Legion: V Plague Book 19

by Dirk Patton

  “Hey,” she called weakly when she remembered Drago, Chico and Johnson had been in the back of the Stealth Hawk.

  Her voice was raw and she wanted to turn to check on the men, but didn’t have the strength to release the straps holding her into the cockpit.

  “Can you hear me?”

  Still no answer.

  “Puta madre!”

  She began trying to release the harness, but her fingers felt thick and uncoordinated. After several attempts, the buckle in the center of her chest opened and from that point she was quickly free.

  Pain shot through her battered body, but she forced it down and levered to her feet. Looking toward the rear of the aircraft, her mouth fell open when she realized it wasn’t there. Her own discomfort forgotten, she pushed past twisted metal then fell forward with a small cry when her foot snagged on an unseen cable.

  Landing hard on the bare ground, she moaned but immediately pushed herself up onto her knees. Looking over her shoulder she stared in shock at the crashed helo. Or what was left of it. The aircraft had apparently broken in half, leaving only the cockpit intact. The main rotor had snapped off and judging by a deep scar in the earth, had dug in before shattering.

  Fifty yards away, she spotted a large section lying in a shallow depression. Struggling to her feet, she crossed the open ground quickly, slowing to a stop when she recognized the helicopter’s engines. The smell of fuel was strong in the air and she quickly backed away, saying a short thank you to God for not having let her burn to death in the wreckage.

  Turning back, she scanned for the missing part of the helo. The fuselage where the three Rangers had been riding. With what she’d already seen, she knew it was only a freak circumstance that accounted for her still being alive. She didn’t expect to find more survivors but had to check.

  Limping back to the cockpit, she made a best guess on the direction it had been traveling when it impacted the ground. Turning, she began walking along that path. Thirty yards later she stopped at the rim of a rugged canyon.

  The edge was studded with sharp rocks. Shards of metal were embedded into them and debris was scattered in a fan shape around the area. She now remembered struggling with the Stealth Hawk’s controls after it was damaged by the missile. Trying to land. Coming in with the helo’s nose up as she fought for more lift.

  Then, a brutally hard impact when the aircraft hit the rim of the unseen canyon. That explained the damage. The force of contacting the ground had been focused behind the cockpit, breaking the helo’s back before tearing it apart. Which was why she had survived. But her three passengers...

  Edging forward, Martinez leaned out over the rim of the canyon and looked down. But there was only darkness. The moon was behind her and low on the horizon. No light penetrated what looked like a bottomless, black abyss. She stared into it a few moments, then straightened and checked in both directions. Seeking a path down.

  It took half an hour before she found a cut in the terrain that led into the canyon. The moon had set while she was searching and now the only light was from the millions of pale, cold stars that filled the sky. Dropping into what she recognized was a wash that drained rainwater into the canyon, she slowly picked her way forward.

  The path was steep as it descended into the unseen depths. Rocks studded the floor and walls, giving her foot- and handholds. At times, the terrain was nearly vertical and she was forced to move at a snail’s pace. Find the next rock with her foot. Be sure she was braced before testing it. A small push. If it was solid, she’d carefully put more weight, prepared to hold herself with her hands if it shifted.

  The slow progress was infuriating, but she had no choice. If she tried to push and made one mistake it would mean a swift fall onto what she was certain were rocks below. And there was also part of her that was in no hurry. She’d already accepted what she was going to find in the bottom of the canyon. There was no way she could imagine anyone had survived the impact and subsequent fall into the chasm.

  Half an hour later, she reached the bottom. Not that she could tell by sight as it was completely dark on the canyon floor, but she’d been able to step away from the almost shear wall onto a broad bed of soft sand.

  Shuffling her feet and taking baby steps, just in case this was a ledge and not the bottom, Martinez paused when the toe of her boot struck an object that rang with a dull, metallic sound. Bending, she ran her hand over a large piece of debris with a jagged edge. Another step, another hunk of the helicopter. Then the bulk of the fuselage loomed in front of her, only visible as a slightly darker area of the night.

  Reaching out, she lightly ran her hand over the battered metal. Stopped and probed a series of holes with her finger. Shrapnel damage from the missile. Moving along the edge, navigating by tracing her hand along the debris, she found the gaping wound where the cockpit had been torn away.

  Her nostrils flared slightly as she scented the air from inside the wreckage. The sewer stench of voided bowels and bladders and the copper of spilled blood. It was the smell of violent death and confirmed her worst fears. Steeling herself for the next part, she moved through the open maw and almost immediately stepped on something that was more yielding than the hard deck.

  Kneeling, she fumbled about, feeling the rough cloth of a uniform with an arm inside. The limb moved easily and she quickly understood that it had been severed during the crash. Gently pushing it aside, she moved deeper into the fuselage. In her mind, she knew the men were dead. But she wouldn’t stop until she’d checked each body and confirmed that was the case.

  It was a grisly task, and not without its dangers. Jagged metal edges were all around her. Any one of them could inflict a serious wound if she didn’t exercise a great deal of caution. Even then, one can only be so careful in complete darkness.

  Pushing down visions of slicing herself open and bleeding out in the middle of nowhere, Martinez pressed on. She spent half an hour locating each man and verifying that he was dead. Tears streamed down her face each time she touched a neck and failed to detect a pulse.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered once she was certain none of them had survived the crash.

  With a heavy heart, she made the sign of the cross and began collecting weapons and ammunition. This was by far more tedious than simply finding and checking the bodies. But with an abundance of caution, she finally stepped out into fresh air and dumped everything onto the sand.

  Sinking to her knees, she forced herself to put aside her feelings about the dead Rangers. Now was the time to survive and she needed to figure out how she was going to accomplish that.

  She didn’t know where she was. Not exactly. But she had a rough idea. Vandenberg was to the north. She doubted that Vance and Lucas were back from Hawaii yet, but if they were they would have no way of knowing she was in trouble. So she needed to get to them.

  Shrugging into one of the Ranger’s vests, she adjusted it for her much smaller frame. Slinging a rifle she’d scavenged, she tried the light mounted to its rail, cursing to herself when she realized it was broken.

  Standing, she slowly walked around the area. Determined that the canyon floor was descending to her left. Dropping on its way to the ocean. She could follow it to the beach, then head up the coast to the air base. It would be a long walk.

  Reaching out, she touched the wreckage of the helicopter that was now a mausoleum for the three men who had died in the crash. She kept her hand there for a long moment before turning and disappearing into the darkness.

  9

  “Oh, my God,” Viktoriya said with a long, satisfied sigh. “Does that happen often?”

  As my blood flowed into her veins and the virus began to change her body, she’d experienced a series of apparently intense orgasms. It had been amusing at first, but quickly became uncomfortable and downright annoying when the second one began almost immediately. Then a third.

  I looked at her flushed face and sweat soaked hair without answering. Smiling, she adjusted her clothes and sat
up, twisting around to check the IV. The first bag was almost empty, but there was another hanging on the side of my chair that was full and ready to go.

  She turned to the two men who’d watched her in fascination from the far side of the room and barked something in Russian. They rushed forward and quickly hooked up the second bag to her before removing the needle from my arm.

  “Who is it you want me to kill?” I asked, hopefully preempting a discussion about what she had experienced.

  “Two men, actually. General of the Army, Sergei Kutusvoy and Admiral Luka Padonsk.”

  My ears perked up at the names, but I kept my face neutral. These were the same officers that Jessica had seen visiting the jail in Phoenix where Irina and Igor were being held. I’m not a big believer in coincidences and this was far more than a casual intersection of people and events.

  “Why them?”

  Viktoriya looked at me and frowned.

  “You do not need to know the why. You simply need to do as I say.”

  “Un-uh. Not how it works,” I said. “You want me as your partner, I get to know the whys.”

  She held my gaze for a long time, waiting to see if I’d look away. I didn’t.

  “Why do I feel as if you are playing a very dangerous game?” she asked softly. “That you are only agreeing to my proposal in a bid to buy time.”

  “Because you’re a paranoid psychopathic bitch, that’s why,” I answered immediately.

  I was in dangerous territory. She was, of course, correct. I had no intention to go through with becoming her partner or champion or vice-Tsar or whatever the hell she thought my position would be. But at the moment, it was critical that she believed I was sincere. She looked at me some more then threw her head back and laughed.

  “To antagonize and insult the woman who holds your entire family’s life in the palm of her hand is either very bold, or very foolish. Which is it?”

  “Perhaps a little of both,” I said, involuntarily glancing at the screen showing a rifle scope steady on Rachel’s face. “But if we are going to work together, effectively, there can be no secrets. If someone needs to be removed, I have no problem with that. I do have an issue with not knowing the reason. Sometimes, an adversary is less of a threat than the man poised to step into his position if he were to be removed.”

  “My,” she said with a chuckle. “I was unaware that you were a strategist. Everything I have witnessed has led me to believe that you are much more of a blunt object.”

  This was the second time in only a few days that someone had called me that. First the Admiral when we were discussing the events that put me sideways with a judge in Hawaii, and now her. I can’t say that this particularly bothered me. What it meant was that people underestimated me, which could be used to my advantage.

  “Just a thought,” I said.

  “I will do the thinking,” Viktoriya said with a smirk. “Your role is to execute the plan. If we each stick to our strengths, there will be no stopping us.”

  Now she was starting to get offensive, but it was time for me to tone it down a little. To not feed into her doubts about my true motivations.

  “Whatever. Where do I find them?”

  “There is a file on each,” she said, pointing at a pair of manila folders lying on a counter. “Their daily routines and all the information you need to penetrate their security.”

  I stood and retrieved the file, quickly flipping each open to verify they were in English before nodding. Utilizing every ounce of self-control, I walked past the wall-mounted screen on my way to the door without glancing at it.

  “Where are you going?” Viktoriya asked.

  “Outside for a smoke and to read these,” I answered, holding the files up.

  I could feel her watching intently, but she didn’t try to stop me. Stepping out into the darkness, I moved away from the building and took a look around as I lit a cigarette. The troops were apparently unconcerned about anyone or anything attempting to sneak into the immediate area. They were congregated near one of the helicopters, talking and laughing. None of them even noticed me.

  This struck me as odd. Why were they so cavalier about security? Granted, we were well isolated from any Russian presence in California. Edwards Air Force Base is on the eastern side of the coastal mountain range, almost in another world from the Los Angeles area. But, still. It didn’t make sense. After a few minutes of trying to come up with a plausible explanation, I dismissed it.

  It was too dark to read the files, even with my enhanced eyesight, so I stood quietly and smoked. My gut churned with worry for Rachel as I stared up at the starry sky. I knew Lucas was good. Damn good, in fact. But even the best of us are still human. We make mistakes. And if he wasn’t on the absolute top of his game---

  My thoughts were interrupted when the door opened. I looked around to see Viktoriya step out. Spotting me, she closed the door and headed to where I was standing. A gentle breeze brought her scent to me as she approached, and I wasn’t surprised when she stepped close and put her hand on my chest.

  The virus was causing changes and her hormones were raging. I knew from experience it would take several days for her to learn how to manage the nearly uncontrollable urges. What did it say about me that I’d had to find a way to deal with a constant desire for battle?

  Perhaps the infection revealed who we really were. And for a woman who seemed to rely on sex as a method to manipulate others, Viktoriya was now behaving like a drunken sorority girl on spring break. Maybe the core of who we really are was brought to the forefront? Maybe.

  “Are you ready to enjoy your special benefits?” she asked in a husky voice.

  She pressed against me and looked up into my eyes. My body responded automatically to the smell coming off her as well as the heat from our proximity to each other. But a physical reaction doesn’t always equate desire.

  “No thanks,” I said, unhappy to hear the rasp in my own voice.

  “I already feel the power flowing through me,” she said, undeterred. “Imagine the sensation of releasing yourself to me. In me! What I could do. What we could do together.”

  Her hand began to slide down the front of my body and I snatched it away. Holding her wrist tightly, I looked into her eyes. Saw her desire, her need, but also much more. There was a beast inside her, clawing its way up toward the light. Fighting for dominance. A sickness I’d only seen a few times in my life. Most recently in an Air Force Captain named Roach.

  “No,” I said again.

  I stepped back, using my grip on her wrist to prevent her from following and pressing up against me again. Something flashed behind her eyes and for a moment it seemed she was going to attack. Then sanity reasserted itself and she ripped her arm from my grasp.

  “I will have you,” she said, eyes smoldering. “It is only a matter of time.”

  She stared at me, smiling, then turned and walked toward the group of soldiers. Watching her, a chill passed over me. I’d given her my blood. What the fuck had I just unleashed on what was left of the world?

  10

  Admiral Packard sat up in bed, instantly alert when there was a sharp knock on his door. Despite the darkness, he could clearly see everything in the room, but turned a light on anyway. A tired looking Captain West pushed through the door when he called out permission to enter.

  “Captain, when’s the last time you slept?”

  “I was just sleeping, sir. And, we’ve got a problem. The Colonel’s mission in CONUS is falling apart.”

  Packard threw the covers off and bounded to his feet. Without a word, he led the way downstairs and outside where he lit a cigarette.

  “Tell me,” he growled through a haze of smoke.

  West quickly summarized the events of the past few hours.

  “I would characterize that as failed, not falling apart. Wouldn’t you, Captain?” the Admiral asked drily.

  “Sir, all we know for certain is that the Russians have managed to capture Nicole and we’ve lost
all contact with the Stealth Hawk. I’ve learned not to count out the Colonel. There have been too many times when we thought he was finished only to have him pop up again.”

  “Point taken. But we need to extract Chief Strickland and the file on that wheat. This has the potential to be a game changer.”

  “Agreed, sir.”

  Packard looked away in thought as he smoked.

  “Where’s the Reagan?”

  “Four hundred miles off the southern California coast, sir. Staying well clear of the enemy’s CAP.”

  The Admiral nodded to himself in thought, agreeing with the ship’s Captain’s prudence in avoiding the Russian Combat Air Patrols. Reaching a decision, he ground the cigarette out in an ashtray.

  “I want that file, Captain. Order the Reagan to pull our man out.”

  “Sir, this is our last carrier. Is it wise to put it in harm’s way at this point? For an unverified file that may or may not be worth the paper it’s printed on?”

  “Can we afford to ignore this, Captain? The Russians certainly think it’s legit. And if it is, think what that means for the future.”

  “I have, sir. But I’ve also thought about what it would mean if this is all an elaborate ruse.”

  “Explain,” Packard growled, lighting a fresh cigarette.

  “I believe the Russians know very well that our ability to engage in another battle is significantly degraded. That this will be our last one. But they don’t want to bring the fight to us, they want it on their turf. The west coast of CONUS. They won’t have supply and reinforcement problems, we will, which will further hamper our efforts.

  “They’ve already stirred the pot with Barinov’s broadcast. We’re dealing with protests and a few outright riots, which stretch our resources even more. They have successfully backed us into a corner. Left us with two obvious options. Fight, or capitulate. I think either is fine with them, they just want to get on with it.”