The Oort Plague

by Cliff Deane

  “Congrats, Tom, I am extremely pleased to say that there is no one better qualified for the job, either now, or before the collapse. Now, here is what is happening tonight…” said Morse as he briefed his new General on the current air mission.

  Tom said, “Sir, thank you for the head’s up. I’ll scoot right over to the flight line and tag along.”

  “Tom,” said General Morse, “are you sure that’s such a good idea?”

  “Sir, the reason I intend to go is so that there is no mistake in communication. I will retrieve the data, but I will not kidnap this group. If they want to return to Benning with us, well, that’s well and good. If not, I’ll wish them well and send them on their way.”

  “Hmmm, yes, I see the logic of your plan, good idea, go ahead and run with it. Good luck, Tom, you had better get a move on. Out, here.”

  5 April 2118, 2345 hours

  Flight Line (Helicopter)

  Fort Benning, Georgia

  General Merritt arrived at the Helo Flight Line at 2125, still wearing his Colonel’s pins, he found a twin bladed heavy lifter Chinook CH47P, and two Cobra VII-J Gunships prepared to lift-off. The Ch47P model had been in service for ten years and in its final iteration was eighty-two feet long and twenty-two feet wide. The lift capacity had been increased from eighty-thousand pounds to one-hundred and thirty-five thousand pounds. The range had also been increased from eight-hundred miles to twelve-hundred, at a cruising speed of two-hundred and eighty miles per hour at an altitude of thirty-five thousand feet. The origins of this magnificent helicopter traced its ancestry back to 1957.

  The Cobra Gunships were also too good to remain in the rubbish bin of history, when in 2035, this narrow profile dominator of the fluid battlefield was resurrected, upgraded and placed back into service. The top speed of the Super Cobra VII-D was in excess of five hundred miles per hour with a range of eight-hundred miles.

  General Merritt delayed the lift-off until 2400 hours to give the Moundsville convoy time to get well within the range of his helicopter’s search fan.

  The Rangers, who typically are at the pointy end of the spear, took the delay in stride and began sleeping, reading, or playing poker.

  At 2345 Tom ordered the Helicopter Drivers to wind ‘em up. He climbed aboard the Shnook and made his way to the pilots to let them know he was onboard and ready to begin the search. On board the Chinook the squad of Rangers quickly began rechecking their equipment. Those soldiers, who know their way around bullet launchers, do not take anything for granted. There was also a ground crew aboard to provide refueling and emergency maintenance that might be required on the mission.

  Staff Sergeant Malone greeted General Merritt when he returned from the cockpit and found a seat. “Sir, welcome aboard, my name is Sergeant Malone, and I am in command of the security detail. Do you have any mission updates for me, sir?”

  “It is good to meet you, Sergeant. I am happy to see your squad aboard and ready for any possible encounter with Mags or Bad Boys, and no, I have no updates. I’m just along for the ride and to make sure the package gets delivered to the CDC. Sergeant Malone, have you had any deployments to the Sandbox?”

  “Yes, sir, three. My first as a Private and I just returned from my third as a Squad Leader.”

  “Good, good, I’m happy to know that we have some useful experience along for this ride.”

  As the engines began to wind up, Sergeant Malone said, “Yes, sir, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll get buckled in.”

  General Merritt then donned his helmet so he could remain aware of situational updates.

  5 April 2118, 2000

  Armory Main Entrance

  Moundsville, WV

  Jake’s four-vehicle convoy, consisted of two M-27 carry-alls, with trailers, and two lightly armored M-273A4 Reconnaissance Vehicles. The second M-273A4 trailered a 500-gallon fuel bladder.

  In the hours before departure, four members of the team began loading weapons, personal gear, and rations, while the remaining personnel provided security.

  The First Sergeant had cleaned out his home weapons safe and loaded four M-86A2 Infantry Assault rifles, four handguns, and ten thousand rounds of ammunition for each. The ammunition was certainly appreciated as this gave ammo to every member of the team for the weapons garnered from the Armory’s Weapons Locker.

  During the hour when dusk began to bring on the night, First Sergeant Sanders gave rudimentary instruction on the operation of the military vehicles. It was certainly insufficient to make the drivers fully qualified, but they would be able to keep them on the road.

  The convoy departed at 2000 hours when it pulled out onto 9th Street. They crossed the Korean War Veteran’s Bridge and crossed from West Virginia to Ohio. Reentering West Virginia at WV807, the convoy continued to I-77 south toward Atlanta and the CDC.

  All went well for the first five hours, but the monotony from long hours resulted in Driver Eddie Pritt to become drowsy, making him far less alert. His vehicle blew a tire just north of Galax, Virginia causing the vehicle to swerve hard to the right and into a concrete abutment which sent the vehicle back across the road and into the highway dividing ditch, where it rolled over a couple of times.

  The crash of the number two vehicle caused the column to halt in the middle of I-77 south. The Interstate Highway was wide open with no other traffic. While Jake ran to check on Eddie and Gwen, the First Sergeant grabbed Jake and told him to take Frank to secure the left side of the road while Izzy and Ibrahim secured the right side. The crash led to the death of Eddie and his passenger, Gwen Langstrom.

  Because of the lessened situational awareness, no one had spotted the narrow strip of rubber with protruding spikes placed on the road to catch the right front tire of wide vehicles.

  Jake had just reached the crash site when weapons fire erupted from the wooded area on the road’s right side. The first volley caught everyone by surprise but caught Ibrahim Shah squarely in the chest. Sanders kept running at an oblique angle away from the incoming fire and managed to make it to the drainage ditch just before the wooded area. Catching his breath, he slowly began inching his way into the trees and around the left flank of the shooters and into their rear.

  The ambushers maintained a relatively steady rate of fire, which helped Sanders locate the positions of the three shooters. Using the thermal sight on his silenced Assault Rifle, he aimed and fired at the man on the left side of the three-man team. He then took out the man on the right side of the enemy line. This left only the center shooter who quickly realized that his two allies had stopped firing. He shouted to them to discover why they had ceased fire. He soon realized that he was now alone and made an attempt to retreat to safety. His path took him directly to First Sergeant Sanders who shot him in the right shoulder. The impact of the bullet caused the rifle to fly away and knocked the attacker to the ground.

  Sanders told the man not to reach for another weapon if he wanted to live for even one more minute.

  “I surrender, don’t shoot!” shouted the painfully injured man, “Please help me!”

  Sanders slowly approached the man, and using his night-vision monocle, saw that this murderous piece of crap had no other weapon in his hand. The ambusher continued to scream in pain, pleading for help.

  “Shut up, asshole, eat the pain,” said Sanders in a stern authoritative voice.

  “Oh, God it hurts.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m really sorry about that. Say, are you sorry about the man you just murdered? Just askin’.”

  “Oh, yes, I swear I wasn’t the one that shot him. I purposely aimed all of my shots high so that I wouldn’t hit anyone, I swear to God.”

  “You do know you’re in some deep stuff here, right? Now, tell me, old buddy, are you a member of any gang or group in the area?”

  “No, it was just the three of us.” He again screamed in pain and pleaded with Sanders to help him.

  “We’ll see, but first you have to answer my questions, so quit screaming like some ten-ye
ar-old little girl. Do you live around here? Oh, wow!” said a surprised Sanders as he looked closely at the man’s face. I see you have a teardrop tat under your eye. What’s that mean?”

  “Oh, that, I just had it put on to show the guards that I was sad about being on a road gang and that I wanted to go straight.”

  “Really?” said a disbelieving Sanders. “Tell me, dipstick, do you want to feel even more pain? That tat means you murdered a fellow inmate.” He then placed the muzzle end of his rifle lightly against the open wound, for emphasis.

  “No! Please, stop. Okay, okay, the Warden from the prison freed all inmates yesterday because he couldn’t feed us no longer. Sides, they was only the three of us prisoners left.”

  “Thanks, oh, by the way, what’s your name?”

  The pain had begun to ease somewhat as the man slipped deeper into shock and blood loss. He now knew that he would get no help from this man. He raised his middle finger in defiance and said, “Pliskin, Snake Pliskin.”

  “Yeah, sure it is, okay, have it your way, Mr. Snake Pliskin.” Sanders stood and taking a step back, shot Pliskin in the chest.

  6 April 2118, 0200

  1000 ft above I-77

  Galax, Virginia

  Over the helmet’s intercom connection, Merritt heard, “Colonel, please come up to the flight deck, we are seeing gunfire on I-77.”

  “Roger,” said Merritt, as he broke the connection and made his way to the pilots where he again plugged in his helmet.

  The Co-pilot pointed the flashes out to Merritt and asked, “Sir, how should we proceed?”

  “Connect me to the Cobras.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  General Merritt said, “Cobra 6, this is Ranger 6, scoot on down to the OK Corral and check on the shoot-out. Remain cocked, but not locked. Repeat, you are not cleared to open fire unless fired upon. Just check it out.”

  “Roger 6,” said Cobra 6. “Understand cocked, not cleared to fire unless fired upon, observation only.” One second later the two Cobras did a yank and bank toward the shooting which culminated with one final shot while the Cobras were still a mile away.

  “Ranger 6, Cobra 6, the firing has stopped, and we see three, no, make that four Military Vehicles. Vehicle four has crashed. People on the ground are coming out from apparent defensive positions and are waving at us. There is one body on the ground. Request permission to land to offer assistance.”

  “Roger, but first use your speaker to demand they lay down any weapons. Cobra five to provide overt cover.”

  The pilot of Cobra 6 landed his chopper roughly fifty feet from the personnel who had laid down their weapons and moved away from them. The pilot exited his ship and ordered the Gunner/Co-pilot to remain on board with weapons at the ready.

  Jake and First Sergeant Sanders, with raised hands, approached the pilot at a brisk pace. After quick introductions, the pilot returned to his Cobra and directed the Gunner to contact Ranger 6 with the all clear, and friendlies down.

  6 April 2118

  Walmart

  Prescott, AZ

  DJ Foote sat behind his mic and continued to alert survivors of the formation of the Prescott Militia. He gave the location and asked for recruits.

  “Prescottonians, the Prescott Militia has been formed by Colonel C. Sharpe and Captain Jim Mason. The goal is to grow our force by assigning groups, led by veterans to occupy other large stores like Walmart, Costco, etc. As we occupy these sources of survival needs, food, water, weapons, and ammunition, we will be able to take the fight to the monsters who now roam our streets seeking to kill us. You need not be a veteran to join up, but trained veterans will provide the basic cadre of leadership. Join us in taking back our town. It is ours, and we will not cede it to savages. Bring weapons, ammo, food, and water if you have them.”

  Within hours of the broadcasts by DJ Foote began showing results as others wanting to join the Prescott Militia began arriving at the Walmart. Most of the recruits were veterans, of all ages, well, up to about sixty. There didn’t seem to be anyone older than that, or younger than ten or so.

  Upon hearing DJ’s broadcast, Jim Mason took Colonel Sharpe aside and said, “Captain? You told him I’m a Captain? No disrespect intended here, Colonel, but are you crazy? I’m a grunt, not no officer.”

  “Oh, Jimmy, don’t be such a wuss, you know enough, hell, I guarantee you know more than some butter-bar Second Looie. You’ve seen Captains work. Now, if you listen, I will give you some wonderful advice that will guarantee your success. First, the thirteenth rule of leadership, when in charge, take charge. Secondly, and just as important as the first is to listen and learn from the senior NCOs that I’ll make sure can guide you. Simple, right?”

  “Well,” said a not totally convinced Captain Mason, “if you really think that I can pull it off.”

  Colonel Sharpe gave Jim a firm look and said, “Listen, Captain, if I didn’t think you could pull it off, you would not be a Captain. Since we met, I know, it was only yesterday, you have shown me a maturity and a good mind. That will get you through for now, okay?”

  “Well, okay, thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  By 1600 hours of 6 April 2118, the Prescott Militia had grown to twenty-five. Most of the recruits were vets, and more importantly, most were NCOs with experience in using bullet launchers. Things were shaping up.

  Recently retired Sergeant First Class Warren Powell was promoted to First Sergeant. He immediately began organizing the recruits into fire teams. Platoons and Squads would come as the organization grew.

  First Sergeant Powell requested permission to occupy and requisition the items in the three local Army Supply Stores.

  “Good thinking, Sergeant, go ahead and make it happen.”

  6 April 2118

  World situation

  Humanity may be one the edge of extinction elsewhere in the world, but countries like the U.S. Israel, and Switzerland were, for the most part, holding their own.

  Small and medium towns and communities across America began to group themselves in militias both large and small. They took control of those items needed for survival and then began the retaking of their country.

  Large cities, however, did not fare so well, as far too many of the survivors were gang-bangers who fought the Mags and other gangs. By the time it became apparent that these city dwellers could not work together, it was too late.

  6 April 2118

  Temecula, CA

  Trent Allison had spent the last several days sitting on the veranda of the resort, reading, drinking wine and sitting in the perfect Spring temperatures. His one lament was that while he had a nice grill and an excellent generator, he discovered, upon opening the Resort’s Freezer, that all of the meats had thawed and spoiled. Finally, Trent settled for a can of ham which he grilled to perfection.

  He had no inkling of the Hiding Time, as it came to be called. He remained most pleased with himself as he whiled away the hours on the best vacation of his life. Paradise, however, can also become a bore, and so it was for Trent. He thought that perhaps he would make his way to San Diego. He had family there, and with a bit of luck, they may still be alive.

  Trent had become somewhat uneasy over the last several hours. He was unable to put his finger on exactly what had set him a bit on edge. He finally wrote it off to getting on the road to Diego.

  He stood and laid the book he had been reading, “The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber,” on the side table.

  As Trent made his way back to his suite, he thought of Macomber, who had been a rich man married to a beautiful, yet unfaithful, shrew of a woman who took great pleasure in tormenting and humiliating him in front of other people. This witch also made no real secret of her many affairs with other men.

  While on safari in Kenya, MacComber finds the rebirth of his self-worth. He announced his decision to divorce this constant burr under his saddle upon their return to America. Francis felt better, more self-confident, and more manly than he had for many y
ears.

  Word came by messenger that a man-eating lion was killing the natives of a nearby village. Francis decided to volunteer to go along and take the first shot to bring down the lion.

  In the final chapter, he is standing bravely before the lion with his rifle raised to fire. Both the White Hunter and Mrs. MacComber were behind Francis to provide covering fire if he missed. As he squeezed the trigger, a shot rang out, striking Francis in the back of the head. The Hunter then fired and killed the lion. Mrs. MacComber claims that her shot, which killed her husband, was an accident. Mr. Francis MacComber did indeed have a short, happy life.

  As Trent returned to his luxurious suite, he made a turn to his right and found himself face to face with a monster. He had no chance to run or draw his weapon before a club struck him just above his nose.

  The Mag was dressed in a Policeman’s dirty, ragged uniform. As this creature looked down at Trent’s body, a glint of sunlight struck a shiny, metal nametag which read, Jones.

  7 April 2118, 0200

  I-77, Galax, VA

  Once cleared, the Chinook also landed. The Rangers quickly exited the craft and set up a defensive perimeter. General Merritt exited the chopper after Sergeant Malone gave the all clear.

  Jake, First Sergeant Sanders, and the remnants of the Dig Team were introduced to General Merritt, who then explained why a Major General was wearing the Eagle collar pins of a Full Bird Colonel. Turning to First Sergeant Sanders, Merritt asked, “Top, are you in charge of this group?”

  “No, sir, I came along in the hope of finding an Army Unit in need of a First Sergeant. I was the Top Sergeant for the Virginia National Guard’s Bravo Company, 219th Airborne, sistered up with the 18th Airborne Corps at Benning.”