But his dreams didn’t come true; he didn’t have the private army, just the SCG, which were numerically less than one company. Previously Chief had believed this to be tragic. But in the last two days, he revised his opinion - in this position it was an advantage. A small detachment, where he knew each soldier and officer personally, was easier to motivate for a specific task, especially if they were talking about a military coup.
Despite his unquestionable authority, Chief didn’t speak immediately with all of them. First, he spoke face to face with the four officers, outlining the current facts and his position, and then played his trump card – allowing them to talk with Pete Anderson, who by that time had fully recovered from the terrible burns. Chief was sure that this argument would work flawlessly, and he wasn’t wrong.
It was hard to believe in immortality and invulnerability, even when the commander told them about it. But it was quite another thing to see it with their own eyes. They had seen the condition of Pete yesterday, and now they saw a completely healthy man. They knew what Chief offered them.
After the officers came over to his side, Bronson worked much faster. The next stage was the wounded – after two days of fighting they had eleven wounded, including three severely, which they hadn’t managed to send to the hospital. Their chances of survival diminished each passing hour. Therefore, they listened with great attention to Chief’s proposal, this time voiced by Pete himself.
So, the wounded soldiers were on his side, and the Zero Model put them quickly back on their feet. It was time to put the rest of the Group under the new banner.
In the end, everything went smoothly; the vast majority agreed with Chief’s proposals. There were, however, eight men who refused, among them Doc, an old comrade-in-arms, who had served under Chief for twenty-five years. Bronson was ready for it; he knew that there may be those who didn’t agree with the rebellion, and made the necessary arrangements in advance. Palmer was ready to assist. An injection of the Z-Model was given to them under the guise of a mandatory vaccination against the epidemic, which had already been given to Chief and senior officers.
Under some pretext the loyal soldiers disarmed those who went to this medical procedure, so when Doc and a few privates rebelled against the commander, they didn’t have weapons. The rebels weren’t going to give up, and put up fierce resistance, using whatever was at hand. As a result, two of them were killed, and one of Bronson’s men received several stab wounds. But he didn’t die; the Z-Model saved him, which again clearly proved the truth of Chief’s words. So when Bronson personally shot his wounded comrade, no more soldiers wanted to rebel – the SCG fully passed into Bronson’s personal command. Once done, Palmer gave them their first dose of blood, so that each of them could assess all the benefits of a new life.
Finished with the SCG, Chief began working on Palmer’s men. It was late afternoon, time was running out, so there was no persuasion – Bronson’s soldiers suddenly turned guns on the scientists and technicians, and then Palmer very clearly explained to them her demands: go over to their side or die. There was no resistance, except for one technician, who unsuccessfully attempted to start an alarm, because Francis had disabled the security system in advance. They didn’t shoot him – he was just handcuffed and injected, like everyone else.
“Chief, I just got the message - the bosses aren’t happy with the way things are going, and want to send a second group. Walt is coming. They may arrive early this night, and if that happens, our conspiracy goes to hell. And yet, in view of our new allies, I quickly finished blood. We must do something.”
71. Truth
It was eight o'clock in the evening. The defensive line had been restored, the marines returned to the barracks, the mobilized civilians gone back to camp. The craters on the runway were sealed, so the airfield was ready to take planes. On the hangar roof the duty pair of observers was changed. In the mobile research complex territory all was quiet.
“Observers have changed.”
“Got it. Guards?”
“No one in sight, they were recalled yesterday. Only sentinels at the perimeter. The medics have returned.”
Four laboratory medics returned from the hospital, gently placing in the lock chamber large metal orange boxes for the storage of hazardous samples. Palmer personally met them.
“Francis, how did it go?”
“No problem with the marines, but there were some people asking questions among the civilians. We told them that, without this blood test, the marines would not put them on the planes, so they couldn’t fly away from here. After that, no more wanted to argue.”
“OK. How long shall we have enough blood?”
In order to resupply reserves, Palmer had ordered that a little bit of blood was taken from each of the wounded marines and civilians in the hospital. Now this blood would be used immediately, so there was no need to spend time checking the unsuspecting donors for various infections – the Zero Model guaranteed freedom from any contamination.
“In view of all that I had already, and what we’ve got now, the minimum safe dose will last us for four and a half days. But using the minimum dose is risky – it’s easy to make a mistake because of the individual characteristics of each carrier. So, it’s better to take a guaranteed dose. It’s more than the minimum, but means the nanomachines won’t burn our brains. For the guaranteed dose we have enough for seventy-two hours.”
“So, three days, from this point. This isn’t enough.”
Chief organized headquarters in the central module. He called all his officers, planning the most important operation in the history of SCG. As a special exception, Palmer was allowed to attend the meeting - Bronson was well aware that without her all their plans were doomed.
“While the local army monitors the passes and boats patrol the gulf, we can only get out of the valley by air. What's going on at the airport?”
“Everyone are in their seats, waiting for planes. The Hercules is ready for take-off, the repair of the damaged Black Hawk is finished, and the crews are in the barracks.”
“What about the Crocodile?”
“It’s fixed, but I don’t know where the crew is and we don’t know how to fly it. I don’t think we can use Crocodile.”
“So, Hercules and four helicopters. They don’t have their own air defense system here. The time it takes the generals to understand what is happening, and to launch the AWACS and interceptors will be enough for us to fly over the mountains and…”
“Chief, Colonel wants to visit his injured…”
Finally, for the first time in days, he was lucky. The repair of the runway was done, and reinforcements might arrive that night. Finally, it would also be possible to send the injured to a normal hospital, and send away these civilians, who would soon drive him crazy. The Big Boss came to personally restore order; Palmer’s reign is over.
“I want my wounded sent to the hospital first and only then the civilians, do you understand me? My men will go first, and I'll check to make sure!”
“Of course, I have nothing against that. The marines provided all the help; we just did what we could.”
“OK, now I want to talk to them.”
Richardson had completed the inspection, when his radiotelephone rang.
“Yeah, listen. Have you managed to contact them? OK. What do those bastards want, why did they need the civilians? What, again? What? Blood? They need… you son of a bit…”
Colonel jerked out a pearl-handled Colt, but Palmer was faster with her Derringer, and shot him in the back with both barrels.
72. Casus belli
The Colonel’s adjutants died instantly as Chief’s fighters used silenced guns.
“Close the door!”
Bronson disabled the radiotelephone, and then peered out of the window – everything was quiet; no one had heard Palmer’s shots, because the module was well insulated. His men quickly searched the bodies, taking weapons, documents and removing tokens. They had black plastic bags ready.
“We had no choice; he realized that we’d deceived him, deceived them all.”
“If he opened it, in headquarters soon realize too what is happening.”
“When will they raise the alarm?”
“Soon. But I think we have about twenty-five minutes.”
Time was running out. In less than half an hour, Richardson would be replaced by a senior officer, and when the deputy understood what was happening, he would launch the alarm and the encounter with them would be short. The marines and base personnel outnumbered them five to one, and their firepower superiority was overwhelming. They would be surrounded, armored infantry vehicles shooting the laboratory complex with automatic guns, and drones finishing them off.
Should they take hostages, using the wounded as a shield to hide behind? No, that wouldn’t work, they had to act differently.
“Get the truck to the exit. Francis, here’s what to do. Inform the control room that you need to take the equipment to the airport, then…”
At this time in the common dining room a completely different mood from yesterday reigned. The day before the refugees had gathered here, anxiously listening to the sounds of the approaching battle, quickly eaten and then fled into tents. Now everything was different.
Yesterday's fear and tension had disappeared, and an atmosphere of excitement could be sensed instead. Rumors went round the refugee camp that the enemy was completely destroyed. And then came more long-awaited news – the planes would arrive soon, the quarantine was about to be lifted and they would finally fly home.
Boris slowly ate pasta with meat in a tomato sauce, listening to the conversations at the table. Natasha poured out thick bean soup, her workmate telling her something, with much gesticulating. The company to his right discussed the forthcoming strategy of action; they wanted to file a lawsuit, firmly intending to claim hundreds of millions in compensation for the risk to life, loss of personal property, and irreparable moral damages. They agreed on their testimony in advance, and who would speak at the upcoming press conferences, and then began to argue about who they planned to sue - the company, the army or the government.
Someone played the harmonica as another person sang, and beer was passed around, probably bought from marines. A woman from the factory administration told her friends that she’s already made an outline for a book, which she would write and then immediately sell the film rights. Hollywood wouldn’t miss her story; she was a witness to all these amazing and dangerous events, and intended to tell the world about it. The would-be writer needed to hurry, she had competitors - in the last hour Boris had heard about the book at least three times, and was sure that the competition between the authors would only grow.
“Hey you!”
“What?”
“You, I saw you when the truck was blown up. You fought against these bastards. I should definitely interview you; your story will be of interest to my readers. What is your name?”
“Ivan Drago.”
Boris finished his spaghetti and got up from the table. The company of future millionaires came to the conclusion that they had to sue the company, the army and the government at the same time, and then proceeded into an intense discussion about how to spend their millions.
“It’s said that we’ll be flying away from here tonight, that they will announce boarding very soon.”
Donahue met Boris at the exit, along with several hundred civilians who had come out of their tents for an evening stroll.
“Boarding what? The Hercules will not be able to take so many passengers.”
“It’s said that the planes are already flying. There will be a short check at the airport and then a direct flight home. They say that the big bosses are jittering at the hundreds of complaints from our families, and now wants to get rid of us, afraid of the consequences.”
Boris said nothing; he stared at the toy town. All was quiet there.
“Our agreement remains in force, until after we get to civilization. I will get you and your companion a great feast in the best restaurant. What do you prefer? I can’t promise Russian cuisine, but can guarantee excellent Italian or French, or Japanese and Thai, if you love the exotic. Vodka will be…”
“Donahue, we still haven’t departed. The restaurant and vodka comes only after we get out of here.”
“Yes, I’m not arguing, just say…”
Donahue had said something else, but Boris wasn’t listening, watching the truck pull away from the toy town, heading to the main barracks.
73. Code Red
Walt didn’t like to fly; he wasn’t a fan of travel at all, not wanting to waste time in useless journeys. Modern communication technologies make it possible to perform most work remotely, and his personal presence was required only in exceptional cases. But now such a case had come, and he hurried to depart, knowing that time was running out. Any more and the Zero Model may be lost forever.
The laboratory mobilization was conducted according to a predetermined plan and took two hours; they then drove to the airport, where a black IL-76 waiting ready to take off. After taking his seat, Walt didn’t take his usual sleeping pills to slumber away the entire flight; on the contrary, he swallowed a double dose of a stimulant, which had not let him sleep for the last two days. When all this was over he would need to take a couple of weeks of vacation to Cuba, but now he had to work.
According to recent reports, the fighting had stopped in the valley, the enemy was completely destroyed, and the elimination of the dead bodies was in full swing, burning everything that could be burnt. Palmer continued her analysis, but complained about the lack of necessary equipment and drugs. Well, he would do it personally. Most importantly, she had told him that she had more than a dozen infected prisoners, and some fresh corpses in the freezer, plus a large collection of Z-Model taken from different carriers.
The stimulator began to exert its effect - he got cold, fingertips trembling. He needed to call a flight attendant for some strong hot tea with sugar and lemon, and a few sandwiches. He no longer wanted to sleep; the hot tea prevented the chills, and now he could work.
“Scenes from thirty-two to forty-five.”
He studied the recent research results – Z-Model photos made through an electron microscope. Palmer had finally sent these pictures last night and this morning. Not being able to see the Z-Model for detailed study, he was instead keen to look at these images, and finally, just before leaving, received them, but they didn’t make him happy. Infrared spectrum, visible light, ultraviolet, X-rays – all are of a similarly poor quality, and he can’t see anything.
“I can’t work with these. Impossible.”
The pictures weren’t suitable for use, the quality was too low. The research equipment had been damaged by close explosions: the shock waves broke subtle adjustments, and a readjustment wasn’t possible – this was Palmer’s explanation. Another failure, another link in the long chain of failures that had fallen on the project in the last few days. Walt had never been superstitious, but he couldn’t help a feeling that this wasn’t the end of his trouble.
“We’ve crossed the border, and will be landing in an hour and twenty minutes. The weather is fine; airport services are ready to take us.”
Walt was going to pour another cup of tea, when a strong movement made him lurch, spilling hot liquid on his sleeve - the heavy plane made a sharp turn to the left. The red beacon of an emergency call flashed.
“What's wrong?”
“Walt, we have a problem! Code red on base, repeat, code red! The infected somehow broke inside; there is a large-scale outbreak and fights. I repeat - fighting at the base, large-scale contamination! You are given orders to return immediately!”
74. Assault team
Two precise, silent shot and the observers on the hangar roof fell down dead. Chief believed that they had ten minutes before the alarm, but he would handle everything. In ten minutes you could do a lot, especially with the element of surprise on your side.
&
nbsp; “Done!”
Here they were - two dozen infected, selected by Palmer. They were prisoners from the night fight and a few people from the base, infected in the past two days, including the first one - Mike Vitelli, the driver. The irreversible destruction of brain and nervous system had started; they hadn’t lost their mind, but felt hunger. The growing colony of nanomachines within them required blood to a stronger and stronger degree. And they were ready to do anything to get the blood, as soon as they removed the handcuffs and shackles.
“Take the vests!”
After yesterday's battle, when the wounded marines were brought into the hospital, Palmer’s team got a lot of uniforms - damaged, burnt and bloodstained. But the vests and helmets weren’t damaged, and now Chief’s men hastily put them on the infected, before loading them into a truck – it was necessary to make them hard to kill, at least with the first shot. They would not be able to use firearms, just knives and reinforced bars, Chief considered this arsenal sufficient.
“Done.”
Bronson again looked at the vanguard. They had a loss of facial expressions, and were staring vacantly, senselessly babbling. The women were virtually indistinguishable from the men, as though the Z-Model thoroughly blurred the distinction between the carriers. Now they were quiet, pale fingers gripping knife handles. Their muscle memory and reflexes weren’t yet fully degraded, allowing them to use simple weapons, when the time came.
“Start loading.”
Palmer opened a tiny vial of blood and threw it in the back of the truck, so that the infected instantly woke from their stupors and climbed inside, trying to find prey. Chief closed the tailgate and pulled down the awning. Two fighters took their place in the cab; and four more got into the back near the kamikaze infected, the truck heading at slow speed onto the runway. The remaining fighters got weapons, while the engineers prepared a small unmanned helicopter for take off.
Vampire's Day (Book 2): Zero Model Page 17
