the resources to guard you here and you have said that you can’t resist this Nergüi if he shows up …”

  “I can’t resist him,” said Sayla, “but you can.”

  “I don’t follow?” said Amber.

  “I don’t have the words,” said Sayla.

  “Try,” said Amber. “We don’t have much time or many alternatives.”

  “When he comes,” said Sayla haltingly, searching for words, “He walks through my mind. There are no hiding places. He will twist mind and bring pain until I beg for an end. I am not man enough to stand against him.”

  “Would you, if you could?” asked Amber.

  “If I could, if given one second’s freedom from his grasp, I would kill him.”

  “Colonel,” said Amber after a moment’s thought, “I think he can stay with us.”

  “How do we know he is telling the truth?” said Col Antonopoulos incredulously.

  “I know,” said Amber.

  Col Antonopoulos thought long about that.

  “Will you arm him then?” asked Col Antonopoulos.

  “Can’t afford not to,” said Chad. “Our security problem will be acute once you leave.”

  “You trust him too, don’t you,” said Col Antonopoulos to Chad.

  “I do,” said Chad. “When we got to him, there was a scared seventeen year old girl holding a gun on him who was worried sick about Connor. Her attention was divided to say the least. The guy is at least 6’ 6” in stocking feet with the body of gymnast and he has the reflexes of a cat. He could have escaped within seconds after Amy drew down on him. Heck, she even used his gun!

  “I think he wanted to get caught. When we got to him, he submitted without a fight and then, when he had opportunities to run, he didn’t. His colleague cut his own throat rather than be captured, and Sayla certainly had the tools to do that.

  “Then consider how he shot my son. He was only a few feet away and in full control of his MP-5. He fired four rounds and two of them hit the ground, and the others, thankfully, were not lethal. At that range a four year old could have put all four into my son’s back. I think it was just enough to show his boss he was serious. And when Amy started shooting at him, he could have easily killed her; instead, he grabbed her gun to disarm her and lost a finger for his troubles.

  “So the big question is why? Is this Nergüi playing some deep cover game? I don’t think so. It’s not just someone in remission that Sayla needs, they have to be ‘aware,’ whatever that is. Amber says that he can find her, but she isn’t sure he knows that she can help Sayla. I think it would be too risky, especially if Sayla has been working for Nergüi for as long as he says.”

  ”Do you always think like that?” asked Dave.

  “That’s what they pay me for,” said Chad with a sigh. “It seems to be more of a curse than a gift.”

  “OK then,” said Col Antonopoulos. “I’m going to have to sell this to Gen Buckley. To do that, we are going to have to show him that Sayla is cooperating fully and we are going to have to give him some really sound intel on Nergüi and his organization.”

  “I withhold nothing,” said Sayla. “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything,” said Col Antonopoulos. “Folks, this will be a long night. I want Sergeant Alred up here pronto with his computer. Chad, you’re junior, go get him. I want everything we are about to learn recorded so we can slice and dice it later.”

  June 7th, Sunday, 6:59 am PDT

  Warden Lake, WA

  Macklin and Nergüi left the motor home that night and walked to the tip of Warden Lake. By luck or design, the Army A-Team did not search as far as Warden Lake, doubtlessly because they had casualties to evacuate and weren’t sure they wouldn’t be counter-attacked.

  At the end of the lake, they had hidden in the marshy scrub-lands until dawn. As the first light began to hit the hills, a beat up pick-up wound its way down a dirt track that led to several fishing access points. The truck pulled up abreast with their hiding place and Nergüi walked out without fear.

  Macklin tried grabbing at him.

  “For Christ sake! Get down,” whispered Macklin frantically. “They’ll see you!”

  “That is the idea,” said Nergüi. “Now stand up. There is someone you have to meet
.”

  A small, dark, well-built man who appeared to be in his middle years got out of the truck and walked right up to them even though the light was poor and both Macklin and Nergüi were in black tactical gear.

  He was carrying an old Smith and Wesson U.S. Army .45 M1917 Double Action Revolver. These pistols were manufactured until the late 1930’s and this one had seen some use, though its condition was immaculate. On his other hip was either a short sword or the biggest knife Macklin had ever seen. It was his first clue that the man in front of him was older than he seemed.

  The second clue was his hat. Very rarely did you see the old Royal Stetson hat anymore save in costume shops and older men trying to channel Harry Truman.

  “Meet Little Bear,” said Nergüi. “He goes by the name of Byron Renton when talking to the white government, but he is a full blooded Lakota Warrior.”

  “Who is this chebon?” said Little Bear, indicating Macklin.

  “An associate of mine who is new to our ways,” said Nergüi.

  “Your ways, not mine,” said Little Bear. “We have both lived a long time but that is all we have in common.”

  “Little Bear was here before the white man,” said Nergüi to Macklin. “He resisted the idea of trading with Meriwether Lewis and was only won over by the charm of his traveling companion, William Clark. He became sick shortly after that and his body was left in a tree for a sky burial, befitting the warrior he was.

  “Unlike many of us, he suffered through the end phase of the disease alone and thought he was a spirit for many years, roaming the west and watching the expansion of the white population.

  “In the 1850’s, he was with the party that killed the Indian Agent Andrew Bolon, an incident that started the Yakima War. Since then he has been trying to bring down the U.S. Government and restore tribal lands. It has been an uphill struggle to say the least. Little Bear and some of his friends ‘cooperate with us’ somewhat.”