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

by Rounds, Mark

  “Keep it up,” said Nergüi. “Then shift to the stationary one if it starts to move.”

  Nergüi cut the connection and pulled out his binoculars. The first plane was already to the runway threshold and starting to run up the engines. He shifted his field of view back to the other aircraft and it had also started moving.

  Nergüi had a problem. His two Stinger teams did not have enough missiles to shoot down both of them, but Nergüi thought that the General would ride the last plane out, playing the great commander to his troops. The more Nergüi thought about it, the more sure he became, yes, Antonopoulos would be on the last plane.

  “Ælfheah,” said Nergüi, “go supervise the Stinger teams. Don't let them waste missiles on the first plane. Use all three for the second plane, is that clear?'

  “Yes sir,” said the taciturn Ælfheah who low-crawled over to where the missile teams were hiding. There was a brief discussion between the troops and then Ælfheah nodded. All that was left was the waiting.

  July 10th, Friday, 12:36 pm PDT

  On the runway, Fairchild Air Force Base, WA

  Despite Gen Antonopoulos's outward calm, he was concerned that perhaps he had perhaps stayed too long. They had taken quite a bit of ground-fire taxiing down the runway and he still heard the occasional ping of bullets hitting the aircraft. One of the loadmasters had been hit by a bullet fragment and while it wasn't debilitating, the number of hits meant that sooner or later, they might his something vital.

  Gen Antonopoulos glanced over at Major Kong who was now very business-like, little of his Texas drawl was in evidence as he and the copilot read through the checklists prior to take off. Andy felt the jet wash of the previous C-17 rock the plane as the other took off. Rather than wait the required one minute to allow the wing vortexes to clear, Major Kong rolled the plane into the take-off positions.

  “General, I am going to cut in half the standard one-minute wait,” said Major Kong. “B-52's do MITOs at fifteen seconds and mostly they live to tell about it. I think it would prudent to get out of this ground fire ASAP.”

  “I concur, Major,” said Gen Antonopoulos.

  The C-17 started its take-off roll almost immediately, accelerating down the runway. As the speed picked up, the amount of ground fire that actually hit the aircraft lessened, no doubt because the troops firing at them were inexperienced in leading moving vehicles.

  Then there was a thump, followed by a small explosion and suddenly they were slowing down.

  “General,” said Major Kong, “We have taken a Stinger Missile in the port outboard engine and another at the wing root. I don't think she'll fly, sir.”

  July 10th, Friday, 12:42 pm PDT

  In the scrubland east of the runway, Fairchild Air Force Base, WA

  Ælfheah was mindful of Nergüi's admonition to fire at the last plane. The first one rolled without a hitch and overflew their position as it became airborne. Some of the troops fired at it with personal weapons but most were wildly off. Almost immediately, the second C-17 was rolling down the runway.

  Ælfheah nodded to the two gunners and almost immediately the first one fired. Ælfheah hit him hard on the head and took the launcher away from him. Firing that fast meant that he had no tone that signified that the seeker head had a target locked. The missile sailed high over the top of the aircraft to impact somewhere beyond the runway.

  The second gunner waited until he had a good tone, meaning the IR seeker head was locked on to the engines of the C-17. The best shot was from behind but in good weather, at these ranges, head-on shots were also reliable.

  Ælfheah reloaded the other weapon himself, looking up only briefly when the second missile hit the inboard engine causing it to fail catastrophically. He then brought the second weapon to bear. It chirped several times until it locked on the burning engine. When he had a steady tone, he pressed the firing stud, sending the missile toward the plane.

  At the last minute, the loss of one engine caused the plane to swerve slightly, so the missile, instead of hitting the engine, hit the wing root and exploded, peeling back several feet of the aircraft's skin and exposing the supports beneath.

  He was gratified to see the plane began to slow as the pilot got on the brakes and seconds later it slowed even more, as the thrust reversers were engaged and the remaining three engines were throttled up.

  Ælfheah kicked and swore and got his troops standing and then running toward the still rolling airplane. If they were going to catch the General, they would have to surprise them.

  July 10th, Friday, 12:42 pm PDT

  Fire Protection Flight, Fairchild Air Force Base, WA

  Chief Master Sergeant Jerry Shiner looked out from the driver's side of the P-19R Aircraft Rescue and Fire Fighting Vehicle, or the 'squeeze bottle' as it was sometimes referred to. Its primary function was to get to a crash site quickly and dispense a huge amount of firefighting foam, and if necessary, water to douse the flame. It was called the 'squeeze bottle' because it could empty a 1,000 gallon water tank and 130 gallon foam tank in under three minutes. It was a powerful vehicle with a 600 horsepower Cummins diesel engine that could move its 35,000 pounds at seventy-two miles an hour. If you kept it under fifty, you could cruise for three hundred miles on a full tank of fuel.

  However, the fuel tank hadn't been full for months. Right now, he had less than ten gallons in the tank. The big diesel was thirsty and that would only last for fifty or sixty miles at reasonable speeds. Nonetheless, when the C-17s took the runway, he cranked up the engine and waved the other three fire fighters into the cab. They were all a little nervous as the Base Ops building further down the runway was the focus of a lot of gunfire, but no one seemed especially concerned about the firetruck.

  Jerry watched the last C-17 and was about to switch the engine off when it started to slow and swerve slightly to one side. Then he spotted black smoke begin to roll off the number three engine. Since the radios were unreliable, Jerry decided to roll.

  The P-19 accelerated quickly and he was suddenly roaring down the taxi way at fifty miles an hour. After a month of poking along with little or no fuel, the speed was amazing. Several of the hostiles on the east side of the runway took pot shots at them, but none hit.

  Jerry made it to the side of the stricken C-17 in less than a minute. Using the two nozzles in the front of the P-19, he and his crew covered the burning engine and wing root with a protective blanket of foam that smothered the flames very soon after they arrived.

  The pilot was also obviously a cool head because the engines had been isolated, power had been shut down, and the internal fire bottle had been deployed, all of which made Jerry's job much easier.

  The final thing Jerry did before exiting the cab was to wash down the engine and the entryway with water to cool it so that the air crew could exit. Jerry climbed down from the cab and started for the side entrance, but was quickly chased back by a burst of gunfire from the hostiles two hundred yards or so down the runway.

  The doors for the side entrances of the airplane burst open and several well-trained troops in ABUs fanned out and formed a hasty defense. The returned fire forced the hostiles to take cover. Under that barrage of fire, Jerry hightailed it over to the door and was waved into the cavernous hold of the C-17. There he found himself shaking hands with a two-star general.

  Chapter 25

  July 10th, Friday, 12:44 9pm PDT

  Inside the Base Ops Facility, Fairchild Air Force Base, WA

  Col Phillips put down his binoculars and slapped the counter by the window.

  “Damn it!” said Col Phillips, “The hostiles have stopped the plane at the end of the runway. Twitchell! Go get a vehicle and get ready to extract them.”

  Wesley grabbed a set of keys off the counter, his M-9 and his briefcase and headed for the door.

  Col Phillips looked around the room hastily and found his helicopter pilot, Capt Benhart and pointed to the UH-1.

  “Captain,” said Col Phillips urgently, “let's get
your bird in the air so we can provide air support for the General.”

  “Sorry, sir,” said Benhart, “I have dispersed my door gunners to help with the defense so we would have little in the way of weapons. While we’ve been here, the UH-1 has taken at least nineteen hits from small arms fire. I wouldn't fly normally it in this condition without a complete pre-flight, something we won't have time for. If ordered, I will run out there and give it my all, and hopefully the bird is sound enough to fly, but I won't risk anybody else on it, specifically my CO.”

  It was a testament to Col Phillips’ discipline and control that he did not burst into a rage. As it was, it took a couple of seconds for him to regain control.

  “You are right, of course,” said Phillips as he deflated. Then he grabbed his brick and spoke.

  “Beadle!” said Col Phillips, “can you dispatch some of your forces to cover the General and extract him?”

  “We are headed there now, sir. We are dealing with some stiff resistance, but I have released a four vehicle patrol to run the length of the runway. We are laying down as much fire as we can. Suggest you do the same if you are able.”

  “Roger that!” said the Colonel, looking out the window. For some seconds, he didn't speak as the runway began to fill with late-stage Infected.

  July 10th, Friday, 12:45 pm PDT

  Scrublands east of the runway, Fairchild Air Force Base, WA

  Nergüi saw the plane slow down and began urging his troops forward to take it. It took some doing to get them up and moving and while that happened, a bright red fire truck roared by. Several of his soldiers fired but to little or no effect.

  “This is the prize!” shouted Nergüi. “The man to bring me Gen Antonopoulos alive will get more Slash than he can carry!”

  His drug-addicted troops launched themselves at the plane. But during the time it took to motivate his troops, a dozen defenders, most with automatic weapons but some packing shotguns had fanned out to the rear of the aircraft and laid down a devastating fire. Ten of his soldiers were killed outright. The rest took what cover they could in the brush near the runway. One of the troops he was facing had an M203 slung beneath his M-4 and he launched a grenade that landed in the middle of his forces, killing several and further demoralizing his small force.

  Nergüi heard the volume of gunfire behind him ramp up. He turned and saw four Humvees, each mounting an automatic weapon, barreling down the runway firing at targets to the left and right of the runway.

  Sven's troops took them under fire and one of the vehicles swerved when the driver was hit, but the gunner pounded Sven and his troops. He was instantly backed up by the same troops that had stymied his approach to the Base Ops building. Sven and his troops also had to go to ground as the volume of fire was too intense to stand for long.

  Nergüi punched in a familiar code.

  “Macklin,” responded the voice on the other end of the connection.

  “Can you see the vehicles coming down the runway?” asked a harried Nergüi.

  “Yes, sir,” said Macklin. “They passed us seconds ago. We attempted to engage them, but there are troops attacking us from two sides, and they laid down significant covering fire. I am afraid they are past us.”

  Nergüi cut the connection before he gave vent to his feelings. They were so close! But they didn't have enough force in the right places! Nergüi realized he had only one option. He punched up one more code from memory.

  “You have need of something?” asked the voice on the other end. It was an old voice, one that conveyed the passage of many, many years.

  “The General is two-hundred yards from my present position,” said Nergüi shamefully, “and I can't reach him. I did not bring enough force to complete the job.”

  “Maybe your experiment with Macklin is a failure then?” asked the voice.

  “As tempting as it is to blame him,” said Nergüi, “I cannot. He objected at some personal risk that we were not ready. I should have listened.”

  “But you called because you want something,” said the voice. It was a statement, not a question.

  “Yes, I need 'The Call',” said Nergüi.

  “You are aware of the cost?” asked the voice.

  “Yes,” said Nergüi. “Have them flood the runway, attack the defenders. I need only a few seconds of diversion to finish this.”

  “So be it!” said the voice and the connection was broken. For once, Nergüi knew what it felt like when he cut the connection with Macklin.

  July 10th, Friday, 12:48 pm PDT

  South end of the runway, Fairchild Air Force Base, WA

  “General,” said Major Kong as he looked down over the cargo deck, “you are wanted on the radio.”

  The loadmaster handed Gen Antonopoulos a walk-around headset and nodded when it was live.

  “This is Haven One, go ahead,” said Gen Antonopoulos into the microphone.

  “Haven one, this is Red Rover One,” said Col Phillips. “Sir, can you see the runway?”

  “Wait one,” said Gen Antonopoulos as he walked over the entry door. “My God,” he said he looked out and down the runway.

  There were now hundreds of late stage Infected walking or crawling onto the runway and headed their way. Some were running but most were injured in some way, some hideously. Many of the grievously wounded from the explosives and gunfire collapsed from shock after the Call, but now were moving as best they were able to the runway. The leakers who had gotten around the prepared defenses and were wandering aimlessly around the base were now focused and headed for the injured aircraft. Where there were once thousands, now there were hundreds but they were as intent as ever.

  “Haven One,” said Col Phillips. “We have a motor patrol stalled in front of Base Ops trying to get to you for pickup. We were in the process of organizing a counterattack from this location to free them up to head your way. I am recalling forces from the front gate to back-stop this attempt.”

  “Negative, Red Rover One,” said Gen Antonopoulos, “You have won this battle by making the bad guy fight your way. They came at you in prepared positions and had to deal with your improvised mines. You go out in the open and you will throw it all away.

  “We have your fire truck here. We will escape and evade on that and I will call in a dust-off from Fort Lewis-McChord. With luck, you may even get the fire truck back.

  “Sir,” said Col Phillips, “I am not sure that is the best …”

  “It’s my call, Colonel,” said Gen Antonopoulos. “We need to preserve your forces intact. This base is an outpost that will cost us dearly if we lose it and will be beneficial in the recovery. We can't afford to lose it along with your gallant airmen.”

  “Yes, sir,” said a chastened Col Phillips.

  “Congrats on a job well done,” said Gen Antonopoulos after a split second’s hesitation. “You and your team’s careful preparations and planning, not to mention bravery and heroism, preserved your base and put some serious hurt on the adversary. I will be in touch after extraction. Protect your people, succor your wounded, and get ready for the next big push. That is an order, Colonel.”

  “Roger Haven One,” said Col Phillips after a moment’s hesitation. “Good Hunting!”

  “Chief,” said Gen Antonopoulos, “how fast can we get everybody secure on that thing? We have one wounded loadmaster in here.”

  “Seconds only sir,” said Chief Shiner as he eyed the oncoming horde. “Strip some seatbelts and such out of the plane so we can make some handholds. Move people!”

  Under the Chief’s direction, they removed much of the firefighting gear and strapped the fourteen extra personnel on board. They took weapons and ammo only and even with the loss of the firefighting gear, they were cramped.

  The Chief took off as the last airmen grasped on the ladder. Part of the security on was on the roof and they laid down covering fire as some of the Infected, as well as Nergüi's troops, were starting to close in. As they pulled out, Chief Shiner dumped the rest of the wate
r and foam behind them.

  “Why did you do that, Chief?” asked Gen Antonopoulos.

  “We just dumped about eight hundred gallons of water and foam sir,” said Chief Shiner. “It will make a hell of a mess on this dry ground and maybe slow down the folks behind us a bit. It also reduced our weight by over two tons. I have a little less than ten gallons of diesel on board and I don’t know how far we will have to drive. Every little bit helps.”

  “Good thinking, Chief,” said Gen Antonopoulos. “I need to get on the radio.”

  The General looked in the back bench of the firetruck and nodded to the communications tech who was smashed in the corner trying to give the PJ who was caring for the wounded load master as much room as possible. The tech handed the General a head set and tuned in the prearranged frequency for Fort Lewis-McChord.

  “Haven Control, this is Haven One,” said the General, “how do you read?”

  “Haven One, I have you Five by Five, “said the officer in the command post. “How can we help you, sir?”

  “Patch me into CAPT Lassiter,” said Gen Antonopoulos.

  “Haven One, this is Lassiter,” said the voice on the radio after perhaps thirty seconds delay.

  “We have had some complications,” said Maj Gen Antonopoulos.

  “We were following radio chatter, sir,” said Lassiter, “we are apprised of the situation.”

  “We will need a dust off for approximately twenty personnel,” said Gen Antonopoulos, “we are on Highway 902 headed south. We are going to meet up with Cheney-Spangle Road and take that to Highway 195. Advise when the dust off is airborne. We will secure an LZ. Copy?”

  “Roger sir,” said Lassiter. “I’ll be …..

  The rest was lost in a burst of static.

  “Haven Control …” said Gen Antonopoulos. “Haven Control ...”

  The only answer he got was static.