“You’ve worked with Ross and Foraker in the past, attach to them.” He eyed one of the crates and flipped it open with the toe of his boot. “I’d swap out the little popgun for something with a little range myself, though.”
She batted her eyelashes in mock-flirtation. “Why, Major, I didn’t know you cared.”
April 3, 2026
Lockheed Skunkworks
Z-Day + 3,089
“Looking a little tense out there, Lieutenant Commander,” Bob Harris said. “Starting to remember why I sleep so well on a boat.”
Ferris winced. “We surrounded?”
Harris waggled his hand back and forth. “Not so much? Let’s say that the Marines are a little more grimdark and gung-ho than usual. I got an idea, though.”
“I’m listening.”
Bob nodded to the helium tank. “Let’s see if that lift bag is still functional. Maybe we can fly the test bed out of here.”
“Assuming the bag doesn’t have holes in it from sitting creased for so long, and assuming the engine block isn’t a pile of rust, what’s your reasoning?”
Harris started nodding before Rick finished his statement. “I checked. They drained all the fluids after the test, and we’ve got a good, dry environment here. It’s not really an engine, though—it uses a diesel generator. The turbines themselves are electric. I don’t even understand half of the stuff in there, but they weren’t using batteries, for sure. The system still has a bit of a charge in it, for one.”
Jakes Niles chimed in. “Makes sense. The reconnaissance drones the Marines got before the end all used nanotube capacitors. If anyone had access to larger versions of the same system, it’d be Skunkworks.”
“Still, any diesel they had in storage is going to be sludge right now.” They had Ferris convinced. He’d been half-thinking along the same lines himself as soon as they’d found the helium. He also wanted to make sure they had all their ducks in a row before he gave the okay to commit to the time investment.
“Sure. But we brought cans of JP-8 for the Little Bird. It’ll run fine in a diesel, and, well…” He looked ashamed at his own suggestion. “Chopper don’t need it, now. As for lubricant, they’ve got sealed drums of synthetic. Should still be good.”
“First things first. We need to make sure the lift bag is tight. If it’s sprung a leak, getting the generator running is moot.” Ferris considered the quartet of cargo containers. “With the cargo capacity of the Orca, we can haul two containers out of here. Can we fit everyone else into the cargo bay at the same time?”
Niles rubbed his chin and thought. “Should be fine on weight. Might be a little crowded, but not too bad. The more important question is, who’s going to fly the damn thing?”
Harris chimed in, “Spork got off the second chopper. They said the controls are like a Black Hawk. She can fly it.”
Ferris gave the other man an incredulous look. “How do you know that?”
“Long story. But I’ve seen her do it. You get her liquored up enough, she might tell you about it.”
“Fine.” Ferris glanced at his watch. “It’s ninety-minute round trip for the choppers to get back. Get the next set ready to lift, then start working on the test bed to see if we can fly it out of here.”
Harris grinned, and Niles replied, “Yes, sir.”
Chapter 33
April 3, 2026
Aboard the USS Jack Lucas
Z-Day + 3,089
“Captain, you need to see this.”
She turned away from the main display—now dialed into an overhead map of the area with active units indicated—and raised an eyebrow at Repko. “Put it up on the screen, Lieutenant Commander.”
Repko nodded to one of the drone operators, and high-definition video from one of the returning craft replaced the map. It wasn’t obvious how high the drone was, but the zoom was high enough that she could identify the different types of vehicles clogging the major avenues.
Not to mention the streams of movement that flowed in and around them.
“Mother of God,” she murmured. “How many?” The Lucas had come equipped with experimental crowd-size estimation software ‘borrowed’ from other government agencies, and it had come in handy in the past to calculate what they were up against.
It had been a while since she’d seen anything this heavy, and Repko’s response confirmed it. “Fifty thousand or more, Captain. Their rate of speed indicates that they’re stage twos.” Repko’s face fell. “Can’t get a clear estimate on how many have spears or other improvised weapons, but it’s a lot of them. If they get close enough, Major Matthews and his men won’t have much in the way of cover to get under.”
Wilhite pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes as she tried to think. “Start firing them up with the rail gun. Any drone going overhead that’s still got weapons on the rack, find a cluster and hit it. We need to attrit that swarm as much as possible.” She turned to her XO. “What’s the return ETA on the Sea Hawks?”
Commander Nunez grimaced. “They just lifted off. We can scramble a bit on the turnaround, but it’s going to be right at ninety minutes before they can get back to the warehouse.” He cocked his head and did a mental counting of the personnel. “We might be able to get them all into both choppers, but both birds are going to be over capacity.”
“Repko, when is the leading edge of that swarm going to hit?”
“Less than that. Forty-five minutes, max.”
“We need to stretch the time frame out as much as possible. Get on it, get creative. Hell, drop buildings in front of them if you have to.” She turned and gave Nunez an intent look. “Time to break the bad news.” She grabbed a headset from one of the comms stations and nodded to the ensign manning it. When he gave her the thumbs-up, she spoke. “Lucas Actual to Icarus Actual. How copy?”
Matthews answered in a guarded tone. “Reading you loud and clear, Captain.”
“Major, we underestimated the strength of the opposing forces. Swarm headed your way from the south, estimated size fifty thousand. That’s five zero kay.”
“Copy.” The unsaid curse was evident from subtext and his tone. “What’s the plan?”
“As soon as we have the first load on board, the Sea Hawks will head back to evacuate your team. ETA nine zero minutes. Note that we estimate the leading edge of the swarm will be hitting you in half that time.”
“Going to be a little spicy, then. What about the rest of the objective?”
“Command’s going to have to make do with one load.” She bit back a laugh. “Maybe things will clear up in a month or two and we can send Icarus or another team back in to get the rest.”
Pete was silent for a moment, but when he came back on the radio he sounded resigned. “I’d agree that we need these aircraft, Captain, but I’m not sure how long we can hold out against that many. Keep us posted. We’ll be waiting. Oh, any chance of you patching me through to Doctor Eberman? I need to run a few things by him.”
“Will do, Icarus. We’ll do what we can to slow them down, but I don’t know that it’ll be enough. Good luck.”
“We could do with a little of that for a change. Icarus out.”
April 3, 2026
Lockheed Skunkworks
Z-Day + 3,089
The big bolt-action was too awkward to stand and hold, and he already had one rifle slung over his shoulder. Finally, Charlie decided to lean it up against one of the crates. A maelstrom of activity had taken over the roof. Under Pete’s direction, the Marines had begun the process of shifting their weapons positions to the south wall. He hadn’t been privy to the conversation that his friend had just had with the ship, but he’d overheard the number fifty thousand.
Charlie stared south toward the still horizon. Had to stick around, didn’t you? He huffed a laugh and shook his head. He’d never been the type to leave a friend behind, and even if he had taken Pete up on the offer to hit the chopper, he’d be chomping at the bit to come and help.
In t
he distance, an explosion boomed, and he saw a faint puff of smoke. Miles away, then. They had time. For what, he didn’t know. Across the roof, Pete pressed a hand to his ear and began nodding rapidly. He looked around, saw Charlie, and double-timed it in his direction. As he drew closer, Charlie made out his friend’s side of the conversation.
“Robot octopus. That’s what he said. As far as I know the man was not given to hyperbole or hysterics. Right. And then there’s what Charlie saw.” He waved his hand, beckoning him forward. Charlie got up close to Pete, and his friend pulled the earpiece out. There wasn’t much excess length to the cord, forcing him to lean over with the side of his head turned to Pete’s chest. He’d spent a lot of time over the years scavenging for Q-Tips. He hoped Pete was one of the survivors taking advantage of them. If not? Gross.
The places your mind went when things went to hell was strange.
“Charlie? It’s Doctor Eberman. What did you see?”
“One of the bodies in the warehouse had some strange wounds. They looked as though something ripped out of the body through the skin itself.” It felt weird to say it, but Eberman sounded at once excited and nervous rather than dubious.
“And these wounds, did you have any way to determine how old they were?”
Charlie thought back. “There was a good layer of dust over everything. I don’t think it was recent. And except for a few zulus, we didn’t see much else of anything inside.” He lifted his head and made eye contact with Pete and mouthed, “Robot octopus?” Pete held up a single finger, and Charlie nodded.
“I need to speak to the major, please.”
Charlie pulled the mic out of his ear. “He wants you again.” He glanced at it as Pete took it back. It seemed clean, but he still had a crawling desire to check his ear. He did so—when Pete saw him, he rolled his eyes.
“Matthews, here.” He listened for a long moment. “Right. No. Don’t even go there. It’s not happening.” Another long pause. “Kind of what I figured. Any insight you can offer?” Pause. “Uh huh. All right.” He turned to Charlie and sighed. That was all the signal he needed to know the conversation had ended.
“What’d he say?”
“He said welcome to stage three, only he wasn’t nearly so cheerful about it. Oh, and he wanted us to acquire a specimen.”
Charlie grimaced. “Pass.”
“Yup. Other than that, he had nothing. If any other units have encountered this sort of thing, they haven’t reported it to the science geeks. He said something about the ultra-high population density resulting in more rapid adaptation.”
“All right, then. And the octopus?”
“It was all theoretical mumbo-jumbo, but if the nanites developed the ability to modify their basic structure, it’s possible they could unify into some sort of moving form without the need for a human host structure and nervous system.”
Charlie tried to picture what something like that might look like, but the only thing he could think of was something from the Terminator movies. Even that didn’t seem to apply, and his mental image of a ‘robot octopus’ would have made him laugh if he didn’t know dangerous it had been.
Charlie nodded to the new positions the Marines had taken. “Bad?”
“Let’s just say being stuck up in the Crow’s Nest last month was a party compared to this.”
He made a face. “No kids to worry about, at least.”
“There is that. But I don’t think the helicopter is going to show up fast enough this time around.” As though punctuating his words, the sound of thunder rumbled in the south. Everyone who wasn’t already facing that way turned to look. The flashes of explosions and the crackle of incoming fire were an order of magnitude more intense than the prior engagement. The fact that the folks back on the ship didn’t think they had enough to put the brakes on the looming horde was disconcerting when the roof of the warehouse vibrated under his feet with every impact.
Could we hunker down in the building, hope they pass us by? Charlie thought about how the stage twos in the Hope attack had possessed a strange sort of cunning instinct. Nope. Bad idea, especially with those numbers.
He fingered the strap of his Marlin and eyed the crates of supplies. He was here for the duration; he might as well arm up with something that was effective at a distance. The crate Guglik had opened contained a row of futuristic looking rifles, but as he examined it he noted that the controls and layout were basically identical to the old school M4 carbines they’d used back home.
Pete noted his study. “FN SCAR-H. Twenty-round magazine of 7.62mm NATO. Ain’t going to bounce off a skull, that’s for sure.”
Charlie took a look through the scope and nodded. “You’ll make a gun geek out of me yet, Pete.”
“Somebody’s got to get you out of those wood-and-steel antiques you’ve been hauling around.”
“What can I say, I like something that doubles as a club in a pinch,” he winked. He studied the contents of the crate next to the case of spare rifles.
“That might be a bit much—” Pete began.
Charlie pulled one of the olive-drab orbs out of the box and hooked it into a section of his load-bearing vest. “They’re hand grenades, not nukes, buddy. I’ve seen the movies.” He added another, then started shoving loaded magazines for the SCAR-H into the pouches. If and when he ran out of ammo for it, the time for close-in work would be near, and he could break out the Marlin. He didn’t like carrying so much weight, but it wasn’t like there was anywhere to run.
“Still.”
“I’ll have Del Arroz give me some pointers, happy?”
“Fair enough,” Pete grumbled, as a man in Naval pattern camouflage walked up.
“Major Matthews? Lieutenant Commander Ferris. We’ve met, but it was only in passing after your briefing.”
“Hey, Ferris.” Pete stuck out a hand. “Solid work, but I just got off the phone with Captain Wilhite. You and your boys need to pack it in. We’ve got a hell of a fight headed our way, and they’re scrambling to see if they can get evac here before we get swept under.”
The Navy guy got a strange look on his face. “Well, actually, that’s why I’m here. One of my guys had a brainstorm, and we’ve hit a stroke of luck. The testbed Orca seems airworthy. We’re in the process of refilling it with helium. If we can get it off the ground, we can get the test bed and one of the other prototype sets out. It’ll be tight but we should be able to cram everyone in the cargo bay.”
“Hell, that’s the best news I’ve heard all day,” Pete exclaimed. “When will you know for sure?”
“The gas bag is holding so far, but we still haven’t reached ideal pressure. The power plant is looking good to fire up. Worst-case scenario, if it doesn’t, we can jump-charge the Orca’s electrical system with the warehouse’s backup generator. It won’t give us much flight range, but hell, — the Sea Hawks could tow us back to the Lucas, if it comes to that.”
“Outstanding. What do you need from me?”
“One of my men indicated a belief that Agent Guglik has some experience as a helicopter pilot. As you said, they based the controls on a Black Hawk. I wanted to verify that story, and if she’s able, have her come down and familiarize herself with them.”
“You’ve got it.” Pete tapped his radio. “Somebody jog Guglik’s elbow, I need her over here.” He turned back to Ferris. “When are you going to know if we’re good to go or not?”
“One way or another, thirty minutes.”
Pete raised an eyebrow at Charlie. “How about that, buddy? We might get the chance to add another ‘no shit, there I was’ to our repertoire.”
He opened his mouth to respond, then realized that the explosions and impacts to the south had ceased, all at once.
April 3, 2026
Aboard the USS Jack Lucas
Z-Day + 3,089
The ongoing crack-snap of rail gun fire had drawn so many infected to the beach that the crowd pressure from the rear ranks pushed those closest to the ship further
and further into the surf. Those unfortunate enough to be on the leading edge ended up underwater, pressed into the sand. They didn’t need to breathe, of course, but as more and more fell, and as the crowd inched forward, the very heels of their fellows crushed bone and in many cases ended their undeath.
All the while, the USS Jack Lucas poured fire into the swarm advancing on the Marines to the east. The original design proposal for the five-inch rail gun rounds had included a multitude of options—high-explosive, air burst, ground penetrators, and others. None of those were within the construction capabilities of any surviving shops.
Precisely-machined metal darts, wrapped in magnetic coils and stored in job-lots in automated loading racks?
Mere engineering. Easy as pie.
Even without explosives, the incoming fire wreaked havoc. Sagging buildings crumbled, shockwaves tore advancing infected limb from limb, and sparks ignited long-congealed gas tanks. The fires swelled along the firing line, punctuated here and there by the explosions of drone-launched smart bombs.
Lucas’ magazines were still over half-full. A conventional warship would have been out of ammunition already, but the Indestructible Jack could fit multiples of rounds in the same space. All made possible, of course, by the ship’s experimental power plant.
The ship’s designers had placed the reactor low amidships for stability. The mandala of wiring that spread out from the massive electrical panels in the engineering spaces would have spanned dozens of miles if laid end to end. Computers, climate control, lights—it all sprouted from the true heart of the ship like a technological root system.
The electrical demands of one rail gun were immense. When the decision was made from on high to test a twin turret firing arrangement, the engineers working on the project had objected. While the dual-gun system allowed for an increased rate of overall fire without adverse effect to the barrel lining of the magnetic cannons, it also required duplication of capacitor banks, control systems, and, of course, wiring. Each of the bundles of wire leading to the rail gun capacitor banks were a good six inches in diameter.
A Place Called Hope (Z-Day Book 2) Page 35
