Ride of the Valkyries

by Stuart Slade

  "A very lethal virus kills its host so fast it can't spread so the ones that tend to spread are the less lethal variants. There's an evolutionary driver to lower mortality. Each generation will be less lethal than its predecessor so the epidemics tend to burn themselves out. In this case, I think we have seen all first-generation infectees, ones that had the grave misfortune to contact the original culture.

  "Thanks to the French, we have samples of that culture and we can produce a vaccine that will guard against the current form of blackpox. My guess is that the original culture was sprayed and the subsequent infections were by close contact."

  "‘Thank you Doctor. You have been most helpful." Nixon's voice was thoughtful, calculating. "Doctor Stens, you have a new infectious diseases unit at Detrick don't you. Completed last week I believe. It is to be named the Doctor Arnold Pellatiere Memorial Center. You'll be getting a Presidential order to that effect shortly." The Doctor left the room.

  "Seer, are you thinking what I am?"

  "Six years, Sir; right after Yaffo. This is their retaliation for the Yaffo attack and the associated incidents. This sudden epidemic is aimed right at us. I'd guess that the attack on Algeria was a test run, to make sure the virus and its distribution really are viable. This tends to fit the third topic I wished to bring to your attention today Sir: Cuba.

  "We've been in contact with the Cuban authorities over some unfortunate developments."

  "Authorities! Why do we deal with a bunch of gangsters. We should just clear them out." It was obviously still the horror of the disease that was speaking, not Nixon's thought processes.

  "Sir, Cuba is America's playground; you do anything to upset that and I guarantee your party will never get another vote. I don't mean never win another election, I mean never get another person to vote for you. Anyway, they may be gangsters; well they are gangsters of course. But they're no worse than a lot of other governments I can think of. Also, they have been very helpful to us.

  "Their investigation of the Senate Steps Shooting, intended to convince us not to invade, lead to some unexpected places. For both of us I might add. In passing, we owe the authorities in Cuba for this one; without their help we would still be floundering around."

  "Helped by gangsters." Nixon shook his head; this was not an idea he liked. "We'd better find another way. Anyway, what did they find out for us?"

  "In the case of Cuba, it lead them to discover a massive effort to smuggle large quantities of heroin into the island. That sounds weird and is actually even weirder. The simplest way to get heroin into Cuba is to send it by parcel delivery. The Cuban Authorities don't care who imports or sells what. As long as they get their kickback from the sales and it doesn't scare the tourists away, they're happy. Smuggling drugs just isn't economic; why do it when nobody bothers to stop you importing the stuff legally?

  "Anyway, it turns out that the Caliphate have paid off a Colombian drug cartel, the Medellin Syndicate, with a huge quantity of free heroin to perform some unspecified services for them. In short, there are two ends to this affair. One is the Medellin Syndicate's effort to try and get involved in Cuba's drug trade; the other is the same syndicate being hired to do something on behalf of the Caliphate.

  "The two halves are related only by the fact that the second has effectively funded the first. My guess is that it's the second part, the one we haven't defined yet, that is crucial from the Caliphate's point of view.

  "My guess also is, and Doctor Stens briefing has strengthened this feeling, that the second part of the plot is aimed directly at us. It is too much of a coincidence that this whole thing should blow up at the same time as the Algerian epidemic.

  "I believe that the Medellin Syndicate were hired by the Caliphate to carry out a biological warfare attack on the United States. How, when and where, we don't as yet know. I would suggest that it is a matter of high national priority that we find out."

  "What do you recommend?"

  "Sir, from the Cuban authorities we have learned who is involved in the Medellin Syndicate. That person must have the full picture and know what is happening. By the way, they may well not be aware, in fact almost certainly are not, of the fact they are involved in a biological attack. They probably believe that this is something much less than that. Whatever it is we shall have to find out.

  "I doubt very much that the Medellin Syndicate would knowingly do anything to bring our full fury down onto their heads. On the other hand, it is very much in line with Caliphate thinking that they would dupe the Syndicate into doing something that would have that effect. The Caliphate planners probably hope that this would and our attention from the real attacker. They're probably hoping that we'll drop the hammer on the Medellin Syndicate so thoroughly that we'll destroy any evidence of Caliphate involvement in the process.

  "The problem is, of course, that the Algerian attack has really eliminated that possibility. My belief is that there was a kind of bandwagoning effect. What started as a very simple scheme has seen every faction within the Caliphate adding its own pet ideas into the pot. The result is an over-complex plan that's tripping up over its own feet. That's fairly typical of inexperienced planners. The first rule of any operation is to keep the whole thing simple and concentrate on the immediate objective. Diversifying away from that point or trying to cover multiple objectives is always a bad idea. General Phil Sheridan said it right. ‘Combinations never work.' "

  "We need to attack this problem at the source, the point where all the threads come together. That's where the weakness of the whole scheme lies. So, I suggest we send a SEAL team down into Colombia immediately, pick up the people in question and bring them back here for interrogation. Find out what they think they are doing and put that together with what we know and discover what is really going on. Once they realize that they have been thrown in the deep end and left to drown, they might well be a lot more cooperative than the Caliphate planners expected."

  Nixon thought about it and frowned. "Another expedition into South America, trampling all over the people down there. I don't like our apparent attitude that we can do this sort of thing at will. Even so. in view of the circumstances, I'm going to approve this. Make it so and give that operation top priority. Now, what else do we have to deal with today?"

  CHAPTER SEVEN: SKIRMISHING

  Sugu Bay, Southern Coast of Hainan Island, Hainan Province, China

  The seagulls were annoyed. In fact, they were furious; in their eyes at least, quite justifiably so. This was their bay. They'd lived here for generations and it was their home, their fishing ground, their whole world. Then, just as the first light of dawn had touched the eastern horizon, just as the first sounds of a new day woke the seagull community, those sounds were drowned out by the whining roar of new birds, big, green and gray monsters that kissed the calm pre-dawn waters and invaded the once-calm, once-tranquil community.

  The first of the big birds were H13K-3 Seiku-Kai flying boats, personnel transports that carried the Special Naval Landing Force troops and engineers. They, at least, had the courtesy to anchor out in the bay, well away from the shore where the seagulls sat on the rocks and screamed at them in impotent fury. The hatches on each side of the fuselage, directly under the high-mounted wing opened. Strange-looking cylinders slid out on rails built into the lower surface of that wing.

  As the disbelieving seagulls watched, the cylinders opened and transformed into a rubber assault craft, hanging level with the lower edge. Men scrambled out; 12 per landing craft plus two more to drive the boats. Humans, the seagulls noted grimly. That meant trouble. Once loaded, the landing craft were winched down into the water, detached and headed for shore. The first wave of troops to form the Sugu Bay Naval Base were landing.

  It took the four boats carried by each Seiku-Kai five trips to unload all the men on each of the six H13Ks. By the time they were making the last trip, the big flying boats were already turning around, heading back for their base in Japan. Their place was being taken by more t
han a dozen H13K-2s. These were similar to the personnel transports but optimized to transport heavy cargo and vehicles. The engineers were already moving along the shore, marking the areas on the beach where the approach was unfouled by rocks. The H13K-2s followed the beacons in, lowering their beaching gear as the taxied towards the beach. The wheels stayed underwater but when they touched the gravel, they lifted the nose of the flying boat to prevent damage. Then, the clamshell doors in the nose opened and vehicles started to unload down a ramp that extended towards the dry shale.

  Some of the transports were carrying Lajatang launch batteries. There were four vehicles per transport, three missile carriers and a radar fire control unit. Each launch vehicle had three missiles and more reloads were carried on trailers towed ashore by the prime launch units. They headed quickly for the high ground. Another transport carried a complete radar station, mounted in three vehicles with a fourth carrying a telescoping radar tower. More carried anti-ship missile launchers: a single missile on the back of a heavy, sixteen-wheel truck. Only two of those per transport, they were the least economic of all the equipment being landed in space and weight terms.

  As they drove ashore, the flying boat's unloading ramp creaking under the weight, their drivers picked out their assigned destination. About a quarter of a mile inland there was a gentle rise. It was not high, but the anti-ship missile launchers stationed behind it would be protected from direct fire. The other transports carried engineer vehicles, bulldozers, backhoes, graders, generator trucks, all the equipment needed to build a base, all specially designed to use the transport facilities of the flying boats to maximum capacity.

  By the time the sun had cleared the horizon and the temperature had started to rise, the vehicles were ashore and at work. The radars were scanning the horizon waiting for any aircraft to appear. The anti-aircraft missile crews were checking their systems, calibrating radar guidance heads, getting the equipment at the peak of efficiency for this was the critical time. The new base was totally dependent on them for air defense, it wasn't ready to receive the seaplane fighters yet. If the enemy moved fast, the base was vulnerable. The only defense was to move faster, to build the base before the enemy could destroy it.

  More H13Ks landed. These just carried supplies, food, fuel missiles and bombs for the aircraft. Four carried trucks, long low-loaders, with a strange dark-green roll on their backs. They disappeared behind the ridge as well. A few minutes later, huge snakes appeared from some of the Seiku-Kais and headed inland, dragged by their servants. Then, the snakes began to throb and the rolls behind the ridge unfolded and turned into fuel tanks. Flexible fuel tanks called blivets, holding enough fuel to keep the Ohtoris flying for hours. More fuel, more blivets would be ferried in later.

  Yet more H13Ks touched down as the sun rose higher. Out in the bay the rubber boats scurried around, laying the beacons that marked the landing strip for the seaplane fighters. On the surfline, floating pontoons were quickly being assembled to make the quays that would provide the fighters with anchorage and protect them from swells. Portable buildings were being thrown up. It wasn't in the authorized plan, but the first one the engineers put up was for the fighter pilots. They knew the Ohtoris would be fighting against the odds; 24 of them against at least 36 and possibly twice that many Indian carrier aircraft. The Ohtoris would be flying around the clock, sweeping the skies by day and escorting the famous Shukas by night. The pilots would need all the rest they could get. So their quarters went up first. If the book said different, well it had just accidently been dropped in Sugu Bay.

  At ten o'clock, the sound changed. The whining of turboprop flying boats gave way to the whistling of jets; the tearing sound that made the sky echo. The first twelve N5M4 Ohtoris had arrived. They swept over the bay before heading in to touch down on the newly-marked landing area. They threw spray up as they hit; ironically much more than the big flying boats had, but the landings were immaculate. As the fighters taxied in, the rubber boats met them and helped them dock.

  Lieutenant Commander Toda Endo could barely stand erect. He'd been sitting in his cockpit for the long flight down and now his back felt as if it had permanently molded itself to the shape of his seat. Still, the sight of the seaplane base rapidly coming together around him was enough to overcome the cramps. Even as he walked down the jetty, there was a crash as the walls of another prefabricated building were lifted and locked into place. People might laugh at flimsy Japanese buildings but they were light and quick to assemble. And, after all, if somebody dropped an atomic bomb on them, strength didn't matter so much. It had taken less than five hours so far to throw this base together and the Flying Garrison could dismantle it just as quickly. That was the defense against nuclear weapons, don't be there when they go off. On dry land the base commander was waiting for him.

  "Welcome to Naval Base Sugu Bay. Toda-san!"

  "It is an honor to be stationed here. It is even more of an honor to see what a magnificent job you and your men have done. It will be an privilege to fly from this base. I have our first fighter sweep planned for 1130 and it is your efforts that have made this possible."

  The base commander beamed on hearing the words of praise before turning to issue the fuelling and arming orders. Beside him Toda looked at the new base with pride and the seagulls stared back with impotent rage.

  Villa Blanco, Medellin, Colombia.

  It was a very nice stone. In fact, it was a fine stone, the sort of stone any wall could be proud of. Captain Jeff Thomas ran his hand along it, thinking affectionately of its surface, of what a wonderful wall had been built out of these fine stones. He had established a rapport with the stones. He felt he was being accepted by them, regarded as one of their own even. And for such fine, strong stones that had produced such an excellent wall, was it not a good thing to be accepted by them?

  He didn't hide in the shadows, nor did he try to make himself inconspicuous. Those would be unnatural things, things that were put of place and they would catch the eye and hold it. Instead he just stood quietly by the wall, accepted by it, a part of it. It helped, of course, that the sentry was such a complete and total idiot. He was pacing around the walls of the Villa Blanco on a regular beat and that was bad enough. To make matters worse, he hadn't washed for several days and he had tried to hide the smell with a virulent cologne. Thomas didn't need to see him, the smell made his eyes water. Regular soap was bad enough, the scented soaps used by civilians could be smelled a long way away. But that cologne was extraordinary.

  As was the noise. The man's equipment rattled and squeaked. His boots sounded as if they had never been polished. The nails hammered into the soles clacked on the stones and the man's ammunition belts clattered and rang with a melodic rhythm Thomas hadn't heard since he'd sat on a balcony underneath a set of wind chimes. Beneath it all was the man's breathing, coarse and ragged. Finally, there was his cigarette; a spot of bright red moving unevenly in the darkness. Idly, Thomas wondered if the sentry was tired of life and had decided to commit suicide.

  The sentry continued to pace his beat along the path around the villa. He wasn't really thinking of what he was doing; he was thinking of drinking with the others, perhaps of going down to the village for a woman. He actually looked straight at Thomas and his eyes slid straight past the figure comfortably resting by the gray stones of the wall. The camouflage uniform, three shades of gray and off-white, rippling in deceptive, eye-soothing patterns, had helped but it was the attitude that made the difference. The sentry actually had an uneasy feeling that he had missed something but couldn't think what it might be. He never got to know. At the right second, Thomas flowed out of the wall, hooked one hand under the man's chin and squeezed the pressure point under the man's ear. He slipped down, never making a sound. Just as quietly, he slipped into unconsciousness that would last for hours.

  Two more figures joined Thomas, each having dispatched a sentry with the same ruthless efficiency. They linked hand to form a step and boosted Thomas over the ga
te, allowing him to drop the other side, still soundless, still undetected. There were more men inside but they were blinded by the floodlights and the shadows to them were inky spots of total darkness. They didn't hear the bolts slipped or see the gate swing open just enough to allow the rest of the SEAL team to enter.

  This would be the interesting bit, Thomas thought as the strike element of SEAL Team Two moved through the gate and started to spread out along the perimeter wall. Four guards in the courtyard, two more by the front doors, two additional ones in a jeep off to one side. They were the first ones to be taken out, the machine gun on the jeep was too dangerous to leave. They were plucked from their seats and left unconscious as unobtrusively as the sentries outside.

  The SEALs had a back-up plan of course; by their standards it was crude and unsubtle. Amateurish even. They carried silenced semi-automatic pistols: highly modified M191 Is whose mufflers meant the loudest noise they made was the click as the firing pins hit the primers. If necessary, they could simply shoot the guards but that was hardly the point. The SEALs synchronized their movements with the guards, flowing closer to them, quietly, undramatically. The first of the inner guards turned a corner and simply vanished, taken down with the same skill as all the others and added to the growing pile of unconscious "guards." The others went down just as fast, none aware of the silent specters that ruled the Villa Blanco compound that night.

  Inside the villa, the guard sergeant by the hall desk was reading a comic book, one starring some strange super-hero or other. He even noticed the slight ripple in the air but it didn't register. Then, instinct took over and he looked up, to see Thomas sitting on his desk, smiling politely. The guard sergeant tried to grab a weapon but he didn't get very far. He too joined the pile of bodies sleeping peacefully in a corner. That more or less did it for the drug lord's "elite guard." Their "reinforcements" had been asleep in their guard room; now the application of a little sleeping gas meant they slept a lot more soundly than they had before.